The Statues are Moving

A ONE-OFF DOCTOR WHO FANFIC SPECIAL FOR CHILDREN IN NEED 2015

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor was rocking out.

He cut a slightly comical figure: a tall, wiry man with tight curls of iron-grey hair and the first hint of lines on his craggy, oddly handsome face, intent on revisiting his long-lost rebellious youth.

He was striding around the brightly-lit control room, bathed in the golden glow of the central column. He had a gleaming tobacco sunburst Gibson Les Paul slung low across his torso; the Marshall stack behind him was shaking under the barrage of sound. His long black coat flapped like a cape as he whirled and gyrated, but his opaque black shades somehow managed to stay firmly in place. With the PA turned up way beyond danger level, the music was heavy enough to cause a localised spacetime distortion.

The last-but-one of the Time Lords was playing along to his Desert Planet Discs.

Halfway through ‘Voodoo Chile’ the door to the living quarters swung open. Clara Oswald stood there, shaking her head in disbelief. Her shoulder-length brown hair was slightly dishevelled, as if she’d just got out of bed. She was wearing a black poloneck jumper, a tartan miniskirt and black calf-length boots, and had a little bag slung over her shoulder. The pretty young teacher and occasional time traveller tried not to laugh at the sight of her friend windmilling his way through the massive Jimi Hendrix Experience outro.

‘Don’t you ever sleep?’ she yelled when he turned to face her.

The Doctor’s arms stopped flailing.

‘Sorry?’ He looked blankly at her. ‘You'll have to speak up!’

Clara ran across the room and tugged the guitar cable from the amp. It didn’t make any noticeable difference, though; the original multi-tracked stereo recording was still blasting from the TARDIS speakers.

‘I stole this guitar from Jimi Hendrix himself,’ the Doctor shouted amid the sonic onslaught. ‘Would you believe he was actually going to set fire to it?’

Clara grabbed his shoulder and pressed her face against the side of his head.

‘Turn it down!’ she screamed.

With a petulant expression on his face, the Doctor pressed a button on the console and the music faded quickly to background level.

‘Sorry,’ he said, as though nothing untoward had happened. ‘It’s a rubbish PA anyway – it only goes up to eleven. You were saying—?’

‘You’re a pain in the arse!’ Clara snapped, assuming the tone of voice she used when dealing with wayward pupils. ‘In fact, you’re impossible to live with!’

‘I’m impossible?’ he retorted, snatching off his shades and glaring at her, his fierce eyebrows bristling. ‘Is that a fax from Miss Pot for the attention of Mr Kettle, Impossible Girl?’

Despite herself, Clara laughed. She could never stay angry with him for long.

‘Look at this.’

She pulled out her smartphone, scrolled through the display, and handed it to her oldest, wisest, and undoubtedly most annoying friend.

‘Yes, I know – touchscreen technology. You humans never fail to amaze me.’

‘Not the touchscreen,’ she said patiently. ‘Read what‘s on the screen.’

He scrolled down for a few moments and turned slightly pale. Handing the phone back to her without a word, he started swiftly programming a fresh set of co-ordinates into the TARDIS navigational system.

‘“The Statues are Moving”,’ she said. ‘Does that mean the Weeping Angels?’

‘I don't know. I sincerely hope not,’ the Doctor replied in a low voice. ‘I‘ve met them before, and I’ve been lucky to get away from them every time. My friends weren’t so fortunate …’

‘We’d better go and investigate, though, right?‘ Clara suggested.

At that moment the engine noise died away. The Doctor turned to face her.

‘We’re already on the case!’ He swung round and an unexpected grin split his face. ‘Croeso i Gymru, as the friendly natives say.’

He crossed the room and flung open the main door with a dramatic flourish.

The TARDIS had landed in an almost empty car park. The sky was pitch dark and overcast; a light drizzle was falling, glowing in the sodium street-lamp glare.

‘Every time I come to the South Wales Valleys, it’s raining,’ the Doctor said, stepping out onto the gravel surface. ‘I sometimes wonder if it ever actually stops.’

‘What? You’ve been here before?’

‘Yes. Maybe – I don’t know for sure. This valley, the next one, the one over there …’ He pointed vaguely east. ‘They all look the same after a while. All full of huge chapels and surrounded by coal heaps.’

Clara joined him, and he locked the door behind them.

‘What does it say on your phone? Where exactly are the statues moving?’

‘The Bush Inn and Sports Bar.’ Clara slipped her phone back into her bag and followed the Doctor as he strode towards the road. ‘It’s just around the corner.’

