Fic: There Was a Master in a Game (6/25)
Title: There Was a Master in a Game
Author: azriona
Characters: The Master mostly. This week’s guest stars include Lynda Moss and K-9.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: Everything. The majority takes place after The End of Time, but there are references to events through the end of Season Five.
Betas: runriggers and earlgreytea68
Summary: Gallifrey wasn’t entirely lost when it went back into the Time Lock; it just got stuck. The Master wants out. Isn’t he lucky that the Doctor left him a way?
Chapters One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five
Chapter Six: Star
The Master did not have a plan.
He did, however, plan to go prepared. He swiped a legal pad from the scorekeeper (who protested, but was properly ignored). A pencil procured from a second Time Lord (who only sighed and gave up the writing utensil with minimal, perfunctory protest) served to fill in what blanks the Master was able to fill.
“Delta-263,” he shouted at the rest of the Time Lords as he stuffed both tools into his back pocket.
One of the Time Lords looked up with a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous, there isn’t a Delta-263…”
But the Master was already gone.
*
Lynda Moss picked up her notepad again. The cursor was still blinking on the space where she ought to have been writing about her happiest moments. Without even pausing to think, she began writing again.
I’m happiest when I’m so busy trying to keep up, I forget how bored I am the rest of the time.
Lynda looked at the words, and thought.
“You know, staring at the notepad isn’t going to make an answer magically appear,” said the man in the sweatshirt.
The notepad fell to Lynda’s desk with a clatter. “Where’d you come from? No, wait - where’d you go?”
“Long story,” said the man. “So, let’s get started, shall we?” He took something out of the back pocket of his jeans and unrolled it. “First, it’s a bit awkward calling you blonde chit, so do you mind telling me your name?”
“Yes,” said Lynda hotly.
“I could just call you Jessica,” mused the man.
“Jessica?!?!”
The man pulled a pencil out of his other back pocket. “So, Jessica, tell me-“
“My name is not Jessica!”
“How long have you worked here at Torchwood, Jessica?” asked the man, tapping the unrolled something with the pencil. Lynda’s mouth dropped open.
“That’s - that’s a pencil.”
The man looked at it. “Ah, yes. Pencil.”
“So that’s - paper?” guessed Lynda, pointing at the other item in his hand.
The man waved the item in the air; yellow pages flapped back and forth. “Pay-per,” he sounded out slowly for her. “What, were you born in the 501st century? Oh. Wait. You were. Anyway, where were we?”
“Is this a survey?” asked Lynda. “Are you one of those secret shoppers trying to find out how helpful I am? Because you’re not being very secret about it.”
“Torchwood, Jessica, how long have you worked for Torchwood?”
“I don’t think that’s pertinent to your survey, and I’m sorry about calling Security on you before, but you have to admit you were behaving very strangely…“
The man sighed, and tried a different tack. “Ever hear of a bloke named Jack Harkness?”
Lynda blinked. “Why do you keep asking about Jack Harkness?” she asked, growing annoyed.
The Master stopped mid-drum. “I’m sorry? Keep asking?”
“Yes, just now, you asked about Jack Harkness.”
“But you said, keep asking. When did I ask before?”
“I…” Lynda thought furiously. “I don’t know, when you were here before. Must have.”
The Master leaned over the desk. “You remember me asking you about Jack Harkness.”
“I…no. But…yes. It’s…look, if this is a survey, you’re being very odd about it!”
The man checked his paper. “That doesn’t make sense. This is the star pattern, isn’t it? Has to be - I didn’t ask Star Pattern about Jack Harkness, I asked diagonal. So why is it you remember me asking?”
“I have no idea what you’re going on about,” said Lynda, cross. “And I think I’m done now, so if you’ve no further business, I’m going to ask you to leave or I will have to call Security. Again.”
The man slid the paper and pencil back into his pocket, as cool and collected as if Lynda hadn’t just threatened him. Again.
“Listen, it’s been a real gas chatting you up-“
“What?!?”
“-But I really do have to talk to a friend of mine who works here.”
Lynda stared at him, her brow creased. “Okay. What’s his name?”
“The Doctor.”
Lynda’s eyes glazed over momentarily. It was gone almost as soon as it was there. “Doctor who?”
“No idea,” said the man glibly. He straightened, and placed his hand on his stomach. “Ooo, interesting.”
“How can you not know his name if he’s a friend of yours?” asked Lynda, mystified and halfway considering calling Security again.
“Did you not hear me say interesting?” asked the man. “You’re human, you’re a curious lot, aren’t you the least bit curious what I find so interesting that I have to comment on it?”
