The Obligatory Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own Doctor Who or any associated characters, creatures, features, gadgets, gizmos or TARDISes. This will be the last disclaimer for this fic - I consider the rest to be one big update, it's just split into chapters to make it a bit easier to read.
"Aren't they wonderful, Doctor?" The Master was standing a few metres away from the Doctor, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels with excitement. "The human race – so inventive, with their computers and their satellites and their new 'digital age'! Oh, come on – not even a smile? It's ironic, isn't it? Isn't it?"
The Doctor watched him sadly – always so infuriatingly sad! And pitying – what possible reason could he have to pity him now?
"Oh, you're no fun!" the Master snorted scornfully. "Not like my people out there – cut off a business's electricity for five minutes and the CEOs are practically begging to obey me! Mmm…capitalism…" He sighed happily, and then let out a peal of laughter. "And just you wait 'til our little fractal has spread itself a bit further! You know, I think I might take the TARDIS with me – just so we can continue our little chats. I owe it all to you, after all!"
"You can't let it get any worse," said the Doctor flatly, warningly. "It won't be possible to-"
"Hah! You still don't get it?" The Master tapped his temple with one finger. "I decide what's possible now."
"What about Thes?" Concern showed on the Doctor's face, and the Master rolled his eyes.
"Actually, he's fine. I even managed to make him useful. He's supervising the construction of Earth's first intergalactic hyperdrive shuttle."
"What?"
"'What' what? The hyperdrive shuttle?"
"No – Thes. Supervising it? Of his own free will?"
"Ah, you know – reality gets in the way sometimes. Earth's best engineers, working to my designs, but every time they start believing something will work, it falls apart. Slight technical hitch," he admitted. "But that's where Thes comes in – they show him the problem, ta-da, problem solved! He's holding the whole thing together – my human sellotape. And I didn't hypnotize him, if that's what you mean." The Master tried his utmost to look offended. "Practically impossible, anyway. He's a bit…" He shrugged, trailing off as the Doctor caught his eye with an unfathomable expression showing through the mask of despondency.
"Still finding his feet, I should think," the Doctor said nonchalantly.
"Oh yeah? What's that supposed to mean?" the Master retorted irritably.
"Hasn't been around long, has he? Well, he will have now, of course. He's always been there now."
"What are you talking about?" the Master growled. The Doctor shouldn't be taking control of the conversation, not now, not when the Master was supposed to be in charge of everything!
"Don't ask me," said the Doctor, leaning his head back against the wall and letting his gaze wander around the room. "You're the one who understands it, aren't you?" The Master's eyes widened as he realized…
"What – you think he's…"
"Well, don't tell me you were expecting someone like him to turn up!" There was silence as the two Time Lords held each other's eyes for an interminable pause, before the Master eventually broke away, shaking his head in disbelief. Without another word, he turned his back on the Doctor and strode through the isomorphic door.
...
"So by the time these boosters are assembled, we can start locking and riveting the first panel layer." The foreman nodded, following the engineer's finger across the time planner with his eyes. The diagram of lines and dates spread across several sheets of paper stapled together and folded inside a clipboard – now, they were spread out on a workbench, and both foreman and engineer struggled to decipher the mess that the plan had become. Black scribbles obscured whole sections that should have contained days – sometimes weeks – worth of work, and here and there, thick red arrows denoted shifting of resources from the black scribbles to blank spaces.
"What about the people who were working on the ignition stabilizing circuit?" the foreman wondered, tapping a scribbled-out square. "What's happened to 'em?"
