CHAPTER ONE - TAKEN OUT OF TIME
Siralos was a planet-sized mass of malleable pscychic energy, and because of it's vast potential for misuse, the Time Lord's had kept it's location a well hidden secret. However, not even they could stop someone as determined as the Master from learning it's whereabouts.
The Eighth Doctor reclined in his favourite armchair, casually flicking through a first edition copy of Charles Dickens's "Hard Times". Beside the chair stood an old antique table, which had a gramophone placed on top of it. Idly, the Doctor tapped his foot to the sounds of a jazz quartet. Like his previous incarnation, the Eighth Doctor had retained his love of jazz. Around him, the background hum of the TARDIS was reassuring.
In his Eighth incarnation, the Doctor was a tall man with a friendly face and long curly hair. He was dressed in a dark brown frock-coat, over a white wing collar shirt, a pale blue cravat tied at his neck. A smart beige waistcoat and grey trousers completed the ensemble. The Eighth Doctor possessed a gift for slight of hand, and had a quiet, almost shy nature, but his compassion for all living things remained strong.
A chime sounded from somewhere in the shadows of the console room's vast, cathederal-like vaulted roof. The Doctor looked up from his book, and glanced at his pocket watch. Right on time!
The familiar rattle of the time rotor echoed around the console room as the TARDIS landed. The Doctor always looked forward to the first exciting step outside the TARDIS. Suddenly a deep booming filled the air. In an instant, the Doctor dropped his book and sprinted to the TARDIS console. He glanced up at the monitor screen on it's flexible z-spring. It read:
Destination: Siralos. Pre-Set Journey
"That's odd!" the Doctor said aloud. He had been planning a return trip to his home planet Gallifrey to inform the High Council of the Time Lord's of the Master's ultimate fate, but this was not Gallifrey, and the TARDIS had been deliberately piloted to Siralos, but by whom? A terrible suspicion began to form in the Doctor's mind. Had the Master really been destroyed? The renegade Time Lord had cheated death so many times in the past, was it possible he had somehow done it again? The Doctor hoped not.
The Master felt the presence of the mighty mind-planet as soon as the TARDIS arrived. Through the telepathic circuits, he had got the Doctor's TARDIS to hover above the planet's surface. In order to merge his mind with the huge pscychic sphere below, the Master would have to project his entire consciousness through space. It was a risky gamble, even by his standards, but it would have to be done, otherwise he would remain forever as a non-entity.
"What can't be cured, must be endured!" the Master chuckled to himself. Summoning up every last piece of his formidable willpower, he launched himself into space between Siralos and the TARDIS.
The Master felt the powerful energies swirl around him as he entered the very core of Siralos. The pressure of the huge pscychic entity amalgamating with his mind was almost too much to bear, even for a Time Lord, but the Master's mind had always been incredibly strong.
A sudden burst of excrutiating pain lanced through the Master's synapses as Siralos attempted to expunge his unwanted presence, but the renegade Time Lord was stronger, and Siralos became one with his consciousness. Siralos had been completely absorbed into the Master's mind.
"Mighty Siralos, I the Master command you now" the Master intoned. "I must have a new body!" Nothing happened. "Siralos, I am your Master, and you are but a slave, now obey and regenerate me!"
The Master increased his own willpower and Siralos's last reserves of defiance dissipated. The pscychic planet obeyed it's Master's demand. A strange energy began to surround the Master's disembodied consciousness, and a roughly humanoid shape began to form in the centre. Slowly, the figure grew in definition and the Master's mind was once again housed in a host body, but this time there was a difference, the Master's new body would not decay. At long last, he was whole again. He sighed in relief and flexed his black gloved fingers. A thought suddenly occured to him:
"Mirror!" he commanded. "I don't trust you entirely yet Siralos, I must know what I look like!" A large mirror, taller than the Master himself appeared out of thin air, and he stood back in amazement.
Siralos had generated a replica body of the Master as he appeared after he had stolen the Trakenite Consul, Tremas's body, and it seemed that the planet had made one or two improvements.
