(Footsteps on gravel.)
ZEKE [OC]: (tired) Anyone sensible would have
given up by now. There must be better things to do than this. I say that, even though
I can’t think of any. Not a single thing. I’ve forgotten everything except for
this, putting one foot in front of the other, heading as far away from him as
possible. I used to run to exhaustion, until I collapsed and couldn’t move a
muscle. Other times I paced myself, even and steady, traversing the landscape
at a regular pace. I’ve climbed up mountains and climbed down canyons. When the
land runs out, I swim. When the water freezes, I walk again. I lost count after
the first three months, and I’m pretty sure that was years ago. There’s no
point keeping track, is there? It’s not as if when I reach a certain number I
can stop or celebrate or even think of something else. I should be dead by now.
I’m not an athlete or a survivalist. I couldn’t tell you what plants were poisonous
or what animals were friendly. I’m no navigator. I know on more than one
occasion I’ve got lost on an island, going round and round in circles for days
without suspecting anything. I should be dead. But death means escape, doesn’t
it? And I can’t escape. I might collapse of exhaustion, but I’ll wake up freshly-rested,
fully-rehydrated, in perfect help and he’ll be there, on the horizon, admiring
the landscape. Maybe a sarcastic wave or a salute, and then when I set off
again he just laughs and shakes his head. Sometimes I see him follow me.
Sometimes weeks pass between glimpses of him. And sometimes he keeps me
company. Times like now.
MASTER: There’s a casino over that rise, you
know.
ZEKE: I know.
MASTER: Why don’t you pop inside? Have a go on
the roulette tables, maybe put a few wagers down? You might get lucky. Of course,
you might not. Still, on the bright side, no one’s going to complain if you don’t
pay your debts. Or, frankly, your current attire isn’t matching their dress
standards. You sure I can’t interest you in a proper pair of trousers, for example.
ZEKE: No.
MASTER: You don’t actually have to wear
clothes, of course. There’s no one left to be embarrassed by your nudity.
Except me, of course. Go on, friend. Go au naturelle and see if I blush. (beat)
They were having so much fun over in that casino. So sad it all stopped, so
suddenly, so brutally. Oh, if only some nice passer-by could save them all. If
only, eh? (sotto) Am I being too subtle again? I’m referring to you.
ZEKE: I know.
MASTER: Well, there’s no one left alive to refer
to, so it’s hardly a big mystery. Go on. You can save everyone in there, from
those white tigers to those struggling actresses serving cocktails to make ends
meet. One word from you and, bang. Let there be life.
ZEKE: Then they’re all going to be disappointed.
MASTER: I think we’ve gone past disappointment,
me old cantaloupe. I think that you’re the most reviled and hated being in the
world. Not from my point of view, of course, I just think you’re thick and
stubborn. But if any of the trillions and trillions of dead out there can
possibly comprehend the situation, well… they’re not going to think highly of
you.
ZEKE: I didn’t kill them.
MASTER: Oh, that’s a good defense. I bet that’ll
stand up in court. Unlike the counsel for the defense. Or the judge. Or the jury.
They’ll just stay on the floor, all contorted in agony and staring at the ceiling.
None of that “objection your honor” “sustained, my learned companion” rubbish.
No, you take your place in the witness stand and say “I didn’t kill them” and
see if anyone disagrees. Or agrees. Or anything. Still, you’ll walk out of there
a free man. Hence my belief it was a good defense.
ZEKE: You talk too much.
MASTER: Well, you talk too little. These things
have to balance out. Between you and me, I get a terrible tinnitus in my head.
I rather like this quiet little apocalypse. No more annoying telephones or
traffic, no arguing neighbors or radio shock jocks or singing birds or laughing
children… There’s something so dignified about the silence of a graveyard, don’t
you think? Well, I’ve never heard anyone complaining. Which just goes to prove
my point, if you think about it.
ZEKE: Please. Just go away.
MASTER: I’m just keeping you company. You’re
the one unhappy about being the only living thing left on the planet. I thought
would have appreciated someone to talk to.
ZEKE: Maybe. But not you.
MASTER: Options, dearest Zeke, aren’t in very
big supply at the moment. It’s me or the sound of continental shift.
ZEKE: You know my choice.
MASTER: Charming. Absolutely charming that is.
Oh well, I’ll see if you’re like this in another year’s time. I can wait.
Patience is a particular virtue of mine, when all’s said and done.
ZEKE: Especially as you’ve got a time machine.
MASTER: Yeah, that does rather help with the patience.
So, see you same time next year, Zeke. I’m off to bet on every third digit of
Pi on the roulette wheel. (walking off) And I think you’re not going to have
half as much fun…
ZEKE [OC]: And there he goes, off again without
a care in the world. In this world, anyway. Sometimes I wish I stayed near the
cities or towns, where there were lots of landmarks I could use to tell just
how far I had come, how much distance I had traversed. For a long time now, I’ve
been trudging through deserts and tundra and wastelands. No signs of life ever
having been here to be taken away. I might end up going in circles again, unable
to work out which way is which in this endless flat desolation. But it doesn’t
matter. There’s nowhere I can escape to. On a whim, I jump off the nearest rise
and down onto the sharp wind-carved rocks below…
(Crunching noises.)
ZEKE [OC]: The force of my impact shatters the
rocks to harmless powder cushioning my fall. I’m not even winded. Somehow he
did it. Maybe he steered me here somehow, knowing I might try and end it all
and that the soft stone would save me. Maybe he traveled back in time and
eroded the stones with rancid wine. No escape that way. He’s somehow keeping an
eye on me, every moment of every day. There were times I swore and screamed
obscenities in every language I knew, until my throat was horse. He wasn’t
there to be offended. No one was. They were just meaningless noises in a dead
world. If I want to make a difference, I have to give in. The price of anonymity
is suffering. Reality television would be proud if anyone making it or watching
it was still alive. But nothing can hurt me. I remember, the very first day I met
him, he made that quite clear…
MASTER: Now, now, don’t be scared. I’m not
going to hurt you. In fact, until I’m finished with you, I’m going to make sure
absolutely no harm befalls you. You’ve never been more safe, Zeke.
