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Lapidary	By : Savaialian Category: 1 through F > Doctor Who Views: 1580 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Doctor Who fandom, nor to I make money from writing about it. I use their creations with due respect.

Chapter List
- 1-Lapidary
- 2-TWO
- 3-THREE
- 4-FOUR
- 5-FIVE
- 6-SIX
- 7-SEVEN
- 8-EIGHT
- 9-NINE
- 10-TEN
- 11-ELEVEN
- 12-TWELVE
- 13-THIRTEEN
- 14-FOURTEEN
- 15-FIFTEEN
- 16-SIXTEEN
- 17-SEVENTEEN
- 18-EIGHTEEN
- 19-NINETEEN
- 20-TWENTY
- 21-TWENTY-ONE
- 22-TWENTY-TWO
- 23-TWENTY-THREE
- 24-TWENTY-FOUR
- 25-EPILOGUE
- 9
- 10
- 11
I took the first dose of the anti-nightmare sleep aid myself to test it, and I tested it for three nights before I was satisfied it wouldn’t harm the Master. I did sleep better, and found a bit of relief from nocturnal horrors for the first time in centuries. I took to adding the stuff to whatever food would disguise it. The incense seemed to help us both, too, promoting a sense of peace without dampening down any natural, harmful emotions.
The Master immersed himself in working at the site of the aqueduct, a constant consultant that had the highest standards, while I concentrated on a complete evaluation of his household. We met up only after the sun went down, and I missed our evenings and mornings on his balcony veranda. But, we were finally getting something accomplished.
The local farmers had discovered the validity of sowing things so that water flowed over everything, and happily reported an increase in healthy seedlings. The people of the city had their election, women included, and voted for state-funded education, even for the females. Work began on the schools, subsequently, and I took a free hand in deciding the curriculum vitae. Thinking to make the education here comprehensive, I included domestic and agricultural courses along with language and maths, making home economics mandatory for everyone. No sense in keeping the women down, right?
In taking a comprehensive look at the Master’s palace workings I found he had a lot of unsung talent going to waste in jobs that the old emperor had deemed important. There was a mathematician languishing in an astrology lab, a linguistics expert serving as librarian, and a woman positively talented in psychiatric science working in the dungeon as a jailor. I saw what the old emperor had been trying to do, but disagreed with the assignments. I put the mathematician over the finances, the linguistics expert in charge of diplomatic issues, and set the psychiatrist up with an office inside the palace. She seemed a bit nervous over being encouraged to listen to the concerns of the entire staff, but once I explained patient privacy, she settled down happily.
Zaeus and Alair took an interest in my wanderings and followed me around quite a bit. I found the old festival planner and his granddaughter good company, and didn’t mind a bit that I’d gained them as an entourage. Alair stuck as close as possible, listening to every exchange with complete, silent attention. Her level of concentration impressed me, especially when it became apparent she retained what she heard.
One afternoon the three of us took a picnic lunch on the grounds. Zaeus wandered to collect plant life afterward, for he was an amateur botanist, leaving me and Alair to blow soap bubbles into the moderate, warm breezes. She’d never done this before. Indeed, no one had; I’d brought a new pastime to Seldatia.
“Where’s the pretty emperor?” She asked me as I blew a very large bubble and coaxed it airborne.
I smiled at her phraseology. “He’s helping to make sure the aqueduct works properly,” I informed. “It’s important that everyone gets clean water.” I handed the bottle and wand over so she could take her turn.
Alair, proving to me that Seladatian children were as naturally interested and adept at blowing bubbles as Earth children, made a huge bubble and sent it up, laughing in delight. “Oh, look at the colors! Why are there so many colors?”
I could have launched a lengthy lesson on light dispersion, refraction and such, but chose not to. Some things were best enjoyed without knowing the scientific reasoning behind them. “All light is colored; we just can’t see it until the bubble shows us,” I told her. “Like the sky sometimes decides we need to see a rainbow.”
“Magic,” she said solemnly. She forgot to give me my turn, but I let her dominate the soap solution easily. She was enchanting in her selfish wish to see the colors.
“Exactly, magic,” I agreed. “Always leave room for magic and impossible things in life.”
Alair nodded, taking my words as a lesson she needed to retain. Schooling, any sort of schooling, was very important to her people, and she displayed that perfectly. “You’d make a good daddy,” she declared. “Do you have kids?”
I shook my head. “Not anymore. They died a long time ago.”
Alair stopped blowing bubbles and favored me with the sort of kindness only a child can offer. “I’m sorry. Is that why your eyes are always so sad?”
“Partly,” I admitted.
“Your husband, too?” She asked. She’d persisted in calling the Master my husband no matter how often her grandfather corrected her. I’d stopped trying a long time ago. Lately, it had seemed more truthful to go along with that, anyway.
