Communication 4
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG
Pairing: Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: The Doctor is trying to be helpful. The Master doesn't really appreciate it.
Because the Master had no ID-card and no money, the doors of busses and trains wouldn’t open to him and he had to walk into the city. He could have stopped a car and murdered the driver but it would have caused more trouble than he needed right now. It wasn’t even that far to walk, bun unfortunately his condition wasn’t exactly perfect yet and so he needed to take a break far more often than he would have liked.
Night fell while he slowly made his way to the tall buildings he could see in the distance. The view to the building that was his goal was blocked but he knew exactly where it was. He remembered it, because he’d been close to it so many times in the lives that didn’t happen.
He just hoped that these fake memories would fade once normality was restored. Some of them were just plain embarrassing.
The darkness didn’t last long. The nights were short here and after only three hours the sun rose again. When the Master finally reached the centre of the city he was exhausted and tired and in the light of the morning sun the city just came to life. He rested for a while in a park and then went in search of something to eat. Somehow, because he was brilliant, he managed to charm a passing woman into buying him a burger and the ice-cream he’d carved for a week. She gave him her address and his smile for her got even brighter when he realised that she probably wasn’t even alive in the reality he was about to restore.
If his memory didn’t trick him, the entire centre of the city had been destroyed in the war. All these buildings had been destroyed, which meant that the people manipulating history in one of them would have had to start somewhere else. It didn’t actually matter. Now the building was there, intact and annoyingly high. Somewhere in there the Doctor was waiting to be saved by him. The Master scowled at the thought. Well, at least the Doctor was in there. Somewhere. And the Master was about to save him. Weather he wanted it or not.
The problem was the ‘somewhere’. He could hardly go in there and ask for the way. And when he just looked everywhere he’d probably get arrested in a matter of minutes.
Besides, he was tired and there were so many storeys!
Just when he reconsidered the go-and-ask option, the electronic double-doors of the office-building slid open and two men stepped into the street. The Master stared. One of them was wearing the most ridiculous jacket he had ever seen. And he had seen it before: A colourful patchwork-coat that looked even more idiotic on that man than it had on the Doctor.
Okay. Sixth storey then. The Master could only guess how much strength it must have cost his favourite enemy to change the realities he’d been forced to create in the subtle ways that lead him here - the photo on the cupboard, all the stupid memories circling around this place and the simple fact that one man who worked in that building owned a coat like that and had chosen to wear it this day. Now the Master could only hope that the Doctor would continue to help him. An arrow with the words ‘This way’ would be nice, but he also wouldn’t complain about a few weapons dropping from the sky.
He crossed the street and entered the building without getting hit by anything helpful. So much for that.
There was a man standing in the entrance hall, but he ignored the Master, and the Master, in return, didn’t pay much attention to him. This was the base of the enemy, the people who now ruled the world, but it was pretending to be a normal office building, which made it a secret base. A secret base on the sixth floor. The Master found an elevator and entered it. He was greeted by his reflection staring back at him from three full length mirrors that covered every wall save the door and a control panel. Beside it was a small keypad in which a code could be entered if it was needed - and known. The Master was in no way surprised that the access to the sixth floor was code-locked. That didn’t help. A screwdriver of any kind might have helped but he must have lost his at some point, or they’d taken it from him while he was unconscious.
The latter was more likely. He should have burned down the house after all.
But even if he had he’d still stand here without knowing the code.
Now would be a good time for another hint, Doctor! The code, written all over those mirrors, for example, would be very helpful.
He looked at the mirrors very carefully. His reflection was staring back at him.
The doors opened and another person entered. Pressed the button to the eight floor and they went up in uncomfortable silence. Maybe this was the hint the Master had been waiting for. He looked the man up and down. Got out of the elevator at the eight floor, annoyed a lot of office workers by running around and inspecting their desks. Got back into the elevator and wondered if maybe he had to wait a bit longer and enter the numbers of the floors other people went to.
There were no numbers to be entered in the keypad.
His reflection was staring back at him.
It was starting to get on his nerves.
“Do something useful for once, you stupid moron!” he said to the empty elevator. “I’m trying to help you here!”
Nothing happened. His reflection was staring back at him.
The Master stared back. Looked at the keypad. Looked at his reflection.
And groaned.
“Sentimental old fool,” he muttered and raised his hand to enter the code. Then he dropped his hand again, because he needed a few moments to think.
The spoken language of this world was simple enough, but the system of characters used for writing was a pain. Especially when transferring words from other languages.
