Chapter XCIX
Mira
* T minus 12 months *
The first few days she spent hiding and trying not to get killed, which was easier said than done. She had to try it and shot at one of the spheres, the only effect being that she spent the next hours to get it off her back again. She managed it eventually after some daring jumps, sprints through subway tunnels and waiting and hiding, trying to make not a single sound.
On day two, there was not much left communication-wise apart from the Archangel Network. No TV, no radio. Well, CB radio was still working, but it was not easy finding someone with the right equipment. And, of course, the obvious downside: Everyone could listen. And most likely the Master was already working on something to jam it.
Power was another problem and a rare thing to come by these days. Intentionally or not, the spheres had destroyed a few power plants around London, and a lot of power lines were interrupted as well, with all consequences it had for modern societies. After the first two or three days, when the spheres had been done with killing one tenth of the population and people had dared to leave their homes again, the looting had started. Obviously the population of London hadn't believed in keeping supplies at home, and why would they with a supermarket at every corner and water from the tap in every house? Just that water needed pumps, and they needed power.
Not to mention that other things, like garbage collection and street cleaning had stopped as well. The outbreak of various diseases was only a matter of time.
After two weeks, as the last backup generators working in hospitals and other larger facilities had run out of fuel and it had become clear that the Master was using humanity to build weapons, something incredible had happened. People had stopped going against each other for the last bottle of water, the last gallon of fuel.
They had realised that the only chance for them was to work together – at least most of them. She hadn't quite believed it would happen, but she had definitely hoped for it. She had already started to gather people around her, people shocked and disgusted by the chaos and behaviour of their fellow humans. People who hadn't gotten tired to help, people who had stored supplies like fresh water and cans, hidden it in their tiny flats, preparing for disasters and catastrophes.
Then, after almost four weeks, something like order began to return to London. The poor remains of police and military had regrouped and started to organise what little was left, might it be fuel, water, technical equipment and people who knew how to operate and repair it.
She made sure she was always at the centre of it – around the really important people. There was always a bunch of natural leaders having their moments of glory at times like this, and she made sure they knew her face and listened to her. It came to her advantage that people had seen her on TV at the very day when it all had started. And so word spread – only around London yet, but it was at least a start. Of course not everyone was keen on her getting involved, but it wasn't too hard to convince them otherwise. The Doctor had been right, she knew how to talk to people, what made them tick, and how to handle them. And she also knew who was working for the Master and considered betraying her. Dishonesty was strong emotion and not an easy one to miss for her. After she had uncovered two traitors, hardly anyone doubted her judgement.
She had even been contacted by Torchwood, gaining some supplies and starting the story about a weapon in four parts, which would give her an excuse to travel all over the world. But she kept the contact loose as she knew the Master was watching Torchwood.
Her plans were to get to the south of England, Dover, then over to France, through Europe up and down, then over to Russia, where roughly down south some more countries where waiting, back up and then trying to cross over to America - Alaska to be precise, with hopefully enough time left to make it to South America. It was a lot to do, and she wasn't sure she would made it. At least it kept her busy, but every now and then even she had to rest, bringing to mind what the Doctor had told her at the least appropriate of all moments. So it was true, he was the killer of his own kind. And yet she refused to believe it. There must be more to it, and the more she thought about it the more it was driving her mad – even more so as it was unclear if they would have another chance to speak with each other.
Doctor
* T minus 9 months *
Mira had been gone for a little longer than three months; and the Master was more and more regretting that he had let her get away. The times when he had underestimated her were long gone. Resistance was rising, and even though in many cases there was no actual proof that it was her doing, it was still bearing her hallmarks. Well, it most likely wasn't her personal doing, but it clearly showed which places she had been to so far. And wherever she had been people started to oppose the Master and his abominations. The price they had to pay for it was high though – probably too high. But what else could they do? What else would they do? They were humans after all, and they would never just give up. Even without someone telling them what to do. There would always be some of them fighting back, even if it would cost them their lives.
