Daughter of Torchwood

The Master

The violet tear of the time vortex snapped shut, dumping the four of them into the grit and grime of a narrow alleyway. The Doctor, Martha, Jack, and Starla collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs and ragged gasps.

"Time travel without a capsule," the Doctor wheezed, clutching his chest, "That's a killer."

Jack rolled onto his back, cracking his neck with a grimace before springing to his feet. He stepped toward the mouth of the alley, squinting at the daylight, "Still, at least we made it. Earth. Twenty-first century by the looks of it. Ha! Talk about lucky."

"That wasn't luck, Jack. That was me," the Doctor countered. He pulled himself up, dusting off his pinstriped suit. Back on Malcassairo, with the Futurekind pounding at the door, he'd been forced to hot-wire Jack's wrist-strap manipulator with the sonic screwdriver.

Jack grinned, checking the smoking device on his arm, "The moral is, if you're going to get stuck at the end of the universe, get stuck with an ex-Time Agent."

"But this Master bloke," Martha interjected, her voice tight with worry as they stepped onto the main street, "He's got the TARDIS. He could be anywhere, anywhere in time and space."

"No. He's here. Trust me," The Doctor's eyes were darting everywhere, scanning the architecture, the cars, and the faces of the pedestrians. His gaze snagged on a campaign poster plastered to a nearby lamppost.

"Who is he, anyway?" Starla asked. She rubbed her temples, a faint, nagging memory tugging at her, "That voice at the end... that wasn't the Professor. I've heard it before. I just can't place it."

Jack looked at his daughter, his expression darkening, "If the Master is a Time Lord, he must have regenerated."

Starla frowned, "What does that mean?"

"It means he's changed," the Doctor explained distractedly, "His face, his voice, his body... every single cell. He's a new man."

The Doctor suddenly went still. On the street corner, a homeless man was rhythmically tapping a repeating pattern on an enamel mug. Tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap-tap. The Doctor shivered, looking away.

"Then how are we going to find him?" Martha asked, looking at the crowds, "In a world of billions, how do we track one man?"

"I'll know him," the Doctor said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous hum, "The moment I see him. Time Lords always recognise their own."

Martha stopped walking. Her eyes widened as she looked at a shop window filled with televisions, "But hold on... If he could be anyone... Doctor, look. We missed the election."

The Doctor and Jack stepped toward a giant digital screen looming over the square. Martha and Starla followed, their footsteps slowing as the realisation sank in.

"Mr Saxon has returned from the Palace," the news anchor's voice boomed over the street, "He is currently greeting the crowd inside Saxon Headquarters."

The screen cut to a wide staircase. A man descended with effortless charisma, flanked by an entourage and a smiling blonde woman.

Starla's breath hitched, "I said I knew that voice. When he spoke from inside the TARDIS... I've heard it hundreds of times on the news. I've seen him. We both have," She grabbed Martha's arm, "That was the voice of Harold Saxon."

"That's him," the Doctor whispered, his face turning ashen, "He's Prime Minister. The Master is the Prime Minister of Great Britain."

The screen showed the man leaning in to kiss the blonde woman, "The Master... and his wife," the Doctor noted, a sceptical eyebrow twitching upward.