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Fic: A Good Day (or: The War in the Medusa Cascade). Chapter 4
It is finally here! *collapses* Rarely has a chapter given me this much trouble - and I can't even work out why. It plain just didn't want to co-operate, and I can never thank ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathyh enough for being a marvellous beta and helping me to wrestle it into submission.
Beginning here if anyone is interested: Prologue. And Master post for the whole 'verse here.
Summary: "Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?" The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day. (TSE/JE rewrite with Eleven and Clara and a host of extras.)
Setting: Future AU TSE/JE.
Spoilers: The Name of the Doctor (S7.13)
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: The Seeker (OC, the Master's son), Eleventh Doctor, Clara, the Master, Jack, River, Roda (OC), Davros, others.
Beta: The always lovelykathyh.
Thank yous: Tothe_redjay for the loan of Roda.
Feedback: Pretty please? I'm very curious to see what you think.
Chapter 4
For a few wonderful seconds, Clara felt only relief.
A sort of breathless, heart-beating-too-quickly relief, where she half expected to wake up in bed, the covers twisted and her brow covered in sweat, before realising that it had all been a dream.
(Sometimes all her echoes filtered through at night; and when she was in that liminal space between sleeping and waking she could sense untold lives and worlds hovering on the edge of her awareness, almost tangible until she tried to hold onto them, when they evaporated in wisps of smoke.)
But this was no dream; no echo.
It was far too real, and - until the Seeker had spoken up - she had been trying to wrap her head around the fact that the Doctor was helpless. That they had lost... That everything was lost.
Except salvation had arrived at the very last second.
The strange metal spheres looked somehow familiar, albeit with oddly ominous overtones that she couldn’t immediately place. Dismissing her vague unease she turned to the others - and her spontaneous relief faltered. All of them looked to be at various stages between horrified disbelief (the Doctor), apprehensive caution (River), through shock (Jack) to suspicious incredulity (Roda).
The Seeker continued speaking, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having, although now he was clearly addressing the spheres.
“Harvey - see the cyclops in the bath chair? If he moves so much as his little finger even a fraction of a millimetre - cut off his hand!”
There was a tching noise, as sharp blades suddenly projected out from the metal casing, and the sphere flew off.
“Bonnie, Clyde - take out the Daleks and secure the room. Princess - if you can, stop the countdown. And get me - but only me - out of this holding cell.”
“As you wish Lord Seeker,” they replied, their voices metallic yet playful, as they scattered.
For a few moments chaos reigned, as the Daleks and the spheres fought, but the metal balls were smaller and more agile than their adversaries, fairly easily outmanoeuvring the more unwieldy Daleks, and Clara was suddenly grateful for her holding cell, as the shots bounced right off the see-through surface.
Trying not to jump every time the cell was hit, she turned to the Doctor and realised that he had seemingly turned to stone.
“Doctor... the metal balls? What are they?”
He shot her an inscrutable look, and when he replied his voice was harsh and strangely bitter:
“They’re not his friends. They’re no one’s friends.”
And that’s as far as they got, since at that point the fighting let up, the smoke cleared, and they realised the Seeker was now standing by one of the main consoles, tapping out something or other.
The next moment the countdown stopped.
“That’s better,” he smiled, as casual and relaxed as if chatting over a cup of tea in the kitchen. "Why do villains never read Peter’s Evil Overlord List? Countdowns should never go to zero, they should go off while the heroes are still busy implementing their plan. Although I am aware that I should count my blessings today...”
They all stared, no one sure what to say, and it was Davros who eventually broke the stunned silence.
“What is the meaning of this prattle? Your little toys can’t keep this up for long, child.”
The Seeker stood up straight, arms crossed, and his eyes were calm but dangerous:
“Oh they’re not toys. They’re called the Toclafane, and in case you didn’t notice, three of them just destroyed eight of your Daleks with no difficulty at all. But I better make it official I suppose - Davros, I am declaring war. I could even do it in the name of the Shadow Proclamation I suppose... But I don’t really need them, what with being rather brilliant and more than capable on taking you on alone.”
As he spoke, Clara with a jolt remembered why the spheres looked familiar. It had been the day after the election, back in 2007 (the first time she voted, she’d felt terribly grown-up), watching the TV avidly because of the strange ‘aliens’ that were going to appear. There had been President Winters, befuddled as the floating balls - ‘Toclafane’, such an odd name - spoke of a ‘Mister Master’ who turned out to be Harold Saxon... She took a swift breath. The Master! The Seeker’s father, of course. And he’d looked just like the Seeker did now - never mind the different face - just before he’d had the President murdered...
“I should have had you killed before you ever entered this room,” Davros rasped, and the Seeker grinned.
“Oh yes you should. And even so, I am going to leave you alive, just for a little while longer... It’s risky, but dammit I’m not going to waste a chance like this.”
Before Davros could reply, the Doctor spoke up, voice cautious and his hands twisted together in a manner that belied the relative composure of his face.
“Good, very good. Very nice impersonation of your father. You’ve got the upper hand, you can let us out now...”
The Seeker let his eyes pass over them speculatively, before turning to Davros again.
“Oh, do excuse me, Davros. Little bit of personal business. Back in a minute.”
Swiftly tapping something else out on the console, he smirked.
“Also sent the Supreme Dalek a message that there was an unexpected problem, but you’re working to fix it. Should give us a good 500 rels at least...”
