an Emergency/Doctor Who crossover story
Johnny, Ace and Dr. Brackett turned to find the Master standing in the middle of the hallway. He put his hand to the back of his head, and brought it forward again, stained with blood. "Very clever, Ace, bashing me over the head with that vase," he said. "Unfortunately for you, however, this body seems to possess a pretty thick skull."
"Dr. Langford?" Dr. Brackett asked uncertainly, "Steve?"
"Ah, Dr. Brackett," the Master crooned mockingly. "I'm impressed! Your skull is quite substantial as well."
Dr. Brackett's blood ran cold at the menacing tone, and the implication of the words made his head throb. This person standing before them looked like the Rampart General Hospital's new cardiologist Steven Langford, even sounded like him, but this was a colder, more sinister, more evil Dr. Langford. Dr. Brackett looked to Ace and Johnny, and found they both seemed resigned to this turn of events, although neither of them looked happy about it.
"I'll thank you to return my patient to me," the Master said, removing a short, black, stick-like object from his lab coat pocket and pointing it at them.
"No." Ace and Johnny spoke together.
The Master smiled, amused by their bravado.
Johnny heard the elevator doors finally slide open behind them. He turned and quickly shoved the gurney carrying the Doctor back into the elevator, barely registering the fact that the car was full, shouting at Ace and Dr. Brackett: "Go, go, go!" He herded them into the elevator and turned around, instinctively using his body to shield them.
There was no sound, but a bright beam of light emanated from the Master's black stick, and slammed into Johnny's chest like a prizefighter's fist, knocking the air out of his lungs. Behind him, Johnny could hear several voices calling out to him, and heard the elevator doors swoosh shut. He stood frozen, attempting to inhale, but finding his lungs and his chest constricted, as though he was bound in a tight, crushing embrace. Pain unlike any other he'd experienced exploded throughout his body, radiating out from his chest up to his head, out to his arms, and down to his feet. He had the strange sensation of floating, or falling, and in some way, shape or form, he felt as though he was shrinking, as if the very flesh and bone of him was being made smaller, more compact, like a piece of paper being crumpled up in a giant fist. The ceiling suddenly seemed a very long way away, and the walls suddenly became taller and taller, and even the Master appeared to loom larger above him. Despite not being able to take a breath, Johnny found somehow he could still scream, as the sound of his own agonized cry mingled with the Master's maniacal laugh and echoed in his head.
Ace backed up until she bumped against the interior wall of the TARDIS, her hands in front of her, attempting to fend off the onslaught of questions and demands of the advancing firemen.
"Who are you?"
"What is this place?"
"Who was that doctor that shot Johnny?"
"What the hell is going on here?"
"Please," she begged, "please, let me explain!"
"SHUT UP, YOU TWITS!"
Chet, Marco, Mike and Roy went silent, and all but stood at attention as their Captain's voice bellowed authoritatively though the control room. Ace had lead them there after the elevator landed in the basement, and the four firemen and their Captain along with Dr. Brackett were gobsmacked by what they found behind the doors of the blue Police Box, which itself was an anomaly. Nothing could have prepared them for a box that was bigger on the inside than on the outside. Neither could they be prepared for what they saw happen to their friend and colleague, Johnny. They had been headed up to fetch the wayward paramedic based on information provided by Dixie McCall, who had told them Johnny was alive and well and wandering about Rampart with the girl, Ace. They had not expected to arrive on the fifth floor, and have a gurney with an unconscious man shoved into the elevator car with them, along with Ace and Dr. Brackett. They had not expected to see, before the elevator doors had closed on them, a man wearing the long, white lab coat of a medical doctor shooting a beam of light at Johnny, striking him full on, and enveloping his entire body in a bright green glow; nor were they prepared to hear his agonizing scream. The onslaught of questions and demands had begun in the descending elevator, and had only escalated when they entered the TARDIS.
Once the situation was under control, Dr. Brackett took the opportunity to check on the Doctor's condition. Roy didn't wait for permission from Captain Stanley, but moved over to help, and to examine the bloody area on Dr. Brackett's head he'd noticed.
"I'm fine, Roy, really," Dr. Brackett said as Roy began poking around the injured scalp. "It's just a small laceration, it's pretty much stopped bleeding now. I've just got a small bump and a hell of a headache." He tried to smile, but it came out more of a grimace as Roy probed a particularly tender spot around the cut.
"Still, I'd like to patch that up for you . . ." Roy began.
"We don't really have time for that now," Dr. Brackett insisted.
Roy sighed. Stubborn! he thought, then decided to change the topic.
"How's he doing?" Roy asked, indicating the Doctor.
"Amazingly well," Kel answered, trying not to sound so surprised, but finding it hard not to be. Here was a man who had just come out of open-heart surgery not too long ago, and had since been removed from his recovery room, shoved into an elevator full of firemen, and rushed into what could only be described as an alien ship, and he was perfectly stable, his colour was good, and Dr. Brackett could swear the incision was actually starting to heal!
"Well, goodie for him!" Chet could stay quiet no longer. "What about Johnny?"
"Shut up, Kelly!" Captain Stanley shouted.
"Dammit, Cap, Johnny was shot. We all saw him get hit with that . . . thing . . . before the elevator doors closed. He could be wounded, or . . . or. . . dammit, Cap, we've got to go after him! We're his only hope!"
"Kelly, you twit, we're in a hospital!" Stanley argued. "There are probably doctors and nurses swarming all around John, helping him, right now!"
"No, Cap, you're wrong!" Chet insisted. "That floor was empty! There's no one there, except that crazy doctor who shot John!"
"That's ridiculous!"
