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best_enemiesThis has been hanging out on my harddrive for too long. Time for it to move away from home and make its way in the real world.
Title: Stitching the Wounds Part 2: Blood Money
Summary: The Doctor and the Master travel to Aureas—the wealthiest planet in the galaxy—to find Sabalom Glitz. There the Doctor’s curiosity leads him to uncover a secret that the richest man on Aureas wants to keep silent at any cost.
Pairing: Valeyard!Doctor/Ainley!Master
Word Count: ~20K
Rating: R for great quantities of violence and UST just barely hanging on to the “U” bit.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who, I just borrow the mythology.
Notes: “Whoops, are those my Issues showing?” *modestly tried to cover Issues* *fails*
This is the next instalment after Stitching the Wounds Part 1: Turning at the Centre of Time. Each part is a mostly stand-alone story arc, although some of the details in Part 2 will only make sense if you’ve read Part 1. The series is inspired by the Doctor Who: Unbound radio play “He Jests At Scars...” but familiarity with the play is not at all necessary. Beta read by the lovely and recently delurked![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
janeturenne. All remaining mistakes are my own.
This Master was not his Master. His Master was gone forever, obliterated in the inferno that had sparked the Doctor’s twelfth regeneration. Still, he had always liked this particular incarnation, even if it wasn’t a proper Gallifreyan body.
That same body was now pressing him against the doors of the TARDIS, causing the back of the Doctor’s clothes to catch on the rough wooden exterior. The Master’s mouth—warmer than a Gallifreyan’s—covered his lips, while the Master’s hot tongue traced fire behind his teeth. With his right hand, the Master crumpled the cloth of the black court robe in a fist, pulling the fabric tight around the Doctor’s neck. With his left, he pinned the Doctor’s wrist to the TARDIS wall.
The Doctor voiced no objection to this demanding treatment. Indeed, he verbalized nothing at all but little shuddering sighs. His actions, however, spoke whole sermons. The tilt of his head to better accept the Master’s kiss, his free hand kneading the back of the Master’s neck, and the eager arch of his back all screamed his enthusiasm.
Then an embarrassed cough, so self-conscious it practically hid itself back in a choke as soon as it was uttered, rattled in the air. It was enough of a distraction for the Doctor to remember himself again. Exercising his force of will, he pushed the Master away even as his lips kept moving invitingly under the Master’s. At last they pulled apart with a soft, wet smack. The Doctor opened his eyes just in time to see the Master, his expression rigid, slowly turn to face the source of the interruption.
“Whatever it is you need to say, I hope for your sake it’s very important,” the Master growled at Mel.
Her cheeks were red and her gaze darted about the room, alighting on everything but the people with whom she shared a TARDIS. “A red warning light on the console started flashing. It seems quite insistent.”
The Master scoffed. “You fool, that’s just the vortex transference alert. My TARDIS will automatically deal with it.” There was a long and awkward silence while the Master studied Mel like an exacting butler staring at an intractable stain. “Go away. Find yourself some beet juice or whatever awful thing it is you drink.”
“I have to stay within the paradox bubble,” Mel retorted with irritation, almost as frustrated by the situation as the Master was. The Doctor would have found it funny if he weren’t caught in the middle of it all. “The Doctor said the TARDIS—”
“Yes, the dimensional folds might destabilize the bubble,” the Master finished. “Might. I believe he’s being overcautious, and since of the two of us I’m the one who passed his epidimensional maths exam, mine is the judgment which matters.”
He returned his attention to the Doctor, keen to resume where they left off. The Doctor’s good sense, however, was already active again after being temporarily short circuited by the Master’s onslaught.
“If we’re preparing to leave the vortex,” the Doctor said, latching onto the excuse, “I need to change into a more appropriate costume.” He slid out of the Master’s embrace and fled to the safety of his own TARDIS, hand shaking as he fit the key to the lock. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to retreat on some pretext or another when he felt close to succumbing to the Master’s intentions. He could almost be grateful for Mel’s presence, foiling the Master’s amorous advances.
The two TARDISes were embraced in a dimensional recursive loop, each one nestled inside the other. The Master’s TARDIS was even mimicking the form of the Doctor’s, much to her pilot’s dismay, rendering the two console rooms identical in nearly every way, down to the police box in the corner. But the dim lighting that the Doctor had learned to prefer set them apart, so that stepping from the Master’s console room to his own felt a bit like walking from daytime to dusk. Once inside, the Doctor leaned back against the doors and slowly swiped his hand down his face.
This Master was not his Master, but as the Doctor spent more time in his company that small detail became increasingly unimportant.
He made his way to the wardrobe room, but once there he only pulled his robes closer about him. Even if he was alone, surrendering to the base desires of his body was still surrender. The Doctor would not concede defeat, no matter how well the Master played. His own pride aside, he simply couldn’t trust the Master. He may be all kisses and affection now, but the Doctor knew that it could turn to pain and attempts at subjugation without warning.
He twisted the paradox ring around his finger. Such a hateful little trap the Master had created, and the Doctor couldn’t take it off, not for one second. He was the centre of the paradox, and without the ring, space-time would try to slice him out of existence like cutting away an infection.
He spent five minutes reciting through the decimals of pi until his mind focused and his skin stopped tingling. Only then did he strip off his Gallifreyan robe and don a plain black suit, with each layer tightly buttoned. Thus dressed, he wandered back up to the console room and brushed his hands over the silent controls, delaying the inevitable. He avoided even looking at the corner where the Master’s TARDIS perched. A cowardly part of him wished he could remain in his TARDIS forever and never again face the Master or the confusion he wrought. He sneered at himself for the thought. How like the Doctor that sentiment was. Just when he thought he’d scrubbed every bit of that old identity from his soul, some hitherto unnoticed fragment revealed itself.
The Master’s gravelly voice slipped through the door, startling the Doctor. “My dear Doctor, if you’re quite finished with your preparations, you may be interested to know that we’ve arrived at our destination.”
The Doctor closed his eyes and bade his mind and body to be calm. He longed for his judiciary regalia and the physical and psychological armour it provided, but it was impractical for this sort of work. His suit, though lacking in character, was more sensible.
When the Doctor emerged, blinking in the brighter light, the Master slid a slow look down his form, taking in the change of clothes, approval shining in his eyes. Wrapping his arms around the Doctor’s waist, he drew him away from the doorframe.
“A new world for you to see, Doctor,” the Master said with a crooked smile. “That must please you.”
“I thought we were here to work, not on holiday.” He pulled the Master’s arms away and slipped out of his embrace.
“Surely that’s not a dedicated work ethic I’m seeing? However many regenerations you’ve gone through, you can’t expect me to believe that you’ve changed that much. You’re about as diligent and focused as a Kelerian magpie.” The Master leaned casually on the console. “Fortunately, you’ll have me here to keep you in hand.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been able to keep me anywhere I didn’t want to be.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to take steps to ensure that you want to be in my hands,” the Master chuckled.
# # #
A soft, pleasant chime rang out an unmemorable melody. Mr. Gilfruct called out to the empty air, not bothering to look up from the budget reports he was reviewing.
“What is it, Miss Lilla?”
A high-resolution hologram of a young woman appeared before his desk, the short hair on top of her head ruffled as though she’d been running her fingers through it. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Mr. Gilfruct.” He absently waved away her apology and she continued, “Captain Melis just chimed. He says that the security sensors picked up some disturbing alien visitors.”
Mr. Gilfruct curbed a frustrated sigh. She was new at this job. Eventually she’d learn to take the initiative and deal with minor problems herself instead of bothering him every time an irregularity passed her screen. “Thousands of alien tourists visit each day. Sometimes we get one that’s strange enough to rattle the sensors. There’s nothing unusual about that.” He pressed a finger to the surface of his holoscreen desk and called up the stock market data. His business was up another five points. He considered buying Minister Varn a luxury aero as a little thank you gift for passing those recent tax leniency laws.
“Yes, sir, I know. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean...that’s not what I meant.”
This time Mr. Gilfruct did sigh. “Then say what you mean.”
“The sensors identified one of them as Human, one is Trakenite—”
“Trakenite? Didn’t they die out centuries ago?”
“Sir, the sensors say—”
“Never mind, it’s not important.” He wished only for her to get to the point and then leave him to his work.
“And one is a Time Lord, sir.”
That pulled Mr. Gilfruct’s attention away from his computer. He gazed at Miss Lilla for many seconds, half expecting her to realize that she’d misspoken and correct herself. She couldn’t really mean Time Lord. But her face remained fixed in frown of worried sincerity that seemed to be her only expression. “Time Lord?” He brushed his left hand over the edge of his desk and an encyclopaedia entry on Time Lords appeared on his screen.
“That’s what Captain Melis said, sir.”
Mr. Gilfruct’s eyes flicked across the information the computer had provided. He had heard of Time Lords the same way he’d heard of the Sirens of Sideris or the Dreaming Barrens—stories, travellers’ tales. The encyclopaedia entry didn’t help him much. It was pitifully short and gleaned mostly from legend and rumour. There were very few facts, and even those seemed contradictory more often than not. But what everyone agreed was that Time Lords were highly intelligent and technologically advanced, a race that gathered and treasured knowledge like other races treasured gold or gems or euchlor. They could be trouble.
Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he said, “Tell security to keep a discreet eye on them. If they’re just tourists like the rest, fine. If they start poking about in places they shouldn’t, I want to know immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Miss Lilla nodded and her image winked out. Mr. Gilfruct returned his attention to the screen. Time Lord. He shook his head. Another thing the stories all agreed upon was that the Time Lords were extreme isolationists—but when they did take an interest in the affairs of the outside universe, they could crush empires with little more than a thought.
# # #
The Master opened the doors of the TARDIS to reveal dusk spreading over an alien city. A crown of golden light shone over the mountains in the distance, fading out into a soft cobalt sky. From horizon to horizon stretched a vibrant band—rings of dust reflecting the light of the sun. All around them high buildings with delicate spires glittered with shifting cool colours like the inside of an abalone shell. Aerocars darted here and there, stirring up wind currents with their passing.
“Welcome to Aureas, Mel, the political and economic centre of the United Caelumine Systems,” the Doctor said, spreading his arms in a gesture encompassing the whole surroundings. “It’s said to be the wealthiest planet in the galaxy, mostly on account of their export of refined euchlor. This system is the only place where it occurs naturally in high concentrations. It’s in the dust, the oceans, in every living creature on the planet. All this wealth, of course, simply means that the rich are very rich indeed. The poor, the destitute, they still exist in great numbers, buried in the slums. There are people in those towers who can buy whole solar systems, and yet one mile away a family struggles to pay for food. Why? Because greed, my dear Mel, greed is universal.”
“I’m not your companion anymore,” she said pointedly. “So I don’t know why you’re treating me like one.”
“My dear Miss Bush,” the Master purred. “It wouldn’t matter if you were a deaf Tirulian Tree Slug. The Doctor can’t resist an excuse to listen to himself pontificate.”
The Master twisted his mouth in a smug smile as the Doctor glared at him with narrowed eyes. It was always amusing to rile the Doctor. “You’re trying to provoke me,” the Doctor said, accusingly.
“Certainly not, Doctor. I’m succeeding in provoking you.”
The Doctor sniffed in exasperation and glided across the square without another word, away from the Master’s TARDIS and towards the nearest public computer terminal. On the one hand, it could be construed as a retreat. Point to the Master. On the other hand, it meant that the Master was forced to trail after the Doctor like a devoted pet. It was tempting to thwart the Doctor’s subtle power play by refusing to follow, but the Master couldn’t let the man wander off alone. Who knew what trouble the Doctor would get into if left unsupervised? He sauntered after his wayward collaborator.
