Doctor Who: The Wounded Earth - The History of the Doctor

THE WOUNDED EARTH 

Chris McKeon

Chris McKeon 

DOCTOR WHO: THE WOUNDED EARTH 

Copyright © Chris McKeon 2010 

‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © BBC Enterprises 1963 

No copyright infringement is intended 

Chris McKeon has asserted his right under sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, 

Designs and Patents Act, 1988 to be identified as the author of this work 

This is a 100% unofficial, not-for-profit, fan publication 

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PREVIOUSLY IN DOCTOR WHO… 

In the incident of Broken Sky, a time storm created by the Doctor’s interference on Skaro at 

the conclusion of Genesis of the Daleks allowed the Master to partially re-create his Dalekdominant 

timeline from The Final Game, albeit without the Daleks and without any life in the 

cosmos. The Master’s plan to use the Fractures, a mutant human/glass-men race of his own 

design, to invade the empty universe before the passing time storm restored the timeline was 

thwarted by the Doctor, who severed the villain’s connection to his TARDIS, and therefore 

his manipulation of time. The Master, already physically weakened after the loss of his final 

regeneration at the end of The Final Game, was further ravaged by the Doctor’s interference, 

and set out to seize ever greater sources of power before his condition wore too ill… 

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JOHN BENTON’S RESIDENCE, HILSEY HALT, GLOUCHESTERSHIRE, 7TH JANUARY 2008 

GENERAL SIR ALISTAIR GORDON LETHBRIDGE-STEWART WAS SEVENTY-NINE YEARS 

old and forever known by friends as ‘the Brigadier.’ He sat on a soft-cushioned white and 

green striped sofa wearing a tailored tweed suit, newly laundered white shirt, blue waistcoat, 

holly-green tie, black leather shoes, and a contented smile. He sipped some cocoa from a 

small periwinkle ceramic cup. The fresh-from-the-kettle liquid was enjoyably warm and 

served with cream; and as the cocoa passed his lips he relaxed to think of his friends. 

They surrounded him at that moment; many had their own cups of morning cocoa, 

and all were welcome and happy. Lethbridge-Stewart was pleased to see so many familiar 

and frankly illustrious faces present: Brigadier Mike Yates, for once looking unencumbered 

with duty, out of uniform, and dressed in a smart charcoal-grey suit; Commodore Harry 

Sullivan, who had only recently resurfaced from under the secrecy of NATO; Professor Sir 

Stuart Ian Hyde, visiting from his own university in St. Petersburg and looking only half his 

calendar age; Professor Ruth Ingram, who was taking time out of a lecture circuit in France 

to attend the gathering; Doctor Elizabeth Shaw, still alive and formidable even after all her 

health traumas in recent years; Paul Kairos and Arlene Cole-Kairos, cradling their newborn 

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daughter Christina to the delight and congratulations of everyone; Mrs. Jo Jones, back in the 

UK for the first time in ages following her separation and eventual reunion with her 

ecologist husband; and Miss Melanie Bush, the young, chipper red-head whom Sir Alistair 

had first met in a dungeon almost nineteen years before. He supposed there were stranger 

ways to meet people, even time-travellers. 

They were all the guests for the birthday celebration of John Benton, a Colonel in 

UNIT, a valiant veteran soldier, and a beloved friend. But for all the affection Lethbridge- 

Stewart felt for Benton and his guests, there were two others present for whom he reserved 

extra special warmth: Sarah Jane Smith and, of course, the Doctor. They sat on either side of 

Lethbridge-Stewart upon the sofa. Sarah Jane wore a brown leather jacket, dark slacks, a 

navy blue jumper, and was positively beaming to be with so many old friends once more. 

The Doctor (whom Lethbridge-Stewart believed to be the sixth version) was clad in his 

outrageously brilliant ensemble of a multi-coloured coat, sea-green cravat, blue-white frescopatterned 

waistcoat, yellow and black-striped trousers, and green loafers with purple spats. 

The Time Lord’s countenance, however, was far less vibrant; in fact, he was positively 

subdued, although Lethbridge-Stewart could hardly blame him. According to Benton, the 

previous day had been an absolutely nightmarish ordeal for the Time Lord, and if all the 

details were true his old friend would be a long time in recovering. Sir Alistair glanced at the 

blond-curled, careworn face of his old friend, and wished he could do something to cheer his 

spirits. 

‘Gripped in deep thoughts, Brigadier’ the Doctor said with a sad smile as he turned 

his head to meet Lethbridge-Stewart’s gaze. 

‘No deeper than usual, Doctor. I’m just wondering what’s on your mind.’ 

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‘Oh, the future, the present, those sorts of things. But mostly, I’m thinking of the 

past when times were simpler, when innocence was still to be found.’ 

‘Yes, I imagine the past often looks that way, once you gaze back. Although yours is 

quite a unique past, Doctor. But don’t let me intrude on your privacy.’ 

‘Actually, Brigadier, I’m thinking of a past we share, a time we both experienced.’ 

‘Oh really When was this’ 

‘It was just before your retirement; that time we faced the Master in Antarctica.’ 

‘Oh, yes. How could I forget that terrible experience Heaven knows I’ve tried.’ 

‘Yes. Some memories are best left forgotten.’ 

But as the two friends sat drinking their cocoa and staring out through the living 

room window at the pale earth suffering from winter’s disease, Lethbridge-Stewart felt the 

dark memories of the past rustle and revive… 

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THE BRIGADIER’S MEMORY 

UNIT HQ SECURITY COUNCIL, GENEVA, 28TH MAY 1976 

BRIGADIER ALISTAIR GORDON LETHBRIDGE-STEWART THOUGHT OF RETIREMENT. H- 

e paced the perimeter of his temporary office at UNIT Central HQ in Geneva, Switzerland, 

and pondered upon the idea. Thinking on his feet had become a habitual custom of the 

Brigadier during periods of rest in order to keep his thoughts active and running, and yet of 

late his thoughts had often turned towards stopping. How could it be – He was a lifelong 

solider from a family of servicemen stretching back generations. His own service to Queen 

and Country had been notable and unique: as head officer of the British arm of the United 

Nations Intelligence Taskforce for more than a decade, he had personally led Her Majesty’s 

best troops in combat against many forces of domestic and extraterrestrial origin to protect 

the safety of the entire world, and beyond. His career experience was both laudable and 

unforgettable, and yet more and more he thought of leaving it all behind. 

Perhaps doing so would be a blessing in disguise, considering the personal sacrifices 

he had been forced to make to honour the silence of his duty: his marriage, his wife Fiona, 

and dear Kate, the daughter she had taken with her. Families. How strong were the ties that 

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bound them, in life and death, and how painful it was to break those ties, as love turned 

cold. The Brigadier saw the faces of fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, of the brave 

men who had died under his command, under his supposed care. How often had he seen the 

gambit of human suffering scarring the faces of families he had helped to tear apart, and 

how often had those faces accused him of their loss with the knowledge that he could not 

even tell them how or why their loved-ones had died. The secrets of a soldier’s life masked 

even his death in mystery. Lethbridge-Stewart paused his pacing and felt his eyelids hood his 

vision. 

The Brigadier halted his pace and stood before his office window. He tugged at the 

venetian blinds and exposed the view of Lake Geneva. The lake’s long grey expanse 

shimmered slightly in the summer sun. The shoreline was hedged with beautifully-tended 

gardens and far off in the distance were the snow-capped tips of the Alps. The land outside 

was a vision, but for all its elegance the sight made him feel distant, and old. How old 

Of course he knew the answer: this year would see him turn forty-eight, a span of 

years far longer than many of his fellow soldiers’ lifetimes and well beyond the average 

lifespan of a soldier engaged in UNIT’s service. At least that service had been rightly offered 

and freely given, as he had always done in his life. The Brigadier’s mind loosened on the 

present and drifted back to his youth during the early days of the Blitz. At fourteen, he had 

been gripped with the family zeal to serve his country against the rushing forces of Hitler 

and the Nazis, but his youth had prevented conventional entry into the Army. Fortunately 

the Lethbridge-Stewart clan had much military and government influence and his 

grandfather had managed to tug a few strings tight enough to gain the young Alistair 

entrance. His early-grown stature and efficient family education had even helped him attain 

the rank of Second Lieutenant by the age of sixteen, although he regrettably had been forced 

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to add some years to his true age in order to maintain the appearance of a seasoned officer. 

Lethbridge-Stewart’s lips twitched in faint amusement as he recollected his adolescent 

deception; he was perhaps the only person he knew who had managed to celebrate his 

twenty-first birthday twice. 

But that was more than thirty years ago, over three decades brimming with all the 

tragedy, horror, brutality, and senseless destruction of life and liberty by monsters no one 

would dare tell stories about. Those beasts trundled through his mind like a nightmarish 

parade: Yeti, Cybermen, Autons, Silurians, Alien Ambassadors, Primal Beasts, Eocene 

hybrids, Waro, mind parasites, Hades, Axons, Daemons, Daleks, the Ragman, Kronos, 

Omega and his Gel Guards and that horrendous Ergon, Gaderene, BOSS and its Giant 

Maggots, Coffin-Loaders, Sontarans, real living Dinosaurs, the Gargan, N-Forms, the Skang, 

Giant Spiders, the Giant Robot, and worst of all, the Master. The knowledge that the king 

devil was still alive and at large somewhere in the universe was the one fact the Brigadier 

counted as the greatest lapse in his protective duty. But then he thought of the Zygons and 

the bullets which could kill them, and the Brigadier knew the Master’s day of reckoning 

would come eventually, at least as long as he lived. And of course as long as the Doctor was 

out there. But where was he now, when he was needed once more 

Lethbridge-Stewart walked to his door, opened it, and strolled through the 

passageway connecting the main offices of UNIT’s Geneva staff. He knocked on the third 

door to his right and entered the room beyond. At a well-varnished wooden desk sat John 

Benton, newly promoted to the rank of Second Lieutenant. Benton was carefully combing 

through a thick stack of paper work occupying the centre of the desk, one of his many new 

duties as a commissioned officer. The Brigadier looked on his faithful fellow-servant for a 

moment with pride and then spoke. 

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‘Any word, Benton’ 

Benton started from his paper-trail focus, nearly knocking the top sheets from the 

stack, and then stood at attention. He glanced over at the space-time telegraph gifted to 

UNIT from the Doctor, which the Brigadier had brought along to Geneva in case of 

emergency. He met his commanding officer expectant gaze and shook his head. 

‘I’m afraid not, sir. There hasn’t been so much as a whisper from the Doctor.’ 

‘Oh. Well, we’ll just have to keep waiting then.’ 

‘Sir, it’s been weeks since I sent the signal on the telegraph and the Doctor’s visiting 

less and less these days. I mean, his box is working again, isn’t it He can come and go as he 

pleases and it’s not like he has to come back. Do you think he’ll even come’ 

‘Mr. Benton, after these years of knowing the Doctor, I can only say that when he 

finds the time, he’ll come. We can only hope for the best. After all, good things come -’ 

Lethbridge-Stewart paused mid-platitude as a loud, droning howl shook the air and a 

tall, dark blue and battered wooden Police Box focused into view and solidified into reality 

with a solid thump. The Brigadier permitted himself a pleased smile and he finished his 

statement: ‘– to those who wait.’ 

One of the long wood-panelled double doors of the TARDIS creaked open and the 

tall, lean shape of the Doctor, his woodmoss-green floppy hat covering his curled dark hair 

and multi-coloured scarf encircling his neck and shoulders, emerged. He was clad in a light 

grey great coat with chocolate velvet patches on the upper lapels, elbows, and around the 

cuffs. Beneath the coat he sported a white shirt, a dark red cravat, and a wheat hued 

waistcoat with dark vertical and horizontal stripes. The Doctor’s light grey trousers perfectly 

matched his coat, and with his dark boots completing the ensemble, the Doctor looked ever 

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the ready wanderer; and his expression betrayed every desire to return to those far-flung 

travels. 

The Brigadier moved forward to greet his old friend, but the Doctor’s first words 

were less than a warm recognition. 

‘Shouldn’t you be in Geneva’ 

‘Actually, Doctor, I am in Geneva, on special assignment. Welcome to UNIT 

Command.’ 

‘We’re in Geneva And you’re on special assignment At UNIT Command’ The 

Doctor suddenly turned around and leaned back through the open door of the TARDIS. 

‘We’re in Geneva, Sarah.’ The Doctor turned and peered out a large window onto 

the sun-covered city beneath a cloudless sky. He spun around and leaned back into the 

TARDIS. ‘Never mind the parka.’ The Doctor turned back to the Brigadier and continued 

speaking. 

‘I don’t like it, Brigadier. I can’t stand having my travels interrupted with your 

incessant need to call me back whenever you’ve lost a case of bullets.’ 

‘Doctor, I assure you, I haven’t summoned you here without a good reason -’ 

‘‘A good reason’ You obviously had no reason to be around when I could have used 

you during the Kraal invasion, or the Krynoid infestation. I sounded like a fool asking for 

your whereabouts over and over again.’ 

‘Now, Doctor, during my absence I deputised the finest officers to stand at the ready 

to assist you.’ 

‘Deputised! I never like to work with deputies; I had enough of them at Tombstone. 

Anyway, even with the best equipment your deputies were anything but useful. And I even 

think Mr. Benton may have lost his life while you were away, too.’ 

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Benton cleared his throat from where he stood behind his desk. 

‘Actually, Doc, I’m all right. That android duplicate only gave a good knock on the 

head, that’s all.’ 

The Doctor turned to see Benton, and nodded. 

‘Ah…so you survived, Benton. And you’ve been promoted again to Second 

Lieutenant, I see – Second Lieutenant! That’s far too many syllables to pronounce in a 

crisis. I should just call you Sergeant. That’s much easier to say.’ 

‘Now, really, Doctor,’ the Brigadier objected, ‘for respect of rank.’ 

‘It’s all right, sir,’ Benton politely interjected, hoping to avoid any wounding 

confrontation between the Doctor and the Brigadier. ‘The Doctor can call me whatever he 

feels best.’ 

‘Very good,’ the Doctor replied. ‘We all deserve to be called only what we’re worth.’ 

The Doctor walked forward a few paces to observe the architecture, and then turned to 

Benton once more. 

‘But it’s good to know you’re all right, Second Lieutenant.’ 

Benton felt a warm smile spread on his face as he watched the Doctor put his hands 

in his pockets and stand for a moment. Then the Time Lord turned to Lethbridge-Stewart 

and nodded briefly. 

‘And you, too, Brigadier.’ 

Lethbridge-Stewart relaxed and nodded in reply. 

‘Likewise, Doctor, as always. I take it Miss Smith is still with you’ 

‘Of course, Brigadier,’ came Sarah’s voice from within the TARDIS doorway. ‘We’re 

inseparable!’ 

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Sarah Jane Smith, wearing a light yellow summer dress, stepped out of the TARDIS 

with a beaming smile. She spotted Benton and smiled, exhaling a grateful sigh. 

‘Oh, Mr. Benton, you’ve idea how I’ve worried about you since those androids 

invaded!’ 

Benton returned the smile and walked around to the front of the desk to shake Sarah 

Jane’s hand. 

‘It’ll take a lot more than another bloke with my face to put me out of service, Miss.’ 

‘But what happened to you How did you escape’ 

‘It’s a funny story, that. Some of the boys found me in a broom cupboard -’ 

‘As amusing that story is, I’m sure, Mr. Benton, we have more pressing matters to 

discuss,’ the Brigadier interrupted. 

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’ But the faint smile on Benton’s smile communicated he would 

find time to tell his friend the whole story later. The Brigadier ignored the conspiring smiles 

and continued. 

‘Now, Doctor. As you know, I have been called away from Great Britain for some 

time now. Before I left I realised the dangers of leaving my UNIT branch understaffed, so I 

left Mister Benton to help oversee operations there in case of trouble, which, sadly, is exactly 

what happened.’ 

‘More than once,’ the Doctor interjected, ‘but Sarah and I managed to solve your 

problems, as usual.’ 

‘Didn’t we though’ Sarah Jane added. ‘We even managed to thwart the Pescaton 

invasion. I’d be interested to learn what D-Notice cover-up you devised you that one, 

Brigadier.’ 

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‘Actually, Miss Smith, people simply forgot about the Pescatons. They must not have 

been very memorable.’ 

‘Really’ the Doctor queried. ‘I’d have thought them to be synonymous with fear.’ 

‘Quite,’ the Brigadier replied, not quite understanding his old friend, as usual. ‘In any 

event there is a potentially more serious threat looming over the entire earth at the moment. 

The irony of the situation is this time it appears to be the earth itself causing the threat.’ 

‘The earth itself’ Sarah Jane queried. ‘How do you mean’ 

‘As of yet we’re not quite sure, but for the moment I have to something to show you, 

Doctor. It’s something which may interest you.’ 

‘It had better,’ the Doctor droned as if unconcerned, but Lethbridge-Stewart knew 

this version well enough by now to know there was a glimmer of interest in his old friend’s 

demeanour. The Brigadier then walked over to a metal table standing alongside one wall of 

the office, where a small tray rested upon its surface. Lying upon a dark cloth on the tray 

were several small fragments made of a dark material. The Brigadier lifted the tray from the 

table and held it before the Doctor. 

‘And what are these’ the Doctor asked, his eyes narrowing upon the objects before 

him. 

‘We’re hoping you might tell us. They were found in Peru earlier this month.’ 

‘Ah…discovered at Sabancaya, am I right, Brigadier’ 

The Brigadier had known the Doctor long enough not to be surprised at his 

unparalleled and almost foreknowledge of information, a wealth which surely included 

volcano names, and simply replied in the affirmative with the same seriousness hardening his 

voice. 

‘When are you not, Doctor’ 

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‘Last time I checked, never.’ 

‘I expect nothing less.’ 

The Doctor picked up one fragment from the inside cloth and examined the material 

closely. 

‘So, what do you make of it, Doc’ Benton inquired. 

‘Smoother than rock…rougher than metal…and marked with etchings. Look, Sarah, 

it’s marked with etchings.’ 

The Time Lord held out the fragment before Sarah Jane’s face. 

‘Yes, you’re right,’ Sarah Jane answered as she peered at the material’s markings. ‘Are 

they natural’ 

‘Very doubtful; they’re far too specific in design and placement. I’d say they were 

imprinted by the manufacturer to form a certain pattern, possibly even a message.’ 

‘You mean it’s a language’ 

‘Yes, and a very old one.’ 

‘How can you tell’ 

‘Can’t you read it’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Exactly. We’re dealing with something more alien and ancient then we know, 

something placed here on Earth long ago.’ 

‘How long ago would you say, Doctor’ the Brigadier inquired, his defensive instincts 

prickling. 

‘Incredibly long ago, Brigadier. Perhaps too long ago. Did you find anything more’ 

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‘Unfortunately, yes. You’ll have to see it for yourself.’ Lethbridge-Stewart walked 

over to Benton’s desk, lifted the receiver from the telephone placed in the table’s upper right 

corner, and spoke into the mouthpiece. 

‘Lethbridge-Stewart here. Are my associates ready Good. Please send them to 

Benton’s office, would you Thank you.’ The Brigadier replaced the telephone and the 

Doctor spoke, annoyed at the delay in information. 

‘Who are these associates of yours, Brigadier’ 

‘Just more familiar faces, Doctor.’ 

There was a brief knock at Benton’s office door, which promptly swung open to 

reveal none other than Mike Yates and a grinning Harry Sullivan carrying a small metal case. 

Both men were dressed in the military uniforms of their respective branches of service: the 

olive green UNIT suit for Mike and the black jacket, trousers, and black and white cap of the 

Royal Navy for Harry. Sarah Jane swelled with joy to see her old friends once more; as Mike 

and Harry entered the room she hurried over to offer warm greetings. The Doctor, however, 

remained still and brooding, although he acknowledged their arrival with a distracted nod. 

Sarah Jane was not in the least surprised by the Doctor’s absence of enthusiasm: even when 

Harry had travelled with them in the TARDIS she had always got the sense he had rather 

annoyed the Doctor, or at least failed to impress him. And as for Mike…well, even though 

the Doctor had helped the Brigadier reactivate Yates to UNIT service, somehow Sarah Jane 

felt the Time Lord had not yet regained complete trust in his old comrade’s loyalty, and 

wondered if he ever would. Oh well, best to be the friendly face in the room. 

‘It’s so good to see you, Captain Yates. Oh wait; you’re a Major now, aren’t you’ 

‘I was, yes, but I’m afraid there’s more to tell, Sarah. Thanks to a good word from 

the Brigadier my superiors have seen fit to promote me to the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.’ 

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‘Oh, that’s so wonderful, Mike! Well done. And thank you, Brigadier.’ 

Lethbridge-Stewart smiled softly. ‘My pleasure. My associates need to rise in the 

world to take over when I’ve gone.’ 

‘You’re not thinking of leaving us, sir,’ Benton asked, a genuine hint of care in his 

voice. 

‘Only when the time is right, Benton.’ 

Sarah Jane assumed the Brigadier was simply musing and turned to Harry. She 

beamed expectantly at her former travelling companion. 

‘And what about you, Harry Have times been good to you, too’ 

‘Rather, I should say, and I have some good news of my own. It turns out I’ve been 

promoted as well: they call me Lieutenant Commander Sullivan now.’ 

Before Sarah Jane could congratulate her friend’s success, the Doctor’s booming 

voice interrupted. 

‘So… Now you’re qualified to work on sailors and merchant marines, Harry. How 

impressive. Now can someone please tell me what was so important I had to postpone my 

annual Arctic rappelling holiday to be here’ 

Lieutenant Colonel Yates promptly stepped forward and continued to explain. 

‘As the Brigadier has no doubt already explained, Doctor, a few months ago the 

UNIT Security Council called requested his presence here in Geneva. I accompanied him at 

his request to answer the summons. Upon arrival the Council informed us of some rather 

disturbing global developments. Apparently there had been a growing number of incidents 

of seismic disturbances: tremors, earthquakes, massive aftershocks. I have a full list here of 

the disturbances, if you’d care to read -’ Yates reached over to Benton’s desk to retrieve the 

compilation, but saw the folder was missing. He turned back to the Doctor, and with 

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surprise muffled by experience and hindsight expectation, saw that he had already plucked 

the file from the desk and finished reading the thick-stacked report. Hoping to maintain 

some sense of dignity, the Lieutenant Colonel continued as if all was routine. 

‘Yes, well, as you can gather, the planet’s geology has been quite active lately, and 

activity has been growing at an exponential rate. No land mass has been exempt: tremors 

have been felt in Iceland, Australia, across all of Europe, Russia, Asia, and the Americas. 

However, though serious this information certainly was, it still hardly seemed the purview of 

UNIT’s attention. But then there were the volcanoes. At first we thought they were separate 

issues, but we kept watch anyway, and eventually noticed that whenever there was a quake 

near a volcano, the volcano would show signs of activity. When a quake rocked Peru earlier 

this month, we offered to visit the area to coordinate repair efforts and to investigate firsthand 

if there was anything unusual to discover. This is when we recruited the services Mr. 

Benton and Dr. Sullivan. There our team found the fragments, which you’ve already seen, 

but we also discovered something else. Something we’ve seen before.’ 

Yates looked to Lethbridge-Stewart, who motioned to Harry. Harry nodded and 

placed the metal case he carried upon Benton’s desk. He reached into his jacket pocket and 

pulled out a pair of thick silver radiation gloves, which he slipped upon his hands. He then 

flipped open the latches on one side of the case, lifted its lid, and removed from within an 

eight-inch long and two-inch wide tube made of an extremely thick transparent material and 

capped on both ends with the same metal alloy as the case. What the tube contained made 

the Doctor’s eyes bulge with fierce intensity and, it seemed to Sarah Jane, shock. Inside the 

tube was a bright green and very viscous – almost gel-like – liquid, which even when isolated 

in its reinforced container seemed to radiate a furious, almost primal energy desperate to 

burst its bonds and escape into the open. Suddenly it seemed as if the room had gotten 

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warmer. The Doctor stepped forward and glared at the contained green liquid. Then, with a 

voice draped in a deathly pall, he spoke. 

‘You found this at Sabancaya’ 

‘Yes, inside some cracks at the base of the volcano, probably formed by the quake. 

The liquid itself was flowing freely from within the cracks and out upon the volcano surface. 

Despite the similarity of appearance, we can’t confirm absolutely without more 

concrete…external evidence if this is the same material UNIT has encountered before, but 

our top scientists are fairly confident this is the same substance discharged at the Eastchester 

Nuclear power plant more than six years ago.’ 

The Doctor stepped forward and without asking took the cylinder from Harry’s 

hands, to everyone’s surprise. Oblivious to their concern, he held the tube close to his face, 

letting its inner glow bathe his skin in gangrenous green light. 

‘You can tell your inexperienced toilers there’s no doubt about it: this is Stahlmann’s 

Gas.’ 

‘Stahlmann’ Sarah Jane said in dawning understanding. ‘You mean Professor Eric 

Stahlmann, director of Operation: Mole-Bore’ 

Lethbridge-Stewart felt no unease at the breadth of Sarah Jane’s information; he had 

long before accepted how far and deep her journalistic instinct could delve into the secrets 

his organisation had sworn to hide. She really was a perfect match for the Doctor. 

‘Precisely, Miss Smith, although given the near-disastrous outcome of that effort, its 

unofficial moniker of ‘the Inferno’ would be a more apt description.’ 

‘Yes, no doubt. But the professor…he was the man who posited there were 

untapped pockets of natural geothermic energy hidden deep within the Earth’s crust, right’ 

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‘You’re right there, Miss,’ Benton answered. ‘The trouble is, instead of finding 

anything useful, the more the bloke drilled, the more of this green stuff kept pumping up 

from the ground. It was right frightening what it did to whoever touched the stuff.’ 

‘And what exactly did it do, Mr. Benton’ 

‘Turned them into monsters, Miss. It was one of most terrifying things I ever saw 

here. We’ve got some pictures here the lads took of the victims back then. Have a look.’ 

Benton reached into the metal case and retrieved some large photographs, which he 

handed to Sarah Jane. She stared at the grotesque images frozen in nitrates and light. After a 

short study, she turned to the Doctor. 

‘These creatures, Doctor. They look a bit like the Anti-Men.’ 

‘Anti-Men, Sarah’ asked Harry. 

‘Oh, those were creatures the Doctor and I met just after we left you in Scotland. 

They were men, well, one man from thirty thousand years in the future, a professor named 

Sorensen. He was infected with anti-matter on a distant planet.’ She turned back to the 

Doctor and held up the photos. ‘But what do you think Perhaps there may be some 

connection’ 

‘Oh, possibly some similarity in the pattern of cellular infestation and hybridisation. 

But I doubt there’s any anti-matter involved here. Otherwise we’d all be up in smoke.’ 

‘Well, where there’s smoke there’s fire, isn’t there, Doctor’ Yates said, dryly. ‘We’ve 

put out a lot of them in our time.’ 

‘Be grateful you haven’t seen the fires I’ve put out, Yates,’ the Doctor murmured, his 

voice cold and empty as infernal memories of another life filled the Doctor’s inner vision: he 

saw himself as he once was, white bouffant, blue velvet, and white ruffles, falling between 

dimensional walls into another Earth; a world like his own adopted home wounded deep 

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from the arrogant probing drills of mankind, but a mankind hardened by different 

circumstances and turned cold with self-disdain. He saw dark mirrors of the friends he had 

left behind – the Brigadier, Benton, Liz Shaw – blanch with terror when the ground beneath 

them belched its green blood, the vile liquid which turned men into hot-blooded monsters 

driven only to attack. He saw the men-monsters, Primords - hordes of hairy, white-coated 

animals; a mass parody of human achievement given way to base bestiality – reach out 

towards him, their eyes steel and vicious. He saw the wound inflicted upon the earth by 

man’s arrogance fester and sprout flames rising higher and hotter, until the red under-blood 

of lava gushed gouts over all the world, a world so different from his own yet so very alike, a 

world he could do nothing to save even as he rescued his own impotent self… 

‘But never mind what happened then,’ the Doctor declaimed as he brandished the 

container before the Brigadier. ‘If this substance is somehow leaking its way to the surface 

again, then an increase in earthquakes will be the least of your worries, Brigadier. Although it 

is an added bother. And so are the electromagnetic imbalances.’ 

‘The what, Doctor’ the Brigadier asked, striding forward to stand alongside the 

Time Lord. The Doctor leaned close to mutter in the Brigadier’s ear, like a soothsayer 

offering secrets of the universe. 

‘The electromagnetic disturbances, Brigadier, changes in the Earth’s electric field – 

it’s as if something is causing a planetary short-circuit. I detected the anomaly upon arrival 

and was going to investigate once I’d patted your hand, but now I’m thinking it’s all 

connected.’ 

‘I’d say so, old chap,’ Harry interjected. ‘Our problem is, first we need to find out 

what’s making this green jelly reach the surface. I mean, the last thing we need is any more of 

this mutagen breaking free in an eruption. My word, that’s a rather terrible thought.’ 

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‘Then don’t think so much, Harry,’ the Doctor retorted. ‘If there is a connection, 

which I’m sure there is, then what we need is to find an earthquake in the vicinity of a 

volcano, before the incident occurs.’ 

‘But how are we gonna do that, Doc’ Benton asked. ‘The way they’re happening, 

one could happen anywhere, anytime.’ 

‘Well…I have a certain amount of disastrous foreknowledge accumulated for 

emergencies. It helps when you traverse the course of time. I’m sure I can remember when 

the next earthquake happens this year.’ 

‘Thank heavens for that,’ Sarah Jane voiced. ‘You’ll save us a long wander. Oh, but I 

hope it doesn’t happen here.’ 

‘An earthquake Here, in Geneva Nonsense! We’re on much too neutral ground -’ 

Without warning a powerful jolt rocked the room, shattering the glass window in 

Benton’s office and loosening chunks of plaster from the ceiling, which dropped to the floor 

to shatter with clouds of powdery dust. The Doctor rushed over to the shattered window 

and looked out onto the Geneva cityscape. At that moment the telephone upon Benton’s 

desk rang. Benton lifted the long-flexed receiver and held it to his ear. From even where 

Sarah Jane stood, she could hear what seemed to be a frantic. Benton then thanked the 

caller, replaced the receiver, and hurried over to the Brigadier. 

‘There’s been another earthquake, sir. Somewhere here in the city.’ 

‘An earthquake, here And right on the Security Council’s doorstep! Where’ 

‘I can tell you that from here, Brigadier,’ the Doctor said, leaning across the dusty 

windowpane, his eyes fixed on a point not far off in the distance. ‘And you’re right, the earth 

is shouting its protest.’ 

