Chapter Three
The Doctor’s eyelids ached as he tried to open them. While his vision was extremely hazy, he observed he had awaked in a cell. His arms were shackled to the wall above his head; his body forced into a standing position. Dried blood caked in his hair and under his burned and torn clothing. His usually cheerful face was gaunt and perspiring. He looked hot and undernourished.
Once he was strong enough to, he lifted his head to better see. Standing in front of him, waiting patiently for him to regain consciousness, was a Dalek whose battle armor had a light blue color to it.
“I suppose you’re here to interrogate me,” the Doctor whispered through dried and cracked lips.
“No. While there are many questions I would like answered, I doubt now would be the correct time to ask them.”
The Dalek spoke in a way very different from the Dalek voices the Doctor was used to hearing. Instead of the familiar loud, halting speech pattern, the Blue Dalek had a voice one would consider average fort he humanoid adult male. A slight resonance to its tone was the only alien aspect to the sound.
Curiosity at the unusual statement further roused the Doctor. “Why is that?”
“I know from Dalek records that you are a strong-willed, obstinate man. Despite your injuries, you are relatively fresh and your resistance is at full strength. Given time to experience the full torment of life in this prison, I feel you will be more willing to cooperate with me.”
“Then why are you here now?”
The Dalek paused, searching for a response it felt comfortable giving. “I confess to a certain curiosity. Your status as Ka Faraq Gatri, the enemy of the Daleks, is legendary. My illegitimate cousins, the Renegade Daleks, call you ‘The Bringer of Darkness’. I had to meet the man who inspires so much fear and respect in their ranks.”
“So you’re just here for a friendly chat?”
The Dalek seemed annoyed by the rather flip remark. “The use of that colloquialism cheapens the significance of this interaction.”
This unique Dalek puzzled the Doctor. “Strange. You behave differently than Daleks I’ve met in the past.”
“Indeed? In what ways?”
The Doctor felt a momentary reluctance to answer, which passed as soon as he realized he might be able to whittle some answers out of his visitor. “Well, for one thing, I’ve never seen so chatty a Dalek before. Your speech is clear and unbroken and your conversation is articulate and self-effacing. Even the color of your battle armor is new to me. The Daleks I’ve seen were mostly just grey and black.”
“My color represents in part the more reflective and cerebral nature of my programming. My task is more to embrace logic and to study animal kind than merely engage in combat. Hence my curiosity to study you in confinement.”
“You mean there are different types of Daleks? I thought variety was considered a vice.”
“It is to an extent,” the Dalek agreed. “However, our philosophy has changed somewhat. Variety, in function or appearance, is acceptable within the Imperial Dalek taskforce. Any lifeform that is not an Imperial Dalek is a degenerate to be either annihilated or assimilated.”
“Then the Daleks have changed. What was that I heard you mention about ‘Renegade’ Daleks?”
“Now I understand your confusion. You have never encountered one of my pure breed of Dalek before.” An air of conceit crept into the Blue Dalek’s voice. “You are familiar with the maverick scum who have rejected their ancestry and turned on their Creator. You know of the Renegade Daleks. I and the Daleks I represent are loyal to Davros. We are the Imperial Daleks, the most efficient and powerful conquerors in the universe.”
The Doctor managed a weak nod of understanding. “I was there when the renegades killed Davros and Nyder. You are right. That was underhanded even by Dalek standards.”
The Dalek trundled forward to better discern the Doctor’s expression. “I do not understand. Both the Emperor and the Admiral still live.”
The Doctor’s eyes widened with surprise. “You mean Davros survived? And Nyder?
Where are they?”
“Suffice to say, the Renegades are not capable of such significant assassinations. While they are the original Daleks, we are superior to them in every detail.”
“How?”
“I will answer no more questions, Doctor. Though I admit to a certain edifying and entertaining aspect to this exchange, I will furnish you with no more information.”
The Doctor cleared his throat politely. “May I ask one more question?”
“I will not guarantee a reply.”
“If the Imperials are so powerful, why have I only seen three Daleks so far?”
The Dalek halted. “By tomorrow, the processing will be complete and all the Time Lords will be under our control. We don’t need many Daleks here. The rest of the fleet is now at work expanding the empire, as it should be.”
The Blue Dalek all but left the Doctor in that cell to die. For days on end he would be deprived food and water. When he wasn’t being escorted to see the Blue Dalek or one of its puppet bureaucrats, he was always shackled to the wall. The most torturous aspect of his imprisonment was the inactivity, the excruciating boredom of confinement. The Blue Dalek, who apparently was the real ruler of Gallifrey, refused the Doctor access to books to pass the time. Computer games were out of the question since there were any number of weapons he could develop by dismantling the computer.