The Master's once trade mark black hair and beard had been replaced by a more elegant shade of silver-grey, perhaps Siralos was appealing to the Master's sense of vanity.
"My, how I've aged over the centuries!" he chuckled. He had to admit to himself though, that a slightly more mature look did suit him. He found it rather civilized. He turned sideways to the mirror and scowled. "Hmm, it seems I've put on weight too!".
Something else had changed about the Master too, his costume. Siralos had attired him in a burgundy casual jacket over a black collarless silk shirt, over which he wore a silver waistcoat. Black trousers and a matching high collared cloak with silver brocade completed the ensemble.
The Master was pleased with his new appearance. Snapping his fingers, he made the mirror disappear.
"Now Siralos, I must be comfortable!" A high backed chair appeared, flanked to left and right by two large obsidian obelisks. In front of the chair, which more correctly resembled a throne, two candles burned in their respective holders. The Master smiled at what he saw.
The Doctor crawled out from underneath the TARDIS console, cradling a jumble of loose circuit boards, which trailed wires. He still could not make sense of the situation. Suddenly, the TARDIS gave an enormous lurch to one side, sending the Doctor and his circuit boards flying. The Doctor ended up wrapped around the legs of his armchair, the circuit boards still clutched protectively in his arms.
The time rotor began to rise and fall, the TARDIS was once again in flight. The heavy peal of the cloister bell began to echo throughout the TARDIS. The Doctor's ears popped and he noticed that his limbs suddenly felt a great deal heavier. The circuit boards clattered onto the parquet floor.
A sudden feeling of nausia gripped the Doctor and he found that he couldn't summon the energy to get to his feet. His head began to spin, as the TARDIS console room began to dissolve in a whirlpool of blinding light. The Doctor's head fell with a thud against the floor and he knew no more.
The Master eagerly watched the events in the Doctor's TARDIS, and why not? After all, he had been responsible. Surrounded by the energies of Siralos, the Master rubbed his hands in anticipation.
"Excellent, Siralos!" he exulted. "You have done my bidding and taken that particular incarnation of the Doctor out of time altogether, where he will be useless to his other selves".
A terrible plan had formed in the Master's mind. The Eighth Doctor would remain frozen out of time until all his past incarnations had been destroyed, and then the Master would exact a final and decisive revenge on his oldest adversary. But he would be humiliated first.
The Master could not resist the urge to gloat at Siralos. "Mighty orb, planet of pure mental energy, I the Master have harnessed the majesty of your pscychic intellect and made you my puppet. Through you I shall fulfill my destiny to bend the universe unto my will!".
The Master closed his eyes in concentration, as he plotted the Doctor's downfall.
"To begin, I shall summon the seven complete incarnations of the Doctor, a Time Lord, who more than any other, has sought to frustrate my destiny. The Doctor's seven past incarnations shall be summoned hither, where they shall be my prisoners, to be dealt with as I see fit!".
The energies produced by the Master's dark thoughts crackled across the surface of Siralos, like lightning flashes in the sky.
"I shall encapsulate the Doctor's pscyche within the depths of the Determinant, the domain I have created through your conquered will, and I shall systematically erradicate all past and any futures of the one who has sought to undermine my supremacy".
Getting to his feet, the Master raised his hands into the air and chanted. Through his incantations, the deadly plan was put into effect.
At a single thought from the Master, a holographic projection appeared before him. He wanted to see the faces of his arch-nemesis. The first image showed small, dark-haired man in a straw Panama hat, wearing a tweed sports jacket, leather patches at the elbows, over an expensive white silk shirt and complementary black felt tie. A gold fob-watch chain hung from the pocket of his burgundy waistcoat. "Ah, the most recent! So busy setting plans and traps, he fails to see those set for him!".
The image changed to show a rather chubby man with a mop of curly blonde hair, attired in a garishly multi-coloured patchwork frock-coat, bright yellow trousers and green neck-tie. A cat badge was pinned onto his lapel. "Oh look, the blustering one in the stupid coat, how he struts and gloats!".
