PARTY AT GROUND ZERO
a 7th Doctor & Ace fanfiction by Lori Summers
*****Author's Note*****
Welcome to my first bona fide dyed-in-the-wool straight adventure story! I hope you like it.
This story takes place after the events of the Yin Yang trilogy and Ghealach, which concern the relationship between the 7th Doctor and Ace. If you'd like to read them (and I hope you will if you haven't already done so) they can be located at my DW fanfiction website, The Domain, at http://geocities.datacellar.net/area51/cavern/7053/domain.html. But it's not necessary to read them in order to follow the events of this story, it's a stand-alone.
All you really need to know is that the Doctor and Ace are married. That's it, that's the entire background. I've dropped hints as to the temporal setting, you'll pick it up, I hope. Don't like to give away too much! Takes away the fun. Happy reading!
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Party at ground zero
A B-movie starring you
And the world will turn to flowing pink vapor stew.
--Fishbone
PART ONE: Smoke 'Em if You Got 'Em
Ben Garrett was smoking, dammit. This was the last stop on a long humiliatin road of nicotine exile for him but he'd be goddamned if he'd give up his Marlboros just cuz Loretta was trying to make him quit. First, she made him sit at the end of the counter. Then, she made him sit in a booth in the corner. Now she was making him stand outside where he had to turn up his collar against the wild desert wind that tore the smoke away from the tip of his cigarette and blew sand into the creases of his jeans...but dammit, he was smoking.
"It bothers the other customers," she'd said. "They don't wanna be breathin' clouds'a yer recycled old lung crud."
"The hell, Loretta, they all smoke too! Don't none of them give a rat's ass!"
"You wanna suck on that deathstick, you can just go do it outside, Mr. Smartypants!"
So here he stood, cigarette clamped grimly between his leathery lips, getting dust in his hair and a damned headache from the glare of those arc-sodium parkin lot lights...but he'd smoke the friggin' thing down to the filter and to hell with Miss Loretta Kiss-My-Pucker Stokam.
Truth be told, though, it was kinda nice out here. If he sat inside he'd just be listening to more half-true bullshit from the usual crowd of obnoxious truckers. He always got the feeling that those guys talked so much trash because they didn't feel quite whole away from their rigs, which now sat parked in neat rows at the edge of the parking lot, the winkin of their chrome bumpers and grills barely visible out past the diesel pumps.
Ben looked up at the stars. God, there were so many...out here away from civilization you really got the E-ticket ride.
His cigarette was almost gone. Ben let it dangle from his lips, not puffing on it, reluctant to go back into the stuffy truck stop. Loretta met his eyes briefly through the plate glass window, then looked away and returned to her coffee-pouring and hash slinging. He noticed with a frown the crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and the lines etching themselves into her brow. She can't be more than 25, he thought. How is it that she looks so used up? Then he had to laugh at himself. Ben old man, she's a ways from 25. Ain't we all.
He ground out the cigarette butt under his bootheel and took a deep breath of the cool night air. He'd been all over the country but desert air had a special taste and feel to it he'd never found anywhere else. It was like the difference between tap water and fresh mineral spring water. It braced you something fierce, had a sort of clean feeling like it'd never blown across the face of a man nor felt the inside of a building.
Ben turned and went back into the diner. Average crowd tonight. Five or six beefy truckers at the bar suckin' down coffee like they was gonna outlaw caffeine at midnight, another four or five truckers in the booths...mostly rough cowboy types, those. One tired-looking and kinda white-trashy couple with a boy of about 11, and a pair of State Troopers just off their shift and enjoying Loretta's homemade bear claws. And one other guy...
Ben's eyes almost skipped right over him, he was so unassuming. He'd been sitting in the corner booth all evening, Ben remembered seeing him there when he'd arrived but hadn't thought nothing of it. He was just sitting, quietly drinking out of a mug and reading an antique-looking leather bound book. Little guy, about 45, wearing dark tweed trousers, a plaid vest and a dark red jacket. Nothing so strange, just not the sort of togs one usually saw in a greasy-spoon like this. A brown fedora sat on the table next to him and leaning against the table was a funny umbrella with a question mark handle. Must be an affectation, Ben thought. Who the hell totes an umbrella in the middle of the freaking desert?
The little man looked up at him over the tops of his small round glasses and Ben averted his eyes, embarrassed to've been caught eyeballing the guy. He sat down at the end of the bar, deciding it weren't none of his mind what the odd little guy was doing here.
"How're you holdin' up, sweet thing?" he said to Loretta as she came to pour him some coffee.