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Chris McKeon 


Lethbridge-Stewart, Benton, Yates, Harry, and Sarah Jane joined the Doctor at the 

window. They stared out Lake Geneva, which UNIT’s Security Council building overlooked. 

At the point where the lake emptied into the Rhone River was fixed the Jet d’Eau, the latest 

model in a series of large fountains continually pumping a jet of water into the air for the 

city’s enjoyment since 1886. But now, instead of water gushing high and fanning cool 

droplets to the wind, the fountain was spewing a viscous tower of flaming red magma one 

hundred forty meters into the air, while additional lava spread through the rest of the river 

and lake like blood oozing from a great terrestrial wound, boiling the waters away like grease 

in fire. And then, before their eyes, the hue of the lava shifted in colour, from reddish-orange 

to a brilliant neon green. It was Stahlmann’s Gas, rising high like a nightmarish geyser. The 

Doctor pushed back from the window and slowly revolved his body towards the Brigadier. 

His eyes were wide and focused; when he spoke, his voice was low and sonorous. 

‘I hope you have a boat handy.’ 

Three hours later a small hovercraft branded with UNIT symbols sped across the 

contaminated waters of Lake Geneva towards a larger yacht bobbing on heated surface near 

the now deactivated Jet d’Eau. It had taken that long to requisition a helicopter carrying fireretardant 

powerful enough to quench the extreme temperatures of the magma-logged lake. 

Both wet yacht and scorched fountain were surrounded by a pitch-sized perimeter of flameretardant 

tarpaulin screen anchored upon the boiled lake bed. In the speedy hovercraft, 

Benton sat in the front driver cushion behind the steering controls. He directed the craft 

slowly across the red-and-green-laced water body, avoiding the pockets of cooling lava and 

still-scalding mutagen sinking in the water. Sitting the cradle of the craft behind Benton were 

the Doctor, the Brigadier, Sarah Jane, Yates, and Harry. All in the seacraft – except for the 

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Chris McKeon 


Doctor, who adamantly refused to part with his scarf - were dressed in decontamination 

suits, complete with hoods and industrial-grade plastic face masks. 

Everyone was silent and tense, for one good reason: the Doctor was in a bad mood. 

He had been anxious to rush out to the Jet d’Eau immediately, but Lethbridge-Stewart’s 

order to shut down the fountain and clear the area had lasted far longer than the Doctor’s 

patience. With that and any residual loquacity exhausted, the Doctor simply slouched at the 

back of the craft, his hat pulled down low over his eyes, his scarf wrapped thick around his 

shoulders and chin, and his arms and legs crossed tight and unmoving. But it was not simply 

impatience which soured the Time Lord’s attitude: it was the cold and silent intensity which 

hardened his eyes and darkened his countenance, as if he were preparing himself for a 

sudden attack hiding just beyond the horizon. 

Tired of the unnatural quiet anxiety between her friends, Sarah Jane decided to chase 

away the gloom. 

‘It really is so good to see you all again, you know,’ she said, speaking to her 

company in general. ‘We so rarely seem to get back home and visit these days, so I love any 

time or reason when we can. Even if it’s a dangerous one.’ 

‘Yours and the Doctor’s assistance is always appreciated, Miss Smith,’ the Brigadier 

replied, an unexpected amount of friendliness warming his words. ‘I trust that you’re 

comfortable’ 

‘Not really, but I rather like the yacht. Whose is it’ 

It was Mike who answered. 

‘The yacht is the property of one Baron Magnus Major Macsen’ – out of the corner 

of her eye, Sarah Jane saw the Doctor lift his head slightly at the mention of the Baron’s 

name - ‘the man behind the archaeology dig in Peru which found our mysterious fragments. 

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Chris McKeon 


He was of invaluable aid in understanding what had gone on there. He’s since taken an 

active interest in UNIT’s current investigation and has offered his formidable resources to 

assist us.’ 

‘He sounds like quite the man of the hour. I’d love to interview him.’ 

‘You may get your chance sooner than you think, old thing,’ Harry said. ‘The man 

himself is hailing us already.’ 

Sarah Jane twisted about towards the yacht and saw the Baron, standing upon the 

bow and leaning forward – somehow seemingly more in fatigue than relaxation - with one 

hand clamped upon a black-painted railing and the other lifted to acknowledge the 

approaching UNIT craft. They were as yet too far away to see his face clearly, but Macsen 

was clearly a lover of sartorial elegance, even if the elegance was somewhat extravagant: he 

was wrapped in a voluminous full-length black cloak. Benton navigated the hovercraft 

alongside the Baron’s yacht, and shifted the engine so the craft would idle directly beneath 

the larger ship’s ladder railing welded into the side of the hull. On the top deck of the yacht, 

Baron Macsen walked forward to stand above the rail ladder. Shadows cast by the ship’s 

cabin wrapped around his looming figure as he stood upon the edge of the desk, so that he 

appeared like an expectant gargoyle. Macsen spoke. 

‘Welcome my friends. Welcome to my worthy vessel. I hope to provide you adequate 

refuge from these troubled waters.’ 

‘Troubled’ the Doctor retorted, a scoff clearly detectable in his voice as he leapt 

from his seat and climbed the railing with swift thrusts of his long limbs. ‘Nonsense! These 

waters are a placid whisper compared to the Cuban Saint James Day Tempest of 1609 – now 

that was troubled, especially the landfall at Bermuda. It gave me some good ideas to inspire 

William, though.’ The Doctor mounted the deck and stood before the Baron. He held out 

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Chris McKeon 


his hand with a beaming smile of innocent friendliness. ‘Hello there, I’m the Doctor. Nice to 

meet you.’ 

Baron Magnus Major Macsen stood before the Doctor; his eyes fell upon the Time 

Lord’s outstretched hand while the Doctor’s eyes examined the Baron himself. Even at first 

glance, Macsen radiated a robust image. Although he was a man of relatively short stature, he 

nevertheless conveyed a commanding figure with his ram-rod straight posture and a poise 

which was incredibly stiff, as if he were forcing his spine to maintain total and unwavering 

rectitude. The Baron’s face, a lean, strong-jawed countenance, possessed a healthy, olivehued 

complexion, complimented a pair of sea-green eyes, a dignified patrician nose, and a 

full proud mouth, surrounded by a carefully trimmed black Van Dyke beard matching a full 

head of thick, waving black hair. 

To complete his sanguine image, Macsen wore a smart, three-piece black Armani suit 

with a crisp, white collared, cuff-linked shirt, and a boldly-knotted silver tie. Hanging around 

his shoulders and held fast by a small iron chain resting between his collar bones was a thick, 

full-length black cloak, which dropped magnificently towards the ground to surround its 

wearer’s polished to mirror-reflective black Arthur Beren shoes. In short, Baron Macsen was 

the picture a man in the prime of his life, and loving every moment of it. Only one detail 

seemed to betray his contented outlook: His hands, covered in black velvet gloves, were 

constantly clenching and unclenching, as if the movement itself were some sort of 

involuntary outlet controlling a strong, inner discomfort. Or distress. 

Whether or not the Baron were concealing any inner discontent, he concealed it well 

with a wide, charming smile as he reached out and placed his hand in the Doctor’s own and 

said, 

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‘Greetings, Doctor. I am Baron Magnus Major Macsen, which no doubt you already 

know. Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart has informed me of your preternatural brilliance.’ 

‘Well…someone has to know all the answers – how else would anything be done’ 

‘How true. But where are my manners – you bring your friends with you. We should 

extend them the same courtesy I have done to you, by allowing them to come aboard my 

home.’ 

‘Ah, courtesy: the one common virtue most underused.’ 

‘Oh, there are many virtues, Doctor, some which most people don’t value at all.’ 

The Doctor found the Baron’s statement odd, and the strong glint in his eyes and the 

flash of his smile more so, but he decided to gather his friends before making any further 

assessments of their host’s character. He then turned around to motion that his companions 

should mount the ladder, when Sarah Jane cried out in terror. From all around the two ships 

gouts of water surged up from the lake, curdling its smooth surface and slamming small 

waves into the sides of the two hulls. Out of the water spouts and up from beneath the 

surface of the lake arose several creatures, generally humanoid in shape but far from human: 

their clothing was bluish-grey and wrapped in a type of rusted chain-mail; their large, 

bulbous craniums were encased in a smooth, brown-grey skin surrounding gigantic, fish-like 

eyes, a blunt, beak-shaped nose, and a harsh, frown-sloped mouth. Huge fan-shaped ears 

flapped against the sides of the creature’s turtle/dragon hybridised heads. Each of the searisen 

beings held in one hand a small, disc-shaped compact device, which glinted in the 

afternoon light like a miniature sun. Their huge staring eyes rolled and slid with precise 

energy. The Doctor stared about at the creatures surrounding the UNIT ships, recognised 

their natures, and shouted. 

‘Brigadier, they’re Sea Devils!’ 

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Chris McKeon 


‘Take cover!’ the Brigadier shouted, at once the ready warrior. He and Benton drew 

their side arms and aimed at the nearest Sea Devil, but before exchange of fire commenced 

the creature raised its hands and spoke, its tight, moist lips barely moving and its voice 

warbling as if sounding from deep beneath the ocean. 

‘Wait! Do not fire your weapons upon us. We come to your race with peaceful 

intent.’ 

The Brigadier half-turned and glanced up towards the Doctor. He knew the Time 

Lord, or at least his predecessor, had faced this underwater species before while visiting the 

Master at Stagmoor Prison several years earlier. Lethbridge-Stewart himself and UNIT had 

only been involved after the incident to hunt the escaped villain, and therefore had not 

directly encountered the Sea Devils, but the Doctor had informed him they were an aquatic 

brother race to the Silurians. The Brigadier thought if the two races were anything alike that 

could only mean trouble, but for once he had no previous experience with a known enemy 

combatant, and he never liked to guess at the unknown. There was only one way to know 

for certain what to do next. 

‘Well, Doctor Can we trust them’ 

The Doctor stood tall and grave as he glared at the lead Sea Devil, but in his mind he 

knew the present climate was too grave to gauge the situation with old wounds, especially if 

inflicted upon a different body. 

‘Trust them No. But we ought to listen to what they have to say.’ He then directed 

his words to the spokesman Sea Devil. ‘All right then. You’ve got a chance to keep peace 

between us – don’t waste it. Agreed’ 

The Sea Devil slowly lowered its weapon hand and hooked the device upon the 

barnacle-crusted belt around its waist. 

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Chris McKeon 


‘Agreed.’ 

‘Very good! Now we might as well introduce ourselves. I’m the Doctor; I’ve met 

your people before, after a fashion, which is out of fashion. The man with the furry lip in the 

boat is Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, the soldier at the wheel is Mr. Benton, wonderful chap, 

and the female is Sarah Jane Smith. She’s my travelling companion and a storyteller; don’t 

scare her and she won’t speak badly of you. The other two are Lieutenant Colonel Yates, 

who’s prone to unpredictability, and Harry Sullivan. He’s of no real consequence so you 

needn’t worry about him. Right, now you’ve got our basic information – what about yours’ 

The lead Sea Devil gestured to himself. 

‘Decrix, General of Special Group Ten and emissary of the Reptilian Duality. Have 

we an audience of truce’ 

‘Yes,’ the Doctor replied, ‘on condition that we know why your people have returned 

to the surface of this world.’ 

‘The answer you shall have, but first I must summon my brothers.’ Decrix pressed a 

large button upon his belt, which glowed bright green and chirped with a high-buzzing noise. 

As he did this, the Brigadier leaned close to the Doctor. 

‘‘The Reptilian Duality’’ the Brigadier repeated. ‘What on earth is that’ 

‘Isn’t it obvious, Brigadier’ the Doctor answered with a dark, almost satisfied smile. 

‘The Sea Devils aren’t the only ancient race come to visit your own.’ 

‘Not the only…oh no. No, you can’t mean -’ 

‘Oh yes I can, and they do. Look.’ 

The Brigadier followed the Doctor’s line of sight into the lake and watched with 

mounting unease as a small barrel-shaped heavily reinforced sea craft formed of seaweed 

green and barnacle-studded metal emerged from the waters of Lake Geneva. Slats on the top 

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Chris McKeon 


side of the decidedly inhuman ship slid open and against each other with heavy clanks, and 

from within the dark interior emerged three lizard-like beings with leathery scaled grey-green 

skin, huge rigid fan-flaps for ears, a perpetually rounded mouth-hole, and a large glowing orb 

housed with a chamber of skin above a pair of squinting eyes. To all in the Doctor’s party 

except Harry and Sarah Jane, the three creatures were unmistakably recognisable as Silurians, 

the original land inhabitants of Ancient Earth. The Doctor recognised the trio from an 

earlier encounter as the Silurian Triad, the ruling council of their race. Since he had been 

wearing a different persona at the time, he decided against renewing their acquaintance and 

adding to the confusion. One of the Silurians stepped forward and spoke with a voice high 

and bubbling. 

‘I am Ichtar. I speak for the Triad. We, the Land and Water Reptiles of this planet, 

seek an audience of truce with the Ape Descendents.’ 

The Brigadier bristled at being referenced in relation to primates and drew himself 

up. 

‘If you mean the human race, then I can speak for them, and listen very closely to 

what your two peoples have to tell us. Now, why have you come here’ 

It was Decrix who responded. ‘We have risen once more in response to a great crisis 

which threatens all of our races: the seas boil in agony and the land oozes its inner fluids 

from deep piercings. If we do not act swiftly to heal these wounds, then all life on this world, 

our world, will perish!’ 

The Doctor pulled his mouth downwards into a frown and shrugged his shoulders. 

‘Well, Brigadier if there’s ever a good reason for an alliance I’d call it that.’ 

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Chris McKeon 


They – the Doctor and his friends, with Ichtar, and Decrix – decided to assemble 

away from any prying eyes inside the yacht’s main guest room, a spacious circular enclosure 

of polished chrome with a ceiling of darkened glass and a floor of transparent glass. Sarah 

Jane was standing upon the glass panel adjusting the sound level controls of her new voice 

recorder, a small, thin red tube with microphone grilles affixed to both ends, which the 

Doctor had built for her in case they ever needed to eavesdrop on interesting conversations. 

Sarah Jane had also found the device quite useful for discreet recordings during interviews 

for her articles, in case her subjects were skittish about her written transcripts. She finished 

her tuning and looked down and found the constant view of the riverbed beneath her feet 

disorienting, so she quickly took a seat next to the Doctor (who was casting out and reeling 

back a yellow yo-yo in an ever-increasing variety of extravagant tricks) upon one the room’s 

two available plush black leather ergonomic couches and took the quiet opportunity to pull 

out from a side pouch in her environmental suit her journal, to which she began adding a 

new entry. 

Sitting across from the Doctor and Sarah Jane on a matching couch was Harry, who 

looked rather conspicuous while flanked by the two Earth Reptiles, both of whom seemed 

equally out of place enjoying such human luxury. Standing next to one another to the left of 

the couches were the Brigadier and Yates; Yates wore a neutral expression, as if ready to 

receive whatever information should come his way with an open mind, while the Brigadier 

pondered if he had ever witnessed a stranger diplomatic gathering in his career. Directly 

opposite the two soldiers was Benton, who had a hard time keeping face relaxed while inside 

he was positively beaming to be amongst all of his friends once again. I just hope this isn’t the 

last time we get together like this. 

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Chris McKeon 


The Doctor suddenly snapped the yo-yo back into his hand, pocketed it, and jumped 

to his feet, his face an annoyed scowl. 

‘What’s taking that stuffed up aristocrat so long’ 

‘Really, Doctor,’ Yates said, his voice lightly chiding in its tone. ‘The Baron is being 

rather kind to accommodate us and…our unexpected guests.’ 

‘If you like these kinds of hospitality, Mike, then why don’t you have another 

colonoscopy - even physicians keep their patients waiting less time than this. And that goes 

for you, too, Harry.’ 

Harry could only assume the Doctor was referring to the time they had first met 

when the young physician had attempted to give the Time Lord a proper physical, but had 

been tied and trussed up like a plucked chicken in a pantry. Harry’s first reaction was to tell 

the Doctor how prompt he had been in seeing his then-patient, but the Time Lord’s ever 

blacker mood persuaded him to provide only a simple ‘Right oh’ in response. Thankfully, at 

that moment the cabin’s metal door opened and Baron Macsen entered, his cloak swirling 

slightly around his shoulders and revealing, as the Doctor observed, what appeared to be a 

slight limp in both legs. Macsen smiled and raised his hands in apology. 

‘Forgive my tardiness my friends, but I was making some last minute adjustments to 

my engines, in case the magma begins to flow through the Jet d’Eau again. I trust I haven’t 

missed too much intrigue’ 

‘None at all,’ the Brigadier said with his usual polite reserve. ‘Now, if we’re all ready-’ 

‘I am, thank you,’ the Doctor interrupted as he stepped forward, and, without 

anyone quite catching how he did so, took Harry’s seat between the Earth Reptiles, leaving 

the hapless physician standing bewildered by the Benton’s side. Both Benton and Sarah Jane 

locked eyes and shared a quick smile, just as the Doctor spoke. 

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Chris McKeon 


‘You both must have some very interesting information. Let’s hear it.’ 

It was Ichtar who answered. 

‘Like your military forces, the Reptilian Duality has been monitoring the aggravated 

turnings of the planet. We have discovered that there is a connection between the trembling 

and the release of the poisoned blood.’ 

‘Poisoned blood’ the Brigadier interrupted. ‘Do you mean the substance we call 

Stalhmann’s Gas’ 

‘Correct, human,’ Decrix responded. ‘We have also determined that the cause of the 

earthquakes is the upward thrust of the blood from within the planet towards the surface. 

Most disturbing of all, it appears that there is a pattern to this movement.’ 

‘What sort of pattern’ the Doctor asked, now very intrigued. Ichtar spoke next. 

‘It is a global movement; of that much we are certain. We have compiled a 

holographic planetary marking system to demonstrate our theory.’ 

‘Brighten our understanding,’ the Doctor droned, to which Baron Macsen added, 

‘Agreed. This should be most fascinating to see.’ 

Ichtar extended his left arm and turned the underside of his paw upwards. Laced in 

an intricate pattern of thin gold filaments upon the pale green skin of the claw was an array 

of metal. Ichtar flexed his talons and the array flared with light, and a smoky haze puffed up 

into the air to hover a few inches above the Silurian’s claw. Ichtar flexed his talons and the 

glistening smoke shifted and formed an image of the Earth, complete with the oceans and 

continents. Another flex of talons and the holographic Earth changed in colour from blue 

oceans and green-brown land masses to a ball of different hues of red, orange, yellow. 

‘Ah, a thermonuclear view of the planet. How very specific,’ the Doctor murmured 

with an almost impressed tone. 

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Chris McKeon 


‘Correct, human,’ Decrix replied, to which the Doctor shot the Sea Devil a bulging 

stare and muttered darkly, ‘Doctor will do.’ Decrix blinked his own gigantic eyes while Ichtar 

continued to explain the demonstration. 

‘As the graphic indicates, our planet’s subterranean heat levels are far beyond the 

normal temperature range. The deep red lines visible all over the globe are the underground 

channels through which the poison blood are flowing. This is a concern in itself, but there is 

a deeper mystery.’ 

There was another twitch of talons and the miniature world darkened to black, 

marked by several white dots scattered in random positions all over the holographic globe. 

This time Decrix spoke. 

The scientists of our Duality have traced the flow of the blood to these points on the 

globe. What they are we do not yet know, but we have been able to determine that at each 

location there is also a dormant volcano.’ 

Yes,’ the Doctor said, a deep feeling flavouring his voice. ‘And so are your 

earthquakes, Brigadier.’ 

Doctor,’ the Brigadier said, stepping close to his associate, ‘there’s obviously some 

significance to these locations and the havoc they’re causing. I suggest we form an 

immediate plan of attack to analyse the situation further.’ 

Attack Analyse Make up your mind, Brigadier; you can’t blow things apart and put 

them back together again for careful study.’ 

The Brigadier sighed. ‘Do you have another idea then, Doctor’ 

Oh, endless supplies of ideas! And I have one just now.’ The Doctor turned to 

Ichtar. ‘Do you have a copy of this global map on board your ship’ 

We have, Doctor.’ 

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Chris McKeon 


Wonderful!’ The Doctor jumped to his feet and faced his friends. ‘Now, who’s up 

for some underwater exploration’ 

*** 

Decades later Sir Alistair sighed from the weight of the memories of what occurred 

afterwards. He glanced down at his cup from of cocoa; it had turned cold as had the will to 

remember the past and the terrible mistakes they had all made. He turned to speak to the 

Doctor but the Time Lord had left the sofa; he was off chatting with Liz and Jo. Lethbridge- 

Stewart decided not to interrupt his friend’s conversation; he stood from the sofa, stretched, 

and looked upon Sarah Jane Smith with a smile. 

I rather feel up for a stroll around the gardens, Sarah. Would you care to join me’ 

Sarah Jane beamed a caring smile at her old friend. She extended her hand. 

‘With you, Sir Alistair, always.’ 

The Brigadier leaned down and took Sarah Jane’s hand to help her to her feet. At 

that moment, oddly enough, she also began of think of the past, and what happened to her 

on that day at Lake Geneva at the end of May, 1976… 

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Chris McKeon 


SARAH JANE’S MEMORY 

AN UNEDITED EXTRACT FROM THE NOVEL MOVING ON (2008), AN ENTRY IN THE 

MYSTERY OF THE DOCTOR SERIES BY SARAH JANE SMITH. 

LOOKING BACK ON THOSE DAYS SO LONG AGO, I CAN NOW SEE - EVEN IF I DIDN’T KNow 

or would never have considered it at the time - how my time with the Doctor was almost at an end. It’s not 

as if I was growing weary or restless of my travels with him – absolutely not! – but by that point if I had 

stayed much longer I would never have been able to leave willingly, let alone survive without him. 

I’m not saying I was becoming dependent on the Doctor; it was more on the lines of my life was 

quickly becoming co-existent with his. It had been very different when I first met him, the dandy Doctor. 

Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t an immediately eager member of the Time Lord’s travelling troupe. No, 

in the beginning I had a day job, a flat, a car, and a surprisingly normal life of my own outside of any 

extracurricular travels in space and time. To think I was ever actually content with that. 

Is it so hard to believe Let’s establish a context: Say the dandy Doctor had come to me one day and 

said: ‘Let’s go to Florana, Sarah.’ Then if he could persuade me to join him we might go to that planet via 

Exxilon or Psyogy or some other Universal Wonder, and then pop back so I could catch my weekend 

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Chris McKeon 


deadline. The next time we might go travelling might not be for some weeks, during which time some 

Earthbound danger or an alien invasion might chance to irritate the Brigadier, which would always catch the 

dandy Doctor’s attention, and usually mine as well. Of course, I still had my own mundane responsibilities, 

so when my life outside of UNIT conflicted with the dandy Doctor’s abundantly open schedule, then someone 

else might take their place by his side, like the Brigadier, or John, or ever dear Jeremy. So many old friends 

knew the Doctor then; it’s a shame Brendan never got to meet him. 

But after the change the bohemian Doctor came along and everything was different: he cut ties with 

UNIT, only made an occasional, grudging visit to help the Brigadier, and broadened his exceptionally widejourneying 

horizons. I think it was his way of getting back to himself after living on Earth for so long, about 

living a Time Lord’s life again. And then after Harry left, or rather opted not to risk another dangerous trip, 

I was the only thing to remind the Doctor of his time bound to Earth. And yet he wanted me to stay. And 

our life together was …indescribable. Oh, but don’t think there weren’t times I wanted to strangle him with 

his scarf or poke his bulging eyes; he could be that infuriatingly aloof. But most of the time I just wanted to 

stop and smell the air, or just stare at him and smile. Yes, I really was that happy. 

Except for one thing: the absence of friends. Like I said, early on the bohemian Doctor had quickly 

distanced himself from his colleagues at UNIT, and soon each visit with them had one more friend gone: first 

Mike, then the Brigadier, then John and Harry, until at last when we battled the Krynoids at that fanatic 

Harrison Chase’s awful castle there was only UNIT personnel fighting with us, but no UNIT friends. 

That’s what made this adventure so much the more personally thrilling for me: everyone was there, and I 

mean everyone. Even Osgood had been in Geneva to see us off with the Earth Reptiles. The fact that we were 

going back to Antarctica with everyone in tow just made the trip feel…more right somehow, like a make-up 

for missed opportunities. Little did we know how much we were about to lose. 

But there’s no need to get ahead of ourselves. We only need to find our place. And at this point we, 

(or they - forgive my need to distance myself from what would soon become extraordinarily unpleasant events) 

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Chris McKeon 


were slipping through the darkness of the oceans. The Sea Devil ocean seeker’s sleek grey-green metal hull 

sliced through thick clusters of deep-green seaweed swaying gently in the dark blue ocean void. Waves of 

intense warmth radiating from the earth floor rippled along the seeker’s heat-resistance outer frame. All else 

was silent and still in the deep. Inside the command module of the ship, Decrix’s crew was engaged in 

navigating the craft, with Benton and Yates closely monitoring their progress. Sarah Jane, Harry, and the 

Brigadier were seated around a stalagmite-shaped central control unit, monitoring the seeker’s course with 

Decrix and Ichtar. The Doctor was glancing over the interior architecture of the ship, which looked every bit 

like a vast underwater cavern; they were even green spots of algae staining the stone-grey walls. The Doctor 

touched a nearby wall, and felt no surprise to feel that it was in fact reinforced stone. The Time Lord raised 

his eyebrows and smirked. 

‘This is a remarkable vessel, Decrix, definitely designed for underwater transit. I wonder if you could 

live your whole life in these conditions and be comfortable.’ 

‘The waters of the world are familiar to us, Doctor. We travel through them with stealth.’ 

The Doctor noticed the hard look of unease on the Brigadier’s face as he listened to Decrix’s 

comment, when Yates called over from the front-most station. 

‘ETA to co-ordinates in two minutes, sir.’ 

‘Thank you, Mike,’ replied Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘That’s some good news. Now, Ichtar, you’re sure 

your Triad associates can convince the rest of your race to honour our alliance’ 

‘When the Triad decides, our race follows. We have survived this long based on that obedience.’ 

‘That’s all jolly well,’ Harry inserted politely, ‘but I’m afraid I’ve missed the point of why we’re on 

this deep sea dive.’ 

‘To find answers, Harry, what else The primal liquid is flowing to specific points around the globe, 

all of which also happen to be the epicentres of the earthquakes you’ve been investigating. So, the best chance 

of solving this problem is journeying to the nearest point where an earthquake hasn’t occurred and finding out 

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Chris McKeon 


what’s there. If that’s not obvious to you why did even bother coming along’ the Doctor retorted, looking 

down upon his former travelling companion. Harry shrugged his shoulders. 

‘I don’t know, old boy. I suppose I came because you’re all my friends, so why not help Besides, I 

didn’t quite take to that Baron chap; I’m rather glad he opted to stay behind.’ 

‘Yes, but he insisted on being kept in the loop, didn’t he’ Sarah Jane said. ‘He certainly stared 

daggers at you, Brigadier, when you refused him.’ 

‘Oh, believe me, Miss Smith; I’ve stared down far worse characters than an uptight aristocrat. 

Baron Macsen has my gratitude for ferrying us from Peru to Geneva, but there my lies the limit of my 

professional generosity.’ 

‘Let’s just hope he doesn’t whine to the people in charge of your budget,’ the Doctor quipped, who 

smiled broadly as the low drone of the vessel’s engine changed in pitch and the ship slowed. 

‘I think we’ve made it, don’t you’ 

Benton spoke to confirm the Doctor’s rhetorical question. He then double-checked the coordinates. 

‘The ship’s systems are spot on, sir,’ he said, speaking to both the Doctor and the Brigadier. Yates then 

chimed in with more information. 

‘Based on these co-ordinates, Brigadier, we are someone in the South Pole.’ 

‘The South Pole’ Sarah Jane repeated, dumbstruck. ‘That’s not what I would call close to Geneva.’ 

‘That’s what happens when your map doesn’t take into account several million years of continental 

drift,’ the Doctor answered, taking long strides forward to join Benton and Yates at the forward module. He 

took a moment to study the sonar-relayed shape of the underwater terrain. 

‘Definitely Antarctica, in the Bransfield Strait. And that -’ he pointed to a large crater-shaped 

structure on the red, white, and blue-hued image, ‘is a large submarine volcano. Just what I hoped we’d find.’ 

Sarah Jane had stood by the Doctor’s side while he had spoken and then took her turn to speak. 

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‘Doctor, listen, the last time we came to Antarctica, there were the Krynoid pods, remember Do you 

think they might have something to do with this’ 

‘Intriguing thought, Sarah. It can’t be right though. No, this is something different; something much 

worse than overzealous weeds. No, whatever it is lies out there.’ The Doctor stared at the screen and let its 

lurid glare wash over his face, as if communing with the image for the gift of inspiration. Suddenly, he pushed 

back. 

‘I’m going out there for a closer look.’ 

Sarah Jane’s jaw dropped; how did this man continue to find ways to surprise and shock her 

‘Now, wait just a moment,’ she started to say, even as the Brigadier advanced with his own protests. 

‘Really, Doctor, you aren’t sure what’s out there.’ 

‘Of course I’m not sure what’s out there, that’s why I’ve got to find out for myself.’ 

‘But you can’t!’ cried Sarah Jane, before quickly softening her voice and elaborating her concern, 

knowing the Doctor refused to recognise the word ‘can’t’ as a concept. ‘You see, you haven’t any equipment, a 

wetsuit, or even any oxygen to take with you.’ 

‘Actually, miss, he does,’ said Benton. All eyes turned on the soldier, each in their own way 

awaiting an answer to his revelation. 

‘It’s just that Baron bloke, as we were leaving his yacht he pulled me aside and gave me an 

underwater diving suit – he said he had plenty so one borrowed wasn’t a problem - in case we needed to go out 

looking for anything.’ 

Benton stepped over to one side of the module, crouched down, and stood again with the suit in his 

hands. It was sized for a taller man and cut from a lightweight black rubber. Attached to the neck of the 

wetsuit was a dark silver round metal helmet with an oblong transparent visor set into its front. Several thin 

white tubes were affixed to the rubber in various locations. Benton, like a pitching salesman, pointed to these 

accoutrements. 

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‘Look, it’s even got an oxygen tank and gage built right into the suit. There are a whole lot of other 

special gadgets and whats-its for scientific stuff, perfect for you, Doc. It’s a right beautiful set-up.’ 

The Doctor leaned back and raised his eyebrows. He then cantered his hat over his curls and stepped 

forward to stand before Benton. He leaned close and whispered loud enough for all to hear. 

‘Second Lieutenant, you realise that everyone else is probably thinking you’re helping me make a 

terrible mistake.’ 