In his fifth incarnation, the Doctor was a slender, fair-haired young man, with a pleasant open face. He wore the costume of an Edwardian cricketer; striped trousers, fawn blazer with red piping, white cricketing sweater and an open-necked shirt. There was a fresh sprig of Celery in his button-hole. "Wait, there's the nice one! Such charm, such innocence, such naiveté, such a fool!"
The image changed again to that of a tall curly haired man with wide staring eyes and a toothy grin. He wore a burgandy russian trenchcoat over a wide lapelled shirt, complemented by a gold and purple waistcoat. A broad brimmed soft hat was jammed on the back of his head, and an incredably long red and purple scarf looped about his neck and trailed along the ground in his wake. This was the Doctor in his fourth incarnation. "The bohemian! The wanderer! One so keen to abandon his roots, that he abandoned his senses!"
Once more the image changed. This particular Doctor was a tall figure with a young-old face and a mane of white hair. He wore a red velvet smoking jacket and an open-necked ruffled shirt. The third Doctor was something of a dandy. "Now, there was a worthy opponent! Such cunning, such ingenuity, all wasted through that stubborn streak of goodness!"
The next incarnation of the Doctor appeared on the screen. An odd-looking little fellow in a shabby old frock-coat, and rather baggy check trousers. Untidy black hair, hung in a fringe, over his forehead, and his eyes seemed humerous and sad at the same time. "The comedian! But a competant comedian at that. Not quite the clown he looks, this one."
At last, the final image appeared. A white haired old man in an old-fashioned frock coat and wing-collared shirt. He had an old face, lined and wrinkled, yet somehow alert and vital. He had a commanding beak of a nose, which gave him a haughty, imperious look. He stood in a characteristic pose, gripping the lapels of his frock-coat with both hands. "And there's the first! Such wisdom, such intellect, but oh what a bore the fellow was."
Now that the many different faces of the Doctor had been shown to him, the Master was ready to activate the Determinant. Siralos, completely within the Master's thrall, was helpless to resist. A vast amount of psycho-kinetic energy flooded out of the planet and seeked out each of the respective Doctor's in their own timestreams.
The Master sat back in his throne and waited for the fun to begin.
Siralos was a planet-sized mass of malleable pscychic energy, and because of it's vast potential for misuse, the Time Lord's had kept it's location a well hidden secret. However, not even they could stop someone as determined as the Master from learning it's whereabouts.
The Eighth Doctor reclined in his favourite armchair, casually flicking through a first edition copy of Charles Dickens's "Hard Times". Beside the chair stood an old antique table, which had a gramophone placed on top of it. Idly, the Doctor tapped his foot to the sounds of a jazz quartet. Like his previous incarnation, the Eighth Doctor had retained his love of jazz. Around him, the background hum of the TARDIS was reassuring.
In his Eighth incarnation, the Doctor was a tall man with a friendly face and long curly hair. He was dressed in a dark brown frock-coat, over a white wing collar shirt, a pale blue cravat tied at his neck. A smart beige waistcoat and grey trousers completed the ensemble. The Eighth Doctor possessed a gift for slight of hand, and had a quiet, almost shy nature, but his compassion for all living things remained strong.
A chime sounded from somewhere in the shadows of the console room's vast, cathederal-like vaulted roof. The Doctor looked up from his book, and glanced at his pocket watch. Right on time!
The familiar rattle of the time rotor echoed around the console room as the TARDIS landed. The Doctor always looked forward to the first exciting step outside the TARDIS. Suddenly a deep booming filled the air. In an instant, the Doctor dropped his book and sprinted to the TARDIS console. He glanced up at the monitor screen on it's flexible z-spring. It read:
Destination: Siralos. Pre-Set Journey
"That's odd!" the Doctor said aloud. He had been planning a return trip to his home planet Gallifrey to inform the High Council of the Time Lord's of the Master's ultimate fate, but this was not Gallifrey, and the TARDIS had been deliberately piloted to Siralos, but by whom? A terrible suspicion began to form in the Doctor's mind. Had the Master really been destroyed? The renegade Time Lord had cheated death so many times in the past, was it possible he had somehow done it again? The Doctor hoped not.
