Fic: There Was a Master in a Game (12/25)
Title: There Was a Master in a Game
Author: azriona
Characters: The Master mostly. This week’s guest stars are K-9 and Amy Pond.
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 ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven
Chapter Twelve: Vertical B Detour to Horizontal B
“Suit yourself,” said Romana, and continued dealing out the cards to the other Time Lords.
The Master had been about to kick the wall, but left his foot hanging in midair behind him. “You know,” he said, suddenly a great deal calmer and much more contemplative, “I think I will.”
He disappeared again, and this time, Romana watched him go with a worried expression, wondering just what she’d said.
*
The Master appeared in a very familiar place.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered.
The space wasn’t large, but the vaulted ceiling sloped upwards in a graceful dome, laid with dark brown and red tiles, all swirled together in an imitation of a storm at sea, or perhaps the red grass fields outside his boyhood home. Black coral archways swooped over the console, sparkling in the blue-green light emitted from the time rotor. The Master laid one hand on the closest archway; it felt rough, like a thousand diamonds under his palm, and he could feel the motors running like a surge of electricity straight through his muscles.
“Now, that’s a fantasy,” he said to the coral.
“Thank you, Master,” said K-9, appearing on the other side of the platform.
The Master smiled. It was not a kind smile.
“This is what she would have looked like, if she’d survived,” he said to the little tin dog, running his hands over the coral possessively, lovingly.
“I have examined my databanks for the decorative history of your particular TARDISes, and this was the most obvious outcome,” replied K-9.
He turned so quickly, even K-9 did not see it happen. The Master held his laser screwdriver to K-9’s nose.
“You’re a corner, aren’t you? In this fantastically stupid Bingo game.”
The dog did not answer.
“You’ve got two stories I don’t have,” said the Master. “Show me.”
“I-“
“You are the Manager here, and there’s a working chameleon circuit,” the Master reminded him harshly. “And my laser screwdriver can fry you faster than you could change one bit of what’s here. In fact, you don’t want to change, because trust me, my next fantasy isn’t what you’d like at all.”
The little tin dog’s antenna ears whirred again.
Whirred…..and slowly ground to a halt, as the canine head fell with a snap to its chest, and the lights switched off.
“You shut yourself off?” shouted the Master, but his indignation was stopped in its tracks as everything around him shifted, twirled, and at last dissolved….into something completely new.
*
Amy Pond would have been enjoying herself thoroughly if it had not been for the hair.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” she had said to her reflection in the mirror.
“It’s the one thing Lucas got right,” said the Doctor, and shoved her out of the TARDIS door without another word.
Amy thought she could still hear Rory laughing. It echoed in the back of her head, and Amy ignored the growing headache by contemplating the things she could do - or not do - to him upon her return.
“Lady Pond,” repeated the pilot for the tenth time. Amy blinked.
“Oh, right, sorry,” she said. “Um. Second star to the left, straight on ‘til morning?”
The pilot looked confused.
“Wrong story,” she said flatly. “Look, my droid has the coordinates. Just…wait, okay?”
The pilot heaved a sigh.
“Oi, am I not paying you enough?” snapped Amy. “Because I’m pretty sure there were plenty of zeros in that credit transfer. You could stuff it with the sighing, if that’s all right by you.”
“Yes, Lady,” muttered the pilot, and tipped his visor down so she couldn’t see his eyes.
Just as well. They made her nervous, those clones. All over the place, one after the other, exactly the same as the next. In the movies, the clones had turned into stormtroopers. Amy thought. She couldn’t remember exactly. Rory knew. Rory had watched all six films and refused to buy the first three which were the second three but when they’d been re-released, bunches of stuff had been changed, and he didn’t buy the new releases on principle. Rory had long conversations with anyone about who shot first and why the old music was better and who cared if it was the wrong ghost at the end, it was meant to be the way he would have looked had he aged naturally.
Amy couldn’t have cared less. No, that wasn’t true. The one thing she cared less about was her current hairstyle. It reminded her of photographs she’d seen of the early 1990s, when everyone wore their hair like they’d stuck their fingers in a light-socket.
