"At that point I concluded that a simpler, more direct solution was in order, so I seized a sword which had been hung for decorative purposes on the wall. With a loud cry of 'Haha! Like that, is it?' however, he immediately acquired a sword of his own."
"The Doctor?"
Perched on the comfortable but slightly less luxurious chair opposite, Jasmine's reserves of caution were draining away rapidly as she got caught up in this unlikely tale. The office was smaller than Feigle's, but it was warm, and pleasant, and had a contoured oval window with a stunning view of the stars beyond, and he had given her a glass of fruit juice. She leaned forward, elbows on the desk.
"Well, you must understand," he was saying, "That at this point in his life cycle he was a very different person from the two Doctors who I gather you've encountered. He was very quick to leap into the thick of the action, very keen on fast cars and flying machines, and he was a tall, lean, long-nosed individual with an impressively bouffant white hairstyle and a wardrobe of colourful, frilly clothes, all of which combined to give him the appearance of an angry parrot."
Caught by surprise by her snort of laughter during a mouthful of juice, Jasmine clapped a hand over her mouth, hoping none of it had come out through her nose. The Master paused with an indulgent air while she collected herself.
"So who won this swordfight of yours?" she prompted.
"Ah, well, I would like you to bear in mind that I had been in jail for several months at this point and wasn't in the peak of physical condition. He was also at the time considerably taller than I..."
"You lost, then?"
"Strictly speaking, what happened was..."
He was interrrupted by the sharp hiss of the doors retracting.
"What the hell's going on here?" demanded Feigle, striding in, two guards at his back. "I told you to take her back to her cell. I will have my orders obeyed!"
The Master leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped at chest height, his dark eyes upon the armed men advancing towards him. There was no tension or anger in his posture, but an absolute stillness. A wrinkle of displeasure marked his brow for an instant, and then was gone.
"I decided to talk to her for a little longer," he said easily. "I thought perhaps I might gain her confidence and she might let slip some valuable piece of information about the Doctor."
Feigle blinked, his glance flicking between the two people sitting at the desk.
"Well now you've told her," he objected. "She knows what you're up to."
"Ah, I'm afraid she'd already guessed that," said the Master with an approving look at Jasmine. "And since I'm similarly aware of her ambition to find out the reason for her incarceration here, we are, so to speak, circling one another."
An ugly twist of contempt knotted in Feigle's face, and he lunged forward to grab Jasmine by the hair, dragging her agonisingly up out of her seat and hurling her with a violent wrench into the arms of his soldiers. After all she'd endured, it seemed as though these few minutes of civilised treatment had lowered her resistance, and she couldn't withhold a cry of pain.
"Take her away," Feigle ordered. "Lock her up."
They obeyed, and Jasmine tottered resignedly out in their grip. The Master had watched the scene placidly, and Feigle rounded on him.
"And you! You were hired because you're supposed to know the Doctor. This whole project was your idea, so you'd better make it work."
"It'll work," the Master said. "Everything is proceeding according to plan."
"According to plan! He almost got her out today."
"But I stopped him. As I intend to stop everything else he attempts. Until the time comes."
Feigle seemed momentarily calmed, but with a twitch of nervous energy was leaning forward across the desk.
"You've got to find out how he did it! If he has access to the station computers..."
"He has no such thing. He has access to a few peripheral functions like security cameras and alarm bells. All the station's vital functions are on closed systems."
But how can he hook in from outside to our computer network?"
"He can't. The base is too heavily shielded. Nobody could patch in an external link."
"But..."
"Therefore," the Master continued calmly, "He is not working from outside. He is inside the station at this moment."
Feigle's constant, quivering motion was stilled for a moment, his face blank.
"Ridiculous!" he protested. "You said yourself the base is too heavily shielded. He could never get in without being detected."
"Wrong, I'm afraid. With a Gallifreyan time-space capsule, he can go wherever he wants."
"But... what... then... he's somewhere around here at this very moment! We have to find him!"
"Indeed. I suggest you order the service droids to scour every square centimetre of the station from the storage holds to the hull cavity and not forgetting the ventilation system."
"Yes. Yes." Feigle's eyes narrowed. "I'll have the service droids search the station. We know what he looks like, we know what his craft looks like. There's no possible way he can stay hidden."
"Good thinking," said the Master drily. "I'm sure your elegant plan will bring results in short order."
Feigle looked at him suspiciously, and leaned forward again.
"And as for you..." He jabbed his stiffened finger into the centre of the Master's chest. "You've got work to do, remember? I want to see that girl screaming and begging. The vid on my desk by tomorrow evening, or else maybe you'll be starring in one of your own."
His upper lip drew back to show his teeth in a semblance of a grin, and with a sharp about turn he marched out of the room.
The Master sat back, and rubbed his large hands slowly together while the doors slid shut and returned his privacy. A slow smile gathered and spread across his face, and a low chuckle emanated from his throat.
"I can't believe you're actually working for this character."
The Master paused, then swivelled his chair at a gradual pace until he was facing the voice's source. He showed neither displeasure nor surprise. His eyes glittered.
"My dear Doctor. What an unexpected pleasure."