13
WHO KILLED WHO?
The huge baroque chamber with its high arched ceiling had a raised centre like an old-fashioned pulpit and whilst the odd sermon had been delivered there it was actually a machine, a vastly complex polyglot of ill assorted parts thrown together seemingly at random and in haste from various centuries.
The man circling it was restless and irritable he was also lost if not completely bewildered and it wasn't for the first time. Everything was new, he was new and none of it made any sense.
The reflection that stared back at him in a large television set was angular, a little harsh and made more so by an extreme hair cut that gave its owner an edgy, dangerous and poised feel. There was no trace or hint of foppishness of the dandy, no faux Edwardian pretence; this man radiated a sharp urban streetwise toughness that was a radical departure from the past. The eyes were like flint, the vowels clipped and the manner hurried if not harassed.
The ship around him was drifting and he couldn't regain control of it he couldn't even find the controls. He had changed and the tardis had changed, rewiring, rebooting and reconfiguring herself from top to bottom perhaps to reflect this new man at the helm, 9 lives he was thinking at the back of his mind just like a cat and I'm the 9th does that mean I've run out of rope?
Head down he tinkered and screwed at this and that, pulling out a circuit board straight out of the seventies with fat bulb processors, as he detached one and turned it over in his fingers the reflection on the TV screen changed. It misted over, blurred and stretched the angles softening and hair bursting forth in a cascade.
Now in place of short cropped hair and a beaky nose were handsome more mellow features as dreamy as those of a 19th century romantic poet, there was the hint of the saviour about lean quizzical features, puppy dog eyes and lush crown of dark curls. This man would have been more at home i Wells novel possessing as he did a keen idealism with his period good looks.
The blue eyes rose, dipped, then flicked sideways taking in the frame and scope of the TV as though they defined their owners boundaries, then raising one hand carefully he touched the screen with pianist fingers, applying first gentle then firmer pressure pressing outwards so that the screen bulged bubble-fashion extending forwards to create a four finger blister.
Unaware of this the short-haired man kept working and muttering to himself, distracted by technical changes, suddenly a spark jumped out catching and burning his finger ends making him rear back in a fit of pique.
"Bugger," he snapped in a near to perfect Salford burr.
"Language," said the man on TV and their eyes met, real man and TV man, they stared at each other in wonder and surprise neither quite sure what they were seeing at first. Eyes locked they contemplated one another with a mixture of astonishment and wry humour, considering their differences perhaps 'chalk and cheese' was the phrase that came readily to mind; different and yet the same.
Stepping back with a frown that softened into a smile the real man gave a low chuckle, he knew this intruder and the intruder knew him if his smile was any indication so they hovered for a moment studying each other, touching minds albeit briefly as though sending each other a psychic text.
"Hello Doctor," said the real man as his face cracked into a clownish grin. The TV man again pushed at the screen this time with hands and head grunting as he drove himself against it struggling with all his might to be free, The screen bulged alarmingly swelling and distending beyond all reasonable parameters as though giving birth to some strange alien butterfly keen to burst from its cocoon only this was a cocoon mad of glass; flexible glass that was soon full of the man's body.
9 did nothing to help he wasn't sure there was anything he could do of a practical nature as the bizarre Edwardian fop in full frock coat, check trousers and bat wing collar complete with fob watch and spats burst through the bubble and flew head long towards a well positioned love seat, crashing onto soft pillows and generous springs with a grunt.
"That's better," he looked up, "Such a relief to escape the confines of television," he offered a smile and an upside down hand, taking it 9 helped him to right himself. Then turned to the television screen which had resumed its former flat shape, carefully he prodded it but the glass was firm and brittle once more.
"How did you do that," he asked, I mean it's fantastic and all that but…"
The other man flicked curls from his eyes and gave a somewhat enigmatic smile.
"I'm not altogether sure," he confessed.
"But you must know."
"Must I?"
9's good humour was quickly evaporating he didn't like being made a fool of, "This is out of order," he said, "You being here, us being here together."
