carmen_lj | The Pandora Project: The Dawn of Time

The Pandora Project

Summary: At the end of series three, the Doctor and the Master end up travelling together and totally manage not to destroy each other or the universe. More or less. Meanwhile, Martha gets a job offer from UNIT, Jack fails to realise his team are a bit useless, and there's a giant squid for no good reason whatsoever.

Rating: PG-13, mostly, as far as I can tell for these things.

Index post for the series

5 - The Dawn of Time: In which the Doctor and the Master have an unexpected picnic.

The Dawn of Time

"Well, this actually turned out rather well, didn't it?" said the Doctor, and then walked outside, picnic basket swinging from one arm.

The Master gritted his teeth and followed. It was one thing to be caught out, it was quite another to be caught out, everything to go horribly wrong, and then for the Doctor to be delighted by the outcome anyway. That just wasn't fair.

He had been Up To Something; the Doctor knew. And he knew that the Doctor knew. And the Doctor knew that he knew that the Doctor knew. And it was the sort of recursion that, taken to extremes would drive someone quite mad, if they weren't already. It was also the only sort of activity open to him, if he wanted to keep himself relatively rational and not actively trying to kill the Doctor.

And he really didn't want to kill the Doctor, but the man did have the annoying habit of driving the Master to a point where, in a few seconds of uncontrolled rage, it seemed like a very good idea indeed. When he was stuck sharing a TARDIS with the other Time Lord, those seconds happened more and more often and, sooner or later, something very unfortunate was going to happen.

So when the Doctor had decided to have a midnight wander and discovered the Master under the TARDIS console, the grating disassembled around him, the Master had said nothing, but grinned stupidly when the Doctor told him where to go and then dived under his precious console to try and work out what he'd been doing.

The Doctor's anger was a facade, though he might actually be convinced by it, but the Master knew it for what it was. He knew that this was what the Doctor could live with, this push and pull, action and reaction. It was pathetic, but the Master took part because the more distracted the Doctor was, the better his mood and, eventually, he'd convince himself that it was safe to land somewhere interesting again and let the Master out of the TARDIS.

This place, however, was definitely not where he expected to end up.

"How were you able to touch these circuits?" the Doctor had demanded, poking his head back up. The Master put his hands behind his back and whistled innocently. "Oh, very amusing," said the Doctor as he stood up and marched over. He grabbed one of the Master's hands and pulled off the glove he was wearing. "What is this?"

"Looks very much like a glove to me," the Master said glibly.

The Doctor stared at it, running a finger along the material. "It feels weird," he said. "What've you been doing? Has this been infused with my DNA? Is that why she didn't zap you?"

The Master shrugged. "If your ship is too stupid to actually look, instead of just assuming who's poking at her underside, who am I not to take advantage of her short-sightedness?"

The Doctor stuffed the glove in his pocket and scowled. "Insulting my TARDIS is below the belt," he said. "Now what were you doing under there?"

"What d'you think I was doing?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking."

"Why don't you just go and look?"

"Well...because...I've been busy under there. Doing a lot of repairs. A bit here, a bit there."

"And now it's such a mess you haven't a clue where anything's supposed to go anymore," said the Master smugly.

"That's beside the point."

The Master sighed. "I was, as you'd be able to work out if you had the least ability to grasp logic, trying to reset the co-ordinates to a neutral high-technology world, and get the doors to open." He gave a humourless smile. "Guess which part was proving the sticking point."

"So where are we?" asked the Doctor as he crossed to the console. "Somewhere out by Orion, oh, you were after some advanced tech, weren't you?"

"Well, duh."

Then the console began to hum, quiet at first but soon it was a high-pitched whine. "The speed," murmured the Doctor as he tried to locate the fault, correct it. "What's wrong with her?" he asked, shooting a glare in the Master's direction.

The Master held up his hands. "Nothing to do with me. I'd got her to the right place; I was only trying to get the doors open when you interrupted."

"It's like something's pushing us...or...like she's afraid." His hands moved gently over the console, almost caressing. "But there's nothing there."

"Would you like me to take a look?" asked the Master politely.

"No, I would not." The Doctor frowned. "I think I might have left those repairs on the velocity regulator a little too long."

The acceleration was beginning to push him away from the console, the pressure increasing exponentially. The Master didn't waste energy fighting it, let himself be pushed back against the console room wall. He closed his eyes, concentrated on ignoring the pain and hoped they reached one end of the universe or the other before his ribs were crushed.