At first, sleep in such an uncomfortable position came difficulty. After a few weeks, though, he was able to sleep by virtue of sheer exhaustion. And so, time passed infinitely slowly, until six months came and went.
Chapter Four
Excerpts from the medical log of Lord Gomer,
Surgeon General of Gallifrey
Medical History Record
Name of Patient: “The Doctor”
Attending physician: Lord Gormer, S. G.
Primary Affliction: Antisocial personality disorder.
Delusions of grandiose. Consistently demonstrates erratic and eccentric behavior.
Had resisted Imperial conditioning. Is to be kept imprisoned until his will is
Completely subverted.
History of Primary Affliction: Renegade Prydonian Time Lord, infamous career criminal.
Bought to trial for interference in the development of lesser cultures. Sentenced to
Exile on Sol III in Mutter’s Spiral. Forced to sacrifice one of his lives as part of the
punishment. Crimes against Imperial Daleks include murder of over one-billion-
ten-thousand Daleks, the destruction of plant Skaro, and the thwarting of numerous
Imperial military campaigns.
Past History: There are indications that the patient contributed vastly to the scientific
progress of Gallifrey, but all relevant documentation was destroyed during the
patient’s trial in an unsuccessful effort to prevent scandal. The Time Lords erased
large portions of the patient’s memory during the same trial, so his recollections
cannot be considered a reliable source on information on this particular subject.
Reasons for Regenerations:
( 1st to 2nd incarnation ) Natural causes; old age.
( 2nd to 3rd incarnation) Punishment for time meddling.
( 3rd to 4th incarnation ) Radiation poisoning.
Allergies: The Doctor is allergic to selected gases in the Praxis range of the spectrum.
Previous Hospitalizations on Gallifrey: Received treatment for cerebrovascular
hemorrhaging.
Family History: Covered up by Celestial Intervention Agency due to aforementioned
trial. Dalek files indicate patient has a granddaughter named Susan. Neither
Susan’s parents nor the Doctor’s wife have been identified or located. Presumed
dead. Patient unwilling to volunteer any more date.
Signature: Lord Gomer
Record of Treatment
Day 1:
Having returned to Gallifrey after the arrival of the Daleks, the Doctor was absent for the initial wave of mental conditioning. To compensate, he was immediately escorted to the Cleansing Chamber where the Daleks fitted him with a pacification device (a long, nail-like object which is driven into the patient’s flesh just behind the ear). And yet, even with the device in his head, the Doctor was able to resist the Dalek control. This mystery perplexes the Blue Dalek. While he would like nothing better than to exterminate the Doctor, he feels it is in the best interest of the Imperial army to investigate the cause of the resistance to make sure it can be avoided in the future.
Day 8:
The Doctor spent most of our session talking utter nonsense. He rambled on at length about jelly babies (which I believe are some form of alien life he encountered on one of his travels) and about encounters with numerous legendary Earth figures that the average Gallifreyan would know nothing about. When I insisted such provincial data was useless, he attempted to steer the conversation towards the dangerous by insisting Daleks are the enemiews of Gallifrey. Upon hearing this, I knew the entire conversation up to that point had been a ploy to confuse me and soften me up for the killing blow. I told him I was too smart for him and could not be manipulated by even one such as he. He then shrugged and promised never to discuss the subject with me ever again.
Day 69:
The Doctor escaped briefly from his cell today during my break. He got as far as the next hallway before Hildred, the Captain of the Chancellery Guards, picked him up. Luckily, Hildred had made a point of keeping an eye on the Doctor’s cell. Now that the Doctor made one escape attempt, Hildred will be even more intent in duties.
As punishment for his transgression, the Blue Dalek ordered the Doctor to be exposed to the disciplining beam. The Doctor will be unable to walk for two days.
Day 102:
There has been no change in the Doctor’s condition. He continues to openly defy the Blue Dalek’s wishes. Because he is kept shackled at almost all times, he shows his defiance mainly by refusing to speak at all, even under torture. Now I wish I had humored him when he tried to brainwash me. At least then he was speaking.
Day 150:
The Doctor’s hunger strike is beginning to take its toll on his body. After refusing every meal placed before him, he has become thing and undernourished. His features are gaunt and he has begun hallucinating. The hallucinations are accompanied by feverish dreams at night. While he sleeps he has been known to cry out the names of his granddaughter and someone called Sarah Jane (I have to remember to look up the Daleks’ records of his companions to see if there is anything on this person).
Day 151:
Concerned for the fate of the prisoner, Madame President Allene Varalla came to see the Doctor personally. She tried gentle persuasion to coax the Doctor to take better care of himself. He refused, but the visit was not a complete failure since this was the first time I heard the Doctor speak in over four months.