Then, walking over to the Doctor, the Seeker studied him for a moment, then shook his head.
“Let you out? Not a chance. Remember my rant earlier on? About why it’s only the bad guys who have a plan? I was being slightly economical with the truth. I have a plan. Several, as a matter of fact. Actually...”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Caan? I’m very much looking forward to finding out why you’ve been lying... But for the moment - are there any prophecies you can now divulge? Anything about me, say?”
They all waited as the deformed Dalek (or was that how they all looked underneath their shells? Clara shuddered to think) took a moment before speaking:
“This I saw through the fire and the strife: The Child of Two Worlds will break the Doctor’s hearts.”
The Seeker’s eyes slowly fastened on the Doctor once more.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” the Seeker eventually said, “but certainly accurate. Think I’ve probably broken one already and am well on my way to break the other one. Sorry Doctor - really I am. But life’s not fair.”
A pause.
“Although I like ‘Child of Two Worlds’. Yes, that’s good. I’ll keep that.”
The Doctor took a deep breath and tried again.
“Seeker - please. Listen to me. Just let me out-”
But the Seeker’s eyes had turned hard again.
“No. You meddle, and you’re severely emotionally compromised at the moment.”
“Emotionally comp-” the Doctor began, breaking off mid-word. “Your father died, and I’m emotionally compromised?”
“What’s this?” River asked, and Clara could see Jack and Roda suddenly standing up straight in their cells.
The Seeker turned to the three of them and explained.
“The Daleks destroyed the TARDIS - my father was inside at the time. It was an unforeseen event. I hate unknown unknowns, they’re fiendishly hard to anticipate, not to mention complicated to respond to.”
He left the sentence hanging, but the Doctor had abruptly gone pale and drawn and desperate.
“You could have saved them?”
A long pause as the Seeker stared into the distance.
“Probably not. Well, about... 8% probability. But it would have compromised everything, and the odds were much too unfavourable.”
The Doctor looked all hollow, like he had on Trenzalore when the Whisper Men were attacking...
“And it cost your father his life.”
The Seeker’s eyes narrowed, and their green colour - as well as his obvious self-containment - suddenly reminded Clara of a cat... It wasn’t a bad comparison she thought. Maybe he was like ‘The Cat that Walked by Himself’ - tolerating company perfectly equitably, but not needing it. Yet what did that mean for the current situation?
“I’m going to save the universe. I wasn’t even a year old when I learned that you don’t do that without sacrifices. Besides, Roda will be happy.”
They both turned, and Roda’s face was the most carefully studied neutral mask Clara had ever seen.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said, without any inflection at all.
“Thank you, Redjay,” he replied, his tone equally neutral, before briskly getting back to the initial bone of contention.
“Anyway, not letting you out, and not discussing it, although I can give you reasons. Clara - you seem lovely, and I’m sure you’re very handy in a crisis, but apparently you have an unfortunate tendency towards self sacrifice and dying. River-”
He hesitated slightly, as he moved along the holding cells.
“Well, Doctor Song, you have the right attitude. If I need another pair of hands, you’ll probably be it.”
“Why thank you,” she replied, perfectly deadpan, and he smiled.
“Don’t mention it. Jack- your plan was idiotic, so I’m cross with you. Roda...”
For the first time he hesitated. Roda - or the Redjay, clearly all Time Lords had several names, most of them peculiar - watched him intently. She was about River’s height, her auburn hair interwoven with red feathers, the simplicity indicated by her brown trousers and white shirt belied by the intensity of her gaze, which now made the Seeker almost falter.
“I... guess this is the real reason why you stopped - will stop - seeing me.”
“Depends what you do,” she replied, voice cautious. “The new face was a bit of a surprise. How recent?”
“I’m from the future - relative to you and Jack at least. Been a bit of a hermit for the past few years - more so than usual. Busy with new projects.”
“So I see,” she said, shooting the Toclafane a piercing glance. “This new model is a bit more shades of grey, huh?”
Not interested in the love affairs of others when there were more important issues to focus on, Clara tried to catch the Doctor’s attention. Dalek Caan’s words had reminded her of the prophecy she had been told, and although it was probably too late, she wanted to tell him...
“Doctor!” she half-hissed, half-whispered. “Listen! There is something I need to tell you!”
Eventually he turned, and she told herself very firmly that she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by the pain she could read in his eyes...
“I was told a prophecy by the lady at the Shadow Proclamation.”
He did a double take, finally focussing on her properly.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I... there- there wasn’t really time. But she said...” She concentrated, trying to push her feelings aside and just repeat what she’d heard. “She said that not even dying would prevent today’s heartbreak. And... She said not to trust the man in black, because he’s his father’s son and today he will lay claim to his birth right.”
For the longest moment the Doctor only looked at her; old, old eyes in that long youthful face, the forelock falling over his forehead in almost comical fashion. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head, even as he couldn’t help but glance at the spheres.
“No. No, he wouldn’t,” he whispered. “He wouldn’t do that. Surely...”
But the sudden dread in his eyes was unmistakable.
(The Seeker’s face, resigned to causing heartbreak... What could he be planning? She no longer feared for herself or the world - just wondered how much more her poor Doctor could cope with. What would he do without his TARDIS?)
Worried, she refocussed her attention on the Seeker and Roda.