They used a system of characters that represented syllables. These syllables had to be generated from a number of symbols when it came to electronic writing because there were too damn many syllables to fit on such a small keypad.
The Master thought it over carefully. In this language there where no naked syllables. In fact, every syllable had an onset, a nucleus and a coda. Never more than three sounds, never less. The problem was that unlike most languages not only vowels could serve as nucleus, but also liquids, glides and in some cases even nasals. Only plosives and fricatives could serve as onset and coda, nothing else. It made the task he was facing somewhat difficult.
The syllable ‘mas’ wouldn’t work, because of the nasal at the beginning. So he had to pack that one between the plosives that were used as silent sounds when writing foreign words - written but not actually meant to be spoken, similar to the ‘u’ in Japanese and the ‘cky’ in Sakkarczy, which was only spoken by a small tribe of little blue men on the Planet Hakke.
He raised his hand again, pressed the button for the sixth floor and a light on the keypad began to blink. He had one try, if he got it wrong an alarm would sound. Maybe that would be better - at least it would finally give him something to slaughter. Except he had no weapon and they would probably outnumber him.
Better get it right then. He searched for the right symbols for the syllable ‘cmc’, then stopped again. One try.
His reflection was staring back at him. The mirrors where ever so slightly tipped forward, making him look a bit smaller than he was.
The Master groaned again. The Doctor had always been sentimental, but now he was overdoing it!
He studied the keypad again, looking for the right symbols for ‘kos’.
-
The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the Master got out to be greeted by a very confused man passing by.
“What are you doing here?” the man asked and the Master smiled and said “I’ve come to pick up a friend”, before breaking his neck. Probably not what the Doctor had in mind, but the Master didn’t intend to be considerate of his sense of morals.
The world changed again and this time he could feel the process, felt the struggle of the old reality and for one second he felt dizzy. The Doctor had hardly any strength left. The moment he gave up and died all this would collapse, setting in motion the chain reaction that would destroy the universe.
The Master didn’t care much about the universe. He sped up his steps, not really knowing where to go.
One minute later he faced a lot of people with guns.
He sighed, annoyed with himself for what he was about to do next.
“Take me to your leader,” he said.
-tbc
August 27, 2007
NEXT
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Rating: PG
Pairing: Master/Doctor (10)
Summary: The Doctor is trying to be helpful. The Master doesn't really appreciate it.
Because the Master had no ID-card and no money, the doors of busses and trains wouldn’t open to him and he had to walk into the city. He could have stopped a car and murdered the driver but it would have caused more trouble than he needed right now. It wasn’t even that far to walk, bun unfortunately his condition wasn’t exactly perfect yet and so he needed to take a break far more often than he would have liked.
Night fell while he slowly made his way to the tall buildings he could see in the distance. The view to the building that was his goal was blocked but he knew exactly where it was. He remembered it, because he’d been close to it so many times in the lives that didn’t happen.
He just hoped that these fake memories would fade once normality was restored. Some of them were just plain embarrassing.
The darkness didn’t last long. The nights were short here and after only three hours the sun rose again. When the Master finally reached the centre of the city he was exhausted and tired and in the light of the morning sun the city just came to life. He rested for a while in a park and then went in search of something to eat. Somehow, because he was brilliant, he managed to charm a passing woman into buying him a burger and the ice-cream he’d carved for a week. She gave him her address and his smile for her got even brighter when he realised that she probably wasn’t even alive in the reality he was about to restore.
If his memory didn’t trick him, the entire centre of the city had been destroyed in the war. All these buildings had been destroyed, which meant that the people manipulating history in one of them would have had to start somewhere else. It didn’t actually matter. Now the building was there, intact and annoyingly high. Somewhere in there the Doctor was waiting to be saved by him. The Master scowled at the thought. Well, at least the Doctor was in there. Somewhere. And the Master was about to save him. Weather he wanted it or not.
The problem was the ‘somewhere’. He could hardly go in there and ask for the way. And when he just looked everywhere he’d probably get arrested in a matter of minutes.
Besides, he was tired and there were so many storeys!
Just when he reconsidered the go-and-ask option, the electronic double-doors of the office-building slid open and two men stepped into the street. The Master stared. One of them was wearing the most ridiculous jacket he had ever seen. And he had seen it before: A colourful patchwork-coat that looked even more idiotic on that man than it had on the Doctor.