They walked quickly past the bus station, ignoring a group of youngsters sheltering inside. They were kicking a football idly, smoking, and shouting abuse at each other.

‘Some of yours, I take it?’

‘No, I think teenagers are pretty much alike wherever you go.’

The Doctor chuckled. ‘I certainly wasn’t. All that angst-ridden rebellion stuff came much later.’

They passed a row of small shops and turned left into the main street of the town. Halfway along, on the left, a group of people were standing outside a large pub, chatting, laughing and smoking. A white hire van was parked in front of the building. Fast, driving, powerful rock music became clearly audible as they approached.

‘Are you sure this is the right place?’

He stopped in his tracks; she checked her phone and nodded.

‘Yeah, the Bush Inn. That’s it.’ She pointed to the recently repainted name in relief on the upper storey.

Something stuck on the window caught Clara’s eye, and she walked over to read it. Suppressing a smile, she turned back and beckoned him over. He read the notice and laughed loudly.

‘“Clay Statues” live, Friday, thirteenth of November.’ Clara chuckled. ‘They’re not aliens – they‘re a band.’

‘“The Statues are Moving”, indeed!’ The Doctor frowned at her. ‘You do realise we could have had UNIT and Torchwood on Code Red – just because of a viral marketing campaign! That would have been a very unlucky Friday the thirteenth.’

Clara shrugged. ‘It got us interested, so I supposed it worked. Anyway, you’re always saying you don’t get to go to gigs these days.’

‘Last time I was here I ended up at a gig in a pub,’ he replied with a wink. *

‘When was that?’

‘Ages ago. A lifetime ago. No – two lifetimes ago, come to think of it.’

He smiled and peered through the window.

It was a long, narrow building with a bar along one wall. The band were already playing, and a substantial crowd had piled in to watch and listen. She turned to him with a sly smile.

‘Well, we might as well have a drink while we’re here,’ she suggested. ‘I’ll get the first round.’

The crowd of smokers made way for Clara and the Doctor followed close behind, putting his shades back on as he stepped through the door.

The place was packed with people of all ages, and the music was even louder inside. The band were set up in the corner near the main window. There were only two of them: a stocky guy stood up front, barking into the microphone and strangling a bass guitar. He had longish dark hair and had made a vague attempt at a beard. Behind him, a sandy-haired chap with glasses and a mature beard pounded a large drum kit.

The Doctor surveyed the crowd with relief. There was no sign of alien technology whatsoever. He slipped his shades into his pocket and chuckled at the strange circumstances that had somehow brought him back to Aberdare on another wet autumn weekend.

Clara pushed her way through the crowd and squeezed in at the bar. The Doctor leaned against a pillar, a studiedly neutral expression on his long narrow face, afraid to let on that he was actually enjoying the music. A couple of minutes later Clara nudged him and pushed a pint of creamy lager into his outstretched hand.

‘Well, this makes a nice change from flying around the universe all night,’ she shouted into his ear. He grinned.

‘Aye, you’re right. In fact, it could be just what the Doctor ordered.’

They stood together by the pillar, enjoying their drinks and listening to the extraordinary music the two lads somehow managed to make. It was an unusual combination; but it worked.

The duo stopped for a break, and the Doctor gave them a friendly nod as they made their way to the bar.

‘They probably think you’re a talent scout,’ Clara said, and he smiled.

‘That was my excuse last time, too.’ Then he turned to face her, beaming with delight. ‘Or else I’m the eccentric old hippy who brings his daughter to gigs with him.’

‘You said it – not me!’ Clara smirked.

They chatted for a while with some of the other punters, and decided to stay for the second half. The Doctor bought another round, and watched in amusement as the unusual band started setting up again.

They were approaching the end of their set when the Doctor turned his attention back to his companion. He leaned close to her and bellowed into her ear, ‘Do they think they’d be even better with a lead guitarist? I can think of someone who’s pretty decent …’

Clara tried not to laugh.

‘I think you’re probably a bit too old,’ she said, suppressing a grin.

‘Rubbish – I’m in better shape than Keith Richards, and he should have died forty years ago …’ His voice tailed off. ‘Hang on a minute – you don’t think …’

He and Clara exchanged wary glances.

‘No – surely not. You mean …?’

‘The Rolling Stones might actually be shape-shifting aliens!’ A look of horror spread across the Doctor's face. ‘We'd better check that out ASAP!’

Without another word he drained his pint and barged his way urgently through the crowd, with Clara following in his slipstream.

