The road less travelled...

Title: Planet of the Dead and the Living 3/7
Author: katherine_b
Characters/Pairing: The Doctor (Ten), Donna, Lady Christina de Souza
Rating: G
Spoilers: Everything in Planet of the Dead and some things for NuWho S4.

Part III

Donna watches as the Doctor and Christina head up the nearest dune. She's watched the unfolding action outside the bus, with the backs of the seats from the upper levels being used as a track to direct the bus into the wormhole.

She can't help feeling, as she gets back onto the bus, that she’s somewhat out of her depth in this situation.

However it's more than feeling useless. God knows, she's used to that where the Doctor's concerned.

Okay, so he’d deny she was ever useless.

And maybe, after everything that’s happened, he’s got a point.

But ever since learning about Carmen's gift, she's felt herself drawn to that woman for a reason she can't identify.

So she listened with half an ear to the revelations about the contents of Christina's backpack and said nothing as Angela tried to start the bus and then Barclay began to clean the sand out of the engine.

The Doctor had glanced back at her as he began to climb the dune, but she had nodded at him to keep going and now turns as she hears her name spoken by Nathan, who has just climbed onto the bus.

“You're not going to go with him?”

“Nah.” Donna watches carelessly as the Doctor and Christina crest the dune and disappear down the far side. “He'll be all right.”

“You wanna be careful,” Barclay warns from outside. “That woman's moving in on your bloke.”

Donna chuckles somewhat tiredly. “Oh, we're not together. Not like that. We just travel together, that's all.”

“Oh.”

Nathan stands in the doorway for a moment before taking a firmer grip on the shovel and disappearing out of the bus again.

Donna turns to Carmen, who's watching her intently.

“You want to know,” that woman says. “You want to know how I know.”

“Yes.” Donna can't be surprised by that knowledge. “I've met people like you before. Well, I say people. They weren't really. Not humans. Aliens, mostly. But they always seemed to know, to be so sure of things.”

Donna falls silent for a moment, thinking of the Pyroviles and the Ood.

“So,” she asks, dragging her thoughts back to the present, “how do you know you're right and it's not just, I don't know, what you want to believe?”

Carmen looks thoughtful, her gaze travelling out of the window and over the sandy dunes.

“It just – is,” she says finally. “I just know.”

“She's never been able to explain it,” Lou tells her, his arm around Carmen's shoulders. “She just knows.”

Donna nods slowly. “What do you know about me then?”

Carmen fixes her gaze on Donna, her eyes suddenly intense. “She is returning,” she says slowly, and Donna feels a thrill down her spine at the slow, clear syllables.

“Who?” she demands, trying to shake off the feeling. “Who is returning?”

“She.” Carmen nods, now turning back to the front of the bus, her voice rising in both volume and intensity. “Closer and closer and closer...”

* * *
The Doctor burst back onto the bus and skids to a halt.

“Where is it?” he demands.

“There,” Barclay tells him, following the others back inside. “There on the seat!”

He snatches up the mobile phone, even as he sees Donna's hand move to her pocket.

“You left it on the TARDIS,” he reminds her as he pulls out the sonic screwdriver and aims it at the phone. “Out of power, remember?”

Donna sighs and drops her hand again as Christina speaks.

“You're hardly going to get a signal,” she says in disbelieving tones. “We're on another planet!”

“Just watch me!” he retorts as he puts the sonic away. “Right, now, bit of hush, thank you,” he demands somewhat pompously. “Gotta remember the number. Very important number,” he adds as he types it in.

There's a ring and then the call is answered.

“Hello, Pizza Geronimo.”

He disconnects the call at once with an exclamation of annoyance. “How'd I get into that?”

“You must have remembered from when we ordered take-away the other night, after you burnt the chops,” Donna suggests, and he glares at her out of the corner of his eye, even as he realises what's wrong.

“7-6 not 6-7,” he corrects.

Still, at least now he knows why it felt so familiar when he ordered the pizza.

The phone rings once and is then answered by an automated voice.

“This is the Unified Intelligence Taskforce,” he's relieved to hear, but is aggravated by the continuation of the message. “Please select one of the following four options: If you want...”

“Oh, I hate these things!” he bursts out.

“If you keep your finger pressed on zero, you get through to a real person,” the blonde woman says from the doorway, adding smugly, “I saw that on Watchdog.”

“Thank you Angela!” he exclaims, sitting down as he does so.

“UNIT helpline,” says a confident-sounding female voice. “Which department would you like?”