The Master had tried to get hold of Mira a few times now – last time he had finally tracked her position and destroyed the whole area, dancing through the valiant for almost a day, celebrating her death.
He had watched it in horror on the screens, the exploding building, the fire that had burned for three days. But, at the same time, he knew that she wasn't dead, even though they had no telepathic contact. Somehow she had managed to trick him. Or at least that was what he wanted to believe. She wouldn't be fooled that easily. She had expected him to track her down and kill her, so she must have had a plan B. No, she wasn't dead. And it seemed the Master was realising that as well, as the resistance movement was more alive than ever. Though he had no illusions that he would see her again – or more likely, that she would ever talk to him again. Probably it was slightly better than the Master telling her, but no. She couldn't forgive him. Anyway, that had only been half of the truth. He wasn't sure the Master wouldn't kill him at some point - for good probably - and if that happened she would be absolutely devastated. Not that he took himself so important to believe she couldn't be without him – but he had been in her head, and even though he still couldn't quite understand why, he knew that her commitment to him hadn't been an easy one for her, and how much he seemed to mean to her. It would be so much easier for her if she could just hate him, seeing him for what he really was.
Mira
* T minus 6 months *
It was somewhere in Siberia when she caught word that the Master not only knew that she had survived, but wanted to talk to her. She had already spent quite some time here, so a place for the meeting was quickly found, and, thanks to the technology Torchwood had her supplied with, the Master shouldn't be able to trace the signal.
"I knew you made it out alive," the Master greeted her, bigger than life on the huge screen which was mounted on the wall of the control room of a former top secret military base. "But, nevertheless, I hope I've crushed a lot of your little friends. How do you call that organisation of yours? GAU? What's that even supposed to mean? Anyways. You have two options now. Get up here, or shoot yourself, right here, right now. In the head. No way out this time. You've tried my patience far too much."
"There's no organisation," she said, ignoring his order to turn herself in. "It's just people all around the world united by a mutual goal: To be free again. I merely spread a name for them to identify each other. But they do seem to bother you enough to hunt me down," she stopped and studied his face for a moment. "Maybe your plan isn't that good after all."
"Oh, they don't bother me," he replied dismissively. "Blowing up the factory in Shanghai last week was... Well, saying it was a minor setback would be an exaggeration."
"You retaliated and burned Shanghai to the ground," she replied. "So what do you want?"
"Where are the remaining pieces of the weapon?"
"As if I'd tell you - or anyone else."
She watched him wave to someone out of the viewing range of the camera, and then Martha got pushed into it, her hands shackled, almost falling over.
"Say hello to Martha," he said with the nicest of smiles. "Haven't seen her in a while, have you? Hello Martha! Look who's on the phone! Say hello to the first in line!"
She had a hint of an idea where this was heading to, and she didn't like it at all. Then again, she had expected him to blackmail her much sooner.
"No hello? No giggling, no sharing stories about boys as young girls- ah, well, sorry, I know, I know. I have to put the foot in, bad habit." he continued after Martha remained silent. "Well Martha, who could blame you, you as the fifth wheel on the wagon, the second in line, the useless sidekick? Don't think anyone would miss her, Mira, what do you say? Would you miss her? Who is it? You - or her? Oh, what would your beloved Doctor say? Well, in case I'd ask him, which... I won't. He's probably senile by now anyway."
"Leave her out of it,"she said quietly.
"Surrender," he replied. "Or her blood is on your hands. Oh, and, by the way, our little chat is broadcast all over the world. Just in case you haven't noticed. Where are you by the way? Nice trick to feed me wrong coordinates the last time we spoke."
"Not where you think I am," she replied and watched a sphere appearing, pointing its weapon on Martha.
The expression on Martha's face was one of utter fear and disbelief. She had played high and lost she thought. She should have taken Martha down to Earth with her, but, thinking back to the first two or three weeks, she wasn't sure Martha would have made it. And now the Master was about to kill her if she didn't surrender.
