Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [41]
Whatever the case, the Master now had the new lease of life that he had desired for so many centuries.
Revitalized, more deadly than ever, the Master had attempted to hold the entire universe to ransom. Once again the Doctor had foiled his plan. The Master sought revenge, but he became caught in his own trap. The Doctor saw gloved hands flailing as a Castrovalvan mob pinned his arch-enemy to the floor, watched as a world, a civilization, a people dissolved, fragmented. Castrovalva had been a beautiful place of endless libraries, filled with some of the kindest, noblest men the Doctor had ever had the privilege to meet. All of it – all of them – had been created by the Master.
‘The Master is dead, Adric,’ the Doctor concluded sadly.
Adric stepped back from the life support tube, looking up at its occupant. ‘Then who is that?’
The Doctor pressed his palms against the transparent tube and peered inside. ‘Humanoid. About five. foot six.
No immediate sign of injury or disease. The subject is ancient, however, and in an advanced state of physical degeneration.
The Doctor looked into the cracked, gnarled face. It looked more like the bark of an ancient oak tree than skin.
The eyes snapped open. Green eyes.
The Doctor stared into them, unable to look away.
Contact.
So ancient.
I...
‘Doctor!’ Adric shouted.
‘Who are you?
Mental barriers. Inside them already. I...
A woman’s voice. Catlike. An eye in his head. Older than you can imagine, I...
Doctor who?
Concentrate.
A familiar female voice spoke: ‘We must think...’
He crashed through the brittle metal. Romana was surrounded by leather-clad guards. A couple of them moved forward, their whips raised.
‘Hello everybody,’ the Doctor grinned, throwing his scarf back over his shoulder.
‘Doctor are you all right?’ Romana rushed forward. The guards stepped forward to restrain her.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ he assured her.
‘I was so worried about you.’ She was grinning from ear to ear. K9’s tail was wagging.
The Doctor picked a piece of metal from his hair and examined it absent-mindedly. ‘Oh, you shouldn’t be worried, Time Lords have ninety lives.’
‘How many have you got through?’
He thought for a moment. ‘About a hundred and thirty.’
I was joking.
Tell me more: You are a Time Lord? How old are you?
Inside my mind. Probing my memories. Searching for secrets from cradle to grave.
I have no cradle, I have no grave. I was born at Otherstide through the Loom of the House of Lungbarrow in Southern Gallifrey.
Waiting to be born. Strung out, spread really thin.
Unable to think, unable to assemble my thoughts. I couldn’t wait to get out. They were there. All forty-five of my cousins. Satthralope smacked me so hard I could barely walk and –
You are Loom-born?
Yes, I think so.
Are you a scientist?
‘Let me tell you, sir,’ the Doctor bawled, ‘that I am a scientist and I have been for several thousand –’
‘The man’s mad,’ Kettering declared. The Doctor glared at him before striding from the room, his cape swirling behind him
You left Gallifrey? Why?
‘I was bored.’
‘Bored?’ Jamie and Zoe chorused.
The Doctor caught his breath, gathered his thoughts.
‘The Time Lords are an immensely civilized race,’ he explained. We can control our own environment: we can live forever – barring accidents; and we have the secret of space-time travel... we hardly ever use our great powers.
We