Doctor Who: The Final Game

Transcription

THE FINAL GAME
Chris McKeon
Chris McKeon
DOCTOR WHO: THE FINAL GAME
DEDICATED THE MEMORIES OF
JON PERTWEE AND ROGER DELGADO
Copyright © Chris McKeon 2009
‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © BBC Enterprises 1963
No copyright infringement is intended
Chris McKeon has asserted his right under sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work
This is a 100% unofficial, not-for-profit, fan publication
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PROLOGUE
CHRISTMAS EVE, 1974, UNIT HQ
A SHOWER OF SNOWFLAKES TUMBLED TO THE EARTH FROM THE COTTON-WHITE SKY
above, twinkling as they fell. Sarah-Jane Smith, nicely warm in a holly-green winter women’s
suit and red scarf, watched the snow descend to collect together in a blanket of untouched
white on the ground, blotting out all imperfections. She was standing in front of a window
on the upper story of the country house where UNIT had made its most recent
headquarters. Behind her, the sounds and movements of the organisation’s annual Christmas
party were in full-swing, full of merriment and mirth. Sergeant Benton was teaching
Corporal Bell the latest ballroom dance he had learned. The Brigadier was taking great
pleasure in showing Sarah-Jane’s friend Jeremy the full extent of his sharp shooting skills,
proving he had let the young civilian best him on an earlier occasion out of politeness to
Sarah-Jane. The newest recruits were inciting older officers into a carolling contest, with
Sergeant Osgood as their director. And the Doctor was finishing setting-up the fantastic
lights display, which he activated to the thrill of all present. Yes, Sarah-Jane realised as she
watched from a distance at the window, all was peaceful, but for how long?
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‘Sad thoughts, Sarah-Jane? It’s the season of joy.’
It was the Doctor, who had somehow approached her without being noticed. He
was dressed in his indigo velvet jacket, dark green ruffled shirt and bowtie and lean iron-grey
trousers. With a kindly smile, he held out to Sarah-Jane a large glass filled with lightly
steaming hot cocoa topped with white cream. She thanked him, took the glass from him,
and held it between her hands.
‘I’m not sad, no. Not really. It’s just… Oh, I know this sounds awful, but all this joy
just seems wrong. I mean, never mind our own earthly problems, but we have to face
monsters from other worlds, things from terrible places looking to destroy us. I just
sometimes wonder how these people can celebrate at all, when their lives could be over at
any moment.’
‘I know, Sarah. But that’s why they’re here, to fight the monsters, and to save the
lives of others. Life itself is what we celebrate, and that’s always worth remembering.’
Sarah-Jane tilted her head to one side and smiled.
‘You’re right. There’s no sense in moping when there’s nothing to worry about. ‘
She closed her eyes and raised the cup of cocoa close under her nose, and smelled its
aroma.
‘You added cinnamon to the cream; how lovely!’
‘Well, what friend would I be if I didn’t know how you take your cocoa?’
‘You’d be the one to get a lump of coal, straight on the head!’
‘Now, Sarah, don’t be silly. Coal comes in stockings, not flying through the air -’
The window shattered into countless fragments as something small and dark shot
past the Doctor’s head. Sarah-Jane, shocked by the explosion of glass, dropped her cocoa
glass, which fell to the floor and cracked open, splattering hot cocoa all over the ground and
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onto a nearby electrical socket, which erupted in a shower of sparks before the Doctor’s
entire light-array dimmed, plunging the room into darkness.
‘All right everyone,’ the Brigadier shouted with calm energy, ‘keep calm and be at the
ready. We may need to defend ourselves. Sergeant Benton, retrieve that projectile; I want to
know what hit us.’
‘I can tell you right now, sir,’ Benton said, crouching down and picking up the object
which had crashed through the window. ‘It’s a lump of coal. Somebody’s playing a laugh
with us.’
‘Well, I don’t find any attack on UNIT HQ funny at all, Sergeant. Doctor, Miss
Smith, can you see who threw us our present?’
‘Yes,’ the Doctor muttered darkly, ‘unfortunately. Come and see for yourself.’
Broken glass crunched under his boots as the Brigadier joined the Doctor and SarahJane by the broken window and he looked out. He set his jaw at who he saw below. It was
the Master, standing upon the snow-covered gravel lane in front of the mansion, his black
suit and gloves like a stain upon the uniform whiteness all around.
‘Ah, my dear Doctor, complete with the Brigadier and young Miss Smith, if I’m not
mistaken. May I wish you all a Happy Christmas. I hope we can overlook my rather
unfriendly greeting; for I have brought a special gift.’
The Master smiled and raised his hands above his head.
‘I surrender myself unconditionally. If Sergeant Benton is with you, I’d advise him to
come down at once; I believe he has been wishing to capture me for a long time.’
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PART ONE
NEW YEAR’S DAY, 1975, UNIT HQ
THE DOCTOR HAD BEEN LEANING OVER THE CONSOLE INSIDE HIS TARDIS FOR MAny minutes when he heard Sarah-Jane call his name from his laboratory outside. He
answered her and she entered the white-walled Console Room. She wore a blue long-sleeved
shirt and tan slacks, green leather boots and a focused expression.
‘Hello, Sarah-Jane,’ the Doctor said without looking up from staring at his reflection
in the central column. ‘Did you have a nice Christmas?’
‘Oh, wonderful, just cheery. It makes me feel warm and accepted when a strange
bearded man nearly beans me on the head with a lump of coal, and then without a by-yourleave the Brigadier packs me off for the holidays without even telling me why.’
‘The Master is a very dangerous man, Sarah. Lethbridge-Stewart just wanted you
safely away while we decided what to do with him.’
‘It’s not as if I haven’t faced dangers before, including the Master! I’ve met him,
unless you’ve forgotten.’
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‘No, I remember,’ the Doctor said, casting his mind back to after his visit to Exxilon,
when he, Sarah-Jane, and the Master had been imprisoned together in a cell by an alien race.
It had not been a pleasant time.
‘You’ve met the Master, yes, Sarah, but that was only for a brief period when he was
just as much a prisoner as we were.’
‘He’s a prisoner now, isn’t he?’
‘My dear child, that’s not the point –’
‘And why do you and every other man here, except that dear Sergeant Benton, keep
treating me like a child? I’m twenty-three years old, twenty-four this year. I can’t stand being
treated this way! I don’t know why I stay and tolerate it!’
The Doctor stood and faced Sarah-Jane, and she was struck by the weariness in his
face.
‘You’re a strong young woman, perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Sarah
Jane. If working with UNIT, with me, is bothering you, then of course you’re free to go.
You have your own life, after all; this is your own time. I’d miss you, though.’
Something warmed within Sarah-Jane. She let out a small sigh and laid a hand on the
Doctor’s arm.
‘Oh, of course I don’t want to go. I can’t. Not after all we’ve been through together.
And I know you all respect me, only…I wish you would trust me to be able to handle a
thing, that’s all.’
The Doctor smiled and placed his hands on Sarah-Jane’s shoulders, looking straight
into her eyes.
‘I trust you. In fact, I’m very proud of you. But the fact is you don’t know the
Master. If you did, you’d understand why we’ve kept you from him.’
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‘Well, there’s only one way I can understand then. I want an interview with the
Master.’
The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. He knew he been asking for this.
‘I don’t know if that’s wise, my dear. The Master may not wish to talk to you.’
Sarah’s face brightened with a sly smile.
‘That’s why you’re coming with me.’
The Doctor sighed. Lethbridge-Stewart was not going to like this.
The Master, wearing his usual matte-black Nehru jacket, trousers and shoes, lay motionless
on his back upon a cot within a heavily-fortified holding cell located beneath UNIT HQ. He
rested with his black leather-gloved hands clasped together over his chest. His eyes were
closed and his face calm, with the slightest hint of a smile about his mouth: he could hear
footsteps approaching the cell’s door from the corridor outside, footsteps that he
recognised. From the other side of the meter-thick reinforced duranium hatchway, there was
the creak of a lever turning, and the hatch swung open to reveal the Doctor, the Brigadier,
Sergeant Benton (armed with a UNIT rifle) and Sarah-Jane, who carried a brown leather
satchel over her shoulder and held in her hands her tape recorder, her notepad and a
ballpoint pen. The Doctor was carrying a fold-up chair in one hand and a portable table in
the other. He entered the room first followed by the others. He stood by the side of the
Master’s cot, and spoke.
‘Wake up, Master.’
‘Oh, Doctor, don’t you know already? I already am.’
The Master chuckled and sat up on his cot, clasping his arms around his raised
knees.
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‘It’s been some time since our last encounter. I was wondering when you’d decide to
visit.’
‘It wasn’t an easy decision, or completely mine. Brigadier?’
The Brigadier stepped forward and addressed the Master, his tone grave and clipped.
‘The young lady behind me is Miss Sarah Jane Smith.’
‘Ah, yes. We’ve met briefly once or twice before, although I’ve yet to develop a
strong rapport with her, unlike the plucky Miss Grant. How is she, by the way?’ the Master
asked, turning her head towards the Doctor.
‘Perfectly fine, thank you,’ the Doctor responded, ‘and probably happy never to have
to see you again.’
‘How sad. I so enjoyed working with her, but I imagine I’ll get along with Miss Smith
just as cordially.’
‘You will only answer what questions Miss Smith put to you,’ the Brigadier said
heatedly. ‘As a journalist, she is eager to interview you. I have allowed her, in my opinion,
unwise request solely on the grounds that you might give us the reasons for your unexpected
surrender to us.’
‘My dear Brigadier, I have been willing to supply that information since my arrival
last week, it’s only been your attempts to, and I assume, starve me out, which have delayed
my divulging it.’
‘Quite,’ the Brigadier muttered with a self-annoyed expression upon his face. ‘If
you’re ready, Miss Smith.’
Sarah-Jane looked at the Brigadier, then the Doctor. To be honest she had not fully
expected to be granted this interview, and now that she was here, in the presence of the
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Master, she found herself feeling a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Nevertheless, she
was excited.
‘Oh, yes, I am.’
The Doctor unfolded the leather-covered seat and then the table, which he set down
in the middle of the cell, a good distance from the Master.
‘Just so you don’t try to be too close during the interview,’ the Doctor said as he
stepped back and stood behind the chair.
‘Doctor. You have me in your custody of my own free will; can’t you have faith in
me to be civil for one moment?’
‘Perhaps, on the day that I trust you. Now, here you are, Sarah,’ the Doctor said as
he ushered her into the seat. ‘We’re right behind you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
Sarah-Jane sat comfortably, rested her notepad and pen open her lap, and placed her
tape-recorder on the small table at her side. She pressed the recorder’s on button and began
to speak.
‘This interview is occurring on 1st January, 1975, at a time and place I cannot reveal,
unfortunately. My name is Sarah-Jane Smith, and my interviewee is the renegade alien known
to UNIT as the Master. How do you do?’
‘I’m quite well, thank you. And may I say it’s a pleasure to make your proper
acquaintance, Miss Smith. Our earlier meetings have been too brief.’
‘Perhaps. Are you being treated well?’
‘My accommodations are somewhat confined compared to my usual expectations,
but, given my history with this organisation, I suppose I should be thankful for small
mercies.’
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‘Let’s talk about your history, shall we?’
Sarah reached into her satchel on the floor at her side and pulled out a large, brightred folder. From within this, she removed a thick stack of various-sized papers, which
contained many original, photocopied, typewritten and handwritten documents.
‘This is a file containing all known information pertaining to you, which details all of
your encounters with UNIT and the Doctor. It’s exhaustive to say the least.’
‘I have my own file; I’m truly honoured to warrant such attention.’
‘You’ve had the country’s attention for a long time. Your earliest known appearance
dates back to September 1969, immediately after the Black Friday Auton Invasion.
According to these documents, you disguised yourself as a wax museum curator in order to
kidnap the Doctor, is this right?’
‘Officially, yes. Although, technically, I was in a different body at that time, but that
changed thanks to the Doctor’s then-assistant, Miss Elizabeth Shaw. You’ve had the pleasure
to meet her, I wonder?’
‘I’m afraid not, but what do you mean by ‘a different body?’’
‘Oh my, you haven’t heard of that trick we Time Lords often play? Well, I don’t
want to embarrass the Doctor too much, but suffice it to say if you travel with him, you’ll
probably discover my meaning.’
‘Fair enough. Further records have you subsequently appearing on Earth during the
autumn of 1970, in the theft of a Nestene energy unit, which, through use of the Farrell
Plastics Factory, facilitated your leadership in the second Auton invasion. On that occasion
you made another attempt on the Doctor’s life, particularly through the hypnosis of his atthe-time assistant, Josephine Grant. Do you often find hypnotising an effective means to
acquire helping hands in your designs?’
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‘Oh, completely. I’ve always found that one is never truly a master unless he can
command his servants so completely, that they are oblivious to the fact that their actions are
no longer their own. It really is an exquisite exercise of power.’
‘And you believe total power over others to be a worthy practice?’
‘My dear, the use of power is not a practice, it is an art, and for me in particular, it is
a way of life. Being powerful makes the possession of it worthy in itself. Let’s consider you,
for example.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, you’re the person asking me the questions. You choose those question based
on the hope to illicit specific answers from me, in order to collect certain data and
information you’ve hoped to gain. You steer our conversation in the direction you desire
with a planned purpose in mind, your purpose. And it is satisfying when that interview goes
well; for it justifies your existence, your sense of being, of self. How is our interview
progressing, may I ask?’
‘Not quite as I expected. But getting back to your history: after the Auton invasion
the number of incidents involving you against UNIT frankly skyrockets.’
‘Oh, no doubt. I sometimes wonder if UNIT doesn’t secretly miss me when I’m not
around.’
‘This is happening more often these days, your not being around. Do you care to
comment on why this is?’
‘You mean the reason why I haven’t staged some new design to conquer the Earth
and destroy the Doctor in recent months? Why the answer is simple, my dear: I’m being
hunted.’
‘Hunted?’By whom?’
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‘By the same race that the Doctor calls his greatest enemies, apart from me, of
course: the Daleks.’
‘Daleks?!’ the Doctor cried with great energy. ‘Are you positive?’
‘Oh, Doctor, who would be foolish to mistake the Daleks when they attack? Yes, I
am sure.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, after your ever-reliable interference with their secret army’s activation on
Spiridon, the Daleks were understandably quite furious with the failure of their planned
conquest of Earth. This happened in the future, Miss Smith, so you’ve nothing to worry
about, yet.’
‘Get on with it, man,’ the Doctor spat, his hands tensing at his sides.
‘Oh, without hesitation, Doctor; for I’m just as much in danger as you are. It seems
the Daleks decided to blame me for your meddling, and have designated me as their Public
Enemy Number Two.’
‘They attacked you then?’
‘Yes, but not immediately the Spiridon incident; patience is a virtue the Daleks still
seem to value. But not long after you, Miss Smith, and I last met in that dreary prison cell, I
found my TARDIS being traced by a temporal signature while in flight. Naturally, I tried to
evade the trace, but to no avail. Within moments one signature became many and then
countless as I found myself facing a full-scale Dalek time-fleet, ready to assault me. And
assault me they did, nearly excising my time track from the vortex.’
‘Jumping Jehosephat! That could have caused a massive disruption to the time vortex!
How did you manage to escape that?’
‘By sheer brilliance, Doctor, but not without great sacrifice: I lost my TARDIS.’
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‘Destroyed? But that’s impossible; TARDISes are -.’
‘Indestructible, yes. And I didn’t say it was destroyed. Unfortunately, like all things,
even a TARDIS has its weaknesses, and the Daleks are becoming quite adept at discovering
them. So I survived the best way I knew how: I made a series of brief, random
materialisations – the last being Earth – before I exited my Ship and sent it on an uncharted
journey in the Vortex.’
‘You’re hardly going to be able to get there yourself, you know, not unless you call
upon the Time Lords, and I’m sure you don’t want them breathing down your neck.’
‘Well, as I said, I really had no choice, not with the Daleks already there.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Sarah-Jane interjected, ‘I’ve met the Daleks, too, you know, and
although I wouldn’t call them friendly, they definitely weren’t as dangerous as you’re
describing.’
The Master cast a puzzled glance at the Doctor.
‘I thought your new friend was a journalist, Doctor. It seems to me she’s rather
uninformed.’
The Doctor rubbed his neck, sympathising with but also a tad embarrassed by SarahJane’s naivety.
‘We met them on Exxilon, you see. It was the planetary power drain; they weren’t at
their best.’
‘Exxilon? Ah, yes, the Great City, now I see. Yes, it was a powerful energy
absorbent, wasn’t it? Still, you should be grateful no one cited you for vandalism, Doctor;
that was one of the Great Wonders, you know. Nevertheless, Miss Smith, despite your
relatively benign experience with their race, I can assure you, you grossly underestimate the
destructive capabilities of the Daleks. Believe me, that is a critical error to make, and one that
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leaves me forced to throw myself upon the mercy of you, Doctor, and the Brigadier, of
course,’ the Master said, glancing at Lethbridge-Stewart and casting him a charming smile.
The Brigadier did not return the courtesy.
‘If you’ve come here to claim some sort of asylum,’ he said, ‘then I’m glad to say you
wore out your welcome to our world long ago. And I think this conversation has outlasted
its usefulness as well; you will forgive me, Miss Smith, but I have received orders to transfer
this man to a permanent maximum security holding facility to await the United Nations’
decision on his presence on Earth.’
Sarah-Jane clenched her jaw as she switched off her recorder and stood from her
chair, furious that anyone, especially a friend, should interrupt an once-in-a-lifetime
interview. The Master tutted with a knowing smile.
‘This is still a man’s world, isn’t it, Miss Smith?’
The Brigadier impatiently gestured to Benton to remove the Master; the young
soldier strode forward and gripped the Master under his arm, lifting him to his feet. As he
started to pull the Master towards the hatch way, the Time Lord glared at the young solider,
before snapping,
‘My dear Brigadier, don’t you understand – I’m your world’s only hope of surviving
against the Daleks!’
‘And how can that possibly be the case?’
‘Because they’re planning to invade this planet!’
The Doctor stepped forward.
‘Just a moment, Sergeant.’
‘Now, Doctor, you can’t possibly trust –’ the Brigadier interjected.
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‘I don’t trust him!’ the Doctor cried, his face taut with concern as he stared first at
the Brigadier, then the Master. ‘But I trust the Daleks to make good on any chance to invade
the Earth.’
‘A wise belief. And you won’t have long to wait to see it justified; they are coming
even as we speak.’
‘How long?’ the Doctor asked.
‘Very soon, I should think; had you bothered to ask me sooner instead of letting me
stew in here for the last week, we might have had more time to prepare a defence.’
The Doctor glared at the Master, who stared back at with a neutral but expectant
expression. The Doctor narrowed his eyes and spoke again.
‘I’m willing to believe you may have been desperate enough to come here if your life
depended on it, but I still don’t trust you.’
‘I wouldn’t expect you to, Doctor, that’s why I going to prove to you that I’m right.’
‘How?’
‘By showing you where they’re going to arrive, of course.’
‘Out of the question,’ the Brigadier said. ‘We’re not letting you out of custody for a
moment.’
The Master sighed and raised his hands.
‘You can manacle, if you like, Brigadier. No matter what, I’m not going anywhere.