For a moment Benton looked as if he were facing a court-martial. Then he sighed and shrugged his 

shoulders. 

‘Well, Doc, after all this time I figure you’d find a way to make your own mistakes. Besides there’s 

no point trying to stop you once you’ve set your mind, is there’ 

The Doctor took the diving suit from Benton’s hands and bared his teeth in a wide smile. 

‘Precisely.’ 

Ten minutes later a very tense Brigadier was standing with a very worried Sarah Jane in a dimly-lit 

passageway before the inner hatchway of the vessel’s main airlock and watching the Doctor, fully dressed in 

the Baron’s loaned wetsuit, making the final adjustments to the suit’s air gauges and miniaturised propellant 

system. 

‘This really is a most advanced wetsuit, Sarah,’ the Doctor said. ‘Almost too advanced,’ he added 

under his breath. ‘But we should consider borrowing a few more for our next coral gazing excursion. I know 

a wonderful place near the centre of the Ethersius Galaxy.’ 

‘Doctor, I’m not convinced this is the wisest course of action you can take under these conditions,’ the 

Brigadier admonished his associate. 

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‘Yes, I’m inclined to agree with the Brigadier,’ Sarah Jane added. ‘I mean, it’s very cold out there, 

and with so much water pressure, and what if this underwater volcano decides to erupt all of sudden, or some 

of that green fluid makes it to the surface, or -’ 

‘Brigadier, Sarah Jane, I don’t plan on dying today, so don’t fuss! Besides, I’ve survived Krakatoa! 

Now get back to the command module; this suit has videolink which I’ve keyed into the Sea Devils’ 

communications system. You should see and hear everything I do.’ The Doctor leaned close and spoke with a 

conspiratorial whisper. ‘So keep your eyes and ears open.’ 

The Doctor gave his friends a curt nod and then placed the suit’s helmet over his head and fastened 

its safety catches. Then through the oblong transparency of the helmet’s visor, he flashed them a friendly smile, 

before promptly turning to a wall-mounted panel and toggling one of its two large grey buttons. The airlock’s 

inner hatchway rolled open and the Doctor stepped through. The hatch promptly re-sealed after him. Through 

the glass of the hatch, the Brigadier and Sarah Jane saw the Time Lord toggle a similar button system on the 

airlock wall, and the chamber filled with seawater. Once filled, the outer door to the airlock cracked open and 

for a moment the Doctor floated in the dark water, suspended motionless like a puppet without a master. 

Then he threw them a hearty wave, heaved a strong kick with his legs, and shot out into the ocean. It was 

then both the Brigadier and Sarah Jane realised the Doctor had forgotten to say good-bye. 

The two friends watched the Doctor swim through the dark waters for as long as they could see his 

long-boned figure. After the darkness of the deep claimed their visual contact, Sarah Jane and turned away 

from the portal’s viewer. She and the Brigadier left the inner airlock chamber and began to make their way 

back to the seeker’s control module. All was silent within the ancient craft, save for the rumbling drone of the 

ship’s intricate engines and the creak of the metal hull resisting the massive underwater pressure pushing 

against all sides of the craft. And then an alarm began to wail. 

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A couple of minutes later Sarah Jane and the Brigadier reached the command deck after hurrying 

through the bowels of the ship. The seeker’s forward module’s communication system was flooded and 

overloading with incoming signals garbling one another for dominance. Ichtar bent over a scanning device. 

‘There is a massive embolism transpiring across the planet’s entire electromagnetic spectrum. Weather 

patterns are fluctuating globally.’ 

On the other side of the command module Decrix scanned a large read-out screen. ‘There are seismic 

shifts occurring upon every continental mass, beneath most ocean beds. The rate is building.’ 

‘There’s more, sir,’ Benton interjected, standing from his communication post and hurrying over to 

hand the Brigadier a UNIT two-way radio. ‘Reports from the lads back at UNIT HQ Geneva: they say 

there are reports of Stahlmann’s Gas breaking the surface all over the world, from cave systems, volcanoes, sea 

vents, even the Grand Canyon in America! It’s all gone mad, sir. The Earth’s bleeding and we can’t stop it.’ 

Without warning the seeker’s communication system cleared and a voice filtered through the central 

speaker. The voice was thin and rasping, but the Brigadier and his associates recognised him immediately. It 

was the voice of the Master. He spoke like an old friend greeting long-lost relatives. 

‘My dear Brigadier, Mr. Benton, Lieutenant Colonel Yates, Miss Smith, and the ill-qualified Dr. 

Sullivan. How sweet it is to see you all once more. Please don’t concern yourselves wondering how I can 

eavesdrop on your present location, just know that I can.’ 

As Decrix and Ichtar organised the Sea Devil crew to investigate the source of the intruding 

transmission, the people the Master’s intended audience clustered around the main communication terminal. 

The Brigadier barked a reply. 

‘You fiend. What are you doing here’ 

‘Tut, tut, Brigadier, is that any way to speak to your betters I am a Baron these days after all.’ 

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The Brigadier willed his eyes not to widen at the Master’s revelation. His thoughts raced. Baron 

Macsen was the Master all along. He’s been manipulating us for weeks! Lethbridge-Stewart kept his voice 

nonplussed and quickly crafted a reply. 

‘Unless you plan on living the rest of your wretched life in a comfortless cell, I suggest you evacuate 

this planet immediately.’ 

‘Now, be reasonable, Brigadier. After all this time you must at least give me the courtesy of 

assuming that I hold your life in my hands. This really is most unbecoming behaviour for one already 

defeated.’ 

‘You’re an even denser fool than the Doctor thinks if you believe that,’ Sarah Jane retorted, even as 

a chilling fear gripped her mind. Just where is the Doctor The Master replied with complete nonchalance, as 

if her words were not even audible. 

‘Really, Miss Smith, why don’t you do something lady-like while the men discuss their business’ 

‘Don’t you talk to her that way, you devil,’ Benton snapped, his fists tightening, but the Master’s 

voice shook with amusement. 

‘Oh, I have so looked forward to this moment, but it is an instant which must now pass. Such a 

pity. I’m sure you’re all wondering where the Doctor is at this moment, and so as a parting gift I will oblige 

you with an answer.’ 

There was an electronic squeal within the communication network. A moment passed and then the 

central monitor pixilated to re-form into an image of the Doctor, who was writhing in terrible pain upon the 

ocean floor. Green tendrils of energy had burnt through most of his wetsuit and his helmet had shattered, 

exposing him to the freezing underwater depths. Sarah Jane’s hands covered her mouth in horror and tears 

prickled her eyes. Yates and the Brigadier made to order Decrix to move the ship in for a rescue, but the 

Master’s pit-black eyes superimposed over the underwater scene and he spoke once more. 

‘There is no point in acting to save the Doctor. He is already gone. Behold!’ 

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All stared in horror as the Master’s eyes burnt with green fire. Then the Doctor’s writhing body was 

haloed in a tremendous burst of light and the rock-face directly beneath him exploded. The seeker lurched and 

careened in the deep from the mammoth shock waves, but the Doctor’s friends paid total attention to the 

image on the screen, which showed beneath the icy strata a geyser of green ooze – Sarah Jane felt her heart 

clench. It was Stahlmann’s Gas! - surged into the ocean and engulfed the Doctor. Green flames ignited upon 

his skin and wreathed his body. His bulging eyes, set in a face horrifically contorted with monstrous pain, 

were the last thing visible before the liquid flames consumed them. Then he disappeared completely. Onboard 

the seeker the Sea Devil crew was caught in frantic action. Damaged by the sudden sea tremors, the ship’s 

engines stalled and the craft began to list and tilt. An alarm system wailed on the vessel’s intercom. The crew 

scrambled around the deck instruments, some claimed that the water temperature had skyrocketed, other 

monitoring the increasing seismic disturbances, other attempting to stabilise the engines. But amongst the 

Doctor’s friends there was silence, a silence worse than death. It lasted only a moment. The Brigadier stepped 

forward and seized Decrix’s arm. 

‘Get this ship down to the seabed now. We’ve got to rescue the Doctor!’ 

‘That is an unwise course of action. We have lost main power to our engines and are the secondary 

generators are straining at maximum capacity. We must flee before we also lose our lives.’ 

‘No one’s lost their life yet. The Doctor’s still alive; he must be. Now get us down there!’ 

‘Human,’ this time the voice was from Ichtar. ‘I have already checked the life readings. There are 

none outside the craft. Your friend, the Doctor, is dead.’ 

‘An excellent conclusion, you slithering beast,’ the Master purred, his gloating voice brimming in 

triumph throughout the command module. ‘I must concur with your findings, and I do so with joy.’ 

‘Joy’ Sarah Jane spat, his quavering voice almost hiccupping with fear and sorrow. ‘What can you 

possibly know of joy’ 

‘I know enough to feel it in abundance now that the Doctor is well and truly dead.’ 

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‘He’s not dead. He can’t have died.’ 

‘Oh, I assure he can, Miss Smith, and he has. But if you and your friends can’t bear the thought of 

life without the Doctor, then who am I to deny you joining him in death’ 

The Master inhaled sharply. Then upon the screen his eyes glowed with light once more. Immediately 

the seeker’s trembled; its instruments caught fire and burst open, spilling conductive fluids and cabling across 

the command deck. The Master cackled with demonic glee, before the glow of his eyes darkened and the Time 

Lord began hacking a phlegmatic cough strong enough to make him wheeze and tense for breath. Yet even in 

his extreme distress, the Master still managed a final, bitter parting. 

‘Farewell, my favourite primitives.’ 

And then the seeker shook with apocalyptic throwing all within to the ground amongst soot, ash, 

and debris as the inner hull buckled and burst open and the unnaturally boiling waters of the Antarctic 

poured into the breach. Sarah Jane ran against the onslaught; she slipped on the slick stone floor and crashed 

upon the ground. She chocked on the rising water; she had no breath… 

In years to come, there were few things Sarah Jane Smith would remember of the frantic moments which 

followed the Master’s attack and her submersion in the flood. She would not remember the Brigadier’s strong 

hands lifting her from the ground, nor his impassioned calls to any who could hear to follow him to safety. She 

found she could not recall being carried down corridors of twisted metal and sparking flames, nor being 

bundled into an escape craft by Benton and Yates mere moments before the seeker’s engines imploded to force 

a massive detonation. And she would recollect nothing of the pod’s desperate flight across endless depths of 

water seething with green poison beneath a land chocked with fire, smoke, and rivers of blood. For years to 

come, the only things Sarah Jane Smith would remember of her darkest day were the merciless sensations of 

numbing loneliness and crushing fear… 

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JOHN BENTON’S BARN AT HILSEY HALT, GLOUCHESTERSHIRE, 8TH JANUARY 2008 

Within the shadows voices echoed through thick walls. 

‘Honestly, Sarah Jane, it’s no trouble at all to show you around the TARDIS once 

more. Although what you mean by liking the old look I’ve no idea.’ 

‘Oh, forget I said anything about it.’ 

‘As you wish. Ah, here we are.’ 

A handle turned and a door swung open releasing a slab of light into the darkened 

room. Sarah Jane Smith, age fifty-six, and General Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart 

followed the broad figure of the Doctor into the shadow-seeped chamber. In the semidarkness, 

the patchwork colours of the Time Lord’s long coat were like shard of light 

refracted in a black prism. 

‘There. I made sure your room was kept nice and tidy, Sarah.’ 

‘Hopefully it wasn’t too much work,’ she muttered, as she stepped over the 

threshold. She stood still for a moment, letting herself immerse in the pleasant memories the 

room held for her. ‘Oh, it’s just like I left it! Oh, I’m sorry, Brigadier, please do come in.’ 

The Brigadier walked forward joined his friends inside the preserved bedroom. 

‘Very charming, Sarah, much like your aunt’s cottage. How long has it been since you 

were last here if you don’t mind my asking’ 

Sarah Jane flashed Sir Alistair a warm smile. 

‘From you, Brigadier, I don’t mind anything. But it’s so hard to say how it’s been 

since I was here last, or even how long I spent here when we travelled together, Doctor. Is it 

the same for you’ 

The Doctor, who was looking quite distracted, took a moment to respond. 

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‘Hmm Oh, well, if time is relative then memory is an even more distant relation. 

Still, it has been such a long time – are you quite sure you left it in here’ 

‘I can’t think where else it could be; when we parted company you were in such a 

hurry to send me off I must have forgotten it in the rush. On that note, why did you have to 

go home so badly, Doctor’ 

‘As is so often an occurrence in my life, Sarah, it was another one of the Master’s 

tricks, which I can’t say I include amongst my most precious recollections.’ 

‘I can’t say I blame you – ah ha!’ 

Sarah Jane strode forward to the four-poster bed and picked up a small leatherbound 

book. She held it in her palm and let her fingers rub the covers and spine. The 

Brigadier voiced his curiosity. 

‘Is it some sort of album, Sarah’ 

‘Not quite, Brigadier; it’s my journal. I kept it during my time here in the TARDIS. I 

left it here, too, so long ago. I’ve been looking for material for my next novel; and I’ve been 

reminded how important it is to have fresh detailed information to draw upon.’ 

‘Sarah…’ the Brigadier droned with weary resignation. 

‘Oh, don’t worry, Brigadier, I’ll change all your names before the publication, I just 

haven’t got round to that point in the editing. But I promise I haven’t forgotten which acts 

of secrecy I’ve signed.’ 

It was a definitely displeased throat-clearing from the Doctor that really grabbed 

Sarah Jane’s attention, as he placed his hands on his yellow-and-black-striped hips and cast a 

stern glance in her direction. 

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‘Am I correct in assuming this narrative would be the latest in your intrepid series of 

heroic adventures featuring the mysterious fellow known only as ‘the Doctor,’ who identity 

and exploits are clearly lifted from the events of my own life’ 

Sarah Jane almost dropped the journal in embarrassment. Of course, she had never 

secured permission from the Doctor to use him as the inspiration of her novel range; but 

then, how could she have found him to ask 

‘Yes, Doctor, you’re correct. Do you disapprove’ 

The Doctor’s face softened and spread with a wide smile. He reached over and 

rubbed her nose. 

‘Of course not; if one is going to be plagiarised then it might as well be done by the 

best. You certainly are better at it than Iris.’ 

For one wonderful moment Sarah Jane felt as if she were about to burst with happy 

pride, but she subdued herself with a glowing smile. As she, the Doctor, and the Brigadier 

turned to exit her old room and re-join the reunion outside, Sarah Jane studied the aged 

journal in her hands. 

‘To think what incredible things these pages must remember.’ 

Sarah Jane let the book fall open at random and then read the revealed page. The 

entry she discovered indeed brought back long-departed memories, but one she never 

wanted to return… 

FROM THE JOURNAL OF SARAH JANE SMITH, ANTARCTICA, 29TH MAY 1976 

I should have died. I wish I had. Why couldn’t the Doctor have listened to us, why didn’t he stay where it 

was safe Now he’s…oh, Doctor. Where are you 

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We’ve been underwater for twelve hours now. When it exploded the seeker pushed us far off course. 

Ichtar and Decrix, who were the only other survivors, managed to steer the pod back towards Antarctica. 

Benton has been on the ship’s radio trying to raise UNIT HQ, but no one’s answering, not Geneva nor the 

UK. And that’s not the only thing worrying us: this is the South Pole and the water is hot, boiling even. The 

pod’s external sensors tell us there’s a lot a smoke and ash in the air, too, and the ash is volcanic. 

Something’s gone wrong. Wrong When does it ever go right anymore 

Finally, a little freedom to walk around! We came aground about two minutes ago. By Mike’s 

calculations by rights we’re near enough to South Bend, give or take a few days’ hike across the ice, which 

none of us fancies. The pod had a lot of trouble finding solid ice to anchor itself; it’s as if the surface has 

changed somehow, turned to slush. I hope it’s not all that way; I feel imprisoned in here. 

30TH MAY 1976 

It’s been six hours since icefall. I’m not sure where we are but it doesn’t look like Antarctica, it’s more like 

the surface of the moon, if the moon were made of green cheese, with little craters and holes all over the place 

filled with warm steam. Imagine, water on the moon. We’ve set up a temporary camp on a solid enough patch 

of ice from the few supplies rationed in the pod, which wasn’t much. We’ve only got our environmental suits to 

keep us warm, one tent for seven people – two of them not even human! -, not enough food for a party that 

size, and water we daren’t drink. It’s just another vacation that’s not a vacation, and it might be our last day 

alive. Typical. 

31ST MAY 1976 

Late last night I awoke to soft sounds in the darkness. I got up and edged near the tent flap, making sure not 

to wake the others. My ear was close to the tent to listen. I heard voices, inhuman and bubbling. And there 

was someone else speaking. It was so familiar. I opened the tent a little and saw through the crack Ichtar and 

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Decrix standing with a third figure bathed in a bright green light, then the glowing person touched the two 

reptiles and they all…just winked out. There had been a small electric spark and a whoosh of air. I could 

smell a sharp tang of ozone. Now I’ve travelled within the TARDIS long enough to know matter 

transmission when I smell it. So the question now becomes just who exactly came to take Ichtar and Decrix, 

and where did they go And why 

I told the Brigadier all about it early in the morning. He suspected an ambush and ordered us to 

break camp immediately. We’ve been moving towards South Bend, but it’s slow going. The Brig knows how 

to get to the base, but a storm’s come up all around us and our compasses have stopped working – the needles 

just spin. Wherever we are, we’ve been hiking all day and we’re all exhausted. Looks like we’re making 

camp again, but this time the Brig’s ordered an all-night watch. Mike’s volunteered to take the first shift, but 

I hope he’ll be careful; there’s only one gun. 

1ST JUNE 1976 

I’d only just dozed when I heard the gunshot. There were sounds of a struggle and Mike was yelling. The Brig 

and Benton were already bolting out of the tent while Harry was trying to keep me from going outside. I must 

have given a fierce look because he let me go and then I was out. It was so dark but I could see…things, dark 

hairy creatures dragging Mike away from the camp. He was kicking and struggling but they wouldn’t let go. 

I couldn’t think; I don’t know what possessed me, but I just lost my head. I saw Mike’s gun lying in the 

show. I reached down to the ground, grabbed the gun, pointed in the air, and fired. Whatever they were, they 

all growled and scattered, dropping Mike right there in the snow. We all ran over to where he was. He was 

barely conscious and his environmental suit was ripped to shreds but somehow there wasn’t a mark on him; it 

was if whatever attacked him had only wanted to get to him but not hurt him. Harry and Benton helped 

Mike to his feet, but they were lucky not to drop themselves; we were all so cold and tired we hadn’t once 

taken off our suits. Without them our hands and feet would be frostbitten by now for sure. The Brig then 

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ordered us back to the camp for rest. I’ve never heard him sound so tired and careworn, or worried. I’ve 

known him too long not to know when he’s scared, and that’s when I feel terrified. Except now I feel worse 

than that. 

I don’t know the time but it must be long past midnight. The temperature’s dropped very quickly. 

Because of whatever is melting the ice here it’s not as cold as it was when the Doctor and I were here 

investigating the Krynoid pod, but it’s still cold. Freezing, even. We’ll have to stop soon. Everyone’s tired, 

edgy, and quiet. The landscape around has an eerie green glow, dull so it’s hardly visible, but it’s there, 

enough to make even the sky look sick. It’s all so disturbing. Worse, I thought I just saw the green light 

again, the same when Decrix and Ichtar disappeared, shining far off in the distant wasteland. Did it really 

just wave to me It’s gone now. 

2ND JUNE 1976 

Mr. Benton keeps trying to contact the base via radio but there’s no answer, not a whisper. He’s grown 

distant, doesn’t speak; he’s completely thrown himself into the march. I know why he’s gone cold: he’s beside 

himself with grief; he blames himself for the Doctor’s…no. Best not to think it. But Benton’s not alone. We 

all wish we’d seen through the Master’s disguise, I mean it was so obvious –who else would call him the 

Great, Greater, and Greatest Horrible monster, I wish I could…no. Best not to think it because if I do 

then I start to wonder where the Master is right now – is he watching us in his TARDIS, laughing as we 

stumble, or is he waiting for us close by, choosing the right moment to strike 

3RD JUNE 1976 

I think we’ve finally got some hope. There was static on the radio and Benton picked up a signal earlier; he 

thinks it’s from South Bend. The voice at the other end didn’t so much speak as whisper, but if the reports we 

got before the seeker went down were true, then we’ve all got big problems now. The Brig is determined to get 

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to the base by nightfall, and I hope we make it. Mike’s acting strange; he’s breathing poorly and pale. He 

walks like he’s in a daze and the -noises he makes; it’s almost like he’s growling. And I’ve heard something 

like that sound somewhere else, all around us when we sleep at night. It’s as if something’s surrounding us, 

like wolves circling a sheep herd. I don’t think I’ll manage any sleep tonight. 

THE ROSE GARDEN OF HILSEY HALT, 9TH JANUARY 2008 

Almost thirty-two years later Sarah Jane Smith sat on a white wicker chair placed between 

two hedge rows in John Benton’s rose garden. Benton himself had taken the other guests on 

a tour of the countryside surrounding his home, Hilsey Halt, about thirty minutes earlier. 

Sarah Jane had decided to stay back at the house and finish her breakfast, but had promised 

to join the others later. Her breakfast was now long since complete but a hunger remained 

insider, but not for food. Hers was a different hunger, a craving for memory, which even to 

her surprise had threatened to devour her unless she submitted to the urge to recall, and the 

consumption lay in her own words. 

She had spent the last half hour reviewing the entries in her journal she had found in 

the Doctor’s TARDIS; and she remembered almost against her will those moments captured 

on paper and ink. She finished an entry and turned the page only to find a blank sheet. Of 

course, she realised, I never had the time to write down what happened next. And why would I want to 

return to that 

Sarah Jane was about to close the journal when a thin tube rolled out from between 

two pages within the centre crease along the book’s spine. The tube fell to rest upon her lap; 

she picked the object up and held it between her fingers. It was several moments before she 

recognised the device as the miniature sound recorder the Doctor – her Doctor – had built 

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for her all those years ago, and she remembered which sounds the device had recorded at 

South Bend Base on the 3rd June 1976. 

Sarah Jane sighed as she activated the playback on the recorder and let the past 

continue to haunt her… 

‘This is Sarah Jane Smith, recording from outside South Bend Base in Antarctica, or what’s left of 

Antarctica. I’m switching over from written to recorded information for the sake of time and the fact that I 

brought only one pen with me and it just ran out of ink. With luck someone will hear my words and know 

what’s happening out here. 

To be clear, my friends and I have made it to this military base safely. We’re tired, hungry, halfdelirious 

with aches and fear, but we’ve made it. But I don’t think we can count on a rescue. There should be 

sentries here positioned hundreds of meters from the compound or at least some guards on site to see us coming 

from miles off and order us an escort. Instead there’s just the base, quiet and alone. 

We’ve made our way towards the base, and it’s worse than we thought. Much worse. It looks like 

there may have been some sort of fire, maybe an explosion within the structure. The main complex is burn out 

and broken pieces of its dome are littered all over the ground. Most of the connective corridors have been blown 

apart. The blast pattern would indicate that someone had lined the spaces within the arterial tracks with 

explosives and then detonated them all at once. Oh my - there’s a lot of blood staining the ice and the broken 

walls, and I think under this concrete slab there’s a…well, what’s left of him. 

We’ve found the secondary command structure for South Bend. It looks to be intact and the station’s 

lights are on so it’s still got some kind of working generator. There is a steel front hatch. With a video screen 

intercom set into the left wall of the hatch’s alcove. The Brigadier is going to try and contact whoever might be 

still inside. I’ll let him speak for himself. 

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‘Hello South Bend Base personnel Can anyone hear me This is Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart of 

UNIT UK Division. We are five survivors of a deep sea mission seeking refuge. We have ill and wounded 

members in our party and are all in urgent need of food, shelter, and medical attention. Please respond.’ 

‘No answer, sir. They’re playing us for right fools.’ 

‘This isn’t a laughing matter, Benton, and I’m going to be heard even if I have to press that buzzer 

all day. Right, whoever can hear me, I want you to listen well. This is Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge- 

Stewart, head commander of UNIT UK Division. I have come with a party of survivors in great need of 

assistance. It is your duty and obligation to help us. We have wounded here and I demand you give us aid 

otherwise I will personally oversee the court martial of every member of your staff. Do I make myself clear 

Respond! Wait a moment…this hatch is hot, red hot.’ 

Sarah Jane turned off the recorder and closed her journal. She sat back in the chair and 

closed her eyes. She tried to keep the memories from stirring within but they were already 

awake and flooding like mind like blood gushing from a gaping wound. She heard the voices 

of friends speaking as clear as they were then, standing close together, and speaking 

hurriedly. Harry said: 

‘Should we try and find another way to get inside, Brigadier’ 

‘We haven’t much choice, Lieutenant Commander – our options are try to survive or die from cold. 

Benton, unhook yourself from Mike and help me look for another door.’ 

‘Right, sir. What the devil!’ 

‘Mike, what are you doing’ Her own voice breaks with fatigue and concern. 

‘Lieutenant Colonel Yates Can you hear me This is your commanding officer; where are 

you going No, get away from that door; it’s not safe! The Brigadier moves to grab Yates but 

is too late to stop him. Sarah Jane opens her eyes and sees it all happening again – 

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Mike Yates runs forward and slams his body against the hatchway. He convulses wildly and a deep 

growl erupts from his throat. Then his skin turns dark green and his hair grows longer and longer. He holds 

close to the hatch, which glows red as if it is a solid wall of flame, or rage made physical. Mike staggers 

backwards, his body smoking and writhing. Then the hatch swings open and a wave of intense heat and light 

pours out through the aperture, driving back Sarah Jane and her other friends. From within the bright white 

heat emerges sounds of animals hissing, howling, screeching. They rush out of the light, so many of them. 

Their skin is green, their backs hunched, their hair is long and mangled, fangs fill their mouths, blood stains 

their eyes, and their faces stretch with mindless frenzy. Benton pulls Sarah Jane close and whispers in her ear. 

‘Those are Primords, the same things I saw at the Inferno Project. Don’t let them touch you, Miss! 

They can make you like them if they do!’ 

Too late. The monsters hear the sounds and bellow with rage and lust. They bend forward upon 

their hands and push forward, rushing towards Sarah Jane; they reach out with their claws – 

‘Hold!’ 

The voice is weak and raspy, but she recognises it instantly. Sarah Jane knows the speaker well. 

The Master stands in the threshold of the blinding blaze. His face is lost in the trembling, superheated air. 

His cloak billows around his thin, crumpled body. He holds his head high and even in the obscuring light his 

eyes are fierce and dark, like sunspots upon a vast solar surface. The Master raises his hands and throws a 

small wave towards the creatures. They retreat and huddle around Sarah Jane, the Brigadier, Benton, and 

Harry – like wolves encircling a fold. The Time Lord stands still and gazes upon his prisoners. 

‘My dear friends, I offer you my sincerest thanks for living long enough to satisfy my final 

intentions.’ 

The Brigadier stands firm and stares down upon the Master. There is no fear in his voice when he 

speaks. 

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‘If you are going to kill us, you might as well get it over with. We won’t give you any further 

satisfaction than that.’ 

‘Yes, I never imagined you would beg for my mercy, Brigadier. At least not when facing something as 

simple as death. But I wonder how you might react upon discovering you are instead about my helpful horde 

Might you beg then’ 

‘Never!’ 

‘Ah, well, the irony of your mindless service will be sweet enough for me. My children…take them!’ 

The Primord horde shuffles towards the group; their eyes widen, their teeth gnash. Sarah feels 

Benton’s arms tighten around her. Hands enclose hers: Harry. He looks into her eyes and smiles. His eyes 

close. The Brigadier stands before them, unmoving. They face their loss of life in silence as the horde advances, 

as the beast in Mike Yates’s form bounds towards them, roaring, louder and louder, roaring until sound 

deafens them and the green light blinds them as a figure appears before them and outstretches its arms - and 

then the light and sound fades. The Master is gone; the horde has vanished, replaced by the familiar white 

roundelled walls of the TARDIS. The Doctor stands in front of the console with his normal clothing intact, 

his scarf looped around his shoulders, and a hard, dark scowl upon his face. He strides forward and places 

his hands upon the Brigadier and Sarah Jane’s shoulders. 

‘Can’t you people do anything right without me’ 

And then he smiles. The Brigadier sighs in relief. Benton and Harry shout for joy. And Sarah Jane 

Smith embraces her friend as her eyes water his coat with traumatised gratitude. Then she hears a guttural 

wail and she turns in time to see the creature that was once Mike Yates hurtling towards them… 

Sarah Jane turned off the recorder and sat back in her chair. She was struck by how cold she 

felt, and frightened; she was actually shivering. She started as a shadow crept over her from 

behind. She heard a voice. 

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‘Sarah.’ 

It was the Brigadier. Sarah Jane smiled and stood up to turn and greet him. She saw 

who was with him. No, it couldn’t be - 

THE TARDIS CONSOLE ROOM, 690 YEARS AFTER 

GALLIFREYIAN MEAN-TIME 

EXPULSION, RELATIVE TIME: 9TH JANUARY 2008 

The Doctor hurried around the TARDIS console like a planet caught in a decaying orbit 

around a massive star. His current companion, Melanie Jane Bush – Mel to her friends and 

really everyone else – watched with a worried expression as he paced the console and 

prodded its instruments. 

‘What’s got you so worried, Doctor I thought you were enjoying the party.’ 

‘I was, Mel, and I am! But there’s something wrong, something lurking. Something 

that’s trying to attack me.’ 

‘Could it be the Valeyard He was here in 1908.’ 

‘The Valeyard No, not him. He’s dead and gone. Of that I’m now quite sure.’ 

‘But how I know we’ve all been through a lot but I’ve a right to know. I mean, you 

still haven’t told me what happened on Gallifrey.’ 

‘Not now, Mel. Soon. I promise I’ll explain later, but not right now.’ 

‘Okay then, I’ll just have to wait for that explanation. But that still doesn’t explain 

why you’re making circles right now.’ 

‘It’s as I said; there’s something – someone - here or nearby. It’s trying to reach me, 

trying to root through my past. I think the same thing has been happening to Sarah Jane and 

the Brigadier.’ 

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‘Why them and not me Not that I don’t mind my memories being left alone from 

unpleasant intruders.’ 

‘I’m not sure. I think it must be some memory we share.’ 

‘You mean back when you were all together at UNIT’ 

The Doctor stopped his pacing and stared at Mel. Despite the clarity of his gaze, she 

was struck by how pale and weary he seemed. 