Okay. Sixth storey then. The Master could only guess how much strength it must have cost his favourite enemy to change the realities he’d been forced to create in the subtle ways that lead him here - the photo on the cupboard, all the stupid memories circling around this place and the simple fact that one man who worked in that building owned a coat like that and had chosen to wear it this day. Now the Master could only hope that the Doctor would continue to help him. An arrow with the words ‘This way’ would be nice, but he also wouldn’t complain about a few weapons dropping from the sky.
He crossed the street and entered the building without getting hit by anything helpful. So much for that.
There was a man standing in the entrance hall, but he ignored the Master, and the Master, in return, didn’t pay much attention to him. This was the base of the enemy, the people who now ruled the world, but it was pretending to be a normal office building, which made it a secret base. A secret base on the sixth floor. The Master found an elevator and entered it. He was greeted by his reflection staring back at him from three full length mirrors that covered every wall save the door and a control panel. Beside it was a small keypad in which a code could be entered if it was needed - and known. The Master was in no way surprised that the access to the sixth floor was code-locked. That didn’t help. A screwdriver of any kind might have helped but he must have lost his at some point, or they’d taken it from him while he was unconscious.
The latter was more likely. He should have burned down the house after all.
But even if he had he’d still stand here without knowing the code.
Now would be a good time for another hint, Doctor! The code, written all over those mirrors, for example, would be very helpful.
He looked at the mirrors very carefully. His reflection was staring back at him.
The doors opened and another person entered. Pressed the button to the eight floor and they went up in uncomfortable silence. Maybe this was the hint the Master had been waiting for. He looked the man up and down. Got out of the elevator at the eight floor, annoyed a lot of office workers by running around and inspecting their desks. Got back into the elevator and wondered if maybe he had to wait a bit longer and enter the numbers of the floors other people went to.
There were no numbers to be entered in the keypad.
His reflection was staring back at him.
It was starting to get on his nerves.
“Do something useful for once, you stupid moron!” he said to the empty elevator. “I’m trying to help you here!”
Nothing happened. His reflection was staring back at him.
The Master stared back. Looked at the keypad. Looked at his reflection.
And groaned.
“Sentimental old fool,” he muttered and raised his hand to enter the code. Then he dropped his hand again, because he needed a few moments to think.
The spoken language of this world was simple enough, but the system of characters used for writing was a pain. Especially when transferring words from other languages.
They used a system of characters that represented syllables. These syllables had to be generated from a number of symbols when it came to electronic writing because there were too damn many syllables to fit on such a small keypad.
The Master thought it over carefully. In this language there where no naked syllables. In fact, every syllable had an onset, a nucleus and a coda. Never more than three sounds, never less. The problem was that unlike most languages not only vowels could serve as nucleus, but also liquids, glides and in some cases even nasals. Only plosives and fricatives could serve as onset and coda, nothing else. It made the task he was facing somewhat difficult.
The syllable ‘mas’ wouldn’t work, because of the nasal at the beginning. So he had to pack that one between the plosives that were used as silent sounds when writing foreign words - written but not actually meant to be spoken, similar to the ‘u’ in Japanese and the ‘cky’ in Sakkarczy, which was only spoken by a small tribe of little blue men on the Planet Hakke.
He raised his hand again, pressed the button for the sixth floor and a light on the keypad began to blink. He had one try, if he got it wrong an alarm would sound. Maybe that would be better - at least it would finally give him something to slaughter. Except he had no weapon and they would probably outnumber him.
Better get it right then. He searched for the right symbols for the syllable ‘cmc’, then stopped again. One try.
His reflection was staring back at him. The mirrors where ever so slightly tipped forward, making him look a bit smaller than he was.
The Master groaned again. The Doctor had always been sentimental, but now he was overdoing it!
He studied the keypad again, looking for the right symbols for ‘kos’.
-
The elevator stopped at the sixth floor and the Master got out to be greeted by a very confused man passing by.
“What are you doing here?” the man asked and the Master smiled and said “I’ve come to pick up a friend”, before breaking his neck. Probably not what the Doctor had in mind, but the Master didn’t intend to be considerate of his sense of morals.
The world changed again and this time he could feel the process, felt the struggle of the old reality and for one second he felt dizzy. The Doctor had hardly any strength left. The moment he gave up and died all this would collapse, setting in motion the chain reaction that would destroy the universe.
The Master didn’t care much about the universe. He sped up his steps, not really knowing where to go.
One minute later he faced a lot of people with guns.
He sighed, annoyed with himself for what he was about to do next.
“Take me to your leader,” he said.
-tbc
August 27, 2007
NEXT
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3