So much fun was this chapter! Hope you enjoy it as much as I did!
ELEVEN
"Gin and tonic," said Farid, the Man in Black, to the waitress.
"I dunno… white wine?" Martha said.
"Coke with a lime," the Doctor said, reluctantly.
"Aw, isn't that cute?" the woman said to Martha. She leaned across the small table conspiratorially and said, "He wants to stay alert – afraid I'll take advantage of him. And who wouldn't, right?" She winked, and then nudged the Doctor with an elbow.
"Would you please stop flirting with me?" the Doctor requested. "It's creepy."
"Oh, please, honey, I've always done that! You just chose not to notice, back when you were all proper and stuffy," said the woman. Then she turned her attention toward the waitress. "Now, what's in the Aria Signature Cocktail?"
"Marshmallow-flavoured vodka, Rumchata, cinnamon whisky and cream. And it comes with chocolate-covered espresso beans on the side," said the waitress.
"Hoo!" the woman cried out, making people turn and look. "That'll have me on the floor in five and a half seconds! It'll also rot my teeth. How delightful. Tell you what, bring me one of those, only put the chocolate-covered espresso beans right in the glass."
"In the glass?"
"Yes! And could you add a shot of Bourbon? No, Scotch. And I want three cherries on a skewer. And one of those umbrellas."
"Okay, sure," the waitress said, shaking her head, writing it all down.
"And, is it served in a hurricane glass?"
"No, it's in a martini glass."
"I want it in a hurricane glass. Filled to the top. And a slice of pineapple over the rim of the glass, and one of those things with the little hanging streamers… you know what I'm talking about?"
"Yeah. Anything else?"
"That'll do," said the woman, waving the waitress away with a flick of her fingers.
She had reverted to form, and gave the Doctor a charming smile.
"So, what are you calling yourself these days?" he asked her. He pushed himself away from the table a bit, extended his legs, crossed his ankles, and his arms, settling in for a long visit.
"Missy," she replied. "Suits me, don't you think?"
"Doesn't it just," he muttered.
"And you're…" Martha interrupted. She stopped short and swallowed hard.
Missy smirked at her. "I'm what? Roy Varpet? Harold Saxon? The Master? Yep. In the flesh." She grabbed her own bosom. "In, as it turns out, more flesh."
Martha took a deep breath and exhaled hard. "Blimey." She looked at the Doctor. "Is this really a thing? Or is it because he stole a body again?"
"It's a thing," he said. "It's a rare thing, but it's a thing. Something like ninety-five per cent of all regenerations are male-into-male, female-into-female, but once in a while…"
"Time Lords, like toads, can spontaneously change gender. No-one knows why," Missy shrugged.
"It's kind of intriguing, actually," the Doctor admitted. "There are theories. Like, is it karmic? Is it answering some kind of biological imperative? Is it a message that one regeneration sends to the next?"
"Er, not trying to freak you out, love, but there only being two of us left, I wouldn't rule out the biological imperative thing," said Missy. "I'd venture to say, it was a roll of the dice as far as which one of us went all Victoria instead of Victor."
"Oh, please tell me that's not why we're here," Martha practically whined.
"What? To procreate?" Missy asked. Then she laughed. "As if. I'm just saying, if we're asking why, then…"
"So, are you, like, trans?" asked Farid, suddenly piping up, and addressing Missy with disdain.
All three of them looked at Farid rather incredulously. For her part, Martha realised at that moment that Farid really had no idea who Missy was, and/or what any of them were talking about. If he did, the word regeneration ought to tip him off that this wasn't a simple case of a transgendered individual.
But, in the stairwell, the Doctor had revealed Missy's true identity to Martha, she had dropped her jaw and exclaimed, "That's him?"
At this, Farid had asked Missy point-blank, "What? Were you once a man, or something?"
"Yes, dear, try and keep up," she had said, patting him on the head.
Farid shuddered, and for a moment, Martha and the Doctor both separately took pleasure in his discomfort.
Amid the firestorm of questions the Doctor began to fire at her, Missy had eventually held up both hands in "disarmed" fashion, and said, "Okay, okay, slow down, tiger. Let's all have a drink, yeah?"
And so here they were, in Lift Bar, inside the Aria. Though now, they were in an area of the hotel accessible to all, Dimensionally Transcendental though it may be.
In response to Farid's current question, Missy wrinkled her nose. "Trans? What? No. That implies surgery. Or at least some kind of identity crisis. I'm just me. Still me, always me." With that, she giggled daintily.
"Well, that's always a joy," the Doctor sighed. After a beat, he asked, "So, Missy, I just have to ask. Why in the name of sanity would you want to derail a fixed point? Certainly it couldn't be out of compassion for star-crossed lovers and their plight."