Day 152:
Weary of the Doctor’s hunger strike, the Blue Dalek had him force fed today. It was quite a sight watching a guard hold the Doctor’s head back and pulling his jaw open as Hildred stuffed the food pills down the Doctor’s throat. Should the Doctor continue to refuse to eat, Hilldred has been ordered to feed the Doctor in this manner on a daily basis.
Day 177:
This morning, right before my meeting with the prisoner, I had a talk with Hildred, Captain of the Chancellery guards. It seems that, while the prisoner refuses to speak to me, he has been having long political discussions with everyone else who visits him, including Hildred, Runcible, and the Lord President herself. I confronted the Doctor with this information as soon as I saw him.
“Why do you speak to everyone but me?” I demanded.
“Because you’re too smart for me and can’t be manipulated by lies and innuendo.”
By throwing my own words back at me, the Doctor rendered me speechless. I decided the best thing to do was to caution visitors even further about what a dangerous mind the Doctor has.
Chapter Five
A tremendous crowd gathered in the Panopticon to hear a special announcement from the Lord President Allene Varalla. Standing on the raised dais at the rear of the Panopticon, she was clad in a bold scarlet jacket with various medals superimposed on it. Plain white pants and ebony black boots supported the stately figure. A wide, gold sash was tied around her waist and effectively picked up the color from the jacket’s gold buttons.
“I am happy to inform you the planets Svartos, Dulkis, and Ribos as well as the last Ice Warrior colony on Sklaar Alpha have all been brought into the Emperor’s great family.”
Among the vast audience was the public register video reporter, Runcible. Looking up at her admiringly, he wished he were married to her instead of to Jesania. Though Allene had a wonderful shape, and her face was smooth and comely, her most complimenting feature was her hair. Her beautiful blonde hair had a fiery reddish-orange tint to it. The hair, which fell over her chest, was braided down the middle; the rest fell loose on her shoulders and down her back.
Pausing for a moment to assume an expression of sadness as plastic as the dais on which she stood, she informed them that the Mondosians were not pacified. “Something about the Cybermen renders them immune to our initiator. Sadly, the Emperor has ordered the destruction of their planet.” A murmur rose from the crowd that she raised her hand to silence. “I know. I feel your pain.”
Seeing a perfect opportunity for a ratings catcher, Runcible called for a moment of silence for the imminent destruction of the Cyber-race. The moment was just that, a moment, before the speech resumed.
The voice she spoke in was stilted and robotic. No trace of individuality came out during the speech. Her movements were jerky and her entire speech programmed. Every word, written just to please the public, dripped with insincerity. The script was laden with statistics to convince the gullible she knew what she was talking about. She was a shell of the woman she was before the Daleks took over. For all intents and purposes, that woman was dead.
Unexpectedly, a slight change came about in Varalla’s mannerisms. A flicker of life appeared in her eyes. “I have spoken with the Blue Dalek and there may be a chance that the population control decree can be avoided.”
More murmurs came form the crowd. This time they were of dissent.
“I have suggested a plan which will make it unnecessary, an addition of another wind to the Citadel which will extend into the wastelands. It will give us more living space and make the population problem obsolete.”
The people were not happy with that idea. She could tell just from their expressions. Casting a glance about the room to see if there were any Daleks present to view her disgrace, she sighed when she saw none. It was a struggle for her to prevent herself from crying. The emotional strain of resisting the Daleks was almost too much for her. To try to gloss over her insurrectionist remarks, she went on to tell the gathering of further Dalek conquests.
“Thank you for your attention,” the Lord President said when she felt she had completely destroyed herself. “Long live the Dalek Army of Enlightenment!” She hurriedly left the room through the rear Panopticon door, her head lowered.
The audience filed out in perfect synchronization soon after she departed.
Runcible turned to face his cameraman. He blinked several times and broke into one of his long, over detailed speeches that was basically just a rehash of what the President had just said – with his own slant added in to influence public opinion. His job as a reporter was to assume the viewers at home were morons and clarify for them, in his own words, what was said. Because of all the fancy terms he plugged in, the summary took longer to relate than the actual speech. Runcible attempted some deep, philosophical insight into what was said, but what little insight he had was erased when the Daleks brainwashed him.
He then called upon an expert in the field of politics, Chancellor Goth, for Goth’s opinion of the speech, and he too would state the obvious and rehash the entire speech, for the benefit of the public – with his own slant added in to influence public opinion. In the process, the commentary would further delay continuance of the regularly scheduled program and enrage those who wished to see it.
Chancellor Goth strode down the halls of the Capital, heading for the security center. He cradled in his arms a report of the progress the Gallifreyans had made in weapons manufacturing which he intended to deliver to the Blue Dalek.
