Doctor Who_ Wetworld - Mark Michalowski [38]
The Doctor raised an eyebrow and gave her one of those stares.
‘You’re looking at it,’ he said.
‘You’re mad!’ cried Ty, staring at the Doctor with wide eyes.
‘One man’s madness is another man’s, erm, poison,’ the Doctor replied. ‘Say hello to the Doctor-o-tronic.’
‘Exactly,’ Ty reiterated. ‘This stuff is poison. Look what it’s done to Martha – and you’re going to, what, inject it into yourself?’
The Doctor pressed his lips together and took Ty’s hands in his. His skin felt strangely cool.
‘If there was another choice. . . ’ he said gently. ‘We need to know what those slime-things are putting into the otters – and into Martha. Your equipment here might be sophisticated, but it’s not that sophisticated. This, however –’ He tapped his temple ‘– is!’
Ty shook her head firmly.
‘Use me,’ she said suddenly, impulsively. ‘Inject it into me.’
‘Humans might be clever,’ the Doctor smiled, ‘but I’m brilliant! And at the moment, we need brilliance, not another person who needs strapping to a bed.’
‘How d’you know it won’t be you who gets strapped to the bed?
What makes you so special, hmm?’
He looked at her for a few moments.
‘We don’t have time to discuss it. Ty, I’m Martha’s best chance. I brought her here, I owe it to her.’
There was a heavy silence between them, punctuated only by the bleeps and bloops of the equipment in the lab. Eventually, realising that he wouldn’t give in, Ty sighed.
‘OK – what do we need to do?’
Marthawokeup,drenchedinsweat,herhospitalgownandthebed sheets clinging to her. For a moment, she had no idea where she was: a dimly lit room, a lemony, timbery smell in her nostrils. And then it came back to her – everything.
‘How are you feeling?’
Martha jumped as a figure appeared out of the gloom. A short, elderly Indian man, peering at her worriedly. ‘Where’s the Doctor?’
‘ The Doctor?’ the man said – his name came to her from nowhere: Dr Hashmi. Sam. He shook his head. ‘I’m not sure. D’you want me to find him?’
Hashmi glanced into the air above her, and Martha followed his gaze to see some sort of display screen, hanging over her head, showing an augmented view of her body with numerous winking lights and flickering patches on it.
‘How am I?’ she ventured.
Hashmi smiled cautiously.
‘Your friend was right,’ he said. ‘We pumped you full of every an-tihistamine and epinephrine analogue we have and it seems to have done the trick. We’ve damped down your body’s allergic reaction to whatever’s inside you.’ Martha let out a sigh and gripped the edge of the sheets – but Hashmi placed his hand on hers before she could throw them back.
He’d taken the restraints off when he’d seen that she was no longer dangerous.
‘But I think you should have a bit more rest. Your body’s very weak –
we’ve had to feed you intravenously.’
For the first time, Martha noticed the tube taped to the back of her wrist.
‘I’ve got to find the Doctor,’ she said.
‘I’ll find him for you. Stay here and I’ll get you something to eat and drink. If you get up now, you’ll be back in bed in minutes, trust me.
You’ve had quite a shock.’
Martha pursed her lips.
‘OK,’ she said, folding her hands on her stomach. ‘You find him, I’ll stay here.’
He nodded. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ he said before disappearing.
Martha gave him five, and then she was out of bed, pulling the IV
tube from her hand with a wince and smoothing the surgical tape back over it. Out of bed, and feeling decidedly weak and wobbly, she rooted around in the bedside cabinet for her clothes, but there was nothing. They must have taken them away to clean them. She scanned the ward. She was the only patient, so there were no other clothes she could steal. If she’d been back in the Royal Hope and any of her patients had behaved like this, the staff would have screamed blue murder at them. But she wasn’t, and this was different, she told herself.
Keeping an ear and an eye out for any other staff, Martha padded to the far end of the ward in her