Trap of the Toymaker: Prologue
TRAP OF THE TOYMAKER: Prologue
“It all began with a Bang.”
The Second Doctor's observation in THE MIND ROBBER novelisation, Peter Ling.
He was very old, and very wise.
But not kind.
Eternity is not kind.
Eternity is boring.
Perhaps someday this would end...somehow. There was no choice but to wait...so he waited, passing his time in small games, willing to to extend any gesture for a scrap of amusement.
There were so few of them left; this newer Universe still trembled from the mathematical aftershocks of its creation-what humans would later call a Big Bang. It was bigger than their old Universe, and rawer, full of energy...but ultimately strange to their powers; it was difficult to adapt and re-learn these boring and limited laws of physicality and reality. A tougher Universe, much less cerebral. He was reluctantly resigned to the fact that the mind was not as purely admired here.
Strange, that matter and mind would battle so often on equal terms.
He grudgingly accepted his imprisonment inside this more rigid and inflexible Universe.
He tried to amuse himself at first-one can only see the same galaxies and dimensional planes so many times before you've seen them all. After millions of years of using his powers wisely, using them unwisely, and finally doing whatever he wanted...there was no point in doing anything with more than a selfish purpose. Suns were born only to die; wormholes erupted like so many spatial lesions, pulling matter from one Universe into another. Energy and matter continued their bizarre little dance, spinning quantum chatter in a never ending cycle. After a few hundred billion years, it was all pointlessly monotonous.
A few distractions blundered into his view; they were frail and short-lived, capable of getting his attention once or twice, but even when they did earn his gaze they were already dying. Pitiable, really, if he was capable of that emotion. Simply pitiable. And yet they were better than nothing. It did bother him that they possessed such brief, bright flames because if they could only live longer, they might be worthy of keeping around. Less common were the encounters with the non-living forms of intelligence. They had all the personality of a mirror. A two-dimensional one.
The only other option for his distraction was the company of his own people.
That was not really an option. They were the survivors; the few and the proud. The company of their ownselves was more painful than anything else because it reminded them of the past now lost.
Once in a while they would congregate, but eventually they would all wander away, seeking their own amusements for something, somewhere. Petty amusements, perhaps, but they were really the only constant, the only reliable thing they could do with their powers. Why aspire any further than the simple methods by which one... “killed time?” It all ended the same way. The White and Black Guardians could moralize at great length over their own importance in the scheme of the Universal Designs, but the others were less delusional about getting involved with things just for the sake of it.
White and Black...pfah, the embodiments of “good” and “evil?” “order” and “chaos?” More like “Boredom” and “Pontification!” By that logic, he was the Guardian of Truth just because his Art was illusion and trickery!
Embarrassing, how some otherwise intelligent minds could lie to themselves.
He gave up almost all contact with the others after the Fourth Epoch. His sister was the only one worth the occasional visit or the friendly quarrel. They even shared the thrill of playing games with the brief-lived and lesser beings...but that was a relishment reserved for the rarest of moments; they each hated to lose.
He poked about a bit with his toymaking, ever fascinated that his only limits were in his mind and that for all his omniscence, his imagination was limited. There was little “what if?” for a Celestial. He experimented out of the slim hope that he might create something different. Eventually he got to the point where he could preserve a few of the mortal distractions if they proved worthy of his attention. When he grew too bored he simply un-froze them for a few moments' diversion before setting them back on their respective shelves.
Nothing lasts forever.
Not enemies, not friends, not lovers.
There was not even the comfort of oblivion, or the partial amnesia of reincarnation and regeneration in other species. Just a relentless, unstoppable immortality in which everything faded. He knew; he'd tried and exhausted those possibilities long, long ago...back when he thought there might be something to his existence besides making toys.
But some things did not fade with time...or with power.
He knew because he had watched it happen.
Those he Kept never faded.
They remained.
And it took them a long, long time to crumble.
That eased the weight of immortal solitude by a small fraction, but it meant a lot.
What he needed was something...someone worth keeping around.
Not another Celestial; they were too much alike, too trapped in their patterns. He wanted someone different.