ZEKE: That doesn’t exactly make me want to cooperate.
MASTER: It doesn’t?
ZEKE: If I give you what I want, you stop protecting
me.
MASTER: Yes. But whatever gave you the impression
me protecting you is a good thing?
ZEKE [OC]: He was telling the truth. I should
have guessed that long before the end of that first conversation, before he
started to kill every living thing on my planet. Everyone that walked or
crawled or swam or flew or breathed or thought or loved. The fish float dead in
stagnant rivers, birds jammed in the crooks of dead branches. No putrefaction,
no decay, no insects. Not even bacteria were spared. It’s not so much death as…
stopped. Everything. Nothing even rots now. I expect the fumes would have
choked me otherwise except…
(Sniffing.)
ZEKE [OC]: Except… smoke. I smell smoke. And…
bacon? Is that bacon cooking? It is. Someone is cooking bacon! How long has it
been since something cooked? Someone cooked? I run across the plain. It’s a
long time since the casino. I passed the dead jungles across the crumbling
ziggurats of ancient and forgotten civilizations, the wilted rainforests, and
even the wintery lowlands near the pole. I’ve been to them all more than six
times in this trek, and the visits blur together. It could have been hours or
years since I last spoke to him and now, at last, something breaks the pattern.
Food! I reach the steep hillside into a small valley. It was set up to be
farmland, with a central farmhouse not quite completed. A fire burns outside,
controlled and neat and a figure has an animal on a spit roasting. I cough, my
mouth full of drool from the scent but a tiny part of me knows what happens
next. The tiny part of me knows who is cooking the food and why. The rest of me
dies a little more, but not from surprise. He’s there. Waiting for me, enjoying
a hog-roast.
MASTER [OC]: (calls from a distance) Nearly
ready! Come on down, I’ve got the plates out.
ZEKE [OC]: I can find the effort to turn away. A
proper meal, the first in so long. Is that the first crack in my resolve, the first
pebble of the avalanche. When he finally breaks me, when I finally give in and
surrender what he wants, is that going to be a direct result of this moment?
But I’m tired. I’m just so tired and lonely! I didn’t ask for this! I never
volunteered! How long have I endured already? How long do I have to keep
enduring this? It’s not fair.
MASTER: Nothing like a nice outdoor meal as the
sun sets, eh? Just carving up.
ZEKE: Has it been a year already?
MASTER: You tell me. Or are you going to trust
me if I give an answer?
ZEKE: I suppose you haven’t poisoned this meat?
MASTER: No. Not deliberately, anyway, and don’t
worry, even if I have, I’ll be sure to save your life.
ZEKE: Even if I don’t want you to?
MASTER: Well, it’s not that simple, is it? I
mean, it’s all very well worrying about you embracing the sweet liberty of
death but what about all the others, eh? The trillions and trillions of innocent
people who didn’t get any say in the matter? Mmm? (eats meat) Mmm. Delicious. Here
you go.
ZEKE: Thanks.
MASTER: My pleasure. So, your latest walkabout lifted
the scales from your eyes yet?
ZEKE: Scales?
MASTER: I mean, have you changed your mind?
ZEKE: No. I haven’t.
MASTER: A man of conviction. Moral certainty,
am I right?
ZEKE: Don’t.
MASTER: Don’t what?
ZEKE: Whatever you’re going to do. Yours is one
of only two voices I can hear. I don’t need more lectures and discussions of
morality.
MASTER: If you want me gone, Zeke, just say the
magic words and that’s that. Didn’t I make this clear?
ZEKE: I’m not telling you anything.
MASTER: All right. All right. Forget the magic
words.
ZEKE: You want to discuss morality?
MASTER: Why not? Are you afraid I’ll outwit you
again?
ZEKE: It didn’t work last time.
MASTER: Oh, you can win an argument but can you
take it to water and make it drink? Look, Zeke, it just completely escapes me
why you have such a… contrary position to my own. Surely you, like I, agree
that life is inherently worthless?
ZEKE: No.
MASTER: No? Well, maybe not worthless but worth
very, very little.
ZEKE: No.
MASTER: You liar, you do! Look, let us hypothesize
for a moment. Say I were to save a young mother and child. That’s good, isn’t
it? Not letting them die but saving them and keeping them safe? By association,
the father and husband’s life is saved by default – how could he exist without
them? I’ve saved three people.
ZEKE: Hypothetically.
MASTER: Hypothetically, yes. So, I’ve saved
three lives. That’s worth something, is it?
ZEKE: Of course.
MASTER: Of course. Now, say I go out and kill
someone.
ZEKE: Not so hypothetical, this time.
MASTER: Perhaps not, but still. I’ve saved
three lives and taken one. I’m still two lives ahead…
ZEKE: It doesn’t work like that.
MASTER: Why not? Why doesn’t it work like that?
Unless you’re saying that a life taken is worth more than a life saved. Is that
what you’re saying?
ZEKE: Yes.
MASTER: So… I can save a thousand, million
people, but if I kill one person then that’s all my credit wasted, isn’t it? I
am, ipso facto, a bad, nasty little monster. Ninety-nine hundred, million
people still saved, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. So logically,
life is not worth as much as death. Life is worthless. Because death is worth
everything.
ZEKE: I’ve had enough to eat.
MASTER: Oh, filled up on your self-righteousness
already, have you? But if I save an entire species and it counts for nothing if
I kill one person… why bother saving an entire species? It’ll never balance
out.
(Zeke gets up and starts to leave.)