“Your droid’s taking a long time,” said the pilot lazily.
“He has errands,” said Amy shortly.
“Errands?”
“Zeros,” Amy reminded him, and the pilot saluted her sharply.
Why did she have to be the one, anyway? It should have been Rory. Rory knew the lingo. Rory knew the story. Rory would have been sitting in the cockpit of the stupid spaceship transport shuttlecraft whatever-it-was, asking the pilot a thousand questions and very possibly taking notes.
“That’s why he can’t go,” the Doctor had explained patiently. “There’s….continuity errors. You’re better off going in blind than going in misinformed. And since Lucas didn’t get much right besides the hair, Rory would end up in real trouble. You, Pond - you don’t know a thing. You’re perfect.”
“Great,” muttered Amy.
“Is it here yet?” said the pilot, hopeful.
“Shut up,” said Amy, and tapped her toe.
Fly to Tatooine - which was a continent, if you were going to be picky, not a planet - retrieve the idiot Earthling director who had muddled the entire legend for the sake of entertainment, give him a sound kick in the rear for getting nothing right but the hair, send him back on his merry way by means of the stupid device she had in her pocket, and get back to the TARDIS. Poste-haste.
“Pond-haste,” the Doctor had said cheerily, trying to be cheeky. Amy had considered throttling him, but then he kicked her out of the door and she was stuck.
It was the fez. Making her wear this ridiculous hairstyle was retaliation for having helped River destroy his fez. Not that the fez didn’t deserve it, but all the same. She should have made Rory throw the blasted thing for River.
The door to the cockpit slid open. “Oh, thank God,” sighed Amy with relief, and sat up. “K-9, what took you-“
Her words died away as a man in a sweatshirt and jeans followed K-9 into the cockpit. He wore a grin the size of the Doctor’s deceased fez.
“Oh, this is just brilliant,” he said, delighted. “I loved these movies. Palpatine, he was the best. I could have learned so much from him.”
“Who?” asked the pilot.
“Oh!” cried the man. “It’s a clone. You’re a clone.”
Amy winced. The Doctor had told her very specifically never to tell a clone it was a clone. It was considered the height of rudeness.
The clone apparently had missed the memo - or maybe the Doctor shouldn’t have been complaining so much about how Lucas had missed a few details. “Is he one of your droid’s errands?” he asked Amy.
“I apologize, Mistress,” said K-9. “He insisted that he be here.”
“Fine,” said Amy impatiently, and turned to the pilot. “Let’s go.”
“You didn’t say there would be two people-“
“ZEROS.”
The pilot spun around to the controls, and Amy felt the gravitational pull - or whatever it was, she really did NOT care - as the ship went into orbit. The man in the sweatshirt buckled himself into the seat next to Amy.
“So,” he said happily. “You’re not Leia, the hair’s not right.”
“Leave off the hair,” said Amy shortly. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m the Master.”
“Master of what?”
“Everyone keeps asking that,” said the Master. “Why do I have to be the master of anything?”
“Well, if you weren’t, you wouldn’t bother with being called the Master, you’d be the Apprentice or something,” said Amy.
“Donald Trump’s copyrighted it already. In several star systems.” The Master leaned forward and looked out the windows. “Look! Death Star!”
The pilot craned his neck. “Galaxy Tradecraft Star System Explorer, is the proper term for it. My brothers live there. They say it’s got a gorgeous pool on the seventieth level.”
“It’s missing the superlaser,” said the Master suddenly. He sounded disappointed.
“The what?” asked the pilot.
Amy grabbed the Master’s arm. “Shut up,” she hissed. “Look, Lucas got it wrong, okay? Everything you saw in the movies, it was all wrong.”
The Master glanced at her hair. “That doesn’t look too far off.”
Amy made a strangled noise, and let go of his arm. “Just….shut up. It’s a Galaxy Tradecraft whatever it is, not a Death Star. The clones work as pilots and support staff, not stormtroopers. And Wookies speak English perfectly well.”
