Finding Harmony

6. Harold Saxon, Or Is He?

Perhaps the Doctor was right. Perhaps I had the habit of getting myself in odd places, with odd people.

The next time the Doctor would see me would be one such situation.

Later on in my 17th year, my school counselor who was very intent on making some sort of participating member of society got me a position at the new Prime Minister's office as one of their many aides. I didn't want to apply, I wouldn't have voted for the new man in office if I had the chance. Something about him was just off. All smiles for the cameras with his pretty blonde wife, showing off brilliantly and rising through the ranks like crazy. It was suspicious.

Course living in London where alien invasions were just another holiday weekend, one would begin to suspect anyone at a time.

I had somehow found myself back at Downing Street. I wasn't sure what kind of connections my counselor had it was odd.

I was sitting minding my business, doing busy work that the lower aides were assigned when suddenly a loud clap sounded right near my ear.

"Ow."

I looked up to see the new Prime Minister himself standing looking over the different aides in assembly with a look of disdain, before his alighted to me.

"You there what are you doing?"

"Filing. Stapling. The usual us grunts have to do." I shrugged.

"Honest." He licked his lips, "Me like."

I furrowed my brow and fiddled with my locket, his gaze looking down upon it a strange look of greed passing his features before his wife tugged at him.

"Did you vote for me?"

I raised my head high, "No, even if I was old enough I wouldn't have."

A couple aides looked at me with wide-eyed surprised looks on their faces.

"Ha!" He pointed to me, "She stays all these extras go. Tish-tosh." He gestured behind him at a pretty assistant with large brown eyes.

She bent forward, "It's Trish, sir."

"Of course it is sweetheart."

I wrinkled my nose. Great, I was working for a sexist.

---

"Not me. Not Harold Saxon. Because my purpose here today is to tell you this..."

"I have a bad feeling about this." I looked at the screen, while Letitia 'Tish' Jones shifted uneasily at my side. We were all that was left, all the other aides had been fired.

"Citizens of Great Britain. I have been contacted."

I groaned looking at the screen, "Oh of course you have."

"I have a message for humanity from beyond the stars."

The following clip of the Toclafane didn't make me feel any less worried.

Later after the news cast had left, I was set by the PM's wife to make her husband some coffee. Black as night, with only a sprinkle of honey; but if he noticed the honey I was told I'd be sacked. So I dumped several globs of honey inside, I didn't want to be here when everything went down.

I brought the sugary sweet black coffee over to the cabinet room knocking briefly until I heard a loud, "ENTER."

It had begun to rain outside and I didn't like the idea of huffing my way to the bus stop in the downpour that started.

As I leaned over the table, my necklace slipped from my high neck sweater swinging back and forth until the Prime Minister caught it in his fingers. A smile on his lips unlike the fake, gleaming ones he'd given the press. This one almost seemed genuine, but there was still that tinge of something. Something wrong.