Doctor Who: The Trial of a Time Lord : The Ultimate Foe (7 page)

‘Yeah, he’s got a point.’ Glitz rounded on the black-bearded renegade. ‘Who voted you Chairman of the Board?’

The Master treated Glitz to a beatific smile. ‘Sabalom.

Sabalom. Remember our many fruitful collaborations. I beg you, friend, don’t listen to him. Can you not perceive his motive?’

‘The profit motive’s all I’m interested in!’

‘Naturally, Sabalom, old friend. And profit you shall have...’ Condescension oozed. The ingratiating speech dropped an octave for the finale. ‘... after the Valeyard has been disposed of.’

Judging the sycophantic bartering to be concluded, the Doctor added his comment. ‘Which completes the circumnavigational dissertation. Bringing us to my question. Why?’

‘Am I aiding you?’ The Master, evil though he was, had a handsome smile. He was enjoying the contretemps.

‘Yes, why is the leopard changing his spots?’

‘With you as my enemy, I always had the advantage.’

‘Huh!’

‘Oh yes. You are constrained by conscience. There are limits beyond which you will not trespass.’

‘Constraints from which you’ve never suffered.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate your magnanimity, Doctor, in conceding that.’

‘The two of you’ll be kissing and making up at this rate!’

‘Perish the thought, Glitz!’ groaned the Doctor.

‘But the Valeyard, the distillation of all that is evil –’

The Master almost smacked his lips as he uttered the word,

‘– in you, untainted by virtue a composite of your every dark thought, is a different proposition.’

Spelt out this precisely, the Doctor could no longer evade the import of the Valeyard. So far he had drawn a veil over the accusation, blotting it from his mind. Now he had to face the fact that the cold, calculating prosecutor was the personification of every deplorable act he had ever committed; every adverse deed he had even comtemplated.

The malice he had learnt to govern had burst from its cage and been reincarnated into this monster known as the Valeyard.

‘Additionally, the Valeyard has infuriated me by threatening to deny me the gratification of personally bringing about your destruction. And so, he must pay the price!’ The Master grabbed Glitz and thrust him, unceremoniously, into the annex.

‘Curtain speech? Or prologue to the next act?’

The Doctor mused. ‘With the Master, one can never be certain.’

He tested both doors – to the exterior and the annex.

His suspicions were confirmed. They were locked. And he was a prisoner. What abasement had the warped miscreant in store for him now.. ?

Commencing insiduously... vibrant, pulsating, variegated lights began to accost him...

They dipped and swirled... faster and faster, to the accompaniment of a staccato, supersonic screech...

He pressed his knuckles to his ears... twisted and turned in the accelerating strobic lights, trying to block out the brain-numbing assault... squeezed shut his eyelids...

The onslaught of the disorientating maelstrom would not be denied.

Gradually the clenched knuckles relaxed...

His arms fell leadenly to his sides...

The wrinkled eyelids slowly rose... exposing the blue eyes to the mesmeric lights...

Sight, hearing, muscles, senses, were immobilised.

The Doctor stood erect...

Unable to move... see... or speak...

A prisoner indeed...

12

Incongruously, the statuesque rigour of the Doctor reminded Mel of the waxworks in Madame Tussauds: a museum in London, England, that housed many effigies of the famous who peopled her planet Earth.

A shudder shook her slender frame, for it was the basement of the popular landmark that came to mind – the Chamber of Horrors!

She regarded with contempt the calm faces of the esteemed observers in the Courtroom. It was difficult to accept that these were the same species as the altruistic Doctor. Their impassivity was tantamount to callousness.

Her attention strayed to the Key of Rassilon hanging about the Keeper’s neck. Her attempt to secure it had been baulked... would she have the opportunity to try again.. ?

The Master would have been arrogantly amused by Mel’s futile attempts to gain the Key of Rassilon. Indeed, had he not been engaged in subjugating the Doctor, he could have told the tale of his own adroitness in obtaining access to the Matrix.

The Time Lords of Gallifrey had, over the aeons, developed a trait that could only be described as an acute case of Achilles Heel. These vain-glorious elitists no longer deigned to carry out those tedious day-to-day chores which occurred even in the most perfect of societies. Maintenance of the Matrix had been delegated – nay, relegated – to the Elzevirs, inhabitants of the Moon of Leptonica; a lunar satellite in the constellation of Daedalus.

