The Story of Martha

by Dan Abnett

  One thing was sure: Martha didn’t want to face his private army. They were the kind of hard-marrowed killers who’d shoot on sight. They were the executors of Martial Law.

  She slipped between them instead. Her key let her do that. It hung around her neck on a loop of string. The Doctor had made it for her, using a TARDIS key. They’d been eating fish and chips, her, Jack and the Doctor, hiding out in an abandoned warehouse. The key was a perception filter. It didn’t render her invisible, just… inconsequential. The perception filter field generated by the adapted key allowed her to walk where she liked. People could see her, they just didn’t really notice her. The filter blended her into the background.

  Martha started. Gunfire, automatic fire, chattered a few streets away. The Containment Forces were at work nearby. Despite the protection of the key, Martha packed her things into her rucksack, and got ready to move. She had to find a new place to hide.

  She felt safer when she was hiding.

  ‘Hello, what’s this?’ asked Griffin. Rafferty slung his MP5 over his shoulder and turned to look where Griffin was pointing.

  A high-end Land Rover had just swung into the street, flanked by two UCF outriders on BMW bikes. The Land Rover had been painted matt black, and UCF decals had been fixed to the doors.

  ‘A potential pain in the backside, from the look of it,’ Rafferty replied.

  ‘Bowen, finish up!’ Griffin called. ‘Nice and tidy!’

  ‘Yes, chief!’ Bowen sang back. The squad was loading a group of dissidents into an open-back Scammell, ready to ship them off to the new labour camp in Bromley. They were a rag-tag bunch, miserably hunched, their hands on their heads. They jumped every time one of the squad team moved, or adjusted a weapon. Some of them were crying. One of them was nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh. Tap-tap-tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap-tap!

  ‘Get into the truck!’ Bowen shouted. ‘I won’t tell you twice!’

  On the pavement in front of a newsagent’s shop, six limp bodies lay under bloodstained sheets. You have to make an impression, Griffin believed. You have to show these losers who’s in charge. It’s a new world all of a sudden.

  The Land Rover pulled up. The outriders halted, and put their feet down. As he walked towards the Land Rover with Rafferty in tow, Griffin could hear the bikes’ radios chatter and pip.

  A woman got out of the Land Rover. Like Griffin and his team, she was dressed in black combat drills. She was tall and good-looking, with short, groomed blonde hair.

  ‘I’m looking for UCFA Griffin,’ she announced.

  ‘That’s me, ma’am,’ Griffin replied.

  The woman looked at him, and they exchanged salutes. ‘I’m ADC Dexter,’ she said.

  ‘I know exactly who you are, ma’am,’ Griffin said. ‘I thought the likes of you preferred to stay aboard the Valiant. Getting your boots dusty for a change, ma’am?’

  ‘The likes of me?’ the ADC sniffed.

  Griffin shrugged.

  ‘I don’t mean nothing by it,’ he said. ‘How can I help you?’

  The ADC pulled out a packet of sealed orders and handed them to Griffin. He tore them open and read them. ‘Hard target search, UCFA Griffin,’ the woman said. ‘A Class Alpha dissident is suspected at large in this vicinity. Our Master wants her brought in. Your squad’s assigned to this district, so you get the honours.’

  ‘Lucky us,’ muttered Rafferty.

  ‘Martha Jones,’ Griffin read. ‘Who’s Martha Jones?’

  ‘A known associate of the Doctor,’ the woman said. ‘She’s been on the run since Day Zero. Absconded from the Valiant by teleport.’

  ‘She armed?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘Unlikely.’

  ‘Dangerous?’

  ‘Also unlikely. Our Master doesn’t think she poses much of a threat at all, to be honest, but he’s particularly edgy when it comes to all things Doctor-related. Martha Jones is a loose end that Our Master would like tidied up.’

  ‘Begging your pardon, ma’am,’ said Rafferty, ‘but what makes you think this Jones woman is in this district?’

  ‘It’s all in the report,’ replied the ADC. ‘She used a teleport system to abscond, like I said. The Valiant’s sensor systems have identified her set-down site: Handcross Park.’

  Griffin sniffed. ‘That’s twenty miles away. And the fix is two weeks cold. She could be anywhere.’