THE END

* See 'Pit Stop'

If you've enjoyed this piece of totally unofficial and unauthorised Doctor Who fan/fun fiction, please consider making a donation to BBC CHILDREN IN NEED. Thanks for stopping by!

Episode 3

The South Wales Valleys, 7.18 p.m.

The band were taking a well-earned break. The Doctor and Pam were sitting at a table in the bar, a noisy crowd of pool-players behind them. His head was spinning – not from the ear-splitting music, nor from the lager, but from Pam's relentless questioning. She'd been talking non-stop since they'd left the TARDIS, except for a few minutes while she was at the bar.

'Blimey, your parents knew what they were doing,' he gasped when she finally stopped for breath.

'How do you mean?' She looked baffled.

'They called you Pam! It's Welsh for "why" – they must have known what you'd be like when you were older! It's just "why, why, why?" all the time.' He took a sip of his lager and grinned. 'Mind you, it could have been worse – they could have called you Delilah!'

'Cheeky bastard!'

Pam pretended to look hurt, but he smiled again.

'Oh, I'm only kidding. Curiosity's a good thing. It's like that Rudyard Kipling poem:

I keep six honest serving-men,
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When,
And How and Where and Who.'

He winked at her.

'Could have been written especially for me, that could! Actually, I think it was.'

He swallowed the last of his pint and stood up.

'Same again?'

He headed towards the bar, leaving Pam even more thoroughly bemused than before.

After they'd left the mysterious blue box in the lane, Pam had followed her new friend into the supermarket opposite the pub. On the way, he'd asked her to keep the owner talking while he fiddled with the ATM. A few moments later the Doctor had turned around with a huge smile, shoved a handful of notes into his pocket, and bade the shopkeeper a cheerful 'goodbye' as he dragged Pam back towards the pub.

By now, Pam was convinced that he was a psychiatric patient. Maybe he'd absconded from the hospital in the neighbouring town. It didn't help that her new friend mentioned 'aliens' and 'time travel' as casually as Jeremy Clarkson might refer to engine capacity and fuel consumption.

She finished her drink and leaned back in her chair, watching the Doctor chatting easily to the barmaid. Still, it made a change from getting drunk with the usual Sunday crowd.

Across the bar, Jimmy Davies was embarking on his seventh pint of Export lager. His tattooed arms, as thick as a man's thigh, bulged from the sleeves of his too-tight Motorhead t-shirt. His shaved head reflected the coloured lights behind the stage. He wiped a thin covering of foam from his goatee beard and glared across the bar with thinly-veiled hostility.

Amy, the tiny brunette barmaid, was laughing at something at the tall, eccentrically dressed stranger had said. She thought Jimmy hadn't noticed. She'd spent several weekend shifts trying to persuade him that she wasn't interested in him, but to no avail.

Now it seemed that a potential rival had appeared on the scene, and Jimmy's Alpha Male instincts were kicking in. At first, he had paid no attention, but Amy was obviously interested in the new arrival. As the alcohol level in his blood kept increasing, so did Jimmy's jealousy.

After a promising rugby career had been cut short by a knee injury, he had turned his attention to weight-training and bodybuilding instead. Along with several of his pals, Jimmy was a regular user of the illicit steroids that circulated in the gyms and sports clubs of the valleys. The rest of the pub regulars gave him a wide berth when he was tanked up. He was renowned for his violent outbursts, often with only the slightest provocation.

As he watched Amy leaning towards the man in the smart suit and long coat, an unhealthy cocktail of alcohol, steroids, and his own insecurities was being mixed in Jimmy's mind.

7.27 p.m.

Outside, in the softly-falling rain, Captain Jack Harkness led the way towards the pub.

Ianto, Martha, and former WPC Gwen Cooper were following close behind. Jack held an electronic instrument in his outstretched hand. A green light on its screen was blinking furiously. He paused a few yards away from the knot of smokers milling around outside, and turned to his colleagues.

'Okay, folks, there's a sonic device somewhere in this building – and where there's a sonic device, the Doctor's not far behind.'

He pocketed the gadget and made his way towards the group of people around the entrance.

'Remember, we're not here to bring in a hostile alien – but we might still attract attention. Try to blend in, and just act naturally. With any luck, this should be straightforward enough.'

'I hate that word,' Gwen muttered in a low voice to Martha. 'It's like "foolproof".'

7.28 p.m.

The Doctor returned to Pam's side, whistling happily, unaware that Jimmy's envious glare was trained on him. He picked up his glass and swallowed a mouthful of lager.

