Doctor Who: Harvest of Time
Page 33
‘I could try. It’s been hard, you know, what he did. But I suppose he only wanted to do the best for me.’
‘Forgiveness is good,’ the Doctor told her. ‘It’s the grease that makes the universe turn.’
Outside it was still drizzling. They picked their way through boggy grass, over a snake’s nest of thick black electrical cables laid out between the TV lorries and their generators. The satellite dishes hummed. The news of McCrimmon’s bombshell press conference would already be winging its way around the world by now.
‘So that’s that then,’ Jo said. ‘All’s well. The world is on a better course.’
‘For now.’
But it had not been the Doctor speaking. It was the Master, blocking their path between two of the slab-sided white BBC outdoor broadcast lorries. His black suit was immaculate. His beard and hair were neatly groomed.
‘Well, well,’ the Doctor said, not without a certain fondness. ‘So you made it back after all.’
The Master was tightening his gloves. ‘Never underestimate me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I gather you found a TARDIS?’
‘Eventually. As a matter of fact I found one abandoned, at the end of time. A Type Forty, a little worn around the edges, but only one previous owner. Oddly enough, the chameleon circuit was damaged. I repaired it easily enough.’
The Doctor nodded. He wondered if the Master was telling the truth. As usual, it was impossible to tell. ‘Well it’s very good of you to drop back in on us. I presume you’ve come to strangle the new world order at birth?’
‘I have more pressing concerns than the future of this miserable little planet. I merely stopped by to bid farewell, at least for the time being.’
‘Were you at the press conference?’ Jo asked.
‘Listening in.’ The Master patted the side of one of the white lorries. ‘McCrimmon will undoubtedly fail, but I cannot help but admire her boldness.’
‘You can take some credit,’ the Doctor said. ‘If you hadn’t intervened, the Infinite Cocoon would have killed her. Or something worse.’
For a second, no more than that, the Master seemed bashful. ‘It was a mere trifle.’
‘But still you helped. You gave her back her mind and body. You had nothing to gain from it. Why did you do it?’
‘Why did I commit an altruistic act, you mean?’ The Master, momentarily, appeared at least as befuddled as the Doctor. ‘Because it cost me nothing. Because what use is a lifetime of villainy, without the counterpoint of at least one good deed?’
‘So you did this one decent thing,’ Jo said, ‘to make the rest of your crimes stand out even more?’
‘Crudely put, Miss Grant, but in essence correct.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said forcefully. ‘I think you did it because … you’re still capable of goodness. You’re not totally lost. There’s still that glimmer of humanity in you.’
‘On the contrary, Miss Grant, it was as calculated an act as anything in my career. And with that behind me I may now rededicate myself to the perfection of chaos.’ The Master opened the door into the side of one of the outside broadcast vehicles. ‘I’ll be leaving now. I have an appointment in London, at the Ministry of Defence … a score to settle.’ He prepared to step up into the lorry, one booted foot already off the ground. ‘Doctor: I believe I owe you a debt of gratitude.’
‘For not listening to you, when we were in the Vortex and you warned me you’d turn back into a monster?’
‘That,’ the Master said. ‘But also the other thing. You could have destroyed me. You chose not to.’
‘You needn’t thank me.’
‘Then I won’t.’ The Master was about to slip into the vehicle and close the door behind him. But on the threshold he hesitated. ‘I will say this. That time we spent together, exploring the Consolidator, the ruins of Praxilion … I cannot say that it was entirely unenjoyable. Almost like …’
‘Old times?’ the Doctor finished for him.
‘We were quite good, weren’t we?’ And the Master chuckled. ‘Well, goodbye, Doctor. Goodbye, Miss Grant. Doubtless we will meet again.’
There was a click, and then another click, and then a volley of clicks. They were the clicks of automatic weapons being readied for use. Slowly, with no great consternation, the Master looked up onto the roof of the adjoining broadcast vehicle. Two UNIT soldiers were kneeling up there, guns aimed squarely at the Master. They were not the only ones. UNIT personnel were closing in from all sides, on the roofs of the lorries and creeping along the narrow spaces between them.
Jo heard the bass thump of a heavy military helicopter.
The Master eyed the door, as if weighing his chances of making it into his TARDIS before the soldiers had a chance to open fire. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of giving it a go. Then he shook his head, smiling through his beard.
‘I should have known, Doctor.’
‘Known what?’
‘That you’d betray me. Some radio signal, I presume, to alert UNIT to my presence? Or must I apportion the blame upon the shoulders of the charming Miss Grant?’
‘Neither of us,’ the Doctor said. ‘I’m sorry, old chap, but we didn’t have the foggiest idea. I suppose they must been tailing Jo and me, on the off-chance you wouldn’t be able to resist showing up.’
The Master nodded, seeming to accept this version of events. ‘Next time, Doctor, I will not make the mistake of renewing our acquaintance. And there will be a next time.’
The UNIT soldiers soon had the Master handcuffed, gagged and blindfolded – they were taking no chances, Jo saw. She watched as they marched him away, feeling an odd sadness.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ she asked, as they made their way back to Bessie.
The Doctor looked at her but said nothing.
‘He got his wish. He sent a message into the future, and he ended up escaping. I know he’s just been recaptured, but for all we know he’s had centuries of freedom since you last saw him.’
‘He paid a stiff price.’ The Doctor invited Jo to step onto Bessie. ‘Millions of years of torment at the hands of the Sild, and then a glimpse in the Vortex of what he could have been, without the influence of his other selves … I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Even him.’
‘You think any of that left its mark? He still seemed like the Master to me.’
‘Time will tell, Jo. It usually does.’ The Doctor turned Bessie’s ignition. After a few false starts she clattered into reassuring life. ‘Now about that hydrogen conversion I’ve been meaning to do …’
Jo laughed. ‘Are you talking to me or the car?’
‘Well, both of course,’ the Doctor said. ‘Anything else would be the height of rudeness.’
He put Bessie in gear, and they began to make their way out of the mass of parked lorries, out towards the road that would eventually take them home.
It was a marvellous feeling.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing this book would have been a thrill under any almost circumstances, but it has been a particular delight to work with Justin Richards, as knowledgeable and sympathetic an editor as one could wish for, as well as a limitless mine of Who-related lore. Thanks, Justin! It has also been a tremendous pleasure to work with commissioning editor Albert DePetrillo, who very generously provided exactly the visual inspiration I needed at exactly the right time. Thanks, Albert! Finally, I am indebted to my long-standing agent, Robert Kirby, for helping set up the book deal in the first place. The news, arriving on a sunny morning in Florida a day before I got to see a space shuttle launch, could not have been more welcome. More than anything, though, I would like to express my gratitude to all who were involved in Doctor Who during the Pertwee years and beyond. You brought a tiny flickering rectangle of black and white terror into my world, and I will be forever grateful.
Alastair Reynolds, behind the settee, March 2013
tair Reynolds, Doctor Who: Harvest of Time