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

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Chris McKeon<br />

DOCTOR WHO: THE WOUNDED EARTH<br />

‘He’s not dead. He can’t have died.’<br />

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

life without <strong>the</strong> <strong>Doctor</strong>, <strong>the</strong>n who am I to deny you joining him in death’<br />

<strong>The</strong> Master inhaled sharply. <strong>The</strong>n upon <strong>the</strong> screen his eyes glowed with light once more. Immediately<br />

<strong>the</strong> seeker’s trembled; its instruments caught fire and burst open, spilling conductive fluids and cabling across<br />

<strong>the</strong> command deck. <strong>The</strong> Master cackled with demonic glee, before <strong>the</strong> glow <strong>of</strong> his eyes darkened and <strong>the</strong> Time<br />

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

his extreme distress, <strong>the</strong> Master still managed a final, bitter parting.<br />

‘Farewell, my favourite primitives.’<br />

And <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong> seeker shook with apocalyptic throwing all within to <strong>the</strong> ground amongst soot, ash,<br />

and debris as <strong>the</strong> inner hull buckled and burst open and <strong>the</strong> unnaturally boiling waters <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Antarctic<br />

poured into <strong>the</strong> breach. Sarah Jane ran against <strong>the</strong> onslaught; she slipped on <strong>the</strong> slick stone floor and crashed<br />

upon <strong>the</strong> ground. She chocked on <strong>the</strong> rising water; she had no breath…<br />

In years to come, <strong>the</strong>re were few things Sarah Jane Smith would remember <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> frantic moments which<br />

followed <strong>the</strong> Master’s attack and her submersion in <strong>the</strong> flood. She would not remember <strong>the</strong> Brigadier’s strong<br />

hands lifting her from <strong>the</strong> ground, nor his impassioned calls to any who could hear to follow him to safety. She<br />

found she could not recall being carried down corridors <strong>of</strong> twisted metal and sparking flames, nor being<br />

bundled into an escape craft by Benton and Yates mere moments before <strong>the</strong> seeker’s engines imploded to force<br />

a massive detonation. And she would recollect nothing <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> pod’s desperate flight across endless depths <strong>of</strong><br />

water seething with green poison beneath a land chocked with fire, smoke, and rivers <strong>of</strong> blood. For years to<br />

come, <strong>the</strong> only things Sarah Jane Smith would remember <strong>of</strong> her darkest day were <strong>the</strong> merciless sensations <strong>of</strong><br />

numbing loneliness and crushing fear…<br />

PAGE 46

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