"Finished," the engineer answered shortly, head down. "We moved them to interior electronics yesterday." The foreman didn't argue. He had barely been working on this project a month now, and already he understood why his predecessor had been so keen to quit. The whole thing was a logistical nightmare, a collage of schedules that were constantly having to be chopped down, spliced and rearranged to accommodate…well, no-one was really too sure what exactly they were accommodating. No expense had been spared – although the economies of over fifty countries were beginning to suffer for it, if what little news had managed to filter in to them was to be believed. Every single person present was among the world's elite in technicians, planners, electricians – and yet, nothing seemed to come together quite as it should have. Supervisors of whole sectors of the manual labour would come to the planning office and report a task complete sometimes days early – but they had learned early on that no resource was to be wasted, and the mechanics were immediately reassigned by the increasingly bewildered and frustrated planners. Logically, it should have caused massive problems with a backlog of tasks that remained on schedule, but – and this was what baffled the planners more than anything – in terms of progress, the whole project was running so smoothly it was almost surreal. No-one had ever been involved with anything like it – as one electrician had put it, you typically ran into more issues plugging in your first ammeter in college. And yet, here they were, dealing with designs that were impossibly complex almost to a point where people were suggesting it was not of this world, and not a hitch in sight that lasted more than an hour.
"So doesn't that mean the glaziers have to wait another day?" said the foreman, pointing to another box that was almost surrounded by scrawled notes and scribbles.
"No – they're…oh, this is impossible!" The engineer screwed her eyes shut and rubbed them with the heels of her palms, and then drew a deep breath and took another look at the charts. "O.K., so the interior electronics have to…"
"Should we tell that kid?" The engineer drew in her breath sharply and their eyes met across the table.
"No," she said firmly. "I don't care what the boss said – it's ridiculous." The foreman glanced furtively around, before leaning in and lowering his voice to a cautious whisper.
"Know what you mean – I wouldn't trust either of 'em myself." The engineer's eyes drifted across the expanse of the hangar to a lone figure on a balcony and lingered there sadly. So young – what could a teenager, barely out of secondary school, possibly be doing here? He couldn't have a chance of understanding anything that he was shown – but that seemed to be his whole purpose, as far as any of them could see. They hadn't been told anything about him – only his name, 'Thes', and the strict instruction to show and explain to him every slight glitch, no matter how trivial it seemed.
"It's just that he won't solve anything," said the engineer.
"Well, our great overlord seems to think otherwise!" the foreman muttered, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.
"He's a nutter. We all know that," the engineer began, and was hurriedly shushed by the foreman. She dropped her voice until it was barely audible and continued. "Reckon he really is that Saxon fella?"
"Nah. Some computer-hacking nobody, I should think – some lookalike milking it for all it's worth. Saxon got shot, didn't he?"
"Oh, and you've never seen James Bond?" the engineer snorted. "They can stage anything on TV these days. I reckon he was onto something with that alien stuff and the FBI wanted him."
"Well if he is, he was right about one thing," said the foreman darkly. "The government don't tell us nothing."
"It's 'don't tell us anything'," the engineer corrected him irritably, frowning at a tangle of red arrows. She ran her finger along one, but it quickly became obscured in the mess and she groaned, tugging at her hair. "What's going on? How are we supposed to get anywhere when all the plans end up looking like this?"
"Tell Thes."
"Tell Saxon," the engineer retorted, glancing briefly at the foreman and doing a double-take as he shook his head vehemently.
"I'd rather take my chances with Thes." The engineer scrutinized his face for several long minutes, and then rolled her eyes, exasperated.
"Fine. Go on – you go and get him, then." She couldn't help noting the relief that passed across the foreman's features as he turned and headed through the throngs of workers that milled around the structure taking shape in the centre of the hangar. When he returned, the nervous teenager was following a short distance behind, shuffling his feet on the slick concrete floor.
"Thes. Hi," the engineer greeted him, forcing a smile. "We're having a bit of a problem with the time-planning charts."
"Hi," Thes replied with an awkward half-smile, looking down at the table.
"I expect you can see the difficulty we're having," said the engineer. "All the plans look like this – things keep finishing early, and we have to reallocate the workers to something else, so everything's being rearranged all the time. We can't keep track of anything that's going on." Thes was silent for a long time, examining the plans thoughtfully while the engineer mouthed at the foreman over his shoulder.
"This is pointless." The foreman shrugged.
"We're all following orders here," he muttered.