'Cheers!' He clinked his glass against Pam's. 'I really should take a wrong turning more often – this is turning into a fun evening!”

At that moment, Jack pushed open the door and strode into the pub. His greatcoat swung like a heavy curtain as Gwen and Ianto flanked him in the doorway. The Doctor leapt out of his chair, beaming from ear to ear.

'Oh, here's trouble!' he cried in delight.

He stepped forward, extended a hand to Jack, and embraced his old friend in full view of the pub. Jack planted a kiss on the Doctor's lips and cuffed him playfully on the shoulder. An uneasy murmur ran through the room at this unashamed display of male affection.

It increased in volume as the punters caught sight of a petite mixed-race girl, wearing a red leather jacket and tight jeans, a huge smile on her face. She threw her arms around the Doctor, and he lifted her off her feet as they kissed. Amy couldn't help but stare as the handsome stranger swung the girl around. Jimmy stared too. His regular Sunday drinking session was turning into a freak show.

'Hey, this is a turn up for the books,' Martha squealed as he put her down. 'We're rescuing you for a change!'

'Well, not exactly rescuing,' he grinned. 'Just giving me a bit of technical support, that's all.'

Martha stepped aside and allowed Gwen and Ianto through the crowd. The Doctor shook Ianto's hand, then Gwen's, beaming all over his face.

'And finally, I get to meet you two in the flesh! I hope you're keeping an eye on him.' He jerked his thumb towards Jack. 'He gets into all sorts of mischief when I'm not around.'

Jack narrowed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully not to smile.

'Yeah, we know. We do our best,' Gwen replied.

Ianto became aware that Pam was staring at him, and the Doctor quickly introduced her to his friends.

'Not being funny, but you look really familiar,' she said as she shook Ianto's hand. 'I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before.'

'I think I've just got one of those faces,' he said with a shrug.

Jack pulled a small plastic box from his pocket and handed it to the Doctor with a wink.

'I hope it works.'

The Doctor turned the object over, watching the light reflect off its multifaceted surface, and a grin spread across his face.

'Oh, Jack, you're a star!'

'It's mostly Toshiko's work. I haven't tested it, but she never let us down. I just had to finish it off, after she …'

'Yeah, I was sorry to hear about her and Owen.'

'Perils of the job. Shit happens.'

Jack shrugged and pulled his wallet out.

'Right – drinks! Gwen and Martha – lager? Ianto, Coke?'

The others nodded their agreement. Jack made his way to the bar. The Doctor was still examining the device, and Pam nudged his shoulder.

'What's that for, then?'

'It's an emergency power pack.' He held it up so she could see it more clearly. 'You know, like one of those battery chargers you can get for a mobile phone. Gives you enough juice to last until you get chance to recharge properly.'

'Speaking of mobile phones,' Martha interrupted, 'why did you ring me from a payphone? What happened to my old phone?'

'Ah!' He looked embarrassed, and Martha gave him a stern look. 'Right. Your old phone.' He pulled a face. 'Well, you remember when every telephone exchange on earth dialled me simultaneously?'

'Yeah?' she said slowly, raising one eyebrow.

'It kind of … well, melted.'

'That was a two hundred quid phone!'

'Yeah, but you must admit the ringtones were rubbish …'

Jack returned from the bar, handed Martha her drink and smiled.

'Never takes long for you two to start arguing, does it?'

Pam glared at Martha for a moment.

'Hang on, are you two―?'

'No!' they shouted together.

'It's really complicated,' she added. 'Just forget about it.'

Jack sank his substantial frame into a low armchair and raised his glass.

'Just what I needed – a quiet drink with some old friends.'

In the big room, the band were getting ready for their second set of the night. Over the next few minutes, most of the punters filed through the doorway into the lounge. Ianto and Gwen followed them out of curiosity. A couple of minutes later, the opening bars of one of Bryan Adams' big hits rang out, and a few people in the audience cheered.

'Oh, "Summer of '69",' Pam shouted over the sound of the band. 'Great song!'

'I dunno about that,' the Doctor said, a petulant note in his voice. 'I mean, in July 1969, a human being set foot on another world for the first time. The pinnacle of your civilisation, the culmination of millions of years of evolution – and all it means to him is buying a guitar and snogging a girl. Talk about missing the point!'

'Okay then, what were you doing in the summer of '69?' Martha teased.

