Boulevard Of Broken Dreams
Beta: The marvellous and spectacular hel_bee who has the patience of a saint and a heart of a lion (and makes this so much better to read.) Any other mistakes are mine, mine, mine all mine….
Chapter 29
I walk alone - 30
The pound of the alarm greeted Jack, Martha, the Doctor and Harry as they entered the inner sanctum of the Hub.
Andrews was stood over the fallen body of Ianto, his Glock drawn, the sound of the bullet lost in the repetitive noise.
The Master, standing next to Andrews, turned to greet them. He hastily raised his laser screwdriver to halt their progress, but Jack didn’t stop. His momentum carried him forward, sinking to his knees by Ianto, his emotions replacing any caution. He needed to know, to see for himself if Ianto was truly alive. He assessed the damage quickly, it was a lucky shot, the bullet had clipped the upper part of Ianto’s right arm, painful yes, but neither crippling nor fatal. Jack was quite the expert on getting shot.
He placed his hand over the wound to stop the sluggish seep of blood, but something was wrong. He could feel it spark through the touch of his fingertips, an unearthly warmth, whispering to him, emitting a disjointed flash of divine order. Here was something disciplined and absolute, stretching across time in a variable web of a thousand conclusions.
Jack inhaled; this was the force that had fashioned him, made him a constant in an ever changing universe, a fixed point in multiple strings of cause and effect.
This was the Vortex.
He looked down at Ianto, but the young man’s gaze seemed so distant and aged that Jack felt a chill run through him. “Ianto?” He needed reassurance.
Ianto met Jack’s concern, his eyes trying to convey much more in the crowd of his mind where the threads of time held him fast in the unfolding events of possibilities and outcomes.
‘This is who we are,’ the TARDIS whispered, as the future flickered in hundreds of images extending out into infinite choices beyond his control.
Ianto felt like he needed to contain this before his body shattered with the sheer force and magnitude of the Vortex.
He tried to steady his mind, trying to grasp the concepts the TARDIS was showing him.
‘These are the threads of our existence,’ she explained, ‘the threads that bind us all as one.’
‘As one,’ Ianto echoed as his mind rewound the many strings back to their catalyst, the one fixed point in time that would start its many branches.
It replayed before him, each recap varying slightly but the result remained the same.
Death.
Death was the catalyst. Death was the beginning, the means to an end.
‘No,’ he cried, ‘there must be another way.’
‘We have chosen the best path,’ she clarified, deflecting the rawness of his emotion, ‘this is the inevitable, it is fixed, it cannot be changed.’
Ianto pulled at the filaments that were entwined around this one moment, this anchor.
“No,” he whispered again.
‘This future, this point, is cast in stone.’ Her voice was gentle, soothing.
‘Yet it can be undone,’ Ianto reasoned.
She knew what he purposed. ‘Yes, as your mother did before you.’ The despair echoed in her voice. ‘But it is not without consequence,” she warned, and Ianto felt Jack’s touch against his skin.
Jack.
Jack, who stood out against the flow of time, forged, moulded, shaped by its diversity, eroded by its demands.
“Jack,” Ianto whispered before the Vortex drew him back into its fold.
‘We are hurting’. The words sparked like fireflies in Jack’s mind.
‘Time is hurting’.
‘There must be a reckoning.’
“No,” Jack cried out loud, looking to the Doctor.
‘We will not hurt that which is ours.’
Who? Ianto, the Doctor, the Master, him?
Time?
The Doctor took a step forward, feeling the pull from both Ianto and the TARDIS.
His thoughts went to Rose, a human body trying to contain the insurmountable force of the TARDIS’s heart, that absolute power, fuelled by her own emotions.
But Ianto was only part human.
‘We will not hurt that which is ours,’ Ianto’s voice, twined with that of the TARDIS, whispered in his head.
‘What about those who are not - yours?’ the Doctor asked.
‘We will not hurt.’
