(no subject)
Following the harrowing ordeal with the Krynoid, the Doctor had promised to take Sarah on a much-need furlough to Cassiopeia. As it was, he felt he thoroughly needed the holiday, the perfect opportunity to dispel the lingering ill ease pervading his psyche. Their lives were frequently in danger, but never had they been threatened with such intensity and frequency before. What's more, this< was Sarah's home. Earth. The one place she should have been safe, of any destination.
And these humans, with their oft-draconian ways, precluded any sense he might've felt that this was the one place Sarah should rightly be--that to protect her, he should selflessly keep her here on Earth. But to what fate, if this was how her fellow species behaved? Granted, these were madmen, deviants from the norm.
But it was unsettling.
They'd landed back on Antarctica, and after more tampering with the controls, were on what he assumed was finally the proper course to Cassiopeia.
Sarah had mysteriously disappeared--perhaps to change for the warmer temperatures? She couldn't be...mad about anything, could she? It's not as though he had deliberately taken them back to Antarctica. Double-checking the controls, the Doctor tightened his scarf about his neck as he turned a corner and headed towards Sarah's room, knocking gently against the door as he firmly called for her. No answer.
"Sarah?" he tried again.
Still there was silence. He wasn't worried yet. She could have easily just gone to the library to engross herself in Draluxian literature. But when he reached the library and found it empty as well, his thoughts grew frequently more disjointed, a worry he wouldn't admit to pressing against his mind.
"Sarah?" he tried a bit louder in the corridors themselves, hoping the sound would carry to her, wherever she'd gone.
Then his shoe hit an object which had been placed on the floor. A Protocol 12-7 communicator. By Rassilon, what was such an object doing here, in the middle of his TARDIS? He picked it up, turning it over, and waited for revelation.
And these humans, with their oft-draconian ways, precluded any sense he might've felt that this was the one place Sarah should rightly be--that to protect her, he should selflessly keep her here on Earth. But to what fate, if this was how her fellow species behaved? Granted, these were madmen, deviants from the norm.
But it was unsettling.
They'd landed back on Antarctica, and after more tampering with the controls, were on what he assumed was finally the proper course to Cassiopeia.
Sarah had mysteriously disappeared--perhaps to change for the warmer temperatures? She couldn't be...mad about anything, could she? It's not as though he had deliberately taken them back to Antarctica. Double-checking the controls, the Doctor tightened his scarf about his neck as he turned a corner and headed towards Sarah's room, knocking gently against the door as he firmly called for her. No answer.
"Sarah?" he tried again.
Still there was silence. He wasn't worried yet. She could have easily just gone to the library to engross herself in Draluxian literature. But when he reached the library and found it empty as well, his thoughts grew frequently more disjointed, a worry he wouldn't admit to pressing against his mind.
"Sarah?" he tried a bit louder in the corridors themselves, hoping the sound would carry to her, wherever she'd gone.
Then his shoe hit an object which had been placed on the floor. A Protocol 12-7 communicator. By Rassilon, what was such an object doing here, in the middle of his TARDIS? He picked it up, turning it over, and waited for revelation.