The Devil’s Protégé

James Lomond is a writer at Kasterborous Doctor Who News and Reviews - All the latest Doctor Who news and reviews with our weekly podKast, features and interviews, and a long-running forum.

The Master scanned the destruction with a sonic probe. “Most effective,” he said, “and exactly on time.”

The statue of Po’Atha, God of Peace, stood strangely untouched amid the charred remains of the monastery. The building had been ten stories high – a latticework of yellow glass. Now it was a pile of blackened rubble.

He stood near the statue surveying the damage. Minutes earlier a firestorm had liquefied parts of the glass structure and all but vaporised others. Microscopic fragments of glass surrounded him creating an iridescent yellow haze. It smelled of ash, incense and blood.

The Master had not been long in his new body – he wore a black velvet suit with a high collar. The clothes were in the style of the The Faction, one of the many dissenting groups from Gallifrey’s star system that opposed the Time Lords. They worshipped chaos. Dress that emphasised simple order was their way of honouring that divine chaos they could only aspire to. The pattern of Remembrance Flower petals on his collar represented the infinite loop of a temporal paradox. On Gallifrey his clothing would be a form of blasphemy.

He had arrived on Po’Atha’s Chalice, several months ago, at a time far back in his people’s history. He disguised himself as one of the Athic Monks. Their telepathic resonance chambers and expertise in psychic bodysnatching had been invaluable in stabilising his new body. It had belonged to an old man whose consciousness had clung on in corners of the brain. A period of meditation with the Athics had helped erase him permanently.

The Athics were known as the Robed Wolves. They captured and kept humanoids like cattle. The monks would transfer their minds into their captives’ bodies when aged or sick or simply for practice. Time Lord bodies were a delicacy.

An hour ago the Master had revealed himself and activated a telepathic field that paralysed the monks. He couldn’t risk anyone knowing he had been to Po’Atha’s Chalice so he timed his visit to coincide with a full-scale attack launched from Gallifrey. Now he was ensuring there were no survivors. To his surprise he detected two life-signs…

Behind a warped and twisted yellow arch he found a young woman captive, a girl even, fighting to escape from a surviving Athic. They were lying in the rubble, both had severe burns but the monk was bleeding and trapped by fallen masonry. He had his hands around her head and was evidently summoning enough will to transfer his consciousness. He was trapped and she was his escape.

The Master took out his tissue compression eliminator and aimed it at the two of them. Then he paused. The girl was strong. And she was angry. He took out the psychic field generator and switched it on. The monk screamed. The girl broke free. Immediately she found a large chunk of yellow glass and brought it down hard on his head.

She slumped and gasped for a while before looking up at the Master.

“You.” She breathed. “You killed the Robed Wolves.” she fixed his gaze with her fierce eyes.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Take me with you. I want to leave this place.”

“And what makes you think I am leaving?”

“Your machine.” She looked over at the statue to the God of Peace. “That is not Po’Atha. It exists across time.” She slowly stood. “I know a false shell. You came here inside.”

“Are you Gallifreyan?” The Master was suddenly serious and levelled his tissue compression eliminator at her. She didn’t flinch.

“I hate the Time Lords as much as I hate the Wolves.” He looked at her burning eyes – there was a fury in there that was strangely familiar.

“Yes. I believe you do.”

“Take me with you,” she said again, her eyes didn’t move from him for a moment.

“I am not in the habit of taking on – companions.”

“So when you tire of me, abandon me.” She replied. “I will survive.” The Master considered her for a few moments. She was insolent but impressive. There was something about her anger that amused him. And he detected a glimmer of telepathic ability. A few more moments passed.

“I don’t trust you and you don’t trust me. You do what I tell you and don’t ask stupid questions.” He pocketed his eliminator and she stepped forward. He looked up and pointed a gloved finger at her. “At the merest hint of insubordination I kill you. Do we understand one another?” She gazed back at him defiantly, holding his gaze. Slowly a grin spread over her face.

“We do.” She said.

“Then after you, mademoiselle.” He mock bowed as she walked passed him to the Statue. “Girl.” He called. She stopped and looked back, one hand resting on the statue plinth. “Do you know anything of Block Transfer Computation.”

“No.” She replied. She straitened to her full height. “Can it be used as a weapon?”

“Potentially.”

“Then I will enjoy learning of it.”

The Master folded his arms. “What is your name?”

“Ohica” she replied then disappeared inside the statue. He shook his head and followed her towards his TARDIS. He paused and looked again at the sonic device he had used to scan for life signs. “So Doctor,” he though, “the lesser species you collect. I was wrong. You’re not only sentimental, you’re vane.” The half smile disappeared from his face as the statue began to make a wheezing, groaning noise. “Girl!” The Master darted inside.

Ohica was surrounded by the dark interior, hands at the console. She looked up at him and they regarded each other with silent hostility. “Well?” he accused.

She gave him the same steely look of defiance. “You were taking too long.”

The Master looked enraged, then his frown broke into a grin. He began to laugh. The statue of Po’Atha faded from normal time with the Master’s laughter echoing about the remains leaving only the smell of ash, incense and blood.

The post The Devil’s Protégé appeared first on Kasterborous Doctor Who News and Reviews.