Lynda sighed. “Okay, fine. What’s interesting?”
“I’m hungry,” said the man.
Lynda picked up the phone. “I’m calling Security.”
The man perked up. “Oh, do, that’ll be fine. I’d like to talk to Security.”
“They’d like to talk to you,” muttered Lynda. “Hello, Security? The Code 57 is back. No, I don’t think so. I really have no idea. Yes, thank you.”
Lynda hung up the phone and crossed her arms.
“You look considerably more annoyed this time,” said the man. He was now playing with one of Lynda’s paperweights - the pretty one made from volcanic ash. “Isn’t Security coming?”
“Yes,” grumped Lynda.
“Well, then-“
“I don’t think they believe you’re a threat.”
“That’s very stupid of them,” said the man. He tossed the paperweight from one hand to the next.
“What, are you a threat?”
“Huge threat,” said the man casually. “I’ve destroyed whole worlds, you know.”
Lynda considered this.
“I don’t know that I believe you,” she said, and the man nearly dropped the paperweight. She added quickly, “I mean, sure, you might be capable of it, but so far, all you’ve done is be annoying.”
“I bide my time,” said the man, and continued tossing the paperweight. “Wow. I really am hungry. Got anything to eat in that desk of yours?”
Lynda, without knowing why, reached into one of her drawers and pulled out a granola bar. She handed it to the man without a word, and he immediately unwrapped and began eating it.
“Not horrific,” he said around a mouthful of granola. “Been a while since I’ve been hungry. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. But this is a normal hunger, you know. I’m not going to start draining life forces from anyone.”
“Good,” said Lynda warily.
“So - no Doctor on staff then?” asked the man.
“Not anyone who doesn’t have a name attached.”
“John Smith? James McCrimmon? Theta Sigma?”
Lynda typed a few things into her index, and then shook her head. “Nothing, sorry.”
“How about this - you just put a general call to all the doctors you have on staff and tell them the Master is here and let’s see who shows up?” suggested the man.
Lynda’s eyes narrowed. “The Master.”
“That’s me,” said the Master.
“What kind of name is the Master?”
“What kind of name is Jessica?” replied the Master.
“Is this some sort of game to you?” snapped Lynda.
The man broke into a grin. “Yes! It is! Very good, Jessica!”
“My name is Lynda!”
“Very good, Linda! I’m the Master.”
“Master of what?”
“Exactly,” said the Master, and he took another bite of the granola bar. “Security’s running a bit late.”
“Yes, well,” said Lynda. “Why don’t you just sit quietly and wait for them.”
“I could,” mused the Master. “Any luck figuring out what makes you happiest yet?”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
“Déjà vu,” said the Master. “What’s the show, anyway?”
Lynda gave up. Clearly, there was no getting rid of the madman, who had finished eating her granola bar and was now scavenging for the crumbs at the bottom of the wrapper. On the other hand, Lynda was beginning to agree with Security’s assessment that he didn’t pose much of a threat; after all, he seemed more interested in antagonizing her than he did trying to go anywhere in the building.
“Big Brother,” said Lynda.
The man looked startled. “You’re applying for an older sibling? Why?”
“That’s the name of the show. Everyone is locked in a house and you have to live together and once a week, the people watching decide who should be kicked off, and the last person in the house wins a million credits.”
“How Orwellian,” said the Master dryly.
“Huh?”
“Not very clever, are you, Linda?” asked the Master.
“Not so much,” said Lynda honestly. “But people like me.”
“Hmm.” The Master leaned over the desk to look at the notepad again. “Is that what makes you happy? Knowing that you’re liked?”
Lynda flipped the notepad over. “Look, your friend the Doctor clearly isn’t here, and if he is, I don’t think he much cares to see you.”
“That’s true enough,” muttered the Master.
“So I think it’s time for you to go,” continued Lynda.
“I’m still waiting for Security.”
“Security isn’t coming.”
“Can’t I just stay and have a bit of conversation?”
“No.”
Any further argument was halted by the sliding of the lift doors, and the whirring of a tin dog on wheels. The Master stepped away from the desk and threw his arms out wide.
“Ah, Torchwood Security! You’ve arrived. That is, assuming you are Torchwood Security.”
The little tin dog stopped; its little ears spun in circles. “That is my designation. Please identify yourself.”
“What, playing at not knowing me?” said the Master, leaning over. “Bad Dog. No treat for you.”
“K-9,” interrupted Lynda, “please escort this man off the property.”
