Characters: Ten, 'Saxon', OCs
Pairings: None, really.. some Ten/'Saxon' slash implied. Basically it's not much different than what RTD gave us.
Spoilers: Series 3, mostly the last three episodes. Set a long time after Series 3's end.
Rating: PG-13 (usual stuff (violence), will be a bit dark in places, will have swearing, probly)
Summary: A certain Time Lord being ensnared by Colony 9's newly-formed oppressive regime leads to some dangerous possibilities, while the Doctor may have arrived too late to stop it.
Disclaimer: Don't own anything. If I did, RTD would've written LotTL MY way =D
Author's Notes: This story assumes the Tenth Doctor and the Simm!Master have already met again after he is resurrected (however that happens). Herein I will make references to said meeting, which will be explained in time.
Basically, I wrote this because I wanted a story about a battle of wits between the Doctor and the Master, rather then slash (not that I've got anything against that, mind). So this is all about them and their personal war from a non-slashy perspective... with implied slash if you can see it.
This is unbeta'd and is the first bit of writing I've done for this fandom. So my apologies if it sucks ^__^;;
THE PRICE OF USAGE
The Master tore across the jungle landscape of Rexall 4, his expensive shoes soaked all the way through from his run across the shallow waters. He occasionally threw his arms out in front of him to avoid being hit by the numerous vines that dared to try and stop him. Now far behind he could hear the Rexallan tribes shouting at him for his treachery.
He wondered if this was the sort of thing the Doctor went through on a regular basis, he couldn't remember the last time he had had to run for his life like this. Well, there was that moment on board the Valiant after the Doctor had defeated him, but that was hardly the same as this. At least then he wasn't being pursued by several hundred tribesmen intend on offering him off as a ritual sacrifice to their gods.
Still, trying to start a war to get a hold of advanced technology was always a risky business. But he certainly hadn't expected the opposing tribes to join forces and turn on him at the last moment. If it hadn't been for his genius, he never would've made it out of there alive.
Leaping a small stream, he glanced back over his shoulder. The distance between him and his pursuers had at least widened a little, enough so they had stopped firing their energy weapons at him. At this moment he felt exceedingly thankful he had two hearts and could therefore not get tired out as easily.
Strangely, the drums were quieter than normal, perhaps they had been drowned out by his fear. A similar thing happened to him during the Time War when he had looked to death in the face and ran.
A flood of relief hit him as he zipped over some fallen logs to find his TARDIS in disguise as a large tree and unnoticeable to anyone but him. He reached into his pocket and withdrew his key, skidding to a stop before the time-space capsule.
As he worked the key into the lock, a laser blast exploded above his head and the Rexallan shouting became louder. Twisting the key, he threw open the door and leapt inside. A second before he slammed the door shut, another blast flew past his ear and exploded as it struck the TARDIS console.
Picking himself up, he scrambled forward and began throwing switches, waving away the smoke. Hopefully not too much damage had not been done, but he would worry about that later, after he gotten off this godsforsaken planet. He set the coordinates for somewhere much nicer, a planet he could stop at and relax while he formulated another plan.
The moment his ship dematerialized and went screaming into the vortex on its way to its destination, he noticed that the sparks were still jumping. Breathing a sigh, he waved away more smoke and examined the damage more closely.
Well, the chameleon circuit had been blown to bits so he was going to have to build a new one from scratch, which wasn't really a problem; he'd just need parts. Although he wasn't too fond of the ship looking like a large tree wherever he went. It was almost as bad as the Doctor and his infernal police box. At least the Master actually had the engineering skills required to fix his ship, he thought with a hint of satisfaction.
Before checking the rest of the damage, he went back to the monitor and imputed a change of coordinates. There was only one place he knew of to get the parts he required and that was Idel, the ultimate intergalactic junkyard and flea market.
The moment that he threw the lever, the TARDIS rocked in a way that he was completely unused to, tossing him to the floor. More sparks leapt off the console before the familiar groan sounded throughout the ship to indicate that he had landed.