"No, it's not, Cap! Didn't you feel it? That . . . that . . . feeling of really not wanting to be up there? I . . . I can't explain it, really. Just a feeling, like someone, or something, was telling us to go away. But, we have to fight it! We have to go get John!"
Hank paused. He had felt something as the elevator had approached the seventh floor, and he had really not wanted to go there at all. He probably would have turned back, had he not been so determined to find John Gage - mostly so he could beat the crap out of him for scaring them all like that, and for being so irresponsible, and just down-right stupid. No, there was no strange force, no one trying to keep them away. It sounded too much like science fiction, or some of those other weird things, like horoscopes and horror movies, that Chet was always into.
"Kelly, I'm sure it was just your imagination . . ."
"No, Captain Stanley, there was something up there. A force field of some kind," Ace stepped up to stand by Chet, supporting his theory and offering a possible explanation: "I felt it, too, and so did Johnny. It was probably the Master using his mind control to clear out the floor where the Doctor was. So no one would interfere when he tried to steal the Doctor's body, and escape."
"Steal his body!" Hank exclaimed.
"As strange as it may seem, Captain Stanley, I'm inclined to agree with Ace," Dr. Brackett stepped up also. "I can't quite explain it, but I was up on that floor when this man," he indicated the Doctor on the gurney behind him, "was in surgery, and the floor was bustling with activity, as it should've been. Later, when Johnny, Ace and I were being threatened by Dr. Langfor. . . I mean, the Master, the place was, well, empty! I personally didn't notice any strange feelings, or felt like my mind was in someone else's control, but I had just been whacked over the head, discovered the body of a man who'd apparently been murdered, and seen a highly respected cardiologist threaten us with a strange weapon, and eventually shoot John Gage with it as we escaped." He shrugged. "I can't even begin to explain all this, but I, too, believe that the fifth floor is empty, and I don't believe anyone is going to be going up there anytime soon."
"See, Cap?" Chet asked, "If anyone's going to help Johnny, it's going to have to be us."
Hank pondered what he'd heard. If Chet, Ace and Dr. Brackett were correct, and John Gage was alone up there, wounded, and trapped by a mad man, and surrounded by a force field of some kind that would prevent anyone else from going up there, then Chet was right: They really were John's only hope. Looking at Mike and Marco, and glancing over to Roy, who was pretending to check out the Doctor, but was really watching his Captain out of the corner of his eye, he could see their faces echoed Chet's sentiments. Like soldiers, firemen never left a man behind if there was any chance at all of recovery. Even if that recovery was for nothing more than a funeral.
Hank quickly considered his options, and decided they would have to go after John. Time was of the essence, he knew. Johnny had been shot by something, and could possibly be bleeding to death, but, still, it was important to know exactly what they were dealing with to prevent another Code I. This was not a warehouse fire, or a brush fire, or any kind of fire at all. This was not some guy who fell while rock climbing, or whose boat was capsizing on a lake. This was a Rampart doctor shooting a paramedic with a glowing green light. This was a strange girl, an unconscious man, and a battered and bleeding Dr. Brackett. This was a wooden blue box that was larger inside than out. This was an entire floor of a major hospital emptied by some sort of mental force field. This was outside the realm of his experience, and Captain Hank Stanley wanted to know exactly what he was dealing with.
He turned to Ace. "I need you to tell me exactly what we're up against here. We're firemen. We know how to fight fires and how to rescue people, but this . . ." he opened his arms, looking around the alien ship. "this is beyond us. What we saw happen to Johnny is beyond us. We've got to know what we're dealing with before we go out there. Before someone else gets hurt."
"Alright." Ace took a deep breath and gave her audience a quick overview of the TARDIS, space and time travel, the Doctor, Time Lords, and most importantly of all, the Master. It was a greatly condensed version from the one she'd told Johnny earlier, but they didn't really have time for in-depth details. She could see the firemen were eager to go after Johnny, even though there would be little to find, but she left that part out, for now.
When she had finished, Hank nodded thoughtfully. He tried to stay with her on most of it, but it was all so strange and bizarre, a lot of it just went right over his head. His main concern was to rescue Johnny, and he hoped they didn't run into this Master character along the way, because he sounded like bad news.
"What about this Master guy? How do we fight him when we get up there?" Hank asked.
"You won't have to: He won't have stuck around. He'll be off planning his next move," Ace replied.
Hank nodded, and turned back to his men. " Roy, you stay here with Dr. Brackett and the patient. We'll probably need your medical expertise, so we don't want you getting hurt. The rest of you men are with me. We'll go back up to the fifth floor via the elevator, grab Johnny, and get back down here quick."
The men nodded their understanding, and moved towards the door as Ace stepped forward.
"What about me, Captain?"
Hank turned and leveled a glare at her that made her take two steps back.
"You . . ." he growled, advancing on her. "You watch the outside of this . . . this . . . thing, just in case Johnny finds his way back here without us, or that crazy man gets down here before we get back. Okay, men, let's go."
Ace moved to the console, and activated the lever that opened the doors. When the men were through, she closed it again, and switched on the viewing screen which flicked to life on the wall behind her. Roy and Dr. Brackett moved to stand next to her, and together they watched the firemen head out to rescue one of their own.
Once outside, Hank turned to his men. "I don't know exactly what we're going to find up there," he said after a moment's contemplation. "But, I want all of you to keep your heads! I know you all care about Johnny; so do I, but we have to remain calm and professional, so we don't lose anyone else."
"Cap?" Chet spoke up quietly. "Is this a rescue operation, or a recovery?"
Hank looked at Chet, holding his gaze steadily. "I don't know, Kelly. I don't know."
