Chapter 9
The Thirteenth Millennium
The Praetorian guards were solemnly ascending the hundred marble steps of the Imperial Palace, closely followed by a young man in a black suit who appeared to be quietly talking to himself. Upon reaching the top of the steps, their prefect Aloysius addressed one of the sentries at the gates, who retreated inside and emerged moments later.
"The Emperor," he announced ceremoniously, "will see you now."
The convoy marched onwards through the gates into the gilded throne room where a man wearing a white hooded robe stood waiting patiently for them. The guards parted in their formation to stand on either side of the grand hall, their heads bowed in deference to the white-clad figure. The young man in the black suit continued to walk at a calm pace until he stood face-to-face with the man in white.
"You've done well for yourself, Trickster," the young man remarked. "The New Roman Empire. This must have taken a lot more than a day to build."
"Ten thousand years," replied the Trickster, "since the day I manifested on Earth. You took a shortcut, Master."
"So will he," the Master stated. "Is the psychograft ready?"
The Trickster turned and gestured towards a glass structure in the corner of the room. It housed a large machine made of black metal.
"Dwarf star alloy," the Master approached the machine in awe, "densest material in the universe."
"Complete with chronon loop generator," the Trickster smiled, "the psychograft chamber is entirely cut off from the Time Vortex."
"There will be no escape for the Doctor. I will have his- Argh!"
The Master screamed as he collapsed onto the polished marble floor. I will kill you if you hurt him, Jack's piercing roar echoed within his mind.
"The child is still fighting," the Trickster hissed amusedly. "The determination is admirable."
"Too late," the Master shouted as he struggled to stand up, "he is here!"
A familiar wheezing sound drew everybody's attention to the centre of the throne room where a blue police box began to materialise.
"Initiate temporal prison," the Trickster commanded. Prefect Aloysius hurried towards a control panel in the far corner and pulled a lever. The TARDIS door creaked open.
"That's not very nice," the Doctor commented, bouncing animatedly out of the box, "cutting off the power to my TARDIS. Is this Roman hospitality?"
"We meet again, Doctor," the Trickster greeted him.
"Ah," the Doctor wittered on, "back in white, I see. It's not really your colour, Trickster. Come on out, Jack, Alonso. Oh, and good to see you, too, Jack, I mean, Master. Or is it Jack?"
"My dear Doctor," the Master shook his head disapprovingly, "you've regenerated into a babbling fool. Although I rather like that fez."
"My fez," the Doctor said quickly, "it's mine. But what do you have over there? That machine thing has my name written all over it!"
As the Doctor trotted blithely towards the glass structure to examine the psychograft, Jack and Alonso stepped out of the TARDIS. Alonso stood bewildered as Jack winked at the body of his future self and flashed a disarming grin. The Master rolled his eyes.
"Enough of this," he growled, turning briskly to his old Time Lord friend, "I will have your remaining regenerations, Doctor."
"Fine," the Doctor opened the glass door and stepped into the psychograft chamber, "fine, you can have my body. But first, Master, there's something on your back."