Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [42]
‘Oh?’ The Doctor raised an eyebrow.
‘Have you heard of the Fleshsmiths, Doctor?’
The Doctor nodded. ‘By reputation only. Not the best of reputations either.’
‘They are an... ingenious race, Doctor. They have the ability to work flesh the way other species work with wood, they have pioneered surgical techniques and transplant technology to levels that are almost indescribable.’
‘They also have a reputation as grave robbers and body snatchers, and are suspected of being responsible for the disappearance of thousands of spaceships each year.’
The Master shrugged. ‘Your precious humans plunder their natural resources, Doctor. The Fleshsmiths are no different. Besides, I’ve never been too particular about the company I keep. You of all people should be aware of that.’
‘What did they do for you?’
The Master lowered himself into a chair. ‘They manufactured a new body for me.’
‘A clone?’
‘No, Doctor.’ The Master shook his head. ‘No a clone would have had all the faults and defects of this accursed Trakenite body.’
‘That stolen Trakenite body,’ the Doctor reminded him.
Anger flashed into the Master’s eyes. ‘Do you think I’m not aware of that every day of my life? Do you think I want to live like this?’
He leant forward in his chair. ‘The Fleshsmiths made me a body Doctor, designed and made it to my specifications, A perfect, unblemished, empty vessel ready to house my consciousness, my essence. A chance to start again.’
He slumped back into his chair. ‘So close.’
There was a pause, an awkward silence.
‘What happened?’ asked the Doctor.
‘They tricked me.’ The Master gave a curt laugh. ‘Me, the Master. I walked into the trap like a blind fool. They had the body, Doctor, and that blinded me to the simplest of traps. If I ever get my hands on the scrawny neck of the surgeon general...’
‘But all this, the deception with your TARDIS, for what purpose? To get at me?’
The Master looked at him levelly. ‘I don’t know, Doctor.
This is not a plan of my making. They forced me to pilot the TARDIS here, changed its internal configuration and then released the Zzinbriizi.’
The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes, I knew that someone had to have tampered with the jackals’ make-up. Not the most sensible of moves.’
‘Oh, don’t be too sure, Doctor. The pack leader of the Zzinbriizi is a creature called Barrock, and he has a guile and wit quite unlike the others. Intelligence has made him a most unpredictable enemy.’ The Master bared his gleaming teeth.
‘In different circumstances he would be the most entertaining of allies.’
The Doctor stood up and crossed to the window. ‘Yes, well you never were very careful about choosing your friends, were you?’
‘And yet you always seem to turn up.’
The Doctor turned, a silhouette against the light. ‘A friend?’
‘You cannot deny that our lives have been irrevocably linked, Doctor. That the path we both tread leads us inevitably in the same direction.’
‘And yet we are always at each others throats. It’s hardly the way most friends spend their time, waiting for the death blow.’
‘But ironically that blow is poised above me, and without your help I am dead as surely as if you killed me yourself.’
The Master held out the control device. ‘Help me locate the control node, Doctor. Help me regain control of my ship, and get back the body that I need to survive.’
The Doctor hesitated.
‘Have we been enemies for so long that you’ve forgotten what we used to be like?’
‘If our positions were reversed...’
‘Ah...’ the Master smiled. ‘But they’re not, and you’re not like me, Doctor. You never were.’
Outside, from across the plains, came the long mournful howl of the Zzinbriizi jackals.
The Doctor took the control device from the Master’s outstretched hand.
‘I think we’d better get a move on, don’t you?’
Saarl turned away from the screens in disgust. Lukos looked at him in dismay.
‘Whatever is the matter, my dear? The emotion of it all getting too much for you?’ He turned back to the screens. ‘The drama, the pathos. Oh, I’m getting quite overcome by it all!’
‘He’s a ham, Lukos.’ Saarl was getting bored.