"You keep up that lip you'll have a fat one, Ben Garrett," she said mechanically.
He took a sip and spoke low without looking up. "Who's the little guy in the corner?"
She leaned over the counter to whisper conspiratorially to him. "Dunno. Never seen him before. Drinks tea," she added, her tone implying that this was a highly suspicious activity. "Don't say nothin', just sits and reads and drinks tea."
"Well, how long's he been there?"
"Couple hours, I think."
Ben fell silent, remembering the lights glinting off the rigs in the lot. "How'd he get here?"
"How the Christ do I know?"
"You gon't get me. I know all them rigs out there and ain't none of 'em his...not that he looks like the type to ride a rig anyways."
Loretta shrugged, nonplussed. "Car?"
He shook his head. "Ain't no cars out there 'cept your old Dodge, the Troopers' squad car and their wagon," he said, nodding his head at the couple with their son.
"What's it matter if'n he walked in from Mars, he's here now," she snapped, losing interest and patience. She walked off with a snort of derision.
Ben sat and appeared to be quietly drinking his coffee...but what he was really doing was watching the little guy out of the corner of his eye. After ten-odd minutes he'd deduced a few things about him. First off, he was only pretendin' to read. He was turning pages regularly but his eyes weren't doin none of that back-n-forth you see in folks who was really reading. Second, he was waiting on something. His eyes would flicker every minute or so up to the clock on the wall. Also he was married. He wore no ring but on his left ring finger was a dent round the knuckle where one ought to be. So he'd taken the ring off, most likely cuz he didn't want no one knowin' he was hitched. So he's got a lady on the side and he's meetin' her here away from anyone who'd know 'em, he thought. Nothin strange about that....except it didn't ring true. He couldn't say exactly why, but it didn't seem right nonetheless.
Ben was becoming more and more intrigued by the stranger every minute, with his phony reading and his missing ring and his question mark umbrella. Could just walk right over there and say howdy, he thought. Sure, right...and he's gonna tell *me* exactly what his story is.
He'd just about made up his mind to go over there and have a go anyways when the bell over the door dinged. Ben turned and beheld the second strange-looking person of the evening.
She strode in the door to a round of wolf-whistles and blatant stares, which by her getup was just the effect she was goin for. She was wearin a tight black skirt and black tights, and her shirt was made of some kinda silver rubber stuff and looked like it'd been sprayed on. She had on mirrored sunglasses even though it was full dark out and had her hair all pulled back into a hosstail. Her lips were painted bright red...Ben didn't know what to make of her but she sure looked like somebody.
She went up to the counter. "Where's the loo?" she asked. Her voice was low and throaty and she had a thick accent, some kinda British thing.
"The what?" Loretta said, her eyes just about buggin right outa their sockets.
"The loo," the woman repeated impatiently. "You know, the head."
"Oh," Loretta said. "It's that way."
The woman nodded and walked off without a word. Every pair of eyes in the joint followed her...on a hunch Ben stole a glance at the little guy. He was looking out the window. A sudden thought flashed across Ben's mind...he knows her. If he didn't, he'd be staring too. It seemed too ridiculous and he dismissed it but didn't forget it. He turned back just in time to see the woman grab old Ricky Lee by the shirt and jerk him forward...probably because Ricky's tongue was sticking out too far to suit her. Ben craned his neck to get a better look and by God if she didn't have him lifted half off his stool. He could see her arm muscles bulging from here.
"You see anything you like?" she hissed at him through clenched teeth. Poor Ricky just spluttered and stammered. "Getting a good eyeful, are we? Well, enjoy the view, cuz that's as close as you're gonna get. Now sod off," she said, pushing him back onto the barstool. She cast one last contemptuous glance at the customers and continued on towards the john. Ricky Lee hunkered down on his stool, chastised into silence.
Ben looked back at his little friend, who was still staring intently out the window. Ben got up and went over to the booth, following the stranger's eyes to a dark looming shape outside. It was a double trailer truck, a big one, painted a uniform black with no logo or nothin. "She come outta that?" he asked. Stupid question..she musta come outta that or else she'd walked right in off'n the desert. Then again maybe it wasn't such a stupid question. Hadn't he been wondering not five minutes ago where this man had come from?
The little man glanced up at him but didn't seem surprised that this random redneck was talking to him. "Yes, she did," he said. "I think there are others inside." His voice was accented too, but softer...and with a hint of some dialect that made Ben think of that old Mel Gibson movie where he wore a skirt and painted his face blue. Ben was starting to get a bad feeling. One foreign-sounding person at a truck stop in the middle of the Mojave was strange enough, but two was downright screwy.