'Me?' He swigged his lager and leant back against the quiz machine. 'I was in UNIT HQ, watching the moon landing on TV with the Brigadier, and laughing my socks off! Blimey, how you lot ever got that thing off the ground …' He shook his head and grinned.

'What about you, Jack?'

'I can't tell you exactly where I was. Classified.' He sipped his mineral water and winked at her. 'Let's just say the summer of '69 lived up to its name.'

Trying not to blush, Pam grabbed the Doctor's hand and dragged him towards the doorway.

'Come on,' she cried, 'let's go and dance.'

He vanished into the crowd with a backwards pleading glance at Martha and Jack.

'If you can't beat 'em, join 'em,' he chuckled. He slipped his arm around her shoulders and they made their way into the lounge.

Gwen and Ianto were throwing shapes in front of the stage, along with about a dozen other people. The Doctor and Pam were bouncing around energetically some distance away, and here and there lights flashed as camera phones snapped souvenir pictures of the mismatched couple.

'Well, I did tell them to try and blend in,' Jack said in a low voice.

Jimmy watched with cold resentment as the regular routine of a Sunday afternoon slipped rapidly away. He'd temporarily forgotten about Amy. Instead, his gaze was fixed on Gwen. The little brunette seemed to be the only normal one in the group of strangers. His sozzled brain couldn't figure out why she'd be hanging around with the rest of her friends.

As the song came to an end, Gwen and Ianto emerged from the press of dancing bodies. She made their way over to Jack and Martha and gulped her drink. It seemed that the Doctor had been well and truly captured. Pam was showing him off to some of her pals.

'See, Ianto, I told you it wouldn't be as bad as you thought,' Jack smiled.

The younger man shrugged and sipped his Coke.

The band played another couple of rock standards, accompanied by some vigorous dancing at the front of the stage, before launching into another pub favourite – the Kaiser Chiefs' rousing hit 'I Predict a Riot'.

Gwen pulled a face.

'Oh, no!' The others looked at her in surprise. 'Sorry – there's something about this song. When Andy and I were on patrol, if we heard this song three times in one night there'd be trouble.'

'Don't be so daft! It's just coincidence.' Martha laughed and put her glass on a nearby table.

She pushed her way through the crowd and began bouncing around opposite a fair-haired man in a Sex Pistols t-shirt. Pam squeezed through the crowd on her way to the ladies', and the Doctor threw himself into a frenzied pogo along with Martha and the young chap.

Amy was in the middle of a conversation with one of her friends when Jack pricked up his ears.

'Anyway,' she said loudly, 'I thought he'd died. But it turns out he's living in Aberystwyth.'

'Excuse me, ladies,' Jack said, leaning across the bar. 'Speaking as someone who's done both, let me tell you there's not a lot of difference. In fact, if I had to make the choice between dying again, or living in Aberystwyth again – I'd rather die!'

Amy and her friend burst out laughing. Before Jack could continue, he felt a heavy hand on his arm. He turned to see Jimmy looming over his shoulder. His jealousy had finally got the better of him. Jimmy caught hold of Jack's lapels and swung him around, so they were standing face to face.

'Who the fuck are you?' he slurred.

Jack flashed his assailant a dazzling smile and extended his right hand.

'Captain Jack Harkness.' He inclined his head for a moment and smiled again. 'Nice ear-rings, by the way! Now, I'm guessing you're the kinda guy who likes to work out―'

Jimmy wasn't so stupid that he failed to recognise a chat-up line when he heard one. Immediately his massive fist slammed into Jack's face. Jack staggered back against the bar, scattering a row of empty glasses and sending a handful of customers reeling into the nearby tables. A woman screamed as Jack stood up. There was a smear of blood across his mouth, and he shook his head sharply to clear it.

'My turn!'

He walloped Jimmy in the stomach, then raised his leg as Jimmy doubled up. Jimmy's nose crumpled as it collided with Jack's kneecap, and he howled in pain.

Ianto and Gwen were already moving to help their colleague, while Martha was trying to pull the Doctor towards the doorway. Some of Jimmy's pals were homing in to lend their support. Ianto took his stun gun from his pocket; one of the bruisers fell to the floor without a sound. Gwen pulled out her warrant card and waved it vainly in the air.

'Hold it! Police!' she yelled, but nobody was paying her any attention.

On the stage, the band played on with renewed energy. They'd never seen a slam-dance like this before.

As they went into the second chorus, Pam opened the door from the ladies'. She peered out at the chaos around her and closed it hurriedly again, just before a pint glass smashed against the timber frame.

In the midst of the confusion, Martha managed to steer the Doctor through the doorway and into the bar.

