The Master observed the Doctors movements on the screen in his TARDIS, taking in the features of the latest incarnation of his foe. Youthful. Black hair. Clearly no concept of elegance, if the eccentric professor look revealed anything, though pondering the outfit of his enemies sixth incarnation the Master found it hard to believe that such a trait was entirely new.
He raised an eyebrow as, on the screen, the Doctor licked a wall. Disgusting. That was new.
"Stay in the skies my children," he said into a tiny microphone that rested in the palm of his hand. "Let him pass through."
The Toclafane chorused a reply in the positive as one, unheard on he planet below. The Master softly drummed his hands on the TARDIS console, his eyes misty, his mind wandering far. He considered all that he had achieved. All that he continued to achieve with every passing second.
In a waking dream, he thought of all that he could accomplish once the final stage of his plan began. Plan began. He liked that. It drew an amused chuckle from him, before he returned to his visions of grandeur.
Only the gentle humming of the TARDIS broke the silence as the Master flicked a switch on the side of the screen. The image of the Doctor traversing through the street was replaced by white writing on a black screen. A trained eye would notice that the numbers in the top corner resembled the dating system of the New Byzantine calender, and that the rest of the digits marked out the projected flight pattern of a shuttle over the planet of Kalaya, with a red number indicating at which point the shuttle would be closest to the planets gravitational pull.
"Thirty minutes? Oh he's got plenty of time to arrive. I must say, I will be quite disappointed if this new Doctor can't make it here in that wide a window of time."
Again realising that he was talking to himself, the Master shrugged and continued to work. Talking to himself was a forgiveable quirk that he had developed through his regeneration, and its existence could be considered entirely understandable. After all, as soon as his regeneration was complete he had found himself surrounded by nobody but himself.
Oh, and he, of course, was the only intelligent conversationalist on this entire planet, so choosing to talk to himself over the idiotic drones and accursed cretins that were the Kalayan race was the most logical choice by far.
Feeling a buzz of excitement welling up inside him, the Master rubbed his hands together gleefully before, showing surprising strength, tearing off one of the metal gratings on the floor and jumping down into the floor beneath the console.
Smiling, he placed a hand upon the wall separating himself from the heart of the machine. Slowly, he ran his fingers down it, enjoying the feel of the organic technology.
Then, quite gently, he pulled free a piece of coral from the wall. It was small, brown and almost identical to the object from which the Master had grown his own TARDIS earlier.
"Perfect..." he sighed, holding the object up in the light. The object moved through the spectrum of colour as it bathed in the glow of the time-rotor. Sapphire blue turned to emerald green. Emerald green to topaz yellow.
The Master cupped his hands around it, his hearts racing. Biting his lower lip, he slipped the coral into his pocket and pulled himself out of the hole and back into the console room. After replacing the grate, he flipped the switch on the screen once more, intent on checking the progress of the Doctor.
His foe was alternating between a determined march, with his head bowed, in the direction of the citadel and random pauses at which he would dramatically begin to shout and scream at the sky. The Master smirked and began to wish that he had installed microphones as well as cameras on the Toclafane. Hearing, as well as seeing his old enemy furiously rant would be much more fun, though alas it was not to be.
Entertained though he was, the Master could not help but feel a slight pang of worry as he realised just how far the Doctor had to travel. He had laid his plans with a particular incarnation in mind The skinny one in the suit, specifically. This new one seemed to be wasting far too much time on miscellaneous endeavours such as the aforementioned shouting and occasional bouts of violence against inanimate objects. His predecessor would have bounded through the streets at an absolutely ridiculous pace to get to his destination. This one was just so... Methodical.
Inhaling deeply, he reminded himself just how foolproof the plan was. Even if the Doctor was a little late, things could still work out for the best. They may lose a bit of banter-time, but that hardly had any bearing on the ultimate outcome of the stratagem. Though it would be missed.
Standing tall, head held high, the Master turned away from the console and clambered out of his TARDIS, which was in the form of a pillar in the great throne room of the citadel.
The room was empty, and deathly silent. The Master ran his tongue over his teeth as he slowly and regally walked towards the throne. Sitting on that beautifully ornate chair always made the true feeling of power hit home.
Everything in the room was so still that even the simple artificial breeze which rustled the trees outside sounded deafening in comparison. And yet the Master still heard it. The rhythm of four. The heartbeat.
It was most unlike the drums which had plagued him throughout his life. It was far quieter, akin to an afterthought. And it could be silenced. A simple wish made the sound cease entirely, which certainly could not be said about the heavy beat of four which so many had dismissed at first glance as a symptom of madness.
He understood this noise though. Since the first time he had heard it he knew what it meant.
He closed his eyes and listened to the sound, casting his mind back to the first time he had heard it.
It had been on Earth. Moments after his regeneration. He remembered the familiar, angry, incessant drumming. It had been the first sound that his newly formed ears had heard.
And then he collapsed. Without a TARDIS to help with the regenerative process, his body was forced to shed the excess energy itself. He slept for hours, dreaming such horrific dreams.
He cast his mind back to the moment he awoke. He was in the same room that he had been when he regenerated. It was still unoccupied. He felt afraid, so afraid, because for the first time in his life there was no sound, no sound at all. The drums had ceased.
He held his head in his hands and wept, confused by the clarity he felt. Confused by the lack of the sound that was, while a burden, was always consistent. Always with him. It was, in a way, as if a friend had died.
Of course, this ludicrous opinion did not hold long, and barely any time passed between this incident and the feeling of unsurpassed joy which came after. He was free. All his life he had been diseased, yet now he was cured. It had finally stopped. His thoughts were clear, uninterrupted.
He had stolen an outfit from the house which he had occupied, and traversed the city of London, visiting the secret drop-off points which he had scattered around the city during his tenure as Harold Saxon. Collecting psychic paper, a copy of his laser screwdriver and most importantly, the piece of TARDIS coral.
As soon as his hands closed around the tiny brown object he heard it.
One two three four.
The colour had drained from his face.
One two three four.
Having just rid himself of his plague, he found himself with absolutely no desire to see it return.
But then, as he listened, he noticed the obvious differences. Then, focusing more, the more subtle differences were realised also.
He had sat in his secret drop off point in the London sewers for hours, simply thinking about the possibilities of what the sound could mean. He pondered significance of the heartbeat of four, raising and shooting down theories endlessly.
He had laughed for an age when he figured it out, sending the curious rats which had gathered around him scurrying away in fear. It was so obvious, so simple and so blatant that he almost wanted to curse himself for not seeing it instantly. Instead, he simply applauded his own brilliance, feeding his already gargantuan ego.
Now, as he sat in the world that he had created, far removed from that day, the Master smiled coldly as he thought how different things were now compared to then. Then, thoughts of the near future, and dreams of his completed plan firmly in mind, he allowed himself to laugh once more.