The Master snorted. “Oh, sure. Next you’ll be telling me Tatooine is ice.”
Amy closed her eyes and fell back.
“It’s not, is it?”
“K-9,” began Amy, “why did you bring him again?”
“He requested it, Mistress.”
“Anyway, since I’m here,” said the Master brightly, and he pulled a roll of paper from his back pocket. “Name?”
“Jane Doe,” said Amy.
There was a rustling sound. Amy opened her eyes to see the Master pointing something at her forehead. It looked a bit like the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver except gold.
“Let’s try that again,” he said pleasantly. “Name?”
“Amy Pond,” said Amy.
“Lovely. Know any blondes, Amy?”
Amy slapped him. Screwdriver be damned.
“Why do I always get slapped when I ask that?” wondered the Master.
“Gee, let me think,” said Amy.
“I don’t know where your mind went, but I’m looking for two girls who happen to be blonde, and I want to know if you know either of them,” snapped the Master.
“I don’t know anyone who’s blonde,” said Amy.
The Master made a note on his papers. “Does the name Jack Harkness ring a bell?”
Amy blinked. “Sorry?”
“Jack. Harkness,” prompted the Master.
Amy blinked again. “Nope, sorry.”
“Hmm,” said the Master, and made another notation. “Not that I believe you, but we’ll move on. Torchwood?”
Amy instantly put her hand over her pocket. “No.”
The Master eyed her pocket. “Really? What’s in your pocket?”
“Nothing.”
He shook the golden screwdriver. Amy sighed, and pulled out the disc. It was about the size of a sand-dollar.
“It’s a transporter,” said Amy. “That’s where he said it came from, Torchwood Tower. In London. I’m supposed to get Lucas to use it to get back home, the nitwit. After I kick him for the hair.”
“The hair?” asked the Master, momentarily distracted.
“It’s the only thing he got right about this stupid place,” explained Amy.
“If he got it right, you can’t exactly blame him for it,” said the Master.
“Oh, yes, I can,” Amy retorted.
The Master made another note on his papers, and then looked up. “So - Jack Harkness brought you the transporter from Torchwood?”
“No,” said Amy. “The Doctor did.”
The Master’s eyes widened. “The Doctor?”
“He’s a friend of mine-“
“I know who the Doctor is, thanks,” snapped the Master. “I didn’t think it would be that easy. No one else is willing to admit-“ He glanced down at K-9. “This is because I’m breaking into new parts of the card, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” asked Amy.
“Affirmative, Master,” said K-9, who would have sounded miserable if he hadn’t sounded mechanical. “The Doctor did not take care to hide himself where he did not believe you would find him.”
The Master giggled. Amy didn’t like the sound of it.
“So, Amy Pond,” he said, turning back to her. “Where is he? Your friend. The Doctor.”
“Not here,” said Amy cautiously. “He wouldn’t come with me.”
“Chicken,” said the Master. Almost fondly, Amy thought. “Don’t suppose you know anything about ray guns, Amy Pond?”
“Nope.”
“Anyone getting married?”
“Not at the moment,” said Amy, wanting to leave Rory out of this man’s radar.
The man looked thoughtful. “Don’t suppose there’s any Sycorax in these parts.”
Amy blinked. “Sycorax?”
“Aha,” said the Master. He made another notation on his papers before rolling them up and putting them back in his pocket. “Well, Amy Pond, it’s been quite an experience. I like the hair. Tell the Doctor that I’ve got his number.”
“Okay,” said Amy.
“I’m taking the stupid tin dog,” continued the Master.
“I will return at my earliest convenience, Mistress,” K-9 assured her.
“Oh, please, you’re not going anywhere,” Amy told the tin dog. “It’s not like he can really take you anywhere.”
“Oh?” said the Master, amused.
“We’re in orbit. You can’t go anywhere until we land.”
“That what you think?” said the Master.
He was gone - and K-9 with him.
“Tatooine in five minutes, Lady Pond,” said the clone. “Did you want to use one of the parkas in the closet?”