The Master leaned back in the oversized, black leather chair and placed his feet, crossed at the ankles, on the edge of the dark, wooden desk, gloomily pondering the events of the day. He was miffed that Ace and her cohorts had managed to get the Doctor away from him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before he would get his hands on his prize again. He recalled the Doctor's TARDIS had still been at the park when he left, and he knew Ace wouldn't leave the hospital with the Doctor in such a vulnerable state. He had used his powerful gift of mental persuasion to convince everyone on the fifth floor that it wasn't a very good idea to stay there anymore, and had a mental force field in place to convince others it was not a good idea to stop there. He frowned, trying to figure out how Ace and that fireman were able to get through it, and to the Doctor. He didn't know how they'd managed it, and was glad he was able to take out his frustrations on the interfering fireman. The man's cries had been like music to the Master's ears, and he grinned now, chuckling, and closed his eyes, reliving his moment of triumphant revenge over and over.
Ace, Dr. Brackett and Roy continued to stare silently at the viewing screen long after Captain Stanley and the crew had disappeared. Finally, Dr. Brackett turned to Ace.
"I need to know what kind of weapon that was the Master used on Johnny. I need to know how to treat him when they get back here with him."
Ace had been dreading the question, but knew it was only a matter of time before either the physician or the paramedic asked her. She sighed and hung her head, searching for the right words.
"It's called the Tissue Compression Eliminator," she began. She looked up to face the two men, and found they both looked afraid and confused.
"It . . . basically it compresses living tissue . . . shrinks it."
"Shrinks it?" Roy shouted. "You mean that thing shrank Johnny?"
"Basically, yes."
"That's impossible!" Dr. Brackett insisted.
"It's possible," Ace said sadly, "and, there's no way to fix it. No way to bring him back. I'm sorry. Johnny's dead."
The elevator reached the fifth floor, and the doors slid open. The corridor appeared empty, but, even so, Captain Stanley lead his men out cautiously. He was nearly overwhelmed by a strong sense of uneasiness, a desire to be anywhere but here, but he forced himself to move forward and step off the elevator. He heard the hesitant rustling of turnout coats, and shuffling of booted feet as his crew fell in behind him, and wondered if they were as uncomfortable here as he was.
It was so small, he almost missed it; very nearly tripped over it, but something made him to look down on the floor to see it before that happened. He stopped, felt someone - probably Kelly - bump into the back of him and mumble an apology, but he remained steadfast, staring down at the floor with growing comprehension and horror.
"Oh, God!" Captain Stanley's voice was a barely perceptible whisper. He fell to his knees repeating the oath over and over, and leaned to down to pick it up. 'Not possible! This is not possible!' his brain screamed, but his eyes beheld the truth: Lying before him on the shiny linoleum hospital floor was John Gage, his once tall, lanky frame reduced to the size of a Barbie doll. Captain Stanley barely registered the horrified cries of his men as they reacted to what they saw, as he gently picked up the body. It was barely a foot long, and was still warm, but was quite obviously not living. Hank held the weight of it in both his hands, watching the tiny arms and legs flopping lifelessly as he shifted it, swallowing hard against the bile that rushed up into his throat. Without speaking, he moved onto one knee, then shakily got to his feet, his eyes never leaving the body in his hands. He turned and walked back to the elevator, which somehow had remained open. He didn't notice if his men followed him or not.
Dr. Brackett felt sick. If what Ace had told him about the weapon that hit Johnny was true, it was too, too horrible. He could not imagine the pain and agony the young man had gone through as he was slowly crushed to death within his own body. His mind raced with the knowledge that this mad man was running around loose in the hospital with a weapon capable of compressing human flesh. The sudden anger he felt towards the girl for not telling the firemen of the danger they were heading into, or what horror awaited them on the fifth floor, was short lived, as Ace announced the return of Captain Stanley and his crew. Dr. Brackett looked up to the screen to see three firemen in various states of shock returning to the TARDIS, lead by Captain Stanley who held a small figure in his hands.
Ace opened the door for them, and they entered. Roy and Dr. Brackett rushed to the Captain who held the body out to them, his eyes wide and pleading. Roy took one look at his dead partner, and turned away, unable to face it. Dr. Brackett flinched in horror, but dug deep inside himself in search of the calm, detached professionalism that was now needed. He reached up and carefully relieved Captain Stanley of his tiny burden, adjusting the weight in his hands.
"Is there somewhere we could lay him?" Dr. Brackett asked Ace quietly. She looked at the body of the young man, remembering only a few hours ago talking, laughing, flirting with him, remembering his charming, lopsided grin, his chivalrous act of opening the squad door for her, how she thought he seemed such a nice bloke. Now he was gone. Dead. Another victim of the Master. She nodded to Dr. Brackett, and without speaking, lead him out of the control room to an adjacent room, where the doctor laid Johnny's body on a small side table, and looked around for something to cover him with.
"Here, use this," Chet stood in the doorway, casting a tall shadow over Ace, Dr. Brackett and Johnny, holding a folded, crisp white handkerchief in his outstretched hand. Dr. Brackett reached out and took the handkerchief, unfolded it and covered John's body with it.
"You're sure he's dead, doc?" Chet asked, already knowing the answer, but feeling compelled to ask it.
Dr. Brackett turned and put his hand on Chet's shoulder, understanding what the man must be feeling. "Yes, Chet, I'm sure. I'm so sorry."
Chet nodded, staring at the draped form.
"Come on," Dr. Brackett said. "Let's go back to the others."
"Just a minute, Doc," Chet said. "I'd like minute alone with him, please."
Dr. Brackett nodded, and he and Ace left Chet alone.