The Master felt the presence of the mighty mind-planet as soon as the TARDIS arrived. Through the telepathic circuits, he had got the Doctor's TARDIS to hover above the planet's surface. In order to merge his mind with the huge pscychic sphere below, the Master would have to project his entire consciousness through space. It was a risky gamble, even by his standards, but it would have to be done, otherwise he would remain forever as a non-entity.
"What can't be cured, must be endured!" the Master chuckled to himself. Summoning up every last piece of his formidable willpower, he launched himself into space between Siralos and the TARDIS.
The Master felt the powerful energies swirl around him as he entered the very core of Siralos. The pressure of the huge pscychic entity amalgamating with his mind was almost too much to bear, even for a Time Lord, but the Master's mind had always been incredibly strong.
A sudden burst of excrutiating pain lanced through the Master's synapses as Siralos attempted to expunge his unwanted presence, but the renegade Time Lord was stronger, and Siralos became one with his consciousness. Siralos had been completely absorbed into the Master's mind.
"Mighty Siralos, I the Master command you now" the Master intoned. "I must have a new body!" Nothing happened. "Siralos, I am your Master, and you are but a slave, now obey and regenerate me!"
The Master increased his own willpower and Siralos's last reserves of defiance dissipated. The pscychic planet obeyed it's Master's demand. A strange energy began to surround the Master's disembodied consciousness, and a roughly humanoid shape began to form in the centre. Slowly, the figure grew in definition and the Master's mind was once again housed in a host body, but this time there was a difference, the Master's new body would not decay. At long last, he was whole again. He sighed in relief and flexed his black gloved fingers. A thought suddenly occured to him:
"Mirror!" he commanded. "I don't trust you entirely yet Siralos, I must know what I look like!" A large mirror, taller than the Master himself appeared out of thin air, and he stood back in amazement.
Siralos had generated a replica body of the Master as he appeared after he had stolen the Trakenite Consul, Tremas's body, and it seemed that the planet had made one or two improvements.
The Master's once trade mark black hair and beard had been replaced by a more elegant shade of silver-grey, perhaps Siralos was appealing to the Master's sense of vanity.
"My, how I've aged over the centuries!" he chuckled. He had to admit to himself though, that a slightly more mature look did suit him. He found it rather civilized. He turned sideways to the mirror and scowled. "Hmm, it seems I've put on weight too!".
Something else had changed about the Master too, his costume. Siralos had attired him in a burgundy casual jacket over a black collarless silk shirt, over which he wore a silver waistcoat. Black trousers and a matching high collared cloak with silver brocade completed the ensemble.
The Master was pleased with his new appearance. Snapping his fingers, he made the mirror disappear.
"Now Siralos, I must be comfortable!" A high backed chair appeared, flanked to left and right by two large obsidian obelisks. In front of the chair, which more correctly resembled a throne, two candles burned in their respective holders. The Master smiled at what he saw.
The Doctor crawled out from underneath the TARDIS console, cradling a jumble of loose circuit boards, which trailed wires. He still could not make sense of the situation. Suddenly, the TARDIS gave an enormous lurch to one side, sending the Doctor and his circuit boards flying. The Doctor ended up wrapped around the legs of his armchair, the circuit boards still clutched protectively in his arms.
The time rotor began to rise and fall, the TARDIS was once again in flight. The heavy peal of the cloister bell began to echo throughout the TARDIS. The Doctor's ears popped and he noticed that his limbs suddenly felt a great deal heavier. The circuit boards clattered onto the parquet floor.
A sudden feeling of nausia gripped the Doctor and he found that he couldn't summon the energy to get to his feet. His head began to spin, as the TARDIS console room began to dissolve in a whirlpool of blinding light. The Doctor's head fell with a thud against the floor and he knew no more.
The Master eagerly watched the events in the Doctor's TARDIS, and why not? After all, he had been responsible. Surrounded by the energies of Siralos, the Master rubbed his hands in anticipation.
"Excellent, Siralos!" he exulted. "You have done my bidding and taken that particular incarnation of the Doctor out of time altogether, where he will be useless to his other selves".
