Chapter Seven

 

Hildred stepped aside to allow the Blue Dalek to see into the Doctor’s empty cell.  “He’s been gone for about a half hour.”    

“And you were unconscious all this time?” the Blue Dalek asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“So, the Doctor can be anywhere in the Capital by now.”

“Not anywhere, sir.”

“Anywhere within a half-hour’s travel,” the Blue Dalek amended.  “He will no doubt attempt to escape to his craft.  I’m going to double the number of guards on his TARDIS.

“I can do that, sir,” Hildred volunteered.

“No, You can’t.”

Hildred blinked repeatedly.  “I don’t understand.”

“It is your fault the Doctor is at large.”

“He caught me off guard,” Hildred cried.

“Precisely.  If you had followed orders, this would not have happened.  Remember the ‘Prison Guard’ rules?  ‘No guard is to enter a cell alone where a dangerous prisoner is interned.  He must be accompanied by at least one Dalek and/or five Chancellery Guards in case of an attempted escape’.”

Hildred looked downcast.  “I’m sorry, sir.”

The Blue Dalek moved closer to Hildred.  “Now that the Doctor is free, he can do untold damage to our forces.  Your foolishness may cost the Daleks dearly.  Do you know what you must do to reclaim your honor?”

Hildred swallowed.  “Yes, sir.”

“Then do it,” the Blue Dalek ordered.

Shuddering, Hildred unclamped his staser from its holster.  With sweaty palms, he removed the safety mechanism.  Then, deliberately, he slid the barrel of the staser into his mouth.  His finger tightened around the trigger.

“For the glory of the Dalek Empire,” the Blue Dalek intoned.

There was the shrill crack of a staser and Hildred’s skull erupted outward.  Blood and exploded tissue splattered against the cell wall.  The Blue Dalek watched, satisfied, as Hildred fell to the ground, dead.

 

Leo did not like the idea of leaving Peri -- alias Cordelia Mackie -- alone in the Lord President’s quarters.  Unfortunately, everyone except her wanted to leave the room for various trivial reasons that seemed good at the time.  However, the longer they strayed from the safety of the room, the longer Peri waited alone and unprotected, the more Leo felt the need to return immediately.  So he regrouped with Mel and Ravner and they made their way back to their quarters without further delay.

When he approached the large wooden doors, he heard voices speaking excitedly within.  Numerous terrifying scenarios ran through his head in the instant that followed.  Realizing it would be foolish to panic without knowing anything for certain, Leo opened the door and peered within. 

The sight that greeted him was a bizarre one.  Peri sat on the edge of the bed chatting eagerly with a rather Bohemian-looking fellow in singed and dirtied clothing.

Peri looked up at the three newcomers and flashed her wide, smiling mouth.  “Hi!”

            Leo and his two companions stepped into the room and smiled awkwardly back at Peri and the Doctor.  Mel gave Peri an inquiring look.  “Who’s your friend?”

            Peri bit her lower lip.  “I know it’s a little hard to believe, but…this is the Doctor.”

            “Hello there!” the Doctor waved cheerily.

            “Sorry?” Leo asked.

            “He’s the Doctor,” Peri repeated.  “The same man you met before.  He just looks a little different.”

            Mel’s eyes widened in disbelief.  “A little?”

            “Well, a lot.”

            “The thing is,” the Doctor cut in, “that I’m a different incarnation of the Doctor.  Two regenerations before the one you know, so it happens.”

            The explanation was greeted with three blank stares. 

            The Doctor looked pensive.  “How to explain?”  Ah!  Let’s say, for the sake of argument that a man is hit by heavy radiation and is on the brink of death.  What happens?”

            “He dies?” Leo asked, feeling remarkably obtuse.

            “Normally you’d be right.  But Time Lords, like me, can regenerate the dying cells.  The body is entirely healed but, in the process, the physiognomy winds up completely changed.  The personality is altered a bit also.”

            Ravner’s brow furrowed.  “I don’t understand.  If your looks and personality are different, how is it you’re the same person?”

            “I suppose you can say I’ve got the same soul if you believe in that sort of thing.”

            Leo’s stare first turned alarmed, then confused, and then blank.  “I better sit down,” he murmured.

            Impatient, Peri stood up.  “Who cares how he’s the Doctor?  I’ve known him for three years and I still don’t understand it myself.  For me it’s an even bigger stretch since this is the fourth version of him I’ve seen.  Just take my word for it that we can trust him.”

            Mel eyed the Doctor for a moment and then shrugged.  “I suppose I can trust him.”

            “Alright,” said Leo.  “What about you, Ravner?”

            “I don’t care.  As long as we get out of this God forsaken place sometime soon.”

            “Can you help us escape, Doctor?”inquired Mel.

            The Doctor pursed his lips.  “It would be easier for me to help you if I had all the information.  At the moment, I’m probably even more confused than you are.”

            “I don’t know,” replied Mel.  “I’m pretty confused myself.”

            “That doesn’t matter.  Could you just tell me everything you know?  I don’t care how long it takes.”

            “I care how long it takes!” cried Ravner.  “At any moment, forty Daleks could bust in here and gun us all down, and here you are ready to put your feet up, sip some hot chocolate, and have a nice long chat.  I’m sorry, but I just don’t feel comfortable enough to sit here jawing.”

            “It is very important,” the Doctor urged.

            Flexing his muscles, Leo rose from his seat.  “If it’ll make you feel all better, I’ll stand guard by the door and make sure nobody enters while the Doctor is here.”

            Mel nodded.  “That’s a good idea.”

            “Yes,” Ravner added sarcastically.  “Let Leo guard the door.  I feel so much safer, now.”

            Ignoring Ravner’s outburst, Leo bowed at the ladies and slipped outside, beginning his guard duty.

            The Doctor sighed and scratched his head.  “I understand where you’re coming from, Ravner.  If you think it’s too dangerous for me to stay here with you, I’ll be going.”

            “No!” Peri shouted with a force that a moment later embarrassed her.

            The Doctor stopped moving and slowly lowered himself back into his seat.

            “Please,” Peri continued with more restraint, “We’d all feel safer with you here.”

            “Fine,” Ravner snorted.  “He can stay.  While he’s here you might as well fill him in about what happened on Shardonia.”

            “Good.”  The Doctor looked at Peri and Mel.  “I want you both to tell me everything that has happened to you since this situation began.  Don’t even leave out the most trifling of details.”

            Peri nodded.  “Okay.  I just don’t know where to begin.  At the moment, all you need to know is that I got separated from you on Thoros-Beta.”

            “There’s something else,” Mel added.  “Up until a couple of days ago, pretty much none of us knew each other, so you’ll be hearing how we first met.”

            “Alright,” said the Doctor.  He looked around at the faces, waiting for one of them to speak.  Since no words were forthcoming, the Doctor asked Peri to begin.

            Peri leaned forward and folded her hands in front of her.  “Okay.  Like I said, you and I were separated.  For a time I was forced to travel with Yrcanos of the Krontep.  He was supposed to be a warrior king of some sort but he had a childish air about him.  In two weeks, he was beginning to have the feeling that I was homesick and was trying to find a way to get me back to Earth.

            “While he was working out that problem, he decided we should stop off at the planet Shardonia to rest.  It was the biggest tourist spot in the quadrant and Yrcanos figured I’d like it.  I thought that at last I might get a vacation.  But I should have remembered that, since I started traveling with you, Doctor, the word ‘vacation’ usually meant I’d either be shot at or transmogrified into a bird creature”………………………………..