But if you do nothing, I can assure you none of us will.’
The Brigadier glanced over at the Doctor, who stared back and nodded. The
Brigadier turned to Benton.
‘Sergeant, fetch some manacles, would you.’
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The crisp winter morning air clung soft and light to the earth. Rivers of ice-entombed water
ran silently through snow-clutched banks of cold earth. Not even insects stirred in the cloudcovered dawn. Then the low rumble of large machines disturbed the chilly silence as a
caravan of UNIT covered lorries emerged on the horizon, their tires churning clouds of
snow and earth dust into the air, polluting the misty whiteness lingering around their metal
undercarriages.
Inside the carriage of each lorry sat a platoon of soldiers, fully dressed and armed for
combat. They sat without speaking in rows on opposite sides of the canvassed space, staring
at the ground or cleaning non-existent smudges on the casings of their Browning .50 Calibre
Machine guns, wondering – from the stories the seasoned soldiers told of the incident at
Auderley House – if even those massive cartridges would pierce the Daleks’ extraterrestrial
armour plating. In case of that possibility, the Brigadier had ordered each soldier to carry
extra grenades and be issued an ATR. There was no room for error in this situation.
About a quarter mile in the front of the caravan, the Doctor’s car, Bessie, a bright
yellow roadster with gigantic yellow-spoked wheels, sped through the snow. Its tires barely
touched the snow-bound surface of the earth yet somehow kept excellent traction and
extreme speed. Inside the car, the Doctor sat behind the wheel, the bracing winter wind
blowing through his white shock of hair. At his side sat Sarah-Jane, bundled up in a thick,
fur-skinned grey coat and a matching woollen cap pulled down over her ears. In the back
seat sat the Master, wearing only his black suit (for he refused to any extra clothing offered
him), flanked by the Brigadier and Benton, who like the other soldiers was also armed with a
Browning Machine Gun and an ATR. The atmosphere amongst Bessie’s occupants was
heavy.
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‘Stop here, Doctor,’ the Master spoke over the vibration of the roadster’s engines.
The Doctor adjusted Bessie’s gearbox and brought slowly to a halt. As soon the vehicle’s
motion ceased, the Brigadier motioned to Benton that he watch the Master, while he stood
upon his seat and waved the front lorry to halt. The passenger in the cabin of that lorry
reached out an arm through the side window and mimicked the same signal to the vehicle
behind them; this signal repeated itself via each lorry’s passenger until the entire train had
stopped, their engines steaming in the cool air, the only sound in the silent morning.
The Doctor turned round in his seat and addressed the Master. ‘All right, we’re here.
Now what?’
The Master smiled and cast his eyes about the countryside.
‘Shall we talk a walk, Doctor, just you and I?’
The Doctor studied his old enemy’s face, searching for intent in his features. He gave
a curt nod. The Master turned to Benton.
‘Sergeant, is it so necessary that I keep these handcuffs? I’m hardly going to escape
with all your guns trained on me, am I?’
‘Sorry, but I don’t want you making any trouble.’
‘Well, my dear Sergeant, you should know by now, if I wanted to cause any trouble’ –
the Master raised his hand and draped the pair of locked manacles around the barrel of
Benton’s rifle – ‘I would have done so long ago.’
The Master sat for a moment staring at Benton, making so sudden movements.
‘I may leave, then?’
Benton set his teeth, but decided to let the Doctor have his time with the Master. He
unlocked Bessie’s side door and exited, allowing the Master to pass unheeded. But I’m keeping
my sights on you, he thought as the Master stood before the Doctor’s door. In the passenger
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seat, Sarah-Jane asked the Doctor to be careful; he smiled briefly, and then left Bessie and
faced the Master, who motioned with an extended arm that they should walk. The two Time
Lords marched off into rolling snowy mists. After several paces, the Doctor spoke.
‘All right, let’s have it. Where are the Daleks?’
‘Would you believe I’m not quite sure and so I have to search for the exact spot?’
‘With you, I’m not sure anything can be believed.’
‘Yes, I rather have made myself unreliable narrator over the years, haven’t I? Of
course, having poor Captain Yates betray you and the Brigadier like that must not have
helped build your faith in others.’
‘How do you know about that?’
‘Oh, come now, Doctor, do you honestly believe I haven’t kept up on you in recent
times? But to fall like that… It must have hurt you dearly.’
‘Well, some friendships don’t last, or end well, do they?’
‘Quite so, Doctor. Wait!’
The Master stopped and held up a hand of warning. Both he and the Doctor lifted
their heads and listened. There was a faint droning sound lilting through the air, like the hum
of a motor. Then the Doctor saw a shape in the distance; he pointed in its direction. It was
something squat and dark. It moved towards them.
‘I think it’s time to call in the troops, don’t you think?’ the Master said. He and the
Doctor turned around and broke into a jog, but leapt back when from out of a high bank of
driven snow burst the silver and black-knobbed form of a Dalek. Its eye-stalk swivelled
towards them and its harsh metallic voice rent the air.
‘You are the Doctor and the Master! You are the enemies of the Daleks! You will both be
exterminated! Exterminate! Exterminate!’
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PART TWO
THE DALEK
AIMED ITS GUN-STICK AT THE
DOCTOR,
THEN AT THE
MASTER. IN
THE
split-second of that movement, both Time Lords realised the Dalek was deciding which of
them to kill first; they glanced at each other, guessed the other’s plan-of-defence, and broke
into a run, criss-crossing the other’s path and circling behind the Dalek. They crouched
down at the back-end of the creature’s base and began scrapping away handfuls of snow,
digging a deep, wide ditch. They had only seconds to do this. Meanwhile, the Dalek spun its
top dome, trying to keep its eye-piece upon its target. Seeing nothing in its sights, the mutant
perched within the machine sent a program command to its casing to turn around, and then
experienced a sudden rushing disorientation as the ground gave way beneath its base and the
Dalek fell backwards into the ditch the Doctor and the Master had dug.
‘Help! My mobility is compromised! I cannot move!’ the Dalek screeched as it lay upon its
back, its appendages flailing wildly. Then the Dalek felt a substantial weight press upon it.
External sensors indicated there was a humanoid body standing upon its front outer casing.
Within its enhanced vision, an image of the Master appeared. His beard framed a dark smile.
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‘And that’s just how I want you,’ the Master said as he lifted a foot and rammed the
Dalek’s eye-stalk straight back into the casing, impaling the mutant within.
‘Good boy,’ the Master whispered as the muffled dying gurgles of the Dalek reached
his ears, like a lilting aria. Then the Doctor rushed up, grabbed the Master by the arm, and
pulled him down to the snow-congested ground.
‘We’re not out of the woods yet; there are still more of them!’
The Master tugged his arm free, shot a scathing glare at the Doctor, but said nothing
more as they broke into a run back towards Bessie and the caravan. The Brigadier watched
their approach, and saw the Doctor waving his arms before him; it was the call to battle.
Lethbridge-Stewart and Benton jumped out of Bessie with weapons drawn. Benton turned
to the vehicles behind them and gave the dismount signal. They did so, as scores of UNIT
troops disgorged from the lorries’ compartments, weapons in hand. Back at the head of the
caravan, the Doctor and the Master reached Bessie. Sarah-Jane left the roadster and joined
the Doctor, who patted her on the shoulder but addressed the Brigadier.
‘They’re already here,’ the Doctor panted. ‘The Daleks are here.’
‘Good heavens. Can we mount a surprise attack?’
‘Too late, Brigadier,’ the Master said, staring back into the snowy field. ‘They’re on
their way.’
‘Troops, take your positions,’ the Brigadier shouted. The soldiers assumed attack
postures, some braced against the ground on one knee, and others flung supine along the
ground, resting upon their elbows. Every gun barrel pointed towards the rolling white clouds
of ice fragments just meters away, masses of white and silver gliding towards them…
‘Fire!’ the Brigadier cried, just as the first Dalek eye-piece pierced the gloom. At his
side, Benton was the first to obey as he remembered the Doctor’s tactical advice during the
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Chris McKeon
Dalek’s earlier invasion at Auderley House, and aimed his ATR at that target, pressed the
firing trigger, and released the rocket, which thrust forward with unrelenting force towards
the Dalek, striking bull’s-eye into the round ocular screen and fragmenting the creature’s
upper dome and protective grating. A gout of flame ignited from within the Dalek as it
halted in its movement, dead. Its comrades glided forward, paying no heed to the casualty.
The other troops unleashed a dense volley of ammunition. Browning cartridges,
heavy grenades, and ATRs lanced the air like a swarm of murderous insects. The Daleks
returned the greeting with their own firepower, and as Sarah-Jane watched in horror, rays of
fiery blue-green light shot forth from the aliens’ gun-sticks, enveloping the soldiers in their
path with fire, changing the colour of their skin and clothing like a photo-negative image,
searing the moment of their deaths into her vision as their broken bodies flung backwards
and onto the lifeless earth beneath. Without hearing his approach, Sarah-Jane jumped as the
voice of the Master spoke into her ear.
‘That, Miss Smith, is the true killing power of the Daleks.’
The discharge of the Daleks’ continuing energy blasts and the fiery explosions of
UNIT’s artillery began to clear away some of the snow-clutched air hugging the earth, and
the true compliment of the Dalek assault force began to appear; they numbered in the
thousands. The Doctor’s eyes widened as he witnessed the size of the group bearing down
upon them. We don’t stand a chance, not with those numbers! Unless…
‘Brigadier, order your men to pull back behind the caravan, and turn on all the
engines!’
‘But Doctor -’
‘Just do it man!’
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Chris McKeon
Before waiting to see if the Brigadier did as he asked (but knowing he would), the
Doctor hurried over to Bessie, leapt over its driver’s side door and sat behind the wheel.
‘Doctor!’ Sarah-Jane cried, wondering what he was doing, but the Time Lord paid
her no attention as he pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver, pointed it at the vehicle’s dashboard
and activated the device at its full power. After a moment, he turned off the screwdriver, and
then flicked a switch on Bessie’s dashboard. A high-pitched droning sound filled the air. The
Doctor exited Bessie via another door-leap, and re-joined the Brigadier, Benton, Sarah-Jane
and the Master. He wore a pleased smile on his face.
‘I think that’s solved our problem for the moment.’
Sarah-Jane was about to ask what the Doctor meant, when she realised the Daleks
had stopped firing, or rather, as she looked at them once more and saw the continuing
flashes of their weapons appears and then disappear, the Daleks’ fire was no longer reaching
them.
‘What have you done, Doctor?’ she asked in amazement.
‘Why, I’ve erected a simple forcefield to surround the Daleks, my dear, powered
from Bessie’ anti-theft device and boosted by some quick modifications by my Sonic
Screwdriver. Normally the field attracts objects to Bessie, but this time I’ve directed the
energy away from her instead of towards. I’ve also keyed the field into the heat and chemical
reactions produced by all the lorries’ engines, adding to its power source.’
‘You always were an ingenious fellow, my dear Doctor,’ the Master stated, almost
with pride. ‘It’s a pity your respite won’t last.’
‘What’s he mean, Doc?’ Benton said, keeping his ATR fixed upon the Dalek in front
of him. ‘Won’t this shield-thing of yours hold the Daleks back?’
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Chris McKeon
‘I’m afraid not, Sergeant. I’m taxing Bessie’s engine far past her normal limits, even
with the caravan’s support. She’ll hold off for a little while, but eventually the power-drain
will burn itself out. Sergeant Benton, you’d better radio Osgood from HQ to get out here;
tell him the situation and ask him to bring the frequency generations he and I have been
working on, there’s a good chap.’
‘Right, Doc,’ Benton replied as he jogged to the nearest lorry to contact Osgood.
Meanwhile, the Brigadier gripped his swagger stick in his hands, planning a course of action.
‘Right,’ he barked, ‘we’d better use this impasse to our advantage. We have limited
time and need all the help we can get. I’m calling in more troops from Geneva.’
‘No, Brigadier, there’s no time!’ the Master snapped, blocking Lethbridge-Stewart’s
path to the nearest UNIT lorry. ‘The Daleks will break through that paltry shield within a
matter of hours, if not sooner! Your infantile organisation wouldn’t be able to mobilise a
working canteen in that amount of time, nor is UNIT alone capable of defeating a threat of
this magnitude. Your only chance of surviving this day is if you allow me direct accesses to
the leaders of the world; if we work together and show them the situation, then perhaps they
will mobilise a proper defence. Maybe then, you might live to fight another day.’
The Brigadier’s drew himself up to his full height and towered over the Master, his
eyes blazing with disbelief and fury.
‘How dare you make such a request, after all you’ve done to destroy our world? Why
should you care about our survival, anyway?’
‘My dear Brigadier, I don’t, but I care about mine, and that means I’ll be certain to
do everything in my power to ensure it. Remember the Axons. But if it takes some sacrifice
on my part to keep your fur unruffled…’ The Master reached into his pocket and produced
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Chris McKeon
a long, thin black tube – the TCE, his weapon of choice – and held it sideways in his palm
before the Brigadier.
‘My Tissue Compression Eliminator.’ The Master turned to Benton, who had
returned from calling UNIT HQ, and held the weapon out to him.
‘My gift to you, Sergeant; you’re the one man I trust not to learn how to use it.’
With an expression that understood the Master’s hurtful irony, Benton snatched the
TCE and quickly tucked the device into his own pocket. This done, the Master turned back
to the Brigadier and gave a small nod.
‘I trust I’ve proven the sincerity of my intentions.’
‘Perhaps, but I won’t permit you to go alone.’
‘I don’t intend to go alone; even I must admit my limitations at times, and you and
the Doctor will add credibility to our enterprise; besides I’m sure most of the world
authorities want the Doctor’s autograph.’
‘How very flattering,’ the Doctor said, unimpressed but convinced of the need for
the excursion. ‘Don’t worry, Brigadier, I’ll keep my hand on the Master’s leash.’
‘And I promise not to bite, Doctor. Now shall we go?’
‘Yes, but how? We’re out in the middle of nowhere, you know.’
‘Pity I don’t have my TARDIS, but perhaps we can use yours, and before you
protest that we left it back at UNIT HQ, I have within my possession a Stattenheim Remote
Control; I can summon it from here.’
‘Yes,’ the Doctor muttered nonchalantly, although there was a hint of approval
buried in his tone. ‘Yes, I imagine that’ll succeed, but I’ll have to give you the homing
frequency of my Ship first.’
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Chris McKeon
‘No need, Doctor, I already have everything I need here,’ the Master said, tapping a
finger to the side of his head as he pulled a small black oval disk out of his front jacket
pocket with the other hand. ‘I’ve been inside your Ship, after all; it’s not hard to learn its
secrets.’
The Doctor gave his old enemy a steely gaze as the Master finished programming the
remote and pressed a dark purple button at its centre. Immediately, the recognisable sound
of the TARDIS’ dematerialisation rang through the air, and its familiar Police Box shape
solidified directly before the Master. He turned to those assembled behind him and smiled.
‘You see? My coordinates are sound.’
‘If you’ll kindly leave the piloting to me,’ the Doctor said as he fished the TARDIS
key from his pocket and unlocked its door. He opened the door; Sarah Jane quickly laid a
hand on his arm.
‘Hold on! You’re not leaving me here; I want some of those world authorities’
interviews!’
‘Of course I’m not leaving you, Sarah. Who else will distract them from getting my
autograph?’
The Doctor smiled at Sarah Jane, and then turned to the Master.
‘After you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
The Doctor and the Master entered the TARDIS, followed by Sarah Jane. From
beyond the open door, the Doctor’s voice called out a moment later.
‘Come along, Brigadier, you already know about the inside!’
‘Just a moment, Doctor,’ the Brigadier replied. He half-turned to Benton, who spoke
to him.
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Chris McKeon
‘Go ahead without me, sir. I’ll keep the lads in line.’
The Brigadier stood watching his junior officer for a moment and then smiled, small
and sadly.
‘No, Mr. Benton, your place is at my side. You’re too valuable a soldier to risk in this
situation, and since Mike… Well… I need someone I can trust.’
Benton nodded.
‘Thank you, sir. I’ll let the lads know we’re off.’
Lethbridge-Stewart waited while Benton radioed the troops of their departure. Then
he returned and the two soldiers marched towards the TARDIS. As they walked, Benton
spoke.
‘It’s too bad, you know, sir, about the Captain and all. I just wish there was
something we could do about it.’
‘Perhaps, Mr. Benton, when this is over, we can think of something…’
They shut the TARDIS door behind them. The time machine’s engines roared once
more and its shape disappeared. The impact of the Daleks’ weaponry fire against Bessie’s
forcefield flared over and over…
The Prime Minister sat with his hands clasped tight upon the top of his work desk. He
stared at the day’s entry in his appointment book, which lay open before him. He had a full
schedule of meetings, conferences, debates in Parliament, a dinner engagement at the French
Embassy, and a late-afternoon plane trip to the UN to negotiate possession of the world’s
nuclear codes. The PM glanced at the brass and glass clock placed at the desk’s left-hand
corner: three minutes before his first appointment. He inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. He
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Chris McKeon
always gave himself a few moments of complete silence to compose himself before the
hustle and bustle of the day.
Just as the desk clock’s inner mechanisms began to wind tight to release the hammer
to strike the bell and inaugurate the new hour, a loud, expansive sound shattered the silence
within the PM’s office, as, to his shock, the outlines of a tall, dark blue rectangle shimmered
into view a few feet in front of his desk. The strange whooping sound increased in volume,
and then abruptly ceased with a deep thump as the box fully appeared. The PM was at a
complete loss for thought at the extraordinary event, until he saw the white letters near the
top of the hut spelling the words “POLICE BOX.” Was it really him, here at Downing
Street?
One of the two long windowed doors of the box opened and out strode five people:
the infamous Doctor dressed as ever in crushed velvet, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart
sporting full combat fatigues, his armed-to-the-teeth junior officer (but a very amiable fellow
over the phone) Sergeant Benton, a young dark-haired woman he did not recognise –
presumably the journalist who was causing his PR staff so much trouble - , and, to the PM’s
horror, the terrorist known publicly as Victor Magister, but to those unfortunate enough to
know the truth, as the Master. The Master fixed his eyes upon the PM and smiled.
‘Mister Prime Minister, how nice to make your acquaintance once again.’ the Master
said in a smooth, calm voice. ‘This is a grand and highly anticipated honour. Allow me to
apologise for not completing my prison sentence, but I found my accommodations too
confining.’
‘Oh, come off it, man,’ the Doctor snapped; his face was set with a grim frown. ‘This
isn’t a friendly chat over tea and cake.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Quite true, Doctor,’ the Master replied, ‘but I’ve always believed it’s best to face
one’s doom as if it were the most dignified of occasions. And understand me well: if you
don’t listen to what I have to say, we are all doomed.’
‘We are listening,’ the Prime Minister interjected, ‘but you must realise the
unorthodoxy of your visit and the presence of this man means that we do so with a definite
measure of scepticism.’ The PM stood and addressed the Doctor.
‘I’m assuming your coming here, in this way, is for a good reason.’
‘My being anywhere is always for the best of reasons.’
‘Quite. But this man? For all we know he’s here as part of another of his plans.’
The Master stepped forward, spreading his hands in an apologetic motion.
‘I accept my activities over the last several years have required much energy and
planning, and the execution of many minor details.’