"Don't I know it, I'm finding it all a bit troublesome myself, laws of time and all that", blue eyes took in the cavernous console room stranger even than the one he'd inherited more roundels, more buttresses, dimmer hues, plunging valleys and a ramp to the door.
"What's the old girl been playing at," he asked?
"You tell me," 9 snapped - the response was almost an accusation.
"This isn't my doing," said his previous self with a degree of wounded pride.
"It's not mine either," 9 replaced the circuit board, "I can't make head nor tail of the main guidance systems, the tardis is drifting now and then turn up… which you shouldn't be able to."
Doctor number 8 palmed his frock coat of imaginary dust motes then began examining it to see if everything was in place, "Everything happens for a reason even here in the tardis."
Scowling 9 leaned on a plate, "But this is timeline overlap it's totally not on."
"Couldn't agree more," the more refined voice whispery and less glottal also held a hint of disquiet, "But as it's happened there must be a good reason so why don't we find out what it is; after all the tardis herself has allowed it and she knows the rules she wouldn't break them without a very good reason."
"My tardis," 9 was quick to point out that this was now his turf his inheritance and he'd staked his claim.
"Ours," 8 corrected with a smile but no less steel in his voice.
"I think you'll find that you died," 9 pointed out.
"Yes about that," standing up as if to test the vigour of his legs he gave them a little shake and took an experimental step; all well and good he had full motor function.
"What about it," 9 snapped?
"Well I can't seem to remember it."
"No reason why you should."
"Possibly but I can't recall anything leading up to it."
There was an acid remark on 9's tongue which he swallowed, "Nor can I," he said pensively.
"Can't you that's interesting."
"Not really post regenerative shock, it happens every time."
"But I don't have that," 8 explained, "And my memory is blank to, I mean I should have clear recall of events leading up to my death, what I did and where my last adventure if you like but," he parted his arms helplessly.
Now 9 was engaged he was frowning and not just with pique, "Nothing at all," he said.
"Not one iota."
"But that memory should be intact."
8 nodded in agreement recalling his 7 previous lives and how they had ended – a hail of bullets, a fall, giant spiders and so on. Amnesia afterwards maybe but not before not preceding events they should be crystal clear but not in this case.
"I've no idea what I was doing before I regenerated or even why I regenerated, I mean obviously it was some kind of massive biological crisis but what caused it?"
Now 9 had sat down on the love seat his legs giving way under him his manic energy abated for the time being, this was serious even critical it was beyond worrying. Could there be something clinically wrong with him a brain dysfunction, some kind of time lord genetic illness or worse an embolism in the timeline itself?
"I can't remember anything either," he confessed, "It's just a dark murk yet I have all your other memories – San Francisco, the master, Charlie, C'rizz, Lucie."
"But not my final experience," 8 interjected?
"No zilch not a thing."
"Like it's been wiped out," 8 suggested, "Deliberately."
"But how can that be, nobody can steal my…I mean our memories."
Turning his face his successor the 8th Doctor had the grave air of one who was about to make an unpleasant suggestion but 9 was already ahead of him, yeah it made sense and their minds touched, telepathic energy flashing between them as they instantly shared impressions, sounds, ideas and memories. It was a unique time lord gift and a possible way of getting passed the blockage.
8 had saved a remote colony from an alien threat, at first distrusted he had been questioned, imprisoned, doubted – the usual format, escaping he had befriended one of the colonists a girl and together they had made discoveries ultimately leading to the defeat of the aliens.
Then…nothing.
"There must be more," 9 urged, "Did she become a companion, did you say a tearful farewell, did she see the tardis leave?"
Doing his best to summon the images 8 found them absent, "I don't know there's nothing in my head."
"Was there anybody else present as you departed?"
8 grimaced but the harder he tried the more elusive recall became, "I can't be sure it doesn't appear so just me and the girl."
"Okay let's focus on her," an image crystallised between them – slim, brunette, a slightly quizzical expression, rimless spectacles and some sort of tight fitting green jumpsuit with a corporate logo.
"Pretty," 9 remarked, "Clever to."