“Yes. I feel sad for him a lot of the time. He’s carrying a lot of pain.”
Alair went back to blowing bubbles for a few minutes. She corked the bottle and gave it back to me suddenly. “Maybe you should show him some magic,” she said. “I don’t think he believes in it anymore. Most grown-ups don’t.”
“Well, okay,” I said. “What sort of magic?”
“Like the Original Tales,” she answered.
“I don’t know what those are,” I admitted.
“You’ve never read the Original Tales?” Alair looked at me with wide, astonished eyes. “They even let girls read the Original Tales!”
I smiled at her enthusiasm. “I will, too, then,” I said. “I’ll do it tonight.”
**
Interestingly, with a few changes of social details and gender, the Original Tales consisted of themes closely resembling Earth’s oddly moralized fairy tales. The magic involved wasn’t fairy-given, but elemental bestowments based on character merit. Being kind to one’s parents caused the favor of Fire. Making friends and expecting nothing of them made Earth take notice. Being honest caused the element of Wood to be available to you. Hard work was attributed to Spirit, thriftiness to Air, and being a proper lover was Water’s jurisdiction.
I’d always liked fairy tales, so I took my time reading these building blocks of Seldatian society instead of speeding through. The Master returned to his quarters just as I’d immersed myself into Water for Love. He glanced at the title of my book, which was of course Original Tales, and smirked a little. “Light reading?” He asked, and his voice sounded tired. We hadn’t been able to speak more than a few sentences to each other in over a week, being so busy.
“Of a sort,” I admitted. The passage at my holding place seemed to leap out at me.
Although Haddon understood his mate’s regard, and returned it, he didn’t understand why they’d been betrothed at such an early age. Why, many of the girls and boys in their village hadn’t a care for their early betrothal, and approached their very serious unions with laughter, or even worse, disdain and avoidance. But, Haddon’s husband-to-be never spoke of their alliance at all, so Haddon never did either.
The Master and I had always been in each other’s orbit. We’d enjoyed being together even while fighting.
“I don’t have to go to the aqueduct site tomorrow,” the Master said, removing his shoes before his sword. “It’s a holiday. Sigglis intercepted me downstairs to give that information. It’s a day of rest assigned to some capricious air deity.”
Haddon wished with all his might that Lann would talk to him about their union, but fear has a way of making people silent, except for tears. Since Lann would not tolerate tears, Haddon had to shed them in private. In fact, he kept most of himself private; fearing the censure and ridicule Lann might turn his way. Haddon thought the worst thing in the world would be to offer the deep emotions of his heart only to have them burnt up by Lann’s disfavor.
“I thought at first that elemental worship wouldn’t be a difficult thing to get around, but now I have to wonder,” the Master continued on, sweeping a long, black garment from his wardrobe and draping it over his arm. “Order a fairly substantial supper,” he added. “I’m famished.” With that, he headed off for his bathroom.
So, Haddon, who took the role of the secondary male in the union, a role with no more importance than that of dutiful wife, simply attended Lann with all the power his hidden love could hold. He excused Lann’s remoteness, likening it to the elusive beauty of stars, which were always in the sky to be admired, but never touched. He burned like fire for Lann’s touch, but told himself that because their union would never produce children, that their union had a higher calling. He lay awake at night beside of Lann and listened to him breathe, attributing his attentive worry to the simple idea that he didn’t want to be alone. Everyone had a mate, and if he lost his he would forever wander the grasslands as a wraith.
I put the book down and mechanically ordered supper. If not for the age of the book I would almost think it written specifically for me, and I didn’t believe in coincidence. I’d been pointed toward this story by someone or something. The implications of that made me afraid on such a basic level that I almost couldn’t surface from it. I wanted to hurry and read more yet I dreaded doing so. The end result pushed me into pacing and staring at nothing.
“What’s wrong?” The Master emerged from the bathroom, and when I turned to look at him, the sight of him stopped me dead.
He had a slight glow to his water-beaded skin, probably from standing in the sun for days and days in a svond one could almost read through. Blond highlights were peeking through his dark, short hair. His eyes, so intelligent and alert, were shadowy and wary. The close fitting garment he’d chosen flared out from the waist like a cassock. He looked strong and confident and handsome.
“Culture shock, I guess,” I managed to reply. Then, because I was determined to not lie about something this important, I added, “I frequently have epiphanies that aren’t planned.”
The Master grinned with only one side of his mouth. “God, you’re so arrogant,” he said in a good natured way. “One doesn’t plan an epiphany, Doctor. An epiphany slams you in the side of the head and then stomps you for good measure.” He glided past me for the balcony. I couldn’t, just absolutely couldn’t help sniffing the breeze he created; that dark, rich copal scent that was uniquely the Master.
He excused Lann’s remoteness, likening it to the elusive beauty of stars, which were always in the sky to be admired, but never touched.