"Do you understand?" the engineer asked Thes, not unkindly.
"I…uh…no, no – it's…" Thes stammered, shaking his head hard.
"Ah – glad to see you're making good use of your resources!" a voice called, and all three looked up to see the Master strolling over to them. He was dressed now in a white shirt with a black tie and smart, pressed black trousers. Over the top, he wore a black formal coat, and his hands were gloved. As he approached, he waved cheerfully, and the engineer noticed Thes's fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
"Well?" said the Master when he reached the table. "Aren't you going to say hello to your Master?" His eyes were fixed on the foreman, and the foreman replied immediately in a mechanical monotone.
"Hello Master." His eyes widened and he paled, raising a hand slowly to his mouth and then his head.
"Hi," Thes murmured, almost inaudibly. The engineer scowled and pressed her lips together defiantly, and to her surprise, the Master barely gave her a second glance, instead placing a hand on Thes's shoulder to steer him away from the table. To her annoyance, she found herself exhaling and relaxing as the two departed – but then the Master turned his head and caught her eyes, and she froze. It was only for a fraction of a second, but her mind seemed to run in slow motion and she found herself staring into a cold emptiness, eyes which glittered with ages-old madness and power. Then it was gone, and she realized that she had broken out into a cold sweat. Mind groping blindly for something to focus on, she looked down at the charts on the table, and a shudder shook her whole body. The illegible scrawls and scribbles were gone, replaced inexplicably with rows of tidy squares, clearly ordered and labeled in evenly-spaced print.
"But…wha…" she breathed, her throat constricting.
"Like I said," came the foreman's voice, and she raised her head. "The government don't tell us nothing."
Walking briskly to keep up, Thes tried to shrug the black-gloved hand off his shoulder or pull away, but the Master's grip held him firmly and he squirmed uncomfortably, his whole body tense. He was aware of the Master watching him closely, contemplatively. Almost as unpleasant was the knowledge that every worker that they passed as they crossed the hangar was watching them warily. It almost hurt, to be so mistrusted and feared by complete strangers – he wondered how the Master could be so unfazed by it, even seeming to enjoy it. Thes had tried, at first, to get along with the workers – but there were so many, their faces blurring into one as they came and went, and he realized quickly that they merely tolerated his presence and only spoke to him under the Master's orders. Worst of all, they regarded him in the same way he had seen them react to the Master – that apprehensive respect that was grown from uncertainty and fear. Thes felt more isolated and disconnected than he had ever felt in his entire life.
They stopped about halfway to the far end of the hangar beside an iron pillar with a PA system, and the Master took a long look at the growing shuttle before turning his back on it and pushing Thes by the shoulder to do the same.
"So," he said, removing his hand from Thes's shoulder and spreading his arms. "What do you think?" Perplexed, Thes stared at him.
"The…clothes?" he replied, feeling rather stupid as he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Well, I've got to look presentable, don't I?" the Master grinned, brushing a speck from the shoulder of the immaculate – and probably very expensive – jacket. "Earth's first ambassador to the stars, you know."
"But…" Thes shook his head. "The head planner told me yesterday that there's still probably at least a year to go."
"You'd better start getting ready too," the Master continued as if he hadn't heard.
"No," Thes insisted. "It's nowhere near finished. It's-" He jumped, startled, when the Master suddenly delightedly clapped his hands and laughed, turning back to face the shuttle.
"Oh, well done!" he exclaimed. "Good boy!" Thes turned around, already knowing what he would see – he knew perfectly well what the Master had been doing, how he used him. Sure enough, the bare bones of scaffold were now fleshed out with shining, riveted metal panels that coated a solid form of some sort, and enormous rocket engines jutted out from the bottom and sides. Each individual part was still incomplete – panels were missing from the outer shell; the rocket engines were hollow, containing only a few basic components; and there were no doors or glass in the windows – but it was a shock, nonetheless. Gazing at the awesome, towering structure, Thes couldn't help but feel a surge of pride – he was responsible for this!