After a few minutes, the pressure finally began to ease. The Doctor, struggling and swearing, fought his way back to the console, and managed to pull them out of flight.

The Master took a deep breath, determined that all his bones were intact. He gave the Doctor a slow handclap. "Well done, very well done. Why don't you just open the doors next time and let us get sucked out into the Vortex? Just as stupid a system to leave in disrepair and a lot less painful. Who knows? Maybe we could have caught a ride with a Chronovore? Taken over a few civilisations, brought down the odd empire, saved Atlantis."

"Shut up," said the Doctor. He was grinning. Rassilon, the fool was actually grinning. "I've got an idea."

"Is that supposed to be a comfort?"

"I don't care. I'm going to pack lunch. Don't cause any more trouble while I'm gone."

And that was when he came back with the picnic basket and marched cheerfully outside. The Master followed, standing on the threshold. He'd checked the co-ordinates, and there was absolutely no way the planet they were on could support their form of life.

The Doctor, however, was very much alive and laying down some sort of thick woollen cloth on the volcanic rock, solidified for only a few decades. The Master could spot a dozen active flows from where he stood. This world was alive, burning, yes, but with creation, with power. These fires would work themselves out in a few million years and give birth to the life on this planet.

The picnic basket was now open, and the Doctor was busy emptying it onto the cloth. The Master looked up: the sky was bright with red and orange and a thousand exploding lights. A meteor shower, perhaps? But they were getting a little too close to the ground before they burned up in the fledgling atmosphere. Time fluxed. It, too, was not quite what it would become when the first great civilisations rose. There were, he knew, creatures here that could consume and reform it as easily as breathing and with as little thought. The power here were raw and primal, struggling through until it could finally grasp a form of sentience. Perhaps the lights in the sky, the flashes and swirls of colour expounding such unimaginable joules of energy, were not so very random after all.

"Coveting something?" asked the Doctor, and the Master realised he had been staring up that the skies, uncaring of his expression.

"What exactly is the purpose of all this?" he sneered.

"I told you: lunch. Sit down, have a sandwich."

The Master hesitated a moment before gingerly joining the Doctor, delicately picking up a little triangle of bread and cheese from on the of the plates. "Given your TARDIS's age and reliability, entrusting our lives to her ability to keep this atmospheric bubble intact seems a bit foolhardy."

The Doctor shrugged, poured tea and passed a cup to the Master, who drank it without milk or sugar.

"But it's a very nice view," said the Doctor.

"Is it safe?" insisted the Master.

"Shouldn't think so for a moment. Never mind the atmosphere, if one of those...entities happens to spot two little bipeds of mostly water down here, they'll probably be kind of annoyed."

"Not to mention our glorious progenitors," murmured the Master. "I suppose they'll have already begun trying to enforce their rigid notions of morality on the rest of the cosmos."

"Not so rigid, remember? It's millennia until the Dark Times, but I don't doubt that those who came before them had just as much capacity for savagery."

The Doctor didn't look at him. The Master sighed softly, and said, "So this jumping back to the dawn of time is something you've done before? Despite Rassilon's precautions?"

The Doctor snorted. "Well, you should know."

"Oh, yes." A slow smile appeared on the Master's face as he recalled his attempt to destroy the newly regenerated Doctor, so long ago now, by throwing him back to Event One: the hydrogen explosion that created the universe. "But that was more leap-frogging these glorious events. Even our presence here-"

"Do you really care?"

The Master shrugged, and picked up another sandwich. "We are not supposed to be here."

"According to the not-so-great and not-at-all glorious Rassilon."

"Haven't you got all this 'ooh, let's see how far I can break the rules' nonsense out of the way already? They've all been dead for how long now?"

The Doctor's expression soured. He crunched down savagely on a handful of crisps he'd stuffed into his mouth. "I'm not you," he said. "And this isn't the Academy with all the lecturers doing a bunk."

"No, it's not," agreed the Master. "Because if it was, you would be a damn sight less sanctimonious and infinitely less dull."

"If you hadn't been messing about with the controls, then we wouldn't even be here. You've no-one but yourself to blame, and I'm not repairing anything on an empty stomach."

"I think I recall you mentioning a velocity regulator that had been neglected," said the Master.

The Doctor stared very hard at his empty cup, and then picked up the thermos and smiled brightly at the Master. "More tea?"