'Do something!' she screamed.

He took his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and held it aloft.

'Sorry, boys, but you're a bit too loud for a Sunday evening.'

The device whistled, and one of the amplifiers exploded in a shower of sparks. The music died instantly, leaving only the sound of the brawl in the lounge. The lights went out at the same moment, plunging the whole pub into near-darkness. In the ensuing panic, Martha pushed the Doctor outside and onto the pavement. A small crowd of passers-by had gathered to witness the excitement, and it was fairly certain that the police weren't far behind.

'Have you got that piece of kit?' she yelled.

'Yeah, it's here.' He patted his pocket.

'Right – go! We'll meet you at the Rift.'

Without waiting to be told twice, he sprinted off towards the back lane.

Martha fought her way back inside and screamed at her colleagues. Ianto was first to break from the scrum. He shouldered his way towards her, his jacket covered in beer and spots of blood.

'What the hell happened?'

'Jack happened!'

She caught her breath and stood with her palms on her knees.

'"Just act naturally, try to blend in",' he said. Since then does that involve trying to get off with the local steroid monster?' She grimaced, then forced a faint smile. 'Actually, this is Jack we're talking about.'

'Yeah. It happens quite a lot,' he said ruefully.

Gwen and Jack had somehow managed to escape from the fracas inside. The four friends ran through the double doors and raced up the street towards the lane, not daring to look back.

When it seemed that the noise had died down, Pam emerged cautiously from the ladies'.

Her new friends were nowhere to be seen. Jimmy and his mates were unconscious in a heap by the bar. In a corner, a couple of women were crying. Several people had their phones out, taking photos of the scene. The musicians were clustered around their lifeless equipment, trying to figure out what had happened. Amy was trying to gather up shards of glass from the floor while shouting at nobody in particular.

Without pausing to look around, she hurried from the pub. As she hurried towards the lane, a black Land Rover with tinted windows shot out of a side street and sped off down the main road.

She arrived in the lane just in time to see the outline of the blue box fade and vanish before her eyes. A strange groaning sound rang in her ears before it too faded slowly, leaving just a rush of air in its wake. Pam rubbed her eyes, shook her head, and decided that next time she went out for the weekend, she'd definitely be staying sober.

Next Episode

Episode 2

Cardiff City Centre, 6.42 p.m.

Martha Jones checked the display of her phone and raised her eyebrows. She didn't recognize the caller's number, but she still smiled in relief. At least it wasn't her sister ringing with some silly gossip. She shot an apologetic glance at her fiancé and stood up from the table. The pub was full of football fans, watching the game on the big screen, and she leaned close to his ear.

'Sorry, Tom, I'd better take it – I think it might be work.'

She pushed through the crowded doorway and walked around the corner into St Mary Street, hitting the answer key as she went.

Tom Milligan nodded moodily and swallowed a mouthful of his beer. He was getting used to these frequent interruptions. Martha's work was classified Top Secret, and she often had to head away at short notice. However, this was the first weekend for months that Tom hadn't been on call at the hospital. He'd been hoping for a few beers while watching the football, a meal, a few more beers, and a late night for once. Now it seemed he'd be going home on his own again – as usual.

In the doorway of the amusement arcade next to the pub, Martha was in the middle of an excited phone conversation.

'Yeah, but where are you?'

'That's the million dollar question, Martha,' came the reply. 'And even though I've been everywhere, and seen everything – and of course I'm naturally quite brilliant – I'm not entirely sure where I am. I was heading for Cardiff, but I've ended up … Well, I don't know … I'm in a pub – but it's weird. Something isn't right. Just listen to that music, for starters―'

In the background, Martha could hear the distorted sounds of vintage heavy rock booming out from a powerful PA system.

'It might be a parallel universe, one where punk never happened,' she suggested with a grin. She heard the Doctor's laughter echoing down the line.

'Ooh, nightmare! Deep Purple reforming was bad enough – imagine a universe where they'd never split up! The problem is, I'm stuck here – the TARDIS isn't going anywhere. I could be here all night.'

Martha's tone changed to one of mock-sympathy.

'Oh, poor you. Stuck in a pub until chucking-out time. It's all right for some!'

She spotted Tom peering at her through the window, and gave him a cheerful wave.

'I've got the weekend off too, you know,' she protested. 'I'm out with Tom, we're supposed to be going to a pub quiz tonight.'

'You hate pub quizzes!' he exclaimed. 'Even your mother says that! Anyway, how often do I ask you for help?'