ZEKE: Thanks for the roast bacon.
MASTER: But if I kill someone and then bring
them back to life… does that balance out?
(Beat.)
MASTER: So if I were to kill every living thing
on this planet, it would only be bad thing if I didn’t resurrect them.
ZEKE: You’re not going to.
MASTER: But that’s not my fault, is it? Give me
my druthers and they’d be up and about before the fire goes out. It’s not me
choosing to leave them all dead, is it?
ZEKE: You killed them all.
MASTER: But you’re the one keeping them all
dead. Aren’t you Zeke? You think of life as so worthless you’d rather they’d
all stay dead.
ZEKE: (uncertain) If I… if I told you…
MASTER: Then the world is saved! All life restored!
Ice cream for all, puppies in great abundance! I’m not going to enslave the
planet or turn it into a power base to rule the cosmos. I’ll be off before the
pubs close. Promise, cross both my hearts.
ZEKE: Tragically, I don’t trust you.
MASTER: Have I lied to you once in our
fruitless relationship, Zeke? Did I ever trick you or betray you? I set out my
stall from the moment we met, didn’t I?
ZEKE [OC]: The moment we met. When was that? A
decade ago? Four? Maybe more, maybe less, given he’s a time traveler. It may
have been a week of him constantly nipping ahead to wait for me to crack. It
doesn’t matter to him how long it takes. Oh, I’ve thought so many thoughts
since then, thoughts that didn’t belong in my head or anyone’s head, come to
that. I saw him before I met him, of course. I knew he was trouble. I knew he
was insane. Oddly likeable too. But then, you can always admire the beauty of
the beast that’s about to devour you, can’t you?
MASTER: (quiet, serious) This is a very
important question I’m going to ask you. I want you to think about that
question very, very carefully and then answer honestly because the entire fate
of everything could quite very well depend on you. Now… the hair. What do you
think? Can I carry off ginger?
(Beat.)
MASTER: I’ve never been ginger before. I always
aim for something tall, dark and Satanically-handsome with a nice goatee. I
don’t always manage it, though, as you can see. I’m ginger, not dark. I’ve
never been this short before, either. And as for Satanically-handsome, well…
Puckishly-handsome perhaps. I’ve gone from the Prince to Darkness to Imp of
Mischief. Still, the accent could’ve been worse. It’s hard enough getting the
universe to take you seriously at the best of time, let alone resembling a
leprechaun. You, er, haven’t answered my question, I notice.
GUARD 1: I don’t particularly care, sir.
MASTER: Oh you wound me, madam. You really do.
GUARD 1: That’s what this gun is for.
MASTER: I noticed. I thought the fact I haven’t
reacted to said gun would have clued you into its complete irrelevance by now.
That gun doesn’t scare me.
GUARD 1: It’s not designed to scare you, sir,
it’s designed to kill you.
MASTER: True. And while I have many a genetic
advantage, that gun would do me a great deal of damage, especially pressed
against my temple like that. So there can only be one reason why I’m not
fussed.
GUARD 1: You’re insane.
MASTER: Ah. All right, two reasons. And the
other is…
GUARD 1: You are trespassing on facility
grounds. If you don’t surrender immediately, private legislation 804/88 grants
me permission to use maximum prejudice in terminating your life.
MASTER: Ooh, I bet you’d enjoy it too. Is that
why you got into this security lark in the first place? Or did you start young
and innocent and gradually turn cruel and cynical over the long, arduous years?
(Laser gunshot. Beat.)
MASTER: Ow.
GUARD 1: That was your regulation 8-09 mandatory
warning shot.
MASTER: My eardrums! Ooh! That’s very noisy…
GUARD 1: The next shot will end your life.
MASTER: All right, enough of the conversational
pleasantries. Put that extra-loud popgun down and maybe I won’t rip the life
from your second-rate bio-data. I’ve killed more people than you have stupid
regulation sub-categories, and I have no trouble adding your corpse to the pile.
(Beat.)
GUARD 1: (almost amused) Is that a weapon?
MASTER: This? Well, er, no. Actually, when all’s
said and done, no, it’s not a weapon. It is, however, the thing about to end
your short, unproductive and offensively-ugly life. Now, I know you’ve noticed
there is no barrel or nozzle that could be used to fire a projectile or poison
dart or toxic gas in your direction. Nor are there any of the crystalline
lattice any decent energy weapon would require. It’s far too flimsy to be used
as a blunt object on your thick skull and we’re both far too intelligent to
think this could even scratch your skin, let alone pierce your body armor. So,
if it is going to kill you it is going to go for something very different. Now,
you can either find out what it is the hard way or continue living in blissful
ignorance of what… oh, never mind, this just boring me now.
(A faint hum. The guard chokes and dies.)
MASTER: Actions speak louder than words. Ask my
eardrums. That warning shot stung! Now, I need to see Professor Ezekial
Joringham-Vella. How many more innocents have to die in the meantime?
(Lots of guns being locked-and-loaded.)
MASTER: Case in point.
GUARD 2: Drop your…
(All the guards choke and die.)
MASTER: It’s your own lives you’re wasting, you
know? Dr. Zee-eeek!!
ZEKE [OC]: He had a point. It was stupid that
no one realized why he had come to us, how everyone who crossed his path just
dropped dead without so much as touching him. I suspected the truth at once,
but I didn’t want to believe it. The facility had basic security defenses. It
didn’t need anything greater, no one would ever deliberately try to breach the labs.
No one would risk it. Except him. He had nothing to lose, but we had everything.
And when we ran out of guards, and night workers and cleaners, and the first of
the police squads arrived and started dying, I went out to see him.
ZEKE: I’m here! Please! Please, so whatever-it-is
you’re doing?
MASTER: Zeke – I may call you that, mayn’t I? –
I’m shocked. You really don’t know what I’m doing?