“Listen, this is the Doctor,” he says, adding softly, when he hears a faint gasp from the other end, “it's me.”

“Doctor!” The receptionist is silent for a moment. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“I'm calling about the bus,” he says sharply. “The one that disappeared on – where was the tunnel again?” he demands, looking around at the other passengers.

“Gladwell road,” Nathan tells him.

“Thanks. Yes, Gladwell road,” he says into the phone. “Do you people know about it yet?”

“Yes, sir!” He can hear brisk typing on the other end. “We received a call several hours ago. We have a team there now. Would you like me to put you through to them?”

“Well, of course I would!” he bursts out in frustration.

He knew there was a reason he really didn't like UNIT.

“Why didn't you call Torchwood?” Donna demands at this juncture, as he attempts to ignore the appalling muzak coming from the phone. “Surely this is more up their alley, and I know what you said about UNIT during that time with the Sontarans.”

“I'm not letting Captain Jack get his grubby little hands on this if I can help it.” The Doctor frowns. “He did quite enough last time.”

“Yes, just helped save the Universe, that's all,” Donna retorts, flipping her hair over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. “I suppose that doesn’t count for anything, though, does it?”

“Donna, Torchwood's in Cardiff and we were in London,” he snaps impatiently as the phone rings through to the team on site at the tunnel entrance. “UNIT can get there quicker than Torchwood.”

“But you didn't call Martha...” she's beginning again when a voice comes on the line and cuts her off.

“UNIT. Is that you, Doctor?”

“Yes, it is,” he says briskly. “I need to speak to whoever's in charge there.”

“Yes, sir. At once. I'll get the Captain for you.” There's a pause and then he hears the voice again. “Captain. Urgent call, ma'am, relayed direct from HQ.”

“Who is it?” a female voice demands.

“It's him, ma'am,” the soldier replies, and the Doctor rolls his eyes. He's really rather fed-up with the hero-worship.

Unless it's coming from his companions, of course.

“It's the Doctor,” the soldier says, and there's a moment of silence before a rustle announces that the phone has been handed over.

“Doctor, this is Captain Erisa Magambo,” the woman's voice says again, and the Doctor notices a strange expression on Donna's face. However his attention is quickly distracted by the sound of the voice on the other end of the phone.

“Might I say, sir, it's an honour?”

“Did you just salute?” he demands.

“No,” she replies in tones that make it evident that she's lying.

“I'll have one if she's offering,” Donna interrupts with a grin.

“Miss Noble,” the Captain says at once, her tone implying that she's saluting again, and Donna's jaw drops.

“How did you know my name?” she asks sharply.

“Yeah, not now, Donna,” the Doctor snaps. “Erisa, it's about the bus. HQ said you were at the tunnel, yeah?”

“And where are you?” she asks.

“I'm on the bus, but apart from that,” he's forced to admit, “not a clue.” He gets out of his seat to lean across Donna out of the window. “Except it's very pretty and pretty dangerous.”

“A body came through here,” the Captain tells him. “Have you sustained any more fatalities?”

“No, and we're not going to,” he says firmly as he sees the tears in Angela's eyes. “But I'm stuck,” he admits as he drops back into the other seat. “I haven't got the TARDIS and I need to analyse that wormhole.”

“We have a scientific advisor on site,” Erisa says eagerly. “Dr Malcolm Taylor. Just the man you need – he's a genius.”

“Oh, is he?” the Doctor says doubtfully. He's never felt that any of the people UNIT claimed to be geniuses came near his estimation of that level. “We'll see about that.”

“Geez, give him a chance,” Donna mutters, but he waves a hand to shut her up and listens to Captain Magambo's footsteps.

“It's the Doctor,” her voice says a moment later.

“No, I'm all right now, thanks. It was just a little bit of a sore throat,” comes the ready reply, and the Doctor rolls his eyes so much that he gives himself a headache.

This is their genius?

“Although I've got to be honest, a cup of tea might be nice.” the voice continues.

“It's 'the' Doctor,” says Erisa, with particular emphasis on the middle word.

There's a strange silence on the other end. The Doctor listens for breathing and is mildly disturbed when he can't hear any. When the male voice eventually does speak, his tones are so faint that the Doctor wonders if he's about to pass out.

“D'you mean - the 'Doctor' doctor?”

The Doctor restrains himself from commenting, but it's an effort, particularly when he can see the growing smirk on Donna's face. The Captain's comments only make it worse.

“I know,” she says slowly as he gives his eye an impatient rub. “We all want to meet him one day. But we all know what that day will bring.”