Ace and Dr. Brackett returned to the control room to find the men silently dealing with the death of their colleague each in their own way: Mike sitting on the floor, his back against the wall of the TARDIS, head in his hands; Marco fondling the string of rosary beads he kept in his turnout coat pocket, his lips moving in silent prayer; Captain Stanley leaning against the TARDIS console, his eyes staring unfocused at the viewing screen; and Roy went through the motions of checking on the Doctor's condition, silent tears streaming down his face. Dr. Brackett moved to join him, then stopped, putting his hands in his lab coat pockets, and stood staring at the floor.
Seeing that the men needed time to deal with the tragedy, Ace quietly backed out into the corridor, and left them alone to grieve. She paused by the room where Johnny lay, where Chet was still standing over the small body, her attention captured by what she heard.
"God, Johnny, where do I begin? Damn! What the hell happened, Gage? What were you thinking? But, that's just it, isn't it: You weren't thinking! You're always getting yourself into scrapes, aren't you? Always leaping before looking. Always thinking about others before yourself. Always having to save people without any regard to your own well being! Hell, you even saved my ass a time or two as well, and you never seemed to care if you got hurt in the process, or not. I don't know that I ever thanked you properly. Not that you'd accept it at all, Mister It's-All-Part-Of-The-Job. But, really, seriously. Thanks, man! Thanks for everything. And, I don't mean for pushing me out of the way of falling beams, dragging my ass out of a burning warehouse, digging me out of a pile of debris, or patching up my scrapes and cuts - thanks for all those things, too, but, also, thanks for being the perfect pigeon. Were you truly that gullible, or were you just going along with it? Were you expecting to get soaked every time you opened the cupboard door, or got into your locker? Or were you just humouring me, Gage? Damn. I guess I'll never know, now. Farewell, my perfect pigeon! It's really too bad, you know? I had years worth of pranks to play on you! Years! I hadn't yet had the opportunity to put three-day-old Mackerel in your bed, or stuff pudding in your socks! I was going to fill your precious green ink pen with maple syrup, and hide all your clean uniforms in the hose tower before tricking you into opening the cupboard door, only to be smacked with a cream pie! I don't know how, or where, or when, but, I'll get the Master for this, Johnny! I swear to you! If I have to hunt him down to the ends of the Universe, I'll get him for this! If it takes me the rest of my . . ."
"I'll help."
Chet jumped and turned towards the voice, clutching his chest.
"Crikey, woman, don't do that!"
"Sorry," Ace said sheepishly. She had been standing in the doorway listening to Chet's speech. She'd gotten caught up in his passionate promise of revenge, and spoke aloud without realizing it. "What did you have in mind?"
"I don't know, yet," Chet admitted, as his pulse and respiration returned to normal. "I don't suppose you have any brilliant ideas?"
"Well, as a matter of fact," Ace stepped fully into the room, and headed over to the large table in the back, which was lined with a maze of tubes and glasses. Chet was amazed he hadn't noticed the almost complete chemistry lab that had been right behind him all along. Ace knelt down behind the desk, and came up holding a can of what appeared to be hair spray.
"Oh, great," Chet moaned, "what are you going to do with that? Give the guy a bad hair-do?"
"I'll have you know," Ace said, slightly offended, "that inside this innocent looking canister is a wickedly powerful bomb, made with my very own nitro-9!"
Chet blanched. Although the number nine meant nothing to him, the word nitro did.
"You've got nitro-glycerin in that can?"
"Yup!" Ace grinned and casually tossed the canister into the air, catching it again with one hand.
"God, Ace, don't do that!"
"Don't worry," she said, "I know what I'm doing! I made this stuff up, remember?"
"Yeah, so you said," Chet said, unconvinced. He still wasn't sure he could trust this girl or not. In a way, he held her responsible for Johnny's death. It was this girl, after all, who'd convinced Johnny to help her and the Doctor; convinced him to rescue the Doctor from the Master . . .
Chet sighed and hung his head, shaking it sadly. No. It wasn't Ace's fault, he knew that. It was no one's fault. Johnny was just being Johnny. He probably volunteered to help them without ever considering the consequences. Of course, when you're a firefighter with the LA County Fire Department going off to rescue someone, you don't often consider the possibility of battling evil aliens, and being zapped by a beam of light and ending up a foot long; it just didn't come with the territory.
"You alright?"
Chet looked up to see Ace watching him, curiously, tossing the canister of nitro-9 back and forth between her hands.
"Yeah," he answered, his eyes following the canister like a tennis fan watching the ball at Wimbledon. "I was just thinking . . . hey, would you mind not doing that?"
"Oh, sorry."
"Anyway," he continued, "I was just thinking of paying that Master character a visit."
"Well, that's dense!" Ace snorted. "You saw what he did to your friend there," she waved her hand towards John's lifeless body. "He'd be more than happy to have you join him, I'm sure."
Chet sighed, "I'm not gonna just go up there and bust in on the guy, and attack him, or anything. I'm gonna sit down and talk with him . . .Time Lord to Time Lord."
Ace choked, coughing and sputtering, all the while trying not to laugh, or drop the nitro-9.
"You?" She managed finally. "You a Time Lord!"
Chet slowly opened the door, and stepped out onto the fifth floor of Rampart General Hospital. The entire floor was devoid of human life, as was the entire hospital by this point, he surmised, and he could easily understand why: An intense wall of energy surrounded this place; a firm mental Keep Out! that most humans would just blindly obey. The message had not gotten through to Ace or Johnny, however, perhaps, he speculated, because it hadn't been as strongly established when they were here earlier. It had also not deterred Captain Stanley and his crew from coming to look for John Gage not once, but twice, but they were dealing with a strong determination to find their friend. Chet's glance fell to the shiny linoleum floor where the tiny body of Johnny Gage had been discovered. Such a waste! Johnny had been with the department for a few years, and was still a young man, and had a great future ahead of him. It was too bad, really. A great loss to the department, the city, hell, even the planet. Chet pulled his gaze away from the floor and headed off down the hallway in search of the doctor's offices, still unsure of what he would do or say, but knowing he had to do or say something.