ZEKE: I… I can guess. My god, man, what are you
doing this for?
MASTER: People are getting in my way.
Eventually I’m hoping some of your species realize I don’t want to be impeded
and they’ll be the ones who are allowed to live and breed. It’s social
Darwinism. Do you lot know who Darwin is? Still, I’m sure you get the concept.
ZEKE: You wanted me to come out here?
MASTER: Yes I did. I see you didn’t get that
white coat by being stupid.
ZEKE: Are you… do you want to kill me? Are you
an assassin?
MASTER: Now, now, don’t be scared. I’m not
going to hurt you. In fact, until I’m finished with you, I’m going to make sure
absolutely no harm befalls you. You’ve never been more safe, Zeke.
ZEKE [OC]: He looked at me with such affection,
such respect. I could almost believe he wanted to be my friend, surrounded by
all those corpses. I should have tried to kill him there and then, just
attacked him with my bare hands when the death toll was still in
triple-figures. What was the worst that could have happened? Him killing me? If
he had, he might have realized what a waste it was and left us alone. No,
instead I listened to him and talked to him. And from that moment it was an
inevitable progression to here and now, standing outside an unfinished farmstead.
The bodies of the workers are probably dumped inside, out of view. Just waiting
for someone to bring them back to life. But I can’t… I can’t!
MASTER: How do you think this is going to end,
Zeke? I’m genuinely curious.
ZEKE: With you not getting what you want?
MASTER: With this whole planet left dead
forever. Smart plan. You know, I’ve been exploring the place as much as you
have. It’s not going well. The ground is brittle, the air dry and inhospitable.
The auto-climate systems aren’t meant to do everything on their own. It might
not be possible for this world to recover…
ZEKE: …from what you did to it?
MASTER: Oh, hooray, the blame game. Hello, old
friend. Zeke, I won’t lie to you, there’s a good chance between us we’ve put
paid to this entire biosphere. But we can still bring back all the people and
the animals and most of the plants. This planet might need to be abandoned, but
its children can survive. If everything perishes, though…
ZEKE: Then it’s all my fault? Fine! It’s all my
fault! It all ends here and now. You might as well leave.
MASTER: I might. But I’m not going to.
ZEKE: Then I am!
MASTER: (calling after him) You’re going to
break, Zeke. You’re going to give in and tell me what I need to know. Do it now
and you’ll get everything back, more or less. Keep up your stubbornness and you
murder them all! Zeke! I’m not disappointed in you, just very, very impatient!
ZEKE [OC]: I storm off into the night, ignoring
the yearning in my guts for sleep and food and comfort. I keep walking. I
ignore him whenever he appears, running and climbing. Eventually I reach an
area of bare stone and rock, riddled with caves. I head down into the deepest,
darkest tunnel I can find. The edges are rough and sharp, slicing into my skin
and drawing blood. It’s cold and dry and quiet. I can’t see any sunshine or
starlight. I sleep for as long as I can. When I am awake, I don’t move a
muscle. I sit in the darkness, eyes open or shut, it doesn’t matter. Time
passes. I almost dare to hope when…
MASTER [OC]: (singing) On the first part the
journey I was looking at all the life, there were plants and birds and rocks
and things, there was sand and hills and rings. The first thing I met was a fly
with a buzz and the sky with no clouds. The heat was hot and the ground was dry
but the air was full of sound…
ZEKE [OC]: He’s outside the cave. I doubt he
even had to look for me. He’s standing out in the rocky hollow, using the acoustics
to provide his own little sympathy. I don’t recognize the song, but I know he’s
only picked it because he thinks the lyrics will make me feel guilty. And he
thinks right.
MASTER [OC]: After two days in the desert sun, my
skin began to turn red. After three days in the desert fun, I was looking at a
river bed and the story it told of a river that flowed made me sad to think it
was dead. You see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name, it felt
good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name cause
there ain't no one for to give you no pain!
(Zeke emerges from the cave.)
ZEKE: Shut. Up.
MASTER: (laughs) I’ll have you know, I’ve got
good reviews from my singing. Well, I murdered all the judges who voted me off
and had them retrospectively listed as war criminals. My rendition of The
Gambler won quite a few plaudits even without the death threats.
ZEKE: Leave me alone!
MASTER: I’m thinking of getting a T-shirt
printed, emblazoned with the words “IT DOESN’T WORK LIKE THAT, ZEKE”. But that
could conceivably halve our conversations, so…
(Zeke starts grunting with effort.)
ZEKE [OC]: I didn’t pick this particular cave
by random. It’s the one with the most unstable of all the entrances. A big,
crooked crack splits the arch of the opening. I rammed a broken stalagmite into
it as a lever and now I grab it and haul it with every ounce of strength and
rage, screaming with effort. He looks at me, head tilted, genuinely puzzled at
what I’m doing. And then he gets it. Then he realizes I’m sealing myself into
the cave and he never once thought of that. That smug look finally vanishes
from his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. He
takes a step forward, but doesn’t know what to do. And for a second, maybe
less, it’s worth it. I’m strong enough.
(Rockfall.)
ZEKE [OC]: The entrance caves in. A blast of
displaced air hurls me back into the darkness with enough force to break a leg.
The pain is almost novel in the sense it won’t instantly be extinguished. I lie
in the dusty void, cold and clammy, dust turning mud against my sweaty limbs.
The air will run out eventually, or at least too thin for me to breathe. I
heard frenzied scratches at the rockfall once it settles, but then it stops.
(Beat.)
ZEKE [OC]: I know it’s not going to be enough,
but for a while I can lie to myself without contradiction. Maybe for a few
seconds, maybe for a few hours, as the air bleeds away and the darkness crushes
me, I can let myself believe I’ve finally escaped the tormenter.
(The sound of a TARDIS materialization.)