‘Yes, it must be. Towards the end I should think. Of course! This all started when I 

began to reflect on an incident we all shared while battling the Master, at least an earlier 

version. It was back in what you’d call 1976. Perhaps that’s also why Benton, Mike, or Harry 

doesn’t seem to be affected: I only discussed my thoughts with Sarah and the Brigadier; 

perhaps some of the invasive telepathic energy bled into their thoughts. And perhaps that’s 

the key to discovering what’s behind this collective memory incursion: remembering the rest 

of the story.’ 

Mel stepped around the console and joined the Doctor. Her eyes were wide with 

comprehension. 

‘I see. You lure this force close by giving it what it’s looking for: your past memories. 

But of course all the while you’ll be setting up a way to trap it – the telepathic circuits’ 

The Doctor wiggled Mel’s nose with a flashed her a wink and a sly smile. 

‘Very well done, Mel. You’re almost better at this than I am now.’ 

‘Oh, we’ll have plenty of time yet to improve.’ 

‘Yes,’ the Doctor muttered distractedly before he spun around and calibrated the 

circuits’ input/output ratios. A moment later he straightened and nodded. 

‘Right. It’s all ready. Watch the monitors, Mel, and make sure they don’t spike too 

high while I’m establishing contact.’ 

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‘Roger, Doctor.’ 

‘‘Roger’’ the Doctor echoed, genuinely perplexed. He then shook his head and 

placed his hands upon the telepathic receptor pads. 

‘Now!’ he cried just as everything - 

SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE TARDIS’ REMEMBRANCE 

‘You’re here a bit early.’ 

‘I’m sorry, what are you talking about And who are you’ 

‘Don’t insult me.’ 

‘Ah, I see. You. Number Four.’ 

‘Precisely, Six. So, you’re contemplating a grand send-off, are you Well, if so, you might as well end 

now because what you’ve just experienced is probably as big a catastrophe as you’ll ever face. Except for what 

finished me off, of course.’ 

‘I haven’t decided anything yet, thank you very much.’ 

‘Well…nothing officially. But you’ve been thinking about me quite a bit these last few moments, 

enough to create a momentary psychic connection-pocket in the TARDIS’ telepathic apparatus. Why do that, 

I wonder’ 

‘It’s more a question of what’s doing it to me, to us. My mind has been constantly 

returning to something I - that you - did early on in your life. That whole disaster with the 

Master in Antarctica. I know there’s some sort of compulsory psychic suggestion being 

broadcast through my subconscious memory and I need your help to expose it!’ 

‘Really None of you have ever asked for me help before.’ 

‘You never offer it.’ 

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‘Rubbish! I’m very generous with my assistance. But you know I really enjoy your turn of phrase: the 

disaster with the Master. What a nice rhyming scheme; I should steal that.’ 

‘You’re hardly in any position to do that.’ 

‘What, steal When you’re trying to do the same to me’ 

‘Are saying you won’t allow me access to your memories, which are as rightfully mine 

as they are yours’ 

‘Yours Yours! Was it your lungs that choked on the Antarctic water Boiling water! Or was it 

your body that burnt as the Earth poison washed over me And were they your hearts that ached to know 

what happened after’ 

‘Aren’t we both the Doctor’ 

‘Of course. That’s why I’m happy to help. After all, what are reiterations of the same bio-spatialtemporal 

entity for’ 

‘Well, a good deal I should think.’ 

‘Then keep thinking. Think about what I’m thinking of now. Remember, I’d just saved everyone 

from the Master and his Primal Horde-’ 

‘- and I was chiding them all for being lost without me-’ 

‘- when out of the light rushed the mutated Mike Yates, howling in mad fury-’ 

‘Yes, and then what’ 

‘Oh, sorry. I was contemplating the divergent evolutionary charts of dogs and men.’ 

‘Can we please just get on it My word, what must have been in those blue crystals’ 

‘Nothing as pungent as the stuff in that spectrox toxemia!’ 

‘Now just a minute!’ 

‘Oh, my dear Doctors, when will you ever co-operate’ 

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‘Of course it’s the -’ 

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THE DOCTOR’S MEMORY 

WHICH ONE AM I NOW THIS ONE OR THAT ONE I HAVE A CRAVAT. OR IS IT A SCARF 

I have some memories. Fragments are missing and the events are bleeding free. Must remember - 

SOL III, 29TH MAY 1976 

The Doctor glided forward through the sub-zero waters, his limb movements firm but 

gentle, his direction deliberate. High above him he could just make out through the built-in 

light system of his suit the underside of massive glaciers and ice reefs, the knobby and spiked 

surface resembling the ceiling of some vast snow-white and ice-blue cave system. On the 

heads-up monitors displayed by hologram on the interior on his helmet visor he was able to 

track his proximity to Primal Liquid’s focal point, based on the Reptilian Duality’s map coordinates. 

He was within twenty meters. Even while one part of his mind remained tightly 

focused on his task, another portion began to wander about. I wonder if this is what a knife feels 

like slicing through a butter stick. Probably not exactly. And look, there are some pillow lava deposits, but 

they don’t really look too comfortable. Besides, I’m not tired. Oh, there’s the rim of the volcano! 

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The Doctor pulled himself upright and took in the splendour of the formation, a 

gargantuan crater sunken deep into the polar seabed, like the site of some hidden underwater 

explosion. The Doctor activated his com-link to the Sea Devil seeker. 

‘Whoever’s on the line, are you seeing what I’m seeing up there’ 

Decrix’s voice responded over the link and confirmed visual and audio contact. 

Hearing the Sea Devil’s voice in his helmet momentarily disturbed the Doctor, and he asked 

to hear word from the Brigadier. A moment later, Decrix replied. 

‘Doctor, we hear you.’ 

‘How succinct. I probably won’t be so quick though; I’ve only just begun down here. 

By our estimates, I’m almost on top of the focal point. I’ll start a careful search…well, hello. 

What’s this’ 

It was Ichtar who answered. ‘What is it, Doctor’ 

‘Can’t you see’ 

‘We seem to be having difficulty receiving your visual signal. Perhaps you could turn 

your lights towards your search area’ 

‘A moment, Ichtar. I’m searching.’ 

Yes, Doctor, keep searching. Find what you’re looking for. 

Even as I heard the Silurian’s displeased hoot over the helmet’s speakers I felt very weary and the 

Time Lord pushed forward and swam towards what he was scrutinising: nestled between 

two deposits of pillow lava was a smooth black spot set near the rim of the volcano, roughly 

circular and approximately one meter in circumference. At least that was the Doctor’s best 

estimation of the size and shape; it was partially obscured by the lava deposits. He reached to 

a side pouch in his wetsuit, unlocked its seal, and pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver. 

Thankfully it can use water as a power source, the Doctor thought as he activated the device, 

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Chris McKeon 


which radiated waves of sound energy through the water and around the obstructing lava 

pockets. Spumes of rock and pumice fragments spiralled through the ocean water and after 

several moments the lava had broken free. 

The Doctor pushed aside the debris and used his hands to wipe away lingering 

patches of ocean silt to uncover the spot, a dark cancer on the grey texture of the surface. 

Then he stared in fascinated wonder; his estimation of the spots size and shape had been 

precise, but the grotesque image engraved upon the area’s surface was the last thing he had 

expected, or wanted, to find. It was the image of a hideous creature twisted with fins, 

tentacles, eyes, and fangs. It was a being totally alien in form and structure even to the 

natural diversity and variety of the concourses of lifeforms in the cosmos. In short, it was a 

monster with only one name, a name whispered in fear and trembling throughout countless 

civilisations and histories. Suddenly the situation had gone from concerning to difficult. The 

Doctor signalled the seeker. 

‘Hello up there,’ he said, calling through the comlink. ‘I’ve found our fluidic focal 

point. Do you remember those fragments found in Peru’ 

Decrix’s voice, faint and crackling, replied through the speakers. 

‘Wha- -ave you foun-’ 

‘I think I’ve uncovered a replica of the original, and it’s an unpleasant discovery.’ 

‘Doct- we are losi- the connec- Someth- is jamm-’ 

‘Hello Hello Who’s fiddling with the controls’ 

Indeed, Doctor, who But you must discover; it must happen again! 

I adjusted my reception equipment but the connection fizzled and faded away. Over the speakers 

there was only the harsh reply of crackling static. And then the static abruptly cleared and my ears ring and 

my head ache and the helmet filled with mocking laughter. The forward holographic display 

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distorted and then re-formed with an image of Baron Macsen. He chuckled coldly and bared 

two rows of enamel-white teeth in a smile of satisfaction. 

‘There, alone at last. A private conversation is always the most sincere.’ 

The Doctor was about to demand answers when he noticed the Baron was wearing a 

black Nehru jacket beneath his long cloak, with black cuffs and white links and on his hands 

he wore black velvet gloves. And then the Doctor knew his worst suspicion was true. He 

cursed himself for even bothering to trust his instincts. 

‘Well done. I think this was your best attempt at hiding in plain sight, wasn’t it, 

Master’ 

The Master smiled and bowed his head in mock thanks. 

‘You’re losing your edge, Doctor. I remember there was a time you could sense my 

presence within a twelve time-segment radius. Now I only need a simple disguise to evade 

you.’ 

‘Well, those were days when you didn’t shield your mind with a telepathic bend-field, 

or wear thermal clothing and cloaks designed to retain body warmth. I think you’ve been 

hiding more than your features.’ 

‘Yes, how true. Well then, Doctor, see what I have to hide!’ 

Always see, see and never forget, Doctor. Always remember your culpability! 

Over the video-link of my memory I watch as the Master’s features shimmer and shift as – what in 

the blazes is happening to me! – his mask, a hologram, dispersed – no! not now, then! No, don’t go back! - 

and disappeared to reveal beneath a face which made the Doctor blink with surprise - it was 

an image of pure corruption and complete weakness. Although the Master was still in his 

twelfth – and now final – incarnation, the villain’s body had lost its natural perpetuating 

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vitality and begun to decay at a relentless rate. That rapid degeneration had advanced for an 

extended period and now the physical deterioration was profound. 

Since his last relatively recent encounter with the Doctor on the time-collapsed 

alternate Earth, the ravaged Time Lord looked as if he had aged the human equivalent of 

several decades, with each moment prolonged in insufferable discomfort. The once sallowtoned 

skin was now pale as milk and literally paper-thin, with deep lines threatening to pull 

apart the face’s aged seams. The swept-back hair, though still well-groomed and full, was 

almost totally white now with only a few single strands of black coursing along the temples 

and the crown of the head, which gave the wearer the appearance of a once mighty monarch 

worn tired, ancient, and moribund. The Master’s head and jaw quivered, as if trying to stave 

some terrible infection, or bitter tears. And yet more than ever before the Master’s eyes, 

sunken deep into the parched pits of his skull’s sockets, remained alive with ferocious 

golden-black fire, burning with an unyieldingly defiant pride. Those eyes noticed the 

Doctor’s scrutiny and they narrowed with rage. 

‘This is your doing, Doctor. You brought this weakness upon me!’ 

‘Poppycock! You’ve always brought the consequences of your actions upon yourself! 

You’ve only yourself to blame for your corruption.’ 

And it’s true; the Master ever since the beginning has chosen his own way and endured the 

disastrous rewards of his designs. Just look what happened to him after Ters- no…that happened after. Yes, 

after! I remember now. This is his future, my present. And I think I know now why – You’re too late, 

Doctor. But never mind the timing, just remember how you felt. Remember how the Doctor still felt a 

twinge of deep pity as he looked upon the ravaged face of his old enemy, and even older 

friend, and realised that it had often been himself who had dealt the Master his worst 

defeats. Certainly it had been his choice to rob the Master of his final regeneration and set 

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him upon this path of degeneration and decay. The Doctor’s hearts clenched in distaste; 

even if he had done this to save the cosmos, there could have been no bitterer blow to 

inflict. Upon the view screen the Master closed his eyes and shook his head. 

‘Doctor, you know all too well whom I blame, and now at last, I can cleanse the 

wounds you have dealt me.’ 

‘That’s a lot of cleaning, you know; I’ve dealt you quite a number of thrusts over the 

years. But if you’re determined to heal you’ll need a good physician. I’d recommend Harry 

Sullivan but you only impersonate sailors.’ 

The Master bent his mouth into a hateful sneer. 

‘Doctor, you’ve grown so intolerable of late that I’m not sure I’ll miss you when 

you’re gone. Still, it’s an undeniable tragedy you won’t live to suffer my ultimate triumph.’ 

‘And I would be too hopeful if I asked you what that clearly delusional triumph is.’ 

‘Oh, no not at all, Doctor. I want you to know the full measure of my achievement. 

You understand the purpose of the covering’ 

‘Yes. It’s a connective point for a fluid transportation system.’ 

‘Very good. And the origins of the system’ 

The Doctor gazed upon the black spot before him, studied its ancient workmanship, 

and knew there was only one answer; and it was the worst answer he could have imagined. 

‘The Great Old Ones. This is the mark of Dagon.’ 

The Master inhaled a shallow wheeze of pleasure. 

‘Precisely. The devourer of worlds and tyrant of the celestial ocean. This is his final 

resting place.’ 

‘Ah…you’re referring to the Legend of the Fallen Gods.’ 

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‘It is no legend, Doctor. It is a cosmological fact that in the early eons of the cosmos 

the higher races made battle one with another for dominance over the Lower Realms. Many 

ranks of the Old Ones perished across reality. This one just happened to fall into the 

birthing fragments of a new planet.’ 

‘Earth! Dagon fell to Earth, my favourite planet! 

‘Quite so, and left me a very precious gift.’ 

‘What gift If you share it with me I may let you keep it.’ 

‘Doctor, don’t be disingenuous. All that matters is through its power I shall find my 

victory.’ 

‘Yes, yes! What a grand victory you’ve found: blowing up volcanoes to release a 

natural poison. Your schemes have decreased in capability, Master – you’ve nothing to gain 

by destroying the Earth!’ 

‘Doctor, destruction is not my plan, at least not for the Earth. But I’ve told you 

enough.’ 

‘Oh, come on! You were getting to the important part and I was preparing a perfect 

ridicule!’ 

‘Anything of importance you don’t need to know, simply because you’ll have no part 

in what great and glorious things that will happen after this moment. Now is the time that 

you finally die.’ 

The Doctor scoffed a derisive laugh. 

‘If you’re going to kill me then you’ll have to come down here and get me, and in 

your wizened condition I think even Harry Sullivan would declare you unfit to travel.’ 

‘I don’t need to come to you; I only need to see you, one last time! Goodbye, 

Doctor!’ 

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The Master’s eyelids snapped open and widened until the eyeballs bulged from the 

sockets and ignited with blinding bright-green light. The light surged through the Doctor’s 

helmet, burned through his eyes, ignited in his mind, and he screamed in explosive, 

excruciating agony… 

I remember that. It was very unpleasant. But happened next I’m sure someone wants to know. Like you. 

Ah, so you’ve finally managed to detect my mental presence. It took you long enough, but then again, I always 

warned you that scarf would cut off the circulation to your brain. 

Poppycock! I’ve got the natural sartorial elegance to…wait. I don’t have a scarf, not anymore… 

Of course, you have. Look into my eyes, Doctor. Remember. Remember the burning… 

The Doctor burned in an emerald void. His skin smoked; his eyes sizzled; his hair curled in 

heat and his mind splintered even as he realised I know this feeling; I know this pain and his body 

wrenched. The haze dimmed, dispersed into darkness. The Doctor’s body hung limp and 

weightless; the emptiness expanded. Then he dropped into the vacuum… 

The Doctor opened his eyes. Light bleached his sight at first, but the glare soon cooled. He 

looked upwards and saw the sky above him: purple and mottled with coagulated blooms of 

rust-hued clouds. That’s odd. It won’t look that way for a million years. He blinked. 

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The Doctor sat up. There was softness beneath him; he felt it under the palms of his hands. 

He raised one hand and gazed at the palm. The sand was black and coarse and threaded with 

silver. He gazed around and saw gangly sprouts of yellow-trunked spiral plants swaying high 

above him below a baby blue sky. It’s hasn’t looked this way in a million years. He blinked. 

The Doctor stood and glared at the towering red-iron mountains capped with grey-green ice 

at their peaks surrounding him. He spread his arms wide and bellowed: ‘It’ll never look this 

way!’ 

He dropped his arms as the weight of an unpleasant theory grew inside him, along 

with the counterweight of a plan. 

‘Right. Better try it.’ 

The Doctor blinked. The world dissolved and re-formed like a sandcastle collapsing 

under the force of a wave and then re-forming with the retracting water. But the world that 

returned into view was completely different than before: it was a sea of silver glass and 

shining rock towers of petrified tree trunks. The Doctor blinked again. Everything changed. 

He blinked again. And again, and again. With each blink the world around him, the terrain, 

the sky, the sounds, the smells, the feel of reality, everything, shifted and altered, blurring 

with each snap of his eyelids. The world was unstable; reality was unfixed, or I’m in worse shape 

than I thought. 

He felt coldness clenched in his hand and looked down. The Sonic Screwdriver was 

there, still gripped between his fingers. The Doctor smiled wide and adjusted its settings to 

detect dimensional disturbances. Within moments the device began to whine and interpret 

information. The Doctor watched the energy output pattern grimly. Then, despite having no 

audience to hear him, he spoke aloud. 

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‘It’s as I feared, only worse. That liquid isn’t just a genetic modifier, it’s a dimensional 

caustic; it seeps through side-real boundaries. I must have been caught up in its quantum 

current; the excess energy released by that stop-gap’s explosion somehow made me slip from 

the prime reality.’ 

The Doctor blinked his eyes again and the landscape changed once more: a black 

swap of mud lashed in a blizzard of stinging rain. 

‘If I’m to stop the Master I’ve got to get back to my own world. I can only 

accomplish that by finding the exact transference frequency. I hope I’ve installed a program 

into the screwdriver to do that…’ 

Suddenly the ground began to shake and crack open as gouts of green liquid began 

to flow from beneath the surface. The Doctor, having already surmised that his worldshifting 

was based on an electro-chemical reaction to subtle light shifts in his optic nerves, 

chose that moment to blink again, but found the next world also flooding with the green 

poison. He blinked again and landed in a quiet, arid desert disturbed only by a whispering 

wail of coursing air under a clear, periwinkle sky. Within moments the ground began to 

shake. 

The Time Lord took to his heels, and bounded across the light brown dunes. The 

sand sizzled beneath his feet like brown sugar caramelising over a scorching flame. All 

around the Doctor patches of the sand began to smooth into glass, glass that glowed with 

green light, glass that splintered with hairline fractures… 

‘I’m like a mouse being chased by planet-sized cat. Maybe if I blink I’ll avoid the 

claws.’ 

The Doctor’s eyes were halfway closed when he heard a sound slithering through the 

hissing air, a sound deliciously familiar, wonderfully welcome: like an elephant herd 

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trumpeting a call of mournful arrival but it sounds rather too phlegmatic, doesn’t it There was a 

shape appearing upon a smoking dune thirty feet away, but not a battered blue Police Box – 

not his TARDIS! But it was a TARDIS, seeping out of the ether and forming the solid shape 

of rough-worn red-crème coloured sandstone. A crack of light burst from the stone exterior 

and a man’s shape stepped into sight. The figure, in the harsh light somehow misshapen, 

beckoned the Doctor to come. The Doctor’s eyes widened and he shrugged his shoulders. 

‘Well, what have I got to lose Don’t answer that!’ 

The Doctor’s long stride lengthened as he shot towards the stone TARDIS even as 

the first bursts of green fluid tore up through the glassy desert surface and the ground caved 

inwards and dragged the soles of his wet-suit boots downward an inch before he pushed up 

and shot forward in a leap to fly through the stone’s light-filled crack and tumbled to a 

sprawled halt upon a dust-covered white floor beneath a jury-rigged, wire-crossed, and 

slightly antiquated TARDIS console. Then there was the stuttering whine of an inner door 

closing and the Ship lurched into flight, its tarnished silver cylindrical/pyramidal time rotor 

rising too high and falling too low. Whatever the source, the Doctor was safe. 

A scrape of shuffling feet turned the Doctor’s head and he rose to his feet to face his 

rescuer. Before him stood a compactly-built man dressed in a doubled-breasted grey suit 

with a cobalt blue tie and matching handkerchief. Then the Doctor saw the man’s face and 

he leaned back, utterly surprised; the man wore the face of the Master, but the Master as he 

had been before the loss of his final life, free of the continuous corruption of cellular decay. 

The grey-suited person stood in profile away from the Doctor, leaning over the wire-strewn 

panels of his console. He looked over and smiled. 

‘Welcome, Doctor. Welcome to my humble, if somewhat haggard, abode. Pardon me 

for a moment while I adjust our flight trajectory.’ 

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The man with the Master’s face bent over the console. The Doctor stared at the 

hexagonal device and then surveyed the room: it was different, brighter, and much older in 

configuration to how the Master’s current control room appeared. And then the Doctor 

sensed the telepathic imprint of the TARDIS, through which he could sense the man’s mind, 

and then he knew. His large eyes narrowed. 

‘This isn’t the Master’s TARDIS, and you’re not the Master.’ 

‘Quite right, Doctor,’ the man replied as he straightened and turned to face the 

Doctor, revealing the other half of his face, a skinless, hairless, skull covered with silver 

metal pockmarked with wire studs. The man spoke. 

‘I am not the Master, although I once aspired to be. I am Koschei.’ 

Koschei You were travelling with odd company. 

Well, at least he wasn’t trying to kill me, which is more I can say for how you treated him. 

Do you mean on Gallifrey or on that moribund parallel Earth your velvet-bearing predecessor visited so long 

ago 

Both! Koschei may have been a follower but he was a brilliant mind before you distorted him so much he saw 

himself in your image – he even copied your regenerative cycle! But what he endured after was even worse. You 

realise he told me everything: how he fell into the parallel reality through the DarkHeart black hole after I 

had thwarted his misguided scheme, how his already disturbed mind then drained of all sense in the belief he 

had lived your life, and how the barbaric people of that world found him and mutilated his body. 

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Ah, yes, of course, the bio-technological experiments. How inventive that version of humanity was. But yes, 

Koschei was quite far gone when your friends Chesterton, Lethbridge-Stewart, and I discovered him. But of 

course you weren’t there, were you You were off on a futile run for freedom with Miss Grant on Peladon. 

Suffice to say; even I was surprised to see that sycophantic parrot still alive, much as that existence could be 

called life. He begged me to kill him, you know. 

He thought you might have obliged the request, given your close history. 

Ha! Come now, my dear Doctor, am I my – no. Not anymore. Koschei was an obsolete tool best discarded, 

but even he had one lesson yet to learn: I owe nothing to anybody. 

You’ve made that point abundantly clear. 

Clarity is the controlling interest of destiny, Doctor. But I am now quite curious to learn what happened to 

my eager emulator. 

Nothing good… 

‘Three centuries, Doctor, maybe more, have I been cast away in the alternative realms. It has 

been an undesirable exile.’ 

‘Well, it happens to the best of us. But the very best of us always find ways to 

escape. And that reminds me.’ 

The Doctor opened a pocket on the remains of his wetsuit; from the pouch he 

pulled the end of his scarf and then the entire length of the colourfully threaded fabric trailed 

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free. Within moments the hat, coat, trousers, boots, and every other accoutrement of the 

Doctor’s ensemble clothing had emerged from the pouch - specially tailored by him before 

leaving the seeker – and then as quickly as he had retrieved them the fabrics covered the 

Doctor’s lean frame. At the last he fitted his hat over his head and, as if looking at himself in 

an invisible mirror, nodded in satisfaction. 

‘There, now that feels appropriate. Right as rain, I’d say.’ 

Koschei chuckled weakly. ‘If adequacy can be achieved so simply, Doctor, then we 

would all live rich and contended lives.’ 

‘There’s more to life than fame and fortune, Koschei, that’s a lesson we both learned 

too late.’ 

‘Not so late as I did, Doctor, although perhaps I may finally match your 

understanding just before the end.’ 

‘The end for you or your TARDIS, I wonder She’s seen far better days, even eras, 

really.’ 

The Doctor wandered around the decrepit console room. He observed the white 

roundelled walls, melted and scorched from some great traumatic heat: the gravitational stress 

from the singularity transmission, I imagine, and crossing side-real barriers is definitely not a casual excursion 

even for a TARDIS as healthy as mine. The Time Lord stooped his tall figure to gaze into one of 

the misshapen and heat-glazed roundels inset upon a wall – he could see a steady stream of 

artron energy flowing behind the indentation, far too close to the surface for comfort. 

‘This Ship is about to die, Koschei.’ 

‘A correct diagnosis as always. Somehow, my cross-temporal fall attracted the Yog- 

Sogoth entity to the alternate Earth. I was forced into a prolonged conflict to expel its 

presence back into the Void. I may have succeeded but not without a great cost to my craft; 

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it was inoperative for decades and even now barely functions. You know, I’ve still no idea 

why that creature was in the general area.’ 

‘You mean the Great Intelligence, with its entire Yeti army It must have been cast 

between dimensions after I expelled it from the London Underground in the 1960s – I 

thought I’d only sent it back into outer space.’ 

‘Your predecessor often was too modest.’ 

The Doctor turned and faced Koschei with a stern expression upon his face. 

‘Predecessor once removed. I spent an extended period studying various shades of 

velvet and fine wines.’ 

‘You mean I missed one of your bodies, Doctor Now I feel too old.’ 

Koschei stepped away from the console and limped over to a stained oak chair 

carved with the shape of grape-studded vines. The Time Lord’s back hunched as he 

crouched down towards the seat. His knees locked and his face grew pale. The Doctor 

hurried and bent over to ease the weakened man into the chair. Koschei hacked a sigh of 

relief as he leaned his damaged head back against the oak frame. 

‘You noted that my TARDIS is weak, Doctor. It has experienced much hardship but 

its grim condition may be traced to one single fact: I am dying.’ 

‘Dying But you’re a Time Lord! Surely you have your regenerative cycle’ 

‘That was lost to me long ago. When I fell into the DarkHeart blackhole my 

regenerative cycle dilated beyond my control; my lifetimes stretched infinitely and yet 

collapsed into moments, the changing energies seeping away without any release. I emerged 

as I had been, and yet with only one life remaining. And then of course after the Yeti there 

was the people of the Earth I had discovered. I think you know of their quality.’ 

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The Doctor nodded in grim commiseration and Koschei stroked the skinless side of 

his face. 

‘No matter. My previous foolishness deserved some…tempering of character. But 

now I have a chance to make amends, Doctor. I have been monitoring the condition of 

creation, and all is not well.’ 

‘Tell me.’ 

Yes, Doctor, tell me. I must know what happens next. 

Finding the narrative quite enthralling, are you And I thought you wanted me to listen. Oh well, if you 

must know… 

‘We have little time; and I tire too easily. Please, Doctor, be my hands. There are the scanner 

controls.’ 

Koschei pointed to the nearest console panel. The Doctor stood and moved to the 

device. The design was similar to an earlier version of the Master’s control unit, but with 

many modifications and renovations. Notwithstanding the changes, the Doctor found the 

requisite controls and paused over the new configuration. 

‘This is a strange alteration, Koschei: you’ve tied the image translator into Console 

Room architectural configuration interface.’ 

‘Precisely, Doctor. The main scanner failed some time ago during a failed attempt to 

breach the sidereal barrier to return home – my TARDIS has somehow grown accustomed 

to the Void and refuses to return permanently to normal space – and so I routed the viewing 

function into the very walls of the Ship.’ 

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‘Ingenious, for a makeshift operation. And…’ 

The Doctor twisted a chestnut-coloured knob and the wall nearest him buzzed and 

flared with many hues until settling into a blurry but viewable panoramic image of Earth. 

Somehow he recognised it as the one from his own timeline, the prime cosmos. Koschei 

spoke. 

‘Not long ago I detected tremors of tremendous power resonating across the sidereal 

barriers. I didn’t recognise their energy signature at first and, with my TARDIS barely able to 

cross the barriers to investigate, I could not observe directly until the barriers themselves 

began to dissolve. You witnessed the cause of the breakdown: the green liquid.’ 

‘You mean Stahlmann’s Gas – Ah! Ah…of course. It all fits. The Master said he’d 

found the remains of Dagon, but it wasn’t his bodily remains; it was his blood. And the 

blood of a Great Old One – an extra-dimensional being with powers of mythical 

proportions – could do more than stain the earth, it could eat through the skin of space-time 

as easily as acid burns flesh. No wonder the liquid appeared in parallel timelines.’ 

‘Accurate as ever, Doctor.’ Koschei shifted in his seat leaned forward, his mind alert 

and his eyes clear. ‘The centre of this dimensional wound is the Earth of our timeline and 

this time the damage is spreading outwards across all the dimensional alternates. But owing 

to my disadvantageous distance, there is one element of the blood’s presence on Earth I as 

yet fail to understand: what does the Master want this fluid’ 

The Doctor glared at the scanner image of the Earth. His mind raced over the 

disparate facts he possessed. Then he felt his hair curl as a possibility dawned. He turned 

about. 

‘Koschei, do your modifications to the scanner include an image overlay subroutine’ 

‘Doctor, all TARDISes include such a program.’ 

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‘Good! I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t deleted it. Now…’ 

The Time Lord began fiddling with the interface. Moments later the scanner image 

of the Earth altered to display the Reptiles’ mapping of the subterranean thermal system. On 

the scanner a globe of pockets and strata of many colours floated, representing the overall 

warmth of the Earth and deep beneath the surface of the warm hues laid veins of red fire – 

the ancient blood of Dagon. The Doctor’s mouth hardened with satisfaction. 

‘Now to add a temporal factor to the resolution…’ 

The thermal colours of the Earth began to swirl and shift as the heat pattern ebbed 

and peaked across eons, but while the synchronic temperature of the Earth fluctuated, the 

temperature and flow of Dagon’s blood remained constant. The Doctor adjusted the 

sensitivity of the scanner and monitored the directional flow of the liquid. Across time the 

liquid’s motion was constant, its movement unchanging. And then he thought of the 

emblem on the Antarctic floor and he realised the truth. The Doctor’s eyes widened and he 

stepped back from the console as if distancing himself from an open and diseased wound. 

‘What do you make of that’ he whispered to Koschei. 

‘The blood’s flow has been unaltered for eons, Doctor. That’s impossible unless -’ 

‘Unless the fluid was housed in a special containment system capable of withstanding 

such heat, something designed by the Great Old Ones perhaps’ 

‘Or even our people I’m sure they’ve gotten involved in more disputes than the 

official history suggests.’ 

‘There’s no need to scare up conspiracy stories. What matters is we’ve discovered a 

plumbing system from the dawn of time created to shuffle the life force of a mythical being 

beneath the Earth’s surface in a never-ending cycle.’ 

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‘Yes, that is a remarkable discovery. I imagine the volcanoes act as some sort of…oh, 

what’s good descriptive word…Ah, yes, a stop-gap, a type of transference point between 

sections of the transit system. So the emblem you found at Antarctica must have been some 

sort of identifying mark – the other volcanoes involved located at the earthquake sites must 

all have had one.’ 