“Dare I hope you have a plan, or are you simply making it up as you go along, as usual?” the Master asked as he came up behind the Doctor and peered over his shoulder at the terminal screen.
“The computer should have a record of all arrivals. After I hack into the system, I can verify whether Sabalom Glitz is indeed here. Once I’ve done that, I can track his movements by tracing where he purchased food and lodging. Even if he’s using a false identity, I know his biosignature. His credit chip will be keyed to that.” The Doctor brushed his fingers over the smooth control board. A stylized logo of a ringed planet and the words “Gilfruct Communications Co” flashed on the screen briefly before the Doctor cracked into its base programming and began to undermine the security codes.
Breaking into the transport logs was childishly easy. Sabalom Glitz had arrived one week ago. The economic transaction records had a more complicated security lock, but stood little chance against the Doctor’s experience and intellect. Once inside the record system, he quickly located Glitz’s files, but the code strings securing some of the nearby files caught and held his attention. They were too sophisticated for this time and place. Someone wanted to protect something and had paid a lot of money for off-world specialists to do it.
He entered a bypass code, but received an angry bleep and an “Access Denied” message across the screen. He tried getting in through a different route, but met with the same results. Snarling in frustration, he tried a third time. Again, nothing.
“What in Rassilon’s name are you doing? Haven’t you managed to find Glitz yet, or have you forgotten basic programming?” the Master asked.
“These aren’t Glitz’s records,” the Doctor said as the computer gave another bleep and another “Access Denied.” “These are something else. Something much better guarded and belonging to someone with a lot of money and a lot of power.”
“Most certainly not Glitz, then. Leave it be; we have a mission to complete.” He wrapped his fingers around the Doctor’s shoulders and leaned into him, chest to back. “The sooner we settle our business here, the sooner we can move on to more pleasant matters.” The Doctor ignored the innuendo and the warmth of the Master behind him, focused wholly on the puzzle before him. He was finally beginning to make progress. Then: “Access Denied.” He fought down the urge to slam his hand into the screen.
“Oh, it wouldn’t matter if you were on your honeymoon. The Doctor can’t resist a good mystery,” Mel piped in, mocking the Master’s earlier words to her.
The Master tensed, his fingers digging into the Doctor’s shoulders. He suppressed the urge to take out his Tissue Compression Eliminator and silence the girl for good. She was, unfortunately, correct. Once the Doctor’s curiosity was piqued his attention would be nowhere else until he’d found what he was looking for. Sighing, he steered the Doctor aside. “Allow me.”
The Doctor gritted his teeth but eventually yielded the field to the Master. The Master tracked down Glitz’s records first. The Doctor shifted and fidgeted with impatience, but still, priorities were priorities.
“Sabalom Glitz appears to be temporarily residing at Xolvish’s Tavern and Inn.”
The Doctor scoffed. “I didn’t need your help to discover that. I could have hacked those files easily.”
“And yet you didn’t,” the Master replied. “Now, where were those other files, the ones that had you so fixated?”
The Doctor leaned over the Master’s arm to point out the subfolder that had given him such trouble. As the Master got to work, his interest in the files, minimal at first, grew. The security was indeed impressive. The Doctor was correct; someone was going to great lengths to keep everyone out, which meant that the Master increasingly wanted in. The Master craved secrets like the Doctor craved mysteries. Secrets were powerful. The right secret in the right place could destroy worlds.
At last the file opened before his quantum sequence manipulations. The results were disappointing.
“Production lists?” Mel asked, confused. “Why hide that?”
“Why, indeed?” the Doctor muttered, still close against the Master’s side. He peered at the open file. “Refined euchlor. Quite a lot of it.” He tilted his head, calculating the numbers. “Refining euchlor is a long and difficult process. They can’t possibly be producing that much of it; there aren’t enough refineries in the city to do it.”
“Undoubtedly some crooked executive is altering the records to make his company look more successful than it is,” the Master said dismissively. Under other circumstances, he might have been able to use such knowledge to gain a foothold towards planetary domination, but he had more important concerns right now. He tucked the information away for possible future use. “If your curiosity is satisfied, perhaps now we can get what we came here for.”
Turning, he found himself nose to nose with the Doctor. For once the Doctor’s incarnation was close to his own height. The thought made him leer in satisfaction, which provoked a puzzled frown from the Doctor. His smiled widened into a sharp-toothed grin. After three days of being encouraged then rebuffed it was more than time for the Doctor to be off balance for a while. He placed a hand casually on the Doctor’s arm, as if preparing to shift him out of his way, but made no other motion, letting the Doctor make the next move this time.
The Doctor’s gaze flicked from the Master’s eyes, only inches away, to the hand on his arm, then back again. “Xolvish’s you said?” the Doctor said—a little unsteadily, the Master was pleased to note. The Doctor clasped his hands behind his back but not before the Master saw their trembling. Another point to the Master. He smirked. The Doctor wasn’t the only one who could play that game.
The Master stepped away, once again putting space between himself and the Doctor and hoping that the Doctor was as dissatisfied and off-balance as he’d been making the Master feel. “In the Green district,” the Master said in a businesslike tone, as if they hadn’t shared a heavy, tense moment a few seconds ago. “The computer says there’s a hoverrail station two streets over that will take us there.”
The opulence of the district in which they’d landed was completely absent from the Green district. Wealth Aureas might have, but it clearly wasn’t being siphoned to this part of the city. Old streets lights crackled and flickered, the road was rough and pitted, and the metal of the building exteriors was scratched and dirty. Xolvish’s Tavern and Inn squatted on a corner not far from the nearby spaceship terminal. The roar of engines rattled the darkened windows as ships took off and landed.
The Doctor entered first, the Master and Mel trailing close behind. The ground floor was noisy and crowded, even though it was early in the evening yet. The ceiling was low and the room was dimly lit with a grey-purple light that gave the whole room a submerged air, as if it were deep underwater, in the pits of the ocean, where monsters lived and fed off one another. The air was thick with the bitter smoke of some local narcotic.
“Charming, isn’t it?” the Master sneered.
The Doctor frowned in disgust. “It’s a hair trap for society’s cast-offs. Full of filth and rot.” He sniffed. “Glitz fits right in.”
“Have you spotted him yet?” the Master asked.
The Doctor scanned the dim-lit room. “No. He’s not here, at least, not right now.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go speak with the owner of this establishment and see if we can ascertain where our quarry has gone.”
“He may have checked in under a pseudonym.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Yes, Doctor, I am well aware of how criminals operate.” He slinked towards the bar, gracefully winding his way through the crowd. The Doctor watched him go, eyes tracing over his form.
Mel was afraid to interrupt his intense scrutiny as the Master vanished from sight, but she was rapidly becoming still more afraid of the way some of the clientele were staring at them. She stepped closer to the Doctor, half hiding behind him. She hated herself a little bit for relying on him for protection—it felt like betraying her Doctor’s memory—but he acknowledged that he needed her alive. These hard-faced aliens had no such concern for her safety. “I don’t think they want us here.”
“They don’t have the privilege of choice.” Something that might have been a smile, if smiles were expressions of vicious disdain, cut across his face. “Come, Mel, let’s meet the natives.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her along with him further into the tavern to a table on the far side of the room around which two Aureans sat. Both were pale, lips tinged blue, and the edge of a bandage was visible from beneath the sleeve of one of them.
There were a few empty seats at the table. He led Mel to one, but she hesitated to sit, a worried frown on her brow. He grasped her shoulders and forced her into the chair, then claimed a second for himself. The two aliens glared silently. One of the Aureans slipped a hand into his jacket pocket. The silver handle of a weapon glinted from between his fingers.
The Doctor tisked. “Oh, you don’t want to do that.” His cold eyes never left the Aurean’s face. After a few seconds, the Aurean brought his empty hand back out and placed it flat on the table.
“Better,” the Doctor said. He smiled a rough facsimile of a friendly smile. “I have one question for you. If you answer it honestly and without hesitation, I will make it worth your while.” He didn’t say what he would do if they did not answer, but Mel could see the murderous potential only barely contained, like a tiger in a cardboard cage, in the spark in his eyes.
The two aliens shared a silent glance. The Aurean with the weapon in his pocket said, “Ask.”
“I counted twenty-three people in this room who have been bandaged recently,” he began. The other Aurean sharply sucked in air. The Doctor ignored it and pressed on. “My question is this: what clinic did you go to?”
The tension vanished and the confusion that replaced it was tangible. “That’s...all you want to know?” the Aurean asked, his voice high with disbelief.
“That’s all.”
“Gilfruct Health Services City Hospital. Three blocks north.”
“Thank you.” The Doctor inclined his head in an exaggerated bow of gratitude.
“Now what about our payment?” The Aurean’s hand slid back towards the weapon in his jacket pocket in a clear threat of what would happen if the Doctor wasn’t forthcoming.
“Of course,” the Doctor grinned. He looked around the room. “Ah, there’s my partner now. He’ll settle our accounts.”
The Doctor rose to greet the Master, who arrived seconds later. “Making friends among the locals, Doctor?”
“Not precisely.” He slid his arm around the Master’s shoulders. “These gentlemen graciously assisted me in a little investigation and now they’d like their reward. Would you take care of them for me?” He whispered something in the Master’s ear, nuzzling his neck briefly as he drew away. Mel turned away in discomfort and repulsion. It wasn’t that she pitied either the Master or the Doctor, far from it. They were both thoroughly evil and deserved whatever they got. Still, the Doctor’s shameless toying with someone’s emotions made her heart ache for the man she once knew, while the hungry, possessive looks the Master gave the Doctor made her shudder with fear. They seemed barely two steps from defiling each other and enjoying it immensely.
The Master sighed. “How you managed all these centuries without me around to clean up your messes I’ll never know.” It was a little thing, though, and it would both make the Doctor happy and facilitate their exit. He leaned over the table and made eye contact with both Aureans in turn. Once a firm mental thorn was embedded in each of their minds he triggered the psychic suggestion. “I am the Master.” The thorns unfurled and blossomed into tendrils that sank into their thoughts. “You never saw us.” All their memories of the Doctor were sucked away.
“Done,” he said. “Now let’s leave before they return to their senses and wonder why they have an audience at their table.”
“Thank you,” the Doctor murmured, lightly brushing his lips against the Master’s cheek. As they walked back towards the main door, he asked, “Did you locate Sabalom Glitz?”
The Master smirked. “The landlord informed me that Mr. Glitz returned to his room an hour ago. We can acquire him right now.”
“Excellent.”
A narrow staircase led them to the hallway where Glitz’s room was located. Since the Master had insisted earlier that the subtle way was the way to proceed, the Doctor knocked politely and waited for a response.
“I still think we should just take him and not bother with all this silly obfuscation,” the Doctor muttered. The Master hissed for silence but to no avail. “Your tendency to always overcomplicate things—”
The door creaked open, cutting short the Doctor’s observations. Sabalom Glitz stood in the doorway—friendly, open, and welcoming to all appearances. He probably had a knife hidden behind his back. When he saw the Master, his smiled widened.
“Blimey! I wasn’t expecting you to turn up here. If this is about getting more xeric acid I know a gentlemen—”
“Thank you, but no,” the Master said, cutting off Glitz before he wasted any more time with his babble. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“Well then, you’d better come in. Bring your friends. They’re trustworthy, I hope?”
The Master stepped into Glitz’s tiny, shabby room, wrapping his arm around the Doctor’s back to draw him along. “This is my partner, the Doctor—”
“Doctor J. J. Chambers,” the Doctor interrupted. He didn’t wish to complicate things by giving Glitz any opportunity to connect him to the colourful Doctor whom he had met some months ago on Ravalox.