Someone...interesting.
Yes. That was it.
It would take time.
He could wait.
He could wait for something better...the right opponent.
It was his first new thought in several million years.
How very exciting.
Scarce had he come to this conclusion, when the opportunity came to test it personally.
It came in the form of the accidental collision of his mind against another mind-an interesting mind! One that had quite the Celestial-grade streak of ruthlessness within its machinations and motivations. That level of ruthlessness amused the Toymaker; it was rooted in a fiery hunger as deep as his people's capacity for ennui.
And this mind was proposing an alliance..? And in the Language of Reality, no less!
From amusing to hysterical, he indulged in the first laughter of Aeons...but then the possibilities sank in.
Well. This was a change of pace; something that would alleviate his boredom, and wasn't he tired of being bored?
And if he did this...he would in effect be creating a very interesting toy. One unique to his vast experience.
He thought about collecting this interloper anyway, but if he did it would be just a repeat of the same tired old patterns...he wanted to see something new. He wouldn't see this new train of thought to its final conclusion if he eliminated this up-and-coming being... And it had been so long since he'd had any new thought!
That mind was a cunning one, sculpted into the lines of its own people, the first sentient species in this Universe. The Toymaker vaguely recalled their evolution from a more primitive form and reptilian brain into something more temporal (that was what long-term exposure to too much Time did to you; it didn't take more than a few million years to believe you were superior to all else).
Very well, this was admittedly a clever brain clad in the flesh of his species and molded into Science as opposed to his race's traditional devotion to Magic. The Toymaker watched unseen, smiling as he noted how this race was splitting off from its main trunk into divergent choices for reality. Magic versus Science...one of the other and not both? Their own loss, but for the Celestials' betterment, not the Time Lords' as they were now calling themselves. Magic was the only even playing field in the game with Celestials. They'd crossed paths with the Pythia enough to know and support the sudden reliance on the arrogance of science.
Oh, but this was a clever supplicant. He was promising him an even better mind than his own-one of unique cleverness and beauty! One that would provide endless diversion and entertainment! A perfect toy, capable of living forever-one that would not die barring accidents! One to whom nature designed with the need to solve puzzles; to cherish the unknown but still fall prey to the compulsion to explore and examine! Build a trap-this being would come willingly!
All that mind needed was a good and proper trap to get its attention.
It needed a distraction.
A game.
A very special toy.
He agreed to the Contract with the unseemly haste of a few centuries of deliberation. And hungrily threw himself into his side of the Covenant. It was a creation of cleverness and beauty; something worthy. It was more than a trap; it was an entire dimension. One had to do more than just walk into the trap; one had to survive it past the multiple levels and layers of challenge in order to go deeper and deeper into the challenge.
And at the center of the Trap would be the ultimate prize.
And then...it was just a matter of waiting.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Time passed; aeons flowed, a few matters came and went...the Toymaker put matters aside for a bit; he did have some responsibilities as a Celestial and they required his focus...and then without warning, a shock.
The mind promised him was not neatly snared in the Toy he'd created, but here was another one, identical to the description...accidentally wandering into his home space!
It took a few aptoseconds to suss out the details: his skillful Trap had never been sprung-not for its intended victim though it was still there and still waiting. A small but significant matter of timing had created an entirely new issue.
Well! To think that after all that fuss, the answer to his long aeons of boredom had emerged in the form of a callow youth calling itself The Doctor.
The encounter did not end well; the being was innocent and raw and frightened despite the lofty goals behind his self-appointed name-and the Toymaker, as he was now known throughout the Universes, was clumsy in haste; that worked against him.
He was furious that the quarry escaped, but again, had reason to wait. The Language of Reality had spoken. Eventually he WOULD get his player.
He had been promised. Not even a Celestial can defy a contract written in the Language of Reality.
But if, he thought, the Doctor could be compelled to play the Original Game...he would be completely in his power. That would be a worthy game in itself, to trick the youth into falling into a trap specifically designed for his ilk.