‘Yes, very intricate, and very useful: the patch’s material was a powerful electricalthermal 

conductor. It makes perfect sense; the blood thrives on heat and the volcanoes are 

molten cauldrons of warmth, the perfect attractive force to nudge the stuff in a give 

direction, although I wonder what powers it when it’s away from the volcanoes In any case, 

it’s clear this entire transit system was designed to keep the blood flowing.’ 

‘But why, and in which direction, Doctor’ 

‘Why I think only the Master can tell us that. But the where…notice anything 

intriguing about the direction the blood’s been flowing’ 

Koschei peered at the synchronic thermal image for several moments, studying close 

the veins of red heat coursing beneath the Earth. Then he realised. 

‘They’re all flowing away from something, from somewhere on the Earth.’ 

‘Yes…by the look of the relative present configuration of land masses and taking 

into account continental drift over the millennia, I’d say the outflow is avoiding somewhere 

in the Pacific Ocean – ah! Now there’s a thought.’ 

‘You’re thinking of the Earth’s so-called ‘Ring of Fire.’’ 

‘So-called – So-called Seventy-five percent of the world’s active and dormant 

volcanoes can’t be called anything else.’ 

Koschei gripped the lion’s head- carved sides of his chair and leaned forward, his 

posture tensing and curious. 

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‘Even if there is some connection to the Ring of Fire and the mythic Dagon, the vast 

majority of the space enclosed by that volcanic range is open water, save for sporadic 

clusters of islands.’ 

‘Islands and myths…’ the Doctor muttered in a low, thoughtful drone. Koschei’s 

eyes widened. 

‘You’ve that sound in your voice, Doctor. You’re forging a link. Would you care to 

share in your idea mongering’ 

The Doctor grinned wide and happy. 

‘Well -’ 

There was quick, sharp shudder throughout the Ship before the central column of 

the console shattered with a blossom of green flame. Koschei choked upon a wailing moan 

and flung himself from his seat as he failed to reach the damaged control unit. The Doctor 

lunged to the console but the panel began to smoke and disgorge arcs of dark blue 

electricity. The white light of the console room flickered, dimmed, and was replaced with a 

lurid green flare bleeding through the roundels on the walls. Koschei painfully pushed 

himself a few inches from the floor and hissed through his teeth, which clenched from the 

deep pain he shared with his damaged craft. 

‘Dagon’s blood - it’s found us!’ 

The Doctor knelt down to help Koschei to stand, even as a bone-scattering tremor 

rocked the vessel. 

‘Dagon’s remnants must like your TARDIS’ energy resonance.’ 

‘Then it likes an easy catch.’ 

‘How delightful. Of course we’ve got to dematerialise.’ 

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‘And go where The blood has already flooded the space between dimensions. In its 

weakened state my TARDIS can’t leave the Void. No, this is the end, Doctor.’ 

‘Rubbish! There’s always a next chapter.’ 

Koschei smiled sadly and laid his hands on the Doctor’s shoulders. 

‘Of course there is. I’ve already laid the foundations of an effective escape. Come; 

help me out of this room.’ 

The Doctor swung one arm around Koschei’s shoulders and half-led, half-dragged 

his old friend from the console room, which by then had filled with an almost tangibly 

poisonous green glow. As they passed through the doorway into the rest of the Ship the 

white light streaming through the roundels of outer corridors also began to putrefy with a 

diseased green glow, and the air was starting to warm. Koschei’s shallow breathing 

quickened. 

‘Faster, please. The blood is consuming the external plasmic shell, altering the 

equations! We must get to the Reliquary!’ 

The Doctor shot his fellow Time Lord a shocked glare. 

‘You’ve got a tomb in your TARDIS’ 

‘Well, why not I expected to die in here, after all. But that’s neither here nor there - 

it’s just up ahead.’ 

After what seemed several minutes of weaving and navigating through corridors of 

emerald twilight and heat-rippled air, the Doctor and Koschei turned a corner. Then 

Koschei gripped the Doctor’s arm and the two halted. They stood before a large brass door. 

The aperture looked as if it had been welded into the wall in an extemporaneous fit, and the 

Doctor surmised that as addition of last resort it actually had been. Koschei pointed at the 

door’s large solder-studded handle and spoke. 

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‘There, Doctor. Just twist and open.’ 

The Doctor loosed himself from his old friend and gripped the handle. A firm pull 

and it turned; a strong tug and the doorway yawned open with an almost sorrowful moan. 

‘There’s always an open door when you need it -’ the Doctor quipped with a smile as 

he turned to see Koschei holding a heavily-augmented blaster in his hand. Koschei shrugged 

and his mouth twisted in a sad smile. 

‘I’m sorry, but I hadn’t expected your arrival when I constructed this chamber and 

there’s only room for one.’ 

‘Ah…of course, and you intend to be the one to use it.’ 

‘No, Doctor. It’s yours. Take it with my full faith and confidence.’ 

‘Then why point the gun at me! Killing me would be rather stupid in that case.’ 

‘Except I never intended to shoot you if you refused to escape without me, Doctor. 

No, that finality I would then use on myself. Oh, don’t look so surprised; I am dying. When 

I requested death at the Master’s hands he obliged me, but not with a quick death as I 

hoped, but a slow, agonising extinction. The TARDIS is now the only thing keeping me 

alive, and as it cannot escape the Void then so I must remain here. I had built this Reliquary 

with the sole intent to act as my tomb, but given the current catastrophe, I think it would be 

best served as your lifeline. And don’t worry about getting back home; I’ve attuned the 

capsule to the frequency of our dimension, so it’ll home onto the signal easily. You’ll be back 

in no time.’ 

‘I’m sure I can’t change your mind,’ the Doctor said with angry hiss. He hated 

complications and barely cared for helpless goodbyes. Koschei shook his head. 

‘Not unless you wish to cost me my last shred of dignity.’ 

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‘That’s one price that’s too high for us all.’ The Doctor hesitated for a moment and 

then stuck out his hand. ‘Well, bye-bye, Koschei. Good luck with what’s left.’ 

Koschei gripped the Doctor’s hand and shook it once, quickly. ‘And the same to 

you, Doctor. Omega speed.’ 

The Doctor blinked at the expression and then stepped in the Reliquary and pulled 

the aperture shut behind him. Just before the portal closed Koschei called out: 

‘Doctor, this time you must stop the Master, once and for all.’ 

From inside the chamber, the Doctor spoke with a voice quite literally from the 

bottom of a tomb. 

‘I will stop him, and I’ll stop at nothing to do it.’ 

Then the door closed with a sharp metallic clang and all was silent. Koschei inhaled 

and pressed the roundel nearest doorway and the chamber shook, preparing for transference. 

The TARDIS then rumbled and a thick atmosphere of green smoke billowed through the 

air. Fires were raging just behind the walls. The air scorched; the ground shook; then there 

was a massive explosion of heat and a howl of air as the Reliquary dissolved… 

And then And then Doctor, you must tell me what happens next! 

And just why should I I thought you wanted me to do the listening 

This is new information; I must know the entire story. 

Oh well, since you insist. But there’s really not much more to tell. 

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Doctor, everything! 

I’ve got you hooked, haven’t I Well, the next bit rather tedious so I’ll paraphrase, shall I 

Whatever it takes! 

Touché. Well…Koschei’s Reliquary actually managed to dematerialise before his TARDIS collapsed and I 

was cast into the Void. His homing beacon modification to the capsule was able to latch onto the prime 

universe and I quickly found myself back home – but there was a catch. 

A catch What do you mean 

It means a contingency, a pre-condition. Ah! You meant what do I mean That’s much clearer. Anyway, the 

homing beacon was operational but not terribly functional and so I found myself able to enter my universe but 

unable to complete the materialisation process. I could briefly see my destination but always be forced to pull 

away. It was a bit like being caught in a revolving door, ever seeing where you want to get off but never getting 

there… 

But you must have arrived, surely, Doctor Or else how could you be here now 

True, very true. But where is here and now But there and then even I had to call for help. So let’s see how 

much you’ve been paying attention. What’s one event in this entire sordid affair hasn’t yet been explained 

Come on. Think hard, for once. 

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The girl’s apparition! 

That’s Sarah Jane to you. 

Ever the guardian of amnesty, Doctor But I’m right, am I not It was you that woman saw appearing to the 

Reptiles in the Antarctic wastes. But why…ah! 

Oh, please, tell me you’ve figured it out. 

It seems I must, given your growing propensity to ramble. But the reason is obvious: you needed them to 

acquire your TARDIS from Geneva. I imagine you modified the Reliquary’s side-real homing system to 

double as a matter transmitter to ferry those animals across the planet. 

Well done! I couldn’t have provided a better paraphrase myself. Mind you, that was a risk on my part – 

draining all that power just to bump Decrix and Ichtar across a hemisphere. Still – 

I know what happens next, Doctor. Despite your risk the venture succeeded and the Reptiles procured your 

Ship. Presumably they used their technology to boost a carrier wave from your TARDIS to Koschei’s 

Reliquary, which you in turn used to materialise the tomb inside your ancient machine and permit you to 

make your grand entrance at South Bend just as my Primordial Horde was about to devour your little 

UNIT family. 

And with that final push you’ve brought us back to where we should be. Of course, there was that minor 

problem with Mike Yates… 

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The Doctor advanced slowly towards the Primal Yates with one arm extended pacifically 

towards the transformed soldier. The other arm frantically waved at everyone else to find 

safety behind the console. The Primal Yates bared drew back his green lips in a snarl, 

revealing long, saliva-slick white fangs. He swiped a hairy, grey-green skinned paw at the 

Doctor, who danced a backwards step towards the wall. 

‘Come now, Mike, you know me. I’m the Doctor. That’s right the Doctor. Now 

don’t be frightened. We’re all friends here, most of the time.’ 

The Time Lord continued the slow advance and started to circle backwards and to 

the right towards one corner of the room. The Brigadier saw a large brass-walled box nestled 

in the same corner; the Doctor was about to back into the box. Lethbridge-Stewart called 

out. 

‘Doctor, do be careful – you’re backing into a -’ 

‘I know what I’m doing, Brigadier. I’m trying to be friendly to our guest. Although, 

Mike, in your present condition if I’m going to let you stay in the TARDIS I have to make 

sure you’re properly housebroken. You’re a clean pet, aren’t you, Mike’ 

The Primal Yates hissed and lunged at the Doctor who deftly side-stepped and spun 

to the side, pulling open the doorway to the dark interior of the Reliquary, into which the 

leaping Primal Yates flew with an angry, frightened wail. The Doctor spun around once 

more and with a wide sweep of his arm threw shut the Reliquary door, which locked secure. 

The Doctor turned about once more with a wide smile beaming upon his face. 

‘Kennelled and muzzled!’ 

Everyone began to emerge from behind the console. Benton tentatively stepped 

close to the Reliquary doors. The pain he felt for his friend was evident. 

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‘Is there anything you can do for Mike, Doctor’ 

The Doctor stared into space, as if the white walls of the Console Room were a 

blank canvas of eternity. 

‘I don’t know, Benton. Reversing cellular retrogression is no simple task, although 

the cabinet where Mike is now has built-in biological cleansing mechanisms – good for 

preservation, you know.’ 

‘But will that be enough to cure him’ Sarah asked. 

‘Well…it’s the best hope he has. But I’ve got bigger problems to solve right now.’ 

The Brigadier stood behind the Doctor with his hands clasped behind his back. He 

raised his eyebrows and cast his old friend a mildly reproving half-smile. 

‘I couldn’t agree more. But one thing: ‘A housebroken pet’’ 

The Doctor tilted back his head in proprietary defiance. 

‘My TARDIS, my rules. And no dogs allowed.’ 

The Doctor smiled once more and the Brigadier not help but join him; rarely before 

had he felt such relief as he did now knowing he friend was alive and well, but he needed 

answers and a plan. 

‘I think we would all best be served if we learn what you’ve been up to, Doctor.’ 

‘That includes your report, Brigadier,’ the Doctor replied before he related his 

activities since the Master’s attack: of his shifts between parallel realities and the corrosion 

consuming the dimensions, of his rescue by Koschei and true nature of Stalmann’s Gas, his 

own escape from the Void via Koschei’s Reliquary, and the recruiting of the Earth Reptiles 

to locate the TARDIS and assist in his return to the prime universe. Then Lethbridge- 

Stewart briefly told his party’s experiences after the Doctor’s disappearance and their travels 

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across Antarctica towards South Bend. With the exchange complete, Harry voiced his 

concerns. 

‘Don’t misunderstand, Doctor, I’m very pleased to see you alive -’ 

‘I’m very relieved to hear you say so, Harry.’ 

‘What Oh, thank you. But even if we are all up to speed we’re still no nearer to 

stopping the Master.’ 

‘Ah…you have a plan of action, I take it’ 

‘Well…not really. I just think we should be getting out of here.’ 

‘Ah! You mean dematerialise Go on then. It’s that switch right there.’ 

‘You’ll let me fly the TARDIS, Doctor You never did before.’ 

‘Well…you know how it is, wisdom and age and those sorts of things.’ 

‘I say…right oh. Now…’ Harry squared his shoulders and found the switch the 

Doctor had specified. He felt its cold, knobbed surface beneath the pad of his finger and felt 

a brief rush of importance. Today, for once, I get save everybody. Harry flipped the switch. The 

central column flared red and white; the console base shuddered with a deep rumble, and 

then fell silent. Nothing else happened. The Doctor for a moment furrowed his brow before 

shrugging his shoulders. 

‘Sorry, Harry, I should have told you: we can’t take off.’ 

‘You knew Why didn’t you say’ 

‘Come now, Harry, no wisdom was ever gained with personal cost.’ 

The Doctor swept past Harry to move around the console and kept speaking as if 

nothing had happened. 

‘But we really can’t, you know. Remember, Brigadier, how I mentioned back at 

Geneva there were electromagnetic disturbances all across the Earth The planet-wide 

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release of Dagon’s blood has turned the Earth into a dimensional pressure cooker – not only 

is the liquid burning between parallel realities but it’s isolating this world from the rest of its 

universe. I was only able to get the old girl here through a transmat link set up by the 

Reptiles. But the Master has manipulated the planet’s natural energy field to lock the 

TARDIS’ spatial-temporal coordinates. We are well and truly trapped.’ 

‘So what can we do’ Sarah Jane asked, leaning forward onto the console to stare 

expectantly at the Doctor. The Time Lord took reached over the console to snatch his hat 

from atop the central column, which he set atop his head. 

‘You all are going to stay inside where it’s safe and find yourself some decent 

clothing; you can show them the way to the wardrobe room, Sarah. Meanwhile I’m going to 

do the only thing I can do in this situation.’ 

‘And just what exactly is that, Doctor’ the Brigadier queried with a small sigh. 

The Doctor tugged the door control switch and the two interior double doors swung 

open with a purring whine. 

‘Go outside and speak with the Master, and see if things can get any worse.’ 

With a final nod the Doctor shoved his hands in his pockets, put his head down, and 

strode forward and out of the TARDIS. 

This is my favourite moment in this event, Doctor, the moment of understanding! 

Are you sure it’s your favourite or mine 

You can’t confuse me. Not now. 

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Can’t I Just watch and see… 

The Police Box door of the TARDIS swung open and the Doctor stepped out into the 

Antarctic wasteland. Curls of steam rose from the ice sheet beneath him and the paw prints 

of the Primal Horde had melted their imprints into the snow. The Doctor stood alone in the 

heated chill; of the Master and his creatures there was no sign; they had retreated into the 

remains of South Bend’s command centre. It’s rather lonely out here, the Doctor thought. Well, I 

want some company. 

‘Master!’ he boomed, knowing his enemy could hear him loud and clear. ‘There’s 

enough ice and snow here to build the galaxy’s largest snowman – care to join me If anyone 

asks you’re my chief assistant. Now what do you say to that’ 

The front hatch of the command centre split open and sterile-white brilliance burned 

through the opened aperture. The Master’s voice spoke through the opening. 

‘Doctor, come inside and join me. I find the cold most disagreeable.’ 

‘No, no! I prefer the open air. After all, we’ve had some our best conversations 

outdoors.’ 

‘You will obey my command or I shall dispatch my horde to force your obedience!’ 

‘Oh, you could do that. In fact I have total confidence you want to do that, but you 

decide anything answer me this: your retrograded servants, are they hot to the touch’ 

‘Undoubtedly.’ 

‘Hot enough to scorch flesh’ 

‘Most assuredly.’ 

‘Scalding enough to melt diamond’ 

‘I guarantee it.’ 

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‘Ah! Then if you sent your creatures out to destroy me then you also guarantee the 

certain destruction of the diamond I’m holding right now.’ 

The Doctor opened his palm and held up a black diamond loop, which pulsed with 

glutinous light in the misty air. The Doctor smiled and stared wide into the light. 

‘Do you like it I’m sure you do; it has sentimental value.’ 

The Doctor knew without question the Master recognised the diamond loop held 

aloft in his hand; for it was far more than a simple trinket. Some years ago now the Doctor’s 

predecessor had trapped within the loop’s quantum lattice the Master’s final pocket of 

regenerative energy. Now, as he had done before on occasion, the Doctor was literally using 

the Master’s stolen life as a bargaining chip. The Master’s voice spoke once more. 

‘Give me the loop, Doctor.’ 

‘I might, if you come outside.’ 

‘GIVE IT TO ME!’ 

The Master’s voice raged and the Doctor felt his hair curl just as it had underwater 

before the Master’s attack. He had not forgotten the Master’s strange, new powers; whatever 

their source, they gave the desperate Master, even in his degenerate condition, a formidable 

edge. Nevertheless, the Doctor refused to fear as he shouted once more: 

‘If you want it, come and get it!’ 

For several moments there was no sound from within the command centre. Then 

there was a soft shuffling of feet and the Master’s cloaked and hunched figure lurched into 

the light-filled doorway. 

‘Very well, Doctor. Here I am.’ 

The Doctor cracked a self-pleased smile and risked a further concession at the 

Master’s expense. 

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‘A little closer, please; in your condition I don’t think you can hit me if you decide to 

start a snowball fight.’ 

That finished it. The Master snarled and hurried forward with his cloak flying about 

him, so fast the Doctor was sure he would crash into him but after several steps the Time 

Lord screeched like an animal caught in a trap and stumbled to crash down upon his knees 

and elbows in the snow. Lying there, half-sprawled upon the powdered ice, the Master 

looked like a once-mighty lion pitifully reduced to impotent and diseased misery. For all their 

history and the destruction the Master was even wreaking upon the cosmos, the Doctor felt 

a swell of compassion for his old enemy, his old friend. He knelt down and laid a caring 

hand on the Master’s shoulder. 

‘Do you really want this’ 

The Master raised a shaking gloved hand towards the loop hooked around the 

Doctor’s fingers. Halfway it rose and then no more. The Master hissed in burning fury and 

his voice spat in breaking rage. 

‘Yes! I want it! I want it more than anything! I want it even more than your life!’ 

The Doctor snatched away the loop and sat back sharply. His eyes blazed with what 

a religious observer might have called righteous indignation. 

‘I don’t mean the life you lost; I mean the life you have! Look at yourself! You were 

wonderful once. You were a prince among lords, honoured, even revered. But you loved 

yourself as much as you hated everyone else and you envied after creation. And now see 

where your selfish quest has brought you: to ruin and desolation in the muck! Can you tell 

me now this is what you want Well Are you even listening to me’ 

The Master chuckled and lifted his head. His eyes were closed. 

‘No, Doctor, I’m not. I’m concentrating.’ 

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The Master’s eyes snapped open and blazed with green light. The Doctor cried out 

as blinding surges of pain once more coursed through his body. As he crashed upon his back 

into the snow he saw through the pain-clenched slits of his eyes the Master rise up like a 

tower above him. 

‘You always were a slave to moral simplicity, Doctor. I accept no such restraint. I am 

the Master now and forever, and broken hearts will never sway my destined hand! But 

yours…’ 

The Master reached down and plucked the quantum container from the snow where 

it had fallen from the Doctor’s convulsing hand. He smiled with ecstasy at his treasured find, 

but the smile quickly soured as he examined the texture of the loop. 

‘This is a fake, Doctor!’ 

Though still racked with pain, the Doctor managed to smile. 

‘Fool…you…once…shame…on…me. Fool…you…twice….you’re just dense!’ 

The Master’s face hardened with absolute hatred. Then he reached down and heaved 

the Doctor up to his eye-level. 

‘Where is the real container, Doctor In your TARDIS’ 

‘Now that…would be telling.’ 

The Master sneered as he stared into the eyes of his bitter rival. The Doctor felt the 

Master’s hands beginning to tremble as he held him. Then the Master slammed his forehead 

into the Doctor’s face. The Doctor slumped backwards, almost unconscious. Through eyes 

swimming with pain and disorientation, the Doctor saw the Master throw away the useless 

loop into the air. It glinted weakly in the dim light as it spun off into the darkness. The 

Master’s eyes blazed green once more and the loop disintegrated into molten sparks and 

smoke. The Master then pushed the Doctor backwards and let him fall face first into the 

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snow. For several moments the Doctor lay there, disoriented and bristling in pain. He then 

heard the sharp creak of metal hinges and the scrape of a wooden door, his TARDIS’ door. 

He heard Sarah Jane’s voice, as if from across a distant wasteland. 

‘Oh, no, Doctor! Brigadier, he’s been attacked!’ 

The Doctor slowly swivelled his head towards the voice. Through darkening sight he 

saw Sarah Jane and the Brigadier in the doorway. Even with the chaos raging all around him 

and his awareness dissipating, he somehow noticed how his friends had managed to visit the 

wardrobe room and found themselves clothes, but not necessarily better ones: Sarah Jane 

and the Brigadier wore both wore simple black long-sleeved shirts and trousers. The old girl 

must be feeling pessimistic. I can’t blame her. But clothes should always show some cheer. Then he heard 

the Brigadier shout. 

‘Benton, help me drag him to safety!’ 

‘Right, sir.’ Benton appeared in the doorway. He was also wearing a simple black 

shirt and trouser pair. The Doctor blinked with disease. It’s like a Kaled convention. Only Harry 

looks good in such drab colouration. I should go and find them something more individualistic… 

Then the Master’s voice, close and booming, rent the air. 

‘No! The Doctor is mine, you shrieking microcephalic irritants. Too long have I 

been irked by your interference and I will tolerate your existence no more! My horde, take 

them!’ 

The Master snapped his gloved fingers and out from his TARDIS burst a rushing 

stream of Primords, shrieking and growling with maddened energy. The Doctor heard Sarah 

Jane scream; the Brigadier called to Benton once more. The Doctor tried to get to his feet 

but a kick from the Master connected to his chest and the Doctor sprawled into the icy slush 

once more. Prostrate, the Doctor strained to hear what was happening when he felt his scarf 

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tighten around his neck as the Master grabbed its free end and with it began to drag his prey 

towards the heat and light of the command centre. The Master’s voice came to him as if 

speaking from the distant end of an endless tunnel. 

‘You needn’t worry anymore for your companions, Doctor. My army will be done 

with them forthwith. And as for you…I don’t apologise for inflicting upon you such a crude 

show of force; your foolish ploy deserved nothing less. I could offer more refined pain 

through my new powers, of course, but I want you at least conscious to witness the true 

spectacle of my glory.’ 

The Doctor lifted his head from the ice to peer up at where the Master was taking 

him. 

‘Aren’t you just supposed to kill me right now’ 

‘Truth be known, I had hoped you’d simply die on your own, but now I see you can’t 

even comply with such a simple expectation. I attribute that stubbornness to your 

insufferably unyielding self-confidence. Well, maybe if I show you just how hopeless the 

situation really is for you then you might have the sense to die at last.’ 

The Master released the Doctor’s scarf and walked a distance ahead. The Doctor 

pushed up from the ground and looked around. He immediately recognised that he was 

inside the Master’s TARDIS Console Room, but more by sense than by sight: although the 

chamber was much like it had been on the Doctor’s previous visit, drenched in the shadows 

cast by the walls of onyx and black marble, the architecture of the room had been enlarged 

and expanded to accommodate a vast and intricate metallic cocoon surrounding the 

console’s central column. The Doctor glanced down and saw that the floor was in fact a 

black grilled dais, through which he could see the scintillating neon-green glow of the 

column pulsing in the infinitely deepening darkness below. Something was conducting a 

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massive charge along the time rotor’s artron transfer housing. Thick, wide arcs of electricity 

jumped and surged along the column. And there was something else, a presence, dark, 

malevolent, alien. And familiar. The Doctor stood upon his feet. 

‘What have monstrosity have you caged here, Master’ 

The Master stood besides the console and faced the Doctor. In the darkness his eyes 

glowed with power. 

‘The means to capture my destiny, Doctor. And the key to achieve my apotheosis.’ 

The Master pressed a marble button on the console and a low, rumbling drone filled 

the chamber. Bursts of compressed air hissed between metal slats struggling to move and 

then housing around the central column, shook, strained, and pulled apart in a shrieking cry 

of release. And then the Doctor saw it: a body with the chilling face – half-jackal, half-bat - 

clad in a thick, black robe of body armour, inelegantly long, rakishly thin, and dried almost to 

dust with age and mottled decay, floated in the exposed temporal flow of the time rotor’s 

transparent tubing. The Doctor stepped forward and stared in mortified fury upon the 

creature; for he recognised the carcass for what it was: an ancient and terrible monster born 

from alien sands, a beast of endless madness driven only by the pleasure of destruction, and 

a ruthless god who had nearly devastated the cosmos purely out of pointless glee. The 

Egyptians had called him the Destroyer; his own people had named him the Typhonian 

Beast; and races across the universe had many other terrible titles for him; but the Doctor 

knew his true name, the name which he abhorred, and the name which the Master now 

spoke with triumph. 

‘Yes, Doctor, it is Sutekh. I found him where you left him, broken in the dust. But I 

own him now, and with the power of the last of the Osirans, I, the Master, shall shed my 

crumbling body and become a god!’ 

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The Master chucked…just as I chuckle now. 

(The Master emerges from the veils of memory. He wears his black Nehru suit with white 

cuffs and black links. He claps his leather-gloved hands in amusement and his white-tipped 

black beard frames a satisfied smile.) 

You had good reason to chuckle, didn’t you 

(The Doctor steps forward out the remembered shadows. He wears his light grey great coat 

with chocolate velvet lining on the upper lapels and around the cuffs, trousers identical in 

material and colour to the coat, a white shirt with a dark red cravat, a wheat hued waistcoat 

with dark vertical and horizontal stripes, dark boots, and an endless multi-coloured scarf 

around his neck and shoulders.) 

I have every reason to laugh at your defeat. 

But that was then and I still beat you. 

No, Doctor, this is now and I can still win! I’ve trapped you in the Remembrance Matrix of your 

TARDIS, and through its reconstructive power I can reach back through our memory and alter the course of 

history! This is why I’ve made you remember this day, Doctor – this is where it all went wrong. But now I 

will make it right and just as I had you in my power then, I have you now, and now at last, I, the Master, 

will claim an everlasting victory! 

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THE MASTER’S MEMORY 

SOMEWHERE WITHIN THE TARDIS’ REMEMBRANCE 

NOW YOU ASK YOURSELF, DOCTOR, HOW I CAME TO BE IN POSSESSION OF SUTEKH’S 

corpse Of course, with all the various parallel elements of my plot, you must also wonder 

how I possibly devised this scheme. Well, as we have a few moments before the end, I can 

have the pleasure of explaining the full genius of my design… 

EGYPT, THE GREAT PYRAMIDS, 1911 

Dry dust and silence reigned over all in cold, dark cavern. Out of the shadows, a light 

metallic whisper wavered for a moment in the air, and from empty space a broad and high 

black and silver painted sarcophagus solidified. The front cover bore the image of a dark 

bearded man. A moment later this cover pushed open and from within emerged a man with 

the same face and beard. He was dressed in an elegant and well-fitting smooth, black Nehru 

suit with a high collar, black cuffs, white cuff-links, and black velvet gloves. This man, 

known universally as the Master, was unwell, and for one of the few times in his memory, he 

was also uneasy. 

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The Master shivered in the dry cold and leaned against his TARDIS. He grit his teeth 

in frustration; normally his Time Lord endurance would have registered the ambient 

temperature as simply a light chill, but recent events with his hated enemy, the Doctor had 

damaged him in ways he could not mend. Those encounters had dealt him several serious 

blows to his physical health, a precarious condition no doubt exacerbated by his current 

laborious search through space and time for the scattered portions of the Godhead artefact. 

No matter the first cause of continued stresses, the Master’s health had deteriorated such 

that he was now always weak, and freezing. With shaking hands the Master tugged close to 

his body a long black cloak, which he had recently taken to wearing: the cloak was comprised 

of a thermal-retentive material, which stored and recycled both his own body’s natural heat 

and any warmth in his surroundings. At the moment there was preciously little heat, but then, 

what warmth is there is the domain of a cold-hearted god 

Straightening his tunic and squaring his shoulders, the Master began walking forward 

with confidence and care: this would be one of his most dangerous experiences were he in 

his prime; but in his current condition, one mistake would be an invitation for absolute 

destruction. The Master crept close along a rough dark purple stone wall – constructed of 

material neither of Egypt or the Earth – and passed through a deep shadow. He halted. It 

stood before him: the back side of the prison throne of the last of the mighty Osirians, and 

upon the black high-backed stone sat Sutekh the Destroyer. 

The Master slunk as silently as possible towards the Osirian’s seated prison and 

crouched down low to the ground behind the obelisk chair. The Master steadied his breath 

so no air emanated from his nose and mouth. The operation he was about to undertake was 

terribly delicate and terrifically perilous: the extraction of a sample of an Osiran’s genetic 

material. But by what great cosmic conceit it must be Sutekh Simply because he is the only one living I can 

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approach close enough to harvest the biological mass necessary for my purposes. Thanks to the prison trap set 

by his brother, Horus, he cannot evade my reach. Even so, even I must admit caution this time: the legends 

don’t call Sutekh the Typhonian Beast for nothing. But then, I don’t call myself the Master for mere flattery. 

A confrontation between us would be quite stimulating, after all. But no need for theatrics just yet… 

The Master removed one glove and exposed the dry and thinning skin to the rarefied 

air of the tomb. While en route to Egypt, he had coated his hand with a biological extractor 

gel; it would be able to trap minute portions of Osirian DNA with only the slightest contact. 

Applied correctly and he would be certain to avoid the notoriously insane being’s wrathful 

notice. Although at the moment it seemed Sutekh’s concentration was directed elsewhere. 

The Master reached out his hand…and then Sutekh spoke. 