Ace had given him all the information he needed to make a determination about the Master and his powers. He was pretty sure he would not be able to overpower the man mentally, and decided to go a different route. If you can't dazzle them with your wit, baffle them with bullshit! Wasn't that how the saying went? His whole plan depended upon his ability to keep his head, to not get overly emotional, and to keep one step ahead of the Master. It would not be easy: Already he was struggling to keep his Irish temper in check.
Chet finally reached the door with Dr. Steven Langford's name on it. He knew that Dr. Steven Langford was not inside that office, even though the man he was about to face looked just like him. It wasn't him, though. It was someone else; someone who was evil, intelligent, completely devoid of a conscience, and very, very dangerous. He wondered for a moment what the hell he was doing. Why not just call the cops and let them take care of this killer? Huh. As if the cops would believe them. As if they could even explain to the cops what they had seen, what had happened to Johnny, or who the Doctor or the Master were, or where they were from. No, they'd probably all end up in the psych ward, and that wouldn't help Johnny at all. Not that anything could anymore, but getting revenge on his killer, and keeping the man Johnny gave his life for safe, until he could recover and go on his merry way, might just make them all feel a little better.
He paused a moment, taking a deep breath and summoning up all his courage, before opening the door and striding in as if he owned the place.
Captain Hank Stanley paused at the threshold of the room, steeling himself. One by one, the men under his command at Station 51, as well as Dr. Brackett, had entered this room and paid their respects to one of their own, and now, it was his turn. He forced himself to move forward to the side table where a large white handkerchief covered the small, lifeless form of one of his men, John Gage. As a firefighter, an engineer, and now a Captain, Hank knew the dangers of the job, and often lay awake nights wondering how he would handle the death of one of his men, if it ever happened. He tried to prepare himself by creating scenarios and composing speeches of what he would say to the man's family, friends, and to the rest of the crew. Now, his worst nightmare had come true: One of his men was dead, and he was completely unprepared to deal with it. He was still confused as to how all this had come about in the first place, despite Ace's explanation and Dr. Brackett's eye witness account, as well as what he himself had seen before the elevator doors closed. Time and space travel, people from other planets, a man who could steal people's bodies and had a weapon that could kill a man by shrinking his body to the size of a doll! It was too far beyond his comprehension.
Hank opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't find any words. John Gage had been one of the best firefighters Hank had had the privilege to lead, and had also been an amazing paramedic, despite his occasional obnoxious behaviour. To have been killed in such a horrific manner seemed like an insult to a man who dedicated his life to saving others.
Hank closed his mouth and sighed, then opened it and tried again.
"I don't know what to say, Johnny." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat loudly before continuing. "John Gage, you were a damn good firefighter, a damn good paramedic, and a damn good man! I am proud to have had the opportunity to work with you, to get to know you. You always went above and beyond the call of duty - sometimes to your own detriment, but you never thought about yourself. The victims you were trying to help were always foremost in your mind. There are people alive and walking around enjoying their lives today because you were there to rescue them. You saved so many lives! I'm sure there were many more people you were supposed to rescue, but for this . . . this! You deserved so much better than this! God! I don't understand any of this, John! What the hell happened? How the hell did you end up in this situation? I . . . I keep thinking . . . this can't be real! That this all has to be a bad dream, and any minute now the tones will go off, and I'll wake up. Wake up! I want to wake up, dammit!"
Finally, Hank let go. He'd remained stoic for the rest of his crew, letting them be as emotional as they needed to be, but, as their Captain, he felt had to hold it together in front of them, had to be strong in front of them, for them. But, now, alone in the room with the shrunken corpse of one of his best men, Hank let go, sinking to his knees, his head in his hands, he wept uncontrollably, knowing this was all too real, and knowing this was one nightmare from which he would never wake up.
The Master looked up, surprised to see a fireman standing in his office.
"Where's the fire?" he quipped.
"Heh. Very funny," the man said humorlessly, giving the Master a good, hard glare, and then began looking around the Master's office appreciatively.
"Niiiiice!" He wandered over to a cabinet where there was a lead crystal decanter half full of an amber liquid and several small crystal tumblers. Wordlessly, he picked up the decanter, removed the stopper, and poured a generous amount of liquid into one of the tumblers. Replacing the stopper and setting the decanter back down, he picked up the tumbler and examined the colour of the liquid. He held it out, swirling it in the glass, admiring the play of light on it. Bringing it back down, he stuck his nose in the glass and inhaled deeply, exhaling with a sigh. Finally, he brought the glass to his lips and drank deep, moaning with pleasure as the smooth liquid warmed his tongue and throat.
"Mmmm. Irish Whiskey! At least 20 years old, I'd say by the complexity, and aged, if I'm not mistaken, in oak."
The Master raised his eyebrows, impressed by both the stranger's boldness and his appreciation for fine liquor. He watched the stranger silently wandering around the office, occasionally picking up items off the side table and coffee table, scrutinizing each with apparent boredom, and setting them down again before turning to closely examine the numerous diplomas and certificates of achievement lining the walls. Finally, the fireman came to sit in one of the two soft, overstuffed chairs in front of the Master's desk, sinking down into it, crossing his left ankle over his right knee.
The man eyed the Master steadily. "So, you're the one they call the Master."
"Yes, I am," the Master answered, frowning as he tried unsuccessfully to establish any kind of mental hold on the man sitting before him. "Who might you be?"
"I've heard of you," the man continued, ignoring the Master's question. "A long time ago. I remember hearing stories about you whispered in darkened corners. Your villainous exploits a part of the "Things Not To Do" list; horror stories used to frighten small children into obeying their parents."
