Making Memories, chapter 11

Chapter 11: The Visitors
The Doctor was awakened unceremoniously by Martha, who was tearing through the bed. Covers and pillows went flying by him and he sat up. "Is something wrong?" he asked her, eying the scene for several more moments of frantic searching.

"It's gone," was all she could manage, and at this his eyes widened in comprehension.

"Gone?" he said, getting up and helping her search. "You lost it?"

She turned to him and glared. "I did not lose it," she said pointedly. She turned back to the bed and bit her lower lip. "I just don't know where it went. I mean, I, I had it last night, right next to me, and then, and then I don't remember, I was walking on the beach, and--"

The Doctor immediately stopped what he was doing and turned to face her. "The beach? You left the room?"

Martha sat down on the bed thinking. "You had just left, I was reading, and then, then I was on the beach, I must've left the beach. I remember stars, and two moons, and then, Risan," she said and trailed off dreamily. "It came true."

The Doctor furrowed his brow. "You say that as if you don't believe it."

"It did, it must have. It's clear as day now. We strolled along the beach and he, he..." She blushed.

"It came true?" he questioned aloud, in complete disbelief. "But that's impossible." He turned back to her. "Are you sure it wasn't just a dream?"

Martha was silent for several moments, carefully contemplating the situation. "No," she said finally. "It's far too vivid."

"Vivid?" the Doctor said, moving to sit right by her. He put his hands on her cheeks and held her face still. He looked her directly in the eyes. She tried to remain still, but the whole thing was terribly awkward for her. "Vivid how?" Before she could answer he continued, "Vivid as in, it doesn't even feel like a memory? Like it feels so clear that it doesn't mesh with anything else?"

She furrowed her brow, "Yes, like that, but how did you--"

"That's it!" he exclaimed, jumping up from the bed in excitement. "They're implants!"

"Excuse me?" Martha said, still a bit confused.

"The Psycla can't really predict the future! The memories are implanted." Suddenly his whole demeanor changed, the true gravity of the situation dawning on him. "They're implants," he repeated. He looked frozen in time but for the wheels of his mind that she could sense were turning at unimaginable speeds. Suddenly he reached into his pocket and pulled out a plate.

"What is it?" Martha asked, now more than a bit anxious. She stood up behind him and peered at the screen.

Suddenly, it came to life. It showed them where they stood. "A camera feed?" Martha asked, though the Doctor did not answer the question. He reached again into his pocket, searching for his sonic screwdriver, before realizing it wasn't there.

"My screwdriver," he said to the air, as if the realization had just dawned on him. Then, with surprising agility and speed he once again began the frantic search for the screwdriver.

His search was only interrupted by a rather harsh knock on the door. He stopped and stood up, eying the door, as Martha headed to open it. When she did, she furrowed her brow. A young Trydian girl stood at the door.

"Clera?" the Doctor said, his own brow furrowed.

"Doctor, I'm so glad you're in," she said, as if it brought her some great relief.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping over bedding and maneuvering his way toward the door.

"I'm Martha, by the way," Martha said, thrusting out her hand to the Trydian girl, a bit annoyed at having been thoroughly ignored.

The Trydian girl immediately turned her attention to Martha and shook her hand vigorously in appeasement. "Hello, Martha. It is quite urgent that I speak with the Doctor... alone."

Martha was a bit taken aback by the girl's statement. "Alone?" She turned toward the Doctor awaiting his opinion on the matter.

"This should only take a moment," the Doctor said, and he stepped out into the hallway.

"Oh, I see. I'm not important, not important enough for dinner, not important enough to even have a chat..." Martha said, more to herself than to them, and before the Doctor could reply, she shut the door rather dramatically.

The Doctor eyed the door for a few moments. "She'll be all right," he said, still looking at the door, though his voice didn't seem too certain of it. He turned his gaze to Clera, waiting for her to begin.

She smiled broadly and executed an unnecessary curtsy. "I am to be your escort," she said, thrusting out her elbow.

"Well then, excuse me for just a moment," he said, and opened the door. Martha was sitting on the massacred bed, reading the brochure again.

When he entered, she turned her attention to him. "Well?" she asked, in such a tone as to make him defend his exclusive conversation of moments before.

"I'm going off for a bit," he began, but before he could go any further she cut him off.

"Without me?" she asked, half outraged but not particularly surprised. "I really am beginning to feel like nothing more than your tag-along. When I came with you, I, I thought, I thought it would be different."