"Moira," 8 supplied the name, "Moira Munro, I saved her life and she saved mine."
9 picked up on this – a collapsing cave roof and then a flash of deadly laser fire – Moira was plucky and intelligent and she'd played a big part in the defeat of the invasion, she would have made a good companion so where was she what became of her?
"What's your absolutely last memory," he demanded and up it came, Doctor 8 and Moira on the outskirts of the colony smiling at each other, sharing some joke, they were walking casually down this tunnel towards…
"There it is," cried 9 seeing the tardis in a cave next to a large boulder, "Keep going," 8 turned to Moira and they held hands for a moment it looked like they were going to kiss but they didn't then…nothing just darkness the sequence terminating abruptly.
"Bugger," 9 snarled, "What came next?"
Nothing did no gasp of amazement from Moira at the blue box, no evasive explanation from the Doctor, no hidden figure lurking ready to pounce.
"Presumably I entered the tardis," said 8, "I entered and left or tried to leave."
"No," 9 cut in, "You opened the door certainly and then something else happened."
"Speculation," 8 scoffed and yes it was, "What's your first memory as you?"
Eyes opening, vision coming into focus, confusion, fear, pain – yes pain a burning pain unlike any he'd experienced post-regeneration a fiery, scorching agony across the neck and shoulders like he'd been scalded or….
"Shot," 9 stammered, "I was shot; at least it felt like it at first a beam weapon."
8 was more cautious, "Now wait you can't be sure."
"But I had this burning sensation like you get from a low intensity hand blaster; I was either shot outside the tardis and fell inside or…"
Both Doctors looked around warily, either shot outside the tardis or inside it but that would mean somebody was already within the confines of the ship, an intruder or a companion.
8 spoke first in a low icy tone, "Could someone have been in here waiting for us."
"Did you have a companion because I don't remember one?"
8 frowned, "No I was alone at the end my last companion Jana had left me some time previously, I remember feeling lonely and old; abandoned even."
Face lighting up 9 gave another of his toothy smiles oh yes Jana she was coming back now, blue skin, emerald hair, a lilting sing-song voice he'd liked Jana exotic and clever good with disguises and voices she could even mimic him.
"An intruder then," he sighed, "Someone broke into the tardis only nobody can its impossible."
8 said, "There is one person who could do it who's done it before."
They thought his name at the same time the one person who knew a tardis inside and out as well as either of them.
"He's dead I saw him die," 8 objected.
"He's died before and come back, how many times?"
"Not this time it would be impossible even for him," but 8 didn't sound totally sure because he couldn't be.
"Makes sense though doesn't it I mean nobody hates us more or could get in here undetected."
"But if it was the Master, and I'm not convinced, but if it was him then where is he now and why did he allow me to regenerate what would be the point?"
"So he could kill me all over again, didn't he once say that once would never be enough," 9 was grim-faced as his gaze scored the console room looking for tell-tail signs.
"He wouldn't just shoot me though would he not without making me grovel first, not without making a big production out of it he's too theatrical too vain for simple murder," 8 protested.
"Maybe it was all he could manage in his weakened state, all he was capable of," 9 was already working controls twisting, pulling and prodding if the Master were present then the tardis would know she would have a record of him, there would be clues a trail of bread crumbs the old girl wouldn't hide the Doctor's deadliest enemy from him.
"If he's here I'll find him, the tardis will help me," he said confidently.
"Will she," 8 was cautious, "He may have found a way to circumvent our control he is after all a time lord and no ordinary time lord; this could be his tardis now."
Never thundered 9's features that could not happen, "This is our ship not his, there's too much history and empathy, not even he can circumvent that."
Taking controls himself 8 began his own search, the new configuration confused him for a time but he began to get the hang of it he did after have greater experience, he'd been the Doctor for longer than his other self.
"Nothing as far as I can see," was his diagnosis.
"Keep looking there has to be something," under stress the northern inflection of the new Doctor became more pronounced.
8 gave a wry grin, "Is that a mancunian accent I can here."