"Indeed!" Despite himself, the Master's curiosity was piqued. Was this man a fellow Time Lord? And, if so, what was he doing here, on Earth, playing fireman?
"Yeah," the man said taking another sip of whiskey. "Never thought I'd ever meet you, though."
The Master did not reply but stared intently at the young man, trying to get into his head. The man squirmed slightly, his mustache twitching, but did not open up to him. The Master frowned. 'Only a fellow Time Lord or someone equally powerful could resist me!' he thought, and decided to proceed with caution.
"So," he said, "did the stories of my, ah, adventures frighten you?"
"Heck, no! I thought they were pretty cool!" The man sat up suddenly, leaning in towards the Master, with a mischievous grin on his lips, his brown eyes twinkling with excitement. "I've kept up on all of it: Daleks, Cybermen, your various attempts to take over the Universe, and of course, your continuing battle with the Doctor!"
"The Doctor! You're with that group who stole the Doctor out from under me, aren't you? Ace, and Dr. Brackett, and that meddlesome fireman!" he spat bitterly.
The man stiffened, eyes momentarily flashing anger. "Gage," he said evenly. "That 'meddlesome' fireman's name was John Gage."
He relaxed again, grumpily sinking back into the chair, once again crossing his legs. "That man had been a thorn in my side for years!"
"Then I did you a favour by eliminating him!" The Master beamed. "You should thank me!"
"Thank you?" the man cried indignantly, sitting up again. "Thank you? I had him completely under my control - it took me years! I was having fun with him! I'll never find a pigeon that gullible again!" He clenched his left fist, shaking it in front of the Master.
"My apologies!" The Master pouted sarcastically. His guest sank back into the chair again and glared at him, but whether it was out of annoyance for the comment or for the obvious disregard for the murdered John Gage, the Master couldn't tell.
"Look, do you want the Doctor, or not?" the man growled.
The Master pondered the question for a moment. Of course he wanted the Doctor, but what would he have to do to get him?
"Alright, I'll bite," the Master said. "Yes, I want the Doctor."
"Fine," the man said. "I'll arrange to get his guard dogs outta the TARDIS, then I'll come get you, and you can grab the Doctor and go."
"And, just what do you want in return for this little favour?"
The man shrugged. "Well, I'd ask you to return Gage to me, but I don't suppose . . . " He looked up hopefully, letting the unasked question hang.
The Master shook his head. "I'm sorry, no. The Tissue Compression Eliminator is non-reversible. Something else, though. Transport off this miserable planet, perhaps?"
"I have my own means, thank you." The man said darkly, and downed the rest of the whiskey in one swallow slamming the tumbler on the Master's desk. "I'd better go. They're going to wonder where I am." He stood, swaying a bit, the whiskey having gone to his head quicker than he thought. He leaned on the desk to steady himself, then straightening up, he headed for the door. "I'll be back once I've gotten rid of the others."
"Would you care to borrow this?" The Master smiled and extended his arm, his open palm displaying the Tissue Compressor Eliminator. The man looked at it, and swallowed hard. The Master swore he looked a little green.
"No, thank you, " the fireman growled, his eyes never leaving the weapon. "I've got a plan."
He turned and started out the door.
"Wait," the Master's authoritative voice stopped the man in his tracks. He turned to face the Master once again.
"I didn't catch your name."
"I didn't throw it, " the man shot back, causing the Master to chuckle appreciatively.
They stood regarding one another for a long moment, neither gaze wavering. Finally, the man spoke again. "I am known as the Phantom," he said simply, and turned and walked out the door.
Chet walked quickly, but as nonchalantly as possible, down the corridor toward the stairs, the whiskey sloshing nauseatingly in his empty stomach. 'That drink might not have been a very good idea,' he thought. As soon as he reached the stairwell, and made it through the doors, he stumbled down a couple flights before collapsing on a bottom step, clinging to the metal railing for support. His stomach lurched violently, and as hard as he tried, he knew he would not be able to keep it in. He stood up, making it to the far corner of the landing before throwing up on the hard concrete floor.
'Too bad,' he thought, 'That really was good whiskey.'
When he finished, he returned to sit on the stairs, leaning his hot, sweating forehead against the cool metal banister, digging in his pocket for the handkerchief he usually kept there, found it was missing, and remembered why. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his turnout coat, instead. He hoped he was far enough away from the Master so the creepy bastard couldn't read his thoughts, as he relaxed his entire body and mind. That had been a lot harder than he expected, but he thought he'd done well. Thought he'd convinced the Master that he was willing to help get the Doctor; maybe even convinced him he was a Time Lord. Now, he just had to wait a while, before returning to bring the Master out of his office, away from his protective energy barrier, where the Phantom's ultimate, and final prank would be played out.
Chet rose, and made his way back to the TARDIS. Once inside, he went quickly and quietly past his friends, past their questioning glances, and the couple attempts to engage him in conversation, and back into the lab with Ace to put the final touches on the plans he'd drawn up, closing the door behind him.
The Phantom had always been a benevolent prankster. Although his victims - usually John Gage - ended up soaked with water or covered with shaving cream, they were never in any danger of physical harm. The Phantom's intentions were never cruel. His pranks were just his way of lightening the mood around the station for the men who spent their days risking their lives putting out fires and rescuing people. These men had spent many years at their job, and had seen things or experienced things that left them with nightmares, or doubts about their abilities. When tensions ran high, and morale was low, the Phantom went to work rigging water bombs to locker doors, or positioning plastic bags filled with water over doorways. It was his duty, he felt, to lighten the atmosphere a bit. He was careful not to go too far, however, and, occasionally, even got a taste of his own medicine. He was always a good sport about that, and would simply go about plotting his watery revenge. Yes, the Phantom was a master prankster, and he was about to pull off the biggest, most spectacular prank yet. This prank, however, would not be like his many others. It was not meant to liven the spirits of his comrades, to make them forget about the many horrors they witness during the performance of their duty, and laugh, if only for a moment. No. This prank was to be the ultimate revenge against the man who had violently murdered one of his best friends, and would be the Phantom's final prank.