"I'll be damned," Ben muttered.
"What's that?" the stranger inquired.
"That truck don't got no plates showin' up front. That there's illegal in this state...and something tells me there ain't no plates round back neither."
The stranger cast an appraising glance over Ben and turned his gaze back to the window. As they sat there watching, a hatch on the side of one of the trailers opened up and four people wearing black jumped out.
"Oh...I get a bad feeling about this," Ben said under his breath.
"My friend, I'm right there with you," the stranger said. They locked eyes nervously over the table.
"Shouldn't we do something?" Ben asked, wondering vaguely in the back of his mind why he was instinctually addressing the little man as if he had all the answers.
"I'm open to suggestions," he replied...but it was already too late. Two men from the truck came in the front door of the diner. Ben's eyes widened as he saw they were armed and in full riot gear.
One of them stepped forward, pulled out an automatic handgun and fired a shot into the ceiling. Everyone jumped and the white trash mother screamed shrilly. The man spoke in a strident, eerily uninflected voice. "May I have your attention please!" he said. "Everyone remain calm and no harm will come to you, you have my word as a soldier."
Ben looked hopefully over at the two off-duty Troopers but was quickly disappointed as he saw that they were already being disarmed by another commando who'd come in behind them. He shifted his eyes to Loretta, who could call for help if she could reach the alarm button under the counter...to his relief she was already inching towards it.
"Everyone, hands where I can see them," the leader was saying. The diners obediently stuck their hands in the air. Ben's mysterious boothmate merely laid his on the table. Loretta raised one, hoping he wouldn't notice as she snaked the other over to the alarm button.
"Move that hand another tic and you're gonna regret it," said another voice. Everyone whirled around to see the woman who'd come in a minute ago standing behind Loretta holding a mean-looking gun. She had it cocked against the back of Loretta's head.
"Got that covered, Dory?" the leader asked.
"Yeah," she answered. "This one was going for the alarm button."
"Well, we can't have that. Disable it."
Dory bent over the counter, the gun never leaving its position, and ripped the alarm button from its mounting, tossing the uprooted circuits over her shoulder. She grabbed Loretta's arm and dragged her out from behind the counter to sit with the other diners.
Ben stood up. "What do you want with us?" he asked, hoping he sounded more confident and calm than he felt. The glacier-eyed commando fixed him with a penetrating stare and after a moment Ben sat back down, deflated. The commando drew his shoulders up and addressed the crowd.
"I am First Marshal Ewens of the Liberatory People's Front." The diners exchanged puzzled looks. "I can infer from your faces that you are unfamiliar with our organization. That is not surprising, we are a new and fairly obscure group, but don't let that diminish our message. Believe me, come tomorrow, everyone will have heard of us." He holstered his weapon and began pacing back and forth before them, his hands clasped behind his back. Ben wondered if he thought he was Patton or something equally ridiculous. "We have no quarrel with you good people," Ewens said grandly. Ben swallowed the urge to laugh. He *did* think he was Patton. He glanced over at his boothmate and saw that he too was biting back laughter. No one else seemed amused by Ewens' speechifying, least of all Ewens himself, who continued in his proclamatory tone, struttin around the diner like King Cock of the Roost. "If you cooperate you will not be harmed. We require your presence only to make a point and to mandate everyone's strict attention."
"What *is* your point?" one of the Troopers asked.
"You don't need to know, and it's better if you don't. Once our demands are met you will be released, it's as simple as that. Now. We will move all of you into the motel in the rear part of this establishment and there you will be kept for as long as may be necessary. We may require your services to make statements to the media, that will be dealt with if and when it occurs. Allow me to introduce my staff, " he said, motioning to his commandoes. Ben sighed. Must we meet the whole gang? "This is Second Marshal Fieldstone," Ewens began, indicating a granite-faced man with a white crewcut and glasses. He went on to name Roget, a freckled red-headed woman who looked mean enough to best any man in the room; Myers, a tall thin black man with an ugly scar down the side of his face; and the woman who'd come in looking for the loo was introduced as Deputy McShane, though he had called her Dory earlier.
Ben sensed that there were far more people in this group than they were being allowed to see...perhaps surrounding the building or outside in that unmarked rig. At any rate, 5 were more than enough to herd all of them through the diner into the lobby of the motel, where they were ordered to make themselves comfortable but not to try anything funny. Ben surveyed the hostages...the mother was calming her boy, who looked terrified, the Troopers looked downright embarrassed, the cowboy truckers looked royally pissed off and the beefy truckers were just sullen. Ben took a seat apart from the others next to the little man, who looked thoughtful but unafraid.