  ‘She’s here,’ replied the ADC. ‘We’ve had several reports of her operating with dissident groups. Do a house to house, if you have to.’

  The ADC turned, as if to leave. She paused.

  ‘She’ll be disguised,’ she added.

  ‘Disguised?’ asked Griffin. ‘What? Like a fake moustache and glasses?’

  ‘She’s using a perception filter,’ said the ADC.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘It’s hard to explain. She’ll be tricky to spot. Hard to focus on. Your eyes will look elsewhere. Your mind will try not to notice her. Be alert. The moment you get a funny feeling, sharpen up. It’ll be her.’

  In the old days, Griffin would have laughed in her face. A perception filter? That sounded a little bit too sci-fi for his tastes, but things had changed in the last fortnight, and Griffin was open to a whole new world of wonder.

  ‘This sounds like a job for the Toclafane, ma’am,’ he said.

  ‘The Toclafane can’t read her,’ said the ADC. ‘This requires human senses.’

  ‘If you say so, ma’am.’

  ‘It won’t be easy, but you will see her, because you want to see her. Our Master was quite specific. Walk with me a moment, Griffin.’

  Griffin followed her away from the Land Rover and the waiting bikes. Behind them, Bowen was yelling at the dissidents for moving too slowly. The ADC smelled good in the warm sunlight. Griffin liked the smell of a handsome woman, even one in authority. At almost two metres, he towered over her, and his ex-SAS honed bulk eclipsed her.

  ‘May I be candid, UCFA Griffin?’ the ADC asked quietly.

  ‘Candid as you like, ma’am.’

  ‘Jones may have fallen into your district, but we’re keen to have you work this for us. Our Master believes that you have training and skills that can be of particular use. He’s reviewed your file, Griffin. He’s taken a personal interest. He thinks you’re the man for the job.’

  ‘I’m flattered, ma’am,’ said Griffin.

  ‘And you’ll be rewarded, Griffin. There’s a chair opening up on the Sector Council. You pull this off, and I’ll propose you myself. No more getting your boots dusty. You’ll be a serious link in the chain of command. Besides which, you’ll have come to the personal notice of Our Master. And that’s how advancements are made.’

  ‘I’ll get right on it, ma’am,’ Griffin smiled. His smile was not at all friendly, given the horizontal scar that split his cheek and lip, trophy of a Helmand Province tour.

  The ADC nodded. ‘This order supersedes all others. Hand off district duties to a subordinate. Form a kill team.’

  ‘You want her dead, then?’

  ‘Our Master wants her, period, Griffin. Hard target. I trust you won’t be distracted by her good looks?’

  Griffin looked at the order packet. ‘She’s certainly a pretty thing, ma’am,’ he admitted, ‘but you can trust me not to be swayed. Our Master only employs professionals.’

  ‘Good to hear,’ she said. She handed Griffin a mobile phone. ‘Memory one is a direct line to me on the Valiant. Stay in touch. Keep me appraised. I’ll do my best to give you all the support and back-up you need.’

  Griffin looked at the phone.

  ‘Our Master is really serious about this woman,’ he said.

  ‘He really is,’ she replied.

  He left Bowen to handle the snivelling dissidents. He drew out a core team to run with him: Bob Rafferty, his old oppo from Helmand; Lol Barker, an ex-para with a no-quit attitude he admired; Sean Jenks, another ex-para who’d seen service in Rwanda and Fallujah; Gordon ‘Toffy’ Bremner, a Royal M
arine who’d done twenty months in Basra; and ‘Yank’ James Handley, an ex-USMC sergeant attached to the United States Secret Service. Griffin didn’t know much about Handley’s background. Handley had eagerly jumped into the Master’s mercenary ranks when his principal, President Winters, had been assassinated by the Toclafane aboard the Valiant on Day Zero. Griffin reckoned that Handley wouldn’t have made Secret Service without proper chops and, besides, Handley had killer eyes that Griffin had warmed to the moment he’d met him. Stone cold, grey, like wet slate. A man with eyes like that had to be useful.

  They borrowed a UCF Humvee. Griffin held up the picture.

  ‘Martha Jones,’ he said.

  ‘Sweet,’ said Handley, with a whistle.

  ‘She’s proper easy on the eyes, chief,’ said Rafferty.

