Chapter 1
The car was a black Mercedes Benz C216. Its tinted windows concealed two occupants from the outside world. Dr. Martha Jones had been somewhat surprised when it had arrived outside her flat to pick her up twenty minutes ago, having been expecting something a little less ostentatious and more inconspicuous. Still, she considered, it could've been worse; they could have turned up in a military Jeep. To be fair, at least her employers weren't as bad as Torchwood – the most famous secret organisation in the world – when it came to drawing attention to themselves, what with their bizarre penchant for driving around in a souped-up SUV with their
name emblazoned on the side. Despite Ianto Jones's explanation that the idea was to “hide in plain sight” – with Torchwood's semi-public face being that of a “special ops” group, someone in the organisation had felt it better to advertise themselves as such overtly rather than inviting questions about the conspicuous black 4x4 parked near the crime scene – Martha still chuckled at the ludicrousness of the whole thing.
UNIT, being a government organisation, was at least a
little better at being invisible when they needed to be, at least for the most part. That was more than could be said for their actions two nights ago however, when several operatives had caused a commotion in the centre of town near a popular nightclub spot, while attempting to capture four hostile alien life-forms who had been infecting people with some kind of toxin, the effects of which were... interesting, to say the least. The attempt had failed.
Martha sank back into the plush, comfortable leather seats as she perused the A4 sized documents detailing the events of the last two days, which had been handed to her inside a sealed folder by her driver. Yet she felt uneasy as she read of the three infected teenage revellers who had been taken in for examination. That was something, she supposed; at least she would have something to go on in searching for an anti-toxin, the reason for her being drafted in at short notice – clearly someone in authority had felt that her medical skills combined with her alien expertise would be ideal in this case. The last victim had somehow managed to get away, but according to the notes a teenage girl had later been tracked down and brought in. Martha had to wonder how this had been accomplished, and whether the young lady had gone quietly. She had to admit that she found UNIT's methods to be a little dubious of late. Jack Harkness and the Doctor had both expressed dissatisfaction with the way things in the organisation were being run these days, and since the Osterhagen incident she had begun to experience her own doubts. Jack had even offered her a permanent position within Torchwood, but she had declined, not wanting to uproot to Cardiff permanently and to have to adjust so soon to yet another significant change in her life.
What the hell had she been thinking?
Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought and returned her attention to the folder in her hands. It certainly made fascinating reading.
“We're here, ma'am,” her driver said after a few minutes.
She looked up and realised that the road had begun to slope downwards, and that they were descending a ramp into an underground tunnel. She had been so engrossed in the document that she had failed to take note of the journey, and now had no idea where they were. She knew that the base itself was relatively small, but could be accessed by an underground tunnel half a mile long.
This tunnel, she reasoned.
As daylight receded into the distance, the only illumination was provided by the row of bright lights along the roof of the tunnel. Suddenly it felt like night. Finally they reached a car park, which reminded Martha of the Ambulance bay at the Royal Hope. There were several military vehicles parked around the space; Jeeps mostly, and a couple of Land Rovers, as well as – bizarrely – an Ambulance. Her driver circled around and came to a stop. Glancing out of the window, she noticed two armed Privates waiting by an elongated octagonal steel door about six feet high, no doubt the entrance to the facility. Otherwise the bay was deserted, which she found strange and a little unsettling, for every other military base she had been in had been a hive of activity.
She unclipped her seatbelt and slipped the papers back into their folder for safe keeping, while her driver stepped out of the vehicle and moved to open her door.
* * * *
“This must be her.”
Private Scott Packer stared at the car as it pulled into the bay. He wasn't listening to his comrade, rather intensely focused on the vehicle.
“Doctor Martha Jones,” continued Private Tim Harris as he gripped his rifle tightly, always ready and eager to spring into action at a moment's notice. “I heard she travelled with
him... the Doctor.”
Scott nodded absently. The Doctor was a legend in the history of the organisation. Once classified, now everyone in UNIT had heard the stories. Some didn't believe them, others did. Most had seen enough service not to at least give some credence to them; the alien from another world who had acted as Scientific Advisor to the revered Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart back in the '70s or '80s – Scott couldn't remember exactly when it was, but then history had never been his strong point – who had helped repel several alien invasions. It had all sounded mad when he had first heard the stories, soon after being seconded to UNIT, but now... now he believed every word. Now he had seen the Doctor, had seen him in action, and almost utterly defeated. He had seen
her too.
Martha Jones.
The woman who had saved the world.