9 returned the grin, "aye reckon it is," he threw back in a broader Lancashire dialect, "Got a problem with it."
8 parted his hands in conciliation then kept working, "A northern Doctor, who would have thought," He gasped with frustration, "No I'm not finding anything here," turning from the console he began to explore the vast room, "Where exactly were you lying when consciousness returned?"
9 pointed to the spot just off the ramp near a low bureau with a lamp on top and 8 crept over carefully like a forensic specialist at a crime scene.
"It's a good way from the door about seven meters at a pinch; I must have been well inside the tardis when he or she opened fire."
"She," 9 scoffed, "It's the Master has to be."
"Possibly I'm not entirely convinced."
"Who else could it be, there are no other suspects."
Something catching his eye 8 bent down, reaching out he closed his fingers over a small shinny object, "Now you're a curiosity," he held up his prize, "Look at this."
9 scowled at the small object, "The key to the tardis art gallery, what's that doing there?"
"You didn't drop it," asked 8?
"How could I, I've not been to the gallery in this body."
"And I didn't have it on me either," 8 mused as the taller man made his way over with a pensive expression.
"When was the last time we were there," he asked?
"Ages ago and I'm not in the habit of carrying this around with me, I think it's a significant clue."
"To what," 9 snorted?
"Look your theory about the Master doesn't feel right, he'd shoot me outside and steal the tardis, that's what he'd really want – to escape and regain his freedom – why shoot me in here and just hide what does he gain?"
9 was smart enough to see the flaw in his logic and to concede that his older self had a good point, their enemy wasn't modest by nature nor was he stupid this MO just didn't feel entirely right.
"But the Master was consumed by the eye wasn't he, his body destroyed or at least severely damaged, would he even be capable of wielding a blaster?"
"Your point being," 8 quizzed?
9 wasn't completely sure he was just theorizing trying to make sense of an illogical situation
"Only one way to get to the bottom of this," he said with typical northern pragmatism, "Of course if the Master is hiding in the gallery waiting for us…"
8 sighed, "He gets to kill me twice."
The huge maroon door opened with an audible creak like one not oiled or used in a long time, a light came on immediately not a fluorescent bar but a fake torch that cast off an extraordinary glow, it was needed; the gallery was huge twice the size of the console room.
The first portrait visible was that of a tall, fierce looking man in scarlet robes wearing an ornate sash and carrying a dark rod. The piercing, pitiless eyes of Rassilon gazed down upon the two Doctors with dispassionate contempt.
"Oh who painted him," 9 sneered with ill-disguised loathing, "It wasn't one of us surely?"
"No I think we inherited that, the style is a little grandiose even for one of our earlier selves."
Beyond Rassilon were a staggered series of planetscapes, scenes from Gallifrey and other worlds alien and exotic – the jagged promontories of Skaro, the bleak desert of Telos, the icy crags of Mars, and a beach scene from Cromer. Then there were portraits, lots of these a mix of pencil sketches and classy water colours – old companions, old enemies, the brigadier, various time lords and ladies and of course the Doctors – all of them.
"Handsome fellas," 9 remarked jovially moving from one to another, "I liked him, couldn't stand him, he had plenty of street cred."
8 was less interested in artistic or personal assessment, "No sign of any intruder," he mused, "Nothing seems to be moved or damaged."
"It's great in here, relaxing; I should come more often maybe take up my palette again," 9 seemed to be enjoying himself he appeared positively light-hearted, "You didn't do many of these."
"I was busy elsewhere," 8 replied testily, "Anyway the artistic gene tends to slip a regeneration or three, can you hear anything?"
Blessed with bigger ears 9 flicked one casually, shrugged and shook his head, pausing by the huge portrait of his third self he mimicked the rather patrician pose, "Bit of a ponce."
"There's a definite sound in here, are you sure you can't hear it with those lobes of yours?"
9 frowned; any ear-jokes and he made them he wasn't keen on others pointing out one of his stand-out features, "Nope," he said, "Maybe you're making an echo."