'Oh, let me think,' she teased. She began counting them off on her fingers: 'I helped you catch the Plasmavore the day we went to the Moon; I gave William Shakespeare the words of power to defeat the Carrionites; I looked after you for two months in 1913, when you were the most useless human ever; I saved the entire world from the Master―'

'All right, all right,' he conceded. 'I owe you a couple of favours … But is there any chance you could pick me up?'

'Oh, I'd love to, Doctor – trouble is, I'm halfway through my fourth pint.'

'Quite right, don't drink and drive, very sensible – hang on! You drink pints?'

'Don't sound so surprised! I did five years in med school – of course I drink pints,' she retorted. 'I could drink you under the table, mate!'

There was nothing she enjoyed more than winding up her time-travelling friend.

'What about Torchwood, then?' A note of desperation had entered his voice. 'They're just down the road, after all – maybe they could give me a tow or something.'

'Okay, I’ll give Jack a ring. Just sit tight and we'll see what we can do. Don’t go anywhere – and don't get into any trouble.'

'Who? Me?' She laughed at his feigned innocence. 'What are you talking about?'

'See you later, Doctor.'

Martha grinned. She ended the call and immediately hit the speed-dial. Watching her through the window, Tom shrugged, finished his pint and made his way to the bar. It was going to be one of those weekends.

The South Wales Valleys, 6.53 p.m.

Pam Griffiths had regained consciousness and was gazing at her surroundings in sheer disbelief. She'd often woken up in strange places after a weekend on the razz with her friends, but nothing had ever come close to this.

It looked like a 1960s vision of a futuristic home, brought to life by someone with an extravagant imagination and a budget to match. The walls were made of bronze panels and punctuated with glass portholes; the artificial lighting was mellow and pleasant; the furniture was definitely not from IKEA – but at least the bed was comfortable. Pam lay for a few moments with her eyes closed, trying to reconstruct events after she'd left with the strange man. She vaguely remembered following him up the lane and kissing him in a doorway, and then – nothing.

'Oh God,' she muttered under her breath. 'It's New Year's Eve all over again!'

Pam sat up and swung her feet onto the wire mesh floor, rubbing her aching forehead. Her mouth was dry, and she felt faintly nauseous. The door was only a few hesitant steps away. She emerged into a long corridor, decorated in the same outlandish style as the bedroom.

'Hello?' she called.

Her voice echoed down the corridor and died away. There was almost total silence, except for a rhythmic droning sound. It sounded like some sort of machinery throbbing deep beneath the floor – or the breathing of some huge creature. More doors led off the corridor. Pam opened the first one quietly, almost afraid to breathe.

The room was full of books, stacked on shelves from floor to ceiling, piled up on the floor, and crammed into boxes. She pulled some of the volumes out of one box, shaking her head in wonderment. There was no obvious sequence to the contents – battered pamphlets of poetry sat alongside expensive scientific textbooks, and the latest bestsellers were buried under novels by long-forgotten authors. The books smelt of bygone ages and faraway places, and Pam became more intrigued than ever.

She closed the door and opened the next one. This room was little more than a giant walk-in wardrobe, crammed with clothes and shoes representing a huge variety of styles and periods. Totally mystified, she made her way along the row of doors, peering through each one until she found a small bathroom. She ran some cold water into the basin and splashed it over her face, before filling a glass and swallowing it in one gulp.

'Bloody 'ell, I needed that!' she gasped.

She refilled the glass and carried it outside, continuing to explore her bizarre surroundings. Eventually the corridor opened out into a large square space, lit in the same subdued fashion as the rest of the rooms, but with an enormous metal and glass structure in the middle. A central glass column reached to the ceiling, giving off a dull white glow, and around it was an array of electronic gadgetry arranged on six triangular panels. Heavy cables hung from the ceiling, and an open toolbox lay underneath one panel.

Pam gulped back the rest of the water and ran her fingers over the rows of switches and dials. To her amazement, a monitor lit up for a moment and died again. She gave an involuntary shudder. The whole place seemed to be responding to her presence in the room. For the first time in her adult life, she felt frightened of the unknown.

As she pondered the control panel, the door swung open and her mysterious new friend strode into the room, grinning from ear to ear. He unplugged a couple of wires from a wall socket, shoved a small plastic box into his pocket, and only then noticed Pam standing at the central console.

'Right then, problem sorted, molto bene!' he announced, clapping his hands in glee. 'I should have a rescue party on the way within the hour. We might as well go back to the pub and wait for them. We're missing a terrific band – they were playing 'Comfortably Numb' when I walked past. I love that song!'