ZEKE [OC]: An unnatural breeze. I inhale deeply
in one last, pathetic attempt to suffocate myself before the doors of that
demon’s craft swing open…
(Door buzzing.)
ZEKE [OC]: The light shines out, not even
having the decency to be painful. And someone steps out.
LITTLE GIRL: Hullo?
ZEKE [OC]: It’s not him. It’s. Not. Him.
LITTLE GIRL: Hello? Are you all right?
ZEKE [OC]: It’s a little girl. Maybe six. She
looks malnourished. Eyes red from crying. And she’s got a puppy in her arms,
almost as big as she is. They’re both scared. Hopeful. Is there a difference?
The first living things in all these years that aren’t him.
LITTLE GIRL: Oh, mister… please don’t cry…
ZEKE: (horrified) You killed all these people…
MASTER: Well spotted.
ZEKE: (angry) Why? You could have made an
official appointment, I’m not hard to contact.
MASTER: Do I really give the impression I’m
someone who bows to the convenience of others? I felt doing this. Killing
people feels great if you do it right, and besides, I’m doing this all to prove
a point.
ZEKE: That you’re insane?
MASTER: Insane? Me? Just because this stunted
civilization finds my actions a bit risqué you dare doubt my mental
functioning! It’s a good thing I can’t kill you, because that’s really quite
rude. Possibly accurate but undoubtedly rude. Remember when that wasp stung you
this morning?
ZEKE: I… er, yes.
MASTER: That me. Well, me using a remote
controlled vespiform drone to inject a nano-transmitter into your bloodstream.
It’s generating a null-wave that cancels out the effect of this gizmo in my
hand which as has been thoroughly proven as lethal if not actually a weapon.
See?
(Low hum.)
MASTER: Not even a nosebleed.
ZEKE: Is that how you’re protected from it?
MASTER: Oh, no, not at all. I’m immune due to
my exotic, non-kosher background. I’m not a native of this planet, and not
marked for death by the kill-switch.
ZEKE: You’re an alien… and you know about the
kill-switch.
MASTER: Yes. We don’t all need probes and
cattle prods to learn about other civilizations.
ZEKE: Oh.
MASTER: So, to sum up. This device causes
everything within its radius marked by the kill-switch to die. I’m going to go
for walk into town now. It’s a busy Friday night, bustling with people ready to
enjoy their weekend. How long before they’re all dead, do you think? A few
minutes? Maybe a full hour for me to do a proper sweep. Of course, this gizmo’s
radius can be extended very far. The highest I know about is a hundred thousand
miles, that’s Venusian miles, of course. Still, a nice stroll across the
weekend and this planet should be thoroughly depopulated.
ZEKE: Don’t.
MASTER: Don’t? I need to make this very clear –
you can’t stop me from doing anything I please.
ZEKE: What do you want?
MASTER: Oh, I’m after the cure, Dr. Zeke. No,
I’ll call you Zeke. I have issues with doctorates.
ZEKE: A cure?
MASTER: For the kill-switch, of course. A
certain pulse on a certain frequency kills everyone, we both know that. We also
know that a different pulse on a different frequency will bring them all back
to life with neither rigor nor mortis. What you know and I don’t is what that
pulse and frequency are.
ZEKE: And if I tell you…
MASTER: Oh, I’ll probably kill everyone anyway.
Full disclosure, I get a real kick out of this. But I’ll be quite happy to
bring them all back. Or at the very least, leave you to do that. I’m sure it’s
quite within your capabilities.
ZEKE: I can’t give you the answer.
MASTER: But if you don’t, then everyone I kill
will stay dead! Where’s the incentive for you?
ZEKE: I don’t know the cure for the
kill-switch.
MASTER: Insane I may be, but stupid I am not.
You think I’d waste my time building a robot wasp and strutting around a
security compound in weather like this if I didn’t know for a fact you were the
one I was after. You’re the only one who has the answer.
ZEKE: I don’t!
MASTER: All right, I thought this was going to
be a simple job but no. I hope you gave a touching farewell to everyone within
a five mile radius, Zeke…
ZEKE: No!
(Low hum rises to a brief shriek then silence.)
(Zeke sobs.)
LITTLE GIRL: Please, mister. Are you
(falteringly) Professor Ezekial Joringham-Vella? You look like him.
ZEKE: (sniffing) Yes. Yes, I… I am… I’m him.
LITTLE GIRL: Oh good. (calls) It’s him!
(The Master emerges from his TARDIS.)
MASTER: (sings) The ocean is a desert with its
life underground and a perfect disguise above, under the cities lies a heart
made of ground but the humans will give no love… Ah, Zeke, there you are. No
time, no see. I just popped back a bit to find you a bit of company. Little
girls and puppies, they’re all the best things about to life according to gift
card and toilet paper manufacturers.
ZEKE: What… who is she… did you snatch her?
MASTER: Oh, I’m a fully-qualified babysitter,
you know. And her mother was quite happy to entrust her to my care for some
reason. Maybe I just have that sort of face? Still, you enjoyed that day at the
funfair, didn’t you?
LITTLE GIRL: Yes, Master.
MASTER: And so did, um, whatever that dog is
called.
(The puppy barks.)
MASTER: Well, quite. You’re welcome. (to Zeke)
Saved him from neutering, you know. A good strict talking-to will keep him on
the straight and narrow, no need for surgical intervention.
ZEKE: And you kidnapped a kid and her dog and
dumped her in a cave.
LITTLE GIRL: A cave? Is that where we are?
MASTER: Yes, but this was hardly my choice of
rendezvous, was it? Now, you remember I mentioned something about patience and virtue?
Yeah, I guess I must have been lying about that. You’re very close to breaking
point, Zeke. But you need to break the way I want you do.
ZEKE: (bitter laugh) Tough luck.
LITTLE GIRL: The Master said you can save the
world, Mr. Professor Ezekee-um, sir.