Coughing, he shoved the smoke away and picked himself up whilst muttering curses. His TARDIS normally didn't behave this way; she was a much newer and much more reliable ship than the Doctor's rickety old thing. She was so important, in fact, that he had made it a point to go and fetch her from the end of the universe before he went about with his clever scheme to take over the Earth.
Waving away more of the smoke, he quickly changed out of his current clothes and into new ones before donning his favourite black overcoat. As puny as humans were, he had to admit that he rather liked their dress sense. And their music, definitely their music. Pulling on his gloves, since it was sometimes rather cold on Idel, he checked to make sure his laser screwdriver was secure in his right breast pocket before he descended the ramp and opened the doors.
It was only after he closed the doors behind him that he realized, with a great deal of dissatisfaction, but this was certainly not Idel. His next clue came in the form of the dozen or so soldiers standing before his TARDIS with their laser weapons trained on him. Their white lights illuminated the otherwise dark room.
'Don't move!' one of them ordered.
Oh, this just wasn't fair! He swore under his breath, raising his hands and frowning at them. The men moved toward him with a pair of restraints and he knew this day had gone from bad to much, much worse.
Chapter 1: The Time Lord
2305. Colony 9, Calken System.
Miles Gordon hurried off the shuttle and into the spaceport, waiting in line to be given a hover cart so he could collect his luggage. It was unsurprising to him that the guards were going to do extensive scans of his things, just like they did to everyone else.
Colony 9 had undergone a revolution only one year previously, with the military seizing power from a poor and defenceless government that failed to satisfy the starving masses. Of course, the military had set up a totalitarian dictatorship and were slowly working on stripping everyone of their rights. It reminded him of the revolutions that used to happen on pre-space travel Earth, who would have thought that such things still continued to this day.
Miles had been born on this planet, and despite his lack of belief in the Good Cause (the ideology General Greer had used to incite revolution), he still wouldn't leave it. His parents and sisters still lived here, he had not seen them in almost a year, and he had every intention of staying here until he could find a way to get them away from this place.
That aside, he had been offered his old job as senior alien expert within the government. So, he had left Earth and come back here where he stood a good chance of earning some serious pay. Besides, his position would protect him.
'Miles Gordon?' a voice spoke beside him and he turned, seeing a rather portly man with two black-garbed body guards.
'Yes?' Miles replied inquisitively, eyeing the man.
The other immediately seized his hand and shook it several times. 'George McDonald, Minister of ET Affairs,' he said enthusiastically. 'Finally,' he lowered his voice, 'you might be able to get through to our man.'
'Man?' Miles blinked. He had wondered if there was a specific reason they wanted him back. He had brokered several treaties with different alien races years ago.
'Yes, follow me,' McDonald led him out of the line and toward the spaceport exit.
'Um, that's very good.. but, I need my--'
'My men will get your luggage and have it delivered to your house.'
'Oh... of course.. thank you, sir,' Miles followed the minister outside and into a rather new and expensive looking car.
The government holding facility, or prison, had existed before the revolution and was apparently so top-secret that Miles had never heard of it before. It was located several miles underneath the main government building and, apparently, most of the cells were currently vacant. Any political prisoners probably just went to the regular prisons. This place was special and when Miles got there, he discovered why.
Armed with only a tablet and the stylus, Colony 9's newly restored Alien Expert went through all the scanners before entering the cell block. At the end of the hall one of the black clad guards steps toward him.
'Mr. Gordon, sir, we ask that you wear this,' the guard handed him an odd looking bracelet.
'What's it for?' Miles lifted his eyebrows, he had not seen technology like it before. Then again, he had been out of a government job for nearly a year.
'Anti-hypnosis device. It gives off a low-level force field and protects you from any sort of mind control. The prisoner, see, he managed to hypnotize one of the guards into letting him out and he nearly escaped,' the guard gestured toward the door.
Miles nodded before he slipped the bracelet on. 'Thanks.'
'Your welcome, sir. Be careful with him, he's tricky. Are you ready?'
Miles nodded, recalling the briefing he had just finished with before. They'd gone through how the alien had randomly appeared within their base and how he had thus far not been overly co-operative. They'd also said they didn't recognize his blood sample.