Amy blinked, and touched the transporter in her pocket, just to make sure the Master hadn’t used it.
K-9 would return. Otherwise, there wasn’t a chance she’d find Lucas on her own.
“Will it crush my hair?” Amy asked hopefully.
“No, Lady. They’re designed very well.”
“Bollocks,” said Amy, and took the parka anyway.
*
The Time Lords were shouting each other down over their cards. The Master whistled as he passed the table, not pausing for a moment. In fact, he had no intentions of pausing at all, until-
“K-9!” exclaimed Romana, and the little tin dog following the Master rolled to a halt.
“Mistress,” said K-9, its tail wagging with what might have been pleasure in an actual dog.
“K-9,” said Romana warmly, and she knelt down to pat the creature on its head.
“Oh, please, it’s made of tin,” groaned the Master. “Don’t tell me you know this beast?”
“Don’t mind him,” Romana told the tin dog. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping me, which none of the rest of you seemed inclined to do,” snapped the Master. “He’s got one more thing to show me, and then I’m dropping him in the nearest wormhole.”
Romana stood up, eyes flashing. “Touch one atom of that dog’s casing and I will personally ensure that you never leave this Time Lock.”
“Oh, like you don’t want out just as badly as I do,” scoffed the Master. “Why don’t you play Old Maid next?”
“Mistress,” said K-9. “Do not worry. I have not been harmed, and I do not believe the Master will harm me.”
“Hmm,” said Romana, clearly not so convinced. Her eyes narrowed onto the Master. “One atom, do you hear me, Master?”
“Right,” said the Master, unconcerned. “Ta-ta.” He continued walking out of the Council Room.
Romana looked down at K-9. “Don’t trust him.”
K-9’s antenna-ears whirred. “Mistress,” he said, and if ever a tin dog could sound completely self-assured, it was K-9. “Do not worry. I trust the Doctor. And his programming.”
“Hmm,” said Romana, and lost in thought, also lost the next three hands of the game.
Chapter Thirteen
Author: azriona
Characters: The Master mostly. This week’s guest stars are K-9 and Amy Pond.
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 ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven
Chapter Twelve: Vertical B Detour to Horizontal B
“Suit yourself,” said Romana, and continued dealing out the cards to the other Time Lords.
The Master had been about to kick the wall, but left his foot hanging in midair behind him. “You know,” he said, suddenly a great deal calmer and much more contemplative, “I think I will.”
He disappeared again, and this time, Romana watched him go with a worried expression, wondering just what she’d said.
*
The Master appeared in a very familiar place.
“Oh, yes,” he whispered.
The space wasn’t large, but the vaulted ceiling sloped upwards in a graceful dome, laid with dark brown and red tiles, all swirled together in an imitation of a storm at sea, or perhaps the red grass fields outside his boyhood home. Black coral archways swooped over the console, sparkling in the blue-green light emitted from the time rotor. The Master laid one hand on the closest archway; it felt rough, like a thousand diamonds under his palm, and he could feel the motors running like a surge of electricity straight through his muscles.
“Now, that’s a fantasy,” he said to the coral.
“Thank you, Master,” said K-9, appearing on the other side of the platform.
The Master smiled. It was not a kind smile.
“This is what she would have looked like, if she’d survived,” he said to the little tin dog, running his hands over the coral possessively, lovingly.
“I have examined my databanks for the decorative history of your particular TARDISes, and this was the most obvious outcome,” replied K-9.
He turned so quickly, even K-9 did not see it happen. The Master held his laser screwdriver to K-9’s nose.
“You’re a corner, aren’t you? In this fantastically stupid Bingo game.”
The dog did not answer.
“You’ve got two stories I don’t have,” said the Master. “Show me.”
“I-“
“You are the Manager here, and there’s a working chameleon circuit,” the Master reminded him harshly. “And my laser screwdriver can fry you faster than you could change one bit of what’s here. In fact, you don’t want to change, because trust me, my next fantasy isn’t what you’d like at all.”
The little tin dog’s antenna ears whirred again.