The Master kept the Doctor tucked protectively close to his side. Glitz was a fool, but he could be dangerous. Mel, meanwhile, leaned back against the closed door, keeping as far away from the unsavoury stranger as she could.
“So, you said something about a business proposition?” Glitz sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked his boots up on his travelling bag.
“We have a job for you,” the Master said.
“You see, that’s a shame. Because you’re an old friend, and I’m always happy to help an old friend, but it just so happens that I’ve got a little business arrangement here that I can’t up and leave. I’d be taking a serious financial loss if I did.”
The Master wondered idly if Glitz really did have a prior job or if it was all part of his fee negotiation technique. “We can offer you fifty Aurean decas or one hundred and twenty strips of gold, whichever you prefer. Ten percent will be given to you now, the rest of the payment to be made after you complete your task.”
Laughing, Glitz said. “If I go with you, I’ll be dropping a real juicy opportunity I’ve got right here. That being so, I’m going to need fifty percent up front.”
“You’ll get fifteen and no more.”
“I might be willing to go as low as thirty, if you throw in the girl as well.” He gestured towards Mel.
The Doctor answered before the Master could respond. “The girl is mine.”
Glitz glanced at the Master’s arm still around the Doctor, then back to Mel, and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Interesting relationship you two gentlemen must have.”
The Master’s patience was running thin. It would be considerably easier in the short term to simply hypnotise him, but alas, such psychic debris would interfere with their later plans for him. Glitz was necessary, even if the Doctor, with his careless, slipshod manner of planning, couldn’t appreciate it. “We’ll give you twenty-five percent, but you’ll have to come to our ship to get it.”
Glitz scratched his beard, making a show of considering the offer. But one could count on Glitz’s greed if nothing else. That much money was not something a man like him would pass up. “I’ll do it. Twenty-five now, the rest after. But,” he raised a finger, “You have to pick up my tab here.”
“Agreed.” The Master smiled at Glitz’s attempt at cunning. Undoubtedly, he’d been availing himself of the tavern’s many and morally dubious services and had run up a considerable bill. The landlord, however, didn’t need his brain kept intact and would be simple to deal with.
Sabalom Glitz packed up the few possessions he had with him and followed them out the door. The Doctor, Mel, and Glitz waited in the street while the Master settled with the landlord.
“You seem familiar,” Glitz said to the Doctor. “Do I know you?”
Raising one disdainful eyebrow, the Doctor replied, “Certainly not.”
“Maybe it was a ‘Wanted’ holo. You’ve got that kind of face, you know. Hardened criminal. You might want to try to do something about that, work on projecting a facade of charm, like. As it is, I imagine that the authorities only have to take one look at you to know you’ve been up to something.”
Eying Glitz with a long, cool stare, the Doctor said in a hard and chilly voice, “I am the authority.”
Taking a startled step back, Glitz’s mouth flapped open and shut. Then he smiled uneasily and drawled, “Right, whatever you say, Doctor Chambers.”
At last, the Master returned. The Doctor moved to his side. “To the TARDIS, my dear?” the Master asked.
“To the hospital,” the Doctor countered.
The Master blinked. “The hospital? Why would we want to go there?”
“I have a theory I’d like to verify.”
“Does this theory of yours have anything to do with the universe and the saving thereof?”
“There’s something peculiar going on here, and I have to find out what.”
“I’ve done enough pandering to your obsessive inquisitiveness for one day,” the Master said, his mouth twisting in anger. “We’re returning to the TARDIS.”
“You can do whatever you wish,” replied the Doctor, shifting his weight so he was leaning away from the Master, ready to step away. “I am going to the hospital.”
“Why?” It was more an accusation than a question. The Doctor’s cursed curiosity drove him always to wander, to disobey, to slip through the Master’s fingers just when he thought he might hold him. The Master’s voice grew increasingly biting as he continued. “Why do you need to find out? Will it help us save ourselves from universal destruction? Will it give you leverage over your enemies, authority over vast populations? Will going to this one backwards hospital on this one backwards planet make you powerful, feared, respected, or formidable? No? Then why?”
Surprised, the Doctor’s eyes darted about. The words made sense but the question itself was impossible. It was like asking why he never fixed the TARDIS’s chameleon circuit, or why his breath stopped when he saw that the Master was alive, or why he felt such a rush of satisfaction whenever he carried out his own vision of justice. Some things were so deep that they had no words. “It’s a mystery,” he tried to explain to the Master as best he could. “I need to understand it.”
As the Doctor strode off, Mel commented to the Master offhandedly. “I bet you feel like you’re married to Curious George right about now.”
The Master wanted to snap her neck, but she was already following after the Doctor. And the satisfaction her death would bring would quickly fade if such a disturbance of the Doctor’s paradox caused reality to collapse.
Glitz was watching him expectantly. Glitz was his paid minion and would go where the Master did. They could return to the TARDIS now, even leave the planet entirely, stranding the Doctor and his companion on this distant world. It would serve him right. The Doctor had already given the Master all the details he needed to defeat his vindictive past self and set the timelines straight; he didn’t need the Doctor.
He snarled and trotted towards the corner around which the Doctor had just disappeared.
The hospital was not far. Looking up through the canyon created by the two story buildings on the narrow street, they could see its needle-like spire looming. The Doctor led the way, moving swiftly and silently, his eyes darting about to take in every detail of his surroundings. Aureas was turning out to be much more interesting than he’d first suspected.
Two blocks later they turned a corner to see the hospital laid out before them in all its incongruous glory. Where the buildings in the nearby neighbourhood were shabby and run down, the hospital was gleaming and bright, decorated with delicate fluting and high arches. Sparkling fountains ornamented the entrance. It was a work of art. A sign reading “Gilfruct Health Services City Hospital” was written in bold letters above the main doors.
“That’s a hospital?” Mel said. “It looks more like a posh hotel.”
“There are no public clinics on Aureas. All hospitals are privately owned,” the Doctor explained. “Patients receive the care they can afford.” He watched a luxury aerocar land near the entrance and a chauffeur get out and open the door for a pregnant woman and her husband. “Which makes it all the more interesting that the scoundrels who patronize Xolvish’s are coming here.”
“You’re going to want to look inside, aren’t you?” the Master asked. It wasn’t really a question. He knew the Doctor well enough to recognize that tilt of the head and shine in his eyes. “Do you have a plan for getting in? Or haven’t you thought that far ahead?”
“Well, I doubt Xolvish’s finest are going in through the front door of such an excellent establishment as this. We’ll find a back way.”
The Master despaired of the Doctor’s idea of planning. “And then?” he prodded.
“And then I’ll improvise.”
“Improvise.” The Master spoke as if the very word offended him.
“As I don’t know what to expect, I can hardly plan for it.” With that less-than-reassuring comment, the Doctor veered away from the entrance and trotted over to the side of the massive building.
As the others followed, Glitz spoke up. “Just so you know, if I’m going to be party to a bit of breaking and entering, I expect to be paid for it.”
“How much?” the Master asked, scorn rough in his voice. “Never mind,” he continued, just as Glitz was opening his mouth to reply. “However much it is, we’ll just add it to the final tally.” It hardly mattered anyway, as Glitz would be forgetting all of this as soon as they got him to the TARDIS.
A few hundred yards later, the Doctor stopped in his tracks so suddenly that the Master almost ran into him. “There,” the Doctor whispered. “There’s our entrance.” Farther down the exterior wall, an Aurean dressed in a tatty coat and sturdy trousers approached the building, opened a small door set into a niche and vanished into the hospital.
Hot on the trail and excited by the chase, the Doctor hurried over to the place where the Aurean had been not seconds ago. The door was steel, and sturdy enough that it would be difficult to break through by force. The key pad next to the door, however, meant that force would be unnecessary.
Kneeling on the ground, careless of the dirt that was accumulating on his trousers, the Doctor pried the panel off the keypad. It took him less than thirty seconds to rewire the computer inside so that the door unlocked with an audible click.
“Clean job with that,” Glitz said in open admiration. “I’ll say this for you, you’re good at what you do.”
The Doctor looked up, not at Glitz but at the Master, and grinned slyly. The Master licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. There was, he supposed, one good thing about the Doctor’s incessant curiosity: uncovering the unknown always put the Doctor in a lively mood. The disadvantage, however, was that the Master now more than ever wanted to haul the Doctor back to the TARDIS, find a private room in which to hide away, and see if this time he could get the Doctor’s stubborn control to break.
If the Doctor wanted to investigate this hospital then investigate he would, preferably quickly and with as few complications as possible, if the Master had anything to say in the matter. As he followed the Doctor inside, he let his hand rest on his TCE, ready to draw the weapon at the first sign of trouble.
The corridor revealed by the opened door was sterile and bright with a bluish light. Walls of brushed steel appeared to stretch on forever, punctuated now and then by solid, unmarked doors. The Doctor didn’t pause at any of the doors; either he knew where he was going, or he was giving a convincing impression.
Mel trailed behind, shooting suspicious glances at Glitz, who seemed to be much too interested in her for her comfort. Meanwhile, the Doctor and the Master noticed little but each other, as was typical whenever the two of them were within twenty feet of one another. Before, when it was just her as a third wheel, there were awkward moments, but she was mostly content to be ignored. With Glitz joining the party, however, Mel was no longer able to simply keep her head down and stay quiet. Glitz was determined to interact with her, talk to her, no matter how she tried to rebuff him. Now he was nudging her with his elbow and tilting his head towards the Doctor and the Master, as if she was supposed to be in on some joke. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
“Takes all kinds, yeah?” he said to Mel.
“What?”
“The lovebirds up there.” He inclined his head toward the Doctor and the Master. “Strange idea of a date. Although,” he mused, “I suppose a hospital does have the advantage of having plenty of beds if the need, as they say, arises.”
“Urgh, I really didn’t need to hear that,” Mel said vehemently, her nose scrunching. From further up the corridor, the Doctor was speaking to the Master.
“Do you smell it?” the Doctor turned to the Master for corroboration. The hospital was full of smells of all kinds—the sharp tang of medicines, the bitter salt of sweat and misery, and the sweet euchlor and iron smell of Aurean blood.
The Master threw the Doctor an irritable look. “I may have a Time Lord brain, but my nose is entirely Trakenite.”
“Of course. I do apologize for reminding you of your physical inferiority.”
“Physical inferiority, you say?” The Master stepped in front of the Doctor’s path, blocking his way. “Some of my senses may be diminished, but I’ll have you know that this body is more than a match for yours.”
“Is it?” the Doctor purred.
Glitz spoke up before things got out of hand. “Time and a place, gents, a time and a place. Now, if you want some privacy I’d be more than happy to take the girl elsewhere and leave you two alone for a while.” He linked his arm with Mel’s. Mel unlinked and stepped away.
There was a pause in which the Master imagined that the Doctor might be considering the offer. But when he spoke he said, “Another time. We have other matters to attend to now.”
He stepped past the Master and continued on his way. Once or twice they encountered other people in the corridors—patients, doctors, nurses—singly or in twos or threes. Each time the Aureans passed without comment, hardly sparing the quartet a first glance much less a second. It was only when they crossed through a busy waiting room towards a set of double doors that they were challenged.
“Excuse me, you can’t go in there!” a nurse scurried forward and stepped between them and the doors.
The Master reached for his TCE, but before he could draw the weapon the Doctor stepped forward with confident, even aggressive posture.
“Young lady, don’t you know who I am?” the Doctor said, his voice dripping with outrage. The nurse, who had taken an involuntary step back at the Doctor’s approach, opened her mouth to reply, but the Doctor spoke over whatever she was about to say. “I’m Doctor J. J. Chambers, Assistant Deputy Chief Medical Superintendent of Gilfruct Health Services Incorporated. Mr. Gilfruct personally sent me.”
