A/N: In the wake of school starting up and other commitments, I'm going to try to restrict these chapters (for now) to one pov each. That means they'll be shorter, but also that they'll come out faster. And there will be more of them.
And I know we haven't seen the Doctor and Melody for what seems like forever. That's going to change - very - soon.
Enjoy!
As always, feedback is appreciated.
-Chapter Six-
Killing the Doctor was not going to plan, the Master realized as he felt the barrel of a gun at his throat.
You didn't expect to encounter guns on a pre-industrial planet like Alfalfa-Matraxis. But then, you didn't expect to encounter the Master on a pre-industrial planet like Alfalfa-Matraxis either. The Master may have been a thousand year old homicidal maniac, the last survivor of – and anathema to – an ancient civilization of infinitely wise guardians of peace, order, and impossibly ostentatious collars, but he was also a being of impeccable taste.
You certainly did not expect small men in black suits to travel twenty years through a Dalek Time Corridor to murder you when you least expect it. That was supposed to be his modus operandi.
The whole thing was stunningly disorientating. The Master did not like being disorientated. He liked being in control. He liked his wine to glow ultraviolet and not taste like battery acid. He liked freshly pressed black suits – where had this man gotten his? – and blood on his hands and worlds in chaos. Controlled chaos. Chaos you could win.
Could the Master regenerate if his brains were splattered upon the walls of his secret armory and time room? He admitted that he wasn't sure. Hurm.
It was about this time that the Master realized he had not said anything for at least three minutes. That wouldn't do. The Master might be facing death, but burn it if he was going to fall in silence.
"Does he say anything else?" the Master asked at last.
"Hm?" the small man asked, as if he too had been thinking about what to say next for far too long to actually say anything that didn't sound forced. That was the problem with one-liners. The Master much preferred a good manic monologues. It was an art form, appearing in an unexpected place and murdering someone to make a point. It made follow up performances hard to manage. This man wasn't bad though. He could learn.
"The Doctor," the Master reminded, "does he say anything else besides 'hello'?"
"Oh," the man replied and holstered his gun. Well, that was easy. "No," he went on, "just 'hello'. Got a little trigger happy there. It happens when you've been on an alien planet for a while. At least to me. I think. First time." He shrugged and looked a tad embarrassed. It was actually endearing. "Jumpy," he finished.
"Well," the Master said, relaxing and feeling the relief of his continued existence tingle at his extremities, "you seem to be doing fine so far. Killing my apprentice and all. Traitorous apprentice it appears. Is the Doctor ordering killings now? My, he's usually so innocent with his human hangers on. Virtues and Free Will and the like. Intellect and Romance. Keeps his atrocities on a scale so big your human minds pass it -"
"What orders I have from the Doctor," the man broke in, "are between me and him unless they concern you."
"And do they?" the Master asked, perking up.
"Some," the man – Canton – shrugged.
"Well," the Master said back, "if you'd like to help me kill the Doctor, you could hand me that Eugenic Ray to your left. There's a Transmogrification Beam hanging up there to your left under the Dalek Bump Generator." Canton looked, but didn't move.
"I think you know I won't do that," Canton said, nonchalantly. My, but the Master liked this one.
"I think I know too," the Master said, "but you can never be sure."
"I'm finding that more and more," Canton replied, almost to himself.
"Well, I just had the Doctor send an assassin to save my life while I was on the way to kill him," the Master shrugged, "it's been an odd day. New body too."
"Don't know if I can relate. I just have the one," Canton said, looking over the Master's flowing black robes and raised an eyebrow. Honestly, the Master had tried explaining the concept of a suit to twenty different royal tailors before finally giving up.
"I'll have to get someone to pick that up," said the Master, absently, as he stepped over the body of his traitorous ex-apprentice, "sure you're not interested in the position?"
"Yes," Canton said and studied the rather marvelous, deadly abominations which adorned the walls of the chamber. While the Master was partial to the sword that hung at his side, there was something to be said about the simplicity that a Dalek Deatomizer brought to a problem. The Master watched Canton paced the room. There was a tension in this man, somewhere around the shoulders. In the way he held himself. In the way he had shot first and asked questions later despite, presumably being a companion of the Doctor. That was new. That was... wrong.
"So I suppose I won't be killing the Doctor today?" the Master tried. The answer would have an impact on how and when the Master murdered this newcomer.
"Not today, no," Canton said, back still turned. The Master sighed and began to pad silently behind Canton. He reached for his sword.
"You'll kill the Doctor when I say and no sooner," Canton finished, absently. The Master stopped, sword half unsheathed. He re-sheathed it numbly. What? Had that been a joke?
"Orders," he said, turning, "sorry." The Master looked into Canton's eyes. He was serious.
"Orders," the Master repeated absently. He was going to kill the Doctor... on the Doctor's orders. Well, didn't that just take the fun out of it?
"And if I refuse?" the Master asked, too stunned to really work his head around that option. He should. It would be capricious. The Master could be capricious. Better capricious than the Doctor's lapdog. Honestly, where did the Doctor get off ordering people to kill him like that? What if the Master had things to do? He did have a planet to run. Infants to smother. Wine to drink. Petitioners to disembowel. He was a busy man, the Master. Rarely if ever bored. Hardly a spare mome-
"Then you'll never find the Moon's other half," Canton said. The Master didn't know what Canton was talking about until he did.
He gaped.
Oh. Well. That settled that.
"Ah," the Master began but found nothing to attach the sound to. Well, if he was going to be the Master on the Doctor's orders, he might as well play the part.
The Master grinned a Master-ly grin. He twirled and embraced Canton in a companion-ly hug.
"You know," the Master said, "I think you might be my favorite yet."
"Orders," Canton said, simply, appearing to do his best to remain aloof despite being hugged.
"Rubbish," the Master said, "I had a hairline just like that once. Got shot through the heart. Cleared it right up."
"I don't care," Canton replied.
"I have wine," the Master half-sang. That got his attention. "Best on the planet," he lied.
"Well," Canton said, and raised an eyebrow, "it's been a hell of a day."
"It has," the Master agreed and lead Canton towards the door and into the hallway of glowing golden time.
His sword at his side. A new friend. The deatomizer he had snatched from the wall of the armory. A new body. A contract to kill the Doctor from the man himself?
Yes, the Master could use a drink.