“Roda - I know you’re claustrophobic, but I can only let you out if you promise not to interfere - no matter what happens.”
She studied him silently for a long moment, and then eventually shook her head.
“No. Sorry, but no.”
He sighed.
“Then you’re staying where you are. Sorry.”
“Fine,” she said, almost with a hint of sulking. The Seeker stepped back, as the Doctor almost exploded.
“Roda? What are you doing?”
She shot him a cool look.
“I know what you’re thinking. But I won’t lie to him. And I won’t betray him. He trusts me.”
Jack, too, looked fit to burst, although he tried to keep his voice calm.
“Roda I understand, I love him too, but of all the times for you to be clinging to your principles...”
At this point River cut in.
“Oh leave Roda alone, just because she is keeping her head there’s no need for you to lose yours. Look, the lad’s got a plan, he’s on a bit of a power trip, it’ll wear off. Who here hasn’t been in his shoes? Let him have some fun for a while.”
“Fun?” the Doctor’s voice took incredulity to new heights. “Fun? River you can’t possibly be serious-”
“Shut up!”
Silence fell as they all looked at the Seeker who seemed genuinely angry now.
“All my life. All. My. Life I’ve had this. Why do you think I turned myself into a hermit on my lovely quiet planet?”
“Seeker-”
“Alex-”
“Just listen-”
They all nearly fell over each other in order to get him to listen, and he shook his head.
“No. You’ve had your say.”
Davros cackled.
“It would seem there is dissent in the ranks young Seeker...”
Unexpectedly, the Seeker’s mouth turned up at the corners.
“They’re not my ranks, they’re spectators. Which is why they’re so frustrated. But I want to have a word with you in peace and quiet, so...”
Stepping up to Davros he surveyed the control panel in front of the wizened figure.
“Ah yes, thought so.”
He reached out, Davros seemingly stunned into silence at his audacity, as the Seeker pressed some buttons and then pushed a small lever.
“And that should have done it. Sound able to enter, but not exit, those charming holding cells. Oh Doctor, your enemies know you far too well...”
Letting his eyes pass over them all, the small smile widened into a grin.
“I can see why dad enjoyed this kinda thing. And Davros - if you had a future I’d suggest making your tools isomorphic.”
Clara could see the others speaking, but no sound reached her ears. Realising that there was nothing they could do to influence the Seeker she tried to shut everything out, in what was probably a vain attempt at making sense of what was happening. Her emotions were so conflicted she didn’t even know where to start.
How to reconcile the Seeker’s quite genuine distress over her echo-self’s death with the current situation? Plus he’d been genuinely friendly when he’d had no need to. She’d liked him...
Eyes moving to the Tolafane, she felt that surely here lay the heart of the mystery. The thing that bridged the gap between the friendly young Time Lord and the dread she could read in the other’s eyes.
If only he hadn’t made it impossible for her to speak, she’d ask what they were...
Refocussing on the present she realised that the Seeker was now walking around Davros, studying him as if he was something precious and exquisite.
“The last Kaled...” he said softly. “You must be the rarest thing in the whole universe right now.” A puff of laughter, even as he shook his head. “I think I have goose bumps. You are... legend. I grew up with the stories...”
Turning on his heel he shot the Doctor a wide grin.
“Do you remember Doctor, when I was obsessed with Daleks? Filling all those notebooks with theories and speculation... Dad was especially fond of all my ideas about reproduction, although I suppose it was mostly all the detailed illustrations that amused him. How old was I? Nine?”
The Doctor didn’t answer, nor did the Seeker expect an answer as he turned back to Davros, gently letting his hands pass over Davros’ chest. “Growing new Daleks from your own body... I don’t think I ever thought of that. Genius. Like your big planet-engine out there...”
“Are you trying to flatter me, youngster?” Davros cut him off. “I do not need praise from upstarts. Soon enough you will understand the might that I wield. My children will destroy your toys and you will pay for this, mark my words. The universe will scream as it is torn apart, and so will you.”
The Seeker rolled his eyes.
“Oh great, the megalomanic speech. Hang on, I need something to sit on.”
Taking a few steps back to the nearest dead Dalek, he pushed it along until was positioned close to Davros, before kicking it over and nimbly jumping up and using it as a seat.
“Right then. Before we continue, I just want to reinforce how important it is for to you stay completely still. You can rant all you want, but you should know that poor Harvey here has had no fun at all for a very long time. I am reasonably certain he’ll do as I tell him, but if you give him the slightest opportunity he will slice you to ribbons. I even wore a practical coat in case of a situation like this. Blood’ll wash straight out - plus it’s black, so stains won’t show.”
A beat, then the seriousness fell off him.
“I’m trying so hard to keep calm and composed, but it’s not easy... This is- Well I hesitate to call it ‘A Dream Come True’, and yet, that said - I’m a little... disappointed? As evil plans go, literally destroying everything is... Are you familiar with the term ‘shooting yourself in the foot?’” He looked down at Davros' metal-encased lower body, tilted his head. “Probably not. Unless that's how you ended up like this in the first place? Anyway, you should have had a word with my Toclafane, they could have told you how much fun it is to sit around in the cold and the dark, with nothing to look forward to. Ever. And maniacal laughter does get old eventually.”
Davros sneered.
“You think to lecture me, child? Words will not win this ‘war’ you are deluding yourself you can fight.”