“I can hear everything you're saying,” he reminds them.

There's a wheezy gasp on the other end – the Doctor wonders if it's laughter or confusion – and then the phone changes hands.

“Oh, uh, hello Doctor? Oh, my goodness.”

“Yes, I am,” he says tiredly, and without any pleasure. “Hello, Malcolm.”

“The Doctor! Corblimey! I can't believe I'm actually speaking to you! I mean, I've read all the files!”

Okay, so he rather likes that. He's apparently speaking to – what was it Donna had called them when she was talking about some television show or other? Oh, yes – a fanboy.

“Oh, really?” he asks, trying not to grin and failing miserably. “What was your favourite? Giant robot?” And then, as Donna points violently out the rear window, “No, no, let's sort out that wormhole. Excuse me,” he adds to the other people on the bus, getting up and moving to the driver's seat.

On the other end of the line, as he nods for Donna to join him, he hears Captain Magambo demanding that the phone be set on speaker. Good, so he knows what not to say if he wants to avoid setting UNIT off. And he certainly knows how easy that can be!

“Malcolm, something's not making sense here,” he admits. “I've got a storm and a wormhole and I can't help thinking there's a connection. I need a complete full-range analysis of that wormhole – the whole thing.”

Out of the corner of his eye, as Donna waits in the doorwell, he sees in the rear-view mirror as Christina moves up the bus to join them.

He's not surprised.

“Well, I've probably got the wrong idea,” Malcolm admits with audible reluctance. “But I've wired up an integrator. I thought it could measure the energy signature.”

The Doctor closes his eyes in frustration. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” he scolds. “That will never work.”

“It's quite extraordinary, though,” Malcolm goes on, apparently having heard nothing. “I'm measuring an oscillation of 15 malcolms per second.”

“Fifteen what?” the Doctor demands.

“Fifteen malcolms. It's my own little term.” He can hear the pride in Malcolm's voice. “A wavelength parcel at 10 kilohertz operating in four dimensions equals one malcolm.”

“You named a unit of measurement after yourself?” the Doctor asks in disbelief.

Is this man a genius or an egotist?

“Well, it didn't do Mr Watt any harm,” comes the reply.

The Doctor would argue, but he can already sense the futility, and indeed Malcolm gives him no time to say anything.

“Furthermore, 100 malcolms equals a bernard.”

“And who's that?” the Doctor can't help asking. That's the problem with insatiable curiosity. “Your dad?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” comes the somewhat tart reply. “That's Quatermass.”

The Doctor has a vague memory that that name has something to do with the Rocket Group, but he's got no time for specifics now.

“Right. Fine,” he snaps. “But before I die of old age, which,” he adds honestly, “in my case would be quite an achievement, so congratulations on that, is there anyone else I can talk to?”

“No, no, no, no,” Malcolm protests, and the Doctor can hear the horror in his voice. “But listen. I set the scanner to register what it can't detect and inverted the image.”

“You did what?” he demands.

Surely this man could never have come up with that himself. Could he?

“Is that wrong?” Malcolm demands, the anxiety clear in his tones.

“No, Malcolm, that's brilliant!” he exclaims in delight. “So you can actually measure the wormhole? Okay, I agree, that is genius!”

“The Doctor called me a genius,” Malcolm says softly, almost plaintively.

“I know, I heard,” replies Captain Magambo's voice in the background.

“Now, run a capacity scanner,” the Doctor orders. “I need a full report and call me back when you've done it. And – Malcolm – you're my new best friend.”

“Oi!” the woman in the doorway protests at once.

“Oh, pipe down, Donna,” he hisses over Malcolm's gleeful exclamation that the Doctor is his best friend, too.

The Doctor disconnects the call and ducks around Donna to get out of the door of the bus.

“Barclay, I'm holding onto this,” he calls back, waving the phone to show what he means.

“Hey, then you'd better bring it back!” comes the reply from inside the bus.

Ignoring both this and Nathan continuing to dig out the wheels, the Doctor runs up the same dune as he and Christina did before, that woman hard on his heels. Back at their former vantage point, he holds up the phone to take a picture of the storm clouds.

“Send this back to Earth and see if Malcolm can analyse the storm,” he tells Christina.

“There's something in those clouds,” she says. “Something shining. Look.”

He raises his eyes from the phone to the clouds and realises she's right. Tiny pinpricks of silver are glowing through the dust clouds.

“Like metal,” he offers.

“Why would there be metal in a storm?” she asks, and for once he has no answers.

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