"It isn't a voice," taking out the sonic screwdriver (his version of it) 8 flicked it to scanner-mode and panned the gallery, "I don't think we're alone in here."
Producing his own sonic 9 did a pan of his own, "I think you're right there is something on the low end of the scale, artificial; this way," he set off with his longer legs around and between the portraits, past a dalek and a sontaran, around a couple of zygons and then pausing to one side of Mike Yates.
He had found an object a device on a low tripod, switched to 'pause' mode it was emitting a soft electronic hum.
"Human technology," 8 decided hunching over the vaguely oblong machine, "a recording device audio and video."
"Did you put this here only I've no memory of it," 9 was frowning?
"No I didn't at least I can't recall doing so, 21st century I think and touch-screen."
"So it was put here for us to find."
"Clearly," 8 agreed, "Look at that."
RECORDED MESSAGE pulsed on the tiny LED display window and the Doctors regarded each other.
"This could be it – the solution," 8 theorized, "Oddly I feel reluctant to play it."
9 knew what his other self meant, whatever message had been left behind could be unpleasant, disturbing, it could reveal something neither of them wanted to face yet they knew they had to.
"It could be a trick a deception," 9 offered.
"Yes it could be - a false flag, either way we have to hear it, whatever it tells us will move this mystery forwards."
"Before you hit play," 9 said sharply, "Let's be clear on one thing we can't change what's happened your death I mean, you died and became me this is my portion of the timeline; I'm the Doctor now."
Slightly amused 8 studied this lean, blunt man he had become shorn of many of the affectations that characterised earlier Doctors.
"Yes you are I wasn't trying to suggest otherwise, I'm the one 'out of time' not you but the fact that I'm here means I need to witness this to recover the truth the last memories of my eighth life."
When 9 nodded his agreement, 8 touched the screen and from the device issued a voice, one that both Doctor's knew instantly.
My dear Doctor
- Oily and sinister and still with a mild American accent the speaker had a smile in his voice like he was mocking the listener, which he probably was.
9's face reflected total disgust, 8 drew in a sharp breath his memory of this man recent and painful. The urge to switch the recording off was immense but 8 resisted he had to hear this.
No doubt you are highly suspicious upon hearing my voice, after all I'm dead aren't I and the dead don't come back.
Now the man did chuckle at the irony of his remark because the dead did come back, very frequently; he certainly had.
"Turn it off," 9 snapped.
"No not yet."
"He's a liar we know he is."
"Yes I agree but it can't hurt to hear what he has to say."
"Can't it," 9 was pink cheeked he looked ready to lash out and destroy the recorder, 8 positioned himself between them.
"He's probably manipulating us but unless we listen to this we won't know how."
The voice of the Master once again spoke from beyond the grave,
I have no physical body Doctor just a consciousness, there's no way I could have shot you but I know who did because I saw it through the eyes of the tardis. I realise you have no reason to trust me not after all I've done but this time I'm on your side.
9 was beside himself, "Rubbish, on our side, who does he think he's kidding, he tried to steal the tardis to destroy the earth."
Holding up both hands 8 appealed for calm, he had after all been there in 1999 and thus subject to these events, "The Master has no physical body," he repeated, "It was destroyed in the eye of harmony."
"And what if he's stolen another," 9 reposted, "He has done it before?"
That was a good point then the eerie melodic tones of the Master interrupted the debate,
One of you is not the Doctor he declared one of you is a clever fake an impostor, a very convincing copy.
The Doctors stared at each other agog stunned by this announcement by the sheer audacity of it.
9 produced a cynical smile of disbelief, "He's losing his touch and his marbles, an impostor, that's beyond feeble."
8 didn't seem so sure, "What is the Master saying that I killed myself, how could one us be bogus we touched minds we shared a telepathic link, how do you fake that?"
"You don't," snapped 9 reaching to turn the machine off until the Master said.
You think time lords are the most advanced species, of course we aren't, there are others out there eons ahead of us, and they produced a facsimile doctor a cloned copy he's stood in front of you right now.
8 looked at 9 who gazed back at him; a seed of doubt festering within them; could it be true was it possible?