The Seeker shook his head, leaning forward.
“Look on it as a little interlude - I rather enjoy monologuing; probably the result of being the son of an evil overlord. And believe you me, you should listen carefully. Because you see, I might be the only person in the whole of the universe who understands you. I look at your Daleks and I understand why you think them beautiful. Truly I do. They’re pure. Singular. Absolute.”
He paused, eyes unfocussing, before slowly nodding.
“So... I guess I understand your plan after all. But complete purity is also stagnation. Sterile. Barren... And eventually self-defeating. Now my father might have been insane, but he understood that you cannot rule over the dead.”
Studying Davros, a sudden intensity came into his demeanour. He was outlined against blood red walls, his black-and-white profile stark and uncompromising. Clara shuddered involuntarily, wondering how he could shift between personas with such apparent ease. The cat comparison came back to her... It was like watching a cat crouching, watching its prey.
The others were all grim-faced by now, silently listening as they had no other choice, and she wondered just where things were now heading. He had talked of saving the universe, but if that was the case why were the others so worried? And why was he so determined to keep them locked up? Then he spoke again, and she listened carefully as she realised that he was finally speaking about himself and his motives:
“Dalek Caan called me the Child of Two Worlds - allow me to explain what that means, and why I will be the one to destroy you. I was born out of time, a child of a paradox. My father named me Alexander the Great, and I was the heir to an empire that was going to stretch across the whole of time and space. I was, quite literally, born to rule. So since you’ve killed him, I suppose it’s time for me to step forward and claim my inheritance. The universe is mine, and I don’t like people to touch my things.”
At this he jumped to his feet, hands held out, a wide grin on his face that was pure Harold Saxon.
“So tonight, Davros, I’m going to be... the Voodoo Child.”
The Doctor had been a silent statue throughout, but the effect of these words seemed to jolt him, to the extent that Clara’s worry levels once more went through the roof.
Davros however seemed unmoved and merely sneered.
“Your time is running out, Seeker. The Supreme Dalek will descend and you will die.”
His grin fading into a smug smile, the Seeker reached into his pocket and brought out something that looked like the Doctor’s sonic in size and shape, before adjusting the settings, frowning in concentration, much like the Doctor would.
“This is tricky, what with being a second out of sync. But don’t you worry, Davros - I’ll make my father proud today...”
The Doctor was now beating on the cell wall so persistently that the Seeker eventually noticed, before leaning forward and pressing a button on Davros’ control panel.
“Oh go on then, what is it?”
“Seeker... Stop, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
If the Doctor had hoped to affect a change of heart, he failed. The Seeker merely regarded him with perfect calm and resignation as he replied:
“Oh Doctor. I always know what I’m doing. It is my blessing and my curse. And I find it hard to believe you only worked out my plan just now.”
“No of course not, but quite frankly I didn’t think you’d be so stupid!”
The Seeker’s only reaction was a faint shake of the head, before he once more busied himself with whatever he was doing to the screwdriver. A beat, then he answered, voice still perfectly level:
“Stupid is as stupid does. Considering the very particular circumstances of this situation, this solution was the most expedient and appropriate. It also happens to be my favourite. Except I never found a way to add the music. But never mind. Can’t have everything.”
Being satisfied that his adjustments were complete, he shot Davros a swift glance.
“You’re being very quiet. Guess you reckon you’re invincible. Well let’s see who’s left standing when the war is done.”
Then he gazed upwards.
“Dad, this is for you. Wish you could have been here, it would have made your day. Everyone else-”
A swift glance encompassing them all.
“-sorry about the nightmares. Truly, I am. But that won’t stop me.”
Walking over to the main control panel he pressed a few buttons, and two screens appeared. One of them displayed the Medusa Cascade. The other showcased the Supreme Dalek and the myriad Daleks behind it.
“Hello Daleks,” the Seeker said, voice bright and cheerful. “I’m afraid the delay of the destruction of the universe wasn’t anything to do with technical glitches - it was me. And before you start to line up to shoot me, please be aware that as of now, you are at war. Because here come the drums...”
He held up the screwdriver, and for a few seconds nothing happened.
The Daleks on the screen began clamouring: “Intruder! Intruder! To the Vault! Exterminate!”, but then the whole of the Crucible seemed to shake and Clara’s attention shifted to the screen displaying the Medusa Cascade.
Outside the sky tore asunder, a tear in the fabric of reality itself, the edges ragged and raw, as an endless, endless stream of Toclafane cascaded out. There seemed to be a strange sort of rhythm or cadence to them, and after a few moments she realised that they were continually repeating the same words. Millions of metallic voices, sing-song-ing the same phrase over and over again, like some sort of demented childrens’ rhyme, chilling her in its unabashed gleefulness.
’We will fly and blaze and slice! We will fly and blaze and slice!’
No sooner had she wrapped her head around what she was hearing than the Daleks drowned out the spheres, shouting about being under attack and spilling out into the Medusa Cascade, firing at the Toclafane. After that chaos reigned, the fighting seemingly encompassing the entirety of their field of vision.
But Clara heard the Seeker speak, voice quietly triumphant as he stood back watching the unfolding battle:
“And so it came to pass, on the day of the War in the Medusa Cascade, that the Dalek race fell. And I looked down upon the destruction I wrought; and I thought it good.”