MASTER: Yes, child, he can.
ZEKE: That man is lying to you!
MASTER: Oh, no more than her parents do. Tell
you what, let’s have a nice story to pass the time? Now, once upon a timestream
there were two huge empires. One ruled where you and Zeke lived, another across
the widest oceans on the other side of the world. Now, as is so often the case,
the two empires starts to fight. They got what into is called an “arms race”.
It’s a bit like if you got a present and your brother got jealous and wanted
his own present, but one a little better than yours. And then you wanted a
present that was better than his. And then he’d want better than yours and so
on and so on. Understand?
LITTLE GIRL: Yes.
MASTER: Good. Now, in this case, it wasn’t
presents but weapons the empires wanted. Every time one side build a
super-duper kill-everyone weapon, the other side had to build another, even
bigger and nastier weapon. Until, one day, the empire across the water came up
with a weapon so amazing there wasn’t anything bigger and nastier for this side
to ask for…
MASTER: All right, I thought this was going to
be a simple job but no. I hope you gave a touching farewell to everyone within
a five mile radius, Zeke…
ZEKE: No!
(Low hum rises to a brief shriek then silence.)
MASTER: A variation on the exploding necklace,
really?
ZEKE: (shocked) I beg your pardon?
MASTER: Oh, it’s a type of socio-technological
control most species give a go to. You put the necklace on the subject and it’s
designed to explode and take their head off. The subject thus has to do what
they’re told or you detonate the necklace.
ZEKE: You can take off necklaces, surely?
MASTER: You’d think so, but they tend to work
around that. Turn it into bands or things that can’t be removed or else they
explode anyway. But the idea is you have a button and if you press it, a
specific person dies instantly. Quite a clever conceit.
ZEKE: And no other races ever devised anything
like that?
MASTER: Oh, some of them don’t do anything
else. You can get on the market a sort of gun that shoots someone and then uses
Schrodinger logic to decide whether or not they’re actually shot. Simple to
imagine, very difficult to build and extortionately expensive.
ZEKE: But the kill-switch…
MASTER: Was designed in two parts,
yadda-yadda-yadda. The first bit zaps the subject with an energy field that
acts instantly with no side-effects but leaves them vulnerable to the second
bit, blah-blah-blah. End result is that anyone hit by the first bit spends the
rest of their lives terrified of the second bit being used, whereupon they
simply… stop.
ZEKE: There was no defense against it. Even in
the decades since the war, no one’s come up with any way to combat it. No one,
and that includes me.
MASTER: Which is why your side was so clever,
of course! You couldn’t build a defense, but you could build your own. And you
zapped your own people. And then zapped the enemy as well. So if that jumped-up
warmonger ever activated his trigger…
ZEKE: …every living thing on the entire planet
would instantly die. Every man, woman, child, every plant and animal. There was
no discrimination. No one could use the kill-switch without rendering every
species extinct in the blink of an eye.
MASTER: Don’t sound so ashamed. It was
brilliant plan! And it worked, didn’t it? No weapons could be used, so you all
had to sit down and smoke the peace pipe or whatever it is you do. The world’s
been a peaceful realm of understanding and freedom ever since.
ZEKE: (angrily) Until you came here!
MASTER: You’d be surprised how often I hear
that. And at the end of the war, the trigger mechanism was taken here and
stripped apart in secure conditions, and every little bit of it down melted
down and incinerated and fired into the heart of the sun or something like
that?
ZEKE: Yes. The, the plans were kept. We know it
might one day be rebuilt. We’ve spent decades working out a way to undo the
imprint, the “zap” to free our population. The taint spread through the
bloodlines. Even children born now are still at risk.
MASTER: Yeah, very noble. But you worked out a
way to un-kill everyone.
(Beat.)
MASTER: Okay, let’s widen it to ten-miles this
time, shall we…?
ZEKE: It wasn’t what they wanted! It wasn’t
what I wanted! What good is a reversal if no one is left alive to use it?
MASTER: You couldn’t imagine an automated
procedure perhaps?
ZEKE: I decided the solution I’d devised was
too dangerous. I went into psycho-surgery and had the memory pattern purged. I
don’t know how it worked, I can’t tell you.
MASTER: (soothing) All right, Zeke, all right.
I didn’t know that. I guessed something like it might happen, though. So, you get
to work. You discovered it once, you can discover it again, can’t you? And I’m
providing you with both test-subjects and motivation.
ZEKE: You expect me to come up with the
solution right here and now?
MASTER: In your own time, Zeke. I’ve got
eternity, and so do you. Everyone else however.
(Loud hum, shriek silence.)
ZEKE: That man’s going to kill everyone!
MASTER: Oh, I didn’t mean to. Everyone makes
accidents, don’t they…
LITTLE GIRL: I suppose.
MASTER: …and Zeke will admit he can fix
everything. He knows how to save everyone, and he’s not doing it.
LITTLE GIRL: Really?
MASTER: He’s had eighty-two years, one month,
eight days and three hours to come up with a solution he took three weeks to
discover the first time. I reckon he knows how do it. Don’t you?
ZEKE: I…
MASTER: Don’t like to Cindy-Sue and Poochie,
Zeke. You’re the good guy, remember?
LITTLE GIRL: Please, mister, why can’t you save
everyone? Why do you want them to stay dead?
MASTER: She’s got a point there, doesn’t she?
Tell us, Zeke. Why not?
ZEKE: Because I’m giving you the chance to
control life and death! You could use the kill-switch on any planet in every
sky, kill everyone and then resurrect only the chosen few you wanted…
MASTER: But right now I can use a tissue
compression eliminator to kill everyone except the chosen few. LITTLE GIRL: You’re
not actually keeping anyone safe, are you?
ZEKE: You think getting a little girl and a
puppy will break me?
MASTER: Well, one way, or another.
(Low hum.)