‘My paralysis has left me. I can move! I can move. Now, Horus, we shall see who 

rules the cosmos!’ 

Whatever force had bound the Osirian to his eternal seat had been broken. With 

slow but certain mobility, Sutekh stood for the first time in seven thousand years. Startled by 

the sudden change of circumstances, the Master withdrew his hand from the side-arm of the 

seat and re-donned his glove. With Sutekh inexplicably freed, his options had collapsed to 

one: retreat and plan anew. Curse the caprice of the coincidence. If I didn’t know better this would be the 

sort of calamity in which the Doctor would get involved. 

Before the Master could make any further movement, Sutekh transformed into his 

true, jackal-like form, and then immediately entered a localised directional wormhole, typical 

of technology native to the Osirian homeworld of Phaster Osiris. The Master studied the 

specialised contours of the corridor and estimated Sutekh would arrive at his destination in 

twenty seconds. With his intentions thwarted, the Master found himself not caring 

particularly where the creature was heading. He stood and was about to return to his 

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TARDIS when he spotted a very important figure just beyond the opposite end of the 

wormhole: the Doctor. His old enemy had not changed since their encounter on Earth in 

the brief alternate reality the Master himself had constructed, and he still looked the fool. 

The Master also spied the ever-enduring Miss Smith at the Doctor’s side. Of the milquetoast 

Harry Sullivan there was no sign, but that was no matter; the man was more foolish than the 

current Doctor and not a bit entertaining in his uselessness. So, you are meddling again in my 

affairs, Doctor, even if you don’t know it. How typically thoughtless. But just what are you doing 

An answer to the inquiry came quite quickly: Sutekh’s progression through the space 

conduit halted, and with each passing instant his body began to age, withering with decay as 

his form was forced backwards through the wormhole. The Osirian was caught in a time 

corridor, and the Doctor was robbing the Master once more. 

‘Doctor, you frustrate me again even unknowingly! Still, to destroy Sutekh the 

Destroyer: I never knew you had it in you.’ 

Suddenly, there was a flash of light and a burst of sound, and something hurled out 

from the Egyptian end of the wormhole. The Master stepped forward and examined the 

arrival. What he saw made him start with surprise, and then smile with satisfaction. Thanks 

to the Doctor the plan had changed, but only for the better. The Master let the glow of 

anticipation warm him… 

But the acquisition of the Osirian’s corpse was merely the final piece of my intricate intent. 

The beginnings of the plot extend far back into the mists of my past, Doctor, and yours. 

Oh, now you’re making me think I might learn something new. Just try then. 

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Yes. It all began quite some time ago, even by Gallifreyan reckoning. I wasn’t myself, at least 

not this self – you will remember me as I was: young, athletic, and fearless. It was in the early 

days of my association with the Aliens, in those blissful times before you came and spoilt 

everything, as always. I had assigned myself the task of visiting Earth to investigate the 

viability of recruiting Earth soldiers for The War Games from the late twentieth century. 

Before visiting that time period I had the opportunity to explore an earlier era – 

You mean your SIDRAT got lost. 

I experienced a temporary navigational misdirection, nothing more! I found myself on the 

right planet but a century earlier – the Earth year 1883, to be precise, during the volcanic 

eruption of Krakatau. 

Ah, really. Yes, I remember. I was there too, you know. 

I am most thankful we chanced not to meet on that occasion. 

Didn’t we I would have thought so. 

I…I don’t recall…it doesn’t matter! This is my recollection, Doctor, not yours. 

By all means, don’t let me stop you. 

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In any event I watched Krakatau erupt with great interest, particularly with the thoughts of 

using the Aliens’ resources to harness such destructive power. But then…I heard a sound, a 

mesmerising, guttural cry near the base of the volcano. It was as if the planet itself were 

screeching. Of course it was nothing so metaphysical; my search for the sound source led me 

to a man - a primitive native to the island, I imagine – who had been near the site when the 

eruption occurred. He had escaped the lava flow by huddling like an animal on a small 

outgrowth of rock on the mountain side; but the soot and ash in the air had nearly 

suffocated him. When he saw me standing over him I could see such fear in his eyes, and a 

pleading, a pleading to kill him, but I couldn’t, not when I saw what was happening to him. 

It was like nothing I had ever seen before. 

Doctor, if you could only have seen it! Its skin was curdling! Hair was sprouting from every 

pore, and the sounds! It was as if a hundred million years of bestial ancestry had awakened in 

its core. I had to know more, to discover the reason of the change. And then I…felt it. I can 

only describe it as a presence…intelligence, so hot, so blisteringly hot. Then I saw the 

source, a liquid, bright green and viscous, spewing from the base the mountain; the human 

was covered with this substance; it was the cause of its transformation. I knew this was a 

discovery too enticing to disregard. I secured a sample of the stuff in an Iso-Pocket for 

further examination. I also briefly considered bringing the creature to my ship for 

vivisection, but a sudden release of lava through the volcano wall separated me from the 

beast and I was forced to withdraw. I can still remember the creature’s dying moments, 

howling at the ash-choked air and writing as the magna flowed across its charred skin. It 

seemed to enjoy the heat even as its carcass caught fire. Agony and ecstasy indeed. 

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For me, that was the end of the encounter. I retreated to my transport and departed from 

the time zone, but not without a souvenir to study. And study I did. I won’t trifle you with 

the exact scientific details, Doctor, but as I know you’ve already discovered the liquid was in 

fact a powerful dimensional corrosive capable of generating nigh-endless hyper-ionic energy. 

And it was organic in structure. Regrettably, with my limited available resources I could not 

examine the material more closely without personal risk, so I resolved to return to Earth and 

find more active samples. Finding such samples quickly proved somewhat difficult as the 

liquid appeared to collect in measurable quantities no less than twenty miles beneath the 

planet’s surface – 

Or in other words you had to crack the crust to get at the stuff. Just like drilling for oil! 

Putting it crudely, yes, and to conduct my search while employed by the Aliens I was forced 

to use very simple means of inquiry. 

Now, don’t tell me! You advertised. I can see the announcement: Have you seen this slime 

Sometimes, Doctor, I am ashamed our minds think so similarly. The truth is I indeed sent 

out several print notifications indicating my findings at Krakatoa, in the expectation that only 

those either completely foolish or well-informed – 

Ah, but what’s the difference 

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- would respond with information on the primal fluid. Are you going to listen or not No 

answer An astute choice. Now, of course I anticipated that few people might show any 

interest in my admittedly sensational claims, and so I determined to throw my search to the 

winds of time. To that end, I travelled forward in Earth’s history several decades to check 

the effects of my announcement on the scientific community. I found one man who had 

actually founded his life’s research on my findings at Krakatoa: a man with a meticulous and 

singularly focused mind driven blind by ambition and scientific glory, which suited my 

purposes perfectly. His name was – 

I’m sure it was Stahlman. 

You know Eric Ah, yes, of course. The Inferno Project. Yes, I remember you had your own 

encounter with the primal fluid, in two different worlds, no less. But then you must have 

dealt with two versions of the professor. 

True. He was a bad egg on both globes. 

I must agree. His mind was too illogical for true greatness, too self-absorbed. But he satisfied 

my search well enough. I remember the period well: it was the Earth year 1950, the Cold 

War was in its infancy, and intellectuals were basking in the scientific glow of the atomic 

bomb. Stahlman himself was eager to feel that warmth of discovery – after a promising start 

as a leading thinker - or so he thought - in geological and chemical engineering he was 

languishing as a junior partner in an under-funded scientific conclave of largely dismissed 

thinkers deemed too controversial or mundane for any note. 

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You must have fit in perfectly. 

Compliment or not, I shall ignore you, Doctor. 

Pah! Without my interjections your story would be recitation interminable! 

With your interjections my story would be endless! 

Ah, the neverending balance of narrative...well, carry on! 

Very well. I approached Stahlman with the details of my account. The information was good 

fodder for his scientific greed and ambition, but he demanded direct evidence. I judged 

hypnosis would only dull his effectiveness as a tool, so I resorted to the most effective 

persuasive technique at my disposal: I showed him the liquid. His reaction was no less than 

spectacular; I could almost see the dreams of scientific grandeur dancing behind his eyes. He 

instantly agreed to assist me in finding more underground deposits of the material; but, 

regrettably, Stahlman was merely a junior partner in the organisation and needed permission 

to undertake an external expedition. That permission would have to come through his senior 

partner, and the head scientist of the establishment, Professor Hermann Zaroff. 

Zaroff! What are you doing making friends with all my worst megalomaniacs 

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Ah, so you know Hermann as well Yes, now that I think of it your twice-over predecessor 

crossed intents with him somewhere in 1970. I understand he was quite mad by that point. 

Yes, mad and stupid. He just wanted to drain the seas and destroy the Earth for no reason whatsoever. But I 

wonder if you’ve come to clarify that point of disinterest 

Have I Well, of course I have! I remember it well. In those days Zaroff was not the stock 

madman you would later encounter, but instead was a rather level-headed and clear-minded 

thinker, if not a little exaggerated in his mannerisms. I think he liked to play up the fact that 

he was an outsider, a stranger to the great British Kingdom. But he was also supremely selfconfident, 

even to the point of considering himself the greatest mind in living history. With 

such a mindset, it goes without saying the professor was unconvinced of my credentials as a 

scientist. 

You’re right. He was sensible in those days. 

Cease your distractions, Doctor! They serve no purpose other than to annoy me. 

If you find that comforting, then by all means accept that explanation. 

I already have. Now, Zaroff. To secure his involvement, I determined the best way to secure 

his confidence was a brief demonstration of my scientific over-qualifications. 

Don’t tell me – you showed him your SIDRAT! 

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Precisely! How else could I overpower his self-eminence And show him I did, much to the 

irritation of Stahlman, who we left in charge of cleaning the canteen. But Zaroff…he was 

rather impressed with the…architecture of my abode. Perhaps too impressed. I think I’m 

safe in saying when I allowed Zaroff to see who I really was, when he stared into the endless 

stretches of his ship, his entire sense of self and his place in the universe disintegrated with 

no chance of reconstruction. I realised only then that my polite show of force may have been 

a tad too overbearing. I attempted to placate the professor with offers of sharing in the 

fruitful power and conquest my plans would surely bear, but my words seemed only to whip 

the fool further into a deeper frenzy. He stormed about the control room, ranting vagaries 

about how I had poisoned the world with my green alien blood and that he needed to 

cleanse the earth of its filth. I thought his tantrum was amusing at first, until he knocked the 

Iso-Pocket from my hands and spilled its spilled its contents upon the floor of the SIDRAT. 

The ship reacted violently to the exposure, as if it were trying to tear itself free from a vicious 

wound. As I struggled to repair the damage Zaroff ran screaming from the vessel, vowing he 

would wipe the earth clean of my pollution. I paid him no attention. I had to act quickly; I 

concluded the Time Vortex would best heal my craft, and upon dematerialisation I 

momentarily inverted the ship’s architecture to expel the corrosive. The procedure was a 

success, but my external scans indicated that the expulsion of artron energy combined with 

the vortex flux spliced the local dimensional coordinates. 

You mean your butterfingered tampering created an alternate timeline. Wait…at what point in history was 

your SIDRAT at that moment 

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Approximately the Earth year 1917, I believe. I didn’t bother to make exact measurements. 

Why 

Oh, nothing of importance. I just have further proof of how much devastation one mind can cause, even 

without knowing it. 

Oh, I knew what I had done, Doctor, much to my chagrin. The temporal detonation 

polluted that time zone’s future enough that I feared notice from the Time Lords, so I was 

forced to make a hasty withdrawal to the Aliens with an excuse as to why I thought it 

unsuitable to scour the later twentieth century for combat specimens. A sad loss of extra 

manpower. 

Poppycock! Chalk up another victory of mice over men. You’ve even managed to raise my opinion of Zaroff 

from nil to infinitesimal. At least his plan makes a little more sense now – he wasn’t just trying to destroy 

the world, he was trying to stop you from doing it first. 

Yes, I imagine he was. What a ridiculous waste of time. 

Oh, of course, for anyone other than myself. Or perhaps the Brigadier. But tell me, you obviously didn’t forget 

about the primal liquid, so what made you wait until now to plumb its deposits 

What else delays me but you, Doctor You interference in the War Games disrupted all my 

plans for domination, not just those associated with the Aliens. Ironically enough it was your 

involvement in the Inferno project that re-ignited my curiosity in this particular mode of 

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conquest, but at that your Earth-bound direct predecessor was interfering with my designs 

left, right, and centre. But then of course that version dealt me the crippling blow to my 

biology, which forced me to examine all avenues of life-extension, or rather life-reinvention. 

Thanks to the opportunity you afforded me in Sutekh’s corpse I finally had found my 

perfect way to health. But you already know about the outcome of that event. 

Do I I think there’s been a mistake in your narrative flow. Remember, that part of the story hasn’t 

happened yet, what happened with Sutekh. You’ll have to tell me. 

There is no need to tell you, Doctor. I have already succeeded in defeating you now. 

Oh, yes, yes, of course. But you want to tell me, don’t you 

I suppose I do. Anything to reiterate my complete triumph… 

SOL III, ANTARCTICA, 1ST JUNE 1976 

The Doctor turned and loomed over the Master. The unbridled rage which split the 

Doctor’s face would have made any other cower with fear, but for the Master the seething 

expression was like balm to his physical wounds. 

‘I see my announcement has incensed you’ 

‘Incensed I’m detonating!’ 

‘Then you appreciate the boldness of my ambition’ 

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‘Ambition You stupid, pudding-headed, moronic, quagmire-minded, brain-addled 

idiot! Do you even know what you’re doing!’ 

‘I’ve already explained my intentions with the Osirian. Even your clouded judgment 

ought to understand my course of action.’ 

‘If you use Sutekh’s body the only result your course of action can possibly yield is 

absolute destruction for all of us!’ 

‘Oh, my dear Doctor, will you always be so melodramatic Sutekh is dead; you saw 

to that. His body is nothing more than a husk of dry dust. There is no danger to behold here, 

only genetic treasures of exquisite power ripe to claim, and through the psychic connection I 

have forged with my TARDIS to that treasure, I shall now reap the reward.’ 

‘Ah, of course. That’s how you’ve acquired the powers of an Osirian. Fascinating. 

Something even more fascinating would be to see what happens when you break the link…’ 

The Doctor stepped forward but the Master, belying his physical weakness, flicked 

his wrist and, as if from thin air, his weapon of choice – the TCE – was gripped in his hand 

and aimed straight at the Doctor’s body. The blazing, defiant look on the Master’s spoke 

only one clear message: move and die. The Doctor scoffed. 

‘This is an increasingly familiar stand-off. What’s next, you just press the trigger 

Blast me with red light Or will you just bulge your eyes and blast me with green It’s not a 

hard decision – they’re both primary colours!’ 

‘Do exactly what I say and neither shall happen, yet. I want you to witness my rebirth, 

Doctor.’ 

‘Oh, come off it! You’re a dying husk trying to squeeze life out of a dead carcass! 

What new life can you possibly expect from Sutekh’ 

‘Let’s find out, shall we’ 

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The Master pressed the console’s door control and the interior double doors swung 

open with a deeply buzzing drone. The Master gestured with the TCE that the Doctor 

should exit the room. The Doctor scowled for a moment, and then waved his arms in 

frustration. 

‘Oh, all right, since you’re so polite about it.’ 

The Doctor flashed his enemy a charming smile and turned around to exit through 

the doorway before the Master could issue a barbed reply. 

This is my favourite part, Doctor, the moment of our final reckoning. 

You’re excited! How lovely. I hope the feeling lasts… 

The Doctor exited the Master’s TARDIS. He looked over his shoulder and saw the ship’s 

chameleon circuit had disguised the vessel as large growth of dark coral. An odd choice, the 

Doctor mused as the Master himself emerged from the coral shafts and stood at his side. 

The TCE was still in his hand. 

‘Do you recognise this place, Doctor We have both been here before.’ 

The Doctor surveyed his surroundings: they were standing upon a beach rimmed 

with layers of volcanic stone. The rushing sound of the tide crashed upon the sands and 

drew back again. As the waters receded, steam rose from the sizzling shore. A crisply acrid, 

almost acidic aroma hovered in the air. The Doctor casually walked towards a rock face to 

which he stretched an arm. He traced one finger along the rock. 

‘Hmm…not very old. Twenty-five million years perhaps. Miocene period maybe.’ 

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He looked upwards and noticed they were standing at the base of a large conical 

mountain. No, that’s no mountain. That’s a volcano. Of course! 

‘Atlantis You’ve brought us to Atlantis. Was I actually right Yes…it makes sense! 

This all comes back to volcanoes. Atlantis has an inactive volcano, right here! And the 

Atlanteans in this time period - until recently, relatively speaking - worshipped a fish-god, 

Amno. Amno…Dagon. It’s rather muddy consonantal shifting, but it’s there. And that’s the 

answer! Amno is Dagon, and Dagon is buried at Atlantis!’ 

The Master smiled but only for a moment as a rapid spasm of coughs hacked 

through his chest. The Doctor moved but whether to help or to escape it made no 

difference as the other Time Lord whipped out his hand and brandished the TCE once 

more. The Master steadied himself and pulled his cloak close around him. 

‘Yes. This volcano is the exact point where Dagon’s dying form impacted. The 

planet’s surface was still molten liquid and absorbed the strike, but the Great Old One’s 

physical form was highly incompatible with the local matter.’ 

‘Ah, of course. The two disparate matter patterns caused a tremendous explosion – 

hence this faux-volcano! I remember it seemed odd the last time I saw it.’ 

‘You are ever precise in your conclusions, Doctor, even if they are belated and 

pointless.’ 

The Doctor glared at the Master, and then stared out upon the view surrounding 

Atlantis. Not far above, soupy, pea-green clouds of ash and smoke under-coated the sky, 

through which thick tendrils of blue-white lightning etched their way through the mist. The 

waters were rolling and churning, as if some great heat were boiling the vast liquid expanse. 

Then the Doctor noticed along the surface of the oceans the long trails of superheated flame 

expanding outwards from numerous geysers of viscous green ooze bursting up from beneath 

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the sea. The primal blood was running free and flowing directly towards the volcano. The 

Doctor spoke once more. 

‘All this destruction, panic, global chaos…all this just to save your miserable self.’ 

The Master tutted his disapproval. 

‘I resent your assumption that I am in misery, Doctor. I may be in physical agony, 

but my mind is enjoying the edge of satisfied ecstasy. And as for self-rescue, you of all 

people should know that I value my survival higher than any other goal, even more than 

conquering the cosmos and destroying you.’ 

‘But at what cost You’ve mortally wounded the earth to unleash a substance so 

powerful it will destroy the fabric of space and time itself. I’ve seen what damage Dagon’s 

blood is wreaking across the dimensions even as we speak.’ 

‘Then we are wasting time in idle conversation. Come, allow me to show you scene 

of my final victory.’ 

‘What, all the way up there It’s rather high up and far climb. Why don’t we just use 

your TARDIS to get there, especially given your…weakness’ 

‘We shall journey on foot, Doctor, unless you prefer to be carried’ 

‘Oh, no, no! You’d sprain something trying that. Besides, I can use my leg stretching 

exercises I’ve been devising for extended captivity marches. Shall we then’ 

The Doctor smiled and started to stroll up the volcano’s incline. He took out his 

yellow yo-yo from his pocket. 

‘You won’t mind if I walk this, will you I find the action relaxing, like walking a 

dog.’ 

‘Be grateful you don’t own such an animal, Doctor. Dogs are the most irritating of 

beasts.’ 

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‘Well, to each his own. Cats, on the other hand…such delightfully mysterious 

creatures.’ 

After a few steps, the Doctor looked over his shoulder to speak. 

‘You know, there are people living here still, despite what you and Kronos did to the 

place. And Azal, at least so he claimed. And Zaroff, at least so he attempted. But still, some 

of the resident may be a bit fishy but they’ve got some menace to them.’ 

‘I am fully aware of the native survivors of this island, which is why I’ve instructed 

the remainder of my horde to guard the island should any of the residents or the hybrids 

choose to show themselves. Be assured, my forces shall destroy them.’ 

‘You’re such a conscientious tourist.’ 

The two Time Lords walked on for a several minutes more until they reached the lip 

of the mountain. Dark green clouds of thick smoke belched forth in rapid bursts from out of 

deep darkness inside and below. An eerie green glow shone harsh and bright and hot from 

the interior. The Doctor peered over the edge and gazed into the pit. Deep within the cavity 

was a vast pool of Dagon’s blood; its blistering heat rose into the air. The Master inhaled 

relished in the heat and threw back his head in pure pleasure. 

‘Feel the heat, Doctor! Feel its surrounding glow.’ 

‘I feel enough warmth to make me think I need a good physician, and you need an 

expert psychiatrist!’ 

The Master stepped aggressively towards the Doctor. 

‘You dare question my intelligence’ 

‘I hadn’t before but I think I may have been too generous.’ 

‘Will you never appreciate my grandeur; never stand in awe of my glory’ 

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‘Perhaps, if you care to educate me in a few of the finer points of your majesty – why 

have you released Dagon’s blood’ 

‘Surely that reason is obvious: to return it to its source. When Dagon fell his peers 

drained his life force so as to ensure his perpetual demise.’ 

‘And the piping system’ 

‘Even the Great Old Ones have limitations, Doctor. Their blood is inimical to the 

lower dimensions, so to preserve the integrity of the vortex in the smallest possible location 

they constructed the network to cycle Dagon’s blood away from his carcass for eternity, but 

I have seen fit to alter that intent.’ 

‘And so you’ve undertaken the most massive irrigation project in history – Why’ 

The Doctor stared off into the distance, considering. ‘Ah! You want to start a new 

architectural trend for volcanic homes!’ 

‘Not a home, Doctor, a cocoon.’ 

‘A cocoon! That’s an ironic image coming from someone who sees everyone else as 

insects.’ 

‘Then consider the image of this volcanic caldron as the final barrier to my swarming 

the entire universe. Dagon’s physical carcass has long ceased to be of any use to me, but 

once I drink from its living liquid I shall shed my rotting, limited form.’ 

‘Then if we’re talking in metaphors, how does Sutekh become the key to your 

success’ 

The Master bared his teeth – two broken rows of enamel rotted away like 

gangrenous flesh – in a vicious smile. 

‘Because of you I am too infirm to benefit from the gifts of genetic evolution; but 

thanks to you I have discovered my solution: the nigh-unparalled physical structure of the 

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Osirian race offers me a safe conduit through which I can absorb Dagon’s powers and 

incorporate them into my own body. And through that union of Time Lord, Osirian, and 

Great Old One, I, the Master, shall open the inferno and claim its throne!’ 

The Doctor leaned back from the Master, as if a deep, paralysing fear had seized 

him, but then he threw back his head, laughed, and clapped his hands. 

‘Very good! Wonderful! You almost make it sound frightful!’ 

The Master snarled and pointed his TCE straight between the Doctor’s hearts. 

‘I see you will never change, Doctor. You will never fear me, and therefore you 

cannot survive in my coming dominion. So, at long last, I will have the final pleasure of your 

death.’ 

The Doctor shook his head. 

‘Oh, I doubt that completely.’ 

‘You ought to have had faith in your Master.’ 

‘No, I think I’ll lend that belief to making my escape.’ 

‘My horde guards this island’s perimeter. You have nowhere to go.’ 

‘Actually, I do. You see, I was being a little deceptively unaware when I said I didn’t 

know where we were. In fact, I realised Atlantis was your destination some time ago.’ 

‘How did you make that connection’ 

‘Oh, I was discussing island myths with an old friend. Nonetheless, I planned 

accordingly and my friends are already here to help.’ 

‘You mean your primitive band of children and girls They can’t steer your TARDIS. 

Oh, my dear Doctor, you will never be an effective card player: your bluffs are always 

empty.’ 

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‘I have many friends, Master, more than you could possibly imagine. Oh, and I refute 

the card player reference; I tend to favour fencing in this incarnation, and in fencing the 

hand is never empty or bluffing, and before you say I have no rapier, I will politely reveal 

that I always carry my scarf!’ 

Fast as a lightning flash the Doctor’s hand grabbed the end of his scarf and whipped 

the fabric around the Master’s wrist holding the TCE. With a strong pull the Doctor tugged 

the Master forward to lay the villain sprawled upon the rock face. The Master threw out his 

hands to blunt his impact, and the TCE rolled away some feet down the volcano side. The 

Doctor retracted his scarf and hurried a few steps down the hill, but stopped short when he 

saw the Primords scurrying towards the base of the volcano. From behind, the Master 

pushed himself up from the ground, rested on his elbows, and chuckled. 

‘I almost admire your tenacity, Doctor, but I called your bluff. Your human friends 

can’t possibly save you.’ 

The Doctor turned around and smiled. 

‘I didn’t say my friends were human, but they are from Earth!’ Then the Doctor 

called out in his most booming voice. ‘It’s now or never, RISE!’ 

All around the Atlantean shoreline gigantic bubbles of water exploded, showering 

the arid atmosphere with pellets of boiling vapour. As the water droplets cleared there were 

dozens of sleek-lined, green metal battleships, all floating on the ocean’s surface. The crafts 

slid forward upon the water and banked upon the island’s shore. From out of open hatches 

cut from the vessel’s exteriors streamed scores of Land and Water Reptiles, all clad in battleworthy 

armour. Ichtar and Decrix emerged from of the largest ship 

What are those slithering animals doing there How did they find us, Doctor 

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I explained it you. Don’t you remember I said I’d already worked out Dagon’s location in Atlantis while in 

Koschei’s TARDIS, and while I was slipping between dimensions I instructed the Reptile leaders to meet me 

at the island and be ready for my signal. 

I cannot recall that information. You are trying to confuse me! 

Tell me, Master, is your memory starting to fail you I thought these events would be as clear as 

chrysanthemums. Or is the past growing so dim you need my help to remember 

I need nothing of yours, Doctor. But I must know what happened, I must! 

Oh well, suit yourself. But I think my recollection’s the better version… 

Ichtar and Decrix motioned their forces to stand at the ready; both looked to the Doctor. 

The Primords gazed to the Master. The Doctor glared at the Master, willing him to stand 

down. The Master stared back. Then the volcano beneath their feet rumbled; the primal 

blood within churned and roiled. The Master’s eyes burnt with base fury and he rose to his 

feet, raised his hands, and opened his mouth wide to release a fearsome, wailing cry across 

the desert sand. 

‘My children, race to the slaughter!’ 

Without further warning the Master charged the Doctor, slamming his full weight 

into the Time Lord’s torso. As the two men crashed to the volcanic high ground, the 

Primords locked upon the Reptiles. The mutated creatures ducked their heads. They bare 

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their teeth; growls passed between them. Their hands shook with thoughtless rage breaking 

free. Then the first creature charged. Upon their command seeker, Ichtar and Decrix silently 

agreed and gave the telepathic command to their forces. The Reptilian Duality obeyed and 

plunged into the conflict. 

Up upon the volcano, the Doctor struggled against the ferocity of the Master. The 

villain had him locked in a choke hold; the grip was like diamond; the Doctor’s vision 

dimmed against the deepening pressure. Then he planted his feet, pushed backwards with his 

hips, swung forward and curled his torso under the force of gravity as the Master’s body rose 

up and over the Doctor’s head. The Master lost his grip and flipped over the Doctor’s 

contorted body. He struck the surface of the volcano and rolled several times down the 

decline. Then, inexplicably, horrifically, the Master stopped his descent and began to roll 

upwards, faster and faster, until he was almost charging upon the Doctor’s ankles – 

The Doctor jumped up to avoid the Master’s advance. The Master twisted about and 

stood upon his feet. The two Time Lords faced each other. The Doctor’s scarf trailed in the 

gushing wind. The Master’s cloak billowed upon him like breaking wings. Lightning flared 

through the cloud-solid sky above. The volcano rumbled and pulsed like a gigantic heartbeat 

below. From all around, the pained battle cries of Reptiles and Primords rent through the air. 

The Doctor, anguished in his hearts, through his arms wide. 

‘Is this a Time Lord’s triumph Inevitable, endless carnage Will you never 

understand it’s pointless!’ 

‘Pointless, Doctor Carnage is the focus of my existence!’ 

‘Does that include self-destruction You may not be as infirm as you look, but you 

look like you’re throwing yourself against death’s door.’ 

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It was true. The Master was far from beaten, but already the brief tussle with his foe 

had literally opened old wounds: blood poured through many cuts and bruises torn in the 

paper-thin skin of face. Dark patches were also spreading through his suit, moistening its 

inky blackness. The Master wiped thick trickles of blood from the corners of his mouth, and 

smiled. 

‘Perhaps I am knocking on the door, but death will soon open only for you, Doctor!’ 

The Master thrust his arm forward – he held his TCE. Somehow he had found it. 

His thumb pressed upon the trigger. The Doctor lunged forward; he crashed into the 

Master. The TCE fired. The Doctor fell away, struck the ground. The Master screamed, 

screeched an ear-explosion of agonised pain. His body flared with red light. The Doctor 

scrambled to his feet and watched in horror as his oldest enemy, his one-time best friend, 

writhed in tortured anguish in the compressor’s fire. The stupid, arrogant, mindless fool!, the 

Doctor thought as he looked on. I warned him! I warned him then and I warned him now. And this is 

how he finally ends, crumpled down to size… 

But as the crimson light pulsed around his body, the Master retained his natural 

shape and size. Perplexed, the Doctor noticed the TCE upon the ground near his feet. He 

snatched it up and examined the weapon. There’s a hairline fracture in the amphora calculosa. 

Probably happened when I knocked the device out of his hands before. It must have backfired the energy into 

the Master. Not enough to condense him, but enough to cause damage. 

As the Doctor guessed, the Master was clearly damaged. All the hair on his head was 

charred. His eyebrows were gone; only shadows of withered hair remained. White-hot smoke 

rose from his charred clothing, like cut puppet strings curling away from the break. Then the 

crimson light finally faded away and the Master, emptied of energy, collapsed in a heap upon 

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the volcanic rock. The Doctor rushed over to lift his head and shoulders, which he placed 

upon his knees. 

‘Don’t struggle. Just try to relax.’ 

The Master tried to push him away, but he could not even raise his arms. Instead, he 

whispered a hissing chuckle. 

‘Doc…tor. Y-you…nevvvv…nev-er ceassssse t-t-to…amaaaaze…me.’ 

The Doctor threw back his head, appalled at the Master’s faux-compliment. 

‘Amaze you I’ve never delighted in butchery.’ 

‘I…am not…commenting on…your attack…strategy. I’m merely…noticing the 

ever-enduring presence…of irony…in our conflicts.’ 

‘Don’t talk rubbish anymore. They may be your last words.’ 