These delicate creatures specialised in micro-technology and were, therefore, ideally suited to disburden the slothful Gallifreyans from the tedium of servicing and refurbishing the micro-circuitry of the Matrix.

This, then, was the Achilles Heel, the chink in the armour the Gallifreyans had unwittingly provided for the Master to exploit.

Unable to hypnotise a fellow Time Lord, he was under no such handicap when it came to the Elzevirs.

His mesmerising medallion easily enslaved Nilex, the supervisor of the repair team.

Symptoms of a fault were induced into the Matrix and Nilex, a vassal of the renegade, utilised the opportunity to make a duplicate Key of Rassilon for the Master...

Witnessing the Doctor’s subjugation via a monitor screen in the annex of his control room, the Master grinned.

Satisfaction sent adrenalin pumping through his veins.

‘No questions, Sabalom Glitz?’

‘Plenty. It’s the answers I can’t unravel.’

He watched the Doctor’s suffering with curiosity rather than concern.

‘Would I be wrong in thinking the Doc’ll soon be needing a machonite overcoat?’

‘Nothing so crude. He’s merely being reduced to a catatonic state.’

‘Cata – what?’

‘The violent assault on his senses will trip a defensive mechanism. His brain will switch off.’

‘He’ll become a zombie, you mean?’

‘Temporarily. Long enough for my purposes.’ Jauntily he re-entered the control room, followed by Glitz.

An honorary fellow of the Universal Order of Sceptics, Glitz threw a punch that missed the Doctor by a whisker.

‘Not a flicker. Nifty little trick. Have to teach it to me some time. Invaluable when I’m short of a few ready grotzis.

Waltz into a bank, switch on the catatonic whatchermacallit – and, hey presto, help yourself !’

The Master was setting the Time and Space co-ordinates.

‘We off somewhere?’

Glitz’s partner did not condescend to reply as the dematerialisation bellow trumpeted...

A regal woman, ensconced on a throne, began to materialise in a cul-de-sac.

A crown could be seen perched atop the severe hair-style. A well-corseted bosom above virtuously voluminous skirts. Using the Chameleon Circuit to convert his TARDIS into a marble sculpture of the English Queen Victoria, was a product of the Master’s irreverent humour.

A segment of the plinth separated and the Master and Glitz, supporting the comatose Doctor, stepped from beneath the throne.

‘This should prove an irresistible bait for the Valeyard,’

declared the Master, leading his supine victim through claustrophobic byways to position him, like a Judas goat, in mid-courtyard before the offices of Mr J. J. Chambers.

‘So that’s what you’re up to!’ exclaimed Glitz. ‘You Time Lords take the cake! Talk about devious. I’m transparent as crystal compared with you lot!’

Ignoring the impertinent diatribe, the Master balanced the paralysed body, then sought cover in an adjacent alcove.

Pricked by an alien twinge of conscience, Glitz lingered to straighten the Doctor’s crumpled pink velvet lapel.

‘Poor old Doc...’

‘Stop slobbering! Get over here!’

The squeaking of the Fantasy Factory door had Glitz scurrying for shelter!

Popplewick Junior, quill pen lodged behind his right ear, shuffled onto the balcony. He glanced down at the unmoving Doctor... and returned inside.

Cautioning Glitz to keep silent, the Master waited.

Mr Popplewick Senior, quill pen lodged behind his left ear, stepped onto the balcony. Peering over his half-rimmed spectacles, he tutted and returned inside.

Surreptitiously, the Master took out his Tissue Compression Eliminator... and held it ready to fire.

‘Hey, you’re not going to shoot the Doc, are you?’

‘Be quiet!’

‘Yeah, but –’ Glitz wasn’t too sure why he was protesting. Could it be a sneaking regard for the Time Lord? Or, more plausibly, was he squeamish at being an accessory to murder?

However, the TCE was not levelled at the courtyard. Its trajectory was higher. The balcony...

A rattle of the latch and the door opened.

But neither amply endowed crusty clerk exited.

Instead, the raven-black robed Valeyard strolled onto the balcony.

He did, nevertheless, share a common factor with the ponderous bureaucrats – a quill pen tucked behind his ear.

The Master triggered the TCE.

A lethal ray hit the Valeyard... Dead centre!

No effect. The ray was deflected.

Bemused, the Master fired again.