She was beautiful, he remembered. Absolutely stunning. His first thought upon seeing her in fact had been;
Damn! I'd hit that... She had never even noticed him, but then again there had hardly been much opportunity for her to. Now she was with UNIT, and he and Harris had been assigned to escort her to the Colonel's office. He wondered whether she would recognise him. Probably not. If she were any normal sane person she would likely have tried to bury that whole damn year, just like he had tried to... and failed.
He watched as her driver got out of the car and opened the rear right passenger door. Then he saw her.
“Jesus,” Harris said under his breath, clearly commenting on the doctor's attractiveness.
“Mmm,” Scott replied.
“Caring, brainy
and fit-as-fuck,” Harris continued.
Packer had forgotten how petite and unassuming Dr. Jones was. She was wearing a dark, smart-looking business suit with a pencil skirt and tights, and a suit-jacket over a smart-casual low-cut magenta top. She wore her hair up, and a pair of high-heels completed her image. She looked around the bay, seeming to take in her surroundings, then turned her attention toward them. Her driver stood to attention and saluted her as she left his side and made her way to her escorts. They moved forward to greet her.
“Doctor Jones,” Private Packer began, saluting her respectfully. “We've been instructed to escort you to the Colonel. He wants to see you immediately.”
“Right. Thank you,” Dr. Jones replied, showing no recognition.
“This way, ma'am,” Harris added, gesturing in the direction of the Colonel's office.
“Who am I reporting to?” Martha asked as she followed the officers at quick march. She knew that Colonel Mace had been reposted to Canada – Vancouver if she remembered correctly – but she had no idea who had replaced him.
“Colonel Oduya, ma'am,” Harris replied.
Martha nodded. “What's he like?”
The two Privates turned to each other, clearly not anticipating such an informal question.
“Seems OK,” Packer replied. “Nice enough guy; firm but fair. Married with kids.”
Martha smiled and nodded as they rounded a corridor and arrived at a lift. “I see. Well then, let's see what he has to say.”
Private Harris pressed the 'Up' button next to the lift.
Martha wondered how far down she had travelled. “How deep does this place go?” she asked.
“Just two levels, ma'am.”
Martha nodded again as the doors opened and the trio entered the lift. The thought struck Martha that it would be funny to hear some cheesy lift music – a Muzak version of 'God Save the Queen' or something. She smiled to herself, but chose to maintain an air of professionalism rather than voice the joke. Wishing to lighten, or rather in-formalise the mood a little, she inclined her head to Harris, who stood slightly behind her, and whispered; “You know, you don't have to call me ma'am after every sentence.” If she had been facing him, she would have winked.
Harris seemed to relax a little, but still maintained his posture. He looked to be about 22 or 23, and Martha – who prided herself on being a fairly good judge of character – thought he seemed perhaps a little too gung-ho and eager to please. She wanted him to relax for his own sake, but then she realised that he was a soldier, and asking him to relax was like asking a funeral director to lighten up. She still thought of herself as a doctor, not a soldier, and it was still a little surreal to have people in berets and combat fatigues salute her and call her “ma'am.” In truth she wasn't too sure she liked it. Resigning herself to the fact that she wasn't going to win this one with informality, wearily she settled for; “At ease, soldier.”
She thought she caught the hint of a smile from Harris as the standard
ping let them know that they had arrived at their destination. The doors parted and the two Privates stepped out and stood either side of the lift. Martha walked out between them as Packer gestured in the direction of their destination, then the pair fell into line behind her and marched her a few metres down to the end of the corridor towards a room on the right. Packer rapped on the door, then stood to attention, awaiting a response from inside.
“Come,” came the rather direct reply.
Packer opened the door and once again stood aside to allow Martha to enter the room. She was greeted by Colonel Oduya, a handsome black man perhaps in his late thirties or early forties, it was difficult to tell. He carried an air of austerity about him, with his ramrod posture and severe expression. If this man truly was generally a “nice guy; firm but fair,” then he was clearly not having one of the better days of his career. She couldn't really blame him, under the circumstances.
“Doctor Jones,” he said, extending his hand. “Colonel Augustus Oduya.”
Martha shook the Colonel's hand and gave him a perfunctory smile.
“Sit down, won't you?” he indicated the chair opposite his desk, then turned his attention to his two officers. “Wait outside, please.”
“Very good, Sir,” Packer replied, and closed the door, leaving the two alone.
The room was small – smaller than Martha had come to expect of the office of such a high-ranking officer – with only a desk, a filing cabinet on one side of the wall and a water cooler on the other. The Colonel's desk was adorned with papers and stationary equipment, with only a photograph of an attractive early-middle-aged woman and two young boys, whom Martha assumed to be his wife and children, adding a personal touch.