A terrible plan had formed in the Master's mind. The Eighth Doctor would remain frozen out of time until all his past incarnations had been destroyed, and then the Master would exact a final and decisive revenge on his oldest adversary. But he would be humiliated first.
The Master could not resist the urge to gloat at Siralos. "Mighty orb, planet of pure mental energy, I the Master have harnessed the majesty of your pscychic intellect and made you my puppet. Through you I shall fulfill my destiny to bend the universe unto my will!".
The Master closed his eyes in concentration, as he plotted the Doctor's downfall.
"To begin, I shall summon the seven complete incarnations of the Doctor, a Time Lord, who more than any other, has sought to frustrate my destiny. The Doctor's seven past incarnations shall be summoned hither, where they shall be my prisoners, to be dealt with as I see fit!".
The energies produced by the Master's dark thoughts crackled across the surface of Siralos, like lightning flashes in the sky.
"I shall encapsulate the Doctor's pscyche within the depths of the Determinant, the domain I have created through your conquered will, and I shall systematically erradicate all past and any futures of the one who has sought to undermine my supremacy".
Getting to his feet, the Master raised his hands into the air and chanted. Through his incantations, the deadly plan was put into effect.
At a single thought from the Master, a holographic projection appeared before him. He wanted to see the faces of his arch-nemesis. The first image showed small, dark-haired man in a straw Panama hat, wearing a tweed sports jacket, leather patches at the elbows, over an expensive white silk shirt and complementary black felt tie. A gold fob-watch chain hung from the pocket of his burgundy waistcoat. "Ah, the most recent! So busy setting plans and traps, he fails to see those set for him!".
The image changed to show a rather chubby man with a mop of curly blonde hair, attired in a garishly multi-coloured patchwork frock-coat, bright yellow trousers and green neck-tie. A cat badge was pinned onto his lapel. "Oh look, the blustering one in the stupid coat, how he struts and gloats!".
In his fifth incarnation, the Doctor was a slender, fair-haired young man, with a pleasant open face. He wore the costume of an Edwardian cricketer; striped trousers, fawn blazer with red piping, white cricketing sweater and an open-necked shirt. There was a fresh sprig of Celery in his button-hole. "Wait, there's the nice one! Such charm, such innocence, such naiveté, such a fool!"
The image changed again to that of a tall curly haired man with wide staring eyes and a toothy grin. He wore a burgandy russian trenchcoat over a wide lapelled shirt, complemented by a gold and purple waistcoat. A broad brimmed soft hat was jammed on the back of his head, and an incredably long red and purple scarf looped about his neck and trailed along the ground in his wake. This was the Doctor in his fourth incarnation. "The bohemian! The wanderer! One so keen to abandon his roots, that he abandoned his senses!"
Once more the image changed. This particular Doctor was a tall figure with a young-old face and a mane of white hair. He wore a red velvet smoking jacket and an open-necked ruffled shirt. The third Doctor was something of a dandy. "Now, there was a worthy opponent! Such cunning, such ingenuity, all wasted through that stubborn streak of goodness!"
The next incarnation of the Doctor appeared on the screen. An odd-looking little fellow in a shabby old frock-coat, and rather baggy check trousers. Untidy black hair, hung in a fringe, over his forehead, and his eyes seemed humerous and sad at the same time. "The comedian! But a competant comedian at that. Not quite the clown he looks, this one."
At last, the final image appeared. A white haired old man in an old-fashioned frock coat and wing-collared shirt. He had an old face, lined and wrinkled, yet somehow alert and vital. He had a commanding beak of a nose, which gave him a haughty, imperious look. He stood in a characteristic pose, gripping the lapels of his frock-coat with both hands. "And there's the first! Such wisdom, such intellect, but oh what a bore the fellow was."
Now that the many different faces of the Doctor had been shown to him, the Master was ready to activate the Determinant. Siralos, completely within the Master's thrall, was helpless to resist. A vast amount of psycho-kinetic energy flooded out of the planet and seeked out each of the respective Doctor's in their own timestreams.
The Master sat back in his throne and waited for the fun to begin.