TBC.
kathyh enough for being a marvellous beta and helping me to wrestle it into submission.Beginning here if anyone is interested: Prologue. And Master post for the whole 'verse here.
Summary: "Why is it only ever the bad guys who have a proper plan?" The Master's son finally meets the Daleks. And he thought it a good day. (TSE/JE rewrite with Eleven and Clara and a host of extras.)
Setting: Future AU TSE/JE.
Spoilers: The Name of the Doctor (S7.13)
Rating: PG-13.
Characters: The Seeker (OC, the Master's son), Eleventh Doctor, Clara, the Master, Jack, River, Roda (OC), Davros, others.
Beta: The always lovely
kathyh.Thank yous: To
the_redjay for the loan of Roda.Feedback: Pretty please? I'm very curious to see what you think.
Chapter 4
For a few wonderful seconds, Clara felt only relief.
A sort of breathless, heart-beating-too-quickly relief, where she half expected to wake up in bed, the covers twisted and her brow covered in sweat, before realising that it had all been a dream.
(Sometimes all her echoes filtered through at night; and when she was in that liminal space between sleeping and waking she could sense untold lives and worlds hovering on the edge of her awareness, almost tangible until she tried to hold onto them, when they evaporated in wisps of smoke.)
But this was no dream; no echo.
It was far too real, and - until the Seeker had spoken up - she had been trying to wrap her head around the fact that the Doctor was helpless. That they had lost... That everything was lost.
Except salvation had arrived at the very last second.
The strange metal spheres looked somehow familiar, albeit with oddly ominous overtones that she couldn’t immediately place. Dismissing her vague unease she turned to the others - and her spontaneous relief faltered. All of them looked to be at various stages between horrified disbelief (the Doctor), apprehensive caution (River), through shock (Jack) to suspicious incredulity (Roda).
The Seeker continued speaking, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having, although now he was clearly addressing the spheres.
“Harvey - see the cyclops in the bath chair? If he moves so much as his little finger even a fraction of a millimetre - cut off his hand!”
There was a tching noise, as sharp blades suddenly projected out from the metal casing, and the sphere flew off.
“Bonnie, Clyde - take out the Daleks and secure the room. Princess - if you can, stop the countdown. And get me - but only me - out of this holding cell.”
“As you wish Lord Seeker,” they replied, their voices metallic yet playful, as they scattered.
For a few moments chaos reigned, as the Daleks and the spheres fought, but the metal balls were smaller and more agile than their adversaries, fairly easily outmanoeuvring the more unwieldy Daleks, and Clara was suddenly grateful for her holding cell, as the shots bounced right off the see-through surface.
Trying not to jump every time the cell was hit, she turned to the Doctor and realised that he had seemingly turned to stone.
“Doctor... the metal balls? What are they?”
He shot her an inscrutable look, and when he replied his voice was harsh and strangely bitter:
“They’re not his friends. They’re no one’s friends.”
And that’s as far as they got, since at that point the fighting let up, the smoke cleared, and they realised the Seeker was now standing by one of the main consoles, tapping out something or other.
The next moment the countdown stopped.
“That’s better,” he smiled, as casual and relaxed as if chatting over a cup of tea in the kitchen. "Why do villains never read Peter’s Evil Overlord List? Countdowns should never go to zero, they should go off while the heroes are still busy implementing their plan. Although I am aware that I should count my blessings today...”
They all stared, no one sure what to say, and it was Davros who eventually broke the stunned silence.
“What is the meaning of this prattle? Your little toys can’t keep this up for long, child.”
The Seeker stood up straight, arms crossed, and his eyes were calm but dangerous:
“Oh they’re not toys. They’re called the Toclafane, and in case you didn’t notice, three of them just destroyed eight of your Daleks with no difficulty at all. But I better make it official I suppose - Davros, I am declaring war. I could even do it in the name of the Shadow Proclamation I suppose... But I don’t really need them, what with being rather brilliant and more than capable on taking you on alone.”
As he spoke, Clara with a jolt remembered why the spheres looked familiar. It had been the day after the election, back in 2007 (the first time she voted, she’d felt terribly grown-up), watching the TV avidly because of the strange ‘aliens’ that were going to appear. There had been President Winters, befuddled as the floating balls - ‘Toclafane’, such an odd name - spoke of a ‘Mister Master’ who turned out to be Harold Saxon... She took a swift breath. The Master! The Seeker’s father, of course. And he’d looked just like the Seeker did now - never mind the different face - just before he’d had the President murdered...
“I should have had you killed before you ever entered this room,” Davros rasped, and the Seeker grinned.
“Oh yes you should. And even so, I am going to leave you alive, just for a little while longer... It’s risky, but dammit I’m not going to waste a chance like this.”
Before Davros could reply, the Doctor spoke up, voice cautious and his hands twisted together in a manner that belied the relative composure of his face.
“Good, very good. Very nice impersonation of your father. You’ve got the upper hand, you can let us out now...”
The Seeker let his eyes pass over them speculatively, before turning to Davros again.
“Oh, do excuse me, Davros. Little bit of personal business. Back in a minute.”
Swiftly tapping something else out on the console, he smirked.
“Also sent the Supreme Dalek a message that there was an unexpected problem, but you’re working to fix it. Should give us a good 500 rels at least...”
Then, walking over to the Doctor, the Seeker studied him for a moment, then shook his head.