“I trust you had a good journey?” the Colonel enquired.
“Yes, Sir,” Martha replied as she sat down, a little surprised by his engaging in small talk, for she had expected him to be all 'down to business'.
“Good. Now, down to business.”
Ah, Martha thought, repressing a smile.
Oduya sat down at his desk opposite her, leaned back in his chair and steepled his hands. “We have a situation.”
I gathered, Martha thought.
Aloud, she replied; “Yes Sir.”
“I assume you've read the report.” He did not phrase the statement as a question, rather seeming to expect her to have done so.
“Yes Sir,” she said again. “It's... a strange case.”
“Indeed,” the Colonel remarked. “It would appear that we have on our hands a repeat of something that happened twenty years ago.”
“The aliens were never found?” Martha asked, wishing to clarify something she had found to be slightly unclear in the report.
“No,” Oduya confirmed. “Now it appears that they may have returned.”
* * * *
Packer wondered what they were discussing in there.
He knew very little about what was actually going on. As far as he knew, some hostile extraterrestrials had been on the loose injecting people with some kind of drug or toxin, and he had helped take three teenage victims into custody. A fourth had been captured later.
Then there had been the older woman.
He had no idea what the effects were, or whether these victims' lives were in the balance, but evidently they had fallen foul of something beyond the knowledge of human medicine; something that had clearly necessitated bringing in one of the top experts in both aliens and medicine.
God, he wanted to screw her.
He had wanted her ever since he had first set eyes on her. He chided himself for thinking like a hormonal schoolboy.
Damn it.
“What do you think they're talking about?” Harris whispered, snapping him out of his reverie.
“God knows,” he replied. He knew the answer of course, but he felt no desire to engage in conversation with Harris.
“OK, I know what they're talking
about,” Harris clarified, “but what the hell's going on, exactly?”
“How the hell should I know?” Packer replied in a harsh whisper.
“All right, mate! Jeez...” Harris said, holding up one hand in a placatory gesture.
Packer sighed.
“You would though, wouldn't you...?”
What was he talking about now?
“Mmm?” Packer replied, turning his head toward Harris.
“Jones,” Harris said as if it were obvious, and Packer realised that the conversation had now turned to pub-talk.
“Oh...” he replied. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Come on!” Harris whispered, not wanting to be heard by the Colonel or the topic of their discussion. “She's fit...”
“Yeah, I know...”
“Wouldn't you just...” he began, a little excitedly.
“Tim,” Packer cut in harshly, “just
shut the fuck up.”
Harris looked taken-aback. “What the fuck's got into you?!” he snapped, still being careful not to raise his voice.
The question hung in the air before Packer finally responded. “It's just... her.”
Harris stared at him. “What about
her? Who, Jones?”
Scott nodded. “Yeah.” He hesitated for just a moment before continuing. “We've met before.”
“Yeah?” Harris said, a little surprised. “She didn't seem to recognise you.”
“No...”
Harris regarded Packer quizzically. He wasn't being very clear, that was for sure. “Where did you meet?” he wanted to know.
“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
Harris was intrigued now. He opened his mouth to speak, but Packer silenced him with a look. Instead he turned away, not wanting to look at his fellow soldier. There was an uncomfortable silence until Harris asked another question.
“What about the other woman, the one in the cell? What's her story?”
Packer cast his mind back to the young woman they had apprehended trying to break into the facility. He still didn't understand what she thought she was doing, or how she had known to come here, but clearly she was connected to one of the teenagers in the infirmary.
He closed his eyes, reflecting on what had happened. He saw her advancing toward him in his mind's eye. He had acted quickly, but now he felt...
He wasn't sure
what he felt.
* * * *
“So, what are their symptoms?” Martha asked of the teenagers currently under observation in the base's infirmary.
“Symptoms match precisely those of the victims in 1991,” Oduya replied. “Pupil dilation, increased heart rate, perspiration etcetera, not to mention elevated levels of...” he consulted the notes on his desk, “oxytocin. The victims appear to have been subject to... the common side effect.”
Martha frowned. The common side effect to which the Colonel referred was a degree of hypersexuality. She didn't know much about the condition, but if she was correct, its cause was still largely unknown. Oxytocin was a neuromodulator in the brain, but she wasn't aware of any direct correlation between it and an increase in sexual behaviour. What the Colonel had described sounded more like an effect of methamphetamine, although the victims apparently hadn't exhibited any increased euphoria or self-esteem, or any of the other side-effects of that drug. Still, it was something she wasn't about to discount.