He entered the white cell, which contained only a table and a bed. It was its subject that caught his attention immediately, however. He was sitting in the corner, his hands bound in shackles, and his left leg held to the wall via a long chain. He wore the usual prison garb and looked otherwise normal, just like a human. It had been years since he'd seen an alien who looked so human.
'How extraordinary,' he muttered. The man looked up, his expression one of boredom, his brown eyes open.
'Sorry, my name is Miles Gordon. I'd just like to talk to you,' Miles came toward the man, not really worried about being hurt, and offered his hand. The alien stared back at him, his eyes glowing with superiority.
'Yes, well.. um...' Miles cleared his throat and withdrew his hand when it became obvious that the other man was not going to shake it. 'What's your name?'
At that the man smiled, and his expression became dangerous. He stared at Miles, his bronze gaze borrowing into the human's soul.
'I am the Master,' he said coolly, 'and I want you, Miles Gordon, to unchain me, and then get me out of here.'
Miles immediately knew what the Master, if that was really his name, was trying to do. He held up his hand, pulling his sleeve down to display the bracelet. 'Sorry, that isn't going to work with me. I just want to talk.'
The alien sighed heavily, dropping his head into his hands. It was then that Miles noticed that he was tapping out a beat against his arm. It was a strange thing to do.
'What's that you're doing?' Miles asked, unsure of exactly what else you could say. The guard had been right, this was a tricky alien.
'Can you hear it?' the Master pulled his head from his hands and looked up at him.
'The drums. They're there now, just listen,' he held up a finger, his eyes once again closed. 'Do you hear it, Miles Gordan?' He was practically whispering now.
Miles stopped for a moment and listened before shaking his head. 'I don't hear anything, sorry.'
'No one ever does,' the Master muttered.
'What species are you, exactly?' Miles decided to try something different, the more direct approach.
At this the Master laughed, grinning from ear to ear. He opened his eyes again and stared up at Miles. 'Ahh, now that is the million dollar question, isn't it? No one's asked me that since I got here. Just got a lot of,' - his voice became deeper and more sarcastic - '”Why did you come here?” and “Who do you work for?”' He rolled his eyes. 'Now, you'd think your question would be the first they'd ask, but no. You stupid apes never want to do anything the easy way.'
Miles winced inwardly at the insult. Certainly, he had been insulted before, but it seemed rather rude and outright foolish for a man who had no advantages to be saying such things.
'Ohh, didn't hurt your feelings, did I?' the Master put his hands together, his expression changing to a mock pout, the amusement clearly evident in his dark eyes.
'Um, no.. you are entitled to your opinion,' Miles said softly. The alien jumped up, seemingly reinvigorated by Miles and his visit.
'Not on this planet,' he said pointedly.
'Well, you know, you've got a military dictatorship. The first thing they do is cut out the heart of the people, take away their rights,' he smiled devilishly.
'It's all in the name of the Cause, too much power can be a bad influence on the people,' Miles said, regurgitating the same crap that he had read about years ago.
'Oh, cause smause,' the Master waved his hand dismissively. 'It's all about the power, you humans can't resist it. And you're so good at oppressing and killing each other. That's just...' he sucked in a slow breath, as though he found all this rather, well, pleasurable, 'inspired.'
'Now, that's enough!' Miles finally put his foot down. 'Answer me! What species are you? The sooner you start talking, the sooner I can start giving you some help.'
The Master placed a finger over his lips. 'Hmmm...' he appeared to think for a moment before finally turning to Miles, not smiling now. 'I'm a Time Lord,' he said darkly, his eyes burning with superiority again.
Miles' eyes widened, his mouth dropping open slightly. Memories bubbled to the surface of his mind: years ago he had met another man who had looked human, but was not and who had also called himself a Time Lord. According to his heavy-handed research, they were a mighty race of time travellers who had died in a war, leaving only this man who had once helped him. But that man and the man that stood before him now were not the same person.