 

          

 

 

 

 

 

           

 

 

 

 

                                                           Chapter Eight

 

            It was early evening on the planet Shardonia.  Moonlight glinted off the surface of the water that completely engulfed the globe.  Not one piece of land disturbed the exterior of Shardonia.  It was in these waters that the most diverse marine life ever conceived swam freely.  Below the vast waters, large cities existed.  Colossal spires, golden bridges, buildings constructed using vibrant red coral, and platinum statues contributed just a part of the beautry of the developments.  The designers appeared to have created the living quarters more for artistic reasons than for practical.

            Protecting the area from the deadly waters were giant violet domes.  These domes prevented water from crashing down on the planet’s inhabitants while still allowing ships and the like to simply pass through it.  In structure and function it could be easily compared to a semi-permeable membrane.  Each city was linked by way of an intricate and effective monorail system that was also protected by tubes of the jelly-like membrane.

            Just within the rim of one such city dome stood the largest restaurant and bar on the planet.  One of the tourists’ favorite spots, it drew massive numbers of visitors daily.  Among the patrons of the full – but not uncomfortably crowded – bar was Peri.

            Peri remembered the Betrun’s Bar on Shardonia well.  It was the vast array of alien faces coupled with the familiarity of the presence of humans, which made Peri feel almost at home there.  She had sat for almost an hour watching the enchanting sea life dart around on the other side of the dome as she ate.  It had a serene effect on her that she hadn’t felt since she’d lost contact with the Doctor.  The way they had parted company deeply disturbed her.  The last time she saw him he had been acting completely irrationally and not knowing why gnawed at her.  His actions on Thoros-Beta were not only out of character but also –for want of a better word – evil.  The Doctor had beaten her, imprisoned her, and almost killed her.

            Sitting across from her at one of the octagonal tables rested King Yrcanos.  He eyed Peri wistfully.  She had been hopelessly depressed for days and there was no sign of improvement in sight.  It hurt him to see her so upset.  But it would soon be of no matter.  Her depression would cease the moment she became his wife.  After all, what woman would not kill to be Queen of the Krontep?

            “Peri,” Yrcanos beamed.  “We must make plans for our wedding.”

            Peri nodded listlessly, not really paying attention.

            “You will be the most beautiful bride ever!”

            “Mmmm.”

            “And we must also plan for after the wedding.  How many children will we have?”  Yrcanos asked.  “Ten?  Eleven? Ten!” 

            Peri began to gradually pick up on some of what Yrcanos was saying.  “What?”

            “We will have many warriors to go on in their father’s footsteps.   Little Yrcanoses and little Peris.  Vroomnik!”

            Peri shook her head.  “I don’t get it.”

            Yrcanos was momentarily wounded, but his joy prevented him from being too impatient.  “Were you not listening?  We are to be married soon.”

            Peri looked at him incredulously.  “Are we?”

            “Yes.  We are.”

            “Since when?”

            “Since I saw you and wanted you,” Yrcanos said simply. 

            Then Peri made the mistake of approaching Yrcanos with logic rather than emotion.  “There are a lot of good reasons why I can’t marry you.”

            “Such as?”

            Peri tried to break the news as gently as she could.  “For one thing, I don’t love you.”

            “Is that all?”

            Peri stared blankly at him.  “Well…there are other reasons, I suppose.”

            “Like what?” Yrcanos bellowed.

            “Like how you’re going to adjust to life on Earth, in America.”

            Yrcanos shrugged.  “There must be some place I could fit in.”

            “Well, I could picture you in a redneck bar someplace.  The problem is, I can’t picture me there.  Besides, what can you do for a living?”

            “Fight!  Kill! Vroomnik!” Yrcanos pounded his chest with his fist again.

            Peri sighed.  He was making it very difficult for her.  “America is a little too civilized for that.   I suppose you could be a professional boxer or wrestler or something.”

            “And you can be my manager.”

            The idea passed fancifully through her head.  She imagined legions of fans of the “King of the Krontep”, suitably dubbed the “Vroomniks,” cheering on her hulking man as she stood on the sidelines looking glamorous.  It would be a relationship formed from the same mold as the Super Macho Man and Miss Elizabeth’s.

            That was the thought that put an abrupt end to the little fantasy.  She was many things, but certainly no Miss Elizabeth wannabe.

            “No, the idea is silly.  Wrestling isn’t the field I had my heart set on.  It’s too far a cry from botany.”

            Yrcanos waved dismissively.  “Spending all day looking at flowers!  Feh!  Double feh!”

            “I wish you’d stop belittling my interests.”  At the moment, Peri was at too much of a loss to put any anger behind her complaint.

            “I suppose I can grow to understand your fascination with weeds after we’re married.”

            Peri held her head in her hands.  “I still can’t believe you want to marry me.  It’s such a shock.” 

            “How can you say that!  I talk of nothing but marriage and war; two very similar ideas.”

            “I’ve heard you say things about it but I always thought you were joking.”

            “I never joke!  I’m always serious!”

            “And what about me?”  Peri exclaimed.  “Don’t I get a say in my own future?”

            “A woman is like a castle.  She is to be taken by storm.”

            Peri’s mouth set into a hard line.  “Oh, really?”

            “Yes!  And your say decides how soon you will surrender to me.”

            “Some castles never surrender.”

            Yrcanos threw his head back and bellowed with laughter.  “That is exactly what the Doctor said to me about you.”

            “Did he?”  Peri whispered.  She lowered her head and absently fingered her napkin.

            The mirth dispelled from Yrcanos’ face.  “Why are you so depressed?  Why do you always ruin my mood?”

            “I wish you’d stop bringing up the Doctor!  I keep trying to forget about him and you keep bringing him up!”

            Yrcanos pounded his chest with his fist.  “He should not upset you!  He is garbage!  Living garbage!  With any luck, he may even be dead garbage!”

            “Don’t talk about him like that.”

            “You’ve said far worse things than I have.  Why do you defend him now?”

            “I’m the only one allowed to railroad the Doctor. He was my friend.” 

            Yrcanos eyed her suspiciously.  “Was that all he was to you?”

            “Of course!”

            “You sound,” Yrcanos said slowly, “very adamant.”

            Peri lowered her eyes and gave no reply.

            So prevalant were her and Yrcanos’ concerns that they failed to realize they were being watched.  Near the dimly lit strip of booths at the far end of the restaurant, an android stood, concealed under the folds of a heavy purple cloak.  Its robotic eyes spied Peri intently, noting that she resembled the human it had been ordered to find.  The cloaked frame called upon the database files stored in its memory banks.  It had to be certain of Peri’s identity.

 

                                      Imperial Dalek War Computer Activated

 

                                                             Search…

 

                                          Ka Faraq Gatri, “Doctor, the”

 

                                                         Sub-division:

 

                                               Vore Tatra, “Companions of”

 

                                                     Subject: human female

 

                                               Approximate Age: under twenty

 

                                          Characteristics: small, dark haired

 

                                                 -----Searching-----

 

                      Search parameters too wide.  Seven known companions of the

                            Doctor fit this description.  Will now display character

                                 information and visual of seven possibilities.

 

                                                           Possibility 1:

 

                                             Referred To As: Ace

                          Location Encountered: Terra, Imperial year 647

                               Incarnation of Doctor With: Seventh

 

            A picture of the subject formed in the android’s mind.  It was one of a sixteen- year-old girl with a roundish face and hair pulled back in a ponytail.