Same result.

‘You really are a second rate adversary,’ called the Valeyard. ‘Did you imagine I’d be lured by such a transparent ploy?’ He was referring to the Doctor who had remained transfixed throughout. ‘Second-rate in the extreme!’ He plucked the quill from behind his ear and lobbed it towards the alcove.

Startled, the Master recoiled into Glitz as the quill gently floated to the ground – and exploded with an eruption of flames!

In disarray, the erstwhile ambushers retreated, pursued by the Valeyard’s mocking laughter.

Another quill exploded. The shockwave of acrid cordite buffeted them.

Dignity cast to the winds, the pair scarpered for dear life. Detonating quills strafed the cobblestones in a demonic blitzkrieg, forcing them to hop a zigzag course like demented Dervishes!

Echoing, almost manic, laughter completed their nightmare.

Diving into a narrow passageway, Glitz halted. Nursing a stitch in his side and restraining the Master, he recalled his experience on the dunes and the Doctor’s confident explanation.

‘Look, hang on, this could all be an illusion.’

‘Then stay and find out!’ The renegade fetched Glitz a clout that buckled him over, then made a dash for the nearby statue of Victoria.

Within seconds the stately queen dematerialised, taking the Master to safety.

Abandoned, winded, Glitz watched a quill float daintily to rest in front of him.

The explosion hurled him against the lichen-covered, crumbling wall, where he slumped; an inert heap...

Triumphant now, the mocking, laughter rang out... then faded... there was no one to hear.

No one able to hear, that was.

For Glitz was either unconscious or dead.

And the intended decoy still occupying centre stage, had had all his faculties numbed...

13

‘Doctor...’ the piping call expired in a whisper.

‘Doctor...’ It seemed to be filtering from the sepulchral depths of an archway off the courtyard.

‘Doctor...’ The gentle summons was persuasive, caressing..

And was there a smidgen of movement from the Doctor’s petrified body.. ? Had the Master’s pernicious spell begun to lose its potency?

Stiff lips struggled to part, the larynx to create sound.

‘M...M...M...’

‘Doctor...’

‘Mel?’ Hoarse, muffled, nevertheless the name was clear.

‘Where are you, Doctor?’ A darting, indistinct silhouette could be vaguely glimpsed in the gloom of the archway.

‘Mel?’ He flexed his fingers, the rigidity abating.

‘Doctor, is that you?’ The ethereal shape took on more definition: tiny, slim, feminine.

‘Yes. Yes. Of course it’s me. Where are you?’

A graceful arm protruded from the shadows, beckoning.

‘This way. Quickly!’

‘How did you get into the Matrix?’

‘Forget the questions! You’re alive, that’s all that matters. Now, please, follow me before it’s too late!’

Spurred by the urgency in her tone, the Doctor ventured into the archway following in the wake of the flitting figure.

‘Where are we going?’

‘To get you out of this unholy mess!’ She pressed against a dank, mouldering wall – an aperture widened...

Speculatively, the Doctor stepped through...

... And found himself confronted by two coffin-shaped caskets, and by the navy-blue TARDIS.

He was in the corridor of the Courtroom.

‘Why have we come here?’ he demanded of the sprightly redhead.

‘Trust me,’ she said. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘But, Mel, that’s–’

‘The Seventh Door.’ She touched the wall where they had entered. The gap was no longer there.

‘You’re leading me to the Trial Room!’

‘The Time Lords let me into the Matrix to find you.

They hazarded a guess that I could persuade you to return.’

‘Persuade me! Trick me into abandoning my pursuit of the Valeyard, you mean!’

‘Doctor, you’re not thinking rationally. You’re too emotionally involved.’

‘Who wouldn’t be when confronted with the dark side of their psyche?’

‘Don’t you see that until you’ve cleared your name you’re no better than the Valeyard? A renegade on the run.

An outcast.’ The bullying hectoring reinforced the sincere intent.

‘Always the pragmatist, aren’t you, Mel?’ He tweaked the sleeve of her royal-blue blouse. ‘But you’re right, of course. Let’s get on with it.’

‘Doctor, you owe this Court an apology.’ Thus did the Inquisitor greet the returning Time Lord.

‘If I do, then it is unreservedly offered, My Lady.’ A glance towards the empty dais where the Valeyard should be. ‘Although I still contend the prosecutor misled the Court.’