ALONE
The terrain was bleak and lifeless. If life had ever existed here, it would by now have been snuffed out like a candle. The sound of a transmat beam broke the unnatural silence and a man dressed in black appeared from nowhere.
Involuntarily, the Master shivered with the unexpected cold that greeted him. Around him bodies in lay in varying stages of decay, victims of the Death Zone. In the distance, he could see someone else ahead of him, still very much alive. Before the Master had even moved, a bolt of light struck down the man. Before he could stop himself, the Master found himself running to the stranger's aid.
The man was dead when he reached him. The Master recognised him as a member of the High Council, one of several sent to look for the Doctor. Now his dark cape enveloped him like a shroud. Examining it, the Master found it to be untouched by the lighting bolt that had claimed its owner. "Well, needs must", he mused, as he liberated the cape from its previous owner and wrapped it around him. Then he set off on his mission.
Yes, a mission to rescue the Doctor. He could hardly believe, after all his battles against his long-time enemy, that he had been willing to undertake such a task. True, the promise of a new life cycle of regenerations had been a factor in his acceptance, but there was more to it than that, and the reasons behind it eluded him. There was much to think about, and despite the cold, uninviting surroundings, for the Master this was the perfect place to think.
His thoughts drifted back to his recall to Gallifrey. Though he had severed all links with his home world, by his oath as a Time Lord he was compelled to return. But he was also curious. He could imagine the Doctor being called for on a regular basis - it had occurred numerous times during his battles against his third incarnation. So why him, and why now?
Once inside the Presidential suite, he was humbled enough to admit that it was a great, if unexpected honour to be in such company as Borusa, Chancellor Flavia and the Castellan. And he meant it - this was no bluff on his part, for all of Gallifrey knew of his past actions and to be welcomed, albeit reluctantly, by his peers was rare indeed.
Agreeing to help the Doctor had initially appealed as a challenge to his abilities of cunning and deviousness - to battle against the forces that existed in the Death Zone. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he actually wanted to rescue the Doctor, and not for any material gain. For once, his life had a purpose. As he walked on through the barren wasteland, the Master found himself beginning to question his own life, and the choices he had made.
Through his lust for power, his own life cycle at an end, the Master had taken over the body of Tremas, a consul of Traken. Of course, Tremas' sacrifice had been necessary for his own survival. Nothing else had mattered. But now he was trapped in this body. At the moment of transfer the Master had ceased to be a Gallifreyan, and he could not regenerate. He had now become more of a nomad than the Doctor. The Master had become a true renegade, with nowhere to turn to, nowhere to call home. Even his return to Gallifrey was only temporary.
How he envied the Doctor, who had found a second home on Earth through his enforced exile. 'At least you found somewhere to belong, Doctor,' the Master dreamed. 'If only I had been that fortunate.' And he stopped dead in his tracks. Such a random thought had never come to the surface before, and he tried to dismiss it out of hand. But it would not leave him. Then other dreams and aspirations emerged, long ago buried in the depths of his mind. His past life at the Academy, so simple and uncluttered. His friendship with a fellow graduate who was now the Doctor. And his eventual slide into the dark path.
And now, after all that had gone before him, the Master was still a troubled man. There was, he recognised, a sense of loss within him. More than anything, he wanted to come home, to Gallifrey. Above all else, he wanted peace.
And the realisation scared him. "Oh no, this cannot be", he tried to convince himself. "I am the Master!" And he searched within for some kind of rationale to the depths of despair that refused to leave him. "I am the Master . . . but is that enough?"
For the first time in his life, the Master was unsure of what to do. His normally unflappable poise and inner strength had crumbled, his defences gone. He now recognised the meaning of being truly alone. He fell to his knees and, finally accepting the truth, he wept.
"I chose this way of life. And what good has it done me?" In the bleakness of the Death Zone, his tears flowed, but the Master had no thought, no concern, of who might see him, for he no longer cared. "I want my life back," he whispered. And his next words, though hard to say, came with a sense of truth. "I want to come home."
In all his travels, the Master had never once thought of Gallifrey as home. Even at the Academy, he had been so desperate to leave, to explore all of time and space. But now, after all this time, could there be a way back? 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'if my actions today went some way to atone for my crimes, then my life could still hold some purpose.' With that belief fresh in his mind, the Master rose unsteadily to his feet, ready to continue his quest. But where to begin, in this desolate wilderness?
In the bleakness of his surroundings, a sudden splash of colour caught his eye. It was far away, but heading towards him at great speed. As it drew nearer, the Master recognised it as the Doctor's car - what had he called it? Bessie, that was it. Now surer footed, the Master hurried to intercept the Doctor. As he ran, his mind still full of indecision, a new thought occurred - even if going home to Gallifrey were possible, would the Time Lords truly accept his return so easily? Could he really expect to find peace when his every move would be treated with suspicion?
"Doctor, wait!" His inner turmoil had almost cause him to miss the Doctor, but as the car screeched to a halt, then pulled slowly back towards him, realisation dawned. And the Master now understood that he could never go home. A free pardon, even if it were truly meant, could never totally wipe away his criminal past. His misdeeds were of such a grand scale that he could never be accepted back into Gallifreyan Society.
"Jehosephat! It is you!" The Doctor's exclamation served to wipe away any further doubts he held. He could see the contempt of all Gallifrey in the Doctor's eyes as he approached, despite his good intentions (this time).
Whatever happened now, his life was now set back on course, wherever it took him. Yes, he was the Master. Universally. And, while it wasn't enough, for now it would have to do.