"Come on, now, Doctor," she mock-scolded. "I was quite attached to lovely Mrs. Handler, and her boff-buddy, Postman McPhail. I thought they deserved another go at life."
"Oh, now, that's a whole load of rubbish," Martha muttered.
"Yeah, probably," Missy agreed. "But the truth of it is so much less interesting."
"What is the truth of it?" Martha asked, harshly. "You nearly destroyed my planet. Again!"
"Yeah. How 'bout that," Missy sang. "Honestly, Martha Jones, if you're going to ask and answer your own questions, then what do you need me for?"
"Ugh," Martha grunted. "You're a piece of work." She sat back in her chair and pouted with her arms crossed over her chest.
"I'm evil, darling," Missy reminded her, with a pat on the hand. "Or had you somehow forgotten?"
"Nope, not for a second," Martha spat.
"So," the Doctor interjected, looking about, at the impossibly large interior of the Aria Resort and Hotel. "You made a deal with Curtis Katossian, did you? Right clever, that."
"Stop with the righteous indignation routine," said Missy. "You're just Mr. Bitter Bottom because you didn't think of it first."
"Dimensionally Transcendental hotel resorts and casinos, dotted all over Las Vegas," the Doctor mused. "I do have to admit, it would be a tempting thing to try, if I were wired that way."
"You are wired that way! I fail to understand why you don't just embrace it!" Missy protested.
"So, as Katossian begins to form his corporation, you make him an offer he can't refuse?"
"Katossian was actually a lot cleverer than anyone gave him credit for," Missy explained, switching her tone for the moment. For once, she didn't sound über-cheeky. "He came looking for me."
"What? That can't be right, that's insane."
Missy shrugged. "The man was well-connected – he and that son-in-law of his. He set his sights on refurbishing the Las Vegas strip, in the late 1980s, and put out feelers for technological advances that no-one else knew about, anything that would make MGM casinos unique. New gaming technology, moving floors, dumb-waiters to deliver drinks... things like that. I don't think he had any idea of what could be done at the time, he just wanted something new and amazing."
"And new and amazing… that would be you?"
"I'm old and amazing, dear Doctor, but that's neither here nor there," Missy lilted. "The point is, I worked at Area 51 for a while."
"You did what?" the Doctor asked, sitting forward suddenly. "Are you out of your mind?"
"Well… yeah. Duh," she answered with a chuckled. "More importantly, though, I'm clever, and extremely cheeky. I wanted to see what all the bloody fuss was about, so I assumed an identity – which I'm very good at, as you know – faked some credentials, and got a job there. It was such a joke, the random, ridiculous space-junk to which these humans were ascribing such grandiose significance!"
With that, Missy burst out laughing, but no-one else did.
While she was guffawing, the waitress returned with Farid's gin and tonic, Martha's wine, the Doctor's Coke and Missy's flamboyant cocktail. Without asking if she could bring them something else or run them a tab, she slapped their bill on the table and got the hell out of there.
"Anyway," Missy said, after taking a long pull off her drink. "He knew a guy who knew a guy who knew a guy, and next thing you know, I've got wind that a billionaire is looking for just the sort of thing that I can provide. Wheels start turning. You know me, always looking for new employment opportunities."
"So, it all comes down to money," Martha marvelled. "Even for the likes of you."
"Yeah," she practically whined. "Do you think that building an entire personal history, developing the Archangel Network and running for Prime Minister was cheap? Plus, I had to keep little Lucy living the life to which she'd become accustomed, the rich bloody princess that she was."
"How much did he give you?" the Doctor asked.
"What an impertinent question, Doctor. I should like to wash your mouth out."
"Just tell me."
Missy lowered her voice. "Ten million U.S. dollars, in 1989, each year adjusted for inflation," she told him.
"Each year?"
"Well yeah, genius. An annual fee, because someone had to maintain the Dimensional Control, didn't they?"
"Er, well, someone didn't, did they?" the Doctor shot back. "That's why we're here. The thing is failing. You just quit on them because the money stopped coming."
Missy shrugged. "Well, what do you want from me? Katossian's dead. And he didn't have the foresight to tell his successor how not to suck MGM's Las Vegas holdings into a vacuum dimension or some such. So I stopped getting paid, and that being the case, I resigned."
"So, the money just stopped?" Martha asked.
"Yeah," said Missy. "When people die, they stop writing checks."
"I just can't believe you weren't on some kind of direct-deposit… plan. Or something."
"As a matter of fact, Martha, I keep an account at the bank down the street, accessible by a thirteen-digit number, so that I can remain firmly on-the-grid," Missy told her flatly. "I also pay taxes, attend church and enjoy working with children."
"All right, all right, whatever," Martha said, physically swatting at Missy's words. "The Doctor already surmised he was paying you privately. I just find it very hard to believe that that much money would just casually pass to you in cash on a regular basis."
