ओह! यह छवि हमारे सामग्री दिशानिर्देशों का पालन नहीं करती है। प्रकाशन जारी रखने के लिए, कृपया इसे हटा दें या कोई भिन्न छवि अपलोड करें।
Season one, episode ten:
The Doctor Dances - Part one.
- ~ -
"Mummy!"
"Mummy!"
"Mummy!"
A sudden thought struck Lynnette. They wanted a mother, and a mother - a good one at least- scolded you when you did something wrong, and in this case, it might just save their lives. As the patients grew closer, she took a breath, mumbling about how she better not regret this.
"Go to your room!" They all halted at the sound of her harsh voice as her companions looked at her in confusion, "You heard me, go to your room!"
"Lynnie-" Rose hissed but she ignored her.
Placing her hands on her hips, Lynnette spoke again, "I mean it, I am very cross with you! I'm so cross! Look at your, father, he's too upset to speak!"
The girl motioned toward the Doctor who stood by her side, now he understood exactly what she was doing and placed along, face turning into a mixture of anger and sadness. Titling their heads curiously, the people stared at the duo intently, waiting.
"Go to your room!" Lynnette demanded again.
Without a moment of hesitation the patients all turned and went back to their respective beds, going to their dormant state once again. Lynnette took a breath and slumped into the Doctor, relief coursing through her veins, the male chuckled.
"Thank god that worked," She began," Those would have been terrible last words!"
He nodded in agreement, "You pulled that off really well, you'd be a great mother I think."
Lynnette smiled, "Thank you."
And then they began to inspect the patients once more, looking yet again for clues or any reason as to why they were becoming like this. A few minutes passed in silence before Rose leaned in close to one of them and said, "Why are they all wearing gas masks?"
The girl winced slightly while the American spoke, "They're not. Those masks are flesh and bone."
"How was your con supposed to work?" Questioned the Doctor, looking at him.
Jack walked over to a spare chair and sat in it, sighing softly, "Simple enough, really. Find some random piece of space junk, let the nearest Time Agent track it back to Earth convince them that it's valuable, and name a price. When they've put 50% up-front, oops, a German bomb falls on it, destroys it forever. They never get to see what they've paid for, never knows they've been had. I buy them a drink with their own moment and we discuss dumb luck. The perfect, self-cleaning con."