The nurse rallied. “I never received a memo.”
“Then check your memos again,” the Doctor snarled in the nurse’s face. “In the meantime, I refuse to waste my time out here twiddling my thumbs while you shuffle about your incompetent filing. I have work to do.” The Doctor’s voice dropped to a threatening whisper. “And if your worker cost efficiency isn’t up to company standard, you won’t like the report I’ll write to Mr. Gilfruct.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not off to a good start.”
The nurse pressed her lips together, gaze flickering uncertainly between the Doctor and the door. At last she decided that thwarting the Doctor wasn’t worth risking her career.
“My apologies, Doctor Chambers,” she said, all deferential courtesy. “You and your assistants can go right in.”
“Thank you, Nurse,” the Doctor said with only a touch of derision, inclining his head.
Once they were through the doors, the Master said, “Assistants?” His tone made it clear how much he disliked the idea.
The look the Doctor gave the Master was fondly amused. It was, Mel thought, a familiar expression, one that wouldn’t have been out of place on her Doctor’s face. The thought made her uncomfortable. The Doctor said, “You can be my colleague. How does Doctor Master sound?”
The Master face twisted in disgust. “It sounds terrible.”
“Well, Master Doctor is worse. And makes no sense.” The Doctor smiled brightly. “My name has to come first.”
The Master was about to reply when the Doctor pressed his fingers against the Master’s lips. “Hush,” the Doctor breathed out. “We can argue about it later. It’s investigation time now.”
The playful voice shredded Mel’s heart. When the Time Lord High Council had proposed giving her a time ring and sending her to the Valeyard, she’d accepted only because she had to see for herself whether there was anything of the Doctor left to be salvaged. Every time she thought she’d finally convinced herself that the Doctor was gone and that the man who had taken his place was irredeemable, that once the fabric of time was stabilized and the universe was safe she’d be able to carry out the second part of the High Council’s plan without regret, a smile or a phrase or a quirk of his eyebrow would send all her doubts and hesitations crashing down upon her again.
Now, he was motioning her forward with one hand, like she was his co-conspirator, towards one of the open doors that lined the hallways. Mel crept up to him and directed her attention to where he pointed. Beds packed a broad room near to bursting and on each bed lay an Aurean, hooked up to a machine by cuffs on their wrists and neck. From each cuff spiralled a narrow tube filled with vermillion liquid.
“Just as I suspected,” the Doctor whispered, his voice dark with self-satisfaction. “Euchlor, refined naturally in their bloodstream, probably more pure than even the mechanical refineries are capable of once it’s separated out from the plasma and platelets.”
“You think they’re getting paid for their blood?” Mel asked.
“Precisely. But I think there’s more besides. The account records we hacked into shows sums far too large to be explained away by some few donations from the desperate underclass.” He shared a knowing glance with the Master.
“Well, it would be efficient,” the Master replied to the Doctor’s unspoken words.
“What?” Mel asked, troubled by their silent communication.
“You’ll see soon enough,” the Doctor said, leading her out of the room. They wandered the floor until he found a staircase, so little used that there was rust crusting the hinges deep in the cracks where the cleaners couldn’t reach. After a quick glance to ensure that none of the hospital staff were nearby he opened the door and darted in.
“You’re not going to make us climb up, are you?” Glitz asked, eying the stairs with anticipatory discomfort. “If so, might I recommend the lift? I saw one a few corridors back.”
“Stairs would be good for you,” Mel said. “You look like you could use the exercise.”
The Doctor added, “The lifts controls are probably tied to the security system. Stairs are far better for covert reconnaissance.”
“Sneaking,” Mel translated.
“I know what covert reconnaissance is,” Glitz replied snippily. Then he took a deep, fortifying breath and placed his foot on the first step up.
“Fortunately for you, we’re going down,” the Doctor said. “People always want to bury their secrets. It’s instinctive. Whatever’s hidden here, it will be underground.”
The Doctor knew he was on the right track when, as they went deeper, the whisper of thousands of personal timelines converging in one spot and fading away in exponential decay grew steadily clearer to his senses. Once they got below the public floors the doors became harder to access, locked with increasingly complex codes, another sure sign that he was nearing the centre of his mystery. But as Glitz had observed earlier, the Doctor was very good with doors and locks. He’d been getting into places he didn’t belong for well over a millennium and a half now and was quite proficient at it, although after stopping to rewire five doors in succession and working on a sixth, he was beginning to wish he still had his old sonic screwdriver to speed up the process.
When the last door opened, the sharp scent of blood was so overwhelming that even the Humans couldn’t fail to notice it. The Doctor stepped through onto an industrial-mesh balcony overlooking a cavernous room that appeared part factory, part slaughterhouse.
Hundreds of Aureans, drugged into glazed-eyed placidity, were propped upright on a conveyer belt by metal clamps. The belt drew them across the factory floor until they were tilted in groups of ten over a vast funnel that led to a massive glass vat. Within the vat, a paddle churned the thick vermillion liquid to keep it from clotting too quickly. One factory robot pushed up the Aurean’s heads with a bar under their chin and another came down like a giant comb with blades for teeth, slicing through either side of each Aurean’s throat. The people were bled out, then carried away to a furnace to make room for the next ten.
Hundreds of Aureans killed each minute. The destitute, the undesired, the unproductive. Thousands of litres of blood collected. Dozens of kilograms of euchlor to be extracted and sold.
“This is what they were hiding,” the Doctor hissed in satisfaction at a mystery unveiled.
Mel choked in horror at the hell laid out before her. It was like those pictures of concentration camps with corpses all heaped up in piles of pale flesh, a cold-blooded and methodical slaughter on such an enormous scale that the mind shied from facing it.
“You have to stop it.” Her mind was numb, floating away from her body as if trying to escape from a reality where such thoughtless cruelty existed. “Please, stop it.”
“My dear Miss Bush,” the Master said. “We are not here to liberate the oppressed or bring salvation to the suffering or whatever else you may be imagining.” He turned to the Doctor. “I trust your curiosity has been appeased?”
“Yes,” he said in a flat voice.
“You can’t just leave them here to die!” Mel cried in anguish. “Doctor!” She grabbed onto his sleeve.
He whirled on her, ripping his arm from her grasp. “Don’t call me that,” he spat out, his whole demeanour gone from cool detachment to incandescent fury in seconds. He seized her in a bruising grip and pushed her to the balcony overlooking the slaughter. “Look at them,” he rasped in her ear. “Look. I can leave them to die and I will. Do you think saving a few wretched souls from death is any sort of benevolence? The universe is a cold, cruel place, Mel. Alive, they exist only to suffer and inflict suffering on others. They don’t deserve mercy and I have none to give them.”
He released her, practically throwing her away from him into the balcony rails. Tears ran down her cheeks as she slowly turned away from the whir of the machines and the dripping blood.
# # #
“Yes, Miss Lilla, what it is this time?”
“Mr. Gilfruct, sir, sorry to interrupt.” She bobbed her head in a gesture that was one part deference, one part apology.
“Never apologize for bringing me important news.” He quirked an eyebrow. “It is important, I hope?”
“Yes, sir. You asked to be told if the Time Lord and his companions did anything suspicious.”
“And...” he prodded impatiently. Miss Lilla really was quite hopeless in her timidity.
“Captain Melis reports that they entered a hospital and were there for half an hour. He’s investigating now, trying to find out where they went and what they saw, but he’s requesting further orders, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Lilla. I’ll take care of it from here.”
Her image flickered and faded. A few seconds and key strokes later, the space that had been filled by Miss Lilla’s dainty form was now displaying a tall, blond man in a black security uniform.
“Captain Melis, take two teams to the Time Lord’s ship. Do what you whatever you need to in order to prevent their escape.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain replied with clipped, military precision.
“Try to capture them alive if possible. If not...” Mr. Gilfruct shrugged. “...put the bodies in stasis and we’ll salvage what we can.”
# # #
Mel was silent as she followed the Doctor through the streets back to the TARDIS. Glitz appeared to have already shrugged off the memory of the revolting thing that was buried under the hospital, regaling the Master with non-stop, trivial chatter. Mel hated him for that. Hated him, hated the Master—who hadn’t even bothered to disguise his smirk when the Doctor refused to help those people—and hated the Doctor himself. She especially hated the Doctor. The Valeyard, she reminded herself. Thinking of him as the Valeyard instead of the Doctor made him easier to hate, and she wanted to hate him.
After his blazing rant at her in the hospital, the Doctor...the Valeyard had closed off, nothing behind his pale eyes but a blank wall. Her Doctor, for all his faults, would never be so heartless and detached from the suffering of others.
“Mel, you’re sulking,” he chided her gently, like a parody of a fond parent. “I can feel it.”
“Am I not allowed to think my own thoughts anymore?” Angry as she was at the lack of privacy in her own brain, she was almost grateful that the Doctor had spoken. So long as she was busy arguing with him, she wasn’t seeing the corpses, smelling the stench of blood and chemical sterilizers.
“By all means,” the Doctor said, “think whatever you like. But if you’re going to radiate waves of hysterical emotion in the presence of a telepathic species, don’t expect your feelings to remain private.”
“I suppose you think we should all be indifferent and dispassionate in the face of horror and suffering.”
“It does simplify things.”
“‘Simplify things?’” she echoed. “Is that what happened to you? You decided that compassion was simply too much trouble?”
She never had a chance to find out what, if anything, the Doctor would have said in reply. As they ambled through the courtyard where the TARDIS was parked, armed Aureans stepped out from hiding, guns aimed squarely at the four of them. Mel immediately raised her hands in the universal gesture of “please don’t kill me.”
One of the Aureans, a tall man with blond hair and a face that Mel might have called handsome if she’d seen it under better circumstances called out, “You’re under arrest. Come quietly or we’ll shoot.”
“Well, Mel,” the Doctor said. “Would you like to use your compassion to find your way out of this situation? Perhaps disarm them with your overwhelming powers of empathy?”
Glitz spoke up, “I just want you to know that I only met these gentlemen an hour ago. So if they’re wanted for any sort of criminal activity, it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m a law abiding man, I am. Nothing but the utmost respect for justice and you fine gentlemen who enforce it.”
A laser blast spattered on the wall six inches from Glitz’s head. “Quiet,” the blond man said. “Keep your hands where we can see them.” Glitz’s hands darted into the air.
The Master glanced at the rank insignia on the shoulder of the blond man’s uniform. “Captain,” he said in a honeyed voice. “No need for threats. We aren’t so foolish as to think we can take on twelve men.”
He turned to the Doctor, his eyebrows raised in expectation. After all, the Doctor had weapons turned on him nearly every time he stepped out of his TARDIS, and every time he was able to evade certain death. Undoubtedly, he had a clever escape plan.
The Doctor quirked one brow in return, waiting for the Master to act. After all, the Master caused conflict and chaos wherever he went, and every time he was able to slip away unharmed when his schemes backfired on him. Undoubtedly, he had a clever escape plan.
Both came to the realization that the other had no plan at precisely the same moment. The Master sighed. “How terribly inconvenient for you to run out of luck now instead of one of the times when I was holding you at weaponspoint,” he muttered to the Doctor.
“Luck?” The Doctor bristled. “It wasn’t luck that enabled me to defeat you, it was skill.”
“Skill you seem to be lacking now,” the Master retorted.
“On the contrary.”
“You thought of a way to escape?” the Master lowered his voice further, barely moving his lips and trusting in the Doctor’s Time Lord hearing.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” He paused. “Run!” he shouted, grabbing Mel by the wrist and yanking her towards the nearest alleyway. Flashes of blaster fire sizzled around them.
continued
Title: Stitching the Wounds Part 2: Blood Money
Summary: The Doctor and the Master travel to Aureas—the wealthiest planet in the galaxy—to find Sabalom Glitz. There the Doctor’s curiosity leads him to uncover a secret that the richest man on Aureas wants to keep silent at any cost.
Pairing: Valeyard!Doctor/Ainley!Master
Word Count: ~20K
Rating: R for great quantities of violence and UST just barely hanging on to the “U” bit.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Doctor Who, I just borrow the mythology.
Notes: “Whoops, are those my Issues showing?” *modestly tried to cover Issues* *fails*
This is the next instalment after Stitching the Wounds Part 1: Turning at the Centre of Time. Each part is a mostly stand-alone story arc, although some of the details in Part 2 will only make sense if you’ve read Part 1. The series is inspired by the Doctor Who: Unbound radio play “He Jests At Scars...” but familiarity with the play is not at all necessary. Beta read by the lovely and recently delurked
janeturenne. All remaining mistakes are my own.This Master was not his Master. His Master was gone forever, obliterated in the inferno that had sparked the Doctor’s twelfth regeneration. Still, he had always liked this particular incarnation, even if it wasn’t a proper Gallifreyan body.
That same body was now pressing him against the doors of the TARDIS, causing the back of the Doctor’s clothes to catch on the rough wooden exterior. The Master’s mouth—warmer than a Gallifreyan’s—covered his lips, while the Master’s hot tongue traced fire behind his teeth. With his right hand, the Master crumpled the cloth of the black court robe in a fist, pulling the fabric tight around the Doctor’s neck. With his left, he pinned the Doctor’s wrist to the TARDIS wall.
The Doctor voiced no objection to this demanding treatment. Indeed, he verbalized nothing at all but little shuddering sighs. His actions, however, spoke whole sermons. The tilt of his head to better accept the Master’s kiss, his free hand kneading the back of the Master’s neck, and the eager arch of his back all screamed his enthusiasm.
Then an embarrassed cough, so self-conscious it practically hid itself back in a choke as soon as it was uttered, rattled in the air. It was enough of a distraction for the Doctor to remember himself again. Exercising his force of will, he pushed the Master away even as his lips kept moving invitingly under the Master’s. At last they pulled apart with a soft, wet smack. The Doctor opened his eyes just in time to see the Master, his expression rigid, slowly turn to face the source of the interruption.
“Whatever it is you need to say, I hope for your sake it’s very important,” the Master growled at Mel.
Her cheeks were red and her gaze darted about the room, alighting on everything but the people with whom she shared a TARDIS. “A red warning light on the console started flashing. It seems quite insistent.”
The Master scoffed. “You fool, that’s just the vortex transference alert. My TARDIS will automatically deal with it.” There was a long and awkward silence while the Master studied Mel like an exacting butler staring at an intractable stain. “Go away. Find yourself some beet juice or whatever awful thing it is you drink.”
“I have to stay within the paradox bubble,” Mel retorted with irritation, almost as frustrated by the situation as the Master was. The Doctor would have found it funny if he weren’t caught in the middle of it all. “The Doctor said the TARDIS—”
“Yes, the dimensional folds might destabilize the bubble,” the Master finished. “Might. I believe he’s being overcautious, and since of the two of us I’m the one who passed his epidimensional maths exam, mine is the judgment which matters.”
He returned his attention to the Doctor, keen to resume where they left off. The Doctor’s good sense, however, was already active again after being temporarily short circuited by the Master’s onslaught.
“If we’re preparing to leave the vortex,” the Doctor said, latching onto the excuse, “I need to change into a more appropriate costume.” He slid out of the Master’s embrace and fled to the safety of his own TARDIS, hand shaking as he fit the key to the lock. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to retreat on some pretext or another when he felt close to succumbing to the Master’s intentions. He could almost be grateful for Mel’s presence, foiling the Master’s amorous advances.
The two TARDISes were embraced in a dimensional recursive loop, each one nestled inside the other. The Master’s TARDIS was even mimicking the form of the Doctor’s, much to her pilot’s dismay, rendering the two console rooms identical in nearly every way, down to the police box in the corner. But the dim lighting that the Doctor had learned to prefer set them apart, so that stepping from the Master’s console room to his own felt a bit like walking from daytime to dusk. Once inside, the Doctor leaned back against the doors and slowly swiped his hand down his face.
This Master was not his Master, but as the Doctor spent more time in his company that small detail became increasingly unimportant.
He made his way to the wardrobe room, but once there he only pulled his robes closer about him. Even if he was alone, surrendering to the base desires of his body was still surrender. The Doctor would not concede defeat, no matter how well the Master played. His own pride aside, he simply couldn’t trust the Master. He may be all kisses and affection now, but the Doctor knew that it could turn to pain and attempts at subjugation without warning.
He twisted the paradox ring around his finger. Such a hateful little trap the Master had created, and the Doctor couldn’t take it off, not for one second. He was the centre of the paradox, and without the ring, space-time would try to slice him out of existence like cutting away an infection.
He spent five minutes reciting through the decimals of pi until his mind focused and his skin stopped tingling. Only then did he strip off his Gallifreyan robe and don a plain black suit, with each layer tightly buttoned. Thus dressed, he wandered back up to the console room and brushed his hands over the silent controls, delaying the inevitable. He avoided even looking at the corner where the Master’s TARDIS perched. A cowardly part of him wished he could remain in his TARDIS forever and never again face the Master or the confusion he wrought. He sneered at himself for the thought. How like the Doctor that sentiment was. Just when he thought he’d scrubbed every bit of that old identity from his soul, some hitherto unnoticed fragment revealed itself.
The Master’s gravelly voice slipped through the door, startling the Doctor. “My dear Doctor, if you’re quite finished with your preparations, you may be interested to know that we’ve arrived at our destination.”
The Doctor closed his eyes and bade his mind and body to be calm. He longed for his judiciary regalia and the physical and psychological armour it provided, but it was impractical for this sort of work. His suit, though lacking in character, was more sensible.
When the Doctor emerged, blinking in the brighter light, the Master slid a slow look down his form, taking in the change of clothes, approval shining in his eyes. Wrapping his arms around the Doctor’s waist, he drew him away from the doorframe.
“A new world for you to see, Doctor,” the Master said with a crooked smile. “That must please you.”
“I thought we were here to work, not on holiday.” He pulled the Master’s arms away and slipped out of his embrace.
“Surely that’s not a dedicated work ethic I’m seeing? However many regenerations you’ve gone through, you can’t expect me to believe that you’ve changed that much. You’re about as diligent and focused as a Kelerian magpie.” The Master leaned casually on the console. “Fortunately, you’ll have me here to keep you in hand.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never been able to keep me anywhere I didn’t want to be.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to take steps to ensure that you want to be in my hands,” the Master chuckled.
# # #
A soft, pleasant chime rang out an unmemorable melody. Mr. Gilfruct called out to the empty air, not bothering to look up from the budget reports he was reviewing.
“What is it, Miss Lilla?”
A high-resolution hologram of a young woman appeared before his desk, the short hair on top of her head ruffled as though she’d been running her fingers through it. “I’m sorry for the interruption, Mr. Gilfruct.” He absently waved away her apology and she continued, “Captain Melis just chimed. He says that the security sensors picked up some disturbing alien visitors.”
Mr. Gilfruct curbed a frustrated sigh. She was new at this job. Eventually she’d learn to take the initiative and deal with minor problems herself instead of bothering him every time an irregularity passed her screen. “Thousands of alien tourists visit each day. Sometimes we get one that’s strange enough to rattle the sensors. There’s nothing unusual about that.” He pressed a finger to the surface of his holoscreen desk and called up the stock market data. His business was up another five points. He considered buying Minister Varn a luxury aero as a little thank you gift for passing those recent tax leniency laws.
“Yes, sir, I know. I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean...that’s not what I meant.”
This time Mr. Gilfruct did sigh. “Then say what you mean.”
“The sensors identified one of them as Human, one is Trakenite—”
“Trakenite? Didn’t they die out centuries ago?”
“Sir, the sensors say—”
“Never mind, it’s not important.” He wished only for her to get to the point and then leave him to his work.
“And one is a Time Lord, sir.”
That pulled Mr. Gilfruct’s attention away from his computer. He gazed at Miss Lilla for many seconds, half expecting her to realize that she’d misspoken and correct herself. She couldn’t really mean Time Lord. But her face remained fixed in frown of worried sincerity that seemed to be her only expression. “Time Lord?” He brushed his left hand over the edge of his desk and an encyclopaedia entry on Time Lords appeared on his screen.
“That’s what Captain Melis said, sir.”
Mr. Gilfruct’s eyes flicked across the information the computer had provided. He had heard of Time Lords the same way he’d heard of the Sirens of Sideris or the Dreaming Barrens—stories, travellers’ tales. The encyclopaedia entry didn’t help him much. It was pitifully short and gleaned mostly from legend and rumour. There were very few facts, and even those seemed contradictory more often than not. But what everyone agreed was that Time Lords were highly intelligent and technologically advanced, a race that gathered and treasured knowledge like other races treasured gold or gems or euchlor. They could be trouble.
Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he said, “Tell security to keep a discreet eye on them. If they’re just tourists like the rest, fine. If they start poking about in places they shouldn’t, I want to know immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Miss Lilla nodded and her image winked out. Mr. Gilfruct returned his attention to the screen. Time Lord. He shook his head. Another thing the stories all agreed upon was that the Time Lords were extreme isolationists—but when they did take an interest in the affairs of the outside universe, they could crush empires with little more than a thought.
# # #
The Master opened the doors of the TARDIS to reveal dusk spreading over an alien city. A crown of golden light shone over the mountains in the distance, fading out into a soft cobalt sky. From horizon to horizon stretched a vibrant band—rings of dust reflecting the light of the sun. All around them high buildings with delicate spires glittered with shifting cool colours like the inside of an abalone shell. Aerocars darted here and there, stirring up wind currents with their passing.
“Welcome to Aureas, Mel, the political and economic centre of the United Caelumine Systems,” the Doctor said, spreading his arms in a gesture encompassing the whole surroundings. “It’s said to be the wealthiest planet in the galaxy, mostly on account of their export of refined euchlor. This system is the only place where it occurs naturally in high concentrations. It’s in the dust, the oceans, in every living creature on the planet. All this wealth, of course, simply means that the rich are very rich indeed. The poor, the destitute, they still exist in great numbers, buried in the slums. There are people in those towers who can buy whole solar systems, and yet one mile away a family struggles to pay for food. Why? Because greed, my dear Mel, greed is universal.”
“I’m not your companion anymore,” she said pointedly. “So I don’t know why you’re treating me like one.”
“My dear Miss Bush,” the Master purred. “It wouldn’t matter if you were a deaf Tirulian Tree Slug. The Doctor can’t resist an excuse to listen to himself pontificate.”
The Master twisted his mouth in a smug smile as the Doctor glared at him with narrowed eyes. It was always amusing to rile the Doctor. “You’re trying to provoke me,” the Doctor said, accusingly.
“Certainly not, Doctor. I’m succeeding in provoking you.”
The Doctor sniffed in exasperation and glided across the square without another word, away from the Master’s TARDIS and towards the nearest public computer terminal. On the one hand, it could be construed as a retreat. Point to the Master. On the other hand, it meant that the Master was forced to trail after the Doctor like a devoted pet. It was tempting to thwart the Doctor’s subtle power play by refusing to follow, but the Master couldn’t let the man wander off alone. Who knew what trouble the Doctor would get into if left unsupervised? He sauntered after his wayward collaborator.
“Dare I hope you have a plan, or are you simply making it up as you go along, as usual?” the Master asked as he came up behind the Doctor and peered over his shoulder at the terminal screen.
“The computer should have a record of all arrivals. After I hack into the system, I can verify whether Sabalom Glitz is indeed here. Once I’ve done that, I can track his movements by tracing where he purchased food and lodging. Even if he’s using a false identity, I know his biosignature. His credit chip will be keyed to that.” The Doctor brushed his fingers over the smooth control board. A stylized logo of a ringed planet and the words “Gilfruct Communications Co” flashed on the screen briefly before the Doctor cracked into its base programming and began to undermine the security codes.
Breaking into the transport logs was childishly easy. Sabalom Glitz had arrived one week ago. The economic transaction records had a more complicated security lock, but stood little chance against the Doctor’s experience and intellect. Once inside the record system, he quickly located Glitz’s files, but the code strings securing some of the nearby files caught and held his attention. They were too sophisticated for this time and place. Someone wanted to protect something and had paid a lot of money for off-world specialists to do it.
He entered a bypass code, but received an angry bleep and an “Access Denied” message across the screen. He tried getting in through a different route, but met with the same results. Snarling in frustration, he tried a third time. Again, nothing.
“What in Rassilon’s name are you doing? Haven’t you managed to find Glitz yet, or have you forgotten basic programming?” the Master asked.
“These aren’t Glitz’s records,” the Doctor said as the computer gave another bleep and another “Access Denied.” “These are something else. Something much better guarded and belonging to someone with a lot of money and a lot of power.”
“Most certainly not Glitz, then. Leave it be; we have a mission to complete.” He wrapped his fingers around the Doctor’s shoulders and leaned into him, chest to back. “The sooner we settle our business here, the sooner we can move on to more pleasant matters.” The Doctor ignored the innuendo and the warmth of the Master behind him, focused wholly on the puzzle before him. He was finally beginning to make progress. Then: “Access Denied.” He fought down the urge to slam his hand into the screen.
“Oh, it wouldn’t matter if you were on your honeymoon. The Doctor can’t resist a good mystery,” Mel piped in, mocking the Master’s earlier words to her.
The Master tensed, his fingers digging into the Doctor’s shoulders. He suppressed the urge to take out his Tissue Compression Eliminator and silence the girl for good. She was, unfortunately, correct. Once the Doctor’s curiosity was piqued his attention would be nowhere else until he’d found what he was looking for. Sighing, he steered the Doctor aside. “Allow me.”
The Doctor gritted his teeth but eventually yielded the field to the Master. The Master tracked down Glitz’s records first. The Doctor shifted and fidgeted with impatience, but still, priorities were priorities.
“Sabalom Glitz appears to be temporarily residing at Xolvish’s Tavern and Inn.”
The Doctor scoffed. “I didn’t need your help to discover that. I could have hacked those files easily.”
“And yet you didn’t,” the Master replied. “Now, where were those other files, the ones that had you so fixated?”
The Doctor leaned over the Master’s arm to point out the subfolder that had given him such trouble. As the Master got to work, his interest in the files, minimal at first, grew. The security was indeed impressive. The Doctor was correct; someone was going to great lengths to keep everyone out, which meant that the Master increasingly wanted in. The Master craved secrets like the Doctor craved mysteries. Secrets were powerful. The right secret in the right place could destroy worlds.
At last the file opened before his quantum sequence manipulations. The results were disappointing.
“Production lists?” Mel asked, confused. “Why hide that?”
“Why, indeed?” the Doctor muttered, still close against the Master’s side. He peered at the open file. “Refined euchlor. Quite a lot of it.” He tilted his head, calculating the numbers. “Refining euchlor is a long and difficult process. They can’t possibly be producing that much of it; there aren’t enough refineries in the city to do it.”
“Undoubtedly some crooked executive is altering the records to make his company look more successful than it is,” the Master said dismissively. Under other circumstances, he might have been able to use such knowledge to gain a foothold towards planetary domination, but he had more important concerns right now. He tucked the information away for possible future use. “If your curiosity is satisfied, perhaps now we can get what we came here for.”
Turning, he found himself nose to nose with the Doctor. For once the Doctor’s incarnation was close to his own height. The thought made him leer in satisfaction, which provoked a puzzled frown from the Doctor. His smiled widened into a sharp-toothed grin. After three days of being encouraged then rebuffed it was more than time for the Doctor to be off balance for a while. He placed a hand casually on the Doctor’s arm, as if preparing to shift him out of his way, but made no other motion, letting the Doctor make the next move this time.
The Doctor’s gaze flicked from the Master’s eyes, only inches away, to the hand on his arm, then back again. “Xolvish’s you said?” the Doctor said—a little unsteadily, the Master was pleased to note. The Doctor clasped his hands behind his back but not before the Master saw their trembling. Another point to the Master. He smirked. The Doctor wasn’t the only one who could play that game.
The Master stepped away, once again putting space between himself and the Doctor and hoping that the Doctor was as dissatisfied and off-balance as he’d been making the Master feel. “In the Green district,” the Master said in a businesslike tone, as if they hadn’t shared a heavy, tense moment a few seconds ago. “The computer says there’s a hoverrail station two streets over that will take us there.”
The opulence of the district in which they’d landed was completely absent from the Green district. Wealth Aureas might have, but it clearly wasn’t being siphoned to this part of the city. Old streets lights crackled and flickered, the road was rough and pitted, and the metal of the building exteriors was scratched and dirty. Xolvish’s Tavern and Inn squatted on a corner not far from the nearby spaceship terminal. The roar of engines rattled the darkened windows as ships took off and landed.
The Doctor entered first, the Master and Mel trailing close behind. The ground floor was noisy and crowded, even though it was early in the evening yet. The ceiling was low and the room was dimly lit with a grey-purple light that gave the whole room a submerged air, as if it were deep underwater, in the pits of the ocean, where monsters lived and fed off one another. The air was thick with the bitter smoke of some local narcotic.
“Charming, isn’t it?” the Master sneered.
The Doctor frowned in disgust. “It’s a hair trap for society’s cast-offs. Full of filth and rot.” He sniffed. “Glitz fits right in.”
“Have you spotted him yet?” the Master asked.
The Doctor scanned the dim-lit room. “No. He’s not here, at least, not right now.”
“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go speak with the owner of this establishment and see if we can ascertain where our quarry has gone.”
“He may have checked in under a pseudonym.”
The Master rolled his eyes. “Yes, Doctor, I am well aware of how criminals operate.” He slinked towards the bar, gracefully winding his way through the crowd. The Doctor watched him go, eyes tracing over his form.
Mel was afraid to interrupt his intense scrutiny as the Master vanished from sight, but she was rapidly becoming still more afraid of the way some of the clientele were staring at them. She stepped closer to the Doctor, half hiding behind him. She hated herself a little bit for relying on him for protection—it felt like betraying her Doctor’s memory—but he acknowledged that he needed her alive. These hard-faced aliens had no such concern for her safety. “I don’t think they want us here.”
“They don’t have the privilege of choice.” Something that might have been a smile, if smiles were expressions of vicious disdain, cut across his face. “Come, Mel, let’s meet the natives.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her along with him further into the tavern to a table on the far side of the room around which two Aureans sat. Both were pale, lips tinged blue, and the edge of a bandage was visible from beneath the sleeve of one of them.
There were a few empty seats at the table. He led Mel to one, but she hesitated to sit, a worried frown on her brow. He grasped her shoulders and forced her into the chair, then claimed a second for himself. The two aliens glared silently. One of the Aureans slipped a hand into his jacket pocket. The silver handle of a weapon glinted from between his fingers.
The Doctor tisked. “Oh, you don’t want to do that.” His cold eyes never left the Aurean’s face. After a few seconds, the Aurean brought his empty hand back out and placed it flat on the table.
“Better,” the Doctor said. He smiled a rough facsimile of a friendly smile. “I have one question for you. If you answer it honestly and without hesitation, I will make it worth your while.” He didn’t say what he would do if they did not answer, but Mel could see the murderous potential only barely contained, like a tiger in a cardboard cage, in the spark in his eyes.
The two aliens shared a silent glance. The Aurean with the weapon in his pocket said, “Ask.”
“I counted twenty-three people in this room who have been bandaged recently,” he began. The other Aurean sharply sucked in air. The Doctor ignored it and pressed on. “My question is this: what clinic did you go to?”
The tension vanished and the confusion that replaced it was tangible. “That’s...all you want to know?” the Aurean asked, his voice high with disbelief.
“That’s all.”
“Gilfruct Health Services City Hospital. Three blocks north.”
“Thank you.” The Doctor inclined his head in an exaggerated bow of gratitude.
“Now what about our payment?” The Aurean’s hand slid back towards the weapon in his jacket pocket in a clear threat of what would happen if the Doctor wasn’t forthcoming.
“Of course,” the Doctor grinned. He looked around the room. “Ah, there’s my partner now. He’ll settle our accounts.”
The Doctor rose to greet the Master, who arrived seconds later. “Making friends among the locals, Doctor?”
“Not precisely.” He slid his arm around the Master’s shoulders. “These gentlemen graciously assisted me in a little investigation and now they’d like their reward. Would you take care of them for me?” He whispered something in the Master’s ear, nuzzling his neck briefly as he drew away. Mel turned away in discomfort and repulsion. It wasn’t that she pitied either the Master or the Doctor, far from it. They were both thoroughly evil and deserved whatever they got. Still, the Doctor’s shameless toying with someone’s emotions made her heart ache for the man she once knew, while the hungry, possessive looks the Master gave the Doctor made her shudder with fear. They seemed barely two steps from defiling each other and enjoying it immensely.
The Master sighed. “How you managed all these centuries without me around to clean up your messes I’ll never know.” It was a little thing, though, and it would both make the Doctor happy and facilitate their exit. He leaned over the table and made eye contact with both Aureans in turn. Once a firm mental thorn was embedded in each of their minds he triggered the psychic suggestion. “I am the Master.” The thorns unfurled and blossomed into tendrils that sank into their thoughts. “You never saw us.” All their memories of the Doctor were sucked away.
“Done,” he said. “Now let’s leave before they return to their senses and wonder why they have an audience at their table.”
“Thank you,” the Doctor murmured, lightly brushing his lips against the Master’s cheek. As they walked back towards the main door, he asked, “Did you locate Sabalom Glitz?”
The Master smirked. “The landlord informed me that Mr. Glitz returned to his room an hour ago. We can acquire him right now.”
“Excellent.”
A narrow staircase led them to the hallway where Glitz’s room was located. Since the Master had insisted earlier that the subtle way was the way to proceed, the Doctor knocked politely and waited for a response.
“I still think we should just take him and not bother with all this silly obfuscation,” the Doctor muttered. The Master hissed for silence but to no avail. “Your tendency to always overcomplicate things—”
The door creaked open, cutting short the Doctor’s observations. Sabalom Glitz stood in the doorway—friendly, open, and welcoming to all appearances. He probably had a knife hidden behind his back. When he saw the Master, his smiled widened.
“Blimey! I wasn’t expecting you to turn up here. If this is about getting more xeric acid I know a gentlemen—”
“Thank you, but no,” the Master said, cutting off Glitz before he wasted any more time with his babble. “I have a business proposition for you.”
“Well then, you’d better come in. Bring your friends. They’re trustworthy, I hope?”
The Master stepped into Glitz’s tiny, shabby room, wrapping his arm around the Doctor’s back to draw him along. “This is my partner, the Doctor—”
“Doctor J. J. Chambers,” the Doctor interrupted. He didn’t wish to complicate things by giving Glitz any opportunity to connect him to the colourful Doctor whom he had met some months ago on Ravalox.
The Master kept the Doctor tucked protectively close to his side. Glitz was a fool, but he could be dangerous. Mel, meanwhile, leaned back against the closed door, keeping as far away from the unsavoury stranger as she could.
“So, you said something about a business proposition?” Glitz sat down on the edge of the bed and kicked his boots up on his travelling bag.
“We have a job for you,” the Master said.
“You see, that’s a shame. Because you’re an old friend, and I’m always happy to help an old friend, but it just so happens that I’ve got a little business arrangement here that I can’t up and leave. I’d be taking a serious financial loss if I did.”
The Master wondered idly if Glitz really did have a prior job or if it was all part of his fee negotiation technique. “We can offer you fifty Aurean decas or one hundred and twenty strips of gold, whichever you prefer. Ten percent will be given to you now, the rest of the payment to be made after you complete your task.”
Laughing, Glitz said. “If I go with you, I’ll be dropping a real juicy opportunity I’ve got right here. That being so, I’m going to need fifty percent up front.”
“You’ll get fifteen and no more.”
“I might be willing to go as low as thirty, if you throw in the girl as well.” He gestured towards Mel.
The Doctor answered before the Master could respond. “The girl is mine.”
Glitz glanced at the Master’s arm still around the Doctor, then back to Mel, and raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Interesting relationship you two gentlemen must have.”
The Master’s patience was running thin. It would be considerably easier in the short term to simply hypnotise him, but alas, such psychic debris would interfere with their later plans for him. Glitz was necessary, even if the Doctor, with his careless, slipshod manner of planning, couldn’t appreciate it. “We’ll give you twenty-five percent, but you’ll have to come to our ship to get it.”
Glitz scratched his beard, making a show of considering the offer. But one could count on Glitz’s greed if nothing else. That much money was not something a man like him would pass up. “I’ll do it. Twenty-five now, the rest after. But,” he raised a finger, “You have to pick up my tab here.”
“Agreed.” The Master smiled at Glitz’s attempt at cunning. Undoubtedly, he’d been availing himself of the tavern’s many and morally dubious services and had run up a considerable bill. The landlord, however, didn’t need his brain kept intact and would be simple to deal with.
Sabalom Glitz packed up the few possessions he had with him and followed them out the door. The Doctor, Mel, and Glitz waited in the street while the Master settled with the landlord.
“You seem familiar,” Glitz said to the Doctor. “Do I know you?”
Raising one disdainful eyebrow, the Doctor replied, “Certainly not.”
“Maybe it was a ‘Wanted’ holo. You’ve got that kind of face, you know. Hardened criminal. You might want to try to do something about that, work on projecting a facade of charm, like. As it is, I imagine that the authorities only have to take one look at you to know you’ve been up to something.”
Eying Glitz with a long, cool stare, the Doctor said in a hard and chilly voice, “I am the authority.”
Taking a startled step back, Glitz’s mouth flapped open and shut. Then he smiled uneasily and drawled, “Right, whatever you say, Doctor Chambers.”
At last, the Master returned. The Doctor moved to his side. “To the TARDIS, my dear?” the Master asked.
“To the hospital,” the Doctor countered.
The Master blinked. “The hospital? Why would we want to go there?”
“I have a theory I’d like to verify.”
“Does this theory of yours have anything to do with the universe and the saving thereof?”
“There’s something peculiar going on here, and I have to find out what.”
“I’ve done enough pandering to your obsessive inquisitiveness for one day,” the Master said, his mouth twisting in anger. “We’re returning to the TARDIS.”
“You can do whatever you wish,” replied the Doctor, shifting his weight so he was leaning away from the Master, ready to step away. “I am going to the hospital.”
“Why?” It was more an accusation than a question. The Doctor’s cursed curiosity drove him always to wander, to disobey, to slip through the Master’s fingers just when he thought he might hold him. The Master’s voice grew increasingly biting as he continued. “Why do you need to find out? Will it help us save ourselves from universal destruction? Will it give you leverage over your enemies, authority over vast populations? Will going to this one backwards hospital on this one backwards planet make you powerful, feared, respected, or formidable? No? Then why?”
Surprised, the Doctor’s eyes darted about. The words made sense but the question itself was impossible. It was like asking why he never fixed the TARDIS’s chameleon circuit, or why his breath stopped when he saw that the Master was alive, or why he felt such a rush of satisfaction whenever he carried out his own vision of justice. Some things were so deep that they had no words. “It’s a mystery,” he tried to explain to the Master as best he could. “I need to understand it.”
As the Doctor strode off, Mel commented to the Master offhandedly. “I bet you feel like you’re married to Curious George right about now.”
The Master wanted to snap her neck, but she was already following after the Doctor. And the satisfaction her death would bring would quickly fade if such a disturbance of the Doctor’s paradox caused reality to collapse.
Glitz was watching him expectantly. Glitz was his paid minion and would go where the Master did. They could return to the TARDIS now, even leave the planet entirely, stranding the Doctor and his companion on this distant world. It would serve him right. The Doctor had already given the Master all the details he needed to defeat his vindictive past self and set the timelines straight; he didn’t need the Doctor.
He snarled and trotted towards the corner around which the Doctor had just disappeared.
The hospital was not far. Looking up through the canyon created by the two story buildings on the narrow street, they could see its needle-like spire looming. The Doctor led the way, moving swiftly and silently, his eyes darting about to take in every detail of his surroundings. Aureas was turning out to be much more interesting than he’d first suspected.
Two blocks later they turned a corner to see the hospital laid out before them in all its incongruous glory. Where the buildings in the nearby neighbourhood were shabby and run down, the hospital was gleaming and bright, decorated with delicate fluting and high arches. Sparkling fountains ornamented the entrance. It was a work of art. A sign reading “Gilfruct Health Services City Hospital” was written in bold letters above the main doors.
“That’s a hospital?” Mel said. “It looks more like a posh hotel.”
“There are no public clinics on Aureas. All hospitals are privately owned,” the Doctor explained. “Patients receive the care they can afford.” He watched a luxury aerocar land near the entrance and a chauffeur get out and open the door for a pregnant woman and her husband. “Which makes it all the more interesting that the scoundrels who patronize Xolvish’s are coming here.”
“You’re going to want to look inside, aren’t you?” the Master asked. It wasn’t really a question. He knew the Doctor well enough to recognize that tilt of the head and shine in his eyes. “Do you have a plan for getting in? Or haven’t you thought that far ahead?”
“Well, I doubt Xolvish’s finest are going in through the front door of such an excellent establishment as this. We’ll find a back way.”
The Master despaired of the Doctor’s idea of planning. “And then?” he prodded.
“And then I’ll improvise.”
“Improvise.” The Master spoke as if the very word offended him.
“As I don’t know what to expect, I can hardly plan for it.” With that less-than-reassuring comment, the Doctor veered away from the entrance and trotted over to the side of the massive building.
As the others followed, Glitz spoke up. “Just so you know, if I’m going to be party to a bit of breaking and entering, I expect to be paid for it.”
“How much?” the Master asked, scorn rough in his voice. “Never mind,” he continued, just as Glitz was opening his mouth to reply. “However much it is, we’ll just add it to the final tally.” It hardly mattered anyway, as Glitz would be forgetting all of this as soon as they got him to the TARDIS.
A few hundred yards later, the Doctor stopped in his tracks so suddenly that the Master almost ran into him. “There,” the Doctor whispered. “There’s our entrance.” Farther down the exterior wall, an Aurean dressed in a tatty coat and sturdy trousers approached the building, opened a small door set into a niche and vanished into the hospital.
Hot on the trail and excited by the chase, the Doctor hurried over to the place where the Aurean had been not seconds ago. The door was steel, and sturdy enough that it would be difficult to break through by force. The key pad next to the door, however, meant that force would be unnecessary.
Kneeling on the ground, careless of the dirt that was accumulating on his trousers, the Doctor pried the panel off the keypad. It took him less than thirty seconds to rewire the computer inside so that the door unlocked with an audible click.
“Clean job with that,” Glitz said in open admiration. “I’ll say this for you, you’re good at what you do.”
The Doctor looked up, not at Glitz but at the Master, and grinned slyly. The Master licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. There was, he supposed, one good thing about the Doctor’s incessant curiosity: uncovering the unknown always put the Doctor in a lively mood. The disadvantage, however, was that the Master now more than ever wanted to haul the Doctor back to the TARDIS, find a private room in which to hide away, and see if this time he could get the Doctor’s stubborn control to break.
If the Doctor wanted to investigate this hospital then investigate he would, preferably quickly and with as few complications as possible, if the Master had anything to say in the matter. As he followed the Doctor inside, he let his hand rest on his TCE, ready to draw the weapon at the first sign of trouble.
The corridor revealed by the opened door was sterile and bright with a bluish light. Walls of brushed steel appeared to stretch on forever, punctuated now and then by solid, unmarked doors. The Doctor didn’t pause at any of the doors; either he knew where he was going, or he was giving a convincing impression.
Mel trailed behind, shooting suspicious glances at Glitz, who seemed to be much too interested in her for her comfort. Meanwhile, the Doctor and the Master noticed little but each other, as was typical whenever the two of them were within twenty feet of one another. Before, when it was just her as a third wheel, there were awkward moments, but she was mostly content to be ignored. With Glitz joining the party, however, Mel was no longer able to simply keep her head down and stay quiet. Glitz was determined to interact with her, talk to her, no matter how she tried to rebuff him. Now he was nudging her with his elbow and tilting his head towards the Doctor and the Master, as if she was supposed to be in on some joke. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
“Takes all kinds, yeah?” he said to Mel.
“What?”
“The lovebirds up there.” He inclined his head toward the Doctor and the Master. “Strange idea of a date. Although,” he mused, “I suppose a hospital does have the advantage of having plenty of beds if the need, as they say, arises.”
“Urgh, I really didn’t need to hear that,” Mel said vehemently, her nose scrunching. From further up the corridor, the Doctor was speaking to the Master.
“Do you smell it?” the Doctor turned to the Master for corroboration. The hospital was full of smells of all kinds—the sharp tang of medicines, the bitter salt of sweat and misery, and the sweet euchlor and iron smell of Aurean blood.
The Master threw the Doctor an irritable look. “I may have a Time Lord brain, but my nose is entirely Trakenite.”
“Of course. I do apologize for reminding you of your physical inferiority.”
“Physical inferiority, you say?” The Master stepped in front of the Doctor’s path, blocking his way. “Some of my senses may be diminished, but I’ll have you know that this body is more than a match for yours.”
“Is it?” the Doctor purred.
Glitz spoke up before things got out of hand. “Time and a place, gents, a time and a place. Now, if you want some privacy I’d be more than happy to take the girl elsewhere and leave you two alone for a while.” He linked his arm with Mel’s. Mel unlinked and stepped away.
There was a pause in which the Master imagined that the Doctor might be considering the offer. But when he spoke he said, “Another time. We have other matters to attend to now.”
He stepped past the Master and continued on his way. Once or twice they encountered other people in the corridors—patients, doctors, nurses—singly or in twos or threes. Each time the Aureans passed without comment, hardly sparing the quartet a first glance much less a second. It was only when they crossed through a busy waiting room towards a set of double doors that they were challenged.
“Excuse me, you can’t go in there!” a nurse scurried forward and stepped between them and the doors.
The Master reached for his TCE, but before he could draw the weapon the Doctor stepped forward with confident, even aggressive posture.
“Young lady, don’t you know who I am?” the Doctor said, his voice dripping with outrage. The nurse, who had taken an involuntary step back at the Doctor’s approach, opened her mouth to reply, but the Doctor spoke over whatever she was about to say. “I’m Doctor J. J. Chambers, Assistant Deputy Chief Medical Superintendent of Gilfruct Health Services Incorporated. Mr. Gilfruct personally sent me.”
The nurse rallied. “I never received a memo.”
“Then check your memos again,” the Doctor snarled in the nurse’s face. “In the meantime, I refuse to waste my time out here twiddling my thumbs while you shuffle about your incompetent filing. I have work to do.” The Doctor’s voice dropped to a threatening whisper. “And if your worker cost efficiency isn’t up to company standard, you won’t like the report I’ll write to Mr. Gilfruct.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not off to a good start.”
The nurse pressed her lips together, gaze flickering uncertainly between the Doctor and the door. At last she decided that thwarting the Doctor wasn’t worth risking her career.
“My apologies, Doctor Chambers,” she said, all deferential courtesy. “You and your assistants can go right in.”
“Thank you, Nurse,” the Doctor said with only a touch of derision, inclining his head.
Once they were through the doors, the Master said, “Assistants?” His tone made it clear how much he disliked the idea.
The look the Doctor gave the Master was fondly amused. It was, Mel thought, a familiar expression, one that wouldn’t have been out of place on her Doctor’s face. The thought made her uncomfortable. The Doctor said, “You can be my colleague. How does Doctor Master sound?”
The Master face twisted in disgust. “It sounds terrible.”
“Well, Master Doctor is worse. And makes no sense.” The Doctor smiled brightly. “My name has to come first.”
The Master was about to reply when the Doctor pressed his fingers against the Master’s lips. “Hush,” the Doctor breathed out. “We can argue about it later. It’s investigation time now.”
The playful voice shredded Mel’s heart. When the Time Lord High Council had proposed giving her a time ring and sending her to the Valeyard, she’d accepted only because she had to see for herself whether there was anything of the Doctor left to be salvaged. Every time she thought she’d finally convinced herself that the Doctor was gone and that the man who had taken his place was irredeemable, that once the fabric of time was stabilized and the universe was safe she’d be able to carry out the second part of the High Council’s plan without regret, a smile or a phrase or a quirk of his eyebrow would send all her doubts and hesitations crashing down upon her again.
Now, he was motioning her forward with one hand, like she was his co-conspirator, towards one of the open doors that lined the hallways. Mel crept up to him and directed her attention to where he pointed. Beds packed a broad room near to bursting and on each bed lay an Aurean, hooked up to a machine by cuffs on their wrists and neck. From each cuff spiralled a narrow tube filled with vermillion liquid.
“Just as I suspected,” the Doctor whispered, his voice dark with self-satisfaction. “Euchlor, refined naturally in their bloodstream, probably more pure than even the mechanical refineries are capable of once it’s separated out from the plasma and platelets.”
“You think they’re getting paid for their blood?” Mel asked.
“Precisely. But I think there’s more besides. The account records we hacked into shows sums far too large to be explained away by some few donations from the desperate underclass.” He shared a knowing glance with the Master.
“Well, it would be efficient,” the Master replied to the Doctor’s unspoken words.
“What?” Mel asked, troubled by their silent communication.
“You’ll see soon enough,” the Doctor said, leading her out of the room. They wandered the floor until he found a staircase, so little used that there was rust crusting the hinges deep in the cracks where the cleaners couldn’t reach. After a quick glance to ensure that none of the hospital staff were nearby he opened the door and darted in.
“You’re not going to make us climb up, are you?” Glitz asked, eying the stairs with anticipatory discomfort. “If so, might I recommend the lift? I saw one a few corridors back.”
“Stairs would be good for you,” Mel said. “You look like you could use the exercise.”
The Doctor added, “The lifts controls are probably tied to the security system. Stairs are far better for covert reconnaissance.”
“Sneaking,” Mel translated.
“I know what covert reconnaissance is,” Glitz replied snippily. Then he took a deep, fortifying breath and placed his foot on the first step up.
“Fortunately for you, we’re going down,” the Doctor said. “People always want to bury their secrets. It’s instinctive. Whatever’s hidden here, it will be underground.”
The Doctor knew he was on the right track when, as they went deeper, the whisper of thousands of personal timelines converging in one spot and fading away in exponential decay grew steadily clearer to his senses. Once they got below the public floors the doors became harder to access, locked with increasingly complex codes, another sure sign that he was nearing the centre of his mystery. But as Glitz had observed earlier, the Doctor was very good with doors and locks. He’d been getting into places he didn’t belong for well over a millennium and a half now and was quite proficient at it, although after stopping to rewire five doors in succession and working on a sixth, he was beginning to wish he still had his old sonic screwdriver to speed up the process.
When the last door opened, the sharp scent of blood was so overwhelming that even the Humans couldn’t fail to notice it. The Doctor stepped through onto an industrial-mesh balcony overlooking a cavernous room that appeared part factory, part slaughterhouse.
Hundreds of Aureans, drugged into glazed-eyed placidity, were propped upright on a conveyer belt by metal clamps. The belt drew them across the factory floor until they were tilted in groups of ten over a vast funnel that led to a massive glass vat. Within the vat, a paddle churned the thick vermillion liquid to keep it from clotting too quickly. One factory robot pushed up the Aurean’s heads with a bar under their chin and another came down like a giant comb with blades for teeth, slicing through either side of each Aurean’s throat. The people were bled out, then carried away to a furnace to make room for the next ten.
Hundreds of Aureans killed each minute. The destitute, the undesired, the unproductive. Thousands of litres of blood collected. Dozens of kilograms of euchlor to be extracted and sold.
“This is what they were hiding,” the Doctor hissed in satisfaction at a mystery unveiled.
Mel choked in horror at the hell laid out before her. It was like those pictures of concentration camps with corpses all heaped up in piles of pale flesh, a cold-blooded and methodical slaughter on such an enormous scale that the mind shied from facing it.
“You have to stop it.” Her mind was numb, floating away from her body as if trying to escape from a reality where such thoughtless cruelty existed. “Please, stop it.”
“My dear Miss Bush,” the Master said. “We are not here to liberate the oppressed or bring salvation to the suffering or whatever else you may be imagining.” He turned to the Doctor. “I trust your curiosity has been appeased?”
“Yes,” he said in a flat voice.
“You can’t just leave them here to die!” Mel cried in anguish. “Doctor!” She grabbed onto his sleeve.
He whirled on her, ripping his arm from her grasp. “Don’t call me that,” he spat out, his whole demeanour gone from cool detachment to incandescent fury in seconds. He seized her in a bruising grip and pushed her to the balcony overlooking the slaughter. “Look at them,” he rasped in her ear. “Look. I can leave them to die and I will. Do you think saving a few wretched souls from death is any sort of benevolence? The universe is a cold, cruel place, Mel. Alive, they exist only to suffer and inflict suffering on others. They don’t deserve mercy and I have none to give them.”
He released her, practically throwing her away from him into the balcony rails. Tears ran down her cheeks as she slowly turned away from the whir of the machines and the dripping blood.
# # #
“Yes, Miss Lilla, what it is this time?”
“Mr. Gilfruct, sir, sorry to interrupt.” She bobbed her head in a gesture that was one part deference, one part apology.
“Never apologize for bringing me important news.” He quirked an eyebrow. “It is important, I hope?”
“Yes, sir. You asked to be told if the Time Lord and his companions did anything suspicious.”
“And...” he prodded impatiently. Miss Lilla really was quite hopeless in her timidity.
“Captain Melis reports that they entered a hospital and were there for half an hour. He’s investigating now, trying to find out where they went and what they saw, but he’s requesting further orders, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Lilla. I’ll take care of it from here.”
Her image flickered and faded. A few seconds and key strokes later, the space that had been filled by Miss Lilla’s dainty form was now displaying a tall, blond man in a black security uniform.
“Captain Melis, take two teams to the Time Lord’s ship. Do what you whatever you need to in order to prevent their escape.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain replied with clipped, military precision.
“Try to capture them alive if possible. If not...” Mr. Gilfruct shrugged. “...put the bodies in stasis and we’ll salvage what we can.”
# # #
Mel was silent as she followed the Doctor through the streets back to the TARDIS. Glitz appeared to have already shrugged off the memory of the revolting thing that was buried under the hospital, regaling the Master with non-stop, trivial chatter. Mel hated him for that. Hated him, hated the Master—who hadn’t even bothered to disguise his smirk when the Doctor refused to help those people—and hated the Doctor himself. She especially hated the Doctor. The Valeyard, she reminded herself. Thinking of him as the Valeyard instead of the Doctor made him easier to hate, and she wanted to hate him.
After his blazing rant at her in the hospital, the Doctor...the Valeyard had closed off, nothing behind his pale eyes but a blank wall. Her Doctor, for all his faults, would never be so heartless and detached from the suffering of others.
“Mel, you’re sulking,” he chided her gently, like a parody of a fond parent. “I can feel it.”
“Am I not allowed to think my own thoughts anymore?” Angry as she was at the lack of privacy in her own brain, she was almost grateful that the Doctor had spoken. So long as she was busy arguing with him, she wasn’t seeing the corpses, smelling the stench of blood and chemical sterilizers.
“By all means,” the Doctor said, “think whatever you like. But if you’re going to radiate waves of hysterical emotion in the presence of a telepathic species, don’t expect your feelings to remain private.”
“I suppose you think we should all be indifferent and dispassionate in the face of horror and suffering.”
“It does simplify things.”
“‘Simplify things?’” she echoed. “Is that what happened to you? You decided that compassion was simply too much trouble?”
She never had a chance to find out what, if anything, the Doctor would have said in reply. As they ambled through the courtyard where the TARDIS was parked, armed Aureans stepped out from hiding, guns aimed squarely at the four of them. Mel immediately raised her hands in the universal gesture of “please don’t kill me.”
One of the Aureans, a tall man with blond hair and a face that Mel might have called handsome if she’d seen it under better circumstances called out, “You’re under arrest. Come quietly or we’ll shoot.”
“Well, Mel,” the Doctor said. “Would you like to use your compassion to find your way out of this situation? Perhaps disarm them with your overwhelming powers of empathy?”
Glitz spoke up, “I just want you to know that I only met these gentlemen an hour ago. So if they’re wanted for any sort of criminal activity, it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m a law abiding man, I am. Nothing but the utmost respect for justice and you fine gentlemen who enforce it.”
A laser blast spattered on the wall six inches from Glitz’s head. “Quiet,” the blond man said. “Keep your hands where we can see them.” Glitz’s hands darted into the air.
The Master glanced at the rank insignia on the shoulder of the blond man’s uniform. “Captain,” he said in a honeyed voice. “No need for threats. We aren’t so foolish as to think we can take on twelve men.”
He turned to the Doctor, his eyebrows raised in expectation. After all, the Doctor had weapons turned on him nearly every time he stepped out of his TARDIS, and every time he was able to evade certain death. Undoubtedly, he had a clever escape plan.
The Doctor quirked one brow in return, waiting for the Master to act. After all, the Master caused conflict and chaos wherever he went, and every time he was able to slip away unharmed when his schemes backfired on him. Undoubtedly, he had a clever escape plan.
Both came to the realization that the other had no plan at precisely the same moment. The Master sighed. “How terribly inconvenient for you to run out of luck now instead of one of the times when I was holding you at weaponspoint,” he muttered to the Doctor.
“Luck?” The Doctor bristled. “It wasn’t luck that enabled me to defeat you, it was skill.”
“Skill you seem to be lacking now,” the Master retorted.
“On the contrary.”
“You thought of a way to escape?” the Master lowered his voice further, barely moving his lips and trusting in the Doctor’s Time Lord hearing.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” He paused. “Run!” he shouted, grabbing Mel by the wrist and yanking her towards the nearest alleyway. Flashes of blaster fire sizzled around them.
continued