‘And many innocent lives,’ the Doctor muttered under his breath, which the Master
heard with a small smirk.
‘You will therefore understand,’ the PM continued, talking with small haste in the
hope to avoid any arguments between his visitors, ‘if we find anything you have to say
difficult to believe.’
‘Of course, Prime Minister. But I’m sure that you’ll believe me.’
The PM focused his gaze upon Lethbridge-Stewart.
‘Brigadier, I have the feeling we are about to discuss matters of national importance.
I trust all present have read and signed the Official Secrets Act.’
‘I can assure you, sir; we have done so, and understand the restrictions placed upon
us.’
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Chris McKeon
The Brigadier glanced over at Sarah-Jane, who kept her eyes upon the notes she
scribbled upon her notepad while her mouth contracted in annoyance. The PM nodded and
addressed the Master.
‘Very well. You have our attention.’
‘Good. You are aware of an alien race called the Daleks?’
‘Daleks… You mean those metal things with plungers; they look like large
pepperpots?’
‘That is a rough description, yes.’
‘Then, yes, I am. They attacked Auderly House, didn’t they? When was it, Brigadier,
back in September, 1971?’
‘Thereabouts – it’s hard to keep tracks of all the dates, sir.’
‘Regardless of the when,’ the Master continued, ‘the fact is that a Dalek army capable
of overrunning every house in your country is massing not far from here at this very
moment. If you wish to survive to the end of term, Prime Minister, you must mobilise your
forces without delay.’
The PM leaned forward onto his desk. He stared at the Brigadier.
‘Can you confirm this?’
‘Oh, it’s true, sir. We came directly from there.’
‘And how long until they reach London?’
It was the Doctor who answered.
‘They’re not on the move. I trapped them in a forcefield; it should hold them for a
little while yet.’
‘Then we have some time to prepare. Thank Heavens.’
The PM pressed a button on his desk intercom.
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Chris McKeon
‘Miss Pounds? An emergency situation has arisen; I’m clearing my schedule. Please
assemble the Cabinet.’
The PM’s secretary confirmed his request and he switched off his intercom. As he
reached for his telephone, the Master stepped forward.
‘If I might make a suggestion? The Daleks are nothing but efficient; they deploy only
the quantity of soldiers they deem necessary to accomplish their objective and they need
only a relatively small force to conquer your tiny island completely. Now this army numbers
in the thousands, and as the Doctor will agree, such a size can only mean one thing.’
The Master turned to the Doctor with an expectant expression upon his face. The
Doctor reflected back to his old enemy a face of grim understanding.
‘They intend to conquer the entire planet.’
‘Precisely.’ The Master turned back to the PM. ‘And no length of Cabinet meetings
will stop them.’
‘Then… Then what do you suggest?’ The PM could feel the blood draining from his
face as he asked.
‘The answer is clear: a worldwide counter response. To do this, you must contact the
other heads of state at once and apprise them of the situation.’
‘But to set up a communication of that scale will take hours at the least. Even I can’t
organise a meeting that quickly!’
‘Oh, I’m not asking you to. On the contrary, I’m offering to do it for you, with the
Doctor’s assistance and supervision, of course. Trust me, Prime Minister, with my’ – the
Master glanced back at the Doctor – ‘our abilities at your service, not only will we have a
world-wide communications link with your peers fully operation within the hour, but we will
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Chris McKeon
have a fighting chance against the Daleks. Remember, my safety is at stake too, so you’ve
nothing to lose and everything to gain by my help.’
The PM considered the offer, weighing the consequences of being seen to work with
a terrorist like the Master. But was this an offer he could afford to refuse? There was one
man who could yet adjust his decision.
‘What do you think, Doctor? You know the Master better than us all. Can we trust
him?’
The Doctor gripped the back of his neck and stared at the Master through narrow
eyes.
‘To do the right thing, of course not. But to save his own skin when his life’s at risk,
always. ‘
‘Then I feel it is in our best interests if we accept his help. Please do all you can to
save our world.’
‘Very well,’ the Master answered. He turned to the Doctor. ‘If we are to establish
the global communications link, we can do so faster if we utilise certain components from
your TARDIS. Shall we?’
The Doctor waved his arm towards the TARDIS’ doorway.
‘By all means.’
The Master made to enter the TARDIS, but the Doctor stepped over to block his
path.
‘I’ll accompany you, shall I?’
The corners of the Master’s mouth twitched to hide a sneer. ‘By all means.’
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Chris McKeon
Sergeant Osgood was sitting in Bessie’s passenger-seat adjusting the Doctor’s frequency
generator – a large chrome sphere studded with buttons and lights and mounted on a squat
cylindrical base – which he had placed on the roadster’s dashboard. He studied an energy
pattern on one of the generator’s read-out panels and scratched his chin in puzzlement.
‘Corporal Llewellyn?’ he called over his shoulder to a short, sturdily-built Welshman,
who had the current watch upon the Daleks behind the energy shield. Llewellyn shouldered
his ATR and hurried over to the seated Osgood.
‘Sir?’
‘Is someone using one of our radios?’
‘Not as far as I know, sir. We should be keeping the lines open, as per standing
orders, in case the Brigadier or the Doctor tries to contact us.’
‘Exactly. And yet…’ Osgood leaned close to the generator, adjusting the controls.
‘There’s some type of secondary bandwidth operating in the area.’
‘Maybe those Dalek things are trying another to break through the forcefield;
they’ve stopped firing anyway.’
‘Yes, that is strange, their not firing. It’s almost as if they’re biding their time. But if
I’m reading this right, this other signal isn’t so much interfering with the Doctor’s, but more
like… hiding behind it – Llewellyn! Get onto the Brigadier and tell him there’s an unknown
energy frequency in our area piggybacking on the forcefield’s signature. Ask him if the
Doctor knows anything about it.’
Llewellyn complied; he pulled out his walkie-talkie and switched on to the
Lethbridge-Stewart’s channel, but only static emerged from the machine’s speakers.
‘Sergeant! We’ve got a problem! I think we’re being jammed!’
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Chris McKeon
‘It’s worse than that, Corporal,’ Osgood muttered as he finally understood the
readings before him. ‘That extra frequency is a homing signal, and it’s coming from the
Daleks!’
The Doctor and the Master had spent the last half and hour working inside the Ship while
the PM, Sarah Jane, and the Brigadier had been making hurried calls to the leaders of the
Superpowers and the allied countries of the United Nations. The Master had instructed that
when they made the calls that they should keep each line open once they had made contact
with a leader; the PM had requisitioned every available phone line in Downing Street to
accomplish this. Suddenly there movement from within the TARDIS. It was the Doctor.
‘You should be able to broadcast globally within a few moments,’ he called to the
PM as he stood within the open doorway of his TARDIS.
‘That’s wonderful news, Doctor,’ responded the PM. ‘Lethbridge-Stewart and I are
just making the final calls now; my peers should be standing by to await our transmission.’
The Doctor nodded his understanding and returned into the TARDIS. As the
Brigadier finished another phone call and replaced one of the PM’s receivers, Benton
stepped up to him with his walkie-talkie in hand.
‘Sorry to bother you, sir, but I’ve been trying to contact the lads back at the caravan
but my unit’s just getting static. I think it may be jammed.’
The Brigadier took the communicator from Benton’s hands and tested its controls.
‘You’re right, Benton, and that’s a coincidence that with our present company I don’t
like at all.’
Lethbridge-Stewart was about to take the walkie-talkie to show to the Doctor when
the Master strode out of the TARDIS.
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Chris McKeon
‘We’ve finished, Prime Minister.’
‘Jolly good,’ the PM breathed with relief. He watched with interest as the Master
stepped partway back into the Police Box and, with the help of the Doctor, then carried out
a large burnished-gold disk about a meter in diameter with a small side panel set waist-high,
attached to the disk by a long vertical column. They placed the machine on the floor several
feet before the TARDIS; a long, sturdily-built silver and black cable was connected to the
underside of the disk and snaked away back through the Ship’s doorway.
‘Right,’ the Doctor said. ‘Here it is. This will relay your message, Prime Minister, to
the rest of the world’s leaders of the Daleks' invasion.’
‘But how… How does it work?’ the PM queried, studying the odd device.
‘Allow me, Doctor,’ the Master stated. ‘It’s quite simple, Minister. The machine is
essentially a highly sophisticated television; it records an audio-visual picture of your body
and broadcasts a holographic signal to whoever needs to receive it.’
‘But how will it know who should receive the message?’
‘Ah, that is where the Doctor and I assist you. The communications device is linked
into his TARDIS. You’ve heard of telepathy, I assume?’
‘Speaking by thoughts, isn’t it?’
‘In a rudimentary sense, yes. Now the TARDIS has circuits capable of detecting
specific thought patterns, and we’ve programmed them to seek out the brain signals of those
world leaders – we tallied a list through the telephone lines you’ve called over the last several
minutes – and the relay device will beam the image through the open phone lines; they
should see you as if you were actually there.’
‘You’ve both been incredibly thorough,’ the PM said, amazed at the two Time Lords’
abilities.
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Chris McKeon
‘True success requires a meticulous mind,’ the Master responded. ‘And now, it’s time
to earn our success. Now, Prime Minister, for this machine to record your message you must
be within its direct range here.’
The Master pointed to the disk, indicating that the PM should stand upon it. He did
so, mentally preparing himself to be at his best as he waited for transmission. The Doctor
walked up to him and held out his hand.
‘Good luck, old chap. You’ll be just fine.’
The PM shook the Doctor’s hand and offered a friendly smile.
‘Thank you, Doctor, I’ll need it.’ He looked up and set his face. ‘I’ve always wanted
to say this: I’m ready for my close-up. Begin transmission.’
The Master nodded and tapped a series of buttons on the side panel. A moment later
the disk began to vibrate with a low-pitched rumbling hum. It began to glow with a faint
yellow light.
‘It’s ready now, Minister,’ the Doctor cried over the din. ‘You can start now!’
The PM nodded and began to speak. He had only spoken a few moments when a
crackling flurry of static broke through the walkie-talkie in the Brigadier’s hands. He held it
up to his ear and mouth.
‘Greyhound One receiving, over. Sergeant Osgood?’
The Brigadier listened for a moment then passed the device to the Doctor. The Time
Lord listened to Osgood. Then his eyes widened with horror and he shot a glare over at the
Master, who stared back at him and smiled.
‘No!’ the Doctor cried. He broke into a run to reach the TARDIS but the Master
whipped out his Stattenheim Remote Control and pressed its central button. The Ship’s
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Chris McKeon
Police Box exterior began to blur as the sound of its engines – somehow distorted – added
to the rumble of the transmitter disk on which the PM stood. The Master began to laugh.
‘You should never have allowed me access to your TARDIS, Doctor; it’s a simple
extra step to control the frequency of its drift compensators!’
Sarah Jane hurried over to the Doctor.
‘What’s he done to the TARDIS?’
‘He’s loosened its coordinates from this time zone, keeping me from getting inside.’
The Doctor turned back to the Master. ‘But it doesn’t matter. When the machine started, it
created a counter jamming signal to the one you set-up on UNIT’s communications.
Osgood’s told me about the homing frequency; your plan is finished. Sergeant Benton!’
‘Right, sir,’ Benton replied, about to train his rifle on the Master, but to his shock the
Master already had him covered with his TCE, the weapon Benton himself should have had
safe in his pocket. Benton’s hand flew to his side-pouch; there was something inside. He
pulled the object out; it was a lump of coal.
‘I decided to exchange gifts, Mr. Benton. Sorry for the disappointment. Now all of
you, back against the far wall! Mr. Benton, Brigadier, toss your weapons to ground in front
of me, please.’
They did so, and the Master pointed his compressor over them and fired. Bright pink
light and a high-pitched droning screech emitted from the end of the weapon and the two
firearms shrank in size until they were no larger than weapons for actions figures. The
Master laughed.
‘I think these are now more appropriate for you both. Now, move against the wall,
all of you!’
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Chris McKeon
The Doctor placed his arm on Sarah Jane’s shoulder and the backed up against the
wall along with the Brigadier, while Benton came over to join them. The PM moved to leave
the disk, but the Master aimed the TCE towards him.
‘Except for you, Prime Minister,’ the Master cried, pointing to the man now
enveloped with the disk’s yellow energy field. ‘Your part isn’t yet finished in my design.’
‘Age hasn’t preserved your awareness, has it, Master?’ the Doctor called over the
rising combined wailing of the communication disk and the shifting TARDIS. ‘We’ve already
detected the homing signal, and our men are sure to stop the rest of the Daleks invasion
force from following it.’
The Master threw his head back with a ravenous chuckle.
‘And age has addled your understanding, Doctor! That isn’t a homing signal for the
Daleks’ fleet, it’s a transmat carrier wave!’
‘A transmat… Oh no! Brigadier, you’ve got to call Osgood, tell him -’
‘Too late, Doctor! Observe my final checkmate!’
The Master swept his arm grandly towards the now- revealed transmit disk, and as
the Doctor and his friends watched in horror, the Prime Minister howled in agony as his
body dissolved into golden-white light…
Osgood and Llewellyn reacted in shock as a sound – like the stretching of a balloon – rushed
around them.
‘Corporal,’ Osgood cried, ‘go see if anyone else heard that.’
Llewellyn started to hurry back to the caravan, but was flung to the ground as his
body struck against something solid in the air, which left behind a brief pulse of light from
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Chris McKeon
the impact. Osgood jumped from his seat in Bessie and dashed over to help Llewellyn up
from the ground.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked the dazed Corporal.
‘Yeah, I think so, sir, but I hit something, and it felt like an electric rubber band -’
‘Like a forcefield?’ Osgood scooped up a handful of snow and chucked it towards
the spot Llewellyn had struck against. The snow smacked against empty air, broke apart and
sizzled, melting against nothing.
‘It’s a forcefield!’
Osgood hurried back to Bessie and studied the frequency generator. The reading he
interpreted on its screens made him step back, flabbergasted.
‘It’s the Doctor’s forcefield. Something’s turned it back upon us. We’re trapped!’
‘But Sergeant,’ Llewellyn said, staggering to his feet and pointing towards the Daleks,
‘Look!’
As the two soldiers watched, the Dalek army flared into crackling blue light, before
they began to disappear, one by one…
…and in the place where the PM’s body had been there appeared the yellow-lit silver
figure of a Dalek. Its frame ignited into light and formed a line of blue energy, which then
shot forward and disappeared down the phone line into one of the many phone receivers on
the deceased PM’s desk, and into the office of another world leader at the other end. As the
Doctor watched the spectacle in silent fury, Sarah Jane edged up beside him.
‘Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’
‘I’m afraid it is, Sarah. The Master has duped us all, and the Daleks are invading into
every country’s government capital simultaneously.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Indeed, Doctor,’ the Master said, stepping closer to the transmit disk, but not
crossing the Daleks’ energy stream. ‘Without their leaders the nations of the world will
collapse into chaos and fear, ripe for the crushing. And you played into my little gambit quite
nicely.’
‘The game’s not over yet! I’ll stop you and the Daleks. I will!’
The Doctor’s mind raced to find a solution, but could find none; even as his
thoughts frantically searched through failing options, the transmit process continued:
another Dalek briefly appeared before disappearing exactly like the one before, save its
energy travelled down a different phone line. Within instants, the transmission of Daleks had
increased in speed until the blurred image of a Dalek was constantly overlapping with
another, and all the phone lines were glowing with their transporting energy traces.
‘There’s no point to pursue victory anymore, Doctor,’ the Master gloated. ‘The
Daleks have flooded all centres of the Earth, and you’re cut off from your TARDIS! You’re
beaten at last!’
‘Doctor…’ Sarah Jane said to him, nudging up as close to his ear as she could
manage. Urgency was rising in her voice. The Doctor could feel the intensity of his friends’
eyes upon him, hoping for his action; he could not fail them, so he chose to act. But before
he did…
‘Goodbye Brigadier, Mr Benton,’ the Doctor said without turning around to face
them. ‘Make sure you keep the peace as always.’
‘What are you talking about, Doc?’ Benton asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.
The Doctor did not reply but glanced down at Sarah, and with a sad smile placed his hand
on her cheek.
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Chris McKeon
‘Goodbye, Sarah. I’m sorry it has to be like this. But let there be no tears. No tears
shed.’
‘Doctor? What are you… Oh no, don’t you dare.’
But the Doctor had already turned away, and took a step forward. The Master was
already covering him with his TCE, but the Doctor stood his ground. He smiled
nonchalantly and spoke.
‘I must congratulate you, Master, on disguising a transmit pad as a communications
link. Quite ingenious of you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. One last compliment from you before your death is a fitting
tribute to my victory.’
‘Quite. But the Prime Minister? Why did he have to stay on the pad?’
‘To complete the conduction circuit, naturally. But once the matter stream was
established there was no more need for his presence.’
‘Ah, I see. A flawless cycle, and not easily broken. But I can just try!’
The Doctor leapt forward with hid cloak billowing behind him, and leapt towards
the transmit disk, aiming to break its energy circuit. As his feet left the ground, he heard
Sarah Jane cry out in alarm and run after him, he saw the Master shout in rage and lunge
towards him with his TCE drawn, he felt the hot burn of electricity course through him,
burn into him…
And then he was nothing. Nothing at all.
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Chris McKeon
PART THREE
‘OH, MY DEAR DOCTOR, YOU HAVE REALLY HAVE DONE SOMETHING THIS TIME.’
The cold, haughty voice trickled down the Doctor’s ears and into his consciousness,
drop by drop, far away, until with a sudden lurch – like the end to a light sleep’s dreaming his awareness came up to meet the sound he woke with a body-wrenching spasm. The
Doctor opened his eyes; he saw a white ceiling. He was lying on a floor; three indistinct
shadows hovered over and around him. One of them – the smallest in size – bent close to
him and spoke.
‘Doctor, are you all right? Can you hear me?’
‘Sarah?’ he whispered. Her face came into focus; relief shone in her eyes but he face
remained gripped with concern.
‘Oh, thank goodness you’re awake, Doctor.’
‘Thank you for waking me, my dear. How long was I unconscious?’
‘Only a few minutes.’
‘Good. Where are Lethbridge-Stewart and Mr Benton?’
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Chris McKeon
‘We’re here, Doc,’ came Benton’s voice. The Time Lord looked up and saw Benton
and the Brigadier kneeling over him, one at each of his shoulders. Lethbridge-Stewart also
spoke.
‘Glad to see you recovering; you had us quite worried there for you.’
‘Worried?’ Sarah Jane retorted, ‘I was positively petrified. When you jumped into that
energy beam -’
‘He interrupted the Daleks’ transmat stream and disrupted its operation.
The Doctor lifted himself up by the elbows and saw the Master, standing at the
deceased PM’s office window and staring through the glass onto the outside. From where he
lay, the Doctor could see the once snow-cloud white sky was now pitch-black. Was I really out
for only a few minutes? The Master looked at the Doctor and continued to speak.
‘Unfortunately, the energy was little more than an electrical current, so the Doctor
suffered no permanent damage. A pity.’
Sarah Jane turned her head towards the man’s voice just spoken and shot in its
direction a look capable of killing and looked as if she were about to launch some damaging
words of her own, but the Doctor threw her a side glance and shook his head. She nodded,
but tightened her jaw in anger. The Doctor responded.