Our meal came, so I took it out to him.
So, Haddon, who took the role of the secondary male in the union, a role with no more importance than that of dutiful wife, simply attended Lann with all the power his hidden love could hold.
Stop that! I told myself and served us. I was so distracted and confused that my hands shook. Of course, the Master noticed.
“That bad, eh?” He asked. “Care to share?”
Haddon thought the worst thing in the world would be to offer the deep emotions of his heart only to have them burnt up by Lann’s disfavor.
“I intend to, but I can’t at the moment,” I answered in a rush. “I’m still thinking.”
“Fine,” the Master answered amiably. “Rassilon only knows the power of thought. Sometimes it would be nice to be a simple construct, wouldn’t it?”
“I made a construct in your image once,” I confessed before thinking of it, then mentally shoved a burning poker down my throat. But, the poker didn’t stop my fool mouth at all. “He’s in my TARDIS. He deactivated himself when he discovered he wasn’t the original Master. Committed suicide the only way a machine can.”
The Master stopped moving, his wineglass nearly at his lips. Very slowly, he turned his head to look at me. “You what?” He asked, though his voice projected he’d heard every syllable that left me.
I cleared my throat nervously. “I made a robotic copy of you,” I reiterated. “Physically, he was perfect. At least what I’d seen of you.” I felt myself blushing and couldn’t quit. “I gave him as much of your personality as I could discern, the mannerisms you had in that regeneration, and your tastes.”
He continued to stare at me and I felt I’d burst into embarrassed flames any second, but I still couldn’t stop my idiot mouth.
“I missed you,” I defended. “You’d made it perfectly clear you wouldn’t cross the street to wee on me if I caught fire, so I soldiered on.”
The Master slowly finished bringing the wine to his lips. He took a good, hard swallow of it and set the glass down deliberately. “Which regeneration?” he asked.
“The quasi-Svengali one, the one you wore when I was Earth-imprisoned.” I sat and fretfully picked at a loaf of bread, not even tasting what went onto my tongue. “If you want to see him, he’s in the cupboard past the robotics lab.”
“Oh, I want to see him,” the Master assured me swiftly. “After dinner, we’re going to your TARDIS.” He shook his head, looking amazed for a moment. “Svengali?”
“Hypnotist with a lot of hair,” I explained with a sense of abandon. “Classic villain.”
The Master chuckled a little. “I’m flattered,” he drawled. He cut into his steak with precise efficiency.
Relieved he wasn’t pitching a wobbly, I made an effort to tend to my meal. I’d forgotten to slip him the nightmare remedy, but I couldn’t do anything about that now.
“You made a copy of me because you missed me,” he said, summing up the information.
“You shot me and swanned off,” I groused. “Forgive me for feeling lost and nostalgic.”
The Master grinned and took a bite of his supper at last. “Only ten percent of me wanted to kill you,” he confessed. “The rest of me was consumed by a maddening rhythm, impotent rage at being thwarted by you yet again, and a general malaise.”
“That was the last time I saw you in that body,” I said softly. “I liked him, too.”
“Apparently, for you immortalized it,” he parried.
We ate without much discussion, going little farther than a desire for salt and seasoning. Afterward, the Master settled back with a cigar and a glass of brandy that had been included on his tray. His servants knew what he wanted, I supposed.
“Smell that nice, cloying sweetness?” He asked suddenly jolting me from my covert examination of his form. “It’s called Nuealnath Vine. The bees here make extraordinary honey from it. The more accomplished kitchen alchemists combine it with a sorghum-type molasses for a variety of things. The main one is a basic constituent of beer.”
I looked over the edge of our balcony to see the vine he’d been talking about. It started near the western corner and climbed to just underneath us. It was loaded with white and yellow, trumpet shaped flowers and the bees absolutely swarmed it. “Fast growing?” I asked. If I reached out I might be able to snatch a flower…
The Master hauled me back by my wrist so fast I spun in place. “Don’t touch it,” he warned harshly. “The vine secretes an alkaloid sap, and the flower itself is used in impotence remedies. Unless you want to walk around here tripping the light fantastic with a priapismatic boner, leave it be.”
Yeah, awkward,” I muttered, sitting back down. My wrist ached where he’d grabbed me. “And they make beer out of it?”
“They make tons of things with it,” he corrected. “They were drinking the beer all during the festival we just skimmed through, or hadn’t you been paying attention?” Giving me a last warning sort of look, the Master finished his wine and stubbed out the cigar. “We’re going to your TARDIS now,” he announced.
**
The Master sniffed the air in my TARDIS and looked at me. “Why does it smell like violets in here now?”
“She does that when she’s thinking,” I explained, leading him down the hall. “If I were you I’d announce it when I intended to touch her. You were right not to go wandering alone the last time we were in here; she might be sulking. Electrocution is the least of your worries.”