“Affirmative, Mistress,” said K-9, and he moved toward the Master to bump against his shins. “I will now escort you from Torchwood property. Please comply.”
The Master watched K-9 bump against him, amused. “Aren’t you going to interrogate me? Tie me to a chair and demand answers? There ought to be a dank little room with a spotlight and a one-way mirror somewhere in the basements here.”
K-9 backed away. “You wish to be arrested?”
“Not particularly. I’d rather find my friend the Doctor, but I think if you-“
“The Doctor is not present,” said K-9, and the Master stood up straight.
“Really?” he asked, drawing it out and giving Lynda a grin. “You know the Doctor?”
“The Doctor is not present,” repeated K-9.
“Yes, covered that. Late for work today, is he? When do you think he’ll saunter in?”
“The Doctor is not present.”
The Master resisted the urge to kick the tin beast. K-9 might have sensed this, and backed up.
The Master looked over at Lynda. “No Doctor on staff, is there?”
“I didn’t see one!” squeaked Lynda, eyes wide.
“Didn’t see, or didn’t see to tell me?” snapped the Master, in such a menacing way that K-9 immediately rolled in between them.
“Please vacate Torchwood facilities,” said the dog, and its nose began to glow red.
The Master eyed the nose, glanced up at Lynda’s frightened eyes, and nodded briskly, as though he had made a decision.
“Well,” he said. “I think that’s all I’m going to learn on this trip. Linda, works for Torchwood, K-9 is security, and the name Jack Harkness rings a bell. Still don’t know anything about ray guns, Linda?”
“No,” squeaked Lynda.
“Didn’t think so,” said the man with a sigh.
“Please vacate-“
“He’s gone,” said Lynda suddenly. And he was.
*
The Time Lords were still working on their cards when the Master returned. They ignored him. He ignored them.
How very interesting - both Lindas seemed to have some kind of reaction when he mentioned the name of the 21st century Torchwood director, although he supposed that could have been simply their association with Torchwood itself.
Or…it could mean that Jack Harkness himself was somewhere in the trap. There were eight squares the Master couldn’t see. Jack could well be in one of them. The only question was - which square?
The Master examined his legal pad (Earth-bound, but he wasn’t going to be choosy) and considered his next plan.
Chapter Seven
Author: azriona
Characters: The Master mostly. This week’s guest stars include Lynda Moss and K-9.
Rating: PG-13 for language
Spoilers: Everything. The majority takes place after The End of Time, but there are references to events through the end of Season Five.
Betas: runriggers and earlgreytea68
Summary: Gallifrey wasn’t entirely lost when it went back into the Time Lock; it just got stuck. The Master wants out. Isn’t he lucky that the Doctor left him a way?
Chapters One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five
Chapter Six: Star
The Master did not have a plan.
He did, however, plan to go prepared. He swiped a legal pad from the scorekeeper (who protested, but was properly ignored). A pencil procured from a second Time Lord (who only sighed and gave up the writing utensil with minimal, perfunctory protest) served to fill in what blanks the Master was able to fill.
“Delta-263,” he shouted at the rest of the Time Lords as he stuffed both tools into his back pocket.
One of the Time Lords looked up with a frown. “Don’t be ridiculous, there isn’t a Delta-263…”
But the Master was already gone.
*
Lynda Moss picked up her notepad again. The cursor was still blinking on the space where she ought to have been writing about her happiest moments. Without even pausing to think, she began writing again.
I’m happiest when I’m so busy trying to keep up, I forget how bored I am the rest of the time.
Lynda looked at the words, and thought.
“You know, staring at the notepad isn’t going to make an answer magically appear,” said the man in the sweatshirt.
The notepad fell to Lynda’s desk with a clatter. “Where’d you come from? No, wait - where’d you go?”
“Long story,” said the man. “So, let’s get started, shall we?” He took something out of the back pocket of his jeans and unrolled it. “First, it’s a bit awkward calling you blonde chit, so do you mind telling me your name?”
“Yes,” said Lynda hotly.
“I could just call you Jessica,” mused the man.
“Jessica?!?!”
The man pulled a pencil out of his other back pocket. “So, Jessica, tell me-“
“My name is not Jessica!”
“How long have you worked here at Torchwood, Jessica?” asked the man, tapping the unrolled something with the pencil. Lynda’s mouth dropped open.
“That’s - that’s a pencil.”
The man looked at it. “Ah, yes. Pencil.”
“So that’s - paper?” guessed Lynda, pointing at the other item in his hand.