The terrain was bleak and lifeless. If life had ever existed here, it would by now have been snuffed out like a candle. The sound of a transmat beam broke the unnatural silence and a man dressed in black appeared from nowhere.
Involuntarily, the Master shivered with the unexpected cold that greeted him. Around him bodies in lay in varying stages of decay, victims of the Death Zone. In the distance, he could see someone else ahead of him, still very much alive. Before the Master had even moved, a bolt of light struck down the man. Before he could stop himself, the Master found himself running to the stranger's aid.
The man was dead when he reached him. The Master recognised him as a member of the High Council, one of several sent to look for the Doctor. Now his dark cape enveloped him like a shroud. Examining it, the Master found it to be untouched by the lighting bolt that had claimed its owner. "Well, needs must", he mused, as he liberated the cape from its previous owner and wrapped it around him. Then he set off on his mission.
Yes, a mission to rescue the Doctor. He could hardly believe, after all his battles against his long-time enemy, that he had been willing to undertake such a task. True, the promise of a new life cycle of regenerations had been a factor in his acceptance, but there was more to it than that, and the reasons behind it eluded him. There was much to think about, and despite the cold, uninviting surroundings, for the Master this was the perfect place to think.
His thoughts drifted back to his recall to Gallifrey. Though he had severed all links with his home world, by his oath as a Time Lord he was compelled to return. But he was also curious. He could imagine the Doctor being called for on a regular basis - it had occurred numerous times during his battles against his third incarnation. So why him, and why now?
Once inside the Presidential suite, he was humbled enough to admit that it was a great, if unexpected honour to be in such company as Borusa, Chancellor Flavia and the Castellan. And he meant it - this was no bluff on his part, for all of Gallifrey knew of his past actions and to be welcomed, albeit reluctantly, by his peers was rare indeed.
Agreeing to help the Doctor had initially appealed as a challenge to his abilities of cunning and deviousness - to battle against the forces that existed in the Death Zone. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he actually wanted to rescue the Doctor, and not for any material gain. For once, his life had a purpose. As he walked on through the barren wasteland, the Master found himself beginning to question his own life, and the choices he had made.
Through his lust for power, his own life cycle at an end, the Master had taken over the body of Tremas, a consul of Traken. Of course, Tremas' sacrifice had been necessary for his own survival. Nothing else had mattered. But now he was trapped in this body. At the moment of transfer the Master had ceased to be a Gallifreyan, and he could not regenerate. He had now become more of a nomad than the Doctor. The Master had become a true renegade, with nowhere to turn to, nowhere to call home. Even his return to Gallifrey was only temporary.
How he envied the Doctor, who had found a second home on Earth through his enforced exile. 'At least you found somewhere to belong, Doctor,' the Master dreamed. 'If only I had been that fortunate.' And he stopped dead in his tracks. Such a random thought had never come to the surface before, and he tried to dismiss it out of hand. But it would not leave him. Then other dreams and aspirations emerged, long ago buried in the depths of his mind. His past life at the Academy, so simple and uncluttered. His friendship with a fellow graduate who was now the Doctor. And his eventual slide into the dark path.
And now, after all that had gone before him, the Master was still a troubled man. There was, he recognised, a sense of loss within him. More than anything, he wanted to come home, to Gallifrey. Above all else, he wanted peace.
And the realisation scared him. "Oh no, this cannot be", he tried to convince himself. "I am the Master!" And he searched within for some kind of rationale to the depths of despair that refused to leave him. "I am the Master . . . but is that enough?"
For the first time in his life, the Master was unsure of what to do. His normally unflappable poise and inner strength had crumbled, his defences gone. He now recognised the meaning of being truly alone. He fell to his knees and, finally accepting the truth, he wept.
"I chose this way of life. And what good has it done me?" In the bleakness of the Death Zone, his tears flowed, but the Master had no thought, no concern, of who might see him, for he no longer cared. "I want my life back," he whispered. And his next words, though hard to say, came with a sense of truth. "I want to come home."
In all his travels, the Master had never once thought of Gallifrey as home. Even at the Academy, he had been so desperate to leave, to explore all of time and space. But now, after all this time, could there be a way back? 'Perhaps,' he thought, 'if my actions today went some way to atone for my crimes, then my life could still hold some purpose.' With that belief fresh in his mind, the Master rose unsteadily to his feet, ready to continue his quest. But where to begin, in this desolate wilderness?
In the bleakness of his surroundings, a sudden splash of colour caught his eye. It was far away, but heading towards him at great speed. As it drew nearer, the Master recognised it as the Doctor's car - what had he called it? Bessie, that was it. Now surer footed, the Master hurried to intercept the Doctor. As he ran, his mind still full of indecision, a new thought occurred - even if going home to Gallifrey were possible, would the Time Lords truly accept his return so easily? Could he really expect to find peace when his every move would be treated with suspicion?
"Doctor, wait!" His inner turmoil had almost cause him to miss the Doctor, but as the car screeched to a halt, then pulled slowly back towards him, realisation dawned. And the Master now understood that he could never go home. A free pardon, even if it were truly meant, could never totally wipe away his criminal past. His misdeeds were of such a grand scale that he could never be accepted back into Gallifreyan Society.
"Jehosephat! It is you!" The Doctor's exclamation served to wipe away any further doubts he held. He could see the contempt of all Gallifrey in the Doctor's eyes as he approached, despite his good intentions (this time).
Whatever happened now, his life was now set back on course, wherever it took him. Yes, he was the Master. Universally. And, while it wasn't enough, for now it would have to do.