The picnic was broken up be a high-pitched wailing noise that sounded very much like a scream. The Master dashed back to the TARDIS, only remerging when the Doctor snapped at him and demanded his help in identifying something that had appeared on the horizon. "It's not as though it's firing at us," he said. "You-"

"Coward, Doctor?" asked the Master, retuning with as much dignity as he could muster. "I think we've already established that, but that was just good old-fashioned pragmatism. Unlike you, I don't intend to casually dismiss the dangers of this time."

"Yeah, well, what d'you think it is?" asked the Doctor, peering at the horizon. Quick as lightening, something flashed over the ground, crossing one lava flow after another, getting closer.

"Silver," said the Master. "Very silver."

"That's so helpful."

"Why don't you just pop over and ask it?"

"Can't extend the habitation bubble that far."

"Oh, why bother with the bubble? I'm sure your good intentions will keep the elements at bay."

"Course," said the Doctor slowly. "It doesn't have to be a bubble, does it? Back in a jiffy." He ran back into the TARDIS, leaving the Master watching.

"I think it may have seen us!" he called, edging towards the ship. It didn't have any fixed shape, moved like liquid as it flowed over the terrain. When it paused, it rose in a great sheet, like a giant mirror, causing a great flash of light as it reflected the energy igniting in the atmosphere above. Then it very definitely turned, and it was heading towards the TARDIS. "Doctor!"

"Don't panic," the Doctor muttered, remerging. "Good advice that. Arthur said that to me once, you remember Arthur? Made good tea, hated bulldozers. Anyway, we were busy facing down this armada of-"

"Doctor, I don't care. Are we leaving yet?"

"Uh. No," he said, producing a part of the TARDIS console from his pocket. "Can reset this to a corridor-like shape instead. Neat, eh? Better keep close now."

"Oh, joy," muttered the Master as the pair headed off to meet the silver being. "And what if it's not as idiotic as you are?"

"Then we run," said the Doctor with a grin. The Master sighed, trailed in his wake as they crossed the rocks and rubble.

"This ground is ruining my shoes," said the Master.

"Shh," said the Doctor, who, finally, seemed to have the sense to show a bit of caution as their approached their objective. He adjusted the settings on the atmosphere control. "It seems to have lost energy," he said, frowning, then caught the Master's panicked look. "Our friend over there, I mean," he added.

The silver image slid towards them, slower, closer, contracting, until: "Is it walking?" asked the Doctor. Legs, torso, arms, head, until it was only a handful of metres away and then the Doctor stopped. "That's as far as we can go," he said. "It can't possibly be humanoid."

"No," said the Master, "but given its fluidic form, there's nothing to stop it from trying to imitate us."

"Rather friendly," said the Doctor and waved. "Hello!" he called brightly.

"Or trying to assuage fears before striking."

"Always the cloud in every silver lining," said the Doctor out of the side of his mouth, the smile and eyes still fixed on the approaching form.

"It's usually called realism, Doctor."

The head of the silver creature suddenly split open, a crude attempt at a mouth, and the dreadful shrieking filled the air again. "I suppose that's a friendly hello?" said the Master, slamming his hands over his ears.

The Doctor frowned. "I think it's trying to communicate."

It was only because of the noise and the fact that the Master had no intention of enduring the pain of shattered eardrums that he didn't grab the Doctor's collar and shake him. Instead he settled for shouting: "Of course it bloody is! But d'you really think we'll be able to understand it given the date?"

The Doctor shot a look of hopeless optimism back at the TARDIS. "Give her time," he said, "she might work it out." The screaming dulled to a low persistent whine.

The Master gave an irritated sigh. "Fine. You stay here and wait for her to grow out of her senility, I'm off to raid the biscuit cupboard."

"No, you're not," said the Doctor mildly.

"And why not?"

"Cause this nice oxygen atmosphere only extends about three metres back in that direction. I had to disconnect us to get us closer."

The Master stared at him for a long moment before asking: "Then where is the oxygen in here coming from?"

The Doctor grinned at him, teeth showing. "Try using your respiratory bypass system, conserve what we've got, alright?"

The Master's sudden violent urge to snatch the damn controls from the Doctor's hands and hit the idiot over the head with them was stayed as the silver creature limped towards them, then seemed to be falling forwards, but, after a moment, it became clear that it was following the shape of their little bubble, spreading across the surface like silver paint.

"It might be trying to trap us," said the Master.