The man waved the item in the air; yellow pages flapped back and forth. “Pay-per,” he sounded out slowly for her. “What, were you born in the 501st century? Oh. Wait. You were. Anyway, where were we?”
“Is this a survey?” asked Lynda. “Are you one of those secret shoppers trying to find out how helpful I am? Because you’re not being very secret about it.”
“Torchwood, Jessica, how long have you worked for Torchwood?”
“I don’t think that’s pertinent to your survey, and I’m sorry about calling Security on you before, but you have to admit you were behaving very strangely…“
The man sighed, and tried a different tack. “Ever hear of a bloke named Jack Harkness?”
Lynda blinked. “Why do you keep asking about Jack Harkness?” she asked, growing annoyed.
The Master stopped mid-drum. “I’m sorry? Keep asking?”
“Yes, just now, you asked about Jack Harkness.”
“But you said, keep asking. When did I ask before?”
“I…” Lynda thought furiously. “I don’t know, when you were here before. Must have.”
The Master leaned over the desk. “You remember me asking you about Jack Harkness.”
“I…no. But…yes. It’s…look, if this is a survey, you’re being very odd about it!”
The man checked his paper. “That doesn’t make sense. This is the star pattern, isn’t it? Has to be - I didn’t ask Star Pattern about Jack Harkness, I asked diagonal. So why is it you remember me asking?”
“I have no idea what you’re going on about,” said Lynda, cross. “And I think I’m done now, so if you’ve no further business, I’m going to ask you to leave or I will have to call Security. Again.”
The man slid the paper and pencil back into his pocket, as cool and collected as if Lynda hadn’t just threatened him. Again.
“Listen, it’s been a real gas chatting you up-“
“What?!?”
“-But I really do have to talk to a friend of mine who works here.”
Lynda stared at him, her brow creased. “Okay. What’s his name?”
“The Doctor.”
Lynda’s eyes glazed over momentarily. It was gone almost as soon as it was there. “Doctor who?”
“No idea,” said the man glibly. He straightened, and placed his hand on his stomach. “Ooo, interesting.”
“How can you not know his name if he’s a friend of yours?” asked Lynda, mystified and halfway considering calling Security again.
“Did you not hear me say interesting?” asked the man. “You’re human, you’re a curious lot, aren’t you the least bit curious what I find so interesting that I have to comment on it?”
Lynda sighed. “Okay, fine. What’s interesting?”
“I’m hungry,” said the man.
Lynda picked up the phone. “I’m calling Security.”
The man perked up. “Oh, do, that’ll be fine. I’d like to talk to Security.”
“They’d like to talk to you,” muttered Lynda. “Hello, Security? The Code 57 is back. No, I don’t think so. I really have no idea. Yes, thank you.”
Lynda hung up the phone and crossed her arms.
“You look considerably more annoyed this time,” said the man. He was now playing with one of Lynda’s paperweights - the pretty one made from volcanic ash. “Isn’t Security coming?”
“Yes,” grumped Lynda.
“Well, then-“
“I don’t think they believe you’re a threat.”
“That’s very stupid of them,” said the man. He tossed the paperweight from one hand to the next.
“What, are you a threat?”
“Huge threat,” said the man casually. “I’ve destroyed whole worlds, you know.”
Lynda considered this.
“I don’t know that I believe you,” she said, and the man nearly dropped the paperweight. She added quickly, “I mean, sure, you might be capable of it, but so far, all you’ve done is be annoying.”
“I bide my time,” said the man, and continued tossing the paperweight. “Wow. I really am hungry. Got anything to eat in that desk of yours?”
Lynda, without knowing why, reached into one of her drawers and pulled out a granola bar. She handed it to the man without a word, and he immediately unwrapped and began eating it.
“Not horrific,” he said around a mouthful of granola. “Been a while since I’ve been hungry. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. But this is a normal hunger, you know. I’m not going to start draining life forces from anyone.”
“Good,” said Lynda warily.
“So - no Doctor on staff then?” asked the man.
“Not anyone who doesn’t have a name attached.”
“John Smith? James McCrimmon? Theta Sigma?”
Lynda typed a few things into her index, and then shook her head. “Nothing, sorry.”
“How about this - you just put a general call to all the doctors you have on staff and tell them the Master is here and let’s see who shows up?” suggested the man.
Lynda’s eyes narrowed. “The Master.”
“That’s me,” said the Master.
“What kind of name is the Master?”
“What kind of name is Jessica?” replied the Master.
“Is this some sort of game to you?” snapped Lynda.