"Feels good, doesn't it?" The Master was trying to make eye contact with him, but he was still fixated on the shuttle. "All that power. Just think, Thes – anything could be possible. Wouldn't you like that?"
"I…I'm….I'm not sure." Once the initial elation had passed, Thes was beginning to feel slightly nauseous, and he tore his eyes away from the shuttle, focusing instead on some chips of glass scattered by his feet. He began nudging them into a straight line with his toe, drawing comfort from the symmetrical pattern that he was creating with the chips evenly spaced apart and parallel with a crack in the concrete.
"Stop that," the Master snapped, attention back on the shuttle. "Watch – this is where we find out how much they take for granted here." Already, some of the workers had stopped in their tracks and were gaping, speechless. Gradually, more and more paused for a moment to mentally question, and as they did so, Thes's new version of reality overwrote their own and they saw. Mouths dropped open, tools fell from hands and a stunned silence descended on the whole hangar. Here and there, a few people had continued obliviously coming and going for some time, one or two even walking straight through the wall of the shuttle, and were now only waiting to see what had caused their workmates to react.
Thes felt his cheeks burn red as every pair of eyes fixed on him and the Master, and he hung his head, shrinking into himself and wishing he could sink through the floor. The Master stood straight, hands behind his back and eyes darting from face to face, noting those scattered people who appeared unfazed and were merely looking for the source of the sudden change in activity. With one hand, he picked up the microphone of the PA system and coolly addressed the workers.
"Keeping you all on your toes, then." The workers exchanged worried glances. Somewhere, a spanner clanged onto the concrete and the sound echoed off the high ceiling, ringing in their ears. Slowly and deliberately, the Master pointed to the workers he had noted and met their eyes so that even though some were almost right on the other side of the hangar, there could be no doubt who he had selected. He beckoned with one finger, and then spoke into the microphone again.
"Carry on." The workers began to move again, converging on their areas of expertise to reassess their tasks. None spoke a word, shooting furtive glances at the Master and Thes as they went about their work. What could they say? They had seen the impossible, and those who apparently hadn't were now quaking in dread as they set down their tools and began walking across the hangar towards the Master. The Master turned on his heel and headed for the edge of the hangar where a heavy wooden door led to a small office. He was smiling – Thes now felt sick to his stomach with guilt and hurried after him.
"What are you…what are they…what's going to…" he choked, unable to phrase more than fragments as his anxiety welled up within him.
"Just a little…selection," the Master replied happily. "Don't you worry – or would you like to help?" Thes nearly retched, and with his desperate mind racing, he stared in horror at the pallid faces of the summoned workers and they vanished. The Master stopped, hand on the doorhandle of the office, and scanned the hangar – and then his mouth twisted into a cruel smirk.
"Pity – I would have enjoyed killing them myself, but if you think you've earned it…"
"I didn't kill them," Thes mumbled, trying to steady his breathing although he could feel bile rising in his throat at the Master's words.
"Oh, yeah? What do you think you did to them, then?"
"I…I didn't kill them," Thes repeated adamantly. "That man…the Doctor…he said 'just not here at this particular time any more'." The Master rolled his eyes.
"No fooling you. You want to know what else the Doctor thinks?" he asked.
"The Doctor's still…?"
"Yes, he's alive – I need him, unfortunately. And he's got a theory about you."
"Me?"
"You, Theta Sigma Moreau," the Master's voice dropped to a whisper, "are not real. You are a by-product of the breaking down of reality. You don't exist." Thes could only stare. He wondered if the Master might be joking…he hoped it was a joke, because the alternative – that he had been roped into the schemes of a lunatic – was decidedly unpleasant. The idea was certainly bizarre enough to be a joke, but he had overheard enough snippets of conversation from the workers building the shuttle to suspect that the latter option might have more than a grain of truth.
"You're both insane!" he eventually declared, and turned his back, stalking away across the hangar towards the shuttle. The Master raised his eyebrows, and then shrugged in acknowledgement.