‘What I just experienced was more than just an electric shock – my body would have
shown greater resistance otherwise.’
‘Oh, indeed, Doctor. Although I think you should prepare yourself for a shock
nonetheless.’
‘What are you blithering about?’
‘See for yourself, it’s quite a sight outside.’
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Chris McKeon
The Master gestured with his hand to the window. The Doctor sat up, but paused as
his head throbbed from a lingering wave of nausea. Sarah Jane laid her on his arm and
shoulder.
‘You’ve still had a bad shock, no matter what you say. You should rest a moment
longer.’
‘Nonsense, my dear. I’m quite fit for my age, and considering how long I’ve lived
that’s a remarkable achievement as it is.’
The Doctor got to his feet and, keeping his eyes on the Master, he walked over to
join him at the window. Then he shifted his gaze and glanced through the glass to what was
beyond, and felt the breath vacate his lungs. The sky above, bright with snow-filtered light
mere minutes before, was now charred canvas of darkness choked with blackened ash,
which rained in thick clumps to the earth below. No birds flew in the sky.
The Doctor dropped his stare and stared out to London cityscape – a single
landmark remained standing amidst the blazing pillars fire, smoke and magma shooting up
through the cracks of the broken ground, scarred with countless gaping impact craters. But
what stilled the Doctor’s hearts even more than the total and blinding carnage before him
was the creatures crawling upon the ravaged Earth’s surface: Daleks. They glided along the
ground, millions – billions even – infesting the land, moving quickly and relentless in row
upon row, squadron upon squadron, endless in their procession. The Doctor blinked once,
again, hoping his eyes were host to a horrific illusion, but the accursed monsters were
continually before him; they were real.
Even as the Doctor felt a terrible weight of fear bearing down upon his very body,
he heard – barely- the footsteps of Sarah Jane, Benton, and the Brigadier approach to stand
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Chris McKeon
with him and the Master at the window. Then he clearly heard Sarah Jane gasp in cold terror
and felt her hand slip into his. Her skin was cold to the touch.
‘Oh, Doctor…’ she whispered, her words blurring with the sound of tears, ‘what’s
happened?’
‘What’s happened, my dear Miss Smith,’ the Master answered, a touch of wonder
flavouring his tone, ‘is the only possible outcome of my final game against the Doctor: chaos
and destruction, in all its glory.’
The Doctor lunged to his side, gripped the Master by his tunic with both hands and
slammed him against the windowpane. He leaned in close to his enemy’s face.
‘No more games, Master! This is life and death! Now I want an answer. What have
you done?’
‘My dear Doctor,’ the Master said with a soft chuckle, ‘it’s not I, but you who have
done. You did this.’
The Doctor released the Master but stood his ground close before him.
‘I hope you can justify your claim.’
‘Oh, I promise it’s the truth. You will notice that your TARDIS is missing?’
‘What?’
He turned to where she had been standing, linked up to the infernal transmit pad
(which, he noticed was still in the room, cords and all), and saw only empty space. The
TARDIS was gone. The Doctor walked over to the spot where the time ship had been,
pacing in a square roughly matching the shape of the TARDIS’ base, like a forlorn dog
searching for a lost bone. The Master smirked at this sight and made to join him, but the
Brigadier and Benton pounced upon the bearded Time Lord. Benton gripped the Master’s
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Chris McKeon
arms from behind, while the Brigadier pulled out a small army pistol he had concealed in his
back trouser pocket.
‘You just try and make a move, and I’ll be certain to cut you down to size,’ the
Brigadier said, a dangerous growl creeping in his words.
‘Very well,’ the Master replied, looking not the least concerned, ‘I can explain from
here. You see, Doctor, although you may not have been in much danger from the transmit
beam, your TARDIS certainly felt threatened by the invading system. It must have been
straining to break its connection to the transmat with considerable force, and when you
interrupted the energy stream, your Ship fled.’
‘But that doesn’t account for why the Daleks have managed to conquer the Earth so
quickly and in such numbers… Unless…’
The Doctor fell silent as the Master nodded.
‘Now you understand, don’t you? It wasn’t just simple electricity that knocked you
out, it was temporal energy!’
‘Temporal energy,’ Benton repeated, glancing over at the Doctor. ‘He means time
travel, doesn’t he?’
‘Well done, Sergeant, you are learning. You might learn walking and talking at the
same time next.’
Benton’s bore a hot glare upon the Master, but kept his cool; he was not going to
play the Master’s game. From where he stood, the Doctor responded.
‘Yes, Sergeant, that’s exactly what he means. The TARDIS must have caught us in
her energy field when she made her escape. She must have pulled us along, to a time where
the Daleks are successful in their invasion. This building was enveloped in the transference
as well, though I imagine we were the only ones who travelled.’
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Chris McKeon
‘You mean… We’ve slipped into an alternate reality?’ Sarah Jane asked, looking back
through the window out onto the nightmarish world.
‘Not exactly, Miss Smith,’ the Master replied, like a lecturer eager to correct a pupil’s
mistake. ‘This reality is the outcome of the events that were taking place at the moment we
left them. This is an extension of your timeline.’
‘You mean,’ the Brigadier interjected, ‘that we’ve arrived in a time where the Daleks
have already won?’
‘Correct, Brigadier, because you weren’t there to stop them. And it’s all thanks to
the Doctor, for jumping to a conclusion with only blind faith to guide him.’
Sarah Jane, Benton, and the Brigadier looked at the Doctor, who heaved a sigh and
gripped the back of his neck with both hands.
‘So all this happened because of my actions. How terrible…’
‘It’s all right, Doctor,’ Sarah Jane said in a trembling voice which she tried to keep
steady. ‘We’ll find a way to put things right; we always do.’
‘Yes, yes we will, won’t we?’ the Doctor answered with a faint smile. ‘But we need to
deal with him’ – the Doctor pointed to the Master – ‘before we do anything else.’
‘Doctor,’ the Master said mirthfully, ‘would you really condemn me, after all we’ve
been through?’
‘I don’t relish the idea.’
‘No, you don’t. You never have and you never will, and that’s why you’ll never win.
So I’ll put my fate in my own hands!’
The Master flexed his biceps, broke free from Benton’s grip, spun around, gripped
the Sergeant by his belt, lifted him off the ground, and sent him crashing into the Brigadier.
Upon impact, the gun in Lethbridge-Stewart’s hand discharged, driving a bullet into
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Chris McKeon
Benton’s left shoulder. Blood sprayed the Brigadier’s face as Benton cried out in pain and
the two soldiers fell in a heap to the floor. The Brigadier struggled to get from under
Benton’s heavy frame; he managed to extricate his hand holding the gun, but the Master
stepped forward and kicked the weapon loose from his fingers. Another kick from his other
foot connected with the Brigadier’s cheek, knocking him unconscious.
The Master pivoted around and planted both feet on the ground just as the Doctor
leapt forward and drove his shoulder into the Master’s chest. The two Time Lords fell
backwards; the Master spun with the impact, grabbed the Doctor’s by the shoulders, and
threw him to one side, but the Doctor completed a roll upon the ground, and rose up once
more on his feet. He positioned his arms defensively before his body and faced the Master.
The Master tensed his body, tightened his muscles, and dove not towards the Doctor but to
the ground. Caught unawares by his opponent’s unexpected manoeuvre, the Doctor watched
as the Master picked up from the ground the piece of coal he had given to Benton in place
of his TCE, lifted the lump with one hand, and hefted it across the room, hurtling with
speed only a Time Lord’s strength could achieve, towards the Doctor, past the Doctor – he
turned and calculated its trajectory; it was headed straight towards Sarah Jane’s head –
‘No!’ the Doctor cried. He sprang forward, desperately, blindly… And felt the
contact of mineral against his clothing like a fist-sized supernovae erupting over his sternum.
The Doctor opened his mouth reflexively to inhale but no air got past his throat, as if his
mouth were a cul-de-sac. The skin on his chest burnt as if a dull-pointed javelin had struck
him there. He felt the warm spreading stain of blood beneath his shirt. His knees buckled
and he crashed down, slamming his head heavily upon the hard ground. His vision swam,
dimmed, blanked…
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Chris McKeon
Sarah Jane fell to her knees beside the Doctor, and shook him, but it was no use: the
Doctor was unresponsive; his skin was pale and freezing to her touch, and to Sarah Jane’s
shock, small ice crystals were forming on the Doctor’s skin. She rolled him onto his back so
he could breathe easier, but his chest was still. A frantic helplessness was starting to sizzle
within Sarah Jane just as she heard the footsteps approaching her. A voice chuckled coldly.
In those few seconds, Sarah Jane Smith realised they might be last moments, and knew she
could either hide her eyes in fear, or watch the moment come. She raised her eyes, saw the
Master advancing upon her, saw his eyes fastened upon her, heard his voice echo in her
head, fill her mind, drain her…
Sarah Jane fell over, hypnotised into a simple sleeping state. The Master stood over
the fallen bodies of his foes, and shook his head.
‘That was far easier than I expected,’ he muttered. ‘Thankfully, Doctor, I’m not done
with you just yet.’
He walked over to the window, unfastened its locks, and threw the pane wide open.
He leaned onto the sill, inhaled a deep whiff of the sulphurous air outside and smiled. Then
he stared down at the Daleks below and threw them a wave. Every single in his sight halted
their movement and spun their eye-stalks towards him, and the Master knew that each one
could easily kill him where he stood, and yet he felt no fear. He knew exactly what they
wanted and all was proceeding according to his plan. He smiled and shouted down to them.
‘I have the Doctor as promised and the Earth is yours. You can come up now!’
Stars in the heavens the heavens crash down burning the burning melts the flesh the flesh is Alive.
The Doctor woke with a jolt, his body rising up from the ground and a hoarse cry
breaking forth from his lips.
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Chris McKeon
‘Jo? Liz? Zoe?’ he stammered, his body shuddering as he lay on his back in the quiet
darkness. He felt numb.
‘Doctor?’ a soft, high voice whispered. It was Sarah Jane Smith.
‘Sarah!’ the Doctor cried with weary joy. ‘Thank heavens you’re here. Where are
you?’
‘I’m over here,’ came her voice, somewhere off to his left.
‘Are you injured, Sarah? Did the Master hurt you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Last thing I remember, he just looked at me and…oh, Doctor,
I thought you were dead! You were hit and then there was ice on your face, and poor Mr.
Benton and the Brigadier -’
‘Where are they, Sarah, are they here with us?’
‘Yes, Doctor, as always.’ The Brigadier’s voice sounded in the gloom, strong if a little
tired. ‘Benton’s here too.’
‘Hi there, Doc.’ Benton’s voice was weak but unmistakable.
‘Sergeant, how good to hear alive. How are you?’
‘I’m doing ok. The bullet passed through my shoulder, but I lost a lost of blood
before the Brigadier could help me. He stopped the bleeding.’
‘Well done, Brigadier,’ the Doctor replied, grateful and impressed with his friends’
resilience.
‘Oh, it was routine field medical procedures, Doctor, except for doing so in the
dark.’
‘Well, thank goodness for small mercies.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Small mercies,’ cried Sarah Jane. ‘We’ve shot, beaten, and stuffed in here in
complete darkness for seems like hours and probably has been longer, the Earth’s overrun
with metal pepperpots, and we could die at moment -’
‘Steady on, Sarah Jane. We’re not dead yet and that means we’re not beaten. Here, let
me see what I can do about some light.’
The Doctor searched his pockets and found a torch, which he switched on and
shined in the direction of Sarah’s voice; he caught sight of her face; she looked haggard and
frightened. Suddenly, the light from the torch dimmed and winked out.
‘Don’t tell me you didn’t bring new batteries, Doc,’ Benton said with a light laugh,
which broke down into wincing hiss from his pained shoulder.
‘As a matter of fact, Sergeant, that torch’s batteries were bran new from UNIT’s
supply room.’ The Doctor turned the torch in his hands. ‘I rather think the Master has taken
my comment about the City of Exxilon very seriously, wouldn’t you agree, Sarah?’
‘You mean the Master’s got his own energy draining machine?’
‘I believe so; he must want us very much in the dark, to keep us disoriented. Well I
think I have just the way to brighten things up.’
The Doctor reached into his pocket once more and removed a small cylinder. He
placed this on the ground in front of him and unscrewed the top portion of the cylinder.
Out burst a flurry of bright white particles, which spiralled out from the container and
spread through the room, lighting the space with a clear, bright glow. The Doctor stood and
placed his hands upon his hips. He smiled up at the swirling specks of light, which revealed
the boundaries of a silver metal-walled room, some twenty feet square. At the sight of the
room, a long distant experience surfaced in the Doctor’s memory: of himself, as an old man,
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Chris McKeon
huddled in a cold cell with his granddaughter Susan and her school teachers Ian and Barbara,
all prisoners of the Daleks then, just as now. How history’s cruelties repeat themselves.
From out of the banished darkness appeared Sarah Jane, sitting some feet away; she
stared at the sparkling spectacle with wondering awe. She stood also and joined the Doctor
at his side, followed by Benton and the Brigadier, who had come from a greater distance at
the opposite side of their cell; both soldiers blinked their eyes from the sudden rush of
illumination. Sarah was the first to speak.
‘It’s so beautiful and… clean. What are they?’
‘Those, Sarah, are photons, the very stuff of light.’
‘But why aren’t they being drained of their energy?’
‘Light is a very special sort of energy, Sarah. It’s one of the constants of the cosmos,
and therefore not easily dampened. And they help to light our way, along with this.’
The Doctor fished from his pocket a small, black circular object, which Sarah
recognised as the Master’s Statenheim Remote Control.
‘How did you get that?’ she asked, her tone rising with hope.
‘I filched it from our friend in the Prime Minister’s office, when I showed my anger.’
‘You mean, you nicked it from the Master when you grabbed his shirt and acted like
you wanted a fight?’ Benton surmised, stepping close and eyeing the device.
‘Well done, Sergeant,’ the Doctor confirmed. ‘After all, we all know how unnecessary
violence is. Now, if I can just use this to home in on my TARDIS’ signal… Oh, curse it!’
‘What’s wrong, Doc?’ Benton asked gently.
‘All that’s wrong, Mr. Benton, is that the Master’s designed the remote to operate
only for him! This thing is useless unless I can reprogram it, and that’s going to take some
time.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Well, I think time is something we have a lot of,’ Sarah commented as she gazed up
at the photons shifting through the air. ‘At least you’ve put on a good show for us while we
wait.’
‘Yes, they are lovely, aren’t they?’ the Doctor mused. ‘A bright spot in the darkest
time.’
‘They look like fireflies,’ the Brigadier commented.
‘Not an unlike comparison, Brigadier. Individual photons flourish on the planet
Trexaelius, a world bathed in photosphere of a blue-white giant star. I pocketed some on my
last visit, in case they came in handy one day.’
‘Then today is your lucky day, Doctor, even if it is also your last.’
The Master’s voice was unmistakable, and as the Doctor and his companions turned
in its direction, the man himself appeared, standing in an open door and flanked from
behind by two Daleks. The Master and his companions entered the prison cell; the door shut
behind them. The Master held up one gloved hand beneath a few of the photon floating
gently in the air.
‘Free moving light particles – a simple yet ingenious means to expel the dark.’
‘Well, you know how it always is,’ the Doctor replied, stepping towards the Master.
‘Do not move!’ the Daleks screeched before the Doctor had completed a step, but the
Master waved away their warning.
‘No, no, no, there’s no need for such tense relations between us and our guests.’
‘“Guests?”’ Oh come off it, man,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘You know Daleks only keep
two kinds of people: slaves and prisoners. I take it you’ve relocated us from the Earth? Even
Daleks take time to build a holding facility of this sophistication.’
‘Very astute, Doctor. We are on the Dalek’s home world, the planet Skaro.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Ah, yes, of course. Where else would we be? And the Daleks are permitting you one
last chance to gloat before they exterminate us?’
‘Oh, Doctor, don’t you realise it yet? You and your insolent band of lackeys are not
the Daleks’ prisoners, but mine; and therefore it is your last honour to witness my greatest
triumph. Now, if you’re quite recovered, you and I are going on a special journey.’
‘What about my friends?’
‘Oh, have no fear. They’re coming with us.’
‘And where, pray tell, are we going?’
‘To meet an old friend, of course, someone who’s been waiting to see you again for a
long time’ – the Master’s eyes hardened and his voice tensed – ‘and what we have to show
you will be the last thing you ever see before I finally crush you forever! Now move.’
The Master snapped his fingers and pointed towards the doorway, which slid open
with a yawning hum. The two Daleks accompanying him turned and pointed their gun-sticks
and the Doctor and his friends.
‘You will obey the Master or be exterminated where you stand.’
The Doctor looked down at Sarah Jane, then back at the Brigadier and Benton. He
put on a brave face, but his voice was as silent as a grave.
‘Well, best not to keep out host waiting.’
They entered and stood within a large, darkly-lit metal chamber throbbing with a
steady, throbbing double beat, like a gigantic heart. As they had progressed towards this final
destination, more Daleks – some black, others grey, red, gold and blue -had joined the two
silver ones which had guarded them since leaving the prison cell, until a dozen were
travelling with them, surrounding all sides. Once inside the cavernous space, the Daleks
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Chris McKeon
moved back from the Doctor and his friends, while the Master, with head held high, strode
forward and spoke mightily, his voice echoing wide in the shadows and space, ‘I have
brought the Doctor to your presence; it is time!’
A massive column of bright, cold light from above activated, banishing the shadows
from their dead centre of the chamber, and revealed a massive, immobile Dalek, twelve feet
in height, with a light grey, sharp-angled casing edged with gold lining and knobs, seated on a
raised platform and connected via thick black tubes to a intricate network of piping several
meters above its large knobby cranial container. A gigantic bronze eye-stalk swung
downwards to stare at the Doctor; the lens within contracted upon him. Watching back in
repulsed shock, the Doctor recognised the monstrous creature from, long ago - a lifetime
and more - on the day he had stood upon a broken cliff overlooking a city as it burning in
civil war, and proclaimed to cosmos the final end of the Dalek race. He had proclaimed
incorrectly. The creature spoke, the many lights upon its metal dome flashing as its metallic
voice boomed with malevolence.
‘AT LONG LAST WE HAVE YOU, DOCTOR. THIS IS A DAY THAT’S
GLORY WILL BE REMEMBERED THROUGH ETERNITY: THE TIME OF YOUR
FINAL
VISIT
TO
OUR
HOME
WORLD,
AND
YOUR
ULTIMATE
EXTERMINATION!’
At the Doctor’s side, in a trembling voice barely above a whisper, Sarah Jane spoke.
‘Doctor… Where are we? And what is that thing?’
In a voice brimming with defiance, the Doctor gave her an answer.
‘We are on Skaro, the home planet of the Daleks. And that thing is the Emperor of
the Daleks. I see you managed to survive the Humanised Daleks’ uprising after all. How
resilient of you.’
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Chris McKeon
‘THE IMPURITIES OF YOUR CREATION CAUSED MUCH HAVOC TO OUR
SOCIETY, BUT IN THE END THE TRUE DALEK WAY OF LIFE PREVAILED.