Reaching into his leather jacket 9 produced a stethoscope, putting the receptors into his large ears he applied the other end to first his left breast then his right.
"Two heartbeats," he declared, "Two hearts, I'm a time lord."
"A cloned copy the Master said a clever fake," 8 reminded.
9 pressed the scope to his other self's chest, two beats two hearts, "The Master is the ultimate fake," he said, "He's playing us; advanced race my foot."
"Then why isn't he here in person making threats and demands?"
"Mind games," 9 declared, "It's an old trick of his confuse and divide."
The Master spoke
All the proof you need is at the eye of harmony, the fake won't be able to touch it.
Now 8 was doubtful, the eye was where his old foe had perished, with a click 9 turned the recorder off.
"He's becoming so predictable isn't he, must be senility, we touch the eye and he possesses us."
Backing away 8 turned towards an exit, the eye could be accessed from almost every part of the tardis and he was going there he had to.
9 gazed at him, "You're not falling for it, come on this is an obvious set up."
8 did not turn, "The fake won't be able to touch it," he echoed.
"The Master's consciousness is in there; of course he wants us to touch the eye it's his only way out."
"But it isn't don't you see, he can't get out like that."
Unconvinced 9 stood with arms folded, "This is the Master we're talking about, he's no longer a time lord himself in case you'd forgotten."
"He was right about one thing though, 8 pointed out, "Without a body he couldn't shoot me so who did, if he has an agent here a slave then we have to flush this person out and the only way to do that is to confront the Master himself."
9 didn't move not at first he stood there still as stone, reluctant and disbelieving. 8 appealed to him,
"Two of us against one of him it's no contest, we're the Doctor we always beat him."
Liking the sound of that the tall man conceded a lopsided grin, "Once more unto the breach dear friend," he remarked, "Okay why not - let's go and sort him out," a fist was raised, "I quite fancied killing him more than once."
The vast bulbous cauldron was slightly open just barely ajar, the two metal eyelids that covered the seething luminous magma had been prized open and through them boiled a fierce golden radiation as though the eye were a portal to hell, a hell in which sat a bodiless devil.
This was a smaller portable version of the real eye known as a lesser eye of harmony; the real thing existed at a fixed point in space and time. All the old tardises had such a feature and the Doctor's craft was a real relic.
Both Doctors caught their breaths, each reliving the memory of the last time they'd been here and what had happened, 8 shook his head as vivid memories assailed him and he saw again the faces of Grace and Lee who had died and come back to life then the Master being sucked through the eye and dissolved, wiped out of existence – or so it had seemed at the time.
"Creepy," said 9, "I had hoped never to come back here."
"How do you think I feel," said 8 approaching the two eyelids knowing they should be closed and that he would never open them, "So here we are again," he appeared to be speaking directly to the eye or whoever lay within it, "Hello Master," he greeted, "You've got me where you wanted me – once more."
9 held back remaining a passive observer watching 8 circle the eye getting ever closer as though tempting fate.
"You're going to open the eye then, touch it physically?"
8 nodded holding up a hand, "I think we both should, seems fair, if one of us is fake," he shrugged.
"So you believe the Master," 9 let his contempt show?
"As lies go it seems a bit thin and easy to disprove."
"The Master was always credible, believable, that's why he gets away with so much."
Not denying this 8 waved his other self over, "We both use our right hands," he indicated a flat panel near one of the sceptres, a telepathic circuit. Looking at his own larger hand 9 clenched it into a fist as if about to lash out.
"This feels like a mistake," he said almost to himself.
"You mean you're not going to touch the eye," 8 challenged, "Afraid of what it may reveal?"
9's eyes flashed dangerously, he wasn't afraid of anything, "This is my tardis and I'm the Doctor," he declared.
"Are you," 8 doubted, "Why not prove it then?"
"Okay," features softening to a degree the tall man opened his fist, "Okay I'll do it," he slammed his palm against the panel loudly and held it there, the two great eyelids began to prize apart releasing a volcanic eruption of spectral light.