Whirred…..and slowly ground to a halt, as the canine head fell with a snap to its chest, and the lights switched off.
“You shut yourself off?” shouted the Master, but his indignation was stopped in its tracks as everything around him shifted, twirled, and at last dissolved….into something completely new.
*
Amy Pond would have been enjoying herself thoroughly if it had not been for the hair.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” she had said to her reflection in the mirror.
“It’s the one thing Lucas got right,” said the Doctor, and shoved her out of the TARDIS door without another word.
Amy thought she could still hear Rory laughing. It echoed in the back of her head, and Amy ignored the growing headache by contemplating the things she could do - or not do - to him upon her return.
“Lady Pond,” repeated the pilot for the tenth time. Amy blinked.
“Oh, right, sorry,” she said. “Um. Second star to the left, straight on ‘til morning?”
The pilot looked confused.
“Wrong story,” she said flatly. “Look, my droid has the coordinates. Just…wait, okay?”
The pilot heaved a sigh.
“Oi, am I not paying you enough?” snapped Amy. “Because I’m pretty sure there were plenty of zeros in that credit transfer. You could stuff it with the sighing, if that’s all right by you.”
“Yes, Lady,” muttered the pilot, and tipped his visor down so she couldn’t see his eyes.
Just as well. They made her nervous, those clones. All over the place, one after the other, exactly the same as the next. In the movies, the clones had turned into stormtroopers. Amy thought. She couldn’t remember exactly. Rory knew. Rory had watched all six films and refused to buy the first three which were the second three but when they’d been re-released, bunches of stuff had been changed, and he didn’t buy the new releases on principle. Rory had long conversations with anyone about who shot first and why the old music was better and who cared if it was the wrong ghost at the end, it was meant to be the way he would have looked had he aged naturally.
Amy couldn’t have cared less. No, that wasn’t true. The one thing she cared less about was her current hairstyle. It reminded her of photographs she’d seen of the early 1990s, when everyone wore their hair like they’d stuck their fingers in a light-socket.
“Your droid’s taking a long time,” said the pilot lazily.
“He has errands,” said Amy shortly.
“Errands?”
“Zeros,” Amy reminded him, and the pilot saluted her sharply.
Why did she have to be the one, anyway? It should have been Rory. Rory knew the lingo. Rory knew the story. Rory would have been sitting in the cockpit of the stupid spaceship transport shuttlecraft whatever-it-was, asking the pilot a thousand questions and very possibly taking notes.
“That’s why he can’t go,” the Doctor had explained patiently. “There’s….continuity errors. You’re better off going in blind than going in misinformed. And since Lucas didn’t get much right besides the hair, Rory would end up in real trouble. You, Pond - you don’t know a thing. You’re perfect.”
“Great,” muttered Amy.
“Is it here yet?” said the pilot, hopeful.
“Shut up,” said Amy, and tapped her toe.
Fly to Tatooine - which was a continent, if you were going to be picky, not a planet - retrieve the idiot Earthling director who had muddled the entire legend for the sake of entertainment, give him a sound kick in the rear for getting nothing right but the hair, send him back on his merry way by means of the stupid device she had in her pocket, and get back to the TARDIS. Poste-haste.
“Pond-haste,” the Doctor had said cheerily, trying to be cheeky. Amy had considered throttling him, but then he kicked her out of the door and she was stuck.
It was the fez. Making her wear this ridiculous hairstyle was retaliation for having helped River destroy his fez. Not that the fez didn’t deserve it, but all the same. She should have made Rory throw the blasted thing for River.
The door to the cockpit slid open. “Oh, thank God,” sighed Amy with relief, and sat up. “K-9, what took you-“
Her words died away as a man in a sweatshirt and jeans followed K-9 into the cockpit. He wore a grin the size of the Doctor’s deceased fez.
“Oh, this is just brilliant,” he said, delighted. “I loved these movies. Palpatine, he was the best. I could have learned so much from him.”
“Who?” asked the pilot.
“Oh!” cried the man. “It’s a clone. You’re a clone.”
