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CHAPTER SEVEN: MADE OF GOLD

"But you can't slaughter a whole planet! That's genocide! There must be another option," the Doctor objected loudly, having little luck dissuading the Thoraln from their chosen course of action. "There's always another option."

The warleader turned to the Time Lord, murder in its eyes. "This time, there is no choice," it growled, before gesturing to two of the guards in the room. "Hold him."

The two Thoraln grabbed an arm each, not giving the Doctor a chance to escape. He glared at them, but prudently refrained from struggling. Those spears looked nasty.

"So, I'll bet it wasn't the High Council who put you up to this," the Doctor reasoned, gauging the distance to the door. "'Cause no matter what was happening, they wouldn't sanction the slaughter of an entire planet.

"No, no, don't tell me. I know who it is. It's this mysterious Golden One of yours. Of course it's the Golden One. Go on; tell me it's the Golden One."

The bridge fell dead silent, all eyes on him.

He shrugged. "First decent reaction I've gotten from you lot all day," he remarked, somewhat inanely, before continuing with, "Who is this Golden One anyway?"

The Sky Rider warleader narrowed its eyes. "What do you know of the Golden One?" the alien hissed, hand straying to the grip of its blade.

The Doctor shrugged again. "I don't know," he said rebelliously, "you tell me."

The warleader started towards him, but paused without warning, eyes slightly unfocused. Then the sudden lapse was over, and the Thoraln darted its head around to stare at the Doctor with an almost reptilian quality to the movements.

Then, the Thoraln spoke, with a voice that was not its own. "Doctor, I tire of your meddling," the new voice hissed, sibilant yet soft, almost feminine.

One of the Gallifreyan's eyebrows arched up of its own accord. "Am I speaking to the Golden One?"

The warleader inclined its head.

"Well then," the Doctor continued amiably, "I'm sure we got off on the wrong foot before, hey? We can have a good chat now, right?"

"I think the time for chatting is over, don't you?" The Doctor watched as the machete-blade was drawn from its sheath, a worried expression crossing his face. Somehow it looked…sharper…than before. Logically impossible of course, but since when had he listened to logic? He careered all over the cosmos in a little blue box, after all. How much more illogical were self-sharpening blades?

"Look, I think you're making a rather big mistake, you know," he said, watching the blade come closer and closer.

The Golden One laughed through the Thoraln warleader, a bone-chilling demented yipping noise that lingered for far longer than it should have in the mind. "What? Killing you?"

"There are others, but I'd say that's the major one, yeah," the Doctor replied. "I would really prefer not to be killed, if that's fine by you. I have far better things to do today than die." He smiled quite hopefully, but the warleader continued its advance.

"I'm sorry Doctor, but I have waited far too long for my revenge."

The Doctor faltered. "I'm sorry, revenge? I've never heard of you before Golden One," he said, trying to shy away from the advancing knife, but the Thoraln guards held him firmly in place.

"Oh, Doctor – sometimes you can be so naïve. I went by a different name back then, but I don't think I should tell you. That would be too much of a victory. I think you should go to your deathbed without knowing, don't you?"

The Gallifreyan bit his lip. "Ah, well, you see, that brings us to another one of your mistakes," he said pointedly, speeding through his words almost unintelligibly. "If you're going to hold a man by his sleeves, I would first check to make sure his jacket wasn't unbuttoned." He had enough time for a wink before he slipped out of his jacket and made a run for it, leaving the Thoraln holding no more than an empty item of clothing.

He vaulted over everything in his path, making for the door as fast as he could. Dipping and ducking and weaving around obstacles, he was there within fifteen seconds, possibly setting a world record along the way. The door slid open beneath his hand, and he had the sense to spare one last look over his shoulder, spotting in good time the weapon that was heading straight for his head.

He ducked, the blade flying straight over the crown of his skull to bury itself into the wall, grip quivering from the impact. The Doctor yanked it out of the wall and, after giving the warleader a mock salute with the curved blade, he sprinted down the corridor.

It did not take him long to find what he wanted, and he entered the room containing the mind-control device with a certain amount of reverence and caution. But as he got closer to the machine, he could tell that the Golden One's presence wasn't in this room anymore, and that gave him the chance to work in peace.

"I don't know who you are, Golden One," he said to the room at large, testing the sharpness of the blade, "but you're not going to have this planet while I'm here."

With a shout, he brought the blade around in a tight arc. And, as the weapon bit into the machine, he heard a voice in his head, an uncontrollable roar of defeat.