'Your race, they're all gone... years ago I met a Doctor, he told me there was only one left. But since there's you, there must be two now... maybe more,' he said, unable to keep the awe of his voice.
'A Doctor?' the Master breathed softly, his whole face changing. Miles swore he saw flashes of light in his eyes.
Miles nodded. 'Listen, if you're a Time Lord, that means that you have a lot of knowledge... would you be willing to share some of that with us?'
'You want me to build you weapons?' The Master seemed delighted at the prospect, which worried Miles more than a little.
'Not necessarily,' he knew his own words when untrue, however, and that General Greer would indeed want weapons so she could expand beyond this planet and into the rest of the Calken System.
The Master held up a finger pointedly. 'Military dictatorship,' he spoke the words slowly and deliberately. He seemed positively glowing since the mention of the Doctor, and even more so at the idea of building weapons
'Well, I'll have to take your offer to the General...' Miles fiddled with his tablet nervously, surprised at the fact that he taken no notes as of yet.
'Tell him I want better accommodations, or he'll get nothing for me,' the Master said.
'Yes, I'll tell her that.' The Master made a face as Miles corrected him. 'Now, why exactly did you come here?' Miles expected the Master to roll his eyes and not answer, but the Time Lord smiled instead.
His tone then took on an over the top American accent: 'Well, son, I wanted to diieeeee of boooredom!' He threw up his arms theatrically before folding them over his chest, his chains clinking as he did so.
'Really, seriously,' Miles said, trying to maintain his patience. The Master flashed him a smile.
'I got unlucky,' he said honestly. 'What, you think I came to this backwater planet on purpose<? Colony 9 doesn't ever amount to anything! There's nothing here, except a few million humans. Boring. Boring. Boor-ing.'
'So it was an accident?' Miles raised his eyebrows, jotting down notes on his tablet. He was beginning to question the Master's sanity. It was strange, actually, because the Time Lord's witticisms and movements reminded him of the Doctor, except for the Master's obvious contempt for humanity.
'Why, he's finally got it!' The Master bounced on his heels, heading to the table and leaning against it. The chain attached to his leg rattled as he moved. 'Now,' he said, more seriously, 'I get to ask you a question.'
'Alright,' Miles folded his arms, having finished jotting down notes. 'That's fair.'
The Master leaned toward him, brown eyes burning brightly. 'When did you last see this.. Doctor?'
Miles blinked at the question. 'Um.. years ago.. but... yes, it was years ago,' he replied nervously, wondering exactly why the Doctor was of such interest. Perhaps the Master knew him, they were both Time Lords.
The Master looked away from him, lost in thought. Miles regarded him for just a moment, noting how he changed moods faster than the images in one of those old Earth slot machines. He decided he was done, he had the answers to Greer's questions and this filled him with unease.
'Well, that's enough, thank you for your time,' the Alien Expert turned and knocked on the door three times.
'I didn't have a lot of choice, did I?' the Master said softly.
'Yes.. well.. quite... um... Good day.' Miles left the room, a sense of purpose filling him as he walked down the hall and out of the cell block.
The Master smiled to himself as he watched the human go. He had taken a quick look inside the mind of Miles Gordon and discovered his intention of contacting the Doctor to ask for his help.
The Doctor! The one person in the whole galaxy who was the Master's equal, the one person he hated (and loved) more than anyone else. He had caused a great deal of destruction and chaos while he was wandering around after he last met the Doctor, but it felt like ages since then. Going on a murderous rampage was never half as much fun if his nemesis wasn't there to try and stop him. Especially considering all the brilliant and utterly cruel things that had happened the last time they met. Oh, he was looking forward to twisting the knife just a little more.
He hoped the Miles Gordon would hurry up, the sooner he got speak to the leader of these humans, the better. Then the game could really begin.
End Note: More soon, I have a whole other chapter written. Will post it if you all like this. This will probly be.. hmm... seven or eight chapters long, don't know yet. I like to think it'll amount to the size of two DW eps :)
ETA: Chapter Two is Here
- Doctor Who Fic: The Price of Usage (Prologue + 1/7)