Coming out from where she’d hidden, Rose flicked the switch on the steel lantern.
In spite of their threats, not Satan, love or monsters could forcibly pit him, tooth and claw, against the girl. Idiots! The Doctor smiled as in the fireplace, the lantern glowed. A feeble rise of the Cybermen indeed; the age of steel had been delayed on this new earth, this impossible planet.
He smirked at his captors. With the glowing metal in hand, now they would fear her more than an army of ghosts, there would be no bride for their runaway doomsday school after all.
The phone bleeped harshly with the sound of drums. Donna flipped it open. “What? 42 of the Daleks in Manhatten, causing gridlock?”
The Doctor grimaced as the last of the Time Lord’s patience was tried. “Look, I know it may be human nature, but the evolution of the Daleks isn’t some kind of Lazarus experiment with life. It’s more like Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare? Is that code?”
“No, it’s a bloody family tragedy. Blink and Rosencrantz and Guildenstern and Smith and Jones are all dead. The end. There’s no utopia, not this time. We’ll crash the voyage of those damned pepperpots!”
“Forests of the…of the what?”
“Dead. Which is better than a whole planet of the dead.”
“But the unicorn, and the wasp –“
“A Sontaran stratagem of Mars, mere partners in crime to poison the sky of this stolen earth.” They stumbled through the dark; where was the journey’s end? The Doctor’s voice hissed, “Silence! In the library,” he pointed. “Turn left at the next…”
“Doctor, the waters in the forest are burning!”
He shook his head. After all, she’d oo’d and ahh’d at the midnight fires of Pompeii, she’d probably ooo at the end of the planet this time.