"What do you think's goin on here?" he asked.
The man sighed. "Well...they seem very concerned about proper attention being paid them. I'd say they're planning some kind of statement or demonstration and want to make sure no one misses it."
"They've got something out in that truck," Ben said.
"Yes, that thought had occurred to me as well," said the man, tapping a finger against his lips.
They sat in silence for a few moments, then Ben stuck out his hand. "I'm Ben Garrett, by the way."
The little man smiled and shook it, doffing his hat. "A pleasure, Ben. I'm the Doctor."
"Which Doctor?"
"This Doctor," he said, pointing to his own chest. Ben sensed the futility of pursuing this line of conversation, as if it mattered one way or another anyhow.
The scattered murmurs quieted quickly as Ewens moved to the lobby phone. He exchanged meaningful glances with his comrades, who were all wearing ludicrous expressions of pride and self-righteousness, and slid an address card through the input slot. He picked up the receiver and, Ben noted, surreptitiously flicked the video input switch to the "off" position. Everyone stared at him, their collective breath held as they awaited the identity of the person he was calling.
They all heard the respondent clearly. "Channel 10, may I help you?" Ben exchanged a glance with the Doctor, seein with some amusement how Ewens squared his shoulders like a peacock even to speak over the phone.
"Give me the news director, please."
"May I say who's calling?"
"Tell him it's the commandant."
There was a pause on the other end. "One minute please," the woman said. Ben heard a bit of a note of urgency in her voice. Seems like the title meant something to her. A few moments later a man's voice came over the line.
"Who am I speaking to, please?"
"This is First Marshal Ewens. You have previously known me only as the Commandant." Ben heard a low sniff and glanced over in time to see the Doctor roll his eyes briefly. "I require a video crew to my location. Two individuals, unarmed...and we *will* check them thoroughly as well as their equipment. We have taken control of the truck stop and motel on Highway 45 near the Trunk L junction, and we have a statement to make on behalf of the Liberatory People's Front."
The news director said nothin but his raspy breathing was pretty damn loud. "Are there hostages we should be aware of?"
"The diner's patrons are our guests, some..." His eyes skittered on over the diners. "...fifteen people. Be warned that if any law enforcement personnel are dispatched that number will begin to diminish quickly." He hung up over the news director's stammers.
Ben could hear that little boy whimpering and felt like he could smash that cigar-store commando Ewens right in the face. No one moved. So much for not hurtin' us, he thought. His respect for Ewen's so-called "word as a soldier" was vanishing rapidly. P'raps it was a bluff, but if so it was a powerful bluff.
"What now?" grumbled Fieldstone, the first words he'd said.
"Now...we wait," Ewens said. His face was so stretched out and tight seemed like was tryin' to make his skull pop right outta his skin. Ben felt a goose walk across his grave as Ewen's stare swept over him. He watched Ewen's little minions from underneath lowered eyelids. Fieldstone was so strung up he'd like as not to jump straight up to heaven if anyone blew their nose. Roget was sittin with her piece across her lap and eyein the hostages like she'd rather be sharpening her meat cleaver. Myers was standing at ramrod-stiff attention that made Ben wanna check his shoes for spit polish, his gun held at stationkeeping. McShane was leaning hipshot in the doorway, her gun dangling at her side...her hand was deceptively relaxed in a way that made Ben know she was real fast with that piece. She was slowly casting her eyes over the folks, most of whom had sorta settled into that tense silence folks get when they're waitin on bad news.
He saw a very small movement outta the corner of his eye and looked over just in time to see the Doctor make a small gesture. He pressed his two index fingers to his thumbs like he was pinchin something, brought the tips together then quickly jerked them apart like he was tearin a little sheet of paper in half or breaking a string. It was a subtle gesture and no one else seemed to notice...except one person, who it'd seemed to be directed at. The woman McShane. The Doctor wasn't looking at her but she was the only one who could've seen the gesture from that angle. She didn't halt her visual sweep of the room but...Ben's eyes narrowed. Damn if she didn't shake her head in his direction, her eyes elsewhere...the head motion was so small no one would have ever seen it for what it was if they hadn't'a been lookin. The Doctor folded his hands back in his lap and resettled himself...whatever it was, it was over. Ben frowned to himself. Somethin just happened, somethin had passed between them that he hadn't understood.
"What's goin on here?" he asked again.
"I think we're about to find out," the Doctor whispered. "But I promise...you're not going to like it."
