Cpt 7
Lucky number seven. Double-O seven, Seven-eleven…
“Will you knock it off?” She asked, though she wasn’t entirely sure who she was talking to anymore. It might be a plea to the author, (if she ever pleaded for anything, which she didn’t), or perhaps she was talking to herself, ordering her brain to cease its whimsical connective association game. Or hell, it may even be that she was talking to him.
The rest had done her some good, and now she gingerly sat up in the bed, finding the restraining field had dissipated. There was a red light on the console next to her, silently blinking on and off. Surely an indicator to the console room that she was awake and mobile.
Which meant the next move was hers.
Well, technically the next move involved getting to the wardrobe, which indeed, opened only on a sparse closet containing her clothes and sword and not into the fabulous fantasy world of Narnia.
“Well, he did warn me.” She mumbled, getting dressed. Which lead to the next thought. If he was honest about the clothes and sword, was he being honest about everything else? She barked out a laugh, which same so quickly and forcefully it startled her. What was she even thinking?
The only thing the Master was honest about was his dishonesty. The Doctor’s oldest foe, (and hers too, if she were quite honest), he put the MY in enemy. Fiendish, clever, ruthless, and evil, but still charming in his own way. What with the whole Time Lord Victorious nonsense, this was no time for him to show up and wreak his usual brand of havoc.
And yet, he had returned the sword to her. He was either being extra dubious, or he didn’t see her as an immediate threat.
She’d have to cure him of that notion, toot sweet.
Dressed and armed, she made her way through his TARDIS. Whether through simple necessity or some trick of the trans-dimensional engineering, the sickbay bedroom was just down the corridor to the console room, so she didn’t wander far. She drew the sword, and with her left hand grasped the doorknob to the nerve center of the ship. She didn’t have a plan so much as an inkling of a course of action, but sometimes those were best. With a mighty bestial roar (what Whitman described as a barbaric yawp and Robin Williams tried to explain to a group of adolescents in that movie), she charged through the door, sword leading the way.
He stood at the controls on the far side of the center console, the lighted column in the middle rising and lowering with each great breath of the time machine indicating they were in flight.
And because that was the scene she expected in her mind’s eye, the sheer number of him in the room stopped her in her tracks and the yawp died in her throat. There was a Master in a fetching purple three-piece checking the time on a fob watch. Another Master wearing a leather coat and sunglasses leaned against the wall looking for all the world like he’d rather be somewhere else. A Master who looked like he’d been left too long in the sun—scratch that, ON the sun—hunched over the other side of the console consulting with still another Master in black crushed velvet.
There was some Mucho Master going on.
Another sword tip parried hers, and SHE stepped forward in her blue and orange Mary Poppins ensemble. Suddenly that nightmare about a classroom full of clowns was starting to look pretty good.
“Oh, you’re awake my pet” Missy said, managing to be all kinds of condescending. “Pity.” She turned to yet another Master, this one with short blonde hair. “I owe you a five spot.”
“Double or nothing she disarms you in under two minutes.” The Master leaning against the wall said.
Missy turned back to face her. “What do you say gosling? Shall we dance?”
The Master, (the original in her mind, though honestly who could know at this point where his timeline diverged and folded back on itself) stepped forward. “Now now, is that anyway to treat a guest? Arissa is here at my invitation. I do not want her to feel unwelcome.” He raised a gloved hand and lowered the points of their still crossed swords.
Arissa took a chance a lowered her guard. Either this would look cool and carefree, or Missy would try and run her through. “Alright, I’m here. I’m not fighting–” She stopped herself. “—yet. So what’s going on? You having a soirée? A little get-together? A meeting of the Master-minds?” She was proud of that one. She knew by pushing she was increasing the odds of Missy lunging point first, but she was on a roll. “Are there refreshments? Some chips and dip? OOOOhhh, a convention! Where’s the ‘I tried conquering the universe and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’ vendor?”
Missy smiled that quirky, half smirk of hers, and Arrisa steeled herself for the steel that would surely be plunging into her any minute. But instead, she turned her maniacal glare back to the Master—damn the descriptors when multiple versions of the same person are present—and said menacingly, “We don’t really need her, do we?”
The Master surprised her then. “In point of fact, we do. My dear Arissa, as impossible as it may be to believe, I rescued you from THE DARK TIMES—”
“Oy!” Shouted the blond Master.
“Forgive me. WE. We rescued you from THE DARK TIMES… because we need your help. Not only has the Doctor’s foolish Time Lord Victorious crusade endangered the cosmos on scale we could only hope to dream of, but your podcaster friends are in trouble as well.”
“The author? But he’s controlling all this.”
“If only that were the case. You keep sending out their schedule because it was what you were contracted to do, and you never renege on a contract. An admirable trait. But its so much more than that. Despite its insignificance to the world at large, the very act of sharing it is also a tether. A very tenuous tether keeping the real world from disintegrating entirely.”
“We know a thing or two about disintegrations.” Said the purple clad Master a little too eagerly.
“Speaking of” the crispy Master spoke from his perch at the controls, and his voice was as dry and raspy as his skin. “It’s time to transmit the new schedule.”
“Then by all means.” The Master said, moving back to the console and pressing a series of buttons, then flipping a toggle.
They all turned to the viewer, which irised open to display the following:
491 – Lethbridge-Stewart The Laughing Gnome: Havoc Files (5) by Various Artists
492 – 25th Anniversary of Doctor Who: The Movie, Big Finish Master!: #1 Faustian, #2 Prey #3 Vengeance
493 – Fury From the Deep (Animated) DVD review
494 – Sarah Jane Smith: Roving Reporter by Various Artists
495 – TLV: Echoes of Extinction (Big Finish Audio)
496 – TLV: The Edge of Time (Video Game), Time Fracture (Event), The Time Lord Victorious & Brian the Ood (Action Figure/Short Story?), Overall impressions (w/special guest Timothy Harvey of SciFi4MeTV’s TARDIS Sauce)
“What do you mean tether? Why is this podcast so important to the fate of everything? And what does the author have to do with this?”
Missy whirled on her, her eyes flashing. “Tell us poppet, what do you know about The Land of Fiction?”
This week we finally get a hold of a copy of the (somewhat) recent release (in the U.S.) of Fury from the Deep. Hear what we thought of this animated lost story in the Second Doctor Era featuring companions, Jamie and Victoria.
Traveling the Vortex - Episode 493 - Down in the Darkness [ 1:04:03 | 70.99 MB ] Play Now | Play in Popup | Download