            The android knew it was not the human it had been assigned to find.

 

                                                            Invalid Match

 

                                                             Possibility 2:

 

                                                  Referred To As: Peri

                              Location Encountered: Necros, Imperial Year 39

                                           Incarnation of Doctor With: Sixth

 

                         Identification verified.  Female is known associate of the

                           Doctor.  She is an enemy of the Daleks.  She is to be

                           apprehended and used to lure the Doctor into the open.

 

            The android stepped backwards.  “Task completed,” it intoned.  “The Doctor’s companion is ours for the taking.”

 

           

           

 

           

 

                                                         

 

 

 
 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                           Chapter Nine

 

            The Doctor’s tall form reclined in a chair, leaning on his elbow and sulking.  His curly, sandy hair was even more unkempt than usual and his normally bright blue eyes had gone dim with loneliness.  Although he didn’t require much sleep, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a few minutes’ rest.  Staring dumbly at his green shoes and loose yellow trousers, he let out a long sigh.  The Doctor knew self-pitying wouldn’t get him anywhere and he hated himself for falling inactive, so this made him feel even more sorry for himself.  Currently in his sixth incarnation, he had just survived a very grueling experience that had left him shaken.

            Offering a striking contrast to his somber mood were his bright, ostentatious clothes.  His plaid coat, in particular, was guilty of this.  Like something a ragged patchwork doll would wear, the coat’s colors changed in patches so unexpectedly that it created a garish, clashing effect.  One lapel was a darker shade of orange than the other and the joining collar had a multi-color, checkered design.  Also at war were the two halves of his waistcoat: one blue, the other yellow.  Furthering the conflicting image was a polka dotted blue neck cloth tied in a large, happy bow under his deeply frowning mouth.  Even his collars were cheerfully showy in that each sported the black question mark imprint that had evolved into his insignia.

            The Doctor sat in the main control room of his TARDIS, waiting patiently for it to materialize on the planet Krontep at the end of the thirtieth century.  It was his tenth visit to the planet in the last week, each trip being to a different time period.  Still, he was nowhere near accomplishing his goal.

            According to the facts he had, his companion Peri had married Yrcanos.  She and her new husband ruled Krontep together as warrior king and queen.  And yet, there was no sign of either of them.  As far as he could tell, there was no sign of either of them.  As far as he could tell, there was no indication that Peri had ever or would ever appear on Krontep.  The problem confounded the Doctor.

            He left his chair and began pacing about the control room.  Could Peri be dead?  She very well could be based on what happened on Thoros-Beta, but he evicted the possibility from his thoughts.  If she wasn’t on Krontep and she wasn’t in America and she wasn’t on Thoros-Beta, where was she? Gallifrey?  Why would she be there?  Well, it was the only guess he had left.  But locating missing persons should not be left to guesswork.  It should be left to logic.

            The Doctor approached the six-sided control console located at the center of the control room.  He stepped up to the TARDIS central computer and ran his fingers across the keyboard.  Twisting the scanner screen visual control switch, he watched as a section of the TARDIS wall parted to reveal a large viewscreen.

            “Let’s see where she could really be.”

            The TARDIS computer called up a map of the ten planets of the Montov Solar System.  Thin red lines traced the planetary orbits around the sun and they moved at time-lapse speed in simulated orbit.

            The Doctor’s eyes roved over each moon and planet, trying to identify them and the likelihood of Peri’s being there.  “Let’s see: Thoros-Alpha, Thoros-Beta, Belar 4, Jufist, Shardonia, Marinus…Marinus!  I remember Marinus!”

            The Doctor struck his fist into his palm and smiled.  “That was way back!”  Way back! How long ago was that?  My second incarnation?  No, I was with Chesterton.  That was my first!  My, how time flies, “he said quietly.  “I wonder how old Sabetha is doing.”  He shook his head to clear out the invading memories.  “Well, never mind that.  It’s not important now.  Back to finding Peri.”

            Unexpectedly, the TARDIS lights dimmed and were replaced by an eerie green light.  The Doctor spun around instantly on his heels.  Something was trying to get in his TARDIS.  It alarmed him incredibly because the TARDIS was supposed to be temporally invulnerable.  Anything able to penetrate the control room had to have immense power.  Nevertheless, his alarm drifted away somewhat when he developed the feeling that whatever was causing the glow was benevolent.

            “Who’s there?”

            He felt a presence in his mind trying to establish a telepathic link.  Whoever was communicating with him knew that the Time Lords were telepathic.  Sensing no immediate danger, he cautiously allowed the communication.  In his mind’s eye, the Doctor formed a picture of an ethereal woman in a silky green dress.

            **I am the Great Composer.**  It was the woman’s mind which spoke, so her lips did not move with the words.  **I had to speak mentally with you because you would not understand my musical language.**

            “I see,” the Doctor responded.  “What can I do for you?” 

            **There is great danger.**  She was having considerable difficulty projecting her message.  Her voice sounded far away and static-ridden.  **The Celestial Toymaker…**

            The Doctor’s eyes widened.  “The Toymaker!  He’s escaped?”

            **Yes.  He will seek you out and destroy you.  He plans to use the Daleks as the…instruments of his vengeance.**

            “He won’t find them so willing to help.”

            **He is an Eternal, like me.  Nothing is beyond him….**

            Her last words convinced the Doctor she was leaving.  His mind reached out to hers.  “Wait!”

            Feeling her comply, he asked, “I don’t want to sound rude, but who are you?”

            “One who seeks only to help you.  I cannot maintain this conversation for long.  He may discover me…warning you.**

            “You are his prisoner.”  It was more of a statement than a question.

            **Yes.**

            “Let me help you.”

            **I am not important.  All that matters is…is the s-s-safety of you and your friend.  Peri is in great danger.   You must find Peri.**

            This exasperated the Doctor.  “But that’s what I’ve been trying to do! I can’t!”

            **Farewell.**

            He no longer felt the Composer’s presence.  The green glow that permeated the atmosphere gradually dispersed.  For all practical purposes it was as if the Composer had never been there.  If only her visit had given him more to go on than a macabre warning.

            Perhaps it did at that, he thought.

            The doctor moved over to the many-sided control console to test his theory.  The theory was correct.  Slight changes had appeared in the coordinates.  The TARDIS was now heading for a different part of the Montov Solar System.  Shardonia at a guess.  Who had changed the coordinates was still a mystery.  Was it a result of the Composer’s influence or the Toymaker’s?  It would have been simplistic of him to assume the Composer was definitely responsible.

 

            Davros, the Emperor Dalek, stood on the bridge of the Dalek Mother-ship Vorkim, waiting expectantly for the end of the journey to Shardonia.  He was different from the other Daleks in that, while he too was confined to a Dalek shell, his body was still humanoid.  Although the base of his shell resembled all other Dalek units in its array of golden sense globes, the armor terminated at his waist.  His ruined body was totally immersed in a sea of tangled wires that traveled around his head and down his back.  Since the loss of his only good hand, his skull-like face was one of the last remnants of humanity left to him.  Imbedded in his forehead was a sapphire colored robotic eye that flashed whenever he spoke. Leathery folds of skin stretched over empty eye sockets and swelled cheekbones.

            Davros grumbled restlessly, anxious for the voyage to come to its end.  There were many aspects of the mission which gave him misgivings; the cardinal one being that  his army was acting on second-hand information.  While the data had all been verified as correct, the motivation of the informant was in question.  Nevertheless, the potential gains in following through with the knowledge far outweighed the risks calculated by the War Computer.