"Now you," 9 nodded and 8 slowly placed his hand on the panel to, the lids remained open, light continued to gush and fountain above them.
"Nothing," said 8, "The eye is responding to us both we are who we think we are."
"I already knew that," 9 snorted and lifting his hand he placed it on top of his other self's hand pressing it down hard and keeping it in place.
At once the eye uttered a piercing electronic shriek, the light changed colour to darker, muddier hues.
Giving a cry of his own 8 twitched and convulsed, writhing and turning he tried in vain to pull free his face a grimace of agony and fury.
Something jumped from the centre of the eye it might have been a spark or string of plasma but it definitely seemed to have a life of its own, curling in the air it thickened and lengthened into a sinewy, serpentine shape literally a dragon made of pure primal energy that shot down, stabbing the 8th Doctor in the centre of the chest then passing through fabric and flesh to disappear inside him.
At once his eyes glowed the same fiery colour a spectrum that rippled across his entire face distorting and blurring it until a different man seemed to stand there. Possessing incredible strength he shoved 9 away from him, his features continuing to contort and metamorphose.
9 watched in horrified fascination as his older self transmogrified before him
Gaining in stature and power, the energy or soul of the Master taking command of this new host this cloned entity he had somehow projected into the tardis.
Knowing he didn't have much time 9 turned and fled through another door, down a cloistered passageway and ducked under an arched opening finding himself back in the console room. Ceiling lights pulsating and dimming, walls rippling the huge cathedral had taken on a mournful air as though gripped by desperation, 9 knew how it felt.
The Master was free and the Doctor had let it happen, he had allowed himself – against his better judgement – to release the genii from the bottle, how could he have trusted his old enemy believed him, why did he do it every time?
Placing both palms flat on the east side of the central console he summoned all the strength of will he had, the tardis would respond it had to he was the new Doctor the genuine article, through thick and thin his craft his home had always helped him.
It wouldn't take the Master long to reassimilate himself just a minute or so maybe less and then he would have a new body a new life and would be free to wreak havoc on the tardis.
Slowly the ship responded it regained equilibrium it began to move to travel, it was back under control. The Doctor had to think quickly, where could he go to free himself of his enemy to eject him from the tardis there had to be a place, some destination?
It came to him in a moment and he hit controls, his hands working by instinct alone.
"Doctor," the voice echoed around him booming off the roundels it was god-like, no satanic was a better adjective.
"Get lost," this new 9th Doctor was blunt to the point of taciturn, he was if nothing else a fighter.
"You've lost Doctor - face it."
Sweating his muscles knotted the tall man twisted dials for all he was worth, location, time, ETA.
"Have I," he threw back into the air, "You play a good game Master but I play a better one, I'm new, fresh, regenerated; you're old, worn out, a parasite."
Laughter greeted this defiance and more lights dimmed as if in accord with the merriment, screens froze or went dim, power ebbed, the tardis faltered.
"This is my ship," the voice was sibilant, echoing even ghostly. The tardis was haunted, possessed by an evil spirit.
"Like hell it is," the Doctor grunted as if he could fly this craft by will power alone.
"Where are we going Doctor?"
"Don't you know can't you guess?"
"It won't work," the omniscient voice rasped as some lights came back on and a screen marked 'location finder' flickered back to life.
It has to work thought the Doctor because if it doesn't my 9th life will be my last, like the mythical cat.
A low groan permeated the air, the time rotor juddered, materialisation had begun arrival at some new place.
"Won't it," 9 breathed.
"I can't let you do this," the Master's face appeared on every screen gazing out malevolently, evil in stereo, a twisted copy of the 8th Doctor's face and that of the dying paramedic Bruce.
"You can't stop me, we're there," 9 announced, "Care to guess at where it is?"
The features of this new Master hardened and darkened as the Doctor's hand hovered over the main door release lever, he was taking a terrific risk possibly a fatal one for there was danger for him here to, he might die – again and not come back.
"You can't do it, it would be the end for both of us," the Master wasn't so cocky now his monumental self-assurance dented by doubt.