SINCE THEN WE HAVE REGAINED OUR STRENGTH, AND RESTORED OUR
MIGHT. NOW, WITH YOUR ADOPTED HOME IN OUR POWER, YOU, DOCTOR,
WILL FINALLY PAY FOR CRIMES AGAINST US ALL.’
‘“All?”’ Does that include you?’ the Doctor said, turning upon the Master. ‘Was that
your plan: deliver me and Earth in their hands in exchange for your life? Because if so,
you’re a fool to think the Daleks will just let you walk out of here once I’m dead.’
‘That was the agreement, Doctor, but it’s become far more than that now. I am now
quite invaluable to the Daleks’ purpose.’
‘You? Invaluable? You’re no more a disposable razor – dull and pointless after a
first use – you’ll die as surely as I will once they’re through with you!’
The Master chuckled, closed his eyes and shook his head.
‘Oh, my dear Doctor. You really are thickening with age. Why don’t you tell him the
truth, my Dalek,’ the Master said, addressing the Emperor.
‘Your Dalek?’ the Doctor repeated incredulously as the Emperor spoke once more.
‘YES, DOCTOR, I, AND THE TOTALITY OF THE MY RACE BELONG TO
THE MASTER, THE RULER OF US ALL. YOU ARE PRIVILEGED BEFORE YOUR
DEATH TO WITNESS THE GLORIOUS ALLIANCE BETWEEN DALEK AND
TIME LORD. BEHOLD THE MASTER, THE TRUE EMPEROR OF THE DALEKS!
ALL HAIL THE MASTER! ALL HAIL THE MASTER!’
A deafening chorus of Dalek voices joined the Emperor’s maniacal chant as the light
within the Dalek throne room flared to full intensity, revealing endless concourses of the
race, each cast in powerful armour - gold, red, blue, black, silver and grey – glinting harshly
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Chris McKeon
in the light, and all lined in row upon row, filling tier upon tier, populating story upon story
in their expansive city, thriving for the glory of their new Master. In the centre of the
spectacle on his behalf, the Master threw back his head in rapturous delight and released a
cackle of laughter. As the cries of the Time Lord’s glee and his Daleks’ allegiance saturated
the air, the Brigadier clenched his teeth in pure agitation and leaned in behind the Doctor’s
ear.
‘Doctor, what are we going to do? How can we defeat the Master and these
monsters this time? Doctor? Doctor!’
The Doctor was silent for several moments, before answering in a quiet and
emotionless voice, ‘I don’t know.’
After a few moments the Master put a hand to his mouth and forced himself to
cease laughing so as to speak, though his words were punctuated by intermittent bursts of
amusement.
‘Oh… Oh, do forgive me, Doctor, Miss Smith, Brigadier, Sergeant…I’m positive
right now you all feel quite, what’s the current parlance? Ah, “out of the loop.”’
‘We are, rather,’ the Brigadier cried, ‘and if we don’t get some answers right now -’
‘Careful, sir,’ Benton whispered, eyeing the nearest Daleks, which were edging closer.
‘Yes, Brigadier,’ the Master agreed, ‘I’d listen to your junior, after all, he’s often your
superior in wisdom. Now, I’m sure you have questions, Doctor, to which I am eager to
supply answers, provided you come with me.’ The Master motioned to a corridor entrance
built into a nearby wall, which led out of the throne room. At that moment, a trio of black
Daleks slid up to the Master. One of them spoke.
‘Master, we have come as bidden.’
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Chris McKeon
‘You’ve got the Daleks waiting on your hand and foot? How charming.’ the Doctor
quipped with drenching sarcasm.
‘They are very good guard dogs, especially when disposing of intruders,’ the Master
responded. He addressed the Black Daleks.
‘Thank you for the arrival.’ The Master swung a dismissive hand towards Sarah Jane,
the Brigadier, and Benton. ‘You may escort these prisoners back to their holding cell; we will
deal with them later. Oh, and be sure to remove those photon cells from the room, won’t
you? We can’t have them getting too comfortable.’
‘Now just a minute,’ the Doctor snapped, ‘I’m not going to let you harm them -’
‘You will do nothing except what you are ordered, Doctor, or I will have my Daleks
exterminate your friends, one by one, starting with the girl!’
The Doctor drew himself with indignant fury, but kept his voice calm as he replied.
‘I’d like to say goodbye to them, if you please.’
‘Absolutely not,’ the Master replied. ‘Daleks, take them immediately!’
‘We obey!’
The three black Daleks slid forward and surrounded the Doctor’s friends. As soon as
they had formed their perimeter, they began to move again, herding Sarah Jane, the Brigadier
and Benton like cattle to the slaughter. Sarah Jane began to shout with fearful anger.
‘Doctor, we won’t leave you! Doctor!’
‘Move!’
‘You’ll die for this, you monster! I promise you that!’ the Brigadier thundered.
‘Silence!’
‘We’ll get you out, Doc, and then I’ll get the Master once and for all!’ Benton cried,
his voice quavering with sorrow and anger.
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Chris McKeon
‘Silence or you will be exterminated! Move!’
‘Just go!’ the Doctor shouted, hearts-sick and weary. ‘I will see you when I can! Just
go, please, for your own sakes.’
Even as his friends’ cried still echoed in the throne room, the Doctor watched as the
Master stepped before him, looked up into his eyes, and smiled.
‘No, Doctor, you won’t see them again. It’s just you and me, now.’
The Master spoke to the Emperor Dalek without averting his stare.
‘Wait a few moments while I reckon with the Doctor.’
‘SHALL I DISPATCH A DALEK TO ACCOMPANY YOU AS YOUR GUARD?’
The Master stifled a small laugh and held up his hand with a small dismissive wave.
‘No, but thank you. I have my own weaponry for protection.’
The Master opened his other hand and revealed his TCE, which he brandished
towards the Doctor.
‘And now, at last, I have my final satisfaction. If you please to march, Doctor, with
your hands raised?’
The Doctor looked at the Master, and for one moment tried to see the face of the
man who had once been his closest friend. Finding nothing there he recognised, he raised
his hands above his head and began to march through the corridor, followed by the Master,
his broad smile shining even in the shadows.
They had walked for several moments down a passageway filled with cold, dry odourless air
claustrophobic darkness - when the Doctor spoke.
‘Look, since you’re obviously leading me to my deaths, you might as well save
yourself some time and explain what’s going on along the way.’
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‘A wise consideration, Doctor,’ the Master airily replied at the end of the line. ‘Why
don’t you expedite the procedure by asking me what you want to know?’
‘How kind of you. Now, how in heaven’s name did you end up controlling the
Daleks – I thought they’d tried to kill you.’
‘Oh, they did, believe me. Everything I told you about their attack upon my TARDIS
in the Vortex was true. My story diverged into falsehood after this, however, starting with
where I arrived.’
‘Of course. You didn’t land on Earth; you landed here, on Skaro.’
‘Precisely. The Dalek fleet had forced me to their home world, and when I tried an
emergency transference, my already damaged Ship malfunctioned and dematerialised without
me, and stranded me at the Daleks’ mercy.
‘As if they have any,’ the Doctor quipped.
‘Indeed. But there is none in the cosmos whose cunning is greater than mine, and I
succeeded in gaining their favour.’
‘And how did you possibly achieve that?’
‘Oh, it was simple. I told them where they could find you.’
‘But it was more than that, wasn’t it?’ the Doctor spoke, his voice hardening. ‘Not
even promising them my death and the Earth’s conquest could ever convince the Daleks to
accept you as their leader. So what did you do? Reprogram their command system?
Hypnotise them one by one?’
The Master chuckled, but his mirth was darker than usual, more excited. ‘I did
something far grander in scope, Doctor, and much bolder. I created a timeline in which the
Daleks follow me.’
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‘You did what?!’ the Doctor snapped, turning around without thinking of his safety
and stood before the Master, who stiffened in posture, ready to fire.
‘Back, Doctor, or do you wish to die here and now, without dignity?’
‘I’ll die however it happens, but you… This timeline we’re in now, where the Earth
has fallen, we didn’t just jump forward into it, did we? You imprinted it upon the natural
course of time!’
‘Exactly! Our race always restrained itself, Doctor, when the ebb and flow of time is
ours to direct, and re-shape. I have simply exercised the rights of my existence, my nature, as
it behoves a true Time Lord!’
‘But you’ve changed history, altered the very course of time! You haven’t just
allowed the Earth to fall; your arrogance has endangered the entire space-time continuum!
You must put this right!’
‘Doctor, any attempt on your part to assuage my designs I will cast to the wind; this
is the moment of my life’s glory and despite all your endless protestations, I will win.’
The Master and the Doctor faced each other in the darkness, the profile of their
silhouettes unmoving. Then the Master stepped forward and held the TCE close to the
Doctor’s chest, right between his hearts.
‘Our game has always been a great intellectual delight, Doctor. It was always a
challenge, sometimes a frustration, at times bitterly infuriating, but through every stage of
our contest, every feint and gambit, I knew that in the end, no matter what it took, no matter
how long it took, I, and I alone, would be the one to kill you. Yes, Doctor, my greatest drive
is, and has always been, the anticipation of your death, and now; at last, you will deny me
that satisfaction, the pleasure, no more. So now you face the end.’
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The Master slashed his arm in a tight swing, and with his free hand struck the Doctor
a crushing blow across his head. The Doctor’s head lolled and his body reeled limply. The
Master caught him by the arm, twisted it behind the Doctor’s back and held the limp body
close to his chest. The Master cradled his weapon between his thumb and forefinger,
reached to a wall at his side and pressed a raised glowing half-circle. A deep-pitched alarm
reverberated in the close space, and a dark-green light began to pulse in quick successions. A
black door in an archway built into the wall slid open. Dark blue light streamed through the
portal; warm air flowed through the archway; it was fetid and stank of chemicals.
The Master bared his teeth in a malevolent grin and dragged the Doctor to the
gateway. He grabbed the Doctor by the hair and tugged his head upwards to face the world
outside – a desolate landscape of dry, dust-choked grey clay, infinitely cracked like the
ancient hide of a dying reptile. A violet-mottled black sky clogged with putrefied fume and
coagulated clouds hung heavy and low to the ground. Dark blue lightning veined through
the atmosphere, outlining the petrified remains of a skeletal forest on the broken horizon.
‘Can you see this clearly, Doctor? I think not, but for the benefit of your
understanding, I’ll describe the view briefly. This is the outer wasteland of Skaro, near the
edge of the Petrified Forest; I believe you’ve been here before. Now, on a normal day, this
long after the Daleks’ original nuclear war against the Thals, the radiation count over the
surface of this planet would be high enough to kill even you within a matter of hours.
However, the Daleks have recently renewed their conflict with their brother race, and
employed new weapons to drive the Thals from Skaro permanently. This stratagem has
flooded the planet’s land, water, and air with unimaginably high doses of radiation so potent,
and so penetrating, that your body will be fatally irradiated with mere minutes. I suggest you
use them as you best see fit. Farewell, Doctor!’
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The Master shoved the Doctor through the archway, which slid shut immediately
after the latter had fallen through and crashed upon the hardened ground. The Doctor
yelped in pain: the deceased soil was burning to the touch. He pushed up from the irradiated
earth and stood upon his feet, but still felt the warmth radiate through the soles of his shoes.
And he felt a terrible nausea twisting in his insides. The Doctor fought the urge to retch and
turned back to the access hatch and saw the Master’s face through a transparent window set
within the archway, smiling.
It can’t end this way! The Doctor’s vision began to blur as beads of sweat upon his
brow swelled to rivulets which flowed down his face and beneath his clothing. His knees
quivered; he fell against the access hatch with a heavy thud and struggled to find a control
panel but saw none. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver, and felt
the biting strike of a powerful electric shock surge from the door and through his body,
knocking him flat on his back upon Skaro’s scorching surface. The Doctor rolled, tried to
escape the burning; it surrounded him, invaded him, consumed him, and just as his mouth
opened in silent agony, the Doctor heard the Master’s mocking laughter, ringing loud and
high all around in long-awaited triumph…
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PART FOUR
THE MASTER’S
LAUGHTER SLOWED INTO A LONG, MONOTONOUS DRONE, THEN
silence. The irradiated heat enveloping the Doctor cooled and settled into a pleasant,
ambient temperature. A lilting cycle of soft pulsing noise circulated around the Doctor as he
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lay upon the ground – now cool – as he felt some strength return to his limbs and his head
cleared. Just as he began to wonder at the sudden, inexplicable change in his fortune, the
remote in his hand began to chirp repeatedly: it was an incoming signal. The Doctor raised
the remote over his eyes and studied the remote’s status screen and realised that the signal
was not an indication of an incoming time capsule, but of an outbound response. Someone
was beaming a transmat wave to his location, and had modified the remote to act as an
activation signal.
The Doctor tried to stand but found he could not – the cool air surrounding him
also confined his movements, like a shell, or a forcefield. The Time Lords. Of course! Only They
would put me in this position, in the worst possible time, and force me to accept their help. If I accept their
help, I’ll survive and I’ll be able to help my friends, but there’ll be a price, I know it. There’s always a price
to pay when Time Lords offer to help. But what choice do I have? More than my life hangs in the balance…
The Doctor sighed, and with a resigned grimace pressed the receiver button on the
remote, and felt himself dissipate into the ether…
‘Wake up, Doctor; you have much to do and very little time to attempt it.’
The Doctor opened his eyes and saw nothing but empty darkness, save for a dark
tower looming over him. He blinked once in surprise, and then saw it was a man dressed in a
dapper black frock coat and light grey trousers, with a starched white, wing-collared shirt and
smooth silk white. Then the Doctor saw the black bowler hat on top of the man’s head and
he recognised him as a Time Lord, the same who had –travelling incognito- visited him long
ago to warn of the Master’s arrival on Earth. The Doctor closed his eyes once more in
annoyance.
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‘So you’ve finally decided to help me, have you? I should have known you’d wait
until well past the Eleventh Hour.’
‘“The Eleventh Hour?” I don’t think that’s the correct time -’
‘It’s an expression, man, describing how close to danger you’ve decided to visit me
this time. And I will say you still look ridiculous, especially after travelling.’
The Doctor stood in his feet and glared at the Time Lord, whose aristocratic face
beamed a slightly offended but overall nonplussed expression.
‘Come now, Doctor, I’ve rather grown of this attire; it’s quite dignified. And, in
reference to my previous intervention in your life, I would remind you that with my warning,
you were prepared for the Master’s coming to Earth. He certainly tried to kill you, and yet
here you are.’
‘Oh, come off it, man! We both know the Master had been out of your fancy prison
and lurking on Earth for a year before you decided to inform me of the fact. I was only
moderately surprised by your announcement because I thought he’d been killed during his
little visit after the first Auton invasion, or did my life not matter before the Tribunal
decided it did?’
The Time Lord raised his eyebrows and adjusted the knot of his tie.
‘The Master was at that time our agent, Doctor, regrettable as that may be in
hindsight – he even stole an Agency time capsule. But, as you well know, the Agency and its
members have no official existence, and therefore there is no need to report their various
activities.’
‘Yes, and now I take it the Agency’s brought me here to do its dirty work again.
Where are we, anyway?’
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Chris McKeon
‘Don’t tell me you can’t recognise your home, Doctor? Have your years of wandering
really changed you so much?’
‘No, it’s just I’ve never remembered Gallifrey receiving me with open arms before.
So, what is it this time? It had better be important; unless you weren’t paying attention, I had
my hands full with the Master and the Daleks already.’
‘And that is precisely why you are here. This time the Master has gone too far and he
must be dealt with decisively.’
‘Imprisoned, you mean?’
‘No, Doctor. Executed.’
‘What?’
The Time Lord laid a not-unkind hand on the Doctor’s arm. ‘Come along, we have
much to discuss.’
What could have been mere moments or many minutes later, the Time Lord led the Doctor
through an arched entryway of a large chamber with walls made of a mottled, dark-blue
mineral, studded with sleek machinery filled with glowing gel pulsing through transparent
tubing. Several Time Lords dressed in identical white, black and cobalt blue robes to the
Doctor’s escort milled about the area between different monitoring station, circulating
amongst themselves paper-thin wafers of information, which, once received, were consumed
orally for maximum comprehension. The Doctor recognised the place as the headquarters of
the Celestial Intervention Agency. Without saying a further word to the Time Lord beside
him, he strode forward, and as the various Agency workers caught sight of his lean, indigovelvet clad figure, they ceased to whisper and stood still in startled awareness as the Doctor
stood in the centre of the floor with his hands in his pockets.
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‘Well, well, well, the Central Thought. I never thought I’d be here again. How’s that
idiot Vansell these days?’
‘In conference with the President,’ the incognito Time Lord said, hurrying to join the
Doctor. ‘The High Council wants a full appraisal of the current situation.’
‘Which is? I assume I’m meant to know.’
‘Absolutely, Doctor. In fact, it’s vital that you do.’
A new voice, clear, strong yet quietly authoritative, sounded in the Central Thought.
Its texture lingered in the Doctor’s ears and hovered upon memories clouded with time and
blocked by rules. The Doctor turned and saw a man dressed like the other Time Lords in the
room, but much larger in size with broad shoulders, a round head topped with thick, wavy
white locks of hair over intelligent blue eyes. The Doctor could not quite place the man’s
face; he felt they must have met when he had been… Older, and then the Doctor knew.
‘The President of the CIA, I presume.’
‘You assume correctly, Doctor, and may I say it is a pleasure to meet you at last.’
The Doctor smiled. Before him stood the man who, during the Omega Crisis some
time earlier, in a flash of ingenuity unheard of on Gallifrey (beyond the Doctor himself, of
course) had broken all the laws of Time and summoned the Doctor’s first two incarnations
to assist him in defeating the ancient and mad Gallifreyan. It had been a trying ordeal, which
had forced the Doctor to destroy one of his greatest heroes. Nevertheless, despite the
personal sacrifice, there had been an unexpected reward in the effort.
‘I believe you are to thank for helping me during that business with Omega. Your
course of action was unorthodox to say the least,’ the Doctor said, a grateful smile warming
his voice.
The President smiled and lightly dipped his head.
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‘I believed it the response given the dire circumstances.’
‘Even so, trying on a personal level it may have been for me, it worked. And I must
thank you for restoring my freedom.’
The President’s smile faded and he walked forward to the main monitoring console.
He activated an instrument and upon the central viewing screen appeared a holographic
image of a timeline, which, at a certain point the Doctor recognised to be relative to the 1st
January 1975 of Earth’s Humanian Era, fractured into two branching directions. The two
branches did not completely diverge, however, but seemed to hover close to one another, as
if for warmth or survival. In a tired voice, the President began to explain the image.
‘You are already aware that the Master has altered the established course of the
timeline, allowing not only the Daleks’ conquest of the Earth but that race’s acceptance and
submission to the Master’s rule.’
‘He informed me of that, yes. What I don’t understand is how he managed such an
incredible feat of temporal engineering, and more so, why I have to kill him to undo the
change.’
‘The reason why the Master must die, Doctor, is because as long as he lives, so will
exist the timeline of his creation; for he accomplished this aberration to the history by the
most abominable means available to him: he forced the change through his own will, and
bound it to his lifeline through his personal power as a Time Lord.’
‘No… He can’t have. He wouldn’t dare…’
‘And yet he has, Doctor, and for this action there can be only one consequence.’