The Phantom v. The Master. Chet smiled grimly. Hell, he thought. I could sell tickets! He went over to the side table and looked at the tiny lump lying beneath his handkerchief. He could not bear to lift the handkerchief up again, could not bear to see the shrunken body of his friend and colleague, lying beneath it. He'd seen it several times already, and the image was burned into his brain. He would never forget it. And he would not let the deed go unpunished. Don't worry, Johnny, I'll get this guy! You just rest in peace, man, just rest.
Chet turned to look at Ace, sitting across the room from him, hunched over the lab table mixing chemicals, and managed a slight smile. The Phantom's new ally had approached him as he'd said farewell to his friend, shocked and horrified by Johnny's death, but also consumed by a burning rage he'd never known before: An intense desire for revenge that the others weren't quite able share. But, Ace did. She hated the Master as much as he did, and had seen this evil man murder many, many people, and destroy many, many lives. She'd never had an opportunity to exact her own brand of justice on him, however, until now, but she needed help. The Phantom was more than happy to help her rig up a prank that they both hoped would end with the Master's demise.
During the hours they spent together, the Phantom had divulged all his secrets to Ace, and included anecdotes to bring them to life. Ace laughed, declaring the Phantom her hero, although she confessed she would hate to be on the receiving end of any of the pranks. Remembering all the pranks he'd played on Johnny over the years made the Phantom sad and moody. He felt bad about all the times he'd gotten Gage, knowing how it occasionally annoyed the man he considered good friend. Sure, Gage had gotten him back a time or two, and occasionally the Phantom chose to pursue other prey, but more often than not it was Johnny who was getting soaked.
The plan was so simple the Phantom couldn't find a single flaw in it no matter how hard he tried. The only problem he could possibly see was the target himself: the Master. He had no way of knowing if the evil Time Lord would respond as anticipated. With Gage, it had been easy, that guy had been so gullible . . . Chet stopped short. Had been. Johnny had been gullible. Chet was disgusted with himself. Johnny had only been dead a few hours, and already he was referring to his friend in the past tense.
"Yeah, some friend you are!" Chet admonished himself.
"No, Chet, we need to leave this to the proper authorities!" Hank Stanley's voice rose a notch or two louder as he tried to get control over his suddenly irate fireman.
"But, Cap, that guy killed Johnny!" Chet countered, undeterred by his superior's stern tone.
"I know that, Kelly, I was there, I saw it!"
"Then we need to get this guy!"
Hank sighed and dropped his head into his hands. Blocking out the light and scene before him brought back images of the horrific scene played out earlier: A whacked out doctor shooting his paramedic with a glowing green light. The image of John Gage's shrunken dead body followed, and refused to leave, even after he lifted his head again. He understood Chet's feelings; sentiments which seemed to be reflected in the eyes of all his men: revenge. Hank shared those feelings, too, but as the Captain, he was responsible for the behaviour of his men, and couldn't just let them run amok, getting back at everyone who crossed them. Well, not everyone, Hank thought. Just this one guy. Just the Master. Still. It was wrong.
"We should just go call the police. The F.B.I., or the S.W.A.T. team, even," Hank said wearily. "We can't take measures into our own hands!"
"But, Captain, the police won't be able to do anything about this," Ace insisted. "They won't be able to do anything against the Master!"
Hank regarded the girl carefully. She'd started out somewhat afraid of him, but had since lost her fear, having once again gotten control of herself, and if everything she'd told him about her life recently was true, she really had little to fear from a fire station captian.
"What makes you think we can do anything about the Master, then, if the police can't?" He asked.
"You've got me! I know the Master, know how he thinks, what makes him tick. His weaknesses."
"And you think we," Hank waved his hand around the room at the gathered audience, "could defeat this man?"
"Yes, Cap, we can!" Chet insisted.
"Please, Captain," Ace said, "just listen to what we have to say."
Hank felt his grip on the whole situation weakening, felt his command slipping away. His men, although not expressing it verbally, clearly wanted to follow Chet and Ace on their quest for revenge, and though it went against his better judgment and common sense, Hank found himself wanting a bit of revenge as well.
"So long as this caper only involved capturing the Master, not killing him, " Hank said, "I'm not going to be party to murder."
Chet and Ace high-fived each other and smiles and relieved sighs spread though men in the control room. Hank could've sworn he even saw Dr. Brackett's lips twitch into a grin, but he turned his back quickly to go through the motions of checking out his patient.
"So, do you two twits have a plan, or what, "Hank said returning his gaze to the still-celebrating couple.
"Oh, yeah," Chet beamed, "do we have a plan! Part one has already been completed, but I needed to get your cooperation to go on to part two."
Part one?" Hank asked, "What was part one?"
"Make contact with the Master," Chet said simply.
"Make what!" Hank bellowed as the implication struck him. "You've made contact with that maniac?"
"Yeah, Cap," Chet said nonchalantly, "It was no big deal."
"No big deal!" Ace snorted, "You told me you were so scared you puked in the stairwell!"
"Shut up!" Chet whined as his crewmates snickered around him. "It was the whiskey, it made me sick!"
"Whiskey!" Hank growled, gleaming some satisfaction from the fact that Chet actually cringed at his tone. "Drinking on the job, Kelly, is grounds for dismissal!"
"I know, Cap, but," Chet started.
"Don't "but" me, pal," Hank countered.
