Author's note: Remembering "The Green Death"
Another rocket yard was complete, and the Master felt like celebrating. He took the Doctor for one of those hearts-stopping wheelchair rides.
‘"A hundred-mile swath of gleaming silver death, and in record time! Oh, how hard your little pets work, with the proper fear of their lord and Master in them!”
“Archangel.” The Doctor meant it to sound like a curse, but it came out as a wheeze.
“Indeed. Rather a triumph, if I may brag. Oh, of course I may!” The Master’s grin was positively manic.
What the Doctor would have liked to be a subtle query sounded instead like an old man’s grumble. “You were never one for building communications networks before now.”
“I’ve been working on it for quite a while; longer than you think. Do you remember dear Miss Grant? Left you to run off to the Amazon with that fungus-munching hippie?” He stopped and spun the Doctor’s chair around to face him.
The Doctor snorted, “Of course I remember Jo, and Dr. Jones. But you weren’t in Llanfairfach…”
“Not at the time, no. You remember what brought you there, of course.”
“Some chemical company, dumping toxic plastic sludge into a coal mine. Killed anyone who touched it. It turned out the company was run by a computer that someone managed to program with a rudimentary Artificial Intelligence. The miserable box went megalomaniacal, tried to build itself a world-wide... network… You?”
The Master just smiled and made jazz hands.
Angry, the Doctor tried to rise from the chair, but his artificially aged body failed him. “People died, and we almost had a plague of giant flies on our hands!”
“Piddling small change, and nothing you couldn’t handle, thanks to that hippie mycologist. But seriously, Doctor, you couldn’t tell that was my work?” The Master pouted, feigning hurt.
“Come to think of it, that crazy machine did sound quite a bit like you…”