“Let you out? Not a chance. Remember my rant earlier on? About why it’s only the bad guys who have a plan? I was being slightly economical with the truth. I have a plan. Several, as a matter of fact. Actually...”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Caan? I’m very much looking forward to finding out why you’ve been lying... But for the moment - are there any prophecies you can now divulge? Anything about me, say?”
They all waited as the deformed Dalek (or was that how they all looked underneath their shells? Clara shuddered to think) took a moment before speaking:
“This I saw through the fire and the strife: The Child of Two Worlds will break the Doctor’s hearts.”
The Seeker’s eyes slowly fastened on the Doctor once more.
“Not exactly what I was expecting,” the Seeker eventually said, “but certainly accurate. Think I’ve probably broken one already and am well on my way to break the other one. Sorry Doctor - really I am. But life’s not fair.”
A pause.
“Although I like ‘Child of Two Worlds’. Yes, that’s good. I’ll keep that.”
The Doctor took a deep breath and tried again.
“Seeker - please. Listen to me. Just let me out-”
But the Seeker’s eyes had turned hard again.
“No. You meddle, and you’re severely emotionally compromised at the moment.”
“Emotionally comp-” the Doctor began, breaking off mid-word. “Your father died, and I’m emotionally compromised?”
“What’s this?” River asked, and Clara could see Jack and Roda suddenly standing up straight in their cells.
The Seeker turned to the three of them and explained.
“The Daleks destroyed the TARDIS - my father was inside at the time. It was an unforeseen event. I hate unknown unknowns, they’re fiendishly hard to anticipate, not to mention complicated to respond to.”
He left the sentence hanging, but the Doctor had abruptly gone pale and drawn and desperate.
“You could have saved them?”
A long pause as the Seeker stared into the distance.
“Probably not. Well, about... 8% probability. But it would have compromised everything, and the odds were much too unfavourable.”
The Doctor looked all hollow, like he had on Trenzalore when the Whisper Men were attacking...
“And it cost your father his life.”
The Seeker’s eyes narrowed, and their green colour - as well as his obvious self-containment - suddenly reminded Clara of a cat... It wasn’t a bad comparison she thought. Maybe he was like ‘The Cat that Walked by Himself’ - tolerating company perfectly equitably, but not needing it. Yet what did that mean for the current situation?
“I’m going to save the universe. I wasn’t even a year old when I learned that you don’t do that without sacrifices. Besides, Roda will be happy.”
They both turned, and Roda’s face was the most carefully studied neutral mask Clara had ever seen.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said, without any inflection at all.
“Thank you, Redjay,” he replied, his tone equally neutral, before briskly getting back to the initial bone of contention.
“Anyway, not letting you out, and not discussing it, although I can give you reasons. Clara - you seem lovely, and I’m sure you’re very handy in a crisis, but apparently you have an unfortunate tendency towards self sacrifice and dying. River-”
He hesitated slightly, as he moved along the holding cells.
“Well, Doctor Song, you have the right attitude. If I need another pair of hands, you’ll probably be it.”
“Why thank you,” she replied, perfectly deadpan, and he smiled.
“Don’t mention it. Jack- your plan was idiotic, so I’m cross with you. Roda...”
For the first time he hesitated. Roda - or the Redjay, clearly all Time Lords had several names, most of them peculiar - watched him intently. She was about River’s height, her auburn hair interwoven with red feathers, the simplicity indicated by her brown trousers and white shirt belied by the intensity of her gaze, which now made the Seeker almost falter.
“I... guess this is the real reason why you stopped - will stop - seeing me.”
“Depends what you do,” she replied, voice cautious. “The new face was a bit of a surprise. How recent?”
“I’m from the future - relative to you and Jack at least. Been a bit of a hermit for the past few years - more so than usual. Busy with new projects.”
“So I see,” she said, shooting the Toclafane a piercing glance. “This new model is a bit more shades of grey, huh?”
Not interested in the love affairs of others when there were more important issues to focus on, Clara tried to catch the Doctor’s attention. Dalek Caan’s words had reminded her of the prophecy she had been told, and although it was probably too late, she wanted to tell him...
“Doctor!” she half-hissed, half-whispered. “Listen! There is something I need to tell you!”
Eventually he turned, and she told herself very firmly that she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by the pain she could read in his eyes...
“I was told a prophecy by the lady at the Shadow Proclamation.”
He did a double take, finally focussing on her properly.
“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I... there- there wasn’t really time. But she said...” She concentrated, trying to push her feelings aside and just repeat what she’d heard. “She said that not even dying would prevent today’s heartbreak. And... She said not to trust the man in black, because he’s his father’s son and today he will lay claim to his birth right.”
For the longest moment the Doctor only looked at her; old, old eyes in that long youthful face, the forelock falling over his forehead in almost comical fashion. Then, almost imperceptibly, he shook his head, even as he couldn’t help but glance at the spheres.
“No. No, he wouldn’t,” he whispered. “He wouldn’t do that. Surely...”
But the sudden dread in his eyes was unmistakable.
(The Seeker’s face, resigned to causing heartbreak... What could he be planning? She no longer feared for herself or the world - just wondered how much more her poor Doctor could cope with. What would he do without his TARDIS?)
Worried, she refocussed her attention on the Seeker and Roda.