Time passes no swifter for the immortal. He waited hundreds of years, but finally the youth drew close enough for his latest trap. The Toymaker was astonished at the differences in such a brief time-less than four hundred years! Living on the run as a fugitive from his own people, he had paid the price for his freedom with his body.
Sometimes he forgot how these beings needed each other. Here was the proof before him, stripped away from the medicines and assistance his species could give him, the Doctor had changed for the worse. The Toymaker tutted at the image before him. He was now elderly and frail, his mortal form astonishingly worn down with the strain of a dissolute lifestyle and a perplexing (if refreshingly comedic) new attachment to lesser beings. But he was still the same, insatiably curious mind, the same little clown-moreso in his human garb. And just as the Toymaker had hoped, that mind had improved with time. He was so gratifyingly sharp and skilled it was all he could to do hide his excitement.
But again...escape. And this time it was through a bizarre concept of thinking outside the rules. The Doctor had finished the Game...but in a way that preserved all of their lives.
Through the tantrum that followed the destruction of his world, the Toymaker reluctantly found new resolution. He had proof the Doctor was a capable foe-truly the only one. He could think past the regimented rules and fight for himself. Strangely, he seemed to do his best thinking when he was pressed the hardest. But still...a flawed model with his age and infirmity. Perhaps a little more waiting would be to his advantage?
There was the small matter of The Contract written in the language of reality.
Surprisingly, he did not have to wait long to get news of the Doctor again. This time it was from his sister, and a very enraged sister she was. It would take her a long time to rebuild her powers after the Doctor's dolorous stroke against her games.
The Doctor had changed form, as the Toymaker had suspected. Into something more...appropriate. The old clown had become a young clown-and with an appropriately darker and more cunning slant to his mind. The old Doctor would have ran. This Doctor ran after he evened his score against Hecuba.
He studied this new Doctor on his screens, taking in the fresh details, chuckling with amusement to see his opponent still retained his hard-earned wisdom. But this Doctor was tantalizingly different. It was younger, suppler, capable of living much longer than the last body. The Toymaker watched, intrigued. This Doctor was even more attached to lesser beings than ever before...but paradoxically more warlike. He had traded his cool detachment for the heat of experience.
And he played games.
He played them like a Master.
With what passed for his heart pounding in his chest, the Toymaker watched with rising glee as the little clown turned tables after tables upon his opponents. Seemingly harmless and innocuous, foolish and plebeian, he was truly a clever one-a trickster worthy of the old fables. Daleks fell before his trickery. He beckoned Cybermen to come and kill him with wide-eyed innocence and thanked them for assessing his intellect with gracious manners. He made mistakes-some astounding ones-when his burning need to KNOW overwhelmed his good sense...and when his childish optimism proved stronger than caution.
The Toymaker watched, scrolling back from the beginning, studying this old and new foe. He was terribly amused to watch him grow out of the hesitancy and fears of his old form, and slowly adapt to new thoughts...new courage.
Oh, this one was clever. But so, so curious. Not that the Toymaker blamed him for that indulgence-he understood indulgences! Time Lords were normally such boring people. So full of themselves...they were a planet wrapped in self-importances; as interesting as Black and White's endless moralizing. Naturally the Doctor would break free from their stifling molds. Who wouldn't? But heedy though he was with his freedom, he was also terrified of it. He played and explored, but he never held still for long-restless, changeable, and running.
This Doctor was reassuringly childlike and boisterous, capable of play more than the old one; erratic... and quite destructive, really. There was something flawed about this model, and that flaw intrigued the Toymaker. This could be very interesting.
His waiting would soon be over.
All the Toymaker had to do was follow the rules of the Contract, and make sure this time he didn't lose.
To that end, he had to change a few things.
He had to...reinvent some of his old games.
And he had to come up with new toys.
Hidden ones.
An interesting problem.
A diversion.
And then, in the midst of plotting out his latest toys, the Toymaker was startled anew:
The Doctor was drawing near.
How unexpected. Obviously he didn't know the dangers.
The Celestial hastily put away his projects and devoted his attention to watching.
This portion of Normal Space was not known for its travelers.
Why, then, was the Doctor coming here?
This was worth some observation...