We walked and walked. I’d forgotten it was such a long trek to the robotics lab. Fretting at what kind of scene the Master might make upon seeing his copy, I started getting more than a little anxious.
“Do you always have to be tall and long-legged?” The Master complained.
“You were taller than me once,” I defended distractedly. “I don’t have any control over how I regenerate.”
“You could if you’d only concentrate a little bit and not surrender to the artron flood like a crack fiend,” he argued.
“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” I said back. “You pick holes in me at any given opportunity.”
“That’s because you bleed so prettily,” he replied, drawing alongside. “Seeing you in distress is addictive. I can’t help it. You’re performance art. You know I like the arts.”
I realized he was nervous, and made an effort to slow down and concentrate upon him. “I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “We’re nearly there.”
We reached the proper alcove, and I put my hand on the door. “Look,” I said, “I don’t want you to think I-.”
“Just open the damned door,” the Master told me, his jaw going tight afterward.
I pulled, and the Master came face to face with himself. He stared at the copy, his eyes going darker with interest, even fascination. Slowly, he reached out a hand to touch his copy’s jaw, and the robot turned itself on.
I stepped back automatically, stunned. I hadn’t programmed him to turn back on when touched.
“There you are,” the mechanical Master said, looking into his flesh counterpart’s eyes. “What took you so long?”
“I didn’t know you existed,” the Master protested, going on the defensive. “Maybe if you hadn’t been hiding in a cupboard, sulking…?”
“It isn’t sulking. I wasn’t.” The copy stepped out and began fussing with getting the wrinkles out of his clothes. He glanced over at me and curled his lip. “The younger look suits you,” he announced.
“I…”
“What brings the pair of you here together?” The robotic Master asked, looking us both over with frank criticism. “Temporary alliance? Boredom? Loneliness?”
“It’s complicated,” the Master answered shortly.
“It always is,” he shot back.
“How are you powered?” The Master demanded.
“Oh, he made me with all sorts of power sources,” the mechanical Master replied easily. “My pores are solar collectors, and my hair follicles are actually minute power relays; movement across my hair generates energy, so a windy day is particularly invigorating.” He smiled at us both, and very slyly. “He made me so I could eat, and I have an internal combustion engine about here.” He placed a gloved hand over his abdomen. “There’s no reason I should ever go dormant, except for personal choice.”
“Then why did you turn off?” The Master gestured to me without looking. “You could have taken control.”
The robotic Master shook his head. “Alas, the Doctor made me so that I wouldn’t,” he answered. “I have a nagging, distasteful conscience.”
The Master looked at me, disgust and humor taking turns in his eyes. “Christ, that is SO you,” he said. “Making a copy of me that could feel bad about something. Did that soothe you, Doctor?”
“Actually, he didn’t find me at all soothing,” the android answered for me. “He made me too well for that.” He finished straightening his clothes and regarded us with level calm. “Is there some task I must perform?” He leaned past the Master and shifted my collar, smoothing the drape of the svond carefully. “You always go about so untidy and Bohemian,” he griped. In the next second he had my face in his hands, looking into my eyes with frightening focus. “I know what you’ve done,” he told me. “I’ve been in constant communication with your TARDIS.”
I swallowed hard. I’d made this Master, but he still frightened me. In fact, he’d filled me with a constant sense of dread from the moment even before I activated him. I couldn’t think of a thing to say, either.
“Well done,” the mechanical Master continued. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, Doctor, but you made the correct choice. You had no alternatives open except for doing nothing, and we both know you’re incapable of simply turning your back on a threat that massive.”
“Oh, give it up,” the Master said impatiently. “He’s soaked in the blood of billions and you can’t make him feel better.”
His counterpart lifted his eyebrow. “Maybe not,” he murmured, and I got the terrifying idea he could see inside of me. “But I know of someone who could.” He stepped back. “Now, if I’m not actually needed for anything, kindly vacate. I’m disinclined to chat with either of you, currently.” He walked back into the cupboard and shut the door.
The Master and I didn’t say a word to each other the entire trip back to the palace. Once we occupied his quarters again, he met my eyes and gave me a wondering head shake. “You’re absolutely a bastard,” he declared. “Making a brilliant thing like that with my personality. He didn’t just give me the creeping fugwugs, he made me want to dig a hole and crawl in it.”
“Yeah…” I had no defense, just none. “He always worried me, actually. And, I’ll tell you something else; I didn’t program him to activate when you touched him. That was all him.”
The Master looked down at my chest a moment and gave a sigh. “He stole my TARDIS key from around your neck and neither one of us saw him do it,” he announced, his voice utterly calm. As I batted at the nothingness on my chest, he took my key off and dropped the chain over my head. “Better hide that one in your clothes,” he said.
- 9
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Lapidary