‘What You mean you expect me to die at any moment No, I refuse. You may have 

stolen my last regeneration, and I can even now feel my body disassociating, but I refuse to 

die by your hand. Instead, I shall rejoice that your actions have condemned this world and all 

life!’ 

‘What are you rambling about’ 

The Master looked up into the Doctor’s eyes. 

‘I’m merely commenting on an unexpected side-effect my compressor has wrought 

upon me. When you damaged my TARDIS during our affair with the Skaro time storm, you 

disrupted my link with the ship. Since then I have only maintained control through constant 

concentration. Your meddling has once again disrupted my concentration, Doctor, and now 

I can no longer hold him back.’ 

A dark and terrible thought sparked itself within the Doctor’s mind and spread like 

wildfire. He gripped the front of the Master’s tunic and pulled his face close. 

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‘Who Who have you been holding back!’ 

The Master pushed forward and held his face a hairsbreadth beneath the Doctor’s. 

He whispered one word. 

‘Sutekh.’ 

A colossal explosion rocked the base of the volcano. The Doctor released the Master 

and stood upon his feet. He pierced his glare through the gloom. A light so dark it was 

almost night streamed from out of the Master’s TARDIS. The Primords cowered in fear at 

the sight. The Reptiles ceased their attack and gazed their ancient eyes in almost mesmeric 

wonder upon the building light. The time ship glowed bright and hot with fire. At the 

Doctor’s feet, the prostrate Master chuckled weakly. 

‘It seems we are the makers of our own destruction, Doctor.’ 

At the volcano’s base the TARDIS continued to brighten. The light’s heat baked the 

sand around the ship, smoothing its texture to glass. The illumination soon caused the coralcloaked 

exterior to dissolve into a mist and the ship for a moment seemed like a miniature 

star. Then the star-TARDIS levitated from the ground and rose high above the volcano and 

into the air, up, up, up – the star detonated. The earth moved. The TARDIS, now just a 

white box, fell from the sky fell into the mouth of the volcano. A Night-light filled space, 

blinding the Doctor. And then he heard the voice. 

‘Time Lord!’ 

Quickly, the Doctor’s vision cleared, and he looked upwards and he saw Sutekh 

standing before him, still decayed, still dust-dried, but not a corpse, not a carcass. Sutekh, the 

Typhonian Beast himself, lived. The Osirian stretched his spindly arms towards the Doctor, 

like a sand-blasted tyrant reaching across eternity. 

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‘You wrought the corruption of age upon me, upon the destroyer of all life! But now 

I, Sutekh, shall drain your life and scatter your dust upon the sands of eternity!’ 

Sutekh’s eyes filled with hatred, they narrowed with piercing rage, but the Doctor felt 

nothing. No coruscating torment, no melting mind-fire. There was only a dull green light in 

the Osirian’s malevolent eyes. The Doctor laughed and jabbed a finger square at Sutekh’s 

face. 

‘Not so destructive now, are you, Sutekh, not when you’ve aged older than a scarab! 

How does it feel then, eh To be on the level with the rest of the insects’ 

Sutekh stretched himself high, like a starved animal about to shatter with rage. 

‘You have the gall to mock me, Time Lord I shall make you suffer -’ 

‘Oh shut up! SHUT UP! I don’t care a jot what you’ll make me do. You have no 

power to scare anyone anymore. Right now you’re just a bone-dry sac of a beast too stupid 

to know when he should be dead. The only reason you’re still wheezing air is because 

someone even stupider than you thought you’d make a nice mantle decoration. But at least 

living you can experience what a waste you really are.’ 

Sutekh growled and knit his brows in feral concentration. He focused his will to 

crush the Doctor once more…but to no avail. The bulk of his powers had wasted away. The 

Osirian threw back his head and shrieked out his frustrated rage. The Doctor smile grimly. 

‘Face it, Sutekh the Destroyer, you’re past it.’ 

Sutekh faced the Doctor once more, and then paused. His body stiffened and his 

head hung in the air, like a jackal sniffing for its prey. Then Sutekh spoke once more and in 

his voice was something new, the sound of a distant and perverted relative to hope. 

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‘Perhaps I am withered and de-powered, Time Lord; and it is all because of you. But 

I sense something near, a power even I must recognise, a power mindless and flowing. I 

shall seize that force and reclaim my glory and then at last you shall crumble in my sight!’ 

With no further warning Sutekh rushed to the rim of the volcano and cast himself 

into its mouth. The Doctor immediately followed after him and fell upon the rim, peering 

over the side. He saw the Osirian’s form fall downwards towards the churning pool of the 

Dagon’s blood. Sutekh struck the fluid and sank into the mire. At that moment the Master, 

huffing with effort, dragged himself forward and leaned against the volcano’s edge. He 

stared at the Doctor, genuinely surprised. 

‘Doctor…that was perhaps the most miscalculated act I’ve ever seen you 

accomplish.’ 

‘Be grateful we’re still alive.’ 

‘But what did you expect to achieve by goading Sutekh to accept his impotence He 

would have hardly surrendered.’ 

‘Honestly, I thought he’d consider a nice retirement.’ 

‘Well, perhaps you might consider a permanent one.’ 

The Master held his TCE before the Doctor’s face. Before the Doctor could react 

there was a deep and violent rumble from below. The volcano rumbled and quaked. The 

Doctor and the Master peered over the ridge and saw the primal blood within the cone 

bubble and froth, and then rush upwards in a towering geyser, higher and higher, reaching to 

the rim. 

‘Get back!’ the Doctor cried as he grabbed the Master and threw him away from the 

volcano lid. The two men fell backwards and rolled down several feet, just missing the 

upthrust of the corruptive liquid. Upon the beach below, the sounds of fear and fearsome 

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battle had renewed between the Reptiles and the Primords – the sense of death had 

galvanised both sides into frenzied abandon. The ancient blood’s upward momentum 

flagged and the fluid sank beneath the level of the lid, but the volcano immediately began to 

tremble again. There was a sound from deep within, a sound of tortured, triumphant 

wailing… 

The Doctor ripped the TCE from the Master’s weak grip and aimed the device down 

the mountain slope. Let’s hope this wretched machine has a setting to dig ditches, he thought as he 

pressed the trigger and the weapon’s energy fired wildly, the charged particle stream forcing 

itself through the cracks in the damaged tubing. Despite the waste, enough energy flowed 

through the proper exit and bored into the volcanic rook a smooth, half-cylindrical conduit 

running from the volcano’s rim to its base. Once the conduit was complete, the Doctor 

deactivated the TCE, pocketed it, and grabbed the Master. 

‘Have you any luge training’ he shouted. ‘Never mind; you wouldn’t appreciate it 

anyway. Feet first!’ 

The Doctor pushed the Master forward and into the conduit. The Master cried out 

in surprised anger as he slid with ever increasing speed down the slope. The Doctor watched 

him shoot out of the chute’s end and crash upon the glass-hard beach. The Doctor realised 

he would also face such an impact but nevertheless clambered inside the chute. 

‘Come to think of it, I’ve never trained for the luge. Still, what’s wrong with a good 

leap Here goes nothing!’ 

The Doctor pushed forward and let himself slide down the length of the mountain, 

slipping faster and faster through transparent air against the smooth, frictionless rock with 

nothing to hold to as sound deafened and sight blurred except for the dark glass rushing up 

to strike but just in time he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a tarpaulin to spread 

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out above his head like a parachute to catch against the backdraft of air built up in his wake 

and slow his relentless drop to a smooth, slow descent, like a spoon tracing through thick, 

unfrozen ice cream. The Doctor finally came to a complete stop at the end of the chute, 

stood upon his feet, and saw the Master sprawled on the glass and gazing wearily upon him. 

The Doctor bowed theatrically. 

‘A perfect ten for execution, style, and dismount. I was right to tell the IOC to 

include the luge at the Innsbruck games.’ 

The Master groaned and rolled upon his back. His breaths came and went in shallow 

wheezing. 

The Doctor knelt down and leaned close to the fallen Time Lord. 

‘Come on, we’ve got to get moving.’ 

Then the Doctor bodily hefted the Master from the ground and carried him over his 

shoulders like a scraggily sack of rooting potatoes. The ground trembled once more. The 

Doctor looked back to the volcano; neon green lava belched from its molten-hot mouth. 

Turning back, he looked for the nearest cave mouth to take shelter and noticed a Primord 

bounding towards him. Part of his mind knew he ought to flee but a smarter part of his 

mind reminded him he had called for reinforcements for a reason and the smarter part felt 

satisfied as a Sea Devil leapt from behind a rock cluster and fired its hand-weapon upon the 

mutant. The Primord reeled beneath the energy burst and crashed upon the glazed beach. 

The Doctor heard more growls from behind and, moving as fast as he could with the 

Master draping his torso, he ducked behind hutting rocks for shelter. The Doctor rested the 

Master against the rock face. There were more sounds. The Doctor ducked down. Over 

head several more Primords bounded over the rocks towards the Sea Devil. Outnumbered, 

the reptile called to its fellow soldiers. From across the sands their cries returned. Meters 

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away there were heard warbling pulses of the Silurians third eyes burning through the air, 

shattering the bones and twisting the sinews of frenzied Primords. The pain-drenched cries 

of reptiles and mutants weighed heavy upon the air all while the Atlantean volcano trembled 

and roared ever louder and louder… 

Then this is how ends, Doctor. This is…the…end…yes 

Not feeling well, Master Is the strain of remembering so much of the past too great a strain on your memory 

No! I simply…simply…cannot recall the next moments… 

Good. Then let me take over and recollect them for you! 

Then the Master groaned. The Doctor turned to check. The Master pushed up with his feet 

and lashed at the Doctor but the swipe was slow and easily avoided. With no impact to 

support the failed movement, the Master swung over like a puppet cut from its strings and 

struck against the rock, rolling his face against its hard, jagged surface. He tensed with rage, 

and then his breath hissed out like a punctured tire. The Master spoke, his voice dry and 

hoarse. 

‘Just go away, Doctor. If I am to lack the strength to kill you then just let me die 

without knowing you’re within my reach. Then you can die, too, for all I care.’ 

The Doctor leaned forward and cradled the Master’s head in his hands. He raised the 

face so their eyes met. The Doctor whispered, as if imparting a grave secret. 

‘You won’t get rid of me so easily. Besides, I’ve got an escape plan for both of us.’ 

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The Master slid down the rock side. Small strips of his flesh tore away on the rugged 

texture as he fell and the drops of blood clogged the cracks in its surface. Still, the Time 

Lord chuckled. 

‘There is no escape for you this time. We are marooned upon a forgotten island, 

surrounded by warring animals; an angry, resurrected god is drawing strength from a dead 

one beneath us, and my TARDIS lies at the bottom of a volcano. It’s over.’ 

‘Myopic poppycock. There’s always my TARDIS.’ 

‘You don’t have your TARDIS.’ 

‘Maybe not. But she still has me.’ 

‘What’ 

The Doctor’s eyes bulged and he fished out of his pocket the TARDIS key. Its silver 

metal surface was glowing with golden energy. The Doctor’s mouth blazed into a smile. The 

Master scoffed. 

‘What!’ 

Then the blessedly familiar sounds of the TARDIS’ engines trumpeted through the 

air and the dark blue wooden Police Box carved its way through space to solidify before the 

two men. 

What! 

Like I said, my memory is the best. 

No! This isn’t what happened! This is the wrong – 

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On the contrary, this is the right event. You’ve been manipulating this story for far too long, Master, trying to 

push the narrative in the direction best suited to you. You’ve even tried to make me remember myself in the 

wrong way. But now you’ve taxed yourself too far and will go no further. 

(The Doctor hurries forward. He wears not a scarf but a cravat. His curls are blond. His 

trousers are yellow. His coat is a patchwork.) 

I have you and I’ll hold you fast. 

(The Master struggles against the Doctor’s grip. His suit is black velvet with silver trimming 

upon the collar. His eyes are ice blue. His beard is dark without spot.) 

Release me, Doctor! Release me or I shall destroy you! 

Oh, no. Not this time. I rather think you’re past any point of casting destruction. No, you’re my captive 

audience and with you in check the story shall come to its true end… 

(The sixth Doctor casts back his mind upon his past life…) 

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Chris McKeon 


THE MEMORY OF FRIENDS 

INSIDE THE TARDIS, 514 YEARS AFTER GALLIFREYIAN MEAN-TIME EXPULSION, 

RELATIVE SPACE-TIME: SOUTH BEND, ANTARCTICA, HUMANIAN ERA, 1ST JUNE 1976 

‘SARAH, SHUT THE DOORS!’ 

Sarah Jane was already sprinting to the door control when Harry shouted his frantic 

instruction. He stood a pace away from the Brigadier and Benton, who each pushed against 

one of the two large interior doors, trying to keep the Primord attackers outside the Ship. 

She forced herself to keep calm as her eyes scoured over the multitude of control banks, 

searching for the door control. Has the Doctor rearranged the layout lately She caught sight of a 

lever that matched her memory of the door switch and slammed her hand against it. There 

was a steady, low whine and the doors swivelled inwards to a secure close. 

‘Oh, thank heavens for small mercies!’ Sarah Jane cried. ‘But we’ve got to get to the 

Doctor.’ 

‘Agreed, Miss Smith,’ the Brigadier said in a voice slightly panting. He joined her at 

the console, followed by Benton and Harry. ‘But first we have to deal with those creatures, 

like poor Mike. Can we see outside This ship still has a scanning device, I assume’ 

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‘Yes. Oh, Doctor, please be all right.’ 

Sarah Jane pressed the console’s scanner switch and the large square-shaped 

transparency which dominated the upper half of one wall brightened with high-resolution 

light. The light calmed. Hair, teeth, and claws thrashed upon the screen. 

‘They’re Primords, sir,’ Benton said. ‘They must be blocking the entrance.’ 

‘Thank you, Mr. Benton. Now we are both grounded and caged inside this 

impossible box.’ 

Between the swashes of fur and gnashing teeth, Sarah Jane could just make out the 

Master dragging the Doctor back into the South Bend bunker. The main hatch swung closed 

and blotted the Time Lords from sight. Sarah Jane glared at the hulking mass, wishing for 

the power to make it disappear. Then Harry stepped forward and pointed to the screen. 

‘I say, everyone, look! That bunker. It’s disappearing.’ 

It was indeed, smoothly and quickly, not like matter dispersal, Sarah Jane thought but 

more like… 

‘It must be the Master’s TARDIS. That coward is escaping once again,’ the Brigadier 

spoke, his voice hard with frustration. 

A sharp fear began to serrate through Sarah Jane’s heart. ‘And the Doctor’s alone 

with him. He’s hurt. Where are they going’ 

Harry leaned close to her and gestured to the console. 

‘Steady on, old girl. You’ve been with the Doctor for a while now. You must know if 

there’s a tracking device for other TARDISes.’ 

‘Oh, Harry, you know how the Doctor is. He always keeps the controls to himself. I 

couldn’t begin to figure which ones to use. There’s nothing we can do.’ 

Benton leaned forward upon the console. 

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‘No, miss. The Doctor’s always got a plan. We just need to figure out what it is.’ 

Suddenly there was a high-pitched chime from the console and the room filled with a 

warm, blue light. The light streamed from the dark blue panelling which lined the inside of 

the empty doorway to the inner corridors of the TARDIS. After a moment the light resolved 

into a full-body image of the Doctor, which flickered with the same, warm, blue light. The 

blue-Doctor spoke, his face blank and his deep voice echoing slightly. 

‘Attention. This is Emergency Hologram Protocol One. If you are hearing this then I 

am either in grave danger or -’ 

The hologram flickered momentarily and reformed. The face of the Doctor’s 

insubstantial copy now seemed to shine with a quick intelligence. It somehow seemed more 

real. It spoke once more. 

‘There, that’s better. I hate re-recording footage but one has to keep up with new 

technology. But, no, I’m not about to die, but if you are watching this I am in a dreadful 

hurry, so don’t ask questions and just listen carefully, very carefully. We’re all in a tight spot 

of trouble. The Master must have me captive and the TARDIS surrounded. Thankfully, I 

have a theory, which if right means there is some good news. But first, you’ve got to find 

me.’ 

The Brigadier stepped forward. 

‘As much as I appreciate such forward thinking ‘Doctor,’ you said we couldn’t lea-’ 

‘Didn’t I say you shouldn’t talk’ the hologram shouted in a frightening display of 

realism; the effigy had even turned in Lethbridge-Stewart’s direction as it spoke. ‘Yes, the 

Master has polarised the Earth’s magnetic field to trap my ship, but the only way he could 

have achieved transference in his TARDIS is if he re-aligned that field along a path between 

Antarctica and his next destination. As energy follows the path of least resistance, that bridge 

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Chris McKeon 


just might still be connected and if you move quickly you should be able to follow the 

Master’s trail. Now, as I am invariably right in my assumptions, I’ve already coupled the time 

path indicator into the navigational computer. All you need to do is press the 

dematerialisation switch.’ 

‘Well that’s easy enough,’ Harry said as he spotted the requisite protrusion on the 

console and reached out his hand. 

‘Not you, Harry!’ the hologram shouted, its eyes once more eerily locking onto to the 

correct individual. ‘Let’s let Mr. Benton have a go.’ 

Harry shrugged his shoulders and gave Benton a gracious ‘go ahead’ wave of his 

hand. To Harry’s face Benton looked apologetic, but as he turned to the console he glanced 

at Sarah Jane and grinned. Then he found the switch. This time I really am going to catch the 

Master. Benton pulled the switch and the Console Room shuddered and rumbled, throwing 

everyone off their feet and onto the floor. The central column rose high and fell low, quick 

and loose, as sparks danced across the panels and the room lights dimmed and the hologram 

faded into darkness just as the quaking ceased and the column settled as the lights 

brightened. Sarah Jane hurried to open the doors and just as they swung wide the real 

Doctor’s head appeared through aperture. 

‘There, that wasn’t so hard, was it I always say one good rescue deserves another. 

Now come on, help me with the Master.’ 

Before a very relieved Sarah Jane could welcome him, the Doctor’s head disappeared 

through the doorway and then re-appeared a moment later with the rest of his body. The 

Time Lord was rigid with lightning-fury. 

‘He’s gone! I offer him sanctuary, then I turn my back for one moment and he bolts 

like a thief in the night.’ 

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‘You’re lucky he didn’t try to shoot you in the back while he went, Doc,’ Benton 

quipped. 

‘We’d better get of here before he finds a gun and comes back,’ Sarah Jane quipped. 

‘No, he’s probably gone to find his TARDIS and escape while he still can. But we’ve 

got bigger problems. Things have gone from worse to unfathomable.’ 

‘Are you saying there’s another threat to the Earth, Doctor’ asked Lethbridge- 

Stewart. 

‘A threat It’s a nightmare given life, a horror beyond natural comprehension!’ 

Sarah Jane threw her hands into the air. ‘If it’s that bad don’t keep us in the dark. 

What’s happening.’ 

‘Oh, just another old friend.’ 

‘An old friend Who’ 

‘Oh, no one of importance, someone past his prime, Sutekh.’ 

‘What!’ 

Harry turned to Sarah Jane. 

‘Is it that bad, old girl’ 

‘Believe me, now it can’t get worse.’ 

‘Oh, nonsense!’ the Doctor exclaimed. ‘There are plenty of ways this can get worse; I 

could have run out of jelly babies. Besides, the situation’s not too hopeless: I have a plan.’ 

‘We are all delighted to hear so, Doctor,’ the Brigadier said, inwardly rejoicing. ‘May 

we share in your plotting’ 

‘All right, but first I’m going to do something you’ll all find terribly dangerous, and 

probably ill-conceived, so I want no second guesses. I’m still in a terrible hurry.’ 

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Without a further word the Doctor turned, extended his long arm, and opened the 

Reliquary. Before anyone could voice a concern, the heavy door swung wide and out from 

its dim interior staggered the haggard, nearly-naked but very human body of Mike Yates. 

Yates took one shuddering step forward, and smiled. 

‘Brigadier…I regret my absence from duty. I feel much better now. Request 

permission to return…’ 

Mike’s voice deflated to a whisper and his knees buckled. The Brigadier managed to 

catch him before he hit the floor. The older solider wrapped one arm around his fellow 

serviceman’s torso and held him close. 

‘All in good time, Lieutenant Colonel. All in good time.’ 

The Brigadier turned to ask the Doctor for a suitable place to put Yates to recover 

but the Time Lord was already hunched over the console and rushing about its hexagonal 

platform. Thankfully Sarah Jane was at hand and offered to escort Mike to the TARDIS’ 

medical room, but the Doctor intervened. 

‘Mike’s travelled in the TARDIS before, Sarah. He can find his own way. I need you 

here.’ 

Sarah was about to object but Yates shook his head. With a last, faint smile he 

straightened and walked out of the room. As soon as he was gone, Benton spoke. 

‘Right, Doctor, tell us the story. How did you cure him’ 

The Doctor kept his eyes upon the console as he replied. 

‘Well, it was only a simple matter of concluding that if the primal blood reacts to 

magnetic fields then a sample of the substance might be neutralised by setting up a counterfield 

redirected away from the infected host.’ 

Harry’s face brightened as he grasped the Doctor’s words. 

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‘You mean you reversed the polarity’ 

At last the Doctor lifted his head, and smiled. 

‘Precisely, Harry. Precisely!’ 

‘So you can cure all of the Primords’ asked the Brigadier. 

‘Certainly I can configure this Reliquary cabinet to generate the necessary magnetic 

field to cure one person. In theory I can use the TARDIS to boost the cabinet’s magnetic 

field to encompass all of Atlantis. From there, the polarisation ought to latch onto the entire 

flow of the primal blood worldwide and attract it to this central location, hopefully freeing 

anyone else of the Primordial influence. Of course unmetabolised primordial fluid is far 

more difficult to decompose, so the problem then becomes…’ The Doctor trailed off, his 

head drooping in insalubrious thoughts. 

‘Cheer up, old boy. We’ve beaten bigger worries than this before.’ Harry said. 

‘Harry, compared to our current trouble what you experienced while travelling with 

me were tea-time casual concerns.’ 

‘But what is the problem, Doctor’ Sarah Jane asked. 

‘It’s how to dispose of the primal blood, and given its enormous destructive power, 

there’s really only one solution: expulsion into the Void.’ The Doctor turned to the Reliquary 

and stepped inside to tinker with its controls. ‘This cabinet is the ideal means; it was 

designed from a damaged TARDIS capable only of Void existence, so by rights it wants to 

go back there. In fact, my TARDIS is the only thing keeping it in the normal universe, so all 

it has to do dematerialise. Of course then there’s the difficulty of space, what with all that 

ancient blood, but I have managed to give this pod some semblance of dimensional 

transcendence and that should solve the problem. In theory.’ 

Sarah Jane hurried over the chamber and stuck her head through the door. 

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‘You’ve forgotten about Sutekh. What are we going to do about him’ 

The Doctor poked his head out of the darkness and met Sarah, nose to nose. 

‘You let me worry about Sutekh. Here - ‘ the Doctor handed her a note with a string 

of numbers scrawled across it. ‘Punch those into the navigational computer, hurry!’ 

Sarah Jane dashed back to the console and imported the numbers, which she 

assumed to be coordinates. Once she had finished she looked up to her friend once more. 

‘All right, they’re punched. Now what’ 

‘Turn the first switch to your right. That’ll shut down the TARDIS’ main defences. 

We need a level of plausible vulnerability.’ 

The Doctor pulled out his yo-yo and swung it between his fingers in a cat’s cradle 

formation. He moved his huge, blue eyes to hers, and blinked. 

‘Good-bye,’ he said, and he swung the yo-yo out along the length of its string to 

reach the console, roll along the panel, and pull down upon the dematerialisation switch. 

Before Sarah Jane or anyone else could react, the Doctor pulled back into the Reliquary. Its 

heavy door swung closed and clamped shut. Then the central column in the console rose 

and fell and the TARDIS began to rock and tremble, like a sinking lifeboat compressing 

beneath an ocean of pressure. Then the console began to smoke and spark; it spouted thick 

plumes of purple flame. 

‘Everyone, get back!’ the Brigadier cried as they stepped away from the ignited 

console, but they stopped in their backtracks as Benton laid his hand against one wall and 

cried out. 

‘Sir! This wall is hot. Blimey, look at the circles!’ 

The colour of the wall roundels all about the room were changing from cool blue to 

bright green, a hot, blazing tone. And then Sarah Jane cried out in horror as thick, green 

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Chris McKeon 


liquid started to bubble and churn behind the indentations. Then the fluid burst through the 

roundels nearest the Reliquary and flowed freely over the cabinet’s surface. The roundels 

along the other walls began to sizzle and scorch. 

‘Everybody out!’ the Brigadier shouted, his voice and body tense but in command. 

He turned to Sarah Jane. ‘Miss Smith, where’s the best place in this vessel to take shelter’ 

Before she could answer there was a voice from the corridor archway. It was Mike 

Yates. 

‘If you’ll allow me, sir, I know the perfect place.’ 

For only the briefest moment the Brigadier stared questioningly at his junior officer, 

but the look of absolute certainty on the young man’s face – the Mike Yates he knew he 

could count on with total assurance – convinced him. 

‘Lead the way, Lieutenant Colonel.’ 

Mike smiled and gestured for all to follow. They exited through the archway and filed 

into the corridor, but there too was the same lurid green light, the same liquid frothing 

behind the roundels, the same overpowering heat waving through the walls. 

‘Hurry,’ Mike cried, ‘the blood’s trying to poison the ship!’ 

They took to their heels and raced down the corridor. They took a left at the nearest 

junction, then two more rights. At the next intersection Mike glanced about, as if uncertain 

where to head next. 

‘It’s as if the Doctor’s changed the layout of this place since I was last in here.’ 

‘He probably has,’ Sarah Jane replied. ‘What are we looking for’ 

‘It’s a special room in the TARDIS, where nothing can reach you. I don’t know its 

name.’ 

‘What’s it look like’ 

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‘Large white door, pink and grey interior.’ 

She clapped her hands together. ‘I think I know what you mean! It’s this way!’ 

Sure enough, within a few moments they reached the door Mike had described. 

Benton and the Brigadier pulled the massive roundelled door open and the group clambered 

inside. Harry was the last through and sealed the door. Once secure, the Brigadier glanced 

about the large enclosure: there were no other doors or portals. 

‘I think we’re all safe in here for now.’ 

‘Yes, sir,’ said Benton, ‘but what about the Doctor’ 

Lethbridge-Stewart had no answer, and so said nothing. He folded his arms and 

hoped to heaven his best friend was safe. And then the lights went out - 

I don’t understand, Doctor…how could you… 

Sorry I can’t hear you. Or see you much now, for that matter. Hard to keep faux-corporeal continuity for so 

long, is it 

No! I shall maintain control. But I must know how you succeeded in transferring the primal blood from the 

outside into the Reliquary. 

Hmm Oh, just a routine exposure of the TARDIS’ dimensional boundary to normal space-time. The blood 

recognised the barrier as akin to its natural environment and followed the invisible breadcrumbs. From there, 

it could only go towards the Reliquary’s magnetic field and seep through the chamber’s outer shell. 

So you risked your ship’s safety, your friends, everything, just for the sake of the cosmos. 

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I tried to do what I simply felt was right. 

But why retreat to that cabinet Why not run away with your simpleton allies 

Because there was one loose end I had to bind, even if it killed me. 

What loose end I remember none of this, Doctor… 

Yes, but you must remember this memory now, and I’m so sorry to make you… 

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THE MEMORY OF ENEMIES 

COME ON, OLD GIRL, IT’S JUST A SHORT HOP DOWN AN ACTIVE INTERDIMENSIONAL 

volcano! The Doctor steadied himself at the Reliquary controls. The air about him was heavy 

and stifling, like a warm, dry cloth wrapped around his body. Even with the guidance of the 

magnetic fields the dimensional pressure of the primal blood was squeezing the TARDIS 

tight, making transit slow and nearly impossible, like a water droplet trying to push through a 

vat of oil. He knew the ship needed only a few more moments before it completed its 

journey into the heart of the volcano, and just a few moments more to materialise the 

Reliquary around a certain, special someone. And perhaps those will be my last few moments of life. 

Then make them your best, Doctor! 

He had made the best of the moments while the ships were in flight to protect 

himself from the coming flood of the primal blood, having constructed a large columnal 

platform high in the cabinet’s newly transdimensional space - even now he could hear the 

liquid pouring through the cabinet’s corroded external shell. The darkness, the depths, the 

distant sounds, and the steady trembling all made the Doctor suddenly feel very remote and 

distinct, like a man about to face his final reckoning. Perhaps this was his time, but he was 

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ready; he was prepared. He had known this was the only choice he could make, to face 

Sutekh once more. If it had been the Master alone he might have rallied his friends to his aid, 

but with the incalculable threat of Sutekh thrown into the already dire equation his was the 

only life he dared risk. For a moment, the Doctor honestly wondered if he would ever see 

his friends again; ever see the light of day again. He hoped so. 

Then, all at once, the Reliquary calmed. As if from across the cleft of an unplumbed 

ravine, the Doctor heard the grind of the TARDIS’ engines and the soft chime signalling the 

landing. Within moments he could feel the corrosive approach of the blood gnawing its way 

through the opened barriers of the TARDIS and permeate the Reliquary’s newly established 

multi-dimensions. The sterile white light of the chamber dimmed and then turned a lurid 

red. Emergency lighting. Good, that means I’ve hit my first target. But what of the second There was a 

faint rustle, like dry dust blowing through hollow bones. Then the voice spoke. It came from 

behind. 

‘Time Lord.’ 

The Doctor spun around. Torment exploded in his body. The Doctor screeched in 

absolute agony. He fell to the ground, writhed and twisted as the purity of pain kneaded his 

flesh, twisted his bones, shook his sinews. The voice spoke once more. 

‘Rise, termite, rise and be helpless!’ 

The Doctor felt his body not rise but be gripped with hot daggers and ripped 

upwards to dangle in the air like a hung puppet. The pressure felt like fire-white ice picks 

pressing against his eyes and twisting around his skull. But he would see his attacker. As a 

scalpel slits open flesh the Doctor unlocked his eyes and saw it standing and overbearing 

before him, the monstrous and totally restored figure of Sutekh the Destroyer. Green flames 

danced in the Osirian’s jackal eyes. 

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‘You trapped me in the corridor of eternity like a scarab in the desert storm, Time 

Lord. You dared to defy me. No creature alive deserves such delusions. My will is eternal 

and my life endless.’ 

The Doctor knew if he spoke the pain would only increase, but he could not resist 

the impish urge. 

‘Well…scarabs…are…like…cockroaches…great survivors…but terribly…ugly--- 

AHHHHHH!’ 

