The Master's reign has proven to be the great equaliser; nobody has more than anybody else. They've been forced to leave their homes and huddle in makeshift dormitories near the work camps. Belongings are communal, and each person only has what the Master allows them to have. It is, Martha thinks dryly, socialism at its finest; Marx would be proud ( Read more... )

"What's in the box?" Donna asks, craning her head around Martha, who wonders belatedly if she ought to have blindfolded the other woman. The Doctor's letter said that she needed her, that the Time Lord-human metacrisis was key to her mission - and doesn't calling it a mission sound ridiculous? she wonders briefly - but that she has to be careful to ( Read more... )

She's at the trial as his witness, as his friend, as the only person willing to provide support for a dangerous and possibly insane criminal. She's the only witness for the defence; all the examples of good deeds he's done are countered with death and destruction by the prosecutor, until she's left in silence, tears running down her face as she ( Read more... )

"Muffins," Martha repeats incredulously as the Doctor cranes his neck up at the shelf to look at the mixes. "You're going to catch the Master with muffins." They're in the middle of a perfectly normal Sainsburys in Chiswick, the Master is on the loose and trying to find Donna for whatever reason, and the Doctor thinks that it's a good time for ( Read more... )

Travelling with the Doctor, Martha knows, leads to a sharp black and white view of good and evil. The Doctor's good. The Master's evil; so're the Daleks and the Sontarans and any number of other aliens. Martha used to be firmly planted on the side of good - and, as far as she's concerned, she still is. The Doctor, if he saw her with a sonic blaster ( Read more... )