The man broke into a grin. “Yes! It is! Very good, Jessica!”
“My name is Lynda!”
“Very good, Linda! I’m the Master.”
“Master of what?”
“Exactly,” said the Master, and he took another bite of the granola bar. “Security’s running a bit late.”
“Yes, well,” said Lynda. “Why don’t you just sit quietly and wait for them.”
“I could,” mused the Master. “Any luck figuring out what makes you happiest yet?”
“I’m not having this conversation.”
“Déjà vu,” said the Master. “What’s the show, anyway?”
Lynda gave up. Clearly, there was no getting rid of the madman, who had finished eating her granola bar and was now scavenging for the crumbs at the bottom of the wrapper. On the other hand, Lynda was beginning to agree with Security’s assessment that he didn’t pose much of a threat; after all, he seemed more interested in antagonizing her than he did trying to go anywhere in the building.
“Big Brother,” said Lynda.
The man looked startled. “You’re applying for an older sibling? Why?”
“That’s the name of the show. Everyone is locked in a house and you have to live together and once a week, the people watching decide who should be kicked off, and the last person in the house wins a million credits.”
“How Orwellian,” said the Master dryly.
“Huh?”
“Not very clever, are you, Linda?” asked the Master.
“Not so much,” said Lynda honestly. “But people like me.”
“Hmm.” The Master leaned over the desk to look at the notepad again. “Is that what makes you happy? Knowing that you’re liked?”
Lynda flipped the notepad over. “Look, your friend the Doctor clearly isn’t here, and if he is, I don’t think he much cares to see you.”
“That’s true enough,” muttered the Master.
“So I think it’s time for you to go,” continued Lynda.
“I’m still waiting for Security.”
“Security isn’t coming.”
“Can’t I just stay and have a bit of conversation?”
“No.”
Any further argument was halted by the sliding of the lift doors, and the whirring of a tin dog on wheels. The Master stepped away from the desk and threw his arms out wide.
“Ah, Torchwood Security! You’ve arrived. That is, assuming you are Torchwood Security.”
The little tin dog stopped; its little ears spun in circles. “That is my designation. Please identify yourself.”
“What, playing at not knowing me?” said the Master, leaning over. “Bad Dog. No treat for you.”
“K-9,” interrupted Lynda, “please escort this man off the property.”
“Affirmative, Mistress,” said K-9, and he moved toward the Master to bump against his shins. “I will now escort you from Torchwood property. Please comply.”
The Master watched K-9 bump against him, amused. “Aren’t you going to interrogate me? Tie me to a chair and demand answers? There ought to be a dank little room with a spotlight and a one-way mirror somewhere in the basements here.”
K-9 backed away. “You wish to be arrested?”
“Not particularly. I’d rather find my friend the Doctor, but I think if you-“
“The Doctor is not present,” said K-9, and the Master stood up straight.
“Really?” he asked, drawing it out and giving Lynda a grin. “You know the Doctor?”
“The Doctor is not present,” repeated K-9.
“Yes, covered that. Late for work today, is he? When do you think he’ll saunter in?”
“The Doctor is not present.”
The Master resisted the urge to kick the tin beast. K-9 might have sensed this, and backed up.
The Master looked over at Lynda. “No Doctor on staff, is there?”
“I didn’t see one!” squeaked Lynda, eyes wide.
“Didn’t see, or didn’t see to tell me?” snapped the Master, in such a menacing way that K-9 immediately rolled in between them.
“Please vacate Torchwood facilities,” said the dog, and its nose began to glow red.
The Master eyed the nose, glanced up at Lynda’s frightened eyes, and nodded briskly, as though he had made a decision.
“Well,” he said. “I think that’s all I’m going to learn on this trip. Linda, works for Torchwood, K-9 is security, and the name Jack Harkness rings a bell. Still don’t know anything about ray guns, Linda?”
“No,” squeaked Lynda.
“Didn’t think so,” said the man with a sigh.
“Please vacate-“
“He’s gone,” said Lynda suddenly. And he was.
*
The Time Lords were still working on their cards when the Master returned. They ignored him. He ignored them.
How very interesting - both Lindas seemed to have some kind of reaction when he mentioned the name of the 21st century Torchwood director, although he supposed that could have been simply their association with Torchwood itself.
Or…it could mean that Jack Harkness himself was somewhere in the trap. There were eight squares the Master couldn’t see. Jack could well be in one of them. The only question was - which square?
The Master examined his legal pad (Earth-bound, but he wasn’t going to be choosy) and considered his next plan.
Chapter Seven