Chapter 11
The guards dragged their prisoner across the room and threw him in a heap at the Master's feet.
"Kill him," Rassilon commanded.
The Master looked down at the man dragging himself up on his elbows. Disheveled, wounded and covered in dirt. He'd clearly been tortured.
The Master had no problem with killing, when necessary. Or even when convenient.
But this...
This wasn't his style at all.
The Master frowned as the quiet voice in his head spoke up.
It came more often these days as Rassilon required his services more frequently.
People on Earth talked about conscience, like it was a real, separate voice guiding their actions.
It had always sounded like fantasy to the Master. Or insanity.
But it seemed his mind had chosen the Time War as the appropriate time to develop its own voice of conscience.
He wasn't even surprised that it sounded exactly like the Doctor.
It was always asking the same question.
"Why?" the Master said.
Rassilon glowered, displeased. "He is a traitor," he said. "A deserter."
"I'm not your executioner," the Master glared, throwing the gun away and crossing his arms. "Get someone else to do it. Better yet, do it yourself."
Rassilon stared back at him and the Master gritted his teeth, refusing to be the first to blink.
But his heartbeats pounded in his head over and over until the pain was too much and he fell, face in his hands.
"I am your President," Rassilon boomed. "And that is an order."
The Master sighed in defeat. He pulled himself to his feet and retrieved the gun. Because it seemed he had no choice.
He pointed the weapon at his helpless prisoner.
"Leave," he said to Rassilon.
With a satisfied smile, the President took his guards and left.
The conscience voice had more questions.
There was no harm in questions...
"What's your name?" the Master asked.
The soldier lifted his head. "Aldo," he said.
The Master looked at him down the barrel of his borrowed gun. "I know you. I've seen you around."
The man nodded. "I was stationed here in the Capitol for a while."
The Master was curious about something. "Why did you run? You must have known you wouldn't get away."
He'd had the same thought himself, he realized.
Many, many times...
How had he forgotten that?
"My family," the man said. And the look on his battered face was strangely peaceful. "I needed to get them out."
The Master shook his head. "There is no way out. The entire Universe is at War. Where would you take them?"
"There are planets on the outskirts of Time and Space, inhabited by primitive races. Some of them have barely been touched by the War."
"You must have known the risk you were taking," the Master squinted. Aldo didn't seem like an idiot.
"I had to try," the man replied. "It was worth it."
The Master actually understood that. Some things were worth any risk. Any sacrifice.
"Did it work?" the Master asked quietly. "Your family. Are they safe?"
Aldo gave him a wide-eyed look. "Are you interrogating me?"
The Master frowned, stopping to take inventory of his motives. "I don't think so," he said with a shrug. "He just told me to kill you."
Aldo smiled. "Then I'm going to choose not to answer that, if it's alright with you."
The Master smirked. "Smart man."
He and his prisoner shared a knowing smile.
Then the Master sighed. "I have to kill you now, Aldo."
"I know."
"I'll make it quick."
"I'd appreciate that."
The shot echoed in the empty room.
The Master walked out of Rassilon's chambers, tears filling his eyes. He let the gun fall to the floor with a clatter, its task complete. He turned to the President, fists clenched.
"Why did you make me do that?" he hissed.
"So you'd see the price of desertion," Rassilon informed him coldly. "Gallifrey doesn't tolerate traitors."
The Master's fingernails bit into his palms, the pain in his hands nothing compared to the pain in his head.
He was angry. His brain was filled with one thought: to take the gun back, to use it to kill Rassilon.
He realized he'd wanted that for a very long time now...
But he couldn't do it.
He couldn't move.
He couldn't even try.
"Here," Rassilon said with an evil smirk. "Let me help you."
He took the gun from the floor and pressed it back into the Master's hands.
The Master didn't waste a moment. He raised the weapon, pointing it right between Rassilon's pale eyes.
The guards moved forward in alarm but Rassilon waved them off.
"What do you want?" Rassilon asked, idly curious.
"To kill you," the Master ground out between clenched teeth.
"Well?" Rassilon asked after a few moments. "What are you waiting for?"
The Master growled in frustration. Try as he might, he couldn't tighten his finger on the trigger.
"Perhaps if you had a better target?" Rassilon stepped closer and leaned forward until his face was just inches from the weapon. "There. Now you couldn't possibly miss."
The Master stared at him through hot tears of rage until it dawned on him that he was entirely helpless.
Rassilon watched the Master's anger turn to despair and smiled in satisfaction.
"Give it to me," he ordered quietly.
The Master did, obeying without question. Knowing he didn't even have a choice.
He watched Rassilon, unblinking as the President handed the gun back to one of the guards.
"I will kill you," the Master vowed calmly. "Whatever you've done to me... I'll find a way out and I'll kill you."
Rassilon smiled. "You'll pardon me for not rescheduling my appointments in the meantime. You are dismissed. I'll call when I want you again." He walked away, leaving the Master frozen in place, unable to follow.
When the rage finally subsided, the Master just had to turn and go home.
By the time he got back to the TARDIS, he wasn't even quite sure what he was so angry about.
He sat down and turned on the television. He noticed blood under his fingernails. His palms were cut and stinging.
He wasn't certain how that had happened. Had the man he'd executed fought back?
He supposed he must have.
The Master went to the medical bay in the TARDIS and patched up his hands.
He didn't want the Doctor to see.
'I am sorry, Little One,' the TARDIS said.
"For what?" the Master asked.
'For what will happen and what is happening now.'
"It's just a few scratches," the Master said and he wasn't sure why he couldn't stop crying.
My poor boy. :'( It's not getting better anytime soon, people.