The Doctor groaned within himself as the full horror of the Master’s crime dawned
upon him. As Time Lords, his race possessed incredible powers, some of which they never
used, and others they never dared to call upon. The creation and sealing of a timeline to
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one’s body, one’s essence, was an ability long forbidden and forgotten in Gallifrey’s history,
for the simple reason that its nature was in direct opposition to the Time Lords’ cardinal rule
of non-interference, and its use was punishable only by death. For his own vainglorious
ambitions, the Master has abused this power to take command of the worst monsters of the
cosmos in their overthrow of the Earth, and therefore, for the restoration of that world and
the sanctity of the proper timeline, he was doomed to inevitable destruction. But can I really
destroy my oldest friend, even if he has sworn to destroy me as his greatest enemy?
‘Is there no other way to put things right?’ the Doctor asked, gazing still upon the
broken course of time. ‘No chance for mercy?’
‘Mercy, Doctor?’ the incognito Time Lord spoke, repeating the word as if it were a
laughable idea. ‘You are speaking of a man who has dedicated his life to the destruction of
yours, and has carried out his intent on numerous occasions, often at the costs of many
other lives. The Master is a being devoid of conscience and past feeling; he deserves no
mercy, and yet you still wish to offer him clemency? If your hearts really are in the right
places then they are in a fool’s perch.’
‘Be silent!’ the President stated, his cool voice rising ever so slightly. ‘Go back to
your duties. I will discuss with the Doctor the particulars of the task before him.’
With a respectful but watchful gaze, the incognito Time Lord bowed and retreated
into the shadows of the Central Thought, his bowler-hat blending last into the dark. The
President extended a hand to the Doctor.
‘Come, Doctor, I will escort you to more comfortable surroundings.’
As the two men exited the chamber, the Doctor watched the President’s face: it was
set and firm but troubled. The Doctor spoke.
‘You don’t like this anymore then I do, President.’
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‘No, Doctor, I do not. I accept that the Master is a dangerous, even monstrous
person already guilty of terrible and unforgivable crimes, but if he is a reflection of the
society which produced him, then how much are we Time Lords as a whole to blame?’
‘Ah, so you’re a maverick in philosophy as well as action, I take it.’
‘I am headache to my superiors and a worry to my inferiors, Doctor; I tend not to
think as they wish me to do. And that terrible tragedy with Omega…’
‘Yes, I know. I was the one who had to trick him into destroying himself. Such
greatness, such waste…’
‘And all lost now, perhaps in part because we never looked for him, just as we never
reach to help those who fall aside, who wander astray, like so many of our people, it seems.’
‘And like the Master. I just can’t accept that the only way to defeat him is to kill him!’
‘As I said, I agree, Doctor, but even I must admit there seems to be no other way.
The Master has gone too far and has tied his very existence into the workings of this
aberrant timeline. If we undo one, we undo the other; the problem is insoluble. It would take
a lifetime to discover another solution -’
The Doctor stopped in his tracks. A wild understanding beamed in his large eyes.
‘What did you just say? Your very last words there.’
‘I said… It would take a lifetime to discover another solution -’
‘Eureka! You are a genius and a maverick twice over, sir! You’ve helped me find the
other solution!’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s all quite simple, you see -’
‘Actually, it would be better for both of us if I don’t see, Doctor, and I leave you to
carry out your plan.’
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‘Why? Don’t tell me you’re afraid to get your hands dirty as well.’
‘No, Doctor, I speak for the sake of your…freedom of action.’
The President held up a finger to wait. He reached into his robes and pulled out a
small purple ring, which he held in one palm and tapped with his thumb. The ring glowed
and emitted a series of soft, high-pitched pulses, which converted into lavender rings of light
surrounding him and the Doctor.
‘There. We only have a few moments before this time isolation bubble bursts,
Doctor, so I will be brief. I may still be the President of the CIA, but my, as you called it,
unorthodox decision to call upon your predecessors to defeat Omega has resulted in serious
consequences for me: ultimately my imminent removal from office.’
‘What? Why those brutish, myopic hypocrites! They can’t do this.’
‘In my sector of power, Doctor, if the right people want something to happen, then
it is done.’
‘I see. How cruelly inevitable. Well, you have my sympathies. But why tell me this?’
‘Because of what the Agency plans to do with you after I am removed from power,
and what they are intending even now. Although the Master is acting of his own warped
volition, there are those in the Agency who are using this event to their own advantage, and
that involves you. I believe you were brought here and given this task as a test to see what
you would do when faced with an impossible moral dilemma, especially one involving your
oldest friend. I also believe the Agency wishes to make you their agent once more.’
‘What, more errands? But after all I’ve done for them already? After wallowing
through my exile, my imprisonment from my travels? And more, I thought you had given
me my freedom again after I’d put down Omega for you!’
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‘Yes, Doctor, we did. And it was my decision to restore your freedom to you in
appreciation for your service and let you continue your life in your own way, as we all should
live, but my colleagues do not share my views. And I honestly feel that if they learn of your
new plan, if you go against the wishes of the CIA, then your exile may be reinstated.’
‘Then please, while you still have the authority, you must do all you can to prevent
that from happening. I promise to deal with the Master effectively, even permanently, but on
my terms. You have my word.’
‘And you have mine, Doctor. And I wish you the best.’
The isolation bubble began to waver, and the President gave the Doctor a brief nod.
‘It is almost time. Now, is there anything I can do to help you on your way?’
‘Yes, yes there is. I have a Statenheim Remote Control in my possession – I
borrowed it from the Master – I’m going to re-program it to find my TARDIS. I wonder if
you could guide it here without anyone noticing.’
The President smiled.
‘Secret missions are my field of expertise.’
A brief passage later, the Doctor and the President entered a secluded deep-green and blue
stone corridor, not far situated from the Panopticon. The President had been good to his
expertise, and had secreted the Doctor well into the Capitol without the Chancellery Guards
noticing their movements. The Doctor leaned against a high, dark-coloured grandfather
clock set against one wall (though he had no idea why anyone would have an Earth-style
timepiece on Gallifrey) and began to study the Statenheim device. A short period later, with
his modifications to the remote complete, the Doctor informed the President of his
readiness. The President then produced a burnt-orange palm-sized wafer from his robe
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pocket, which he rolled up and ate. As he swallowed, his body stiffened and his face froze,
his eyes widened and glowed with a bright, white light. The light faded and the President
blinked, then focused upon the Doctor.
‘The barriers are down, Doctor, but only for a moment. Please hurry.’
Without even nodding in understanding, the Doctor took the remote in his hands
and manipulated its controls, his fingers gently but intently prodding the instrument for
some sign of retrieval, of arrival… The Doctor’s head snapped up; he could feel the air
around stirring, energising, displacing. The Doctor pushed away from the grandfather clock
and watched in rapt anticipation as, just a meter before him, a tall, rectangular box shifted
into view with a strong, echoing vibration, and solidified with a large thump. The Doctor
smiled as if he had reunited with a long lost old friend – for he indeed had – and stepped
forward and touched the dark blue wooden Police Box exterior of his TARDIS. Then he
pulled out from his pocket his key to the Ship, unlocked the door, and stepped halfway
inside before turning around and addressing the President.
‘Thank you, sir, for everything you did.’
‘And thank you, Doctor, for everything you will do.’
The Doctor smiled and offered a farewell wave of his hand, and entered the
TARDIS, which disappeared with its usual soundfare as soon as the door shut behind him.
Left behind in the cool, silent repose of Gallifrey, the President of the CIA watched the
empty spot where the Doctor’s TARDIS had been, and for a moment wished he could have
disappeared with it.
The Brigadier, Benton, and Sarah Jane had been waiting once more in their cell – now
devoid of the Doctor’s free photons – for about ten minutes when the archway swung open.
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‘Lights,’ snapped the Master’s voice. The room brightened with harsh, white light,
revealing the Time Lord with a dark and notably agitated expression upon his face. If the
Doctor’s disappeared then They may be involved. I need to move quickly. He was joined by the trio of
Black Daleks; and with a snap of his fingers, they advanced and surrounded the three
humans.
‘Come to finish us off?’ the Brigadier scoffed, a derogatory sneer unhidden in his
voice. ‘I’m genuinely surprised you have the courage to officiate our execution.’
‘Oh, Brigadier,’ Sarah Jane said with a sarcastic smile, ‘I think the Master’s having
trouble believing this is really the end of his game – what will he do without us?’
‘I will do what I have always been destined to do, you pathetic animals: rule without
question! Now my Daleks, exterminate them!’
WE OBEY! EXTERMINATE!
Benton turned the Brigadier.
‘Sir, it was an honour and a pleasure.’ He raised his hand to his brow in a proud
salute.
EXTERMINATE!
‘Likewise, my friend,’ the Brigadier replied, returning the salute with equal resolve.
EXTERMINATE!
‘Just do it already!’ Sarah Jane shouted as she stood tall and faced the Daleks, felt
both the Brigadier and Benton’s hands on her shoulders, as all stared down the barrels of the
Daleks’ gun-sticks, watched as their energy beams lanced straight towards them… and
impacted uselessly upon an invisible surface several feet before them. As the Daleks stopped
their death chant in confusion, a deep, sonorous wail filled the chamber, and a transparent
wall of dark blue panelling inset with windows began to form them and their prey. The
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Master’s eyes widened in rage as understanding dawned. He seethed in anger as the Doctor’s
annoying friends disappeared within the confines of the materialising TARDIS, and snarled
in rage as, just before the Ship solidified completely, he saw the Doctor himself within, who
caught his eye, and smiled.
The Master raced towards the time machine but it was already departing before his
hands could touch the outer surface. Just as soon as the TARDIS had dematerialised, and
even before its goodbye wail had subsided, the Master turned on his heels and loomed over
his Daleks.
‘Prepare the transmat chamber now. I must return to the Earth immediately!’
Inside the TARDIS’ Console Room there were the sounds of jubilation. Sarah Jane threw
her arms around the Doctor’s torso, her face beaming with a grateful smile. The Brigadier
moved to shake Benton’s hand, but could only stand in surprise as the Sergeant embraced
him in a full-bodied hug. Then Benton remembered through a stab of pain his injured
shoulder and stepped back, rubbing the bound wound.
‘Here, Sergeant,’ the Doctor said, gently pulling free of Sarah Jane and handing
Benton a small leather pouch. ‘I’ve some ointments in there that should mend your injury
very quickly.’
As Benton untied his bandages, the Doctor then turned to the console and began
inputting coordinates. The Brigadier stepped up beside him.
‘Much as I thank you for rescuing us, Doctor, we still have the Master and the
Daleks to contend with.’
‘Brigadier, I’m well aware of the situation – what do you think I’m contending with
right now?’
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‘Yes, well… Would you be so good as to apprise me of the details?’
The Doctor’s expression softened. ‘Yes, of course, my friend. You’ve been through a
great deal, haven’t you? Well then, I’ve just come from a friendly chat with my people.’
‘The Time Lords?’ Benton asked as he fastened his jacket buttons; his shoulder felt
better already.
‘Yes, Sergeant. They rescued me from the Master; I was able to retrieve the TARDIS
from Gallifrey as well.’
‘That was good of them,’ Sarah said, eager to join in the conversation, and to her
surprise, neither the Doctor nor the Brigadier seemed to take issue.
‘Hardly, Sarah. The Time Lords only get involved in my life if they want my services
in return, and they’ve asked me to deal with the Master.’
‘Splendid,’ the Brigadier spoke with enthusiasm. ‘We can finally lock that madman
away for good.’
‘Except, Brigadier, that I’ve been informed that the only way to stop the Master this
time is kill him!’
‘Kill?’ Sarah Jane asked, amazed. ‘Oh, you can’t be serious -’
‘I’m afraid I am, Sarah, and for that very reason, I am afraid.’
‘But… But what’s happened?’
The Doctor proceeded to explain to them what the President of the CIA had
revealed: how the Master had affixed the timeline of his leadership over the Daleks and their
invasion to his lifeline, and how only his destruction would restore history to its proper
course. Sarah Jane was the first to respond.
‘So you’re telling us that Time Lords can actually force time to behave in certain
ways, to follow paths they choose? Can you do that, too?’
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‘It’s a power we never like to use, precisely because it’s so dangerous in the wrong
hands, which makes the Master all the more foolish for exercising it; for the only way to put
things right is to destroy the user.’
‘And you’re really gonna do it,’ Benton asked, a quiet, sad wonder in his voice,
‘you’re really gonna have to kill the Master.’
The Doctor looked upon Benton, and all his friends present, with a weariness of
inevitability. But when he replied, there was almost a trace of defiance in his words.
‘I have a plan to deal with the situation, but I’ll need help from all of you.’
‘We’re more than ready to do so,’ the Brigadier stated, anxious for action.
‘Right. We need to get back to before the timeline changed, and makes things
difficult.’
‘Because he’s tied the time change to himself?’ Sarah Jane queried.
‘Well done, Sarah. I’ll make a temporal scientist of you yet.’
‘Thank you, but I think I’ll stick to journalism.’
‘Doctor…’ the Brigadier warned, unwilling to be lost in the conversation.
‘Ah yes, so sorry, Brigadier. You see, once the Master tied himself into the time
change, he effectively closed off the history before the alteration. Travelling to a point before
the Daleks’ invasion will therefore be extremely difficult, if not impossible. What we need is
a point in space-time that didn’t change during the shift, but I don’t know where we can find
such a thing on Earth.’
‘Hey. Doc,’ Benton interrupted, ‘what about the caravan, where we left Osgood?’
‘I’m sorry, but the caravan and its soldiers would have been caught up during the
timeline’s alteration.’
‘Oh. Worth a try, though. I mean, they were trapped in that forcefield-’
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‘What did you say, Sergeant?’ Suddenly there was an animation in the Doctor’s body.
‘Well, it’s just… Just before the Daleks started to come through the phones, I was
able to get my radio through to Osgood, and he told me your forcefield thing-a-ma-jig had
turned back on them, and trapped them instead of the Daleks.’
The Doctor pounded a joyful fist into his palm and shouted ‘Eureka! Sergeant
Benton, you are ever the genius!’ Then he spun around to the console and commenced a
complex series of switch-turning and button-pushing. Benton stepped up behind the
Doctor, and, with a very happy grin, asked, ‘What have I done now, Doc?’ The Doctor
finished his tinkering and turned around.
‘You reminded me of the project Osgood and I have working on, before all this
madness started: we’ve been experimenting in portable time frequency generators, in the
extreme case of combating localised time distortions.’
‘You mean like the mischief Whitaker was getting up to?’ the Brigadier said, as he
began to understand the Doctor’s recent demands for exotic equipment.
‘Precisely. Then I was able to construct machines to locate similar disturbances, but
not neutralise them. Well, Osgood and I have been building such a machine, and I thought I
could use it against the Daleks, perhaps to remove them from the Earth by trapping them in
a time eddy.
‘Now, Mr Benton, you say that when the Daleks began their invasion, the forcefield
I’d erected turned back on the caravan, trapping them inside. I think the Master’s transmat
carrier wave must have somehow interacted with my time frequency generator – reversing its
polarity – and trapped the caravan in their own time bubble; the inversion of my forcefield
must have been a fortunate side effect, but the end result is a pocket of space-time
unaffected by the Master’s time change!’
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‘And that’s where we’re headed?’ the Brigadier surmised, ever amazed at his old
friend’s blessed combination of skill and sheer luck.
‘Yes, Brigadier, directly; for I imagine the Master is already on his way back to Earth
to stop us.’
‘Well, why not deal with him first?’
‘You forget, Brigadier, we need to arrive at a point in time and space that’s
unaffected by the Master’s alteration, and that’s at the UNIT caravan. We can deal with the
Daleks when we get there. But don’t worry; I know exactly where the Master will be when
he arrives.’
‘Where?’
‘My dear fellow, where else but the transmat pad in the late Prime Minister’s office?
And this time we have the advantage: he can’t dare arrive until after we shifted into his
timeline or he risks changing his own history. And that’s where we’ll catch him.’
As the Doctor turned to check on the time of their arrival, Sarah Jane voiced a
concern.
‘Doctor, when Whitaker created his time eddies; they had an effect of rolling back
history. Couldn’t we just do that here, stop the Master from ever starting his change?’
‘No, Sarah; the creation of the Master’s timeline is part of established history, even if
we must undo it. Whatever we do, it must be now, at this point of our perspective of time,
and he must face the consequences of his actions.’
‘Even if it kills him?’
The Doctor said nothing, but watched the time rotor as it ceased its rise and fall.
‘We’ve landed. Time to re-make history.’
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Chris McKeon
Osgood and Llewellyn reacted in shock as a sound – like the stretching of a balloon – rushed
around them.
‘Corporal,’ Osgood cried, ‘go see if anyone else heard that.’
Llewellyn started to hurry back to the caravan, but was flung to the ground as his
body struck against something solid in the air, which left behind a brief pulse of light from
the impact. Osgood jumped from his seat in Bessie and dashed over to help Llewellyn up
from the ground.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked the dazed Corporal.
‘Yeah, I think so, sir, but I hit something, and it felt like an electric rubber band -’
‘Like a forcefield?’ Osgood scooped up a handful of snow and chucked it towards
the spot Llewellyn had struck against. The snow smacked against empty air, broke apart and
sizzled, melting against nothing.
‘It’s a forcefield!’
Osgood hurried back to Bessie and studied the frequency generator. The reading he
interpreted on its screens made him step back, flabbergasted.
‘It’s the Doctor’s forcefield. Something’s turned it back upon us. We’re trapped!’
‘But Sergeant,’ Llewellyn said, staggering to his feet and pointing towards the Daleks,
‘Look!’
As the two soldiers watched, the Dalek army flared into crackling blue light, before
they began to disappear, one by one… And then Osgood and Llewellyn reacted in greater
surprise as the air-stretching sound of the Doctor’s arriving TARDIS wafted through the
caravan’s enclosed space. The ship’s outer doors flung open and the Doctor burst from
within, his feet scattering snow upon the iced ground as he sprinted towards Bessie. The
soldiers sitting within the vehicle had no time to speak or react as the Time Lord vaulted
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Chris McKeon
into the driver’s seat, and began a frenetic manipulation of the temporal frequency
generator’s controls. Within an instant, his travelling companions had also reached the
roadster. Benton turned and watched the Daleks begin their transference. His hands
clenched in bitter terror.
‘We’re too late, Doc! They’re already on their way!’
‘No, Sergeant!’ the Doctor shouted, his voice loud from the rising din of the
forcefield and refusing to shake from fear. ‘There’s always the calm before the storm.
There’s always a moment to spare for hope!’
The Doctor set his teeth and – throwing that last moment of hope to the wind –
threw the final, main switch on the generator’s console. The machine released an ear-slicing
scream of temporally charged electric fury. Then, for one instant, the howling of the
forcefield ceased. All was quiet, like the moment before disaster, or deliverance. Then, in a
rushing wave of sound and light, the Daleks which had already dispersed into the transmat
wave reconstituted outside the forcefield, before the entire army exploded in a horrific
detonation, as the Dalek’s silver and grey matter transformed into blazing white energy
which spun into a gigantic cyclone twisting ferociously in the silent air, before collapsing into
a single, super-thin line, which lanced forward towards Bessie, straight into the temporal
generator, and disappearing into the machine with a final, shuddering wail, like countless
Daleks crying within darkness. The Doctor switched off the generator, sighed, and sat back
in his seat.