Turning a corner, he very nearly walked into Castellan Spandrel. “Excuse me! I did not see you there.”
Spandrel appeared agitated and hurriedly told him not to think of it. Goth was about to resume his journey when Spandrel snatched Goth’s arm. “Chancellor, I must speak with you.”
“What about, Spandrel?”
The Emissaries have arrived.”
Alarm flickered across Goth’s face but quickly vanished. “I knew nothing of this.”
“They were not properly welcomed,” Spandrel said gravely.
“Are they angered?” Goth inquired.
Spandrel frowned. “They say they are not, but we may find ourselves in great trouble if we don’t remedy the situation soon. They’ve had a long and strenuous journey and are very angry and tired. I suggest we get them food and quartering as soon as possible.”
“I’ll see to it immediately,” Goth resolved. “Where are they now?”
Spandrel pointed back along the corridor he just came from. “By the Gateway.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Don’t be surprised by their appearance. They are very worn out and need to clean themselves.”
“Of course, I would do nothing to offend them.”
“Let us hope we haven’t done that already or the repercussions will be disastrous.”
After his cameraman departed, Runcible was the only person left in the Panopticon. He was particularly surprised when President Varalla re-entered the chamber through the same door she departed through.
Smiling, Runcible scurried up to Lord President Varalla, who was staring wistfully at the room’s domed ceiling. “Do you have time to answer a few questions, Madame?”
It was several seconds before Madame Varalla registered his presence. She looked gradually down from the ceiling and stared dumbly at Runcible. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“May I ask you a few questions?” Runcible was concerned for her. He had met her only a few months ago in a private interview and found that he liked her immensely. Now, suddenly, she was like a different person: a somber, erratic, minor league insurrectionist.
“Always.” The Lord President’s sad look changed to an icy stare.
“Are there any plans for a Dalek invasion of the Rutan home world? If not, I suggest it’s a good course of action. If we take that, their entire empire will fall into our grasp.”
Varalla saw this as the perfect opportunity to redeem herself. “Our Dalek masters don’t invade. They simply use their powers of persuasion to lead unbelievers to Enlightenment.”
“Of course,” Runcible nodded. He then took it upon himself to test the limits of her revolutionary nature. “But have you ever doubted the legitimacy of –“
“Doubt of any kind should be erased immediately. You must see the Operator and cleanse yourself of thoughts that contradict what the Emperor teaches.”
“You are right. I beg your forgiveness.” Runcible was secretly glad for the rebuke. It proved President Varalla was still good at heart.
Then Varalla asked an unexpected question. “Have you been speaking to the Doctor?”
Runcible frowned. He wasn’t expecting a counter-interrogation. “Why?”
“Have you?”
“I interviewed him. The general public has always been fascinated with the criminal element. I thought he world make for a good story.”
Varalla shook her head. “I thought a good reporter like yourself was above sensationalism. The last thing this planet needs is to promote the amoral standards of one such as the Doctor.”
“It was not a promotion, merely a character study. He has interesting things to say. I enjoy listening to him, as insane and offensive as he may be.”
“Unwise. He is a heretic. Listen to him and he will pollute you.”
“I obey.” Runcible sniffed. He then began to counter the statement of obedience with an excuse. “However, the Doctor was my friend at the Prydonian Academy. He helped me when Anzor tried to take advantage – “
“You have no need of friends. The Emperor has shown us ‘the way’. What more can one ask of life?”
Runcible nodded. “Little else, I know.”
“Pardon me, Madame Varalla. I meant to say ‘nothing else’.”
“Very good.”
Hildred, Commander of the Chancellery Guard, stepped into the Doctor’s cell where he found the prisoner still shackled to the wall.
The Doctor attempted his famous, toothy smile. All he managed was a faint smirk. “Hello.”
Hildred gave the Doctor a blank stare. “Lord President Allene Varalla has requested your presence."
“Wonderful!”
Hildred removed a key from his breast pocket and released the Doctor. Grateful to have his arms free again, the Doctor rubbed his wrists. “Helps the circulation.”
“Lord Varalla wishes to know how you escaped the effects of the pacification device.”
“I’m sure she does,” the Doctor said conversationally. “So, how’s life under Dalek domination?” Seeing no reaction, the Doctor tried a different approach. “Must be pretty terrible having to take orders from six foot salt shakers.”
“Chain of Command: Emperor, Imperial, President.”
The Doctor studied Hildred’s blank features. “What?”
“I obey the President. The President obeys the Imperial Daleks. The Daleks obey the Emperor.”
“Who’s the Emperor? Is it Davros?”
“Yes.”