“Roda - I know you’re claustrophobic, but I can only let you out if you promise not to interfere - no matter what happens.”
She studied him silently for a long moment, and then eventually shook her head.
“No. Sorry, but no.”
He sighed.
“Then you’re staying where you are. Sorry.”
“Fine,” she said, almost with a hint of sulking. The Seeker stepped back, as the Doctor almost exploded.
“Roda? What are you doing?”
She shot him a cool look.
“I know what you’re thinking. But I won’t lie to him. And I won’t betray him. He trusts me.”
Jack, too, looked fit to burst, although he tried to keep his voice calm.
“Roda I understand, I love him too, but of all the times for you to be clinging to your principles...”
At this point River cut in.
“Oh leave Roda alone, just because she is keeping her head there’s no need for you to lose yours. Look, the lad’s got a plan, he’s on a bit of a power trip, it’ll wear off. Who here hasn’t been in his shoes? Let him have some fun for a while.”
“Fun?” the Doctor’s voice took incredulity to new heights. “Fun? River you can’t possibly be serious-”
“Shut up!”
Silence fell as they all looked at the Seeker who seemed genuinely angry now.
“All my life. All. My. Life I’ve had this. Why do you think I turned myself into a hermit on my lovely quiet planet?”
“Seeker-”
“Alex-”
“Just listen-”
They all nearly fell over each other in order to get him to listen, and he shook his head.
“No. You’ve had your say.”
Davros cackled.
“It would seem there is dissent in the ranks young Seeker...”
Unexpectedly, the Seeker’s mouth turned up at the corners.
“They’re not my ranks, they’re spectators. Which is why they’re so frustrated. But I want to have a word with you in peace and quiet, so...”
Stepping up to Davros he surveyed the control panel in front of the wizened figure.
“Ah yes, thought so.”
He reached out, Davros seemingly stunned into silence at his audacity, as the Seeker pressed some buttons and then pushed a small lever.
“And that should have done it. Sound able to enter, but not exit, those charming holding cells. Oh Doctor, your enemies know you far too well...”
Letting his eyes pass over them all, the small smile widened into a grin.
“I can see why dad enjoyed this kinda thing. And Davros - if you had a future I’d suggest making your tools isomorphic.”
Clara could see the others speaking, but no sound reached her ears. Realising that there was nothing they could do to influence the Seeker she tried to shut everything out, in what was probably a vain attempt at making sense of what was happening. Her emotions were so conflicted she didn’t even know where to start.
How to reconcile the Seeker’s quite genuine distress over her echo-self’s death with the current situation? Plus he’d been genuinely friendly when he’d had no need to. She’d liked him...
Eyes moving to the Tolafane, she felt that surely here lay the heart of the mystery. The thing that bridged the gap between the friendly young Time Lord and the dread she could read in the other’s eyes.
If only he hadn’t made it impossible for her to speak, she’d ask what they were...
Refocussing on the present she realised that the Seeker was now walking around Davros, studying him as if he was something precious and exquisite.
“The last Kaled...” he said softly. “You must be the rarest thing in the whole universe right now.” A puff of laughter, even as he shook his head. “I think I have goose bumps. You are... legend. I grew up with the stories...”
Turning on his heel he shot the Doctor a wide grin.
“Do you remember Doctor, when I was obsessed with Daleks? Filling all those notebooks with theories and speculation... Dad was especially fond of all my ideas about reproduction, although I suppose it was mostly all the detailed illustrations that amused him. How old was I? Nine?”
The Doctor didn’t answer, nor did the Seeker expect an answer as he turned back to Davros, gently letting his hands pass over Davros’ chest. “Growing new Daleks from your own body... I don’t think I ever thought of that. Genius. Like your big planet-engine out there...”
“Are you trying to flatter me, youngster?” Davros cut him off. “I do not need praise from upstarts. Soon enough you will understand the might that I wield. My children will destroy your toys and you will pay for this, mark my words. The universe will scream as it is torn apart, and so will you.”
The Seeker rolled his eyes.
“Oh great, the megalomanic speech. Hang on, I need something to sit on.”
Taking a few steps back to the nearest dead Dalek, he pushed it along until was positioned close to Davros, before kicking it over and nimbly jumping up and using it as a seat.
“Right then. Before we continue, I just want to reinforce how important it is for to you stay completely still. You can rant all you want, but you should know that poor Harvey here has had no fun at all for a very long time. I am reasonably certain he’ll do as I tell him, but if you give him the slightest opportunity he will slice you to ribbons. I even wore a practical coat in case of a situation like this. Blood’ll wash straight out - plus it’s black, so stains won’t show.”
A beat, then the seriousness fell off him.
“I’m trying so hard to keep calm and composed, but it’s not easy... This is- Well I hesitate to call it ‘A Dream Come True’, and yet, that said - I’m a little... disappointed? As evil plans go, literally destroying everything is... Are you familiar with the term ‘shooting yourself in the foot?’” He looked down at Davros' metal-encased lower body, tilted his head. “Probably not. Unless that's how you ended up like this in the first place? Anyway, you should have had a word with my Toclafane, they could have told you how much fun it is to sit around in the cold and the dark, with nothing to look forward to. Ever. And maniacal laughter does get old eventually.”
Davros sneered.
“You think to lecture me, child? Words will not win this ‘war’ you are deluding yourself you can fight.”
