Fic: 'A Chance Encounter'

[but_can_i_be_trusted]

Author: irishvampire13
Title: 'A Chance Encounter'
Rating: G
Word Count: 834
Prompt/Chosen character: Salamander meets the Master. Fireworks happen.
Notes/Warnings: Character death. And please forgive any errors; this is my first attempt at writing Salamander.

Summary: This was one mistake that the Master felt he'd been perfectly justified in making.

The resemblance was striking. On closer inspection, the differences were there, plain as day, provided one knew what to look for. Just the same, it was a mistake that anyone could make.

This was one mistake that the Master felt he'd been perfectly justified in making.

After all, it could scarcely be his fault that the man he'd found adrift in the blackness looked so like the Doctor as to almost be his twin. Curiosity--and an almost inadmissible concern--had driven the Master to bring the man aboard. It was only once the figure--unconscious, when he ought by rights to be dead--lay prone on the floor of his TARDIS that the Master realized his error.

Despite any physical similarities, there was simply no possibility that this man could be the Doctor. He smelled too much of Earth and humanity--more so than the Doctor tended to do. If that weren't enough to dispel any remaining illusion, then the single heartbeat drove the point home beyond the shadow of a doubt. That sole pulse fluttered weakly; whoever this man was, he'd been nearly at the point of death. Understandable; the vacuum of space certainly wasn't conducive to good health. The conditions caused by exposure were survivable--but only for a scant handful of seconds.

The Master's lapse in judgment had come not a moment too soon for this apparent imposter.

He watched with a casual interest as his unexpected guest began to stir. Eyelids fluttered for a moment, then snapped open. Their owner gasped for breath, clearly startled to be alive and inhaling oxygen. Slowly, the figure tried to sit up, only to fall back, dizzy.

"I shouldn't move too quickly, if I were you," the Master warned. "You'd only lose consciousness again. You'd do well to wait until you've recovered more fully. You have a relatively mild case of hypoxia; a few seconds more, and you'd be dead."

"Then I owe you my life," his guest muttered between gulps of air. His accent was unusual. Mesoamerican, perhaps. "Thank you."

"You have little reason to thank me; I didn't save your life out of a sense of altruism."

"Then why did you save me? And who are you?"

"If you don't mind my taking your questions in reverse order, you may call me the Master. As for why you're still alive, you bear an uncanny similarity to someone with whom I am intimately acquainted. I was intrigued, so I brought you aboard." It was only a half-truth; but there was no need to expend more honesty (or dishonesty, for that matter) on this peculiar individual. "Now, perhaps you'd care to identify yourself?"

The other man rose unsteadily. Once confident that he wouldn't collapse, he straightened stiffly, assuming an air of command and dignity that was almost laughable, given his close brush with death. "My name is Salamander," he responded. "If this person I resemble is called the Doctor--"

"You're familiar with him, then?"

"Familiar..." Salamander let out a low, unamused chuckle. "Oh, I know him. He took all I had from me--more power than you could dream of!"

Ah. How charming. An Earth dictator with a false impression of his own magnificence.

"You underestimate my imagination," the Master murmured. "I've known power, and I've known the Doctor. He seems determined to deprive people of power. We've crossed paths many times, and he always does his best to hinder me. It's become tiresome."

"Then we both bear a grudge against him." Salamander smiled--an unpleasant picture, indeed. "Then we might be able to come to an understanding. We could work together, to take our revenge." He extended a hand. "Partners?"

The Master contemplated the proffered hand. This situation had lost its entertainment value. Now, it bordered upon the ludicrous. These stupid little human dictators were all alike. Robbed of the place that they dared presume was theirs by right, they never stopped to examine where their schemes had faltered. They didn't pause to catch their breath and regroup. Instead, they moved straight into plans for vengeance.

How unutterably boring and predictable.

"You've made a very interesting proposition," the Master finally replied, "one that is certainly worthy of consideration. The Doctor has been my prey for a long, long time. Unfortunately, I have no intention of sharing him--least of all with one who'd happily backstab me the moment our shared goal was attained. No; that trophy shall be mine, and mine alone..."

The Master plucked Salamander's miniaturized corpse from the floor. He contemplated it briefly in mild amusement, before casting it into the blackness where he'd found it. It tumbled end over end, eventually disappearing from sight.

Compared to the undignified agonies that would have been caused by a renewed exposure to the vacuum, Salamander had been granted a far easier death. It was a mercy that was deserving of gratitude.

To say nothing of the fact that this was one more would-be obstacle eliminated before it could pose a threat to the Master's own plans.

He did so hate competition.