‘It’s over. The Dalek army has been destroyed.’
‘But what just happened?’ the Brigadier cried in almost breathless gratitude.
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‘Simple, my dear fellow. I used the frequency generator to divert the Master’s signal,
caught up the entire force with the energy signature, and relayed that trace into the generator
itself.’
‘But some of the blighters had already gone through, Doctor,’ Bento cried, ‘I saw it
myself.’
‘Yes, Benton, they had. But it’s as I said, there’s always a moment to spare, or rather,
a signal delay of a few moments before an individual Dalek could travel the full transmat
cycle. But I made sure even the ones already in transit simply returned to where they came
from. With the Daleks you always have to be totally efficient.’
‘But what about the Master? In our past, I mean?’ Sarah Jane asked. ‘Won’t he notice
the Daleks haven’t come through as planned? Come to think of it, won’t we?’
‘Ah, but that’s where I’m totally efficient. I made sure to bleed off the excess energy
of the transference through the beam; all he’ll receive is a dazzling display of empty
electricity, although I rather imagine the various governments’ phone lines will be rather
scorched for the time being.’
‘Then it’s really over,’ the Brigadier said, smiling with relief.
‘Not quite, Brigadier,’ the Doctor replied with a grim determination in his voice. ‘We
still have the Master to defeat. And I think I finally have the answer, the only answer, to that
final problem.’
The Doctor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a large lump of coal.
‘Hey, isn’t that - ‘
‘Yes, Sarah, it is the Master’s little Christmas gift. I thought it might come in handy. I
think it’s to re-gift it, but not without some new wrapping.’
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The Doctor placed the coal lump upon a small square-shaped platform set on the
top of the generator. He then recalibrated the machine and activated a new program. As the
device began to hum and a field of energy settled into a pulsing glow around the coal, Sarah
Jane asked what the Doctor was doing.
‘Just letting nature take its course, Sarah, with a little extra prodding and designing
from me, of course.’
A few moments passed and the glow increased, obscuring the coal in its brilliance.
Then, with a final whine, the light ceased. Upon the platform where the coal had lain was
now a perfectly circular diamond-textured loop about three centimetres in diameter. The
Doctor picked up the loop and let it dangle on one finger; the diamond sparkled in the
snow-dusted morning light. Benton leaned in close and gazed thoughtfully at the object.
‘It’s a diamond!’
‘Yes, Mr. Benton, made from a very special type of coal, Gallifreyan coal to be
precise, and therefore this diamond has special structural properties.’
‘What kind of special properties, Doc?’
‘Energy storage capacity, for a very important type of energy.’
‘And is that what you’re gonna use to kill the Master, Doctor?’
‘Let’s say it’s the most humane solution I can think of. Now, come along – the
Master’s sure to arrive at any moment! But don’t you lower this time barrier until I tell you,
Osgood, we may still need it!’
The Time Lord threw himself out of Bessie’s seat, over her door, and hurried back
to the TARDIS with his companions close behind. The ship’s doors closed and the TARDIS
dissolved from reality once more...
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Chris McKeon
…and instantly quaked and spun like a toy boat caught in the heart of a torrential
hurricane. The Doctor fell onto the console and hung desperately to its surface as his friends
fell against the roundelled walls. The Doctor shouted over the roar of the ship’s straining
engines.
‘Hang on everyone! We’re traversing the beginning of the divide between the
timelines! I’ve got to land at the precisely the right moment or we’ll fall between the breach!’
‘And if you can’t land, Doctor?’ the Brigadier shouted, clinging to one roundel with
both hands.
‘Then we’ll never know anything else, Brigadier! Hold on now! I’m engaging the time
tracker!’ The Doctor activated the scanner and watched the progression of events of his past
self. ‘Two minutes to 10 Downing Street…’
…and in the place where the PM’s body had been appeared the yellow-lit silver
figure of a Dalek. Its frame ignited into light and formed a line of blue energy, which then
shot forward and disappeared down the phone line into one of the many phone receivers on
the deceased PM’s desk, and into the office of another world leader at the other end. As the
Doctor watched the spectacle in silent fury, Sarah Jane edged up beside him.
‘Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.’
‘I’m afraid it is, Sarah. The Master has duped us all, and the Daleks are invading into
every country’s government capital simultaneously.’
‘Indeed, Doctor,’ the Master said, stepping closer to the transmat disk, but not
crossing the Daleks’ energy stream. ‘Without their leaders the nations of the world will
collapse into chaos and fear, ripe for the crushing. And you played into my little gambit quite
nicely.’
‘The game’s not over yet! I’ll stop you and the Daleks. I will!’
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Chris McKeon
The Doctor’s mind raced to find a solution, but could find none; even as his
thoughts frantically searched through failing options, the transmat process continued:
another Dalek briefly appeared before disappearing exactly like the one before, save its
energy travelled down a different phone line. Within instants, the transmission of Daleks had
increased in speed until the blurred image of a Dalek was constantly overlapping with
another, and all the phone lines were glowing with their transporting energy traces.
‘There’s no point to pursue victory anymore, Doctor,’ the Master gloated. ‘The
Daleks have flooded all centres of the Earth, and you’re cut off from your TARDIS!
You’re beaten at last!’
‘Doctor…’ Sarah Jane said to him, nudging up as close to his ear as she could
manage. Urgency was rising in her voice. The Doctor could feel the intensity of his friends’
eyes upon him, hoping for his action; he could not fail them, so he chose to act. But before
he did…
‘Goodbye Brigadier, Mr. Benton,’ the Doctor said without turning around to face
them. ‘Make sure you keep the peace as always.’
‘What are you talking about, Doc?’ Benton asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.
The Doctor did not reply but glanced down at Sarah, and with a sad smile placed his hand
on her cheek.
‘Goodbye, Sarah. I’m sorry it has to be like this. But let there be no tears. No tears
shed.’
‘Doctor? What are you… Oh no, don’t you dare.’
But the Doctor had already turned away, and took a step forward. The Master was
already covering him with his TCE, but the Doctor stood his ground. He smiled
nonchalantly and spoke.
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Chris McKeon
‘I must congratulate you, Master, on disguising a transmat pad as a communications
link. Quite ingenious of you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. One last compliment from you before your death is a fitting
tribute to my victory.’
‘Quite. But the Prime Minister? Why did he have to stay on the pad?’
‘To complete the conduction circuit, naturally. But once the matter stream was
established there was no more need for his presence.’
‘Ah, I see. A flawless cycle, and not easily broken. But I can just try!’
The Doctor leapt forward with hid cloak billowing behind him, and leapt towards
the transmat disk, aiming to break its energy circuit. As his feet left the ground, he heard
Sarah Jane cry out in alarm and run after him, he saw the Master shout in rage and lunge
towards him with his TCE drawn, he felt the hot burn of electricity course through him,
burn into him…
…the Doctor watched his earlier self thrown forward into the Master’s alternate
future through a seething pocket of vacuumed chronal space, which also caught up the past
versions of the Master and all others within the room. As their images fled from the scanner,
the Doctor saw the earlier TARDIS begin to pixelate and disperse within a smoky cloud of
temporal energy; the Ship was about to fling itself from the shifting timeline and force a
temporal discontinuity. He needed to land at precisely the moment after the previous
TARDIS had fled, or he would miss the continuity gap and be lost forever… one moment…
one moment… now! The Doctor slammed his fist upon the materialisation lever…
…and the momentary silence within the deserted room of 10 Downing Street
shattered as the TARDIS burst into reality, spinning wildly in the air with a tortured screech
before landing upon the exact spot its earlier counterpart had vacated a mere instant before.
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Chris McKeon
The Doctor flung open the outer doors and hurried outside, skidding to a halt at the now
dormant transmat in the centre of the room. He fished from his pocket the diamond loop
and gripped this in his hand. Now I need only a moment to figure out how to rig this into the transmat’s
systems before the Master gets here… the transmat chirped and began to hum. A pattern of
flashing lights on its control platform indicated an incoming transmission, arrival imminent.
No time but for a leap of faith, and may it be the right leap!
The Doctor dropped to his knees, ripped a side panelling from the transmat disk,
stabbed his hand into the bowels of the device, found the component he sought, ripped this
from its mooring and jammed the diamond loop in its place. He then shot up and backwards
from the transmat just as its systems fully activated and the outline of the Master began to
detail – his eyes caught upon the Doctor; his face hardened with rage, and then the transmat
shuddered with a deep, throbbing pulse as a bright white light burnt up from its base. The
Master, now almost completely reconstituted writhed in coruscating agony as his body
seemed to shatter from within, and a black shadow if thick darkness withdrew from that
inner recess – like a monster from a cave – and descended into the inner workings of the
transmat. The Master reformed and screamed long and hard, a tortured animal cry, and then
collapsed upon the transmat pad. His TCE, which he had been holding, fell from his grip
and rolled away from the Master’s sprawled body. The Doctor rushed forward, kicked the
TCE across the room to shatter against the fall wall, and tore out the diamond loop from the
machine, just as the entire inner array shorted out and released a small explosion of flame
and smoke. Then, all was quiet.
A few moments passed. Then, from within the TARDIS there was movement and
the Brigadier, Benton and Sarah Jane emerged.
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Chris McKeon
‘Is the danger past now, Doctor?’ the Brigadier asked as he caught sight of the supine
Master.
‘Yes,’ the Doctor muttered dully. ‘The aberrant timeline has been undone. I wish the
price hadn’t been so high?’
‘What price, Doctor?’ Benton asked.
The Doctor sighed and as he gazed down upon the Master. His hand grasped the
loop in his hand, now dark in colour; it felt repellent to the touch. The Doctor’s mind was
grim and his hearts weighed heavy. He had done it; he had done a monstrous thing. It was the
only thing I could do, the only thing short of cold-blooded murder. But it’s still monstrous. The Master
rolled off the pad with an anguished groan and lay face up upon the ground. He stared at the
Doctor in cold wonder. With a parched, brittle voice, he spoke.
‘Doctor… I can’t believe… what you’ve done. I never thought that you would…
destroy me.’
‘I’m so sorry. But arrogance left me no choice. But I couldn’t kill you.’
‘No, you’ve done far worse. You’ve terminated me!’ The Master growled in pain as
he bent his body upwards and struggled to his feet. Benton advanced upon the Master but
the Doctor motioned him to wait; he owed his one-time friend a little dignity, after what he
had done. The Master saw the Doctor’s kind gesture but the hatred in his face only
deepened.
‘You robbed me of my regeneration, Doctor, stored it in that quantum container in
your hand! You violated me!’
‘It was that or kill you! You were bound to that abomination of time you’d created
and therefore your life was forfeit! Your next life was the price!’
‘You bloodless, blinded unregenerate! That was my last life!’
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The shock of the Master’s revelation struck the Doctor so deeply he stepped back in
surprise.
‘No…’ he whispered. His mind focused upon the cold reality of what he had truly
done. ‘You can’t have… Not so soon…’
‘Don’t acquit yourself so quickly! You knew, Doctor. What was it you told me once
back home so very long ago, not to discard my bodies like old suits? Well, thanks to you this
is I have now is the last I’ll ever wear.’
The Brigadier could sense the building tension, and knowing a little of the Doctor’s
ability to change faces, he could also sense the importance of the wound the Doctor had
dealt the Master. This rising tide had to end.
‘You should just be grateful the Doctor didn’t decide to end your miserable life
altogether. Benton, take him.’
Benton nodded and stepped forward. The Doctor shook his sadly.
‘I’m sorry, Master.’
The Master heaved a bitter laugh and smiled.
‘Oh, my dear Doctor, you should have killed me.’
The Master’s hand flashed to his side pocket; another swift movement and the hand
was brandished a pistol, Lethbridge-Stewart’s weapon, the Doctor thought, he must have taken it
while we were transferred to Skaro! All froze. The Master’s eyes blazed as he set his eyes upon the
Doctor. The Doctor stared back. Then the Master smiled, shifted his aim, and fired. The
Doctor’s flinched, but felt no pain. Then his hearts clenched as he heard Sarah Jane give a
soft moan of pain and her body crumpled to the floor. The Master cackled with laughter,
raced towards the far wall and leapt through the closed window, shattering glass and
scattering wood panelling in his wake.
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‘Benton, see where he goes!’ the Brigadier shouted as he and the Doctor crouched
beside Sarah Jane; a blood stain was spreading in the centre of her chest.
‘Right, sir!’ Benton replied, rage shaking his voice. When I catch that murderer this time…
Benton ran to the broken window and leaned out through the frame, but of the Master there
was no sign. The falling snow had covered his tracks, if he had even left any. He had escaped
once more.
‘He’s done a runner, sir.’
‘Never mind,’ the Doctor cried. ‘Get on the PM’s phone and order an ambulance
here, quick! We’ve got to save Sarah…’
As Benton got to the desk and lifted the phone receiver, the Doctor took off his
coat, wrapped it into a bundle and placed the makeshift pillow beneath Sarah Jane’s head.
Her skin was pale and clammy to the touch; her breathing was shallow and irregular.
‘Doctor, is she -’ the Brigadier asked.
‘She’s in a crisis, Brigadier, but it’s not over yet. The bullet just missed her heart and
her vital arteries, I think. We have the Master’s weakened condition to thank for that. But
he’s gone too far this time. He’s gone too far…’
The medical team arrived a few minutes later to stabilise and transport Sarah Jane to the
nearest hospital. Just in time, the Doctor realized as he rode with his friend in the back of the
ambulance, before the media storm.
Over the next several hours after word had broken of the Prime Minister’s murder, at the
hands of noted terrorist Victor Magister, no less, the reaction was not so much as storm as a
frenzied hurricane of shock and fear. All three BBC channels broadcast live reports from 10
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Chris McKeon
Downing Street, Parliament and in studio, to assess the country’s condition from various
civil servants, political commentators, and international observers. But the Doctor neither
knew nor cared what the rest of the world thought about the day’s events. As he sat – torso
bent almost horizontal, elbows balanced on his knees, and thumbs holding up his head - in a
chair next to Sarah Jane’s hospital bed, the Doctor only cared about the wellbeing of his
friend. Her initial prognosis had been grim: the bullet had only just missed her aorta, and the
required surgery to remove the object from Sarah Jane’s chest had been long and difficult,
but the surgeons – led by the Doctor himself, who had refused to let any other perform the
operation - had at last succeeded in dislodging the bullet. Sarah Jane Smith would live.
Nevertheless, as the Doctor sat staring at his sleeping friend, he knew that the
recovery process would be very difficult for her, and would stretch a ways into the future.
But what sort of a future would it be, with the Master always near, always about to strike?
Even with the current crisis passed and the Daleks’ supremacy timeline annulled, the Doctor
knew the Master, now divested of his final regeneration, would be deadlier than ever, and
eager to renew his attack. Why else had the Doctor asked Lethbridge-Stewart and his men to
guard the hospital’s entrances; how else could they ensure Sarah Jane’s safety during her
recovery, and was even that precaution enough against the evil Time Lord’s unparalleled and
ruthless cunning?
The Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out the quantum containment loop,
the device which now stored the Master’s final regeneration watch-point energy. An entire
lifetime of potential, all locked up in an endless, artificial cycle. The Doctor breathed deep
with emotional fatigue and thought back on his own lifetime, a journey of friendship and
joys, of monsters and suffering, and, since the beginning, the Master. How often had be
threatened the Doctor’s life, and the lives of friends? How many times had he taken the wills
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of good, innocent people – even Liz and Jo - and had turned them into living weapons to be
discarded without a moment’s thought? And now, after so many petty attacks and battles,
the Master had nearly taken the life of Sarah Jane, someone so young, so talented, and so
precious. And how much was the Doctor himself to blame for all of this sorrow and
madness? Pressed down with these dark concerns, the Doctor felt as if time were pulling
away from him at both ends, leaving him to feel aged, tired, and empty. And lonely.
Then Sarah Jane opened her eyes. She blinked once and turned her head to the
Doctor, who quickly turned the Brigadier (who had been standing guard at the door) to
inform Benton of her condition. As Lethbridge-Stewart smiled and contacted Benton on his
radio at UNIT HQ, the Doctor stared at Sarah Jane. The look on her face showed she
understood what had happened to her. The Doctor stood and gently laid one hand upon her
brow, stroking the bangs of her dark hair.
‘I’m so sorry, Sarah.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said, her voice thin and dry. ‘Just another day in our lives.’
‘No. Sarah, not anymore. I can’t risk your life again, not after what happened today -’
‘Oh no, you don’t; stop right there. I bet you’ll say you should never have let me
interview the Master, but remember, I asked for it. And then maybe you’ll say you should
never have let me onboard the TARDIS to chase after Linx, but again, I asked for it. Well, I
just did it, but that’s beside the point, isn’t it? I’m a journalist, Doctor, risk is my life, to find
out the truth, and you’re the most truthful man I know, so I’m sticking with you to the end.’
‘Even if it kills you?’
‘With you around, Doctor, who’s going to dare?’
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The Doctor chuckled and touched Sarah Jane’s nose. She was right. No matter what,
she was going nowhere. Suddenly Sarah Jane’s eyes flashed wide and breathed in a quick
intake of air.
‘Oh my – the Master? Where’s he gone?’
‘Escaped, right after he shot you. But he’s lost his TARDIS, so I know he’s around.
It’s only a matter of time -’
‘Doctor!’ the Brigadier cried, entering the room and holding out the radio, ‘It’s Mr
Benton. He says it’s urgent.’
The Doctor took the receiver and spoke into its grilled speaker.
‘What is it, Sergeant?’
‘It’s him. It’s the Master. He’s just called here at HQ. He says he’ll speak only to you
or he’ll kill us all. Doc… He sounds like he means it.’
‘I know he does. All right, put him through.
There was a sharp click from the transferring line, and as the Doctor sat down in the
hospital chair the Master’s voice entered his ear.
‘Hello, Doctor, are you there?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Now, listen carefully, for I won’t repeat myself. I have taken control of a
nuclear power facility and I am fully prepared to introduce a fault in the design that will
cause an overload. I am certain that the resultant explosion will obliterate this planet.’
‘You still can’t reign in your delusional overachievement, can you? Destructive it may
be, a nuclear meltdown wouldn’t tear apart this entire world.’
‘Oh, the capability of my design will be far more totally destructive than you give me
credit, Doctor: the reactor is located in Eastchester, and is the same facility used some five
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Chris McKeon
years ago during the near-catastrophic “Inferno Project”. From your first-hand experience in
that event, you know how monstrous the results of a detonation at that location would be.’
The Doctor breathed deep as flashes of endless fire arcing from the depths of a
parallel Earth seared the edges of his memory. If the Master were to awaken the natural
powers trapped beneath this Earth’s crust…
‘Even if you could tear apart the planet, I know you better than that. You’re stranded
on Earth with no means of escape, and if you destroy us you destroy yourself. I don’t think
you could ever do that.’
The Master chuckled; it was a darker mirth than the Doctor had ever heard.
‘Have you forgotten, Doctor, that you have already stolen my life? I have nothing
left to lose,’ – the Master’s voice sharpened, hatred hardened his words – ‘but at last I have
this final opportunity for the sweetest revenge. Do you still dare to underestimate my
capacity for vengeance, Doctor? Would you mock me even now?’