Leaning forward, the Doctor whispered into Hildred’s ear. “Davros runs your life? Better you than me. Tell me, have you ever had the urge to just go against Davros?”
Shock registered on Hildred’s face. “You are evil!” They all said you were, but I didn’t believe it until now. We all must obey the Emperor and Lord Varalla!”
“All the time?”
“If Varalla shows signs of disobedience to the Emperor’s crusade, we are entitled to depose her. All this is in the Time Lord Constitution under the first law.”
“I was under the impression the first law was not to interfere in the development of other cultures.”
Hildred grew weary of this conversation. This was the twentieth time he had such a talk with this prisoner. “Those laws were abolished. A new set of laws were established by the Emperor.”
“What gave him the right to abolish our laws?”
This confused Hildred. He cocked his head to one side as if listening for an answer. None seemed to come. Hildred grew distressed. He groped for an answer to this traitor’s question.
“Who appointed the Emperor?”
Hildred couldn’t find an answer to that question either. Confusion brought pain. He began to experience incredible mental agony.
“Who does this Emperor think he is?”
Hildred tried desperately to end the discussion. “These questions are irrelevant. I must obey.”
“Who says?”
“Enough! Be silent!” Hildred pushed the barrel of his staser against the Doctor’s temple. His arm was shaky, uncertain, and he began wobbling on his feet. The Doctor lashed out with his arm and knocked the staser from Hildred’s hand. Following up, the Doctor drove his fist into Hildred’s jaw and knocked him to the floor, out cold.
Swiftly searching Hildred’s pockets, he discovered his confiscated possessions. To help him get around undetected, he stole several keycards, special identification, and whatever else he could find. The Doctor straightened up. He scooped up his coat and scarf, which were lying on a nearby table. With a cheery wave to the unconscious Hildred, he exited the cell and locked the door.
Chapter Six
“I asked you once to explain yourself, I will not do so again.”
Varalla stood at attention. Her eyes never left the eyestalk of the Dalek interrogating her. “I told no lie.”
The two stood in the center of a circular room. Around the walls were computer terminals, which monitored all the security systems on Gallifrey. At each console was a Dalek operating it.
“Indeed?” The Blue Dalek’s silky voice had a trace of ironic humor to it. At least, it was as close to ironic humor as a Dalek could get. “And what is this?”
With its claw appendage, the Dalek held up several sheets of paper. It saw the confused stare Varalla gave as a signal to elaborate. “This is a transcript of your speech today. Most of what you said fell in the parameters of what we instructed you to say. The rest is fabrication.”
“How do you know I strayed from the script?”
The Blue Dalek nodded its eye stalk toward the Silver Dalek in the corner. “I am not completely without sense. I sent him to observe you.”
“What part of my speech was unsatisfactory?”
The Blue Dalek poked Varalla’s chest with its metal fingers. “The remarks in question are those made on the problem of overpopulation.”
Varalla broke out of her attention pose. “You can’t expect to force women to stop having children! It’s monstrous and cruel. No upstart, not even a Dalek, can stand in the way of nature.”
“Enough!” The Blue Dalek’s bass cry reverberated around the chamber. “This ‘upstart’ can indeed ‘stand in the way of nature’ and he intends to do so. This planet has a natural age inhibitor in its atmosphere. That is why you Time Lords may live for so long without having to regenerate. That is also why, despite the fact that Gallifreyans don’t often propagate, the Citadel is overrun with children. You know that and I know that. I ordered you to tell the Time Lords that their children had to be put outside the Citadel. You did not. I ask you why.”
“I already told you,” Varalla swallowed. “We must expand the size of the Citadel. It has been done in the past. It may be done again.”
“Not with funds that could go towards expanding the Dalek Empire,” the Dalek replied.
“If you put those children out in the desert, they’ll die.”
“Other Gallifreyans who shun technology have successfully acclimated themselves to the environment outside. They are the Shabogans and they have an entire society beyond the Citadel walls, which is loyal to Dalek rule. I believe their tribal leader is known as Nesbin. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
“Yes.” Allene was temporarily stumped by the logic of the remark, but she would not allow herself to lose the argument. “There are other alternatives if you don’t want them here. Why can’t you send them to another one of your planets? Don’t you need slave labor on Ribos?”
“This conversation is terminated.”
“This conversation has barely begun!”
The Blue Dalek aimed its gun stick at Varalla’s legs. “I think not.”
It fired a jet of foam at the Time Lady that engulfed her legs. Varalla felt a queer tingling sensation before losing all feeling in her legs altogether. Unable to keep balance, Varalla pitched forward to the ground.