The Seeker shook his head, leaning forward.
“Look on it as a little interlude - I rather enjoy monologuing; probably the result of being the son of an evil overlord. And believe you me, you should listen carefully. Because you see, I might be the only person in the whole of the universe who understands you. I look at your Daleks and I understand why you think them beautiful. Truly I do. They’re pure. Singular. Absolute.”
He paused, eyes unfocussing, before slowly nodding.
“So... I guess I understand your plan after all. But complete purity is also stagnation. Sterile. Barren... And eventually self-defeating. Now my father might have been insane, but he understood that you cannot rule over the dead.”
Studying Davros, a sudden intensity came into his demeanour. He was outlined against blood red walls, his black-and-white profile stark and uncompromising. Clara shuddered involuntarily, wondering how he could shift between personas with such apparent ease. The cat comparison came back to her... It was like watching a cat crouching, watching its prey.
The others were all grim-faced by now, silently listening as they had no other choice, and she wondered just where things were now heading. He had talked of saving the universe, but if that was the case why were the others so worried? And why was he so determined to keep them locked up? Then he spoke again, and she listened carefully as she realised that he was finally speaking about himself and his motives:
“Dalek Caan called me the Child of Two Worlds - allow me to explain what that means, and why I will be the one to destroy you. I was born out of time, a child of a paradox. My father named me Alexander the Great, and I was the heir to an empire that was going to stretch across the whole of time and space. I was, quite literally, born to rule. So since you’ve killed him, I suppose it’s time for me to step forward and claim my inheritance. The universe is mine, and I don’t like people to touch my things.”
At this he jumped to his feet, hands held out, a wide grin on his face that was pure Harold Saxon.
“So tonight, Davros, I’m going to be... the Voodoo Child.”
The Doctor had been a silent statue throughout, but the effect of these words seemed to jolt him, to the extent that Clara’s worry levels once more went through the roof.
Davros however seemed unmoved and merely sneered.
“Your time is running out, Seeker. The Supreme Dalek will descend and you will die.”
His grin fading into a smug smile, the Seeker reached into his pocket and brought out something that looked like the Doctor’s sonic in size and shape, before adjusting the settings, frowning in concentration, much like the Doctor would.
“This is tricky, what with being a second out of sync. But don’t you worry, Davros - I’ll make my father proud today...”
The Doctor was now beating on the cell wall so persistently that the Seeker eventually noticed, before leaning forward and pressing a button on Davros’ control panel.
“Oh go on then, what is it?”
“Seeker... Stop, please! You don’t know what you’re doing!”
If the Doctor had hoped to affect a change of heart, he failed. The Seeker merely regarded him with perfect calm and resignation as he replied:
“Oh Doctor. I always know what I’m doing. It is my blessing and my curse. And I find it hard to believe you only worked out my plan just now.”
“No of course not, but quite frankly I didn’t think you’d be so stupid!”
The Seeker’s only reaction was a faint shake of the head, before he once more busied himself with whatever he was doing to the screwdriver. A beat, then he answered, voice still perfectly level:
“Stupid is as stupid does. Considering the very particular circumstances of this situation, this solution was the most expedient and appropriate. It also happens to be my favourite. Except I never found a way to add the music. But never mind. Can’t have everything.”
Being satisfied that his adjustments were complete, he shot Davros a swift glance.
“You’re being very quiet. Guess you reckon you’re invincible. Well let’s see who’s left standing when the war is done.”
Then he gazed upwards.
“Dad, this is for you. Wish you could have been here, it would have made your day. Everyone else-”
A swift glance encompassing them all.
“-sorry about the nightmares. Truly, I am. But that won’t stop me.”
Walking over to the main control panel he pressed a few buttons, and two screens appeared. One of them displayed the Medusa Cascade. The other showcased the Supreme Dalek and the myriad Daleks behind it.
“Hello Daleks,” the Seeker said, voice bright and cheerful. “I’m afraid the delay of the destruction of the universe wasn’t anything to do with technical glitches - it was me. And before you start to line up to shoot me, please be aware that as of now, you are at war. Because here come the drums...”
He held up the screwdriver, and for a few seconds nothing happened.
The Daleks on the screen began clamouring: “Intruder! Intruder! To the Vault! Exterminate!”, but then the whole of the Crucible seemed to shake and Clara’s attention shifted to the screen displaying the Medusa Cascade.
Outside the sky tore asunder, a tear in the fabric of reality itself, the edges ragged and raw, as an endless, endless stream of Toclafane cascaded out. There seemed to be a strange sort of rhythm or cadence to them, and after a few moments she realised that they were continually repeating the same words. Millions of metallic voices, sing-song-ing the same phrase over and over again, like some sort of demented childrens’ rhyme, chilling her in its unabashed gleefulness.
’We will fly and blaze and slice! We will fly and blaze and slice!’
No sooner had she wrapped her head around what she was hearing than the Daleks drowned out the spheres, shouting about being under attack and spilling out into the Medusa Cascade, firing at the Toclafane. After that chaos reigned, the fighting seemingly encompassing the entirety of their field of vision.
But Clara heard the Seeker speak, voice quietly triumphant as he stood back watching the unfolding battle:
“And so it came to pass, on the day of the War in the Medusa Cascade, that the Dalek race fell. And I looked down upon the destruction I wrought; and I thought it good.”
TBC.