"I don't have a choice; I can't let you stay in here."
"Don't open that door Doctor it's a mistake."
Having already made a huge mistake the man at the helm steeled himself, he pulled the lever.
Nothing happened.
He pulled again.
Still nothing.
The Master's eyes glittered with disdain, he wasn't beaten so easily.
A third time the Doctor pulled.
"Oh dear me," a throaty chuckle, "Isn't it working?"
Dashing down the ramp the Doctor dug his fingers into the crack between the doors and pulled like a madman, sweat running down both cheeks, teeth clenched, come on open – just open damn it.
Nothing it was hopeless, seeing a panel to one side he kicked it open within lay a metal jack – the manual override wheel.
Taking this out he applied it to a rarely used slot beside the doors and tried to twist.
"Futility," said a voice right behind him and there stood his other self, his evil self; the cloned creature half Doctor and half-Master, he held one of the long sceptres from the eye of harmony chamber, its far end a sharp spar of blazing light.
9 turned and glared at it then the manic face beyond it swathed in an eerie glow, his gamble had failed if the tardis door remained sealed then this wasn't going to work and he had lost everything.
"Checkmate," said his opponent, "You lose Doctor, the tardis is mine she does what I want now, our connection is unbreakable."
"Is it," one last flicker of defiance from the tall man.
"There's nothing you can do Doctor; except die of course," the sceptre was thrusted at the exposed chest, grabbing it by the shaft with both hands the Doctor twisted at the last moment so that instead of stabbing him the glowing spar went past him to strike the tardis door lock.
There was a small explosion of sparks, a rending sound, a loud fizzing crackle and the doors yawned open – wide open to reveal…
With a cry of fury and terror the clone tried to pull back but the Doctor's grip was secure, his strength doubled by desperation.
Yanking hard he pulled his enemy level with him and they stood there side by side teetering on the lip of the doorway, below them a long way beyond blazed a huge throbbing, boiling blister of etheric light.
"The eye," said the Doctor, "The original eye of harmony," he tugged, his opponent responded.
"We'll both die you fool the eye will consume us," the Master looked stricken, pale, his eyes bulging with intense fear and loathing.
"Maybe but I'm prepared to take the risk, are you?"
"No Doctor its insanity."
"I have to be rid of you Master; this tardis is only big enough for one of us."
The strange cloned hybrid did not release its manic grip one iota, "This is my ship Doctor but I'm willing to share to be reasonable."
You – reasonable thought 9 he wasn't fooled for a second.
Then the decision was taken from them both as the tardis took matters into its own hands tilting violently, canting off true to eject both occupants who tumbled out into space.
They hung there for a moment suspended in darkness joined only by the sceptre, fighting still to keep hold of it.
Then the sceptre snapped in half.
And they began to fall.
Sucked towards the mother eye.
Both men screamed facing death with no hope of restoration.
A short life but a good one the Doctor was thinking, he didn't know what the Master was thinking until he saw something detach itself from the dying falling clone, a string or snake of energy.
The evil soul of the Master trying even at this late stage to cheat death, to escape.
The fiery twisting writhing dragon curled up towards the tardis.
But the tardis wasn't there.
It had flipped down below the two men.
Below one of them.
The dragon curled back on itself making a second attempt but something odd happened. Freed of its evil occupant the cloned 8th Doctor reached up with both hands and from his mind came a telepathic cry - everything dies - and amazingly the spectral snake was drawn down back into its former body.
A body that twisted and fell, spinning inexorably towards the eye.
The Doctor also fell, spinning wildly into the open doorway of his tardis which caught him like a mouth or a womb.
Gripping to the ledge hard he watched his former self spiral out of control into the heart of the fiery magma and heard another telepathic cry, the death cry of the Master – hopefully.
In the tardis art gallery The Doctor surveyed a series of full-colour life-size portraits, those kept near the back behind a thick veil, each an image of evil - the Master's many different incarnations. It was with some sadness that the Doctor looked at a blank virgin canvas upon which he would have to add a new portrait, the last one – perhaps.