He’s serious, the Doctor realised, and he’s gripped with rage. Perhaps I can use that to my
advantage, before anyone else gets hurt. The Doctor decided to accept the challenge.
‘All right, I’m listening. Now, what do you want from me?’
‘Simply your presence, Doctor. If you come to meet me, alone, I will spare your
world my wrath.’
‘And direct it all at me?’
‘Oh, most assuredly, Doctor. You have robbed me of my life, my identity as a Time
Lord. I cannot countenance such a personal insult. Before today, our little game had been an
amusing challenge, but now, it’s a match to the death. If you want to avoid other lives lost,
you’ll come as quickly as you can. Goodbye, Doctor.’
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The line went dead; the Doctor tossed the radio back to Lethbridge-Stewart, stood
up from his chair. Sarah asked him where he was going and tried to sit up from the bed, but
winced as her torso muscles resisted the strain and she deflated upon the mattress. The
Doctor quietly urged her to get some rest as he walked over to a coat rack attached to the
wall adjacent to the exit door and tugged his cloak free of one of the hooks where he had
placed it hours before. As he threw the black and red fabric around his shoulders, the
Brigadier spoke from the doorway where he stood.
‘If you’re going to face the Master then I’m coming with you.’
‘Sorry, Brigadier, but this is a personal matter. The Master wishes to play a very final
game with me and I can’t risk any more innocent lives.’
The Doctor made to walk past Lethbridge-Stewart and exit through the door, but
stopped just he was alongside his friend and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
‘Keep watch over Sarah, there’s a good chap. I may be long.’
The Doctor gave a sad smile, turned, and strode off down the brightly-lit white and
pale green walled hospital corridor, his footsteps clipping firmly on the crème linoleum floor.
A moment later he was out of sight. Left alone, the Brigadier waited a few moments, and
then switched on his radio. He glanced over at Sarah Jane, who met his gaze and nodded her
head. Lethbridge-Stewart heard the click of an open communication channel and he spoke.
‘Greyhound One to UNIT HQ, over. Ah, Benton, just the man I want to hear.
Come over to hospital to watch Miss Smith, would you? I’m off on a very important
errand…’
The Eastchester nuclear power facility, once home to Professor Stahlman’s failed and almost
apocalyptic Inferno Project was an ugly place. Like a mound of grey mould corrupting a
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Chris McKeon
gigantic decaying carcass, the installation’s collection of oily pipes, rusted stair and walkways,
and broken reactor towers choked and blighted the surrounding landscape. Since the death
of Stahlman and the termination of his research into geothermal energy sources over very
relevant biological hazards, the power plant had been shut down and had fallen into disrepair
over the years. Yet, somehow, the Doctor mulled as he travelled in Bessie towards the
location, the Master had managed to re-activate the nuclear reactor in only a day’s time. How
he achieved that I’ve no idea, but there’s no point in asking him; that’s a trivial matter, after all. But I can’t
risk him breaching the Earth’s crust, not after what I saw happen! And the Master will answer for what
he’s done today, what he did to Sarah…
The Doctor drove on, pressing harder on Bessie’s accelerator; the roadster sped
through a rushing flurry of snow, wind and ice, pounding down upon the land as the sky
above trembled with an ever-rising storm. The Doctor’s feelings matched the tempest
perfectly. Then, as he rode over the ridge of a hill, the nuclear plant emerged, a vast hulking
shadow in the whitened horizon. The Doctor urged Bessie forward and sped through the
front barrier, not noticing the splinters of painted wood fly past his head; all else was lost in
the tumult of his thoughts.
Once inside the main courtyard of pipes and boilers, the Doctor eased Bessie to a
halt. He then turned off the car’s engine and took a moment to collect himself. Bessie’s
engine steamed in the cold air. A flash of lightning burnt the blanched sky a sterile blue, and
a distant but approaching thunderhead rumbled. Strange, he thought to himself, how storms
always seem so appropriate. Suddenly, a voice echoed around him.
‘Ah, welcome, Doctor. I was hoping you’d not make me wait, and I see you’ve
obliged me.’
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Chris McKeon
It was the Master, toying with him even in the shadows. The Doctor opened his
side-door and stepped from his vehicle.
‘I’m always punctual, when I feel like it.’
‘Ever flippant, Doctor, even at the end.’
‘Is this the end, Master? Must we finish this way?’ The Doctor was listening closely
to the echo pattern of the Master’s voice, trying to ascertain his location.
‘All things have their end, Doctor, even our adversity. And yes, we will finish this
way, in the only way left to us: the destruction of one, the other, or both.’
‘Look, if you’re going to be so dramatic about this, why not show yourself and be
done with it?’
‘Very well, Doctor. Now die.’ The echo was different was different. The voice was
close, right behindThe Doctor ducked just as he heard the heavy swoosh of air and a large pipe thick
with grease swung through the air to smash down on Bessie’s bonnet. The Doctor spun
around. The Master loomed over him, his eyes blazing with hate. The Doctor grabbed the
Master’s wrist and twisted to the right, throwing him off his feet. The Master snarled as he
crashed to the ground; he gripped the iced earth his fingertips and spun his torso upwards,
slicing a sharp kick into the Doctor’s abdomen. Air rushed from the Doctor’s lungs. He
staggered a step back just as the Doctor arched his back and threw himself back to his feet
before spinning on one foot to deliver a full roundhouse kick along the Doctor’s head. The
force of the blow brightened the Doctor’s vision with a flash white light. His body twirled
once in the air before he fell and crashed against the front of Bessie, his chin connecting
with her windshield. The Doctor sagged upon the vehicle’s warm bonnet; a warm sensation
spread along his jawline, down his neck. Through eyes dimmed with red, the Doctor saw
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Chris McKeon
reflected in Bessie’s cracked windshield a blood-dark shadow rise up; he pushed back with
his legs with running force and drove his elbows into the Master’s shoulders; the Master
hissed with pain as angled bone wedged into his flesh, and he stumbled backwards over a
pile of broken bricks, crying out upon impact. Left alone for a moment, the Doctor swayed
on his feet and rubbed his wrist along his jaw; the ruffle of his cuff came away stained with
red.
‘Blood,’ the Doctor whispered as he stared at his cuff and then at the sprawled figure
of the Master. ‘How much more blood will you spill before you’re satisfied?’
‘As much as there is, Doctor!’
The Doctor stepped forward, then leapt back and to the side as a mass of several
bricks joined by crumbling mortar launched by the Master’s sweeping hand narrowly missed
his head. Distracted by the attack the Doctor failed to notice the Master rushing towards
him. Too late to avoid his foe’s weight crashing into his body, the Doctor improvised a
defence, digging his feet into the ground, slowed the Master’s forward momentum, turned
his body to one side and slashing a hard blow across the Master’s face. The villain bared his
teeth, lowered his torso, and with a strong upward thrust with his legs, drove his head into
the Doctor’s chin, snapping the head upwards. With almost blind reaction, the Doctor
stepped back and jumped backwards, kicking the Master’s head with both feet, before
flipping over and landing squarely a yard away. The Doctor hacked a ragged cough; his head
throbbed with pain and his vision blurred and swayed. He forced his head to clear as he
watched the Master, half-knelt upon the ground, his own face bruising and flecked with
blood. His eyes were clear, large, and blazing; his breaths deep and steady.
He really means to kill me, the Doctor realised. Well, if this is a battle, I’ve got to get to higher
ground.
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Chris McKeon
The Doctor turned and began to run from the entrance courtyard. His legs muscles
ached from the strong kicks he had delivered and received. He could hear the Master starting
to rise from the ground already; he had to get to higher ground, and fast. The Doctor
spotted a flight of metal stairs a few meters ahead and to his left, leading to an open doorway
set within the dirty metal wall of a large building; he recognised it as the central reactor
chamber, the heart of the installation. If he could get to there, he could find not only shelter,
but also if the Master might have actually have been telling the truth about restoring the
reactor to operation. He hurried forward and ran up the stairs, taking care to step lightly on
the rusted steps: he wanted to evade detection as long as possible.
Beyond the doorway, the central reactor chamber was a large and spacious square
room filled with pipes and power junctions placed at various locations, and they were active:
high-pressure steam was billowing from small cracks and holes through the deteriorated
machinery, and the Doctor could feel a low rumbling building in intensity throughout the
reactor chamber. The Doctor made his towards the centre of the building, searching for a
control terminal, and within moments found the main computer bank and control panel. He
studied the read-outs: the Master had managed to get the reactor back on-line, and had
boosted the power output levels beyond the system’s maximum limits; and with the entire
array in such decayed condition, an overload was sure to happen within moments.
The Doctor turned to the controls, tried to shut down the reactor, but not a single
one functioned. He knelt down to see the connections beneath the console, and saw that all
the circuits were either fused or simply ripped from their moorings. Well, there’s nothing I can
do here. I’ll have to see if I can try anything with the reactor itself. He scanned the far wall and saw a
large, thick metal doorway set into the reinforced concrete. Above the door in bold red
letters were written the words “Main Reactor.” The Doctor stepped over the doorway,
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Chris McKeon
turned its steering column handle, and tugged the metal slab open. Instantly he felt a rush of
hot air blow out upon him. The reactor, like the rest of the power plant, was an old, faulty
system now operating beyond normal capacity; radiation was certain to have flooded the
room beyond, the Doctor realised, but with no radiation suits available, he knew he had no
choice but to enter unprotected. Wasting no more time, he set his jaw, and entered.
The inside of the main reactor was dark and warm; the shadows within seemed alive,
pulsing and thick. A soft blue light shifted in the distance. As the Doctor approached, he saw
it was the main reactor’s pool where the rods were held and stabilised. He stepped to the
edge of the pool, protected a metal perimeter waist-high, and peered over into the water.
The eerie light from the pool active water reflected upon the Doctor’s weary face; it was
sloshing and boiling; the radioactive rods embedded in the pool were glowing blue-white
hot, like spectral bones flaring deep within a restless grave. Then, out of the corner of his
eye, the Doctor saw a flash of light upon a bright surface: it was a small silver box, studded
with blinking lights and buttons, mounted upon the metal barrier surrounding the pool. It
was a device native to Gallifrey, designed to produce subatomic particles – this must have
been how the Master had jumpstarted the reactor rods. If I can just get this thing out of here, the
chain reaction should stop on its own and halt the meltdown.
The Doctor reached for the machine, and felt a heavy object slam against the back of
his head. His knees buckled and he pitched forward, narrowly missing the top edge of the
pool’s barrier before crashing to the floor. He had to get up, had to stop the machine. The
Doctor forced his consciousness to fight the oncoming force of senselessness threatening to
drown him, he clenched his teeth, his hands, his eyes, banished the pain gripping his head
and neck, and succeeded, somewhat, enough to stay aware. He pushed up from the ground
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Chris McKeon
and turned over to see the Master standing above him, the Brigadier’s pistol clutched firmly
in his hand, and specks of blood on its handle. The Time Lord spoke.
‘How often must I warn you, Doctor: Never touch my property.’
‘And how often must I remind you: Violence never solves any quarrel.’
‘Oh, Doctor. Shall I prove you wrong one last time? On your feet, please.’
‘Thank you, how kind.’ The Doctor stood and faced his foe. ‘I appreciate the chance
to face death with some dignity.’
‘Dignity has nothing to do with it. I simply know you’re most formidable when
you’re up against the proverbial hard place, and I want you at a safe distance. You
understand, of course.’
‘No, no I don’t. I don’t think I can understand you. Not the way you are.’
‘No one does, Doctor, that’s why I am, and always have been, alone. And I cherish
the solitude.’
‘It doesn’t have to be this way, you can -’
‘Change? Forsake? Repent? Ha! I have no regrets, no sorrows, and no remorse for
myself. I am the Master, and I do no wrong. Let that maxim be your final defeat, and the
ultimate checkmate of your life as you enter oblivion! Goodbye, Doctor!’
The Master raised the pistol, aimed, and howled in pain as a gunshot fired, its
explosive sound filling the room. The Master dropped his weapon, staggered forward onto
the barrier, and with an enraged snarl, he pitched over to fall into the pit. For a moment, the
Doctor stood motionless, shocked at what had happened, and numb from the death of his
old enemy – his oldest friend. But how? The Doctor snapped his gaze in the direction of the
shot, and saw Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, standing tall and triumphant in the chamber
doorway. He smiled at the Doctor, but did not expect his friend’s reply.
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Chris McKeon
‘Get out, Brigadier, quick! The room’s flooded with deadly radiation!’
‘Right, Doctor.’ The Brigadier stepped out of the doorway and stood for a moment
against the wall. Moments later, the Doctor emerged from the room and placed grateful
hands on the Brigadier’s shoulders.
‘Thank you, old chap, even if you still manage to arrive just in the nick of time!’
‘My pleasure, Doctor. I always uphold punctuality.’
‘But how did you find me?’
‘I followed you from the hospital to see what the Master was up to. But don’t worry
about Miss Smith; I’ve got Mr Benton watching over her.’
‘Good. She needs her friends close, but she’ll recover nicely now.’
‘Speaking of recovery, I’ve got a hazmat team standing by to shut this place down
once and for all.’
‘No need, Brigadier. There’s a device the Master used to start the meltdown, and I
can take care of that in here.’
‘Don’t you want to do that out here, if there’s radiation and all inside?’
‘Yes, but I need a moment.’
‘Whatever for?’
The Doctor turned away and gazed mournfully into the dark room. ‘To say
goodbye.’
The Brigadier nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll be outside.’
As the Brigadier departed, the Doctor re-entered the reactor room and walked to the
Master’s machine, which, after a quick study of its design, he promptly deactivated.
Immediately, he could sense the reduction of radiation within the room, and he relaxed. The
danger was past and the Earth was safe, although he himself would best need some
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Chris McKeon
decontamination as soon as possible. He pocketed the device, sighed, and spoke to the
darkness.
‘I’m so sorry, my old friend. Our game is finally over.’
‘Not yet, Doctor.’
The sound of the Master’s voice shocked the Doctor, and he hurried to the barrier
and peered over into the pool. There, hanging by his hands on a ledge overlooking the pool,
was the Master, blood pouring from his shoulder and down his arm.
‘I hope the Brigadier doesn’t consider himself an expert marksman; he really should
improve his killing shot.’
‘Lethbridge-Stewart is not a murderer. Had he wanted to kill you, he would have.
He’s a good man.’
‘Unlike me, of course. But what about you? Will you let me fall to my death? I don’t
think I can pull myself out with my injury, and if you leave me here the residual radiation will
be certain to kill me in time. So, my survival is up to you, Doctor. Can you risk the safety of
the cosmos over the life of one being past the point of redemption?’
The Doctor hesitated. He knew he could never let anyone – even the Master – die
without a chance of life, but the Master was too dangerous to keep alive. What could he do?
The Master saw the indecision in the Doctor’s face, and laughed.
‘Paralysed by conscience, Doctor? Or are you really like the rest of the Time Lords?
Well, if you can’t decide my fate, then I will!’ With his injured arm, the Master let go of the
precipice and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the Stattenheim Remote Control, and
with a sharp smile, he pressed its recall button. Instantly, there was the sound of a TARDIS
materialising, and a large, smooth silver disk appearing directly beneath the Master. With an
excited laugh, he stepped down upon the platform, which levitated high into the air, beyond
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Chris McKeon
the Doctor’s reach. Standing tall and staring down upon his enemy, the Master smiled and
spoke, an energy and zeal in his voice.
‘I may have lost my original Ship, but I always carry a spare. But now, thanks to you,
my life has no more replacements. You robbed me of my life today, Doctor, but you left me
alive to suffer the slight. For that, you will have my undying vengeance. Until you can decide
to kill me of your own free will, our conflict will be endless and unrelenting. And while you
wait for that day when you finally learn to kill, I will always be here, striking at you and
hunting you until the end of eternity. Farewell, my worthy opponent, we shall meet again
soon. Our game may be over, but our war is just beginning. Until next time and for all time,
Doctor!’
And with a final, enduring laugh, the Master sank down into his secondary TARDIS
and disappeared from view. He was still laughing even as the ship dematerialised, leaving the
Doctor alone, and standing forlorn and defeated.
‘Checkmate,’ he whispered.
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Chris McKeon
EPILOGUE
2ND JANUARY 1975, UNIT HQ
LATE
IN THE EVENING, WHILE THE SNOW STORM STILL RAGED IN EVER INCREASING
force, the Brigadier entered the Doctor’s laboratory at UNIT HQ. The lights were off, and
the only the light from the building’s outer flood lamps obscured by the rushing wind-swept
snow drifts filtered through the windows. The Brigadier, after scanning the dark room for a
few moments, found his old friend sitting at a table next to the TARDIS, staring through a
window and off into the weary, weather-beaten world. Lethbridge-Stewart coughed and
spoke.
‘Good evening, Doctor. May I join you?’
‘Of course, my friend, of course. I need the company after today.’
‘Yes, it was a trial,’ the Brigadier said as he sat down alongside the Time Lord. ‘But
the danger’s past. Osgood finally managed to turn off your forcefield, the caravan’s returned
with no further sign of the Daleks, Parliament’s and already turned its attention to selecting a
new PM – and I hear there’s strong approval rising around a woman. How times are
changing.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Sarah’s all right, of course.’
‘Yes, Mr. Benton assures me she’ll be fine, and will make a quick and full recovery.
Oh, I’ve ordered the Eastchester facility razed completely. We’ll have no more return trips to
that wretched place.’
‘Very efficient, Brigadier. Very thorough.’
‘And you, Doctor? What’s on your mind?’
‘Darkness, Brigadier, the darkness of a man determined to destroy. It seems an
endless cycle, the Master and I, of how we struggle: first on Gallifrey, then the planet of the
War Games, then here on Earth in a plastics museum and countless times since then. Do
you remember that day, when he first appeared all dressed up as that museum curator, and
kidnapped Liz and I?’
‘Yes, of course, how could I forget?’
‘Precisely. And, do you know, despite all the terrible things he did that day, and even
more so than all the atrocities he’s done since then, the worst thing of all to me is that
sometimes I feel it would have been better if he had died then, if I had managed to… to
destroy him.’
‘You can’t blame yourself, you know. We all thought he was dead.’
‘But now we, I, know that he’s very much alive, and after what I did to him today
he’ll be more ruthless and destructive than ever before. I forced him to face his own
mortality, and that is the worst blow any foe can give his opponent. It’s a greater wound
than a simple death.’
‘So you think he’ll be back?’
‘Brigadier, I know he’ll be back. He’ll always be back.’
‘Then we’ll be ready, and we’ll stop him again.’
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Chris McKeon
‘Perhaps. But it’s different now. Before, I actually looked forward to his return, to
the challenge of our next contretemps. But now…’ The Doctor stared out into the world, a
wide, bleak expanse of endless desolation, and he saw the inevitable future.
‘Now I know the war we wage will last until I destroy him. Or until he destroys me.’
The Doctor stopped talking and sat, unmoving, staring out through the window. The
Brigadier could think of nothing of cheer or confidence to say, and gazed out at the wintry
world as well. Outside, the frozen tempest raged on into the deepening night.
THE HISTORY OF THE DOCTOR
www.doctorwhoreviews.co.uk
PAGE 108

Doctor Who: The Final Game

Transcription

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