ZEKE: No. No, please don’t…
LITTLE GIRL: Master, what’s that?
MASTER: This is a kill-switch, child. When its
radius spreads out far enough, you and your little doggie drop dead.
LITTLE GIRL: No, please!
MASTER: Don’t worry. Zeke knows the numbers
that can bring you back to life right away. It’ll be just like a little
afternoon nap.
ZEKE: Master, please don’t do this!
MASTER: I’ve already done her parents and
brothers and sisters. Now, the field’s at two feet wide. Three feet wide.
ZEKE: Look, just take her home.
MASTER: So she can be switched off with
everyone else?
(The little girl starts crying. The puppy
whine.)
MASTER: Four-point-five. You know, Zeke, I
never thought you were squeamish. OK for them to die as long as it’s not in
front of your eyes, is that it? Five feet and increasing.
LITTLE GIRL: Please, mister!
ZEKE: (desperate scream) I can’t… I can’t!
MASTER: Six feet. Seven! Eight! You never know
child, if he tells me I might not kill you after…
(The girl and puppy fall silent.)
MASTER: Ah. That happened a little quicker than
I thought.
(Zeke starts to moan and sob.)
ZEKE [OC]: (dully) It what they always say,
isn’t it? A million is a statistic. You can’t think of things that big. Even
passing all the bodies, all these years… At least I could console myself they
never knew what was happening. They just stopped. They weren’t afraid. They
didn’t know it was my fault. But the little girl did. She suffered. She died.
And it was all my fault. I should have pleaded for her life, said I didn’t know
the answer but I’d agree to work it out. Of course the Master was right, I
worked out the solution at the beginning. It wasn’t deliberate. It was like
being told not to think about a pink elephant, it’s the first thing you do. I
was working out the solution from that very first night. And that made me determined
to not, under any circumstances, give it up. Until now. Until I saw her and her
dog just flop down in the light from that wretched TARDIS of his…
(Master’s TARDIS.)
MASTER: Yes, yes, bigger on the inside, get
that all time, it doesn’t get any more interesting.
ZEKE: You… travel in this?
MASTER: Well, it doesn’t normally resemble a
sewer outlet, but needs must. I suppose the stink of your neighbors was meant
to put off burglars.
ZEKE: And to ensure there were fewer people to
be effected by any kill-switch accidents.
MASTER: Huh. Best laid plans. Now, hang on…
(The TARDIS materializes.)
MASTER: I’ve put a satellite in orbit over your
planet, well, two of them actually. Working in synchronicity, they’ll engulf
the entire planetary surface in one-point-four-seconds and that about wraps it
up for all life below. On the bright side, a simple equation from you and it is
all reversed.
ZEKE: I’m not going to help you.
(The Master sets controls.)
MASTER: Oh, I’m sure your strict ethics will
bind you for… ooh, days. Then the knowledge you can fix everything will eat
into you. Hope and despair, very powerful motivators.
ZEKE: What if the despair drives me to suicide?
MASTER: The whole point of murdering people is
deciding when they live and when they die. Just ask Rasputin. You die when I
say so and not before. Oh, and by the way, I just killed everyone you ever knew
or ever could have known, cared of and loved. You are the last living member of
your entire species.
ZEKE: By pressing that button?
MASTER: I know you’re bound to be skeptical so…
(The TARDIS materializes. The doors open.)
MASTER: …feel free to have a look outside.
ZEKE: It’s… oh my god…
MASTER: Quiet, isn’t it? Go on, take in the
heady scent of ultracide.
ZEKE: Everyone’s just…
MASTER: Pretty much. Out you go. Go on, go, go,
go.
(Doors close.)
MASTER: I’ll check up on you in a week, see if
you’ve changed your mind. Don’t worry about hanging around, that wasp sting
lets me know where you are.
(TARDIS dematerializes.)
MASTER: It’s at this point I’d tell you she was
actually a distant relative of yours, but to be honest I have no idea. I think
I’ll be off now. You can enjoy your cave with your two new roomies…
ZEKE: (quiet) All right. I’ll tell you.
MASTER: (inhales) Don’t quite believe you.
Maybe another decade in here will make sure.
ZEKE: I’ll tell you! All right, I’ll tell you
everything!
ZEKE [OC]: And I did. Every single nuance,
every last thought behind every single digit. I explained my reasoning, my
method, everything. Hours passed and the Master just stood there, listening. I
told him everything… except the last digit. And the logic that might have let
the Master deduce it.
MASTER: I’m quite serious about the decade down
here.
ZEKE: I’ll punch in the last digit myself. In
your TARDIS. I’ll activate it myself and know the truth. I know you won’t be
able to cheat me. I will bring them all back.
MASTER: All right. Of course, it’s been quite a
while. Some poor sods passed out on their barbecues might not be in any fit
state to revive…
ZEKE: But the rest?
MASTER: Well, little orphan Annie there is
certainly going to be fine. Come on.
ZEKE: No. We take her and the puppy back home.
Back to where you first dropped me off and then we reverse the kill-switch.
MASTER: No need for all this huffiness, Zeke. I
was happy to do this eight decades ago.
ZEKE [OC]: So we picked up the girl and her
puppy and took her into the TARDIS. The Master pressed the buttons and twisted
the lever that closed the door. The engines ground in and out of reality until
we were standing in the central square of Belhaven District. It was just like I
remembered. Bodies everywhere, thousands of them. Eighty years had barely
touched them. They were stopped, unable to even decay. Frozen in time almost.
The buildings weren’t so well-preserved. The colours were faded and the windows
cracked, fires had burnt down whole towers, storms had washed garbage across
the streets. Birds had fallen out of sky, as had a few planes. There was no
pretending I could reset all of this. The world would be in turmoil for months,
as everyone came to life in the ruins of their former lives. The Master was
right. This was my fault, my fault for taking so long. I should have done this
much sooner. They say a million is a statistic, and they also say revenge is a
dish best served ice-cold.