“So, how many are there? Four of them?” Martha sought to clarify.
“Yes. Three were brought in straight away, the fourth took some time to track down.” The Colonel hesitated for a moment before continuing. “Then a fifth unexpected visitor landed right in our lap.”
“What?” Martha asked. How long had he waited to spring this on her? “Who was that?”
“A few hours ago we were... visited by a young woman looking for one of the other victims. A highly resourceful young woman, it would seem. She knew exactly where to come and that we had her friend. We're still trying to find out how and why, not to mention exactly who she is. She wasn't carrying any I.D.”
Martha wanted him to slow down and back up. “So...” she exhaled sharply, “this woman isn't infected like any of the others? Let me get this straight, you have a friend or relative of one of the victims who somehow managed to find her way here, and knew
what was here?”
“Correct,” Oduya replied, nodding solemnly.
Martha let out a long sigh. This was an unexpected twist. “So, where is she?”
“We have her in a holding cell,” he said.
“A holding cell?” Martha asked. “Is that necessary? It sounds like all she was doing was trying to get to someone she cared about. Who do you think she is?”
“Doctor Jones, this woman knew the location of a top secret underground UNIT installation. Whoever she is, I'm not certain we can allow her to go roaming around the base freely. Besides, I felt it would be in everyone's best interests to keep her away from the victims for the time being. If we were to let her go, she could cause undue alarm.”
“Is she alright?” Martha asked, her caring instincts asserting themselves.
Again, the Colonel hesitated. “She... resisted arrest. One of my officers was forced to take... extreme measures to pacify her.”
Martha didn't like the sound of that. “What kind of 'extreme measures'?”
“She was rendered unconscious,” Oduya replied, clearly reluctant to go down this route.
“How?” Martha asked, growing more alarmed with each of the Colonel's statements.
“She was... hit with the butt of a rifle.”
Martha gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to lose her temper. “Was that... really necessary, Sir?”
“No,” he replied, surprisingly. “I don't think it entirely was, and I can assure you that the officer in question has received a reprimand. However, it's happened, and we can't afford to let her go just yet.”
Martha took a deep breath. “Has she been checked over?” If the force of a blow to the head with the butt of a rifle had been enough to knock this poor woman unconscious, it was more than likely that there would be some lasting side-effects such as concussion.
“She was looked over by one of my officers, who has basic first-aid training, but as you know we have a skeleton staff – until recently this base hadn't been fully manned for a long time. The medical staff haven't yet...”
“I'd have thought that would have been a priority, Sir,” Martha said sharply, before biting her tongue.
“Doctor Jones, now that you're here you can take a look at her,” he said calmly, sidestepping the implied question in her remark.
Martha nodded, saying no more. Already, this man was going to have to work overtime to gain the same level of respect she had for Colonel Mace.
Oduya rose from his seat and moved to the door, opening it. He gestured for Martha to follow him out. When they left the office, they were joined by Privates Harris and Packer, and she couldn't help but notice Packer eyeing her strangely. She dismissed the thought, keeping her attention on the injured woman. Eventually they stepped into a lift, which took them to the lower level. Upon stepping out she was led to a steel door at the end of a corridor, on either side of which stood two armed guards – something else Martha thought was probably highly unnecessary.
Mounted on the wall beside the door was a screen, evidently showing the interior of the cell, making observation of the prisoner much easier. Martha glanced at the screen as the Colonel gestured to one of the guards to unlock and open the door. The woman on the screen looked frightened and upset – certainly nothing like a potential threat. She appeared to be around Martha's age, pretty, blonde and...
Martha
froze.
Inching closer to the screen, she took a good, long look at the woman.
“No,” she breathed, “it can't be...”
All eyes turned toward her. “Do you know her?” the Colonel asked interestedly.
Martha opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. She stared at the screen for a few more seconds. “Yes,” she replied. Then she added; “No. Sort of... we've met, briefly, but...” Martha inhaled deeply, thinking back to the time she and the Doctor had been stuck for several weeks in 1969. “I owe her a lot.”
“Who is she?” Oduya wanted to know.
It was definitely her. There was no mistaking the woman who had helped to defeat the Weeping Angels and to return the TARDIS to 1969 so that they could escape. Suddenly the Colonel's assertion of her as a “highly resourceful young woman” made a great deal of sense.
Without looking away from the screen, Martha told him. “Her name is Sally Sparrow.”
* * * *