The pain was so intense the Doctor’s jaw shook and his tongue wiggled in his skull, 

he almost gagged. Sutekh cackled and mentally drew him close; the pain mounted with every 

encroaching inch. 

‘Now you shall at last choke upon the same death I shall rain upon the cosmos! But 

you alone, for your impudent interference, shall taste the special flavour of a personal death. 

I shall make you the workmanship of my hands.’ 

Sutekh raised his arms; his long, taloned fingers straightened into daggers. 

‘Welcome to my eternity, Time Lord!’ 

‘No,’ the Doctor whispered. 

Sutekh laughed. 

‘You wish to beg for my mercy, microbe It would be a welcome music to me as I 

destroy you.’ 

‘No.’ 

‘Yes. Beg.’ 

‘No!’ 

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Sutekh hissed with bottomless fury. His eyes burnt upon the Doctor like twin suns 

of blinding agony. What the Doctor felt his body, his mind could not describe, could not 

endure, his body bent, his head dipped. Sutekh leaned close. 

‘Shall you beg now’ 

‘NO!’ 

‘Why not Tell me why a stinking, polluted, low-bred carcass like you should not for 

the mercy of Sutekh’ 

The Doctor closed his eyes, and without a trace of fear he spoke. 

‘Because I chose long ago never to beg or bow my head to any being, especially one 

as monstrous as you! Because I am not a low-bred animal fit to be broken, I am not an insect 

to be crushed, I am not a stinking, polluted carcass to be destroyed! And here I make my 

stand!’ 

The Doctor opened his eyes and the windows of his mind shattered upon the fire of 

the Typhonian Beast’s black heart like the sharpened edges of a billions diamond knives. 

They pierced Sutekh to his core; he staggered backwards; he felt pain. His mind reeled upon 

the meaning of the moment; he screeched and howled hot rage. 

‘You cannot possibly touch me. I am Sutekh!’ 

The Doctor laughed away at the bewildered creature. ‘You’re nothing! You’re just a 

spoiled, rotten-hearted brat gorged on too much ego!’ 

Sutekh straightened and extended his hand. His long, bony fingers lanced like 

daggers towards the Doctor. 

‘I twisted your mind and held you beneath my thumb once before. How is it you can 

withstand me now’ 

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‘Well, you have only yourself to blame – the more bloated the ego the more 

motivated I am to deflate it. Or maybe I’ve learned a thing or two since I bent my mind 

against Morbius – now you and he might have actually got on: both of you are pathetic 

shadows of your earlier, equally pathetic selves.’ 

‘For your paltry act of resistance I shall enjoy prolonging your execution, Time Lord!’ 

‘Ah, I’m not an insect anymore, now, am I, Osirian I’ve shown some fight, haven’t 

I That’s something you haven’t seen since you were bound. Does it remind you of Horus, 

eh’ 

‘Do not speak that blasphemous name before me!’ 

‘Why not Horus! HORUS! He challenged you well, just as I challenge you now.’ 

‘Who are you to challenge me’ 

‘Oh, I’m nobody, nothing, just like you! But I’m somebody who’s stood up to your 

bullying, and I’m the one who’s going to tear you down once and for all. So, come on then, 

Sutekh the good-for-nothing jackanapes. Give me your best, or are you too afraid to try’ 

Sutekh howled, his body trembled in roiling anger. 

‘The only one to fear is you, Time Lord, and for your fear you shall know terror of 

the gods!’ 

‘Well very then. En garde!’ 

The Doctor and Sutekh, the Time Lord and the Osirian, faced one another. They 

stood like two sphinxes guarding the darkness of eternity. Then it began. Sutekh’s eyes 

flashed. His mental thrust rushed ahead. The Doctor caught the force with his mind; it felt 

like molten flames boiling away the skin of his mind. His thoughts screamed: It’s so strong! Too 

strong! No, it isn’t, you are, the strength is yours, use it, wield it, advance your strength, push back! He 

twisted the energy into an unbreakable lance and forced it back against its source. It smashed 

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against Sutekh’s mental parapet, splintered across the frontier. He growled and tensed his 

body; he heaved his arms forward and caught the lance, his flesh crackled and split with the 

strain, but he overcame and bent the lance, moulded it into a column of white-hot fury and 

thrust it back against the Doctor’s mind-lock. The light and fire flooded his mind, 

overflowed into his body; there was a star bursting between his hearts, boiling every ounce 

of blood, scorching every cell of his body, searing every corner of his mind, and the pain 

grew and grew and grew and Sutekh’s voice cackled in his head: 

I thank you, microbe. You have made my resurrection sweet like an ocean of blood. But now you 

shall bow before me. 

The Doctor screwed shut his eyes, set his jaw, and his thoughts burnt their reply. 

Never! I will never yield to you! 

You have no choice, Time Lord. In the end you are just an ordinary speck before me. Alone and 

lost. 

Ah, Sutekh, that’s your final mistake. For I am far more than an ordinary speck and I am never 

alone! I am the Doctor, I am a Time Lord, and time is my power, and my times are many! 

The Doctor stretched forth his hands and threw back his head. His voiced howled in 

the wind. Then from out of the wind came three lights, three faces, three men: one in 

coloured velvet and white ruffles, another in crumpled bows and baggy fabric, and the last in 

dark frocks and winged collars. The three men placed their hands upon the Doctor’s 

shoulders, their countenances shone bright, the Doctor’s image burnt with light, the four 

lights merged, became one, packed tight into one future, a single white star shining bright 

and brilliant, and with one, last, infinite lunge the Doctor hurled the star from its orbit 

towards its target – Sutekh, blinded, raised his hands to his eyes – too late! The star orb 

struck the Osirian’s face, the impact crashed deep into his brain. Sutekh’s body arched 

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backwards. He screamed into infinity, in rage, in agony, in fear. His mental energies surged 

through his eyes, burst through the irises in green gouts of flame. The skin of his face burnt 

and blackened to a crisp. He sagged and collapsed upon the ground, fell upon his face, and 

lay still. The Doctor, the lights of his other selves gone, stood above his fallen foe, his face 

cold and hard. Then he heard Sutekh whisper. 

‘It is gone. My power is gone.’ 

‘Yes. I had to do it. You are a being past words, past conscience. Only action could 

reach you. So I shattered your cerebral spiral, devastated your higher mind. Be thankful you 

still have your life.’ 

‘This is no life, not for a god!’ 

‘You’re no god, nor are you a devil. You’re not worth either extreme. You’re just a 

beast, an angry, selfish beast not fit to be remembered in life or death.’ 

‘Then snuff out my memory. Kill me. Kill me, Time Lord!’ 

‘Doctor. My name is the Doctor, and I am the one person in all of the cosmos who 

shows you compassion this day. And don’t you forget it.’ 

For a moment all was silent, save for the distant approaching rise all around of the 

primal blood. The Doctor knew it would soon reach the platform; he had to settle Sutekh 

quickly. Then the broken Osirian spoke. 

‘What happens now’ 

‘Oh, I don’t know. We could play some whist, or checkers, or arrange some suitable 

final words. I may have neglected to tell you, but we’re inside a special chamber built by my 

people; it’s storing the alien energy you used to restore yourself. In a few minutes that 

liquefied mass will flood this area. If we don’t move soon we may both die after all.’ 

‘Then…as a last act of compassion, will you help me to rise I prefer to die standing.’ 

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The Doctor hesitated. He didn’t trust Sutekh for a moment, but there was no doubt 

his attack had permanently dispersed the Osirian’s psychic abilities. From him there should 

be no further danger. The Doctor reached down and like a raging tornado Sutekh had 

gripped his wrist, spun him around, and hooked one arm around his throat. The Doctor 

scrambled for purchase upon the offending limb, then yelped in startled agony as he felt a 

sharpened knife-edge slice through his lower back. He left the razored-edge wriggle and 

gnaw within the hot wound; it was Sutekh’s hand. The Osirian breathed into the Doctor’s 

ear. 

‘You may have shattered by brain case but I have survived death itself; I will recover 

and rise again to ravage the cosmos! Until then, know that my physical functions are 

controlled by a completely separate autonomic system, and my body is as equally powerful as 

my mind. And I shall revel in feeling your body slice to ribbons beneath my fingertips.’ 

Sutekh removed his hand from the gash in the Doctor’s back. His other hand wrenched 

close upon the Doctor’s throat; the fingers were as strong as steel branches. The Doctor 

tried to suck in air; none flowed. His vision darkened, his hearing softened, but still Sutekh’s 

laughter exploded in his ears. ‘Farewell, Doctor! Now, dieeeee-aaaaAAAHHHH!’ 

The Osirian’s laughter streaked into a howling squeal of agonised frenzy. His limbs 

released the Doctor. The Time Lord fell to the ground, almost senseless but well aware of 

the blood pouring from his back and pooling beneath him. He tensed his back muscles and 

forced himself to sit up and see what was happening. Through eyes red-rimmed and hazy, he 

saw Sutekh twisting upon the ground and awash in a violent green light, as if he were 

torturing himself. And the Doctor realised the truth and looked up and saw the source of the 

new light came from the infernal eyes of the Master. He glanced upon the Doctor, but did 

not cast his torturous energy upon him. 

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‘Ah, my dear Doctor. Did you forget about me so soon’ 

‘I…I had hoped…I could.’ 

The Master laughed; there was madness in the sound. 

‘In a moment I’ll make sure you never forget me again. But first…’ 

The Master turned back to Sutekh. The light in his eyes dimmed, leaving behind a 

face sunken with shadows and blazing with hatred. 

‘Do you know who I am’ 

Sutekh tried to raise his head, but the bones on his neck cracked with the movement. 

His body stiffened with unspeakable pain. He choked out a reply. 

‘You…are…a…thieving…carcass.’ 

The light flared once more. Sutekh heaved and howled in its glare. The light 

brightened; Sutekh’s black tunic smoked and melted; his skin split and peeled away. His 

entire body quaked, quivered. His jackal-ears pressed and ground his head. His skull swung 

from side to side. He screeched a cry. 

‘Doctor…please…help me!’ 

Compelled only by instinct, the Doctor tried to rise but his back screamed with the 

sudden movement. Out of the corner of his eye the Master noticed the activity and he lifted 

his arm – the TCE was in his hand; he fired, but the damaged weapon discharged erratically 

and the Doctor leapt away to avoid its blast – too quickly; his ravaged body went into a 

spasm; he fell forward and hit struck his forehead upon the ground. While the Doctor 

struggled to rise once more, the Master, all the while pouring torture upon Sutekh, glared 

upon the withering Osirian and spoke again. His voice was a bellowing explosion. 

‘Do you know who I am!’ 

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Sutekh squealed and screeched and twisted upon the ground, like an animal caught in 

an invisible trap desperate to escape with nowhere to go. He could make no reply; his tongue 

and throat had already scorched dry; but still the Master raged. 

‘You have no answer Then I shall give it! I am you superior. I am your executioner. 

But before I sacrifice you to my glory know this: the power I have stolen from you is what 

breaks you now, but it is nothing more than a brittle breeze compared to my power, the true 

power of a Time Lord, the power of the Master!’ 

The green light surging from the Master’s eyes darkened to black. The Master 

howled in rage. Then the light ignited into a dark inferno. Awash in the black flames, 

Sutekh’s back arched and his head twisted backwards. His bones creaked and cracked like 

kindling drenched in flame. His bloody screams of agony stretched out louder and longer 

until it was one, endless wail of terror. The Doctor rose to his feet, but he knew it was too 

late. Sutekh’s eyes were smoking, flaming, melting into viscous fluid, which soon boiled to 

smoke dispersing into dust. Then his body caught fire, split in a thousand places, and 

splintered into countless bone fragments spitting sparks and wisps of flame, like a mighty 

oak struck by lightning and reduced to charcoal fragments of bleached, broken chips. The 

wail weakened to a whimper, a whisper, and then silence, save for the roaring sounds of the 

primal blood, now almost level with the platform, a sound only the Doctor seemed to notice. 

He knew he had only moments before the fluid overflowed the platform, but first he had a 

more pressing concern to face. He looked upon his archenemy. The Master looked back. His 

eyes cleared to reveal the malevolent golden-black fire windowing the deep of his soul. He 

chuckled. 

‘I feel quite liberated, Doctor, and sublimely justified.’ 

The Doctor replied in a voice grave and empty. 

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‘There’s no hope for you now.’ 

‘Oh, come, come, Doctor, why be so precipitous You are a literary man. What does 

the verse day, you must first have faith. So will you now have faith in my total mastery Will 

you at last be my servant’ 

‘I just defeated the Typhonian Beast himself, before you slaughtered him, of course. 

I would never lower my standards to serve him, and I won’t ever defile myself to serve you.’ 

The Master smirked and then began walking towards the Doctor. 

‘The thought of your final destruction outweighs any disappointment I may feel now 

in not breaking you before the end. Oh well, we all have to sacrifice something dear to us, 

don’t we Any last words’ 

‘Yes,’ the Doctor said, ‘would you like a jelly baby I’m sure a few left.’ 

The Master tensed. His eyes widened. 

‘Oh, oh, you mean final words! Yes, I have. How did you get in here’ 

‘You’re being trivial again, Doctor.’ 

‘No! Just curious, as usual. It’s my greatest weakness, as you well know.’ 

‘How else but by TARDIS’ The Master gestured behind him to a high, obsidian 

obelisk on the other side of the platform. ‘I always warned you this incarnation’s flippancy 

would be your downfall.’ 

‘Yes, I suppose,’ the Doctor remarked as he slowly circled away from the Master. 

The Master matched the movement. The Doctor kept talking. ‘That means you’ve reestablished 

your telepathic connection to the ship.’ 

‘Obviously. Will you please stand still’ 

‘But we’re in grave danger. If we leave now we can just escape.’ 

‘I have no fear of the primal blood, Doctor. It will still be my restoration.’ 

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‘Ah, so no regrets about destroying your Osirian cocoon then’ 

‘Sutekh’s power is mine now. I need no other strength.’ 

‘Yes, but don’t you see You’ve absorbed Sutekh’s might, the power of an Osirian, 

the last of a mighty race of advanced psychic prowess. Power fed to you through your 

telepathic symbiosis with your TARDIS.’ 

The Master edged towards the Doctor, ignoring his words. His hands began to 

shake. The Doctor kept speaking, his voice rising, quickening, prodding. 

‘Facts of which I am well aware.’ 

‘Yes, but don’t you understand Don’t you realise’ 

‘I will realise your death, Doctor!’ Now his entire body was shaking, his head was 

throbbing. The Doctor continued to retreat, back towards the Reliquary controls. 

‘Without Sutekh your telepathic tether is snapping, feeding back through your ship. 

You’re connected to ticking time-bomb of colossal psychic energy! What do you think that 

exploding energy will do when it reaches you’ 

The Master was seething, quivering, bristling with rage and…his body jerked. 

Heaved. Quaked. The Master to raise his hand to shoot at the Doctor, his arm would not 

move. His hand clenched so tight the TCE shattered between his fingers. The Master’s eyes 

widened, bulged, expanded. His jaw pressed upwards and his lungs squeezed. His throat 

tightened upon a rising cry of pain, of torture, of excruciating torment as blood gushed out 

his ears, nose, and mouth and his eyes glowed with flames of green, then white, then finally 

black until in a final, terrible, moment a bursting scream flung out of his split-wide lips and 

with a final, terrible explosion the Master’s body detonated. An inferno of black flames 

spread upon him, outwards to envelop him, inwards to consume him. The fire raged so hot 

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Chris McKeon 


and dark it drove the Doctor backwards and nearly blinded his sight, but I have to see, I must 

see… 

Then the tide of the primal blood reached the platform; the liquid cascaded over the 

plateau’s edge. The Doctor flung himself forward, just missing the corrosive fluid; where he 

had stood was melting with searing flame. Flames were all around him, rising, crackling, 

popping, burning just like before! It’s all ending in fire – stop. Get out of here. The Doctor pushed 

up from the ground, wincing as the flesh Sutekh had slit open stretched too far. Fresh blood 

poured from the wound. It’ll heal soon. But first get to the controls, cast this cabinet into the Void, and 

see if you can escape to the TARDIS in time. Sounds difficult. It’s probably impossible. So is doing nothing 

and something at once. 

The Doctor stood upon unsteady feet. The Reliquary controls were just ahead of 

him. Some of the blood had washed over the terminal. There was a haze of smoke and the 

stench of melted plastic and metal. Were the controls still active Yes, just enough. The 

Doctor punched a series of buttons and initiated a delayed dematerialisation sequence. He 

had only a few moments before the dying, transcendent pocket dimension cast itself into 

eternal emptiness. He pressed a final button; the exit hatchway swung open. Then the 

Doctor heard a sound from behind him, a terrible, spiteful, hissing growl as if from some 

great demon from an ancient pit. He turned around, saw the source. It was the Master, 

nearly consumed in a haze of billowing smoke, waving walls of fire, and the surging tide of 

acidic blood. But his face… 

The Master fixed upon the Doctor with blackened eyes. Slowly he lifted an arm, 

jabbed a rotted finger, and spoke. The Doctor forever after remembered the words. 

‘I hate you, Doctor.’ 

The Doctor answered with his voice sad and soft. 

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‘I know.’ 

Then the Doctor leapt through the open doorway. It sealed shut, its light to the 

outside extinguished. Then with a cacophonic shatter the platform disintegrated and the 

Master rose into the air, hung suspended in a moment of balance, and then dropped into the 

molten inferno, screaming into the depths… 

Is it the end, Doctor What happened to… 

To you other self It’s not a pleasant memory for me. Nor should it be for you, but clearly you’ve forgotten. 

How How can I, a… 

Time Lord 

Yes, a Time Lord! How can I forget my own nature 

Oh, it’s very simple. You’ve been attempting to use the Matrix Remembrance of my TARDIS to recall the 

events we’ve been reviewing in the frankly impossible hope of somehow using my ship to alter the flow of our 

personal history. But you never learn, do you To change history takes tremendous power, even for a Time 

Lord. And just as you were then, you’re not quite the Time Lord you used to be. You overestimated yourself. 

What…what…what… 

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That’s three whats in one sentence, which means I need to be quick. You’ve become lost in the memory, 

Master. You’ve forgotten who and where you are. And you’ve also become so deluded to your own strength 

that you’ve chosen the worst memory to recall. 

Why 

We are in a psychic field capable of recreating memories down the most exact detail! And your ancestor was 

caught up in a psychic maelstrom of all-consuming destruction. What do you think that re-created maelstrom 

will do to you now 

It…it…it is coming. Coming again! I feel it! No, no, NO! 

(The Master covers his eyes and disappears.) 

For once he’s rather sensible. 

(The Doctor closes his eyes and departs.) 

(All is silent as the past rests. But in the present…) 

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THE FINAL MEMORY 

THE TARDIS CONSOLE ROOM, 690 YEARS AFTER 

GALLIFREYIAN MEAN-TIME 

EXPULSION, RELATIVE TIME: 9TH JANUARY 2008 

‘DOCTOR DOCTOR, WAKE UP!’ 

‘Sarah Jane No…’ he whispered, as he felt for his scarf and touched his cravat. The 

Doctor opened his eyes and saw Mel crouched over him. 

‘Oh, thank heavens you’re all right. What happened’ 

What happened The Doctor remembered. He leapt to his feet and tugged at the door 

handle. He was racing towards the doorway before they had opened all the way; Mel herself 

barely slipped her very trim body through the space between the doors. Outside, the Doctor 

answered Mel’s question as he pulled open Benton’s barn door. 

‘It’s the Master, Mel. He must have found us at this spatial-temporal location when 

he had access to the Matrix during my Trial. Somehow he infiltrated the TARDIS and tried 

to change my history by forcing me to re-live past memories. But he couldn’t handle the 

psychic stress and had to withdraw his mind from the telepathic circuitry.’ 

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Mel struggled to keep up as the Doctor raced around Hilsey Halt towards the rose 

gardens in the backyard. She called out. 

‘And that’s good, isn’t it’ 

‘Of course!’ 

‘Then why are we running’ 

‘Because I know the Master and if his main plan has failed then he’ll have invested in 

some insurance against me.’ The Doctor raced to the edge of a pool in the middle of the 

gardens. Mel needed no explanation for why the Doctor had chosen to visit this spot: even 

in the freezing air, the pool’s water was unfrozen. The Doctor continued to explain: ‘And 

that type of insurance usually involves hostages! Come on then, into the breach!’ The Doctor 

jumped into the pool. Mel followed… 

…and emerged into the dark, shadow-stained, obsidian-walled Console Room of the 

Master’s TARDIS. The console’s central column was flashing with cobalt-blue light. The 

cylinder was rising and falling and there was a strange, off-toned buzzing the room. The 

black velvet figure of the Master was sprawled upon the ink-black console. His body was 

fazing in and out of sight. The Doctor hurried over to him to check his foe’s condition. A 

shift of soft light caught Mel’s attention and along one wall she saw the Brigadier and Sarah 

Jane both standing motionless in a transparent cylinder. Inside the cell and around their 

bodies a strange, diffuse shadow undulated and churned. The Doctor called out. 

‘Mel, they’re trapped in a limbo atrophier! Just pull open the doors; it should break 

the vacuum.’ 

Mel did as instructed and within moments she, Sarah Jane, and Sir Alistair were 

gathered near the Doctor, who was still standing over the Master. The Doctor explained to 

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them what he had experienced inside his TARDIS’ Remembrance and guessed at what was 

happening now. 

‘In the past the release of Sutekh’s power caused a feedback which consumed the 

Master. By recalling that moment he re-created an echo of the energy consumption.’ 

‘But why is he disappearing’ the Brigadier asked. 

‘Clearly the Master was attacking me through an interface between our two 

TARDISes, but – and it’s a long story so don’t ask – this TARDIS is not the same ship he 

was using relative to 1976, and so it can’t recognise the psychic echo as a familiar part of its 

history.’ 

‘I get it!’ Sarah Jane interjected. ‘It’s like a bad transplant – the ship is rejecting what 

it sees as a foreign organism.’ 

‘Yes, and the Master is caught up in the expulsion. But come on; let’s go before he 

notices -’ 

‘Too late, Doctor.’ 

The Master had arisen and was covering them all with his TCE. Even as his body 

shimmered and unfocused, he chuckled. 

‘Even if I am cast into the Vortex, at least I shall see you all die.’ Suddenly the 

Brigadier spoke. 

‘You know, every time I see you again you’re every bit as insufferable as before. So 

let’s make this the last time!’ 

The Master exclaimed in surprise as the Brigadier lunged forward and crashed into 

him; the Time Lord had never expected a man of Lethbridge-Stewart’s advancing age to 

charge him. The two men fell back upon the console. 

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‘Ever reliable, Brigadier!’ the Doctor shouted before he leapt to the side, narrowly 

avoided a stray energy beam from the TCE. Then both Mel and Sarah Jane had grabbed the 

Master’s hand and, with the Brigadier’s lending a strong hand upon the Master’s wrist, they 

pried the weapon from his grip. The two women glanced at each other for a moment, 

nodded, and together fired the weapon at the console. The Master shouted in rage and 

horror as the central column smoked and sparked. Then he barked in pain as his body faded 

so far gone he slipped through Lethbridge-Stewart’s arms. The Doctor and the Brigadier 

gathered Mel and Sarah Jane and they backed away from the console. The Master returned 

into view and scrabbled at the controls, muttering: ‘Must it always be the women…’ Then 

the Time Lord howled once more and faded completely view in a swirl of fiery colours and 

winds. The TARDIS’ engines began to rumble and stutter like a metallic monster grinding its 

gears to chunky shreds. The Doctor shouted. 

‘Everyone outside, now!’ 

The four hurried through the open doorway and clambered up through of the fauxwater 

surface. Barely moments later the Master’s TARDIS shook and rumbled in the 

ground, before disappearing in a bright flash of lightning and a clap of thunder, leaving 

behind an ordinary garden pool frozen over in the winter air. Mel asked: 

‘Is the Master dead’ 

‘I very much doubt it,’ the Doctor replied. ‘But wherever he’s been sent to I doubt 

even more he’ll like it. TARDIS expulsion systems aren’t known for their sympathetic 

disembarkations. Still, he’ll survive. He always does.’ The Doctor glanced at his female 

companions. ‘His ship won’t fare much better, I imagine, thanks to your joint efforts of 

impromptu sabotage.’ Sarah Jane smiled. 

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‘You know what life in the TARDIS teaches us, Doctor: Action counts in the 

moment it comes, especially against the Master.’ 

‘Quite right,’ the Doctor beamed. The Brigadier cleared his throat. 

‘Yes, well, I think we’ve all had quite enough nostalgia for one day. Moreover, we are 

still guests in Mr. Benton’s home. Shall we return’ 

The Doctor gestured cheerfully towards Hilsey Halt. ‘Lead the way, my good man!’ 

As the foursome returned towards the home through the crisp, cool air, the Doctor 

felt the warmth of knowing he had the joy of remembering many happy returns with his 

friends, even as he remembered one particular reunion… 

INSIDE THE TARDIS, 514 YEARS AFTER GALLIFREYIAN MEAN-TIME EXPULSION, 

WHERE ZEROES HAVE PLACE AND SPACE 

They had been hiding in the darkness for what seemed an immeasurable moment when the 

lights brightened and great door swung open. In strode the Doctor, as nonchalant as if he 

were searching for a pair of boots. He noticed his friends. They all - except Yates, who 

remained seated against the wall - stood and greeted him with a chorus of questions and a 

shower of gratitude. The Doctor blinked frowned. 

‘Do you realise how much damage there is to the Console Room It’ll take me ages 

to repair it. I may have to find another means to pilot the ship. And another thing, collective 

outbursts and emotions are often a sign of mass hysteria. Plenty of rest and relaxation is the 

best remedy.’ The Doctor turned and stared at Yates. Benton noticed the scrutiny. 

‘He’s been that way since we got in here, Doctor.’ 

‘What’s wrong with him’ 

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Harry answered. 

‘It’s difficult to say, old boy. He showed us this place and then he just sort of 

dropped into this trance. I can’t say I know what to make of it.’ 

‘Well, he has been through a hefty bundle of mental stress and mind trauma over the 

past few years, and this most recent excursion certainly hasn’t helped to steady him. There 

may be some lingering effects on his memory: short-terms losses, that sort of thing.’ The 

Doctor turned to Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘If I were you, Alistair, I’d suggest to the Lieutenant 

Colonel an extended leave of absence to sort out his problems. Maybe try a psychologist! 

Now there’s an idea! We could all go on holiday to Vienna in the nineteenth century!’ 

‘As much as that sounds appealing, Doctor, we have much to attend in our time, the 

displaced South Bend personnel for a start. Assuming they’ve been cured of their Primordial 

ills, of course.’ 

‘Oh, of course, they have Brigadier! But you needn’t worry about that; I’ve already 

contacted our Reptilian Duality friends to ferry those people back to UNIT Command - but 

don’t worry! They know to be discreet.’ The Doctor leaned close to the Brigadier and spoke 

in his ear, but loud enough so all could hear. ‘You realise Ichtar and Decrix are hoping to 

open peaceful communications with your lot. You may have a new era of peace and 

advancement on your hands. What do you say’ 

The Brigadier smiled. ‘I think that holiday is sounding rather appealing, Doctor.’ 

The Doctor cracked a vast grin and he gestured towards the doorway. Benton and 

Harry helped Yates to his feet, and the three friends exited first. The Doctor, the Brigadier, 

and Sarah Jane followed. A short time later they were back in the Console Room. The 

roundels were burnt through and gaping; the white walls were singed and blackened with 

streaks of soot; the floor was melted and warped; and the console was strewn with tangles of 

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wires streaming from blown-out panels. As the Doctor grumbled something about 

regenerating architectural mass and carefully handled the few un-fused buttons and switches, 

Sarah Jane stood beside him. 

‘Aren’t we going to do something about Dagon, Doctor I mean, you said his 

remains are still there beneath Atlantis.’ 

‘Well, with the piping system dissolved and Dagon’s blood has dispersed into the 

Void, so there’s really the remains are just that now. If they were ever even there.’ 

‘And the Master Should we ask the Reptiles to be on the lookout for him In his 

condition he can’t have got from Atlantis yet.’ 

The Doctor continued to hunch over the console when she asked the question, but 

Sarah Jane was almost certain he seemed to sigh for a moment. When he spoke, there was a 

strange quality to his voice, as if he were feeling some powerful emotion but was unsure of 

what it was. 

‘The Master…is no longer our concern. So we can put any thoughts about him to 

pasture. So let’s find some brighter horizons!’ 

As his friends each wondered if and exactly when they would actually reach their 

destination, the Doctor pulled the dematerialisation lever and the TARDIS, carrying the best 

of friends, spun off into the bright, cleansed light of time and space. 

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THE DYING MEMORY 

THERE WAS A HAZE OF SCREAMS DESCENDING ALL AROUND HIM. AFTER A GREAT LENgth 

of unending moments he realised the screams were his own. All he could do was scream, 

writhe, shake, howl, convulse, shudder, gnash, screech, moan. All else was pain, pure and 

uncomplicated torment. The torture filled him, penetrated his awareness, maintained his 

consciousness, awakened his memory. He remembers falling into the molten cauldron. He 

remembers the obsidian obelisk falling above him. He remembers reaching out to touch the 

darkness. He remembers the explosion within his body. He remembers the choice he 

made… 

The Master stands upon the shoreline. His recalled TARDIS sits ready and open beside him. He 

looks up and sees the stars shimmering through the soupy clouds above him; he looks down and sees the pit 

brimming with darkness gape wide below him. There is an escape in the stars; there is the Doctor in the pit. 

The clouds above cover the stars; their light wink out. The Master enters his TARDIS and descends. 

Later, locked in the grip of agony upon the floor of his Ship, the Master forced his mind 

through the crushing grasp of physical weakness and cursed the Doctor’s name and knew 

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that even if he had known the consequences of his choice he would still have chosen the 

darkness of the pit. He would always choose the darkness if only to see the Doctor die. And 

now there will be no more plots, no more schemes, no more feints, Doctor! The next time we meet will be the 

last offence! The next time I see you, even if I die, you will fall before me! For my hate, I swear it! 

He pulled back his lips. Cool, wet blood flowed black into his throat, upon his 

tongue. Quick breath passed through his mouth. His chest rose and fell in rapid jerks. His 

eyes stared above, wide and unblinking. His thoughts licked fire through his raw mind. 

For hate, Doctor! For hate! For – 

‘HATE! Doctor -’ 

Then his voice broke and collapsed. His breath stopped. His hearts paused. His 

blood chilled. His mind ceased. Something rustled within him, then silenced. All was quiet 

and still, except for the Master’s blood, flowing free through his open wounds. 

THE HISTORY OF THE DOCTOR 

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Doctor Who: The Wounded Earth - The History of the Doctor

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