“In case you are curious,” the Blue Dalek remarked, “you have just been subjected to what I call a disciplining beam. It kills the victim’s ability to walk for almost a day. I suggest you do not displease me again. A second exposure to this will paralyze you for life.” It turned to face the Silver Guard. “Carry this wretch to the ship. Have her brain reprocessed. I don’t want her to spout any more poisonous ideas in public.”
The Silver Guard grabbed Varalla with its sucker arm and hoisted her into the air. As it trundled out, another Imperial approached the Blue Dalek. It looked after the retreating figures of the Lord President and the Silver Guard. “Is it wise to keep her in charge of our puppet government?”
“Possibly not, but why kill her now? If she dies then I will never find out how the situation would have developed. Her resistance to our rule will be interesting to study.”
“What interest can you have in non-Dalek life forms?”
“The better we know our adversaries, the easier it will be to defeat them.”
“You are wise for your low rank.”
The Blue Dalek’s eye stalk swiveled to regard the Imperial. “Refrain from insulting me or you may discover exactly what became of your predecessor.”
“It was meant as praise.”
“You were being condescending. Dismissed.”
Chancellor Goth bowed to the four Emissaries with the greatest of humility. “It is an honor and a pleasure.”
The
dignified man he focused his greeting on was the one he took to be the leader
of the Emissaries. The leader’s face,
due to or in spite of his advancing age, was very attractive and well
tanned. Like his hair, his black beard
and moustache were showing traces of grey.
“Thank you,” the leader of the
Emissaries replied. “I am Ravner. We are here to inspect the efficiency with
which this planet is run and the level of loyalty to the Emperor exhibited therein.”
“I am sure you will be very pleased with your findings; especially within the realms of our research stations.” Goth looked closely at Ravner. He had never seen an Emissary before and was captivated by the commanding air about Ravner.
Ravner was adorned by much jewelry, which included a bright ruby ring, a wide silver bracelet, and a large sapphire strung around his neck by a gold chain. He wore a black vest with grey fur lining over a frilly white shirt. A long, red cape was strapped to his collar. The overall effect was to make him seem regal, not ostentatious.
Ravner beckoned to the other three Emissaries with him. The first to receive Goth was a petite young woman with long, curly red hair. Ravner placed his hand proudly on her shoulder and smiled thinly at Goth. “May I present Miss Melanie Bush. Her field of expertise is computers and she will be examining all the systems in the Capital to make sure they are running top of the line.”
Melanie began to bow politely, but caught herself, realizing she should not be too polite to Goth due to his inferior rank.
Ravner then indicated the second woman with him. “This is Cordelia Mackie. She is an accomplished botanist and will be studying the planet’s plant life.”
The dark haired girl shook Goth’s hand formally and took a step back to stand with Melanie and Ravner.
Goth was dumbfounded by her presence. “If I may…why bother studying plant life? Much of the land in the immediate area is barren. What little plant like we have to offer can’t possibly help the Emperor.”
Cordelia scowled at Goth. “I will decide what is and isn’t of use to the Emperor.”
Ravner smiled with approval at Cordelia.
Goth felt his throat go dry. “No offense was meant, Miss Mackie. I was merely trying to be helpful.”
“You can be helpful by staying out of our affairs,” Cordelia replied stiffly.
“Yes, Miss Mackie.”
Feeling a thickness in the air, Ravner cleared his throat to break the awkward moment. “And finally, here is Leonardo Lionheart, weapons expert.”
Leo, the final Emissary, was the most remarkable of the four in that he was the only one who was not humanoid. While he had the stature of a man, his physique was that of a Terran Lion. His chest was large and muscular and his head gigantic in proportion with the rest of his body.
Leo ran a paw through his rich brown mane. He feared Cordelia had come down too hard on Goth and attempted to smooth in over a little. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Chancellor.”
Although Leo had been the friendliest of the four, Goth feared him the most because he appeared to be so menacing. He sensed Leo’s surveying eyes boring holes in his soul and couldn’t help but think how easily Leo could snap his spine in two with those massive lion arms. “Thank you, Master Lionheart.”
As Leo stared at Goth, his large red tongue licked his lips and paused under his whiskers. By doing this, he silently told Goth he knew of the fear he instilled in the Chancellor. Leo stood before all now, with a scarlet robe pulled tightly around his waist. He gestured grandly with his paw at his companions. “Chancellor, may we have somewhere to refresh ourselves before we begin work?”
“Certainly,” Goth bowed. “If you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms.”
“One room will be fine,” Ravner cut in. “Just make sure it is a large one so it can accommodate all of us.”
Goth paused. “One room for all of you?”
“Yes,” said Ravner.
“Very well. I will give you the Lord President’s quarters. They are spacious enough.”
Ravner’s face blanched. “ The Lord President’s quarters! Is that a good decision?”