But somewhere in the duality of accents, the Doctor heard the break of Ianto’s voice and felt its dilemma.
“Stay where you are, Doctor.” The Master’s voice seemed to resonate with arrogance through the Hub. “Bit of a chip off the old block.” He gave Ianto a harsh kick.
Jack reacted quickly, jumping to his feet with an emphatic growl, but Andrews stepped between him and the Master, his gun trained on Ianto. The Master smiled at the display.
“Oh, I think we’re going to have a lot of fun together, eh, Freak? How many times do you think he can regenerate, hm? Shall we put it to the test?” They locked eyes, Jack’s hostile and full of intent, the Master’s bustling with amusement.
“Andrews, take Braum and Fields to check the rest of the site, I want no more surprises. Oh, and see if you can find Neil I have a little job for him.”
Andrews nodded but spared a quick glance at Harry before signalling to the others to follow. It was all the reassurance Harry needed.
“On your feet, Jones,” the Master ordered, gesturing with his laser screwdriver.
Jack helped Ianto stand. “Looks like your little plan failed,” the Master sneered, tapping the screwdriver forcefully on Ianto’s injured arm. Ianto did not react; there was no pain to counter.
“But don’t worry we’ll speak about it later. I’m a little upset with you right now, Ianto Jones.” The Master stepped closer, gripping the young man’s face to ensure eye contact. “You lied to me. I don’t know how, but I’m going to find out.”
For a moment the Master saw his own twisted reflection in Ianto’s soft blue focus. He blinked. “Even if I have to tear your mind apart piece by piece until you’re left like dear Lisa in her cyber cage; brain dead and totally at my will.”
Ianto remained silent as the Master turned to Harry. “Well, well, well, Harry Sullivan, so you’re the mysterious Waverly, how apt.” His smile was all teeth and no humour. “It only goes to show, you can’t keep an old companion down, eh? Wanted one more adventure with him, did you? Shame it’s going to be your last,” he added with a flourish.
He took a step forward. “Any more of the Doctor’s merry little band waiting to crawl out the woodwork?”
He held eye contact with Harry as if the answer would appear in the older man’s gaze; it didn’t. The Master laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair affectionately before placing an arm around his shoulder. “Can I offer you some refreshment, hm? Tea maybe?”
“No, I’m fine, thank you,” Harry replied brusquely.
“Oh I like that,” the Master said, “here am I about to kill you and you still manage your Ps and Qs, how very British. You know, I might just have a job opportunity for you. I’m in need of a good manservant, can’t offer much in the way of pay, but at least you’ll be breathing.”
He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I was going to offer it to Jones, here, but I think I have other plans for that young man.” He pulled Harry to him in a makeshift hug. “So, what do you say, Harry, old chap, old beam, ready to join Team Empire?”
Harry went to refuse but the Master interrupted. “No, no don’t thank me, I get all embarrassed. Miss Royds”. He turned his attention to the woman systematically eating her way through a box of chocolate éclairs nestled between her and Witherspoon.
Emma looked up and sucked cream and chocolate from her finger with a gratifying ‘pop’. “I want some t-shirts made up,” the Master explained, “my face, ‘Team Empire,’ on the front and ‘go, team, go,’ on the back.”
Miss Royds scratched something in pencil on a pad before hitting her keyboard decisively.
The Master turned to Martha and sighed. “Now, Martha, don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” He waggled a finger in front of her nose. “You know you have a special place in my heart.”
“Really? I’d never of guessed,” Martha answered, crossing her arms.
The Master stooped a little closer to her ear. “I don’t want to appear to play favourites.” He touched her face. “Soon,” he whispered softly, “the conversion unit will be up and running and you, my dear, after Lisa of course, will be the first of my new army.” His lips brushed her cheek. “Go, team, go.”
Martha turned her head away.
The Master smiled, checked his pocket watch and ran to the middle of the Hub. “Mr Witherspoon, on screen if you please. I never get tired of saying that.” He winked at the Doctor.