"Well, it did. More or less. He sent me a cashier's check every January and every July, to a post office box via snail mail. The man did not want anyone knowing about his relationship with me!" Missy seemed to delight in this, taking another long pull from her cocktail. "Boy, that sounds dodgy, doesn't it? He knew well that the technology was extra-terrestrial, and I think he had an idea that I am as well. He paid handsomely to keep it all hushed-up, told no-one, left no paper trail,. And like all genius super-villians, I have a Swiss bank account. And also one in the First Bank of Opusseron Five, in the Forbellite Galaxy."
"Naturally," the Doctor conceded with some sarcasm. Then, "You just… what? Stopped remotely calibrating the Dimensional Control? The five seconds a year it probably took you… you couldn't be bothered?"
"Oi, don't get all judgey on me!" she cried, again, making people turn and look. "How about a little credit for not just turning the damn thing off, and leaving Las Vegas lain waste?"
"Right, yeah, I'll be sending you a medal any day now. Post office box, via snail mail. Missy, a.k.a, The Master, Greatest Hero of all Time for not taking extra steps to destroy an American City. Well, just this once, anyway."
"Hey, I want it to be known that I was a good friend to Katossian," Missy protested. "Or at least a faithful employee-slash-contractor, or whatever I was. I didn't just put a glowing thing in his office and then bugger off to space for the next century or so. I left him my contact information. Legitimate contact info, so that he could call me if anything went wrong. And he did, a couple of times. When the Dimensional Control would go yellow, he'd call, and I'd come running. Eventually."
"Call you. Using a telephone, with a seven-hundred digit code."
"Yeah, directly to my TARDIS," Missy said. She looked at Martha. "I had one, at the time. It's since been lost. I think in the war… can't really remember…"
"Right, and when you were in possession of the Doctor's TARDIS, you had the Dimensional Contact wired into it, so Katossian could reach you there, if need be."
"That's right," Missy confirmed. She smiled, bitterly, and Martha was fairly certain she could read genuine chagrin in that expression. "Oh, I get it – damn it, I left a loose end, didn't I? You got a call from that idiot Mullen, and now here you are again, all uppity and… uppity."
"Yep," Martha explained. "Because Katossian gave his successor the Dimensional Control, the name Mr. Varpet, and a wacky phone number to call if anything goes wonky. So we get this distress call, and find out (sort of) what's going on, including that Katossian never told him why any of this exists."
"Or that he should pay me," Missy shrugged. "And therein lies the real problem."
"No, the real problem lies in the fact that, as usual, you're a bloody nutter," the Doctor said, sitting forward, speaking intensely, with more breath than voice. "Do you even know how dangerous this is?"
"Of course I do, darling," she said sweetly. "I live on the edge – what can I tell you?"
"Yeah, well, live on the edge all you like, but leave Las Vegas, and the rest of this planet while you're at it, out of it."
"Or?" she asked, smiling widely and hard.
The Doctor sighed. "I suppose you want to hear me tell you that I'll have to stop you."
"Erm, yeah!" Missy exclaimed. "It's so sexy when you do that!"
"Well, whatever," he said, standing up. "I've already stopped you, so sorry to disappoint. Come on, Martha."
He held out his hand to his companion, and she took it, standing up as well. For some reason, Farid also stood, though the Doctor very much doubted it was a chivalrous reflex, in response to Martha's standing. It was more of a jumpy, nervous reflex, based on the semi-terrified frown on his face, and the fact that he looked at Missy as though to ask, "What are you going to do about this?"
And then, not surprisingly, Missy got to her feet as well.
Smiling silkily, she asked the Doctor, "Wherever the two of you think you're going, you don't really believe I'm just going to stand here and let you?"
The Doctor shrugged as he and Martha began to move away from the table. "I'd say, you can't really stop us going anywhere."
"I think I can," she protested.
But the Doctor and Martha ignored her as they walked off hand-in-hand.
"You know, I think after this is over, we should just get away from this planet for a while, and take a real holiday," he was saying. "No more Tahiti or the Alps or Las Vegas… no more of this random rubbish. Shelang, the Royal Purple planet is lovely, and has…"
At that, he was interrupted by a familiar sound.
He stopped in his tracks. Martha looked up at him with a mixture of tedium and worry in her eyes.
They both turned.
Missy was still standing at the table, and she was brandishing her laser screwdriver, the modified tool-cum-weapon that she had used as the Master, the one that had transformed the Doctor into a wrinkled, hamster-sized shadow of himself.
She laughed. "That's right," she said. "You know what this thing can do to a Time Lord. Think what it could do to a human. Or, say, to a Dimensional Control, and by extension, nearly all of Las Vegas."
The Doctor's hand tightened around Martha's.
*whispers* You want to leave a review, don't you?