“She will not mind,” Goth replied with certainty.
“Only if you are quite sure,” Cordelia interjected, sounding just as concerned.
“I am quite sure,” Goth repeated. “The Lord President will do anything to please our Dalek Masters.”
The Lord President was once a woman of great strength and personal dignity. That was until the Daleks stripped her of all her character. Where a noble, benign ruler was, the Daleks put a cold, ruthless dictator whose only motivation was to serve the Dalek Empire. This was the second occasion the good woman that Varalla originally was broke through the rough exterior the Daleks chiseled. Both times she was taken to the structure outside the Citadel to be brainwashed. ‘The Cleansing Chamber’ was the euphemism the Daleks used when referring to it.
As she was led inexorably closer to her dorm, Varalla thought of all the planets that fell to the Daleks since Gallifrey was invaded. In the space of a few months, over a hundred planets and twice as many moons were invaded. What was really peculiar was Varalla never realized that the Daleks had so much power until Gallifrey was conquered. She couldn’t for the life of her remember how it happened. The circumstances leading up to the takeover and her death as an independent being were all clear, but the actual conquest was foggy in her memory. She missed the times before the Daleks arrived. The Time Lords may have been supremely corrupt, but at least they were free to make their own mistakes. Even that was better than Dalek servitude.
There are not, she thought, many people unfortunate enough to die twice. I have just regained control of my actions only to have it wrested from me again.
The Dalek shoved her into the Cleaning Chamber and closed the door behind her with a long clang. It was not the darkness of the chamber that alarmed her. It was the loud finality of the sound of metal against metal. Like a death knell.
How sickeningly appropriate.
Meanwhile, Chancellor Goth was attempting to smooth over any feelings of humiliation the Emissaries may have felt at being ignored. He showed them to the Lord President’s room which, thankfully, was vacant at the time and informed them of the functions of the furnishings. After all this was done, the Emissaries appeared to be in a much brighter mood. However, he noticed a certain lingering tension amongst them as if his presence disturbed them. Deciding not to aggravate the condition, he took his leave of them soon afterwards.
“Thank God!” Cordelia cried, collapsing on the large bed at the rear of the room. “I thought he’d never leave!”
Leo paced restlessly about the room, tapping the walls and examining the furniture. “We’re not quite safe yet. There may be listening devices planted about the room.”
“Great,” groaned Cordelia. “Every time I think things are as bad as they can get, something else goes wrong.”
“I gather things like that happen often,” Ravner said conversationally, “when you get involved with the Doc--“
Leo spun his head around and held up his paw for silence. “Quiet. I said they may be listening.”
“I doubt we could put ourselves in any greater danger if we tried,” Ravner mumbled.
“You should talk!” Melanie said sourly. “We’d be in a lot less trouble if it wasn’t for you.”
Ravner drew back defensively. “Me? What did I do?”
“’One room will be fine’,” mimicked Melanie. “’Just make sure it is a large one so it can accommodate all of us.’”
“I thought we’d be safer together!” Ravner shouted.
“How smart is it to boot the Lord President out of her home?”
“How was I supposed to know Goth would do that? What am I, a bleeding psychic?”
“If you’d just kept your mouth shut none of this would have happened.”
“Would you two stop?” Leo shouted. “Things are bad enough!” We don’t need to argue now also!”
“Why not?” Ravner shot back. “I could use a good argument.”
Leo shook his head. “I don’t have the strength to deal with you now. Why don’t you people just take a cue from Cordelia? She’s just resting now, not allowing herself to get mad at anybody.”
“Oh, I’m angry,” Cordelia murmured. “I’m angry that Ravner couldn’t come up with a better assumed name for me than ‘Cordelia’.”
“Now we’re getting petty!” Ravner cried.
“What I want to know is how come I’m the only one who has one of those -- “
Enraged by the bickering, Leo tossed his head in the air and let out a deafening roar. It was so powerful that it blocked out Cordelia’s protests. Melanie covered her ears to block out the full force of the sound. When Leo shut his massive jaws, the room had gone totally silent. They were all too intimidated by him to argue further.
“Much better,” Leo smiled.
The Doctor stopped at an unfamiliar intersection. Uncertain as to which direction to take, he decided to use the best scientific method he knew to pick the right way.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe.”
He said “moe” while pointing to the left-hand corridor. Glancing down the left corridor, he saw the infamous Blue Dalek gliding by. “Maybe ‘miney’ is better.”
With that, the Doctor dashed along the corridor immediately in front of him.
In his home in the Citadel, Runcible was busy typing up his report for the Gallifreyan news bulletin. It was on Varalla’s speech and the controversial remarks contained within it. The reporter put in his own prediction that Varalla would not last long as Lord President.