"Now, Cap, really, it's not like we're on duty or anything, really," Mike Stoker's calm voice interrupted. He paused, blushing slightly as everyone stared at him. "I mean, it's not like we're going to get a call, and be able to run out and rescue the citizens of LA County, is it? I know we're not officially off- duty, but we're not really on, either, are we?"
The silence stretched on a few moments more, and Mike just shrugged.
"You're right, Mike," Hank said. "It's not like we can go help anyone out there right now. I don't know if anyone even knows where we are right now. Hell, they could all be out looking for all of us, not just Johnny."
Heads dropped at the mention of Johnny's name, and although one wasn't called for, a moment of silence followed. Hank raised his head first, and addressed Chet, who was staring at his dusty shoes lost in thought.
"Okay, Kelly, what's your plan?"
Roy and Dr. Brackett continued to monitor the Doctor's vitals, Dr. Brackett shaking his head in wonder and disbelief as the patient continued to improve. Periodically, Roy would pace the control room, wandering around the hexagon console in the middle of the room, stopping in front of the door that lead into the corridor, which in turn lead to the room where his partner and best friend lay dead. He was the only one of the crew who hadn't gone to see Johnny, not because he didn't love and respect his friend, but because he simply didn't want to. He'd barely glanced at John's body when Captain Stanley brought him in, and since then, it was as if his brain refused to allow anything to enter it other than the last image Roy had of Johnny's face as he closed the doors of the ambulance, grinning at him through the windows, before slapping the doors and walking . . .no jogging, away. Roy made the correction to assure himself he'd got it right. Johnny had just gotten out of that restaurant fire, and had been chastised, albeit lightheartedly, by Cap, and had been sucking on the oxygen he'd been given, grinning that fearless, joyful grin of his. Then Johnny followed him to the ambulance, closed the doors and peered in the window at him, still grinning. Roy couldn't remember if he'd smiled back. Couldn't remember the last words he spoke to his best friend. He ran through it again, slower this time, savouring every detail:
"Well, nice of you to join us, Gage," Captain Stanley had said jokingly, then added with concern, "You okay?"
"Yeah," Johnny had said, nonchalantly, as usual. "That roof caved right in on me, and I couldn't get to the front door. My air ran out, so I just abandoned the tank, and I ended up breaking out a window on the other side and climbing out. Ace helped me."
"Oh, she did, did she?" The Captain had glared at the girl, and she cringed, taking a step or two back.
"Ah, here, Johnny." He had come over with another oxygen tank, and handed the mask to his friend, who had put it up to his face, and took several deep breaths. "Thanks, Pally," Johnny had said grinning.
"No problem, Junior," he'd said returning the smile. "I'm going in with this girl and her mother . . ."
"Hey, is she okay?" Johnny asked suddenly.
"Oh, yeah. She inhaled a lot of smoke, kind-a like it looks like you did - and was unconscious for a bit, but she came around. She'll be just fine, I'm sure. No other injuries."
"Oh, that's great news!" Johnny smiled at that, his brown eyes sparkling with joy.
"Maybe you ought to come in with us," he had suggested.
"No, I'll just follow you in the squad. I can have one of the docs check me out when I get there, but I'm fine, really."
"Alright, see ya there." He had turned away then, and hopped into the ambulance, barely giving his partner a second thought.
Alright, see ya there. Those were the last words he'd spoken to his friend. Not Hey, thanks for being a great friend, or I look forward to seeing you soon. Not even a manly beer-commercial sentiment like Johnny, I love you, man! No. Just a lame, generic, see ya there. Roy started at the sound, slowly realizing it had been a sob, and it had come from him. He blushed furiously as he noticed Dr. Brackett's gaze on him.
"Sorry, I . . . ah . . ." Roy stammered, self consciously wiping the moisture from his face.
"Don't apologize, Roy," Brackett said quietly. "I understand."
"Thanks, Doc. It's just that . . I was just . . . remembering. . . you know?"
Brackett's lips twitched into a half grin. "Yeah," he said, suddenly lost in his own memories. "I know."
The sudden stirring from the patient on the gurney, followed by a low moan, made both men jump. Dr. Brackett turned to Roy.
"Seems our patient is waking up."
Chet lead the team quickly but cautiously up the stair way. As they approached the third floor, a sour, nauseating ordour assaulted their noses. Chet flushed with embarrassment as he realized what the smell came from.
"Watch your step," he mumbled as he approached the landing where he'd earlier become violently ill. "It's mostly in the far corner there, but . . ." He didn't bother finishing his sentence, and made sure to not look at the puddle as he passed it and continued quickly up the stairs.
He paused in front of the door that opened onto the fifth floor. The uneasy feeling was still there, but Chet noticed it didn't seem as bad as it had earlier. Maybe I'm getting used to it, he thought. He turned and faced the assembled crew, the strange feeling of leadership came over him. It felt weird to be in charge of this situation, and felt even more strange to be about to give his Captain, is superior, orders. He thought it odd that no one seemed to question his authority, even Cap, and everyone seemed to be eagerly awaiting his instructions. He looked steadily at his Captain, searching for signs of annoyance or the promise of punishment in his eyes, but found nothing but anticipation and maybe even a little excitement. 'I can't believe Cap's going for this!' Chet thought. I can't believe any of the guys are going for this! It's insane!' Chet's initial anger and desire for revenge had been dissipating over the last few hours. He'd gotten quite a scare when he'd gone to confront the Master, and some of his confidence had been whittled away there. The last of his courage had been used up when he defended the Phantom's revenge to his Captain, who had suddenly and inexplicably decided to go along with it. He wondered for a moment if it was a trick. Now, he was tired and realized he had to go through with his plan whether he wanted to or not.