"Always so paranoid," murmured the Doctor. He reached out to the creature: slow, cautious, stupid.

There was a hiss of escaping air when the silver pressed towards them and then through the bubble. The Doctor reached out, and it mimicked his movements, pressed against the palm of his hand. The creature flowed until it was all inside the bubble, humanoid once more. The crude hands, pressed against the Doctor's and he stayed very still as they took shape into something else.

The creature released him, leaving a smooth cylindrical object in the Doctor's hands. And then it fell, falling away into wisps of fine silvery ash.

The Master stepped forward, eyeing the shining silver object left behind in the Doctor's hands. "What was all that about?" he asked.

The Doctor, eyes drifting over the creature's remains, said, "I've no idea."

As they returned to the TARDIS, the Doctor was in a despondent mood. The excitement of discovering a form of life he was unfamiliar with washed away by its death and having no idea what its final actions signified, or why it should gift him with what, to all appearance, was a part of itself.

"And what are you going to do about that?" asked the Master, standing in the doorway, breaking the Doctor from his thoughts.

He stared at him, uncomprehending. The Master rolled his eyes and beckoned him with one finger, and the Doctor obeyed. "That," repeated the Master, indicating one now very toxic and rapidly decomposing picnic.

"Oh," said the Doctor. "Ah."

"One way of putting it. We're just leaving it then?"

The Doctor coughed, and then tried very hard not to look awkward. "Probably some sort of predestination paradox. We might be responsible for humanoid life as we know it. Possibly. Maybe." He shut the TARDIS doors. "I'm sure everything will work out just fine."

The Master wasn't going to let it be that easy. He folded his arms, blocked his way to the console. "That is just typical of you, Doctor: sloppy and irresponsible. You can't just casually litter across the time streams, and especially not the pre-Rassilon era."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," said the Doctor. "Besides I want to find out what this thing is." He tapped the silver cylinder.

"No," said the Master. "Go get...whatever it is you need to get to clean-up that mess; be a good boy and take your litter home."

The Doctor met his gaze. "You've got to be kidding me. Dance while millions die, but dump a picnic and suddenly you're-"

"I am fully aware of the repercussions of my actions, Doctor. Destructive or not. You, on the other hand, go for the sort of haphazard approach that results in, ooh, I don't know, how about bringing down Harriet Jones' government because you were having a strop? Thanks, by the way. Made things much easier."

The Doctor gritted his teeth. "I'll go get a mop then."

When they finally dematerialised, the Doctor made his makeshift repairs to the helmic regulator and then headed straight for the lab and had a blessedly peaceful few hours as he began his analysis of the silver cylinder.

Of course it couldn't last and, sooner or later, the Master turned up. He screwed up his nose at the mess and immediately began rearranging the bits and pieces the Doctor had left out on the lab bench.

"D'you have to?" the Doctor muttered as he poked at the back of the fume cupboard and tried to work out why the air flow had been cut off.

"How d'you find anything in this mess anyway? It's an impossible way to work. And why can I smell chlorine? Have you actually managed to find anything out about whatever that thing is?"

"Easily. Equipment failure. Yes."

"Why am I not surprised? And what?"

"Pessimist." He waved vaguely at the table where the cylinder was sitting, intact. "It's got a lid."

The Master picked it up and tossed it from one hand to the other, tipped it upside down and a circle slid off the top, a perfect fit, seamless. He looked inside and then put it back. "It's empty," he said.

"Like that when I got it," said the Doctor.

"Well, that's...fascinating," said the Master, drawing the final word out syllable by syllable. "Is that all you've found out? You've been in here for hours."

As a matter of fact, it was all the Doctor had discovered, but he'd rather not admit that, so asked instead: "Getting bored?"

"Well, I haven't killed, maimed or slaughtered for days. And I'm stuck living in a ship with a sanctimonious idiot who's perversely obsessed with his own messiah complex, of course I'm bloody bored. Can't we go somewhere interesting?"

"Such as?"

"I don't know! You manage to make everywhere sound tedious! I want fighting, Doctor, some good old-fashioned pointless, gratuitous violence."

"Does it help?"

"What?"

"Violence. Does it help stop the drums?"

A hungry look appeared in the Master's eyes. "And if it did?"

"I'm not letting you go out on a killing spree."

"Can't I just hit some really mean people? A little torture maybe? Maybe blow-up a really small, really unpopulated planet?"

"No," said the Doctor firmly. "But I do have an idea."