Amy winced. The Doctor had told her very specifically never to tell a clone it was a clone. It was considered the height of rudeness.
The clone apparently had missed the memo - or maybe the Doctor shouldn’t have been complaining so much about how Lucas had missed a few details. “Is he one of your droid’s errands?” he asked Amy.
“I apologize, Mistress,” said K-9. “He insisted that he be here.”
“Fine,” said Amy impatiently, and turned to the pilot. “Let’s go.”
“You didn’t say there would be two people-“
“ZEROS.”
The pilot spun around to the controls, and Amy felt the gravitational pull - or whatever it was, she really did NOT care - as the ship went into orbit. The man in the sweatshirt buckled himself into the seat next to Amy.
“So,” he said happily. “You’re not Leia, the hair’s not right.”
“Leave off the hair,” said Amy shortly. “Who are you?”
“Oh, I’m the Master.”
“Master of what?”
“Everyone keeps asking that,” said the Master. “Why do I have to be the master of anything?”
“Well, if you weren’t, you wouldn’t bother with being called the Master, you’d be the Apprentice or something,” said Amy.
“Donald Trump’s copyrighted it already. In several star systems.” The Master leaned forward and looked out the windows. “Look! Death Star!”
The pilot craned his neck. “Galaxy Tradecraft Star System Explorer, is the proper term for it. My brothers live there. They say it’s got a gorgeous pool on the seventieth level.”
“It’s missing the superlaser,” said the Master suddenly. He sounded disappointed.
“The what?” asked the pilot.
Amy grabbed the Master’s arm. “Shut up,” she hissed. “Look, Lucas got it wrong, okay? Everything you saw in the movies, it was all wrong.”
The Master glanced at her hair. “That doesn’t look too far off.”
Amy made a strangled noise, and let go of his arm. “Just….shut up. It’s a Galaxy Tradecraft whatever it is, not a Death Star. The clones work as pilots and support staff, not stormtroopers. And Wookies speak English perfectly well.”
The Master snorted. “Oh, sure. Next you’ll be telling me Tatooine is ice.”
Amy closed her eyes and fell back.
“It’s not, is it?”
“K-9,” began Amy, “why did you bring him again?”
“He requested it, Mistress.”
“Anyway, since I’m here,” said the Master brightly, and he pulled a roll of paper from his back pocket. “Name?”
“Jane Doe,” said Amy.
There was a rustling sound. Amy opened her eyes to see the Master pointing something at her forehead. It looked a bit like the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver except gold.
“Let’s try that again,” he said pleasantly. “Name?”
“Amy Pond,” said Amy.
“Lovely. Know any blondes, Amy?”
Amy slapped him. Screwdriver be damned.
“Why do I always get slapped when I ask that?” wondered the Master.
“Gee, let me think,” said Amy.
“I don’t know where your mind went, but I’m looking for two girls who happen to be blonde, and I want to know if you know either of them,” snapped the Master.
“I don’t know anyone who’s blonde,” said Amy.
The Master made a note on his papers. “Does the name Jack Harkness ring a bell?”
Amy blinked. “Sorry?”
“Jack. Harkness,” prompted the Master.
Amy blinked again. “Nope, sorry.”
“Hmm,” said the Master, and made another notation. “Not that I believe you, but we’ll move on. Torchwood?”
Amy instantly put her hand over her pocket. “No.”
The Master eyed her pocket. “Really? What’s in your pocket?”
“Nothing.”
He shook the golden screwdriver. Amy sighed, and pulled out the disc. It was about the size of a sand-dollar.
“It’s a transporter,” said Amy. “That’s where he said it came from, Torchwood Tower. In London. I’m supposed to get Lucas to use it to get back home, the nitwit. After I kick him for the hair.”
“The hair?” asked the Master, momentarily distracted.
“It’s the only thing he got right about this stupid place,” explained Amy.
“If he got it right, you can’t exactly blame him for it,” said the Master.
“Oh, yes, I can,” Amy retorted.