  ‘Contain yourselves,’ Griffin snapped. He moved the photo aside, so it was out of their immediate vision.

  ‘Still see her?’ he asked.

  ‘I saw her better when she was pointing at me, chief,’ said Jenks.

  ‘Get used to it. This’ll be how it is. Sexy Martha is using a perception filter. You won’t see her. She’ll blind-side you.’

  The men looked at him, waiting for the punchline.

  ‘I’m serious,’ Griffin said. ‘She’ll blend in. She’ll be standing right beside you, and you won’t know it.’

  The men began to scoff.

  ‘Shut up,’ Griffin told them. ‘This is why I picked you. You’ve all got the sense. The smarts. It’s why you’re alive today. You can all feel it when something’s not right. I’m counting on that. This Jones girl is going to be hard to find. But if we do it, if we drag her in, dead or alive, mind you, then we will make Our Master seriously happy. Want your own island in the Med, Raff?’

  ‘Thank you, chief!’ Rafferty laughed.

  ‘Want to be king of Africa, Toffy?’

  ‘If the job’s going begging, chief.’

  ‘Want to be President of the United States, Yank?’

  Handley smiled. ‘I’d make a better fist of it than the last four clowns put together, Griff,’ he chuckled.

  ‘That’s what this job could mean for us,’ said Griffin softly. ‘The personal favour for Our Master. Because he’s master of the world, and he’s asking us to do this. I’m not screwing around with you. This is the big one.’

  The men growled their approval.

  ‘Lol?’ Griffin called out.

  Lol Barker put the Humvee in drive and they prowled forward.

  ‘Where do we start, chief?’ asked Rafferty.

  ‘I like your earrings,’ said Aleesha.

  ‘What?’ asked Martha, coming to a halt.

  ‘I like your earrings. My mum has some just like them.’

  Martha stared down at the little girl. It was just getting dark. The vacant street and the empty houses around them felt all the more vacant as night closed in.

  ‘You can see me?’ asked Martha, smiling slightly.

  Aleesha looked at her as if Martha had said something strange and grown-up.

  ‘Of course I can. Why wouldn’t I?’

  ‘Well,’ Martha began. ‘I… Do you really think you should be eating that?’ she added.

  Aleesha looked down at the mouldy egg salad sandwich she had taken from the corner shop. ‘Probably not. It’s a bit yuck.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Martha asked.

  ‘Aleesha,’ Aleesha replied.

  Martha bent down and faced her.

  ‘You can really see me?’ she asked.

  ‘I can’t any more,’ Aleesha said, frowning. ‘Why can’t I? You’re right there. I saw your pretty earrings. They were glittery.’

  Martha took off the key and put it in her pocket. ‘Better?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh yeah! I can see you, all properly. What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Martha.’

  ‘Hello, Martha, I’m Aleesha.’

  ‘Hello, Aleesha,’ Martha said.

  ‘How did you do that, Martha?’ Aleesha asked. ‘Like… pop!’

  ‘It’s…’ Martha began. She wanted to use the words ‘perception filter’, but she knew that would end up being too complicated.

  ‘I wish my mum would appear like that,’ said Aleesha. ‘I keep expecting her to come back. Pop. I don’t think she’s ever going to come back.’

  ‘Come on, Aleesha, of course she will.’

  ‘I think she’s ashes,’ said Aleesha.

  Martha took a quick, deep breath. She wouldn’t cry, not in front of the little girl.

  ‘Thank you, Aleesha,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For noticing my earrings. I think I should take them off.’ Martha began to wind the studs out of her ears.

  She looked up. She’d heard the sound of an engine, a big engine. A UCF Humvee had just turned into the street.

  Martha put the key back on and took Aleesha’s hand. ‘Aleesha?’

  ‘Yes, Martha?’

  ‘I need you to come with me. I need you to run.’

  ‘I can do that,’ said Aleesha.

  ‘Did you see that?’ asked Rafferty. ‘Fifty yards down on the right. I saw something move.’

  ‘So did I, chief,’ Jenks told Griffin. ‘It looked like a little girl. I think she went in through those houses.’

  ‘I don’t think she was alone,’ said Rafferty.

  ‘You see a second body?’ asked Griffin.

  ‘No,’ said Rafferty. ‘That’s what I’m talking about.’