Witherspoon looked up, his nose swollen and bruised from Lucy’s earlier attack. He dipped his eyes down to the keyboard. “Sir?” he questioned, shakily. Miss Royds shot him an apprehensive glance as she moved the éclairs nearer her own keyboard.
“I would like our guests to see the news coverage of the populace chanting my name - Master, Master, Master.” Again he looked at the Doctor with a smirk. “Make it so,” he added with a gesture to the screen.
Witherspoon appeared petrified; he tried to swallow his obvious anxiety. His fingers hit the keys as if, like worry beads, the action would ward off any stress. “Um, I, um, there’s a problem.” His voice was an uneasy whisper.
“What!” The Master turned round to face him, the heels of his shoes jarring noisily with the movement.
Witherspoon dipped behind the screen, using it as a shield. “The, um, the upload, it, it was removed.”
The Master’s stare burned through the back of the screen. “What do you mean removed?”
“Because of the content,” Witherspoon answered quickly, running his fingers nervously over his damp brow. “The original content, um, I’m afraid it’s been, was…” he corrected “…um, um, tampered with.” He looked fleetingly at the Master and then cowered back behind the sanctuary of the computer.
Harry smiled inwardly. Good old Sarah Jane.
“Altered?” The Master frowned. “But that’s impossible, I checked it myself and all the hits.”
“Um.” Again Doug hoped the click clack of the keyboard would earn him some respite.
“Witherspoon, so help me…”
“Um, it was a spoof,” he said hurriedly, keeping his head low.
“What? You seem to be making a lot of noise but I can’t understand what the hell you’re saying.” The Master loomed nearer.
Doug looked up, trying his hardest not to make eye contact. “An outside source hacked into the system, I didn’t see it, it was seamlessly done, amazing actually.” He smiled nervously.
“Witherspoon, answers now!” The Master slammed his fist down on the desk making its contents jump. Miss Royds instinctively put a podgy hand over the éclairs.
“Um, yes.” Again the man swallowed his throat dry. “The content you uploaded went onto a spoof site. No one viewed the original it was, it was…” he gulped. “Um, modified.”
The Master’s eyes narrowed. “Modified?”
Witherspoon nodded. His nose throbbed with the action making him feel both dizzy and sick.
The Master grabbed the top of the computer screen, his knuckles white. “What did they see?” He looked into Witherspoon’s bloodshot eyes.
“Sir?” Doug’s voice was more than shaky. Miss Royds placed her éclairs into the top drawer for safety.
The Master leant over the top of the computer, evading the other man’s personal space. “What. Did. They. See?” he spat.
Witherspoon whimpered as his finger hit the return key. He ducked behind his screen once more trying to appear inconspicuous. The BBC news channel came onto the main viewer.
The news reader, with matching fuchsia jacket and fish-like lips, sat behind a large picture of Lucy Cole.
“Police officers in Cardiff are searching the Bay area as they continue their investigation into the disappearance of Miss Lucy Cole. Miss Cole, whose father is Lord Cole of Tarminster, went missing on Friday during a routine government visit to offices in Cardiff.
“Police are extremely concern for her safety after the bodies of two of her colleagues were discovered in the Bay early this morning.”
The image of Lucy disappeared and was replaced with a film of police divers and forensics officers milling around the harbour.
“Mr Preston Syde and Miss Stacie Macie had been travelling to Cardiff with Miss Cole, their bodies were found by police divers in the early hours of this morning. The police are treating their deaths as suspicious.”
Pictures of the two replaced the footage; one a hazy image of a very inebriated Stacie taken at a Christmas party, the other, an unsmiling passport photo of Syde. The news reader dropped her gaze from the camera as the backdrop morphed to a wild eyed image of Harold Saxon; it too was an unflattering picture.
“Police would like to interview this man, Harold Saxon, after he uploaded recent footage of both Miss Cole and Miss Macie on a popular video sharing site.
“The recording shows a delusional Saxon ranting at the government in the belief he’s some alien time master.”