The Master made another note on his papers, and then looked up. “So - Jack Harkness brought you the transporter from Torchwood?”
“No,” said Amy. “The Doctor did.”
The Master’s eyes widened. “The Doctor?”
“He’s a friend of mine-“
“I know who the Doctor is, thanks,” snapped the Master. “I didn’t think it would be that easy. No one else is willing to admit-“ He glanced down at K-9. “This is because I’m breaking into new parts of the card, isn’t it?”
“Huh?” asked Amy.
“Affirmative, Master,” said K-9, who would have sounded miserable if he hadn’t sounded mechanical. “The Doctor did not take care to hide himself where he did not believe you would find him.”
The Master giggled. Amy didn’t like the sound of it.
“So, Amy Pond,” he said, turning back to her. “Where is he? Your friend. The Doctor.”
“Not here,” said Amy cautiously. “He wouldn’t come with me.”
“Chicken,” said the Master. Almost fondly, Amy thought. “Don’t suppose you know anything about ray guns, Amy Pond?”
“Nope.”
“Anyone getting married?”
“Not at the moment,” said Amy, wanting to leave Rory out of this man’s radar.
The man looked thoughtful. “Don’t suppose there’s any Sycorax in these parts.”
Amy blinked. “Sycorax?”
“Aha,” said the Master. He made another notation on his papers before rolling them up and putting them back in his pocket. “Well, Amy Pond, it’s been quite an experience. I like the hair. Tell the Doctor that I’ve got his number.”
“Okay,” said Amy.
“I’m taking the stupid tin dog,” continued the Master.
“I will return at my earliest convenience, Mistress,” K-9 assured her.
“Oh, please, you’re not going anywhere,” Amy told the tin dog. “It’s not like he can really take you anywhere.”
“Oh?” said the Master, amused.
“We’re in orbit. You can’t go anywhere until we land.”
“That what you think?” said the Master.
He was gone - and K-9 with him.
“Tatooine in five minutes, Lady Pond,” said the clone. “Did you want to use one of the parkas in the closet?”
Amy blinked, and touched the transporter in her pocket, just to make sure the Master hadn’t used it.
K-9 would return. Otherwise, there wasn’t a chance she’d find Lucas on her own.
“Will it crush my hair?” Amy asked hopefully.
“No, Lady. They’re designed very well.”
“Bollocks,” said Amy, and took the parka anyway.
*
The Time Lords were shouting each other down over their cards. The Master whistled as he passed the table, not pausing for a moment. In fact, he had no intentions of pausing at all, until-
“K-9!” exclaimed Romana, and the little tin dog following the Master rolled to a halt.
“Mistress,” said K-9, its tail wagging with what might have been pleasure in an actual dog.
“K-9,” said Romana warmly, and she knelt down to pat the creature on its head.
“Oh, please, it’s made of tin,” groaned the Master. “Don’t tell me you know this beast?”
“Don’t mind him,” Romana told the tin dog. “What are you doing here?”
“Helping me, which none of the rest of you seemed inclined to do,” snapped the Master. “He’s got one more thing to show me, and then I’m dropping him in the nearest wormhole.”
Romana stood up, eyes flashing. “Touch one atom of that dog’s casing and I will personally ensure that you never leave this Time Lock.”
“Oh, like you don’t want out just as badly as I do,” scoffed the Master. “Why don’t you play Old Maid next?”
“Mistress,” said K-9. “Do not worry. I have not been harmed, and I do not believe the Master will harm me.”
“Hmm,” said Romana, clearly not so convinced. Her eyes narrowed onto the Master. “One atom, do you hear me, Master?”
“Right,” said the Master, unconcerned. “Ta-ta.” He continued walking out of the Council Room.
Romana looked down at K-9. “Don’t trust him.”
K-9’s antenna-ears whirred. “Mistress,” he said, and if ever a tin dog could sound completely self-assured, it was K-9. “Do not worry. I trust the Doctor. And his programming.”
“Hmm,” said Romana, and lost in thought, also lost the next three hands of the game.
Chapter Thirteen