Surrender wasn't an option. Sure, the foundation of the resistance movement had been lain, and she had started to spread word of the Doctor's plan – two things which more or less went hand in hand. And she had worked out a distraction, plotting her way around the world and back to the valiant in six months time from now on. And she had always known Martha was in danger with the Master's erratic behaviour. But if she surrendered now, it was anything but certain that the Doctor's plan would work out. She had made it roughly around half of the planet and even though news still travelled and would continue to do so, she herself had become a central figure. A symbol. Surrendering now could very well crush the resistance. It could be the final blow, showing once more that the Master was in complete control, proving that he could do however he pleased; at this moment it was about so much more than just she against the Master, so much more was at stake. She had proven that it was possible to get away, to trick him, to fool him, time and time again. If she gave up now...
It ultimately came down to the question between surrender or indomitability – admitting his victory not only over herself but over humanity for the sake of one single life – or proving that, even though he controlled almost the whole world, he hadn't won yet.
But at what cost?
From a tactical viewpoint the decision was clear – no negotiations with terrorists. At least not with the like of him with no valid point or claim whatsoever. But she had never been a friend of setting off lives against lives – in fact, there had been many times when they had tried to free one single person with a whole bunch of people, even more so out in space, not to leave anyone behind - and she hated to do what she had to do now with every fibre of her being. But if she saved Martha's life now, many more would have to die.
Martha was staring down at her from the huge screen, and she could see the Doctor in the background. She searched his eyes, tried to read in them, but he was too far away from the camera.
She looked back at Martha. Even though she knew it was the Master who would kill Martha, she felt as if she was about to speak her death sentence herself.
"I am not going to surrender," she said slowly.
"Mira!" Martha cried out and it took all her willpower to not just cut the connection.
"That's your last word then?" the Master said and stared at her, waiting for her to give in. "Congratulations, you've just killed her," he continued after a long moment of silence.
He clicked his fingers and a moment later there was nothing left of Martha – vaporised just like the President of the United States half a year earlier – as so many people down on Earth. In the background she heard the screams and hysterical crying of Martha's family.
"Seems I've just proven a point. Now the whole world knows how merciless you are," he said, smiling nastily.
"You've certainly proven a point," she said between gritted teeth. "But not one in your favour. And I definitely hope the whole world was watching."
Then the screen went blank. She leaned heavy onto the table in front of her, closing her eyes, feeling the weight of what had just happened on her shoulders, dragging her down. She knew that there most likely hadn't been a right decision to make – no matter what, someone would have died. But now it had been her call. She had decided, and Martha was dead. Martha. Tears of grief and anger started to fill her eyes. Another life on her account, sacrificed in the fight for a greater goal. Plus the countless victims in Shanghai – she hadn't ordered them to blow up that factory, but no one could tell if they would have done it without her convincing them to not give up. She had also tried to warn them, but ultimately, it had been their decision to make – and they had paid the ultimate price. But still...
And who could tell what the Master was up to next? He wouldn't be satisfied by killing Martha and she herself still hiding down on Earth. Who would he kill next? Which city would he burn to the ground now? She just hoped he would remember he needed resources – humans and their facilities – to finish his weapons in time to wage war on the galaxy.
She wondered how the Doctor had known that the Master would enter the next stage of his great plan in just a year's time, but maybe he had seen it somehow, once the paradox-machine had started to work, or- her thoughts got interrupted as she felt a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it.
"Don't let him get to you," General Davies said quietly. "We can't surrender right now. It's a tough call, but it was the right thing to do."
"Was it?" she said and stood straight again, facing him, his bright blue eyes filled with bitterness, reflecting her own feelings. "I just hope it's worth it in the end."
"You knew her well?" he asked, sitting down and pointing at a chair next to his.
"Not for long, but...," she said and sat down as well, realising how exhausted she was. "What does it matter if I knew her or not. Every death is one too many."
"I know," he replied. "But we're at war. He attacked us. Without fighting we'll all die."