The picture cut to the Master’s ‘address to the nation.’ He was sat behind a desk in the Hub looking official, his hands clasped in front of him, the ring projecting its multi faceted light into the eye of the camera like a cheap hypnotist’s tool. His voice was calm and soothing, but as he spoke a series of words flash over his broadcast, drawing those watching away from his narrative to subliminally whisper to the hidden memories of the mind.
‘Remember.’
‘Liar.’
‘Madman.’
‘Murderer.’
‘Remember.’
‘Blood.’
‘Steel.’
‘Death.’
‘Remember.’
‘Genocide.’
‘Psychotic.’
‘Monster.’
‘Remember.’
‘Saxon.’
Then a very grainy image of an anxious Lucy appeared, her words lost in the jump of the film as it wavered like candlelight on the screen.
‘Victim.’
For a moment Harry Sullivan’s memory skipped with the image in jarring flashes of smoke and fire.
‘Victim.’
The word swam in his vision.
‘Victims.’
The Hub around him diminished from sight as the dark shadows of his nightmares surfaced to tinker in the daylight.
He saw the sky fracture and open and it rained steel and blood upon the Earth like Hell was above them and all of its demons let loose upon mankind. Childlike laughter echoed above the sound of screaming, carnage and death, while the sound of drums kept beat with the rhythm of his heart…
‘Saxon.’
‘Liar.’
‘Master.’
‘Monster.’
…and the laughter of a maniac.
‘Remember’
‘Hope’
‘Remember’
‘Doctor.’
‘Doctor.’
‘Doctor.’
“Doctor.” The word inadvertently sprang from Harry’s lips in a soft exhale of breath, exorcising the visions from his mind.
“Doctor,” he repeated to ward off the lingering tremors.
Even the newsreader seemed lost for a moment, her wide eyes following some distant memory until the whispered name of, ‘Doctor,’ brought her back to the eye of the camera.
She swallowed, composing herself. “It is believed Saxon became obsessed with Miss Cole when she visited Providence Park Psychiatric Hospital in Cardiff last September; Saxon was an outpatient there.
“The footage also showed Saxon, dressed in a Halloween costume, violently attacking Miss Macie in what appeared to be a psychotic rage…”
“Turn it off,” the Master yelled at Witherspoon; immediately the screen went blank.
There was silence except for the Master’s ragged breathing; he turned his back on the room. “Miss Royds, the bidding?” he asked, his voice cold.
Emma hit the keyboard merrily; the smile on her face collapsed into its folds.
“Miss Royds?” the Master asked again, his hand toying with the laser device by his side - the only oblivious sign of his irritation.
“The site has been suspended and all bids withdrawn,” she replied, a little too quickly. Her eyes narrowed and her finger moved to the screen, following the text. “’By order of the Shadow Proclamation.’” She withdrew her finger and bit her lip nervously not daring to look up. “There’s also a galactic warrant out for your arrest.”
The Master glanced at his finger to where the pinch of the ring was still visible on his skin; its power had been used against him.
‘How? How?’ he demanded of himself, clenching his fist tightly.
‘Ianto Jones,’ came the bitter reply.
But How? How could he? How could this boy have outwitted him? He was the Master.
He was the Master!
‘Master of what?’ that small voice asked. ‘Master of nothing but your own demise,’ it mocked.
No!
‘Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the cleverest of us all? Not the Master,’ it taunted, laughing at his own stupidity.
‘Quick, call the huntsman to take the boy into the woods and cut out his heart… Ah, but you’ve tried that once and he won’t die…’
The Master spun round and confronted Ianto. “This is your doing,” he raged, raising the laser screwdriver.
Ianto exhaled. Jack moved across him but the young man did not register it. Instead, through the eyes of the Vortex, he saw the Hub shatter before him into thousands of shards of suspended probabilities.
This was it.
This was the defining moment, the anchor in the flow of time and grief overwhelmed him in oceans.
Chapter 30 (b)