Just as he placed the finishing touches on his article, a panel on the computer lit up. He did not glance up from his masterpiece. “Enter.”
The doors to Runcible’s private quarters parted to admit the Blue Dalek. “I desire your news bulletin,” it announced haughtily.
Runcible indicated the computer screen. “I just finished it. You may read it if you wish, your eminence.”
The eye stalk read the text at a rapid speed. “This is unsatisfactory.”
“May I ask why?”
“You may.”
“Why?”
“I am not authorized to tell you. Just write what I dictate to you. I cannot allow you to give the public such negative outlooks on the President; especially based on misinterpretations of her speech.”
“But the bit about overpopulation. Surely her meaning was clear.”
“She erred. She meant to inform the public that all children will be relocated to outside the Citadel.”
“I see. An excellent plan, if I may say so.”
“You may not. Your task is merely to write.”
Runcible then deleted the file his article was on and began his article anew under the close supervision of his quest.
“Have you broadcast the Public Register Video of her speech yet?”
Runcible shook his head. “No. It has to be edited first.”
“That is for certain.”
The Doctor found himself at another intersection, unsure of which direction to take. He had to get back to the TARDIS, but the fastest and surest way there was down an immensely long corridor. Should a guard pass by, he’d be easily spotted and there would be nowhere to run. This time he flipped for it. The corridor it was.
He hurriedly sidestepped his way down the hall with his back flattened against the wall. Twice, guards strode down an adjoining corridor, barely missing him. Feeling even more alarmed he quickened his pace. Halfway down the hall, his back brushed against an ornate wooden door with large brass rings for doorknobs. The door had the Seal of the Lord President of Gallifrey burned into its surface.
“There’s nothing quite like walking around right in the heart of enemy territory.”
Just ahead of him, the Doctor caught sight of a long Dalek shadow turning into the hallway. Since it was moving slowly, it hadn’t yet spotted the Doctor. He had only a few seconds to act. Choosing between possible capture and certain capture, the Doctor opted for possible capture. He shoved his full weight against the Lord President’s door and knocked it open. Taking no time to examine his surroundings, he shut and locked the door behind him.
“What do you want?”
The regal voice caused the Doctor to turn slowly around to see who was addressing him. Standing before him was a black-haired young woman with a bright, elfin face. She had assumed a commanding pose, which seemed too forced to be natural.
“Why, hello! So good to meet you.” The Doctor beamed brightly at the woman and held out a small paper bag for her to inspect. “Would you like a jelly baby?”
Cordelia stared back at the Doctor, searching his face for signs of hostility. There were none. She silently cursed the others for leaving her alone in the room to fend for herself while they wandered off to God knows where.
“A jelly baby?” she stammered.
“Yes. They’re very good. Try one.”
The Doctor watched carefully as Cordelia reached into the bag and withdrew a jelly baby. He was pleasantly surprised at her reaction to his presence. The friendly air with which he had greeted her had been little more than an attempt to confuse borne out of desperation at being discovered. Despite her obvious and understandable surprise at his barging in, she seemed to be returning his amicable air with cautious welcome.
Cordelia paused before putting the candy in her mouth, concerned that it might be poisoned and feeling very awkward in front of the intruder to begin with. Sensing her fear, the Doctor removed one for himself and popped it into his mouth. “See. They’re alright.”
Feeling much safer, Cordelia ate the jelly baby. “You really are very disconcerting barging in here offering me candy like this. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Oh, sorry about that. I’m the….” As his voice trailed off, his eyes fixed rigidly on her features.
“What’s the matter?”
“We’ve met before,” the Doctor said slowly.
Cordelia shook her head. “That’s impossible.”
“We’ve met before,” the Doctor repeated with more insistence. “I don’t remember where or how, but I know I’ve seen you before.”
Cordelia took a step back. If he did know her, would he betray her secret to the Daleks? He seemed to be a nice guy. Should she confide in him or would that be supremely foolish? “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember you.”
“What’s your name?” the Doctor asked.
Cordelia tried to remember. “Cordelia Mackie.”
The Doctor shook his head slowly. “No it isn’t.”
“I should know my own name!”
The Doctor’s memory was playing tricks on him. It was as if his mind had purposely closed off all but the slightest hints of memories of that woman. He closed his eyes and tried to picture her face in his mind. The clothes she had on now were all wrong. They were distracting him. Gradually, like a camera coming into focus, a picture of Cordelia formed in his mind. Instead of a stately red gown, he saw her wearing casual clothing; blue shorts, a pink shirt, and a narrow headband.
“Now I know who you are.” He opened his eyes slowly and grinned broadly at the woman’s expression. “It’s been a long time, Peri.”