MASTER: There. They say never work with
children and animals but personally I find the corpses quite accommodating.
Right, Zeke, they’re out here with everyone else waiting to be revived. Shall
we head back inside and complete this tedious little miracle?
(Zeke grunts vaguely. They re-enter the
TARDIS.)
ZEKE: Where do I put in the data?
MASTER: In here, obviously. I set the keyboard
to the layout you’re familiar with too. Aren’t I nice?
ZEKE: Right. Uh…
(Zeke starts pressing buttons slowly.)
MASTER: Come on, come on, hurry up.
ZEKE: According to you I’m nearly a hundred and
thirty.
MASTER: You don’t look a day over seventy. Get
on with it!
(More slow button pressing.)
ZEKE: Sorry. That was wrong, how do I…?
MASTER: Oh, for crying out loud.
(The Master taps some keys.)
MASTER: Try again!
(More slow button pressing. Then ding.)
MASTER: At last! Now, modulating the signals
appropriately, angling them, synchronizing and… there!
ZEKE: Has it worked?
MASTER: Look out at the scanner and see for
yourself.
(Confused noises and voices from outside.)
ZEKE: How do I know this is real?
MASTER: There’s no point in my faking it, is
there? Look, out the doors. See? Everyone’s getting to their feet. Even little
what’s her name and Toto. Oh, that’s a point, her parents are on the other side
of the planet, I should probably…
ZEKE: That could be a trick. An illusion. They
could be all holograms and robots or things.
MASTER: The whole point of this is that it
isn’t a trick, Zeke! You really have gone senile, haven’t you? Look!
(He walks outside.)
MASTER: See, no holograms, no…
(Doors close.)
MASTER: Hey! No!
ZEKE: (to himself) That switch there.
(Outside. There are lots of people talking,
crying and arguing. The Master hammers on the TARDIS doors angrily.)
MASTER: Let me in, you hypocritical troglodyte!
Zeke! Zeke! Let me in! All right, even if you’ve deadlocked the external doors,
I can still get inside!
(In the background, the voices die down into
silence.)
MASTER: This isn’t the first TARDIS I’ve broken
into, you know. And by curious coincidence, the tools for the lock-picking
trade can be easily adapted for implements of torture…
ZEKE [OC]: Master. I believe this is the
intercom system. I can’t hear what you’re saying but I trust you can hear me.
MASTER: Nothing compared to what I’m going to
hear when I remove your spinal cord and garotte you with it.
ZEKE [OC]: You seem to be trying to break into
this ship. You’d probably proceed but I doubt you’ll get the opportunity. You
see, you’ve got other problems to worry about.
MASTER: Yes, whether I should sauté your guts
or just have them on toast.
(There are hungry rasping noises from the people
outside.)
MASTER: Oooh. That’s new. I see the living dead
have returned a bit more… zombeish.
ZEKE [OC]: I’ve had eight decades to discover
the revival code. And then improve on it. As of this moment every living thing
on the planet has been animated with a simple program – to hunt you down and
tear you apart. Once they’re finished I can use your TARDIS to turn them back
to normal. And maybe even use this ship to ferry us away from this dying planet
once and for all.
MASTER: You really have thought this through.
Well, hang around a diabolical genius long enough and some is bound to rub off.
Still, there are only a few thousand flesh-hungry zombies in this square. I
only need to kill them and then get into the TARDIS and I’m laughing. Ah. No
weapons. Just my bare hands.
ZEKE [OC]: You’ll probably go down fighting,
Master. Still, I can always resurrect anyone you kill. Except for you of course,
you were never touched by the kill-switch. Ironic, isn’t it? Goodbye.
(The zombies are closer, hissing and growling.)
MASTER: I suppose there’s no point trying to
beg for mercy, is there? No? Oh well, that’s for the best, I suppose. You people,
your entire civilization, everything you ever have or ever could experience or
achieve isn’t worth picking off my boot. In fact, cannon fodder is a better fate
than you deserve.
LITTLE GIRL: (growling) Masss-terrrr….
MASTER: Oh, Dorothy and Timmy the Dog is it?
Bring it on!
(The little girl and the dog growl. The Master
fights them.)
MASTER: Never work with children or animals –
or very angry Time Lords!
(They both cry out. More zombies growl and
snarl, then yelp in agony.)
MASTER: (choking) No, that’s not going to work.
I don’t need much air, but you… do!
(The Master flings a zombie aside, knocking
more down. More blows.)
MASTER: Keep count, Zeke! Remember the law of
conservation of ninjitsu…
(They swarm over him, growling. The Master
starts to cry out in pain.)
MASTER: (pained) Let’s try four at a time, huh?
Get a good rhythm! (punching and kicking) One-two-three-four! One-two-three-four!
One-two-three… three-four… get your hands off me, I know where you’ve been… one-two…
one-two-three…
(The growls grow louder, then the Master’s screams
are muffled.)
(Build up a four-beat metallic tapping, louder
and louder that suddenly stops.)
MASTER: (gasps) …four! Oh… I, er… where did
everyone go? No, forget that. Where did I go? No zombies, no square, no TARDIS.
Just trees and fields, sunset over the lake. Pretty spot.
YOUNG WOMAN: I think so. You’re back very soon,
aren’t you?
MASTER: …you again.
YOUNG WOMAN: Me again.
MASTER: So, am I take it my story’s over and I
got eaten by zombies in a central business district? What a way to go. The
question is, is this a temporary visit or am I staying for good?
YOUNG WOMAN: Why ask me?
MASTER: Because I believe you know the answer.
You wouldn’t be much of an anthropomorphic personification otherwise, would
you?
YOUNG WOMAN: True.
MASTER: So, “Death”… what happens now?