Without waiting for an answer he grabbed Pam's arm and led her outside, pulling the door shut behind them. She glanced backwards without thinking, and realised that they had just stepped out of the door behind her.

'Hang on!' She stopped in her tracks and pulled away from him. 'Where I was just now – that was huge! And that's a little blue box – made of wood!”

'Are you quite sure?'

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and looked worried. He walked slowly around the TARDIS, pretending to scrutinise it carefully from all angles, and returned to her side. With a solemn expression he handed Pam a key.

'Have another look.'

Pam unlocked the door and peered inside before slamming it shut again. Keeping one hand on the exterior, she walked right around the TARDIS, an incredulous smile spreading across her face as she went.

'No way! How do you do that?'

The Doctor grinned, pocketed the key again, and became serious for a moment.

'It's a special case of the Casimir Effect in four spatial dimensions. Exotic Matter. Easy when you know how.' He smiled again and set off along the lane at a trot. 'Come on, it's your shout.'

'You're bloody mad, you are,' she gasped, jogging to keep up with him.

'Yeah, probably,' he agreed, 'but it's fun, isn't it?'

Cardiff Bay, 6.46 p.m.

Deep below the leisure complex that had been built to replace Cardiff’s once-thriving docks, Ianto Jones put the crossword down and answered the phone to a familiar voice.

'Hi, Ianto, it's Martha – is Jack around?'

'And a very good evening to you too, Dr Jones.'

Ianto's laconic Welsh tones always made Martha chuckle.

'Sorry to call on a Sunday, Ianto. I need some help.'

'That’s why we're here.'

He slid the phone across the table and mouthed the word, 'Martha.'

Captain Jack Harkness switched the phone to speaker mode, leaned back, and beamed.

'Martha Jones, the voice of a nightingale, and a body to die for. Again. How can the humble Torchwood help the mighty UNIT this week?'

'It's nice to hear your voice too, you old fraud!' Martha retorted.

She and Jack had been exchanging friendly banter since they’d first met, a hundred trillion years in the future, and it showed no sign of letting up in the year 2009.

'Relax, it's not UNIT that needs you – it's the Doctor.'

Jack's eyes lit up at the mention of his old friend. The renegade Time Agent fancied anything with a pulse – or indeed, anything with DNA – and he wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to see the Doctor again. As Martha outlined the Doctor's predicament, he winked at Ianto. He could sense an adventure coming on.

'Well, let's see what we can do.'

Jack typed a few commands into his computer terminal.

'I'll just do a quick scan for alien tech.

A satellite display of the Earth appeared on a large plasma screen on the far wall. He and Ianto watched as the viewpoint zoomed in, a little point of light indicating the position of the TARDIS. Jack pulled a face as the image resolved to street level. He walked over to the big screen, trying to identify the place where the TARDIS had landed.

'What the hell's he doing all the way up there?'

'It's a long story,' Martha muttered. 'Can we get up there and give him a hand?'

'It's double time on a Sunday, mind.' Ianto's sarcasm wasn't lost on Martha, and she laughed. 'And if it's all the same to you, I think I'll sit here and mind the shop.'

'Come on, Ianto,' she urged. 'A little run into the countryside will do you good.'

'Last time I went to the countryside I nearly got killed,' he grumbled. 'Anyway, I've been to that place once. It's not exactly the countryside. We played rugby there when I was in college. I ended up with three broken ribs, a fractured wrist and two black eyes.'

'Musta been a hard game,' Jack observed.

'That was in the pub afterwards. They found out one of the boys was a Swansea fan.' Ianto pulled a face and Jack laughed.

'Okay, Martha, we'll see what we can do for the old man. I'll ring Gwen and call you back. We'll pick you up on the way.'

'Thanks, guys. See you later.' The line went dead.

Jack pulled on his coat, rummaged in the pocket, and threw a bunch of keys to his colleague.

'Ianto, you're driving. I'll meet you up top. Give me a minute, I just need to get my jump leads.'

He crossed the room, pulled open a heavy steel cabinet, and reached inside.

'Secure archives, Jack?' The surprise in Ianto's voice was evident.

'Yeah. I've got just the right piece of kit in here. It took us months to build it – I've been waiting to try it out. Now we'll see if it works or not!'

Ianto was already halfway out of the door, and he looked back to see Jack pocketing his revolver.

'See you in Hell – or Aberdare!'

'Same difference,' he replied with a worried frown.

Next Episode