"War? It feels more like fighting for survival, delaying the inevitable. Besides, there are no winners in a war," she said slowly, looking into space. "Only losers."
"Neville Chamberlain," he replied.
"It was him saying that?"
"Yes – he put it in a few more words though. Not agreeing with him in everything, but he got it right there."
"Never bothered looking it up – I just heard it somewhere and it stuck with me," she said. "Never mind who said it, and, apart from that, it's always easy to judge someone's past actions with current knowledge – hardly ever ends favourable for them."
"True," he replied after a moment. "But we're not here to discuss history; even though I hope we find time for that later - once all this is over. Must be an interesting time that future of yours."
"I just wonder what else we have to sacrifice," she said and sighed. "When will it be too much? Most of the people he killed were civilians, and I'm still trying to tell them to stand up against him – probably it's better for them to just hide for another six months, but some obviously feel inspired to-"
"You're not thinking about giving up?"
Was giving up actually a possibility? Or was it not only that, but actually the only sensible thing to do? Wasn't it irresponsible to continue this fight which would only kill many more but not change much? They would die anyway at his hands, either worked to death in one of his factories, for his personal pleasure or killed out of revenge for attacking him, but was it really her call to make which way the should die? And, most of all, how much more would it take? When would it be too much?
I ended it. I killed them. My people, the Daleks. All of them.
The Doctor's words crossed her mind again. What if everyone had to die to stop him?
"No," she finally said, feeling the weight of the words on her. "No, I won't give up. Let's not let all their deaths be in vain. It's just-"
"The weight of responsibility and the decisions to make," he finished her sentence and put his hand on hers. "I know. And by now I know that you do as well. Hell, I don't know what's changed, but when I first saw you I thought – Goodness me, a girl? That's humanities last hope? It'll all blow up right in our faces. Later I thought, well, if this movement needs a pretty face and someone to keep spirits high, so be it. But now... We might actually stand a chance." He handed her a pocket flask.
"Thanks," she said and opened it. The smell of strong whisky reached her nose as she took a sip. "But it's not about me, it's about him."
"The Doctor?" Davies replied. "Well, he's up there but you're down here, and... not doing too bad if I may add."
At least she wasn't in this alone. It had been amazing to see people standing up together, supporting not only each other but also her. Davies, a General of the British Armed Forces, or what little was left of them, was just one of many incredible people she had met so far, and right now she was glad that he had come with her to Russia, even if in the beginning rather to watch than to accompany her. A man in his fifties, occasionally talking about a war he had fought in, never going into details or even mentioning which war it had been. She couldn't tell either as recent history had taken a different turn in this universe.
What she could say was that it had marked him – and most likely he had had to face similar decisions before, understanding their implications and what it did to people. She handed the flask back, rubbing her eyes, trying to push back the tears. She had tried to not let it get to her, but then again, she had always been too sensible for war - as Atlan had told her so often, a smirk on his face but sadness in his eyes.
Yes, it got to her, and she had never understood that others were touched more by the fate and death of a single person than by hundreds of thousands dying within seconds. She had asked occasionally and they had told that it was too abstract or maybe some sort of defence mechanism – obviously not working for her as she could spend ours grieving the loss of every single life; even if they had never met them. Lives just like Martha's; who would never take her final exams now, never be a Doctor, a whole life destroyed, And, just like Martha, every single person who had died so far had had a life, had loved ones, plans - everything crushed within the blink of an eye. She had learned to deal with it, or rather to push it aside, trying to see the bigger picture, but she had never managed to really stop feeling it. It was just such a waste of potential and life; life that was meant to strive, not to be destroyed.
"If you want to have a cry, I'll look the other way," Davies said, reminding her of his presence. "But make it a quick one, it's not save here any longer. Don't trust that he really can't track us."
"No, it's okay" she said. "Let's go."
OneWhoReadsToMuch, NicoleR85, Arashi – IV of VI, E-man-dy-S, koseta a, bored411 and guest: Thanks for writing a review :-)