The Doctor was silent for a moment, not really sure what to say. "When I come back," he said finally, sympathetically, "how about we take a stroll down the beach?"

She looked him carefully in the eyes. He was being sincere. She smiled a small smile. "It's a date," she said.

He smiled a broad smile, glad things were finally settled. He headed out the door, graciously accepted Clera's outstretched arm, and let her lead him away.

Martha tossed the plate aside when he had gone. She'd read it several times over the past few days. She got up from the bed and stepped over the disheveled bedding toward the balcony. She opened the doors and made her way out onto it. The second sun had just began it's ascent. It was so beautiful, and the water shimmered beneath it, clearly illustrating why Tryad was considered the most beautiful of the three worlds.

Her mind wandered to Risan and their stroll along the beach. Implants, the Doctor had said. The memories weren't real. But how could she be sure? The memory was so vivid. She could see it. She could see her and Risan, hand and hand. It was that beach. And then... She blushed. Then there was that kiss. Was that all just a fantasy in her head as well? Or was the Doctor perhaps just jealous. She smiled at the thought. He had little to be jealous about. Risan was a lovely Trydian, but aside from that there was no comparison. He did not have the life, or the spirit of the Doctor. In fact, now that she thought on it, his whole character seemed rather flat. He existed, clear as day, in her memory, so real she could almost touch him, but he was like a photograph, or a mannequin perhaps. He seemed almost like little more than a physical existence.

Had he spoken to her? Had they really talked? No, they hadn't. Or at least, he hadn't. She remembered talking, but she could not remember what about. And the Doctor had been right, the clarity, it was new, it was different, yet it was enticing. It felt real, realer perhaps than her other memories.

She suddenly remembered Rinda, and her thoughts immediately shifted to her family. She breathed a sigh of relief. She still remembered them. In fact she remembered everything. She remembered the tie the Doctor had given her, the proof that he was indeed a time traveler. She remembered Shakespeare and the witches, and the Globe theatre. She had forgotten nothing.

Her thoughts were broken by a knock on the door. She once again, navigated her way through the bedding, still strewn about the floor. She opened the door to reveal none other than Bri. "B-Bri?" she said in somewhat awkward surprise. "What brings you here?"

But Bri did not appear to hear her at first. She stared wide eyed, frozen, staring at the epic mess of the floor.

Martha turned and looked over the room herself. She turned back to Bri with an awkward smile. "Yes, well, you see... about that. It'll... I'll clean it up."

Bri shook her head to clear it. She forced a smile and kept her gaze fixed on Martha, choosing to no longer even acknowledge the mess. "I am here to invite you to the spa for a complimentary treatment."

"Oh?" Martha asked.

"Compliments of Miss Wrun," Bri said, still struggling to maintain a smile.

Martha smiled. "Well, if that's not thoughtful."

"This way, Miss Martha," Bri said gesturing with her hand toward the hallway.

"Thanks, but I know the way. I don't need an escort," Martha said, stepping out into the hall and closing the door behind her.

"I insist," Bri persisted.

"Well, alright then," Martha said, and followed Bri down the hall toward the spa.

When they neared the spa, she began to slow down. Two large security guards stood on either side of the entrance.

Bri glanced behind her and noticed an ever increasing lag in pace. "Is something the matter?" she asked.

"There are guards at the door. Did something happen?"

Bri turned toward the guards and then looked back at Martha. "Nothing to be concerned about." Bri said, and the two reached the spa without further delay.

Bri paused a few steps short of the entrance. "If you don't mind waiting here, a moment," Bri said, "I have to go find Wrun for you. She set this all up."

"Okay," Martha said slowly. She eyed the guards warily. They were staring at her.

As Bri passed the threshold, she realized why. "Get her," Bri said pointedly.

Martha, startled and frightened, broke into a run, but the guards were too close, too large, and too fast. They had her restrained within seconds. She tried to scream, but before it escaped her lips a large hand clasped over her mouth.

A Trydian guest, heading for an appointment in the spa, paused to stare at the scene, clearly stunned and intimidated by it.

Bri immediately put a hand on her shoulder. "Nothing to worry about, just taking out the riff-raff," she said. This seemed to placate the Trydian, at least enough for her to enter the spa without further hesitation.

"Riff-raff, indeed," Bri repeated, looking directly at Martha.

"Is there anything else, Madame?" one of the guards directed to Bri.

Bri's lips curled into a frightening smirk. "No, take her away. She is nothing but a curse upon the resort, and the sooner she is disposed of, the better."

Martha's eyes widened. Disposed of?