            Davros did not trust aliens, especially ones whose power rivaled that of the entire Dalek fleet.  His first encounter with the mysterious benefactor had occurred two weeks earlier, but it was so bizarre that he recalled it as clearly as if it were happening at present.  Then, as now, he was on the bridge of the new Imperial Dalek Mother-ship Vorkim.  He had just completed the final medical tests on his comrade Nyder when it occurred.

            An area of the artificial atmosphere of the bridge began to ripple before Davros’ mechanical eye.  “What is that?”  Davros had asked with more scientific detachment than wonder.

            The Green Dalek science officer replied that the substance did not respond to any of their sensors.

            The rippling quickly enlarged, filled out, and began manifesting more definite features.  Soon all the cabalistic light faded to reveal a humanoid creature towering over Davros.  “You are Davros, creator of the Daleks.  I bring you greetings.”

            “Who are you?”

            “I am the Celestial Toymaker, your humble servant.”

            Every Imperial Dalek on board the bridge turned their weapons on the imposing creature.  Davros, pleased that they reacted properly without being ordered to, smiled at the Toymaker.  “The Daleks have no need of servants.”

            “Oh?”  The Toymaker feigned confusion.  “Then what are the Ogrons?”  What are the Werelocks?”

            “They are tools that I am quite familiar with.  You, however, I know nothing about.”

            “I assure you,” the Toymaker said in an offhand manner, “I can be of great assistance.  My knowledge is as vast as my range of powers.  The portal I used to get here is but a small example of what I can do.  I haven’t even fully mastered it because I absorbed the ability only recently from a prisoner of mine.”

            “What do you mean by ‘absorbed’?”

            “It’s really very simple,” the Toymaker said condescendingly.  “You see, I’m something of a warlock.”

            Davros’ laugh was a loud, harsh gargling sound.  “Do you expect me to believe that?”

            “I have already demonstrated my powers.”

            “They are easily technological in origin.  I am a scientist.  I do not acknowledge the existence of magic.”

            The Toymaker knew better than to pursue a discussion on the metaphysical with Davros.  “Whatever my powers are rooted in – magic or science – I have them nonetheless, and I am prepared to use them to help you.  The Imperials have been taking a pounding lately.  To begin with, the revenge wars against the Movellans and the Renegades took an appreciable toll on your numbers.  Your new breed of Daleks spent years compensating for the loss.  After all that time, just when they were once again ready to play a dominant role in the fate of the universe, the Doctor intervened.  In one full swoop, he destroyed Skaro and wiped out a billion Daleks.  Those are casualties you will never fully recover from.”

            “I do not need you to remind me of the setbacks we’ve suffered!”  Davros screeched.

            The Toymaker spoke gravely.  “I am not saying these things to anger or humiliate you.  I am just stating the facts.  Do you know what the Doctor says of you?  He describes you Imperials as little more than a band of scavengers reduced to hiring mercenaries to do your terrorizing for you.”

            “Never mention the Ka Faraq Gatri!”  Davros roared.  He aimed his particle beam disrupter gun at the apparition and fired.

            The Dalek officer of the deck reacted by letting off a volley of ammunition in the Mandarin’s direction.  Its subordinate Daleks followed its lead and opened fire.  Energy beams ripped forth from eleven gun sticks and assailed the Toymaker mercilessly.  For more than twenty seconds, they fired on him without stopping.  When they lowered their weapons, their eye stalks gazed at him in mute shock.

            The Toymaker was completely unharmed.  All their energy together.  “Oh, very good!”  Very good!  Such spirit!  You know something, I like you, Davros.”

                        “Well, I do not like you,” Davros returned, unconcerned that the Toymaker still lived.  There wasn’t a creature alive his Daleks couldn’t defeat.

            The Toymaker’s good cheer remained fixed on his face.  “That is irrelevant.  All that matters is I like you.  As I said before, I am not out to anger you.”

            “But you are doing a very good job of it,” Davros groused.

            “That description the Doctor gave of you would put you in the same category as the Cybermen.  You never were in quite that bad a predicament.  Besides, you’re recovering quite nicely.  Now that the Movellans and the Renegades are no longer a concrete threat, you’ll be able to concentrate on expansion.  Soon the Imperials will add countless other planets to their empire.”

            “Quite.”

            “The Doctor’s words angered you.  They angered me also.  You see, I believe in the Dalek destiny.”

            Davros sensed the underlying treachery in the Toymaker’s words.  The being did have ulterior motives for contacting the Daleks and Davros wanted to know why.  He decided to test the Toymaker.  “And what is the Dalek destiny?”

            “To be lords of the universe.”

            “And of time,” Davros added.

            “Of course.  And the first step to that is eliminating the Doctor.”

            “A reasonable suggestion.  I have already taken steps to destroy him.  I’ve placed a considerable bounty on his head.”

            The Toymaker groaned and shook his head.  “That’s exactly what the Doctor accused you of!  Using mercenaries!  Since when do the Daleks need mercenaries?  You can do it yourself.”

            “The Doctor is not our sole concern,” Davros replied patiently.

            “He should be after all he’s done.”

            “Possibly.”

            “Now, if you follow my humble advice, you will not only have your revenge on the Doctor, but you will crush his home planet of Gallifrey as well.”

            Davros shut his mouth tightly and was silent for over a minute, pondering the situation.

            The Toymaker raised his eyebrows questioningly.  “Well?  I promise you it will be an interesting little game.” 

            “I am considering the possibility.  What, may I ask, is this advice you wish to give?”

            The Toymaker grinned. “If you really want to rule the universe, you’ll set course for the planet Shardonia in the Montov system.  The key to success lies in the undersea city of Marteria.”

            “And what do I do when I get there?”

            The Toymaker moved his mouth to Davros’ twisted ear.  “It’s really quite simple.  Kill an archaeologist.”

            The course of action had sounded ludicrous at the time, but now, as the Vorkim closed in on Shardonia, Davros understood fully the wisdom of that suggestion and each one that followed.  Despite his misgivings, he was convinced that acting on the supposed warlock’s information was a wise decision.

            Davros’ reflections on the past were interrupted suddenly when a Dalek startled him out of his reverie.  His thoughts turned back to the present, his first encounter with the Toymaker momentarily forgotten.  The Dalek navigator who called for Davros trundled up to him respectfully.  “The planet Shardonia is in sight, Emperor.”

            “Acknowledged.”

            Davros stared at the image of the planet on the scanner.  With the scientific interest rather than aesthetic pleasure, Davros noted that the world of Shardonia was, in itself, a great work of art: dazzling in color, inspiring in beauty, and overwhelming in majesty.  For thousands of years, it had represented the realization of an impossible dream.  Utopia.  Progressively, due to a prolonged era of harmony, tremendous social breakthroughs occurred and all internal problems were eliminated.

            Still, a situation so perfect could not last for very long.  Davros had done an extensive research into the planet’s history, wanting to know as much as he could about the environment he was sending his forces into.  The more he looked into the planet’s past, the more fascinated he had become by it.  It had such a turbulent military history, and that was the main kind of history Davros was interested in.

            Originally, to maintain their precariously balanced peacetime, the Shardonians had become isolationist, focusing on provincial needs rather than combating any injustices that occurred off-world.  The general Shardonian attitude had been “better them than us.”  If neighboring planets ever faced famine or extinction at the hands of alien invaders, it was out of the realm of Shardonian responsibility.  Or so they thought.  Tragedy befell them one morning, several centuries later, when one of the external problems they’d been ignoring showed up and conquered their planet.

            Shardonia was a strategically perfect place for the Sontarans to construct a base with which to fight their war against the Rutans.  The Shardonians had been living in peace and amity for so long that they became lax and no longer saw the need for a large fortifying army.  Consequently, they had no way to defend themselves.  Taking this as an invitation that couldn’t be refused, the Sontaran battle fleet arrived en masse and swarmed over the helpless planet. 

            Rule under the Sontaran elite was completely oppressive. Discipline, obedience, and honor were hammered into the minds of the populace.   Shardonians were used as animals to perform the most menial tasks to further the Sontaran success in the war.  When the Rutans arrived with their gargantuan war machines, it was as if God himself had come to liberate them.  The Shardonians did everything in their power to sabotage the Sontaran position, aiding the Rutans from below.  Following a five-month siege, every last Sontaran was dead and the Rutans claimed a total military victory.  It was so massive a defeat for the Sontarans that they never totally recovered from it. 

            Unfortunately for the miserable Shardonians, the Rutans had not come to liberate the world, but to take it for themselves.  If anything, the Rutans proved to be even worse than the Sontarans as rulers. The almost absurd trade-off of tyrant regimes made the people in general lose faith in any and all possible future governments.  They survived, bitter and dispirited, on a system of total self-reliance.  The family, not the community, became the sole concern of Shardonian women and men. The family could be counted on for love, stability, and support, certainly not the Rutans.

            Since the war between the Rutans and the Sontarans had become so personal a conflict, it raged for a millennium; each side reproduced rapidly to keep the battlefields replete with soldiers.  The war drifted from one sector of space to another, leisurely reducing Shardonia’s importance as a base.  And so, as time passed, more and more Rutans were taken from the world and used as reinforcements in other galaxies.  Freshly armed by the Thoros-Betans, their capitalistic nieghbors, the Shardonians rose up in revolution to reclaim the newly weakened planet.  Not wanting to waste their time defending a strategically useless planet, the Rutans granted them independence without a fight and went about their business a few light years away.  It was really a very nice thing for the Rutans to do considering their track record.

            The Shardonians had their planet back, such as it was.  Sadly, the planet they reclaimed was little more than a polluted, war-ravaged husk; the casualty of a vast cosmic conflict it had nothing to do with in the first place.  Furthermore, they had lived under a totalitarian government for so long that they had no idea how to govern themselves.

            Thankfully, the ruling problem was not long in being solved.  Inspired by the financial aid and philosophy of visiting Thoros-Butans, Shardonia adopted a capitalistic form of government.  It was not the heartless, cutthroat, profit-used, but it adhered to basic capitalistic principals.  Those principals included self-reliance plus minimal governmental regulation of civilian lives; strong family unity and values which were indispensable in preserving peace, prosperity, and progress; and (most importantly after their experiences) the vast military strength needed to maintain peace.

            The capitalistic system, untainted by economic edicts representing other forms of government, progressively returned Shardonia to the Utopia it was long before the Sontarans first arrived.  Within a decade, Shardonia became an active member of the Earth Federation, its copious waters serving as an abundant source of food for starving peoples on other Federation worlds.

            Another half-century came and went as Shardonia became more active in foreign relations.  It became so celebrated for its once-again-beautiful cities that it was a popular tourist spot for peoples about the cosmos.  It got so that the population of its central dome, Marteria, was composed primarily of visiting aliens, most of these being humans from the Earth Federation.

            Such was the state of things on Shardonia at present.  An age-old civilization that had weathered long years of both peace and strife once again faced total destruction by invading aliens – the Daleks.  Davros wasn’t the type of person who laughed very much, but that particular irony he found very amusing.

            Davros looked over at the deck officer.  “Enter into geo-stationary orbit.  Take precautions to mask our presence from their sensors.”

            “I obey.”

            Davros directed his next order at a Red Dalek.  “Prepare a landing party.  Transport will occur the moment you are ready.”

            “I obey.”

            He stared at the planet below on the bridge viewscreen.  It was where the enigmatic warlock had suggested he go those two short weeks ago.  Davros realized there were an uncomfortable number of variables, but he also knew, if the Toymaker was right, Shardonia could very well hold the key to the ultimate Dalek triumph.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                           Chapter Ten

 

            As the Voord traveled along the smooth pathways of the Shardonian streets, he tried to remain concealed within the shadows and avoided all contact with the locals.  The principal danger he avoided was being halted by police officers as he crossed the center square, which was always teeming with guards as well as tourists.  He had already been stopped once for his identification, and he did not want a repeat of the delay.  While it was not a common thing for a civilian to be arbitrarily pulled off the streets by the law to be interrogated, he was a Voord, and Voords had a certain reputation.  Luckily, the square was even more bustling than usual, so he was able to lose himself in the masses.

            Like all Voords, his rubbery flesh was a deep green color; his naked body was without hair or definition and his blood warm enough to compensate.  A bulky mask obscured all of the Voord’s face, the overall effect of which was to give people the impression they were speaking to a creature without a face.  Large, square eyeholes set in the mask enhanced the effect due to the opaque glass shields covering them.

            Reaching his destination, a dirty brown tenement with broken windows and rusty metal pipes running along its sides, he looked around for signs of his contact.  Not spotting her, he called out in a raspy voice, “Matrrisa?  Arre you to to herre?”

            “I am,” a female voice responded.  “Enter the building.  I have been waiting.”

            The door creaked open and the Voord hurriedly moved up the front stairs with his head bowed.  He slipped inside and locked and bolted the door behind him.  Staring about, he found himself in a house devoid of furniture and populated only by a family of large Shardonian spiders.

            “Matrrisa, where arre you to be?  I cannot see you.”

            “I am here.”  Matrisa stepped forward from the shadows so that the Voord could better see her.  “You are late.”

            “Is to have to bluff my way past guards.  They had almost to capturre me.”

            “You fooled them? Such incompetence on their part.  Being a Movellan I cannot understand how non-Movellan life forms can be so startlingly obtuse.”

            To give herself greater freedom of movement, Matrisa removed her velvet cloak and draped it onto the abandoned floorboards.

            The Voord’s eyes roved over his companion’s skin-tight, white body suit and soft, honey-tinted skin.  Long, braided hair fell just above her large blue eyes.  She was so icredibly beautiful that it aggravated him that she was an android.  “Is to have made prrogrress on ourr task.  The human is herre.”

            “I know,” said Matrisa.  “I have seen her in a local eating establishment.  She is with a large, bearded warrior.  He does not appear to be the Time Lord we were told of.”

            The Voord made a harsh gargling noise with his throat.  “Confrront herr you did not?”

            “Unnecessary.  I know where she is.  I can approach her at any time.  I thought it wiser to inform our master of the development and ask him how he wishes to proceed.”

            “Verry well.  Is to tell the masterr immediately.”

            “Good.   Do that.”

            The Voord hesitated.  His stare remained fixed on the Movellan.

            “Why do you examine me so closely?”

            “Is to admirring you.”

            Matrisa half-smiled with satisfaction.  “That is only natural.  The Movellans are the greatest race of beings in the universe.”

            “To look at,” the Voord corrected artfully.

            Matrisa stiffened.  “You have a message to deliver.  Be on your way.”

            The Voord nodded and silently slipped outside.

 

            Gwydion Farrier lifted the steaming mug of tea to his lips and carefully sipped it.  It was scalding; just the way he liked it.  With one long gulp, he drained the entire cup.  The hot liquid burned his throat as it went down.  Blinking repeatedly, he shook his head violently back and forth and slumped back in his desk chair once the pain ceased.  Even in such an unobtrusive position, his large muscles showed through his flashy scarlet suit.

            He was in his favorite room to work in.  Brightly lit, spacious, and decorated with plush furnishings, it was more a living room than an office.   When he worked here he felt more relaxed and work always seemed easier to accomplish when the atmosphere was less stuffy.  Also, as with tonight, he usually had some company.

            He looked over his desktop at Mel, who had been working at her computer for eight hours a day every day for the past three weeks and she had still come no closer to a solution to her dilemma than when she first began.  He had tried repeatedly to tear her away from the screen to do some sightseeing.  Shardonia was a beautiful planet and, since they were both aliens to this planet – she being from Earth and he being from Bellar 4 --, it offered numberless new sights, sounds, and adventures.  However, one thing he learned about working with Mel was not to try to deter her once her mind was made up.  Once she wanted to do something or get somewhere, there was no stopping her.  She was going to crack that alien code if it meant staying at the computer until her brain atrophied.  She refused to stop even to have a drink with him.

            Nevertheless, he hated seeing her work so hard.  “Why don’t you take a break?”

            Mel beamed at him.  “Stop worrying.  I’m enjoying myself.”

            “I suppose you must be.  But I wouldn’t have the patience to work for so long.”

            Melanie shook her head.  “How can you talk to me about patience?  You’re the archaeologist.  You spend months investigating land masses that are four square feet and two inches deep.  I’d never have the patience to meticulously brush dirt off an object just to find out somebody chucked it there two weeks ago.”

            “Touche.  But I still think you need a rest.  If you want, I’ll even pour you some of that vile carrot juice you like so much.”

            “Mel sighed.  “I suppose I … hey!”

            “What?”

            Mel suddenly began typing furiously at her keyboard.

            “What?” Gwydion insisted.

            “I think I’ve found something!”

            Gwydion leaped from his chair and darted to the side of the animated redhead.  “The code?”

            Mel held up her hand.  “Wait.   I’m watching the screen.” 

            The computer terminal suddenly became active.  It flashed a ghostly green and urgent beeping sounds emitted from its speaker.  A series of numbers written out in scientific notation materialized on the screen in block letters.  Mel threw her arms in the air and let out a cry of delight.  “Yes!  We did it!  We did it!”  Jumping out of her chair, she took Gwydion by the hands and began dancing a celebration jig around him.

            “What do you mean ‘We’?”  Gwydion chuckled.  “You did it!”

            “But you deserve some credi – “

Mel was startled into silence by a loud crack that came from outside.  The two abruptly halted their movements and listened carefully.

“What was that?” Gwydion asked.

“Sounded bad, whatever it was.”  Mel cocked her head on one side.  “Listen.  Do you hear it?”

Gwydion listened carefully.  “Yes.”

The two distinctly detected a low wail carried by the wind from the far south.  Such winds were alien at that time of night since the city’s weather control stations regulated all weather under the dome.

Mel turned to inquisitively gaze out the window.  The sky was menacingly dark and the town streets still and vacant.  Blades of grass rippled under the growing force of the wind coming from that direction.  “I don’t see anything.”

Smiling to himself, Gwydion sat back down in front of the computer.  “Forget about it.  Who cares about stupid noises?  We’ve got a three-thousand year old document to read.”

Mel slowly left the windowsill and took a seat next to him.  “It just startled me.  That’s all.”  She managed to shake the last vestiges of fear from herself and began to read the translations with Gwydion.

Before they had managed to read even a word, the monitor went dim.  Each light in the house lost its power.  Mel and Gwydion found themselves shrouded in pitch darkness.  “What the hell?”  Gwydion cried.  “What’s going on?”

“Suddenly, I’m a little more than startled.”

“At least we saved the translation on disk.”

“Now all we have to do is find the fuse box without breaking our necks.”

Gwydion eased himself carefully out of his chair and held his arm out in front of him.  Groping in the darkness, his hand smacked into a lamp.  It made a dull “fumpf” sound as it hit the thick carpet.

“Are you okay?”  Mel’s voice asked.

With trembling hands, Gwydion put the lamp back into place.  “Fine.”

“Good.”

“I’ve found the fuse box.”

“Well?”

“Everything looks fine.”

Mel stood up and managed to reach the window again without harming herself.  Looking outside, she noticed that all the other lights along the street were still on.  Only their house had lost electricity.

A bizarre whirring sound made her turn her head to watch their front porch.  She caught sight of a shiny metal object floating up the front steps.

“There’s something out there!” Mel whispered urgently.

Gwydion felt beads of sweat growing at his temples and trickling down his cheeks.  He had to defend Mel, but with what?  Of course!  His eyes settled on the silhouette of his wooden wine cabinet.  He tore open the cabinet doors and reached inside.  These intruders were going to get the fight of their lives.

From outside came a smooth but chilling voice.  It spoke quietly to its comrade.  “They will probably be keeping it in some sort of protective container.”

“I will search for lit,” replied a rough, gravelly voice.

Hearing this, Mel paled.  “We have to get out of here!” 

Gwydion pulled a laser rifle from the interior of the cabinet.  “We don’t.  They do.  I’ll be damned if I’m chased off my property by a few burglars.”

Gwydion joined Met at the window.  This time he saw one of the trespassers clearly.  “Oh, no!  It’s a Dalek!”

“A Dalek1” Mel screeched.  “Let’s go now!”

“Not without a fight.”

Gwydion slipped the rifle barrel out of the window.  He struggled to center his aim on the Dalek.  When he felt he was ready, he fired.  Two rounds, perfectly placed, struck the eyepiece of the approaching Imperial.

The creature slid back down the driveway of the house, shouting in confused agony.  It shook its gun stick about yelling, “Under Attack!  Under Attack!  My vision is impaired!  I cannot see!  Warning!  Warning!”

In retaliation, it pointed its gun at where it estimated the window to be and fired a deadly volley of gleaming yellow bolts.  Projectiles scorched holes around the exterior of the house.  Gwydion fell backward just in time to avoid the blast that hit the window.  As he did so, the rifle slipped out of his hands onto the grass outside.

Just then, an entire section of the living room wall burst inward.  Chunks of concrete, stucco, and wooden paneling flew toward Mel and Gwydion.  The blast blew Mel across the room.  Her body slammed against the far wall with tremendous force.  Gwydion was struck viciously on the side of the head by a block of concrete.  The impact knocked him backward onto the computer table.

When the smoke cleared, the Special Weapons Dalek was visible through the gaping hole in the wall.  It was cream and gold like the others and had a gargantuan cannon perched atop its body instead of the usual gun stick and dome.  It moved inexorably closer to Gwydion.

Just as Gwydion turned to run from the Special Weapons Dalek, a red Dalek entered the living room from the hallway and cut him off.  Looking to his left, Gwydion noticed that Mel’s body was motionless.  She was either unconscious or dead; either way beyond his help.  He sat on his heels waiting for the Daleks to make a move.  The red one acted first.  It fired a beam at the defenseless man.

Once he felt the projectile was close enough, he acted.  Right before the beam would have struck Gwydion, he leapt to safety.  Moving with the speed of an athlete, he encompassed the astonished Red Dalek and bolted out of the room.

“Pursue,” the Red Dalek ordered. “I will obtain the documents.”

“I obey,” the Special Weapons Dalek intoned before trundling off in search of Gwydion.  The Daleks surrounded the house so the humanoid wouldn’t get far.

The Red Dalek’s eye stalk scanned the room for the information it sought.  It’s eyes rested on the overturned computer terminal.  Singling the computer out as important the Red Dalek placed its claw arm into the exposed circuitry and accessed and recorded the files stores within. Once this was accomplished, it turned its weapon on the computer and blasted it to pieces.

An ominous crackling sound filled the room.  A split formed along the ceiling and stretched along until it spanned the width of the room.   The house was structurally unstable, the ceiling on the verge of collapse.  Alarmed, the Red Dalek attempted to escape.  Before it could get more than a foot closer to the exit, the room above, furniture and all, collapsed on its head.

 

Gwydion had tried to escape through the front door of his home, but the blind Dalek was still shooting everywhere.  He left the front door open as if he had fled from the house and went upstairs instead.  Halfway up the first flight he heard a tremendous crash.  The building rocked on its foundations, the trembling causing a section of stairway to collapse.  Gwydion jumped back to avoid falling in.  He latched onto the shaking railing with sweaty hands.  “What the hell are they doing to my house?”  It was an asinine thing to be concerned with, but the mundane worries that cluttered his head were the only things keeping him sane. 

As carefully as he could, though still traveling fast, Gwydion made it past the broken steps and took the rest two at a time.  Reaching the second floor hallway, he darted along it until he reached the only room it led to – his bedroom.  When he got there he saw that almost the entire floor had caved in.  Fear of the Dalek overshadowing fear of heights, he edged around the hole towards the other side of the room, keeping close to what remained of the bedroom walls.

Reaching the other side, Gwydion sat on the ledge of the bedroom window.  Looking down to make sure the ledge was intact, he dangled his legs outside.  He placed his feet carefully on the ledge and began edging his way around the side of the building.  The concrete felt cold and harsh under his touch.  Looking at the pavement below, he saw two other Daleks glide by, oblivious to his presence above.  Still on the driveway was the blink Dalek.  It wasn’t shooting any more, but the slightest noise could set if off.

The ledge widened into a section of roof.  He rested there a moment to get his bearings.  His breathing was rapid and shallow and he balled his sweaty palms into fists.  Trying to fight down the panic, he looked for any sign of an escape route.  Running from the roof to the ground was a trail of pipe that he could climb down.  Unfortunately, a Dalek was uncomfortably close by.  Gwydion looked around for any sign of the Special Weapons Dalek.  He hoped he had thrown it off his trail at least momentarily.

That was when he heard the telltale sound of the Dalek anti-gravity disk.  Turning around, he saw the head of a Dalek appear over the edge of the roof.  It soared high above the house, towering over Gwydion.  Beads of perspiration rolled down Gwydion’s temples. He knew he was fast, but he doubted he could avoid the Dalek death ray a second time.  The Dalek fired on the section of roof Gwydion stood on.  Wood burst into miniscule fragments.

Gwydion leaped away at the moment it exploded.  He dove off the roof of the house, narrowly avoiding another lethal ray.  His body hit the ground hard, the momentum causing him to roll several feet before stopping.  He could feel bones in his shoulder and ribcage splintering.

The fall put the blind Dalek on full alert. It issued another salvo of yellow projectiles.  They didn’t have the advantage of being aimed, so they merely pulverized Gwydion’s house.

Gwydion pushed himself to his feet with the back of his hand.  He could feel blood trickling down his scraped palms.  His knees weren’t in any better shape.  The pants were torn to shreds and stained with blood.  Gwydion staggered around his house, trying to find an area to run to that was not all open field.  He knew the flying Dalek who had flushed him from hiding wasn’t far behind.

Eluding two Daleks was difficult enough.  The arrival of a third made Gwydion’s chances of survival near impossible.  The front door to his house was now open, and the Special Weapons Dalek emerged.  Detecting Gwydion’s retreating figure, it turned its gun turret.

Gwydion dashed rapidly down the block.  He ran in a haphazard fashion to make himself a harder target.  He could feel the flying Dalek boring down on him from behind but he was oblivious to the Special Weapons Dalek’s arrival.  The knowledge would have done him little good anyway.  Gwydion’s fate would have been the same regardless.

Once the barrel of the cannon was facing Gwydion’s direction, the Special Weapons Dalek was ready.  Another blast of energy ripped forth from its cannon.

The beam buffeted Gwydion from behind.  He reeled forward, feeling his flesh burning away in a flare of energy.  His arms twisted atomized under the intense beam.  His ribcage folded inward, squashing the organs housed beneath.  With each vicious snapping noise, Gwydion screamed louder.  A splintering sound marked the obliteration of his skull.  His body glowed brightly as the fire consumed it. Seconds later, when the blast burnt itself out, Gwydion’s corpse collapsed into a small pile of grey ashes.

The Special Weapons Dalek detected multiple non-Dalek life signs approaching its location at high speed.  Engagement was a certainty should it remain on the planet with its compatriots.  Agitation coursed over its circuitry.  Since it was the next highest- ranking Dalek assigned to the attack party, the responsibility of command had fallen to it.

Although it was intelligent and battle-seasoned, the Special Weapons Dalek was unused to commanding missions of such a unique and stealthy nature.  Due to its lack of experience, it did not have the confidence to rely on its instinct to remain and fight.  Instead, it chose to base its decision on the contents of its War Computer.  Searching the files for the exact phrasing of the orders the Emperor had issued for the mission, it found the following:

“Avoid all contact with the native inhabitants.  It is of paramount importance that the Dalek presence remain undetected.”

The Special Weapons Dalek decided the best course of action was to have all functional Daleks transport themselves back to the Mother ship for further instructions.  In the event that it had erred in judgment, retrieval of the Red Dalek could commence immediately and the mistake would be rectified.

At the Daleks’s command, red light flared up from its base, simultaneously illuminating and obscuring it.  The light engulfed it, emitting a low whirring noise.  Gradually, its body dematerialized as it was transported as it was transported back to the Mother ship in orbit above.

 

 

                                                           Chapter Eleven

 

Admiral Nyder lurked by the matter transmitter platform, awaiting the return of the Imperial Dalek taskforce.  He waited with great self-possession, his mind methodically and emotionlessly focusing on the tasks which awaited him.  In concept, the Admiral’s body was similar to the half-human, half-bovine monster of Greek myth, the Minotaur; except, in this case, Nyder’s upper body was humanoid in form and his lower body that of a giant tarantula.  Four gigantic, hairy legs sprouted from the sides of his body.  Each time one of the hoofed feet struck the metal floor of the ship, electricity crackled in the air.  Narrow and piercing, Nyder’s once human eyes glowed a fierce crimson.  The corners of his mouth were pulled up almost to the edges of his eyes, stretched into a tremendous, mirthless grin.  Saliva slipped from between his yellowed and decayed teeth and splashed to the floor.  A set of sharp mandibles opened and closed spasmodically over Nyder’s thin pair of blackened lips. 

The second most powerful creature in the whole of the Imperial Dalek army, Nyder’s authority was subservient only to Davros’.  Davros had granted Nyder such an influential position because, without Nyder’s aid, the Dalek’s would have never been created so many centuries ago.

Nyder clutched his groggy head.  He had been suffering from a migraine headache for the past five days.  These spells came and went every few months, but he had hoped the suffering would have passed by now.  It had been over fifty-one months since his rebirth and no sign of relief was in sight.  However, death and resurrection were not events one recovered from particularly rapidly.

There were times at night when he awoke from his sleep in distress, recalling in his dreams the horror of his death.  He remembered how, all those years ago, the original Daleks ruthlessly gunned him down shortly after he’d rescued them from destruction at the hands of the native Skarosians.  Nyder had no way of knowing the events that unfolded during the time he was dead, but Davros had since informed him what happened.

The Renegade Daleks had hoisted his limp carcass into the air and carried it off into the experimental cryo-freeze in Davros’ lab. There they deposited his body until they could decide whether or not it was suitable to mutate into a Dalek.  Soon discovering that the original body had to be alive for the transformation to succeed, the Daleks abandoned Nyder’s ruined corpse, leaving if frozen in the tube.

Centuries came and went as the original Daleks struggled to build an empire only to see it collapse under a Movellan onslaught.  Davros had survived all this time dormant.  When he revived, fury consumed him at what the original Daleks, at what the accursed Renegades, had done.

Once he summoned the strength to act, Davros hid from the then-powerful Renegades on the planet Necros. There he gradually was engineering the birth of a new breed of Daleks.  They were the Imperials.  Superior to Davros’s original models, the Imperials were programmed not only with logic, but with instinct, intuition, and the strength which could be drawn from emotion.  Davros even went so far as to create a color-coordinated Dalek hierarchy endowed with imagination, appreciation of the creative arts, and the capability of experiencing intense emotions.  They were programmed, not to greet the foolish whims of humanoids as irrelevant, but to study the

cultures of lesser species.  The more knowledge the Daleks acquired the better killers they would become.

            Armed with a new philosophy, a broader programing, and stronger technology, the Imperials were ready to avenge Davros and Nyder by destroying the Renegades.  It was a revenge mission made easy by the Movellans.  The Renegades had been crippled and were easily wiped from existence.

            And yet, as leader, Davros found himself making the same fundamentally foolish errors the Renegades had made, especially when encountering the Doctor.   While the reign of the Imperials began with a bang (the revenge war against the Movellans, the great Cyber-conflict) it began to die and threatened to go out with a whimper.  During the Hand of Omega fiasco, Davros had let rage dictate his actions and millions of Imperials were sacrificed in the process.  These were losses Davros felt completely responsible for, as well he should have.

            In order to prevent these heinous errors, Davros needed an impassive, coldly calculating consort that would not allow him to be provoked into making mistakes by the Doctor’s mind games.  What Davros needed was Nyder; a man who would be the ultimate executive officer for the entire Imperial fleet.  Once this was realized, Davros launched an expedition to Skaro, and recovered Nyder’s preserved body from cryo-freeze.

            Sadly, though Nydler’s body had been rescued from decay, his internal organs were still scrambled beyond repair as a result of the renegade gunfire.  Only the brain was still intact.  Davros was forced to genetically create a replacement body for Nyder.

            Rather than duplicate Nyder’s original body or turn him into a Dalek, Davros felt the best option was to manufacture an original creature.  The creature would be completely resilient, capable of recovering from even the most brutal of injuries.  The existence of two hearts and an extremely efficient cardiovascular system made virtually any injury short of decapitation incapable of killing it.  Davros then transplanted Nyder’s brain into the new, arachnid body.  Once all this was accomplished, it was a simple matter for such a brilliant geneticist to bring the abomination to life.

            After a period of intensive rehabilitation, training, and education, Nyder was ready for active duty.  And those were the events that led him to survive the genesis of the original Daleks and allowed him to play in active role in the Imperial Dalek’s current venture.

            Nyder broke free of his thoughts and memories when he sensed activity.  A brilliant illumination heralded the arrival of the Daleks.  The Special Weapons Dalek led its five comrades off the trans-met; one of who was missing its eye stalk.  It glided up to its superior with the reverence it had been programmed to show.  “Returning from active duty, Admiral Nyder, sir.”

            “Very good.”  Nyder’s voice was a calm, aloof monotone; the sort of voice a person would use when trying to reason with an angry imbecile.  He spoke like this at all times, his voice fluctuating as rarely as his emotions.  “Do you have the location pinpointed?”

            “Affirmative.  The data was transmitted directly into the Vorkim computer banks from Shardonia.”

            “Very good.” Nyder observed that the Red Dalek was absent from the group.  “By the way, there were originally seven of you.  Why has the group commander not returned from the surface?”

           

            Two small, furry animals scampered down the side of the ancient tree.  They stopped at the base, their wide, glassy eyes gazing about for food.  One creature left his companion and scurried off to the left.  Much to its delight, it discovered five nuts that had fallen from the trees.  It plucked one up and sat, skillfully gnawing away the shell and devouring the edible part within.

            Peri sat on a nearby bench, watching the animals.  She turned to Yrcanos, who had stubbornly refused her any more than five minutes of privacy at a time, and pointed at them.  “Aren’t they adorable?  You know, sometimes life can get so hectic that you don’t have time to appreciate things like wildlife.”

            Yrcanos massaged his beard thoughtfully.  “Since we have been here, we have seen a house of weeds – “

            “A greenhouse,” Peri correctly indignantly.

            “ – we have watched fish and we have watched large rats look for food.  When do we do something good?”

            “Well, what do you want to do?”

            “Look at the battlefields from the Sontaran war; maybe even give cause for them to make new memorials.”

            Confusion made Yrcanos scrunch his features together.  “I thought it was a wildlife preserve.”

            “Nicholas’ Park is the size of Manhattan,” Peri said before she realized he would not know large Manhattan was.  “It’s a lot of things.  They’ve got sports fields, memorials, preserves, a zoo … we can go anywhere we want.  There’s just one spot we can’t go to and that’s reserved for archaeologists.”

            “More people with exciting lives.”

            “You think anybody who doesn’t fist fight every minute is boring.”  As Peri said this, a purple spider-wasp landed on her hand and started crawling up her finger.  Rather than angrily shake it off, Peri looked down on it with interest.  She was slightly disappointed when it chose to fly away only moments later.

            “They are.”

            “You know what you might go for?”

            Yrcanos started.  “What?”

            “There’s this big hunt going on over at the Quixar dome, kind of like the shark hunting competitions back on Earth.  If you pay them some money you can take a boat out into the water and hunt down these huge Shardonian fish the size of sea monsters.  Tourists come from all over to participate.  It’s one of the big reasons this planet is so famous.”

            Yrcanos sat pursing his lips.  “I hardly find fishing exciting, but anything is more exciting than looking at houses of weeds.”

            A shadow fell over the bench they sat at.  Peri looked up to see who had approached.  It was a strange, cloaked woman with shimmering white hair and honey-gold skin.

            “You are the human Peri.”

            Peri drew closer to Yrcanos.  She assumed that it was not a good sign if anyone there knew her name. “No.”

            “It is not necessary to lie.  You are in no danger from me.”

            “You lie,” Yrcanos bellowed.  “You are a Movellan!  I hate Movellans!”

            “I am Matrisa.  I have been separated from my people.  I now work for my own purposes.”

            Peri sensed that Yrcanos was about to attack the Movellan and put a gently restraining hand on his leg.  “What do you want?”

            Matrisa withