Post by Soldeed on Dec 9, 2006 16:16:29 GMT
The station was dying.
The sentinel droids had finally exhausted themselves, and most lay in shattered, melted, dismembered heaps in the silent corridors. A few continued to drag themselves painfully along by the broken stumps of their limbs, their simple thought processes telling them that they had dealt with the intruders, and were now continuing their routine patrol. But the damage had been done. Great gaping holes pocked the station's hull, and the oxygen pumps deep down on the engine decks hummed frantically with the effort of replenishing the atmosphere which bled faster and faster out into open space. This created a freezing draught rushing through the abandoned, desolate passageways which fanned the flames licking their way along the power cables. From a safe distance, the clustered fleet of escape pods and shuttlecraft could witness bursts of fire gouting forth from their former home, marking the elegant white exterior with a chaos of blackened scorch marks.
Silent, the empty walkways and open spaces. But from the centremost of the five airlocks on the VIP embarkation lounge came a crazed, desperate muttering, rising in pitch to a frantic, almost tearful whine.
"It's here somewhere! I had it with me. No, no, no, I know I had it."
In the depressurisation chamber, Feigle obsessively searched through every pocket for the third time. For lack of his personal key card, the hatchway to his yacht, the last useable spacecraft on the station, remained firmly shut. The sweat beaded on his marbling forehead as he cast his eyes wildly about the chamber, in the futile hope that he might somehow have dropped the device in the last few yards before reaching the hatch. There was nothing.
"It's all right," he told himself, balling one hand into a fist and tensely wrapping the other around it. "It'll be all right. I must have dropped it somewhere. I'll go back. I can still do it. I'll go back."
He ran back out into the lounge, and was half way towards the sole passageway that led back into the body of the station before he froze, every muscle locked rigid.
The way was blocked by a black clad figure of a terrible stillness, waiting for him. A deep, honey-smooth voice spoke:
"Death has come for you, little man."
The Master's low chuckle rolled around the room, his white teeth bared and his dark eyes glittering, and with a whimper of fear the panic-stricken Feigle broke and fled, across the room, aimlessly into the far corner until there was nowhere further to run. At the sight of this apparition pursuing him with a steady, even stride, he stumbled blindly into the nearest airlock and plastered himself against a hatchway which led to nothing but the empty vacuum of space, curling himself into a ball on the floor in an unthinking, animalistic attempt to shrink away and disappear.
The Master halted and eyed his victim from the airlock entrance.
"M-Master?" Feigle's trembling voice emerged from within the protective cocoon of his hands and arms. "Please. Please, don't. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm so sorry. But we'll find a cure for you. We will... and anything else you want. Please don't hurt me. You can have anything you want. Please..."
His voice choked to a halt. The Master raised an eyebrow.
"Have you finished?"
Peeping out from behind Feigle's elbow, a single wide, horrified eye saw him coolly type the safety override code into the airlock control. The heavy, shielded door rolled into place and with the air of an interested spectator the Master observed Feigle leaping to his feet and tearing across the chamber to hammer and scream pointlessly at the soundproof little window. He stayed long enough to watch him clap his hands to his ears in pain as the depressurisation process began, then turned and walked unhurriedly away, leaving the general to die alone.
The Master stalked the corridors of the crumbling, burning station, hands linked behind his back, face dark with thought. He had nowhere to go, and chose his route at random through the endless turns and junctions. At length, he lifted his head and focussed on the scene ahead.
The Doctor crouched motionless, his black coat pooled about him, his face lowered and hidden. In his arms knelt Jasmine's white garbed figure. The Master had seen enough death to recognise it in the lifeless, stiffening fingers of the hand draped over the Doctor's shoulder. From a distance of a few yards, he eyed the huddled pair and gave a slight frown.
"Oh. That's a shame."
He waited, but there was no response. The Master lifted his hand and inspected it closely. There was a livid purple discolouration building under the fingernails. He sighed reflectively.
"I suppose it was to be expected that we would end up destroying one another. I must confess, I would never have foreseen that it would be by accident."
The Doctor stirred. A ghostly face and red rimmed eyes lifted from Jasmine's hair. His voice, when it came, was a dried up husk.
"Just kill me."
After a pause, the Master smiled. Mainly to himself.
"A tempting offer, Doctor, under normal circumstances. But a universe without either of us in it would be a tedious place indeed."
The darkened storeroom in which the Tardis was concealed became split by a rectangle of light as the door slid open. Shambling, automaton-like, his arm stretched about the Master's shoulders, the unresisting Doctor allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the room and stood there dumbly while his pockets were searched for the key. The Master was opening the Tardis door and pushing the Doctor through into the interior when he noticed the Hergan Anthropos still standing quietly in the corner.
"Ah, of course. Obvious, really. I suppose you'd better come along as well. Come along. Come in."
The machine reacted to his spoken commands and marched past him into the Tardis. The Master followed it in and the door clunked shut behind him. With a flashing blue light and a sound like a rushing wind, the station was at last abandoned, and left lifeless.
The Master circled the Tardis console, adjusting the controls with calm precision. With a twist of a dial, he caused the viewscreen to scroll open and display from a distance the station in its final death throes. A blazing leakage of superheated plasma was clearly visible gushing forth from the central hub, and the flames were gathering and intensifying, clinging to the hull. At last there was a shuddering white light, and the station consumed itself in its own energy like a bright, shortlived sun.
"Well, so much for that," the Master said. "Shall we call it a funeral pyre, Doctor?"
He expected no reply, and for long moments there was none, so he closed down the screen and busied himself with coordinates for a fresh journey. But then, barely audible, he heard the Doctor whisper simply:
"Jasmine."
At this he turned and looked at his old enemy, sitting crumpled against the wall, his coat tangled about his legs, his pale, shattered visage staring blankly into nothing. The Master shook his head slowly.
"Really, Doctor. I understand you're upset, but humans are such fragile, short-lived creatures. If you're going to take on like this whenever you lose one I think for your own sake it would be better if you avoided them in future."
"I lost her," was the disbelieving breath of a response.
The Master lifted his eyes skyward.
"Come now, Doctor. You have the intelligence to grasp that in the cosmic scheme of things a single death simply doesn't merit all these histrionics."
The Doctor seemed to start at this, and the Master waited with interest to see if he would raise his voice, or attack, but he just stared dazedly for a moment and then dropped his eyes back to the floor.
"I never thought the day would come," came a flat, monotonous voice, "When I would find myself wishing I could be more like you."
The Master gave a little nod, as if had been paid a compliment.
"Well, perhaps there's hope for you after all. Too bad I shan't be around to help you with your new outlook." He glanced over pensively at the Anthropos. "And here I am sharing a Tardis with the machine that was going to make me immortal. Unfortunately I'm already in a considerable amount of pain, and I won't be able to maintain my focus long enough to carry out the consciousness transference. It's also making it difficult for me to enjoy the irony of the situation."
"I have a suspended animation chamber here."
The Master looked round sharply at the Doctor's quiet words. He folded his hands behind his back.
"Oh?"
The Doctor raised his head, and his eyes were sharp, clear, and alert.
"I have a proposition for you."
The sentinel droids had finally exhausted themselves, and most lay in shattered, melted, dismembered heaps in the silent corridors. A few continued to drag themselves painfully along by the broken stumps of their limbs, their simple thought processes telling them that they had dealt with the intruders, and were now continuing their routine patrol. But the damage had been done. Great gaping holes pocked the station's hull, and the oxygen pumps deep down on the engine decks hummed frantically with the effort of replenishing the atmosphere which bled faster and faster out into open space. This created a freezing draught rushing through the abandoned, desolate passageways which fanned the flames licking their way along the power cables. From a safe distance, the clustered fleet of escape pods and shuttlecraft could witness bursts of fire gouting forth from their former home, marking the elegant white exterior with a chaos of blackened scorch marks.
Silent, the empty walkways and open spaces. But from the centremost of the five airlocks on the VIP embarkation lounge came a crazed, desperate muttering, rising in pitch to a frantic, almost tearful whine.
"It's here somewhere! I had it with me. No, no, no, I know I had it."
In the depressurisation chamber, Feigle obsessively searched through every pocket for the third time. For lack of his personal key card, the hatchway to his yacht, the last useable spacecraft on the station, remained firmly shut. The sweat beaded on his marbling forehead as he cast his eyes wildly about the chamber, in the futile hope that he might somehow have dropped the device in the last few yards before reaching the hatch. There was nothing.
"It's all right," he told himself, balling one hand into a fist and tensely wrapping the other around it. "It'll be all right. I must have dropped it somewhere. I'll go back. I can still do it. I'll go back."
He ran back out into the lounge, and was half way towards the sole passageway that led back into the body of the station before he froze, every muscle locked rigid.
The way was blocked by a black clad figure of a terrible stillness, waiting for him. A deep, honey-smooth voice spoke:
"Death has come for you, little man."
The Master's low chuckle rolled around the room, his white teeth bared and his dark eyes glittering, and with a whimper of fear the panic-stricken Feigle broke and fled, across the room, aimlessly into the far corner until there was nowhere further to run. At the sight of this apparition pursuing him with a steady, even stride, he stumbled blindly into the nearest airlock and plastered himself against a hatchway which led to nothing but the empty vacuum of space, curling himself into a ball on the floor in an unthinking, animalistic attempt to shrink away and disappear.
The Master halted and eyed his victim from the airlock entrance.
"M-Master?" Feigle's trembling voice emerged from within the protective cocoon of his hands and arms. "Please. Please, don't. I'm sorry for what I did. I'm so sorry. But we'll find a cure for you. We will... and anything else you want. Please don't hurt me. You can have anything you want. Please..."
His voice choked to a halt. The Master raised an eyebrow.
"Have you finished?"
Peeping out from behind Feigle's elbow, a single wide, horrified eye saw him coolly type the safety override code into the airlock control. The heavy, shielded door rolled into place and with the air of an interested spectator the Master observed Feigle leaping to his feet and tearing across the chamber to hammer and scream pointlessly at the soundproof little window. He stayed long enough to watch him clap his hands to his ears in pain as the depressurisation process began, then turned and walked unhurriedly away, leaving the general to die alone.
* * * * *
The Master stalked the corridors of the crumbling, burning station, hands linked behind his back, face dark with thought. He had nowhere to go, and chose his route at random through the endless turns and junctions. At length, he lifted his head and focussed on the scene ahead.
The Doctor crouched motionless, his black coat pooled about him, his face lowered and hidden. In his arms knelt Jasmine's white garbed figure. The Master had seen enough death to recognise it in the lifeless, stiffening fingers of the hand draped over the Doctor's shoulder. From a distance of a few yards, he eyed the huddled pair and gave a slight frown.
"Oh. That's a shame."
He waited, but there was no response. The Master lifted his hand and inspected it closely. There was a livid purple discolouration building under the fingernails. He sighed reflectively.
"I suppose it was to be expected that we would end up destroying one another. I must confess, I would never have foreseen that it would be by accident."
The Doctor stirred. A ghostly face and red rimmed eyes lifted from Jasmine's hair. His voice, when it came, was a dried up husk.
"Just kill me."
After a pause, the Master smiled. Mainly to himself.
"A tempting offer, Doctor, under normal circumstances. But a universe without either of us in it would be a tedious place indeed."
* * * * *
The darkened storeroom in which the Tardis was concealed became split by a rectangle of light as the door slid open. Shambling, automaton-like, his arm stretched about the Master's shoulders, the unresisting Doctor allowed himself to be manoeuvred into the room and stood there dumbly while his pockets were searched for the key. The Master was opening the Tardis door and pushing the Doctor through into the interior when he noticed the Hergan Anthropos still standing quietly in the corner.
"Ah, of course. Obvious, really. I suppose you'd better come along as well. Come along. Come in."
The machine reacted to his spoken commands and marched past him into the Tardis. The Master followed it in and the door clunked shut behind him. With a flashing blue light and a sound like a rushing wind, the station was at last abandoned, and left lifeless.
* * * * *
The Master circled the Tardis console, adjusting the controls with calm precision. With a twist of a dial, he caused the viewscreen to scroll open and display from a distance the station in its final death throes. A blazing leakage of superheated plasma was clearly visible gushing forth from the central hub, and the flames were gathering and intensifying, clinging to the hull. At last there was a shuddering white light, and the station consumed itself in its own energy like a bright, shortlived sun.
"Well, so much for that," the Master said. "Shall we call it a funeral pyre, Doctor?"
He expected no reply, and for long moments there was none, so he closed down the screen and busied himself with coordinates for a fresh journey. But then, barely audible, he heard the Doctor whisper simply:
"Jasmine."
At this he turned and looked at his old enemy, sitting crumpled against the wall, his coat tangled about his legs, his pale, shattered visage staring blankly into nothing. The Master shook his head slowly.
"Really, Doctor. I understand you're upset, but humans are such fragile, short-lived creatures. If you're going to take on like this whenever you lose one I think for your own sake it would be better if you avoided them in future."
"I lost her," was the disbelieving breath of a response.
The Master lifted his eyes skyward.
"Come now, Doctor. You have the intelligence to grasp that in the cosmic scheme of things a single death simply doesn't merit all these histrionics."
The Doctor seemed to start at this, and the Master waited with interest to see if he would raise his voice, or attack, but he just stared dazedly for a moment and then dropped his eyes back to the floor.
"I never thought the day would come," came a flat, monotonous voice, "When I would find myself wishing I could be more like you."
The Master gave a little nod, as if had been paid a compliment.
"Well, perhaps there's hope for you after all. Too bad I shan't be around to help you with your new outlook." He glanced over pensively at the Anthropos. "And here I am sharing a Tardis with the machine that was going to make me immortal. Unfortunately I'm already in a considerable amount of pain, and I won't be able to maintain my focus long enough to carry out the consciousness transference. It's also making it difficult for me to enjoy the irony of the situation."
"I have a suspended animation chamber here."
The Master looked round sharply at the Doctor's quiet words. He folded his hands behind his back.
"Oh?"
The Doctor raised his head, and his eyes were sharp, clear, and alert.
"I have a proposition for you."
END