  Griffin nodded. He checked the tactical log via the vehicle’s dashboard PC. Over Watch appraisals reported a dissident group operating in the vicinity, but he could see the look on Rafferty’s face.

  ‘I saw the little girl, chief,’ said Rafferty. ‘I only realised there was someone with her when they were gone.’

  ‘Go!’ ordered Griffin.

  Barker hit the brakes, and the squad dismounted. Safeties clacked off. They moved like shadows through the dusk, skirting abandoned cars.

  Griffin prowled forwards. Half an egg salad sandwich lay on the pavement, spilling from its plastic carton. Griffin raised his hand and made a series of quick gesture-commands. The men spread out. Barker led the way down an alley between the houses, his MP5 raised to his shoulder.

  Griffin followed him. Could they really have got so lucky so soon?

  Aleesha was keeping up pretty well. Hand in hand, they crossed a concrete yard edged by private garages, and then ran through a communal lawn area between three blocks of flats. A swing set and a miniature roundabout were surrounded by over-long, unmown grass.

  Martha felt her heart racing. As the Doctor’s travelling companion, she had experienced her fair share of dangerous escapades and close calls, but this was different. This felt unpleasantly real. The Doctor wasn’t there to lift her spirits or explain the fantastical away. She was afraid. There were men with guns closing in behind them.

  Martha was already beginning to despair over the mission the Doctor had sent her on. Two weeks since Day Zero, and she’d barely begun. She hadn’t even left South London. She’d made ineffectual contact with a few groups of survivors, but they’d been too preoccupied with the day-to-day problems of finding food, water and places to sleep to pay her much attention. Martha was pretty sure at least one of the groups had given up info about her to the UCF in the hope of getting an amnesty.

  Walk the Earth. Spread the word. It was just ridiculous. It was simply impossible. She was one woman. Her skills base did not cover urban survival or covert ops. She was learning all the time, but she kept making elementary mistakes. Sooner or later, something stupid was going to get her killed. Her earrings, for instance. Bright, shiny earrings. The little girl hadn’t seen Martha, but she’d seen her earrings. Stupid, stupid.

  Martha was pretty fit, but not fit enough for this kind of covert living. She’d been sleeping rough, sleeping badly, and her diet was lousy. She was tired all the time, and the little sleep she did get was populated by the Toclaf
ane, the Master’s smile and the Doctor’s disappointed eyes.

  They ran into the entrance hall of one of the blocks of flats. Martha pulled Aleesha in against the wall, and made a shushing gesture against her lips with her finger. Aleesha nodded, her eyes wide.

  Martha snuck a look back. Outside, in the dying light, the communal court was empty. Somewhere, a famished dog was howling. A few, random street lamps, activated by light sensors, had begun to shine sodium yellow.

  A man appeared. He was dressed in black and armed. A Containment Forces Agent. He edged out into the open, and came to a halt beside the swing set. He panned his automatic weapon around, then gestured. Two more men appeared, and then a fourth. They fanned out. The first man rested his foot against the recycled rubber seat of the swing and set it swaying, to and fro, on its chains. The chains squealed as they swung.

  Martha knew she could find somewhere, hide, and let the perception filter do the rest, but she had the little girl to worry about. Aleesha didn’t have a perception filter, and she certainly wasn’t bullet-proof. Martha couldn’t just leave her.

  Aleesha had already been left, in the worst way. Martha wondered how long Aleesha had been waiting for her mum. The little girl might have been on her own for as long as two weeks.

  That thought brought hot tears up in Martha’s eyes. She breathed hard. She refused to cry. She absolutely wouldn’t cry.

  She wondered if she wanted to cry for Aleesha, for the Doctor, for the world… or just for herself, for being so useless. He should never have trusted her. She almost hated the Doctor for asking so much of her.

  The UCF agent by the swing set turned, as if he had sensed her deep intake of breath, or had smelled her tears. He gestured and pointed. The men closed in around him and jogged towards the block of flats. There were six of them now.

  ‘Up,’ Martha whispered in Aleesha’s ear. As quietly as they could, they ran up a flight of concrete steps into the base level of the tower block. The grubby stairwell led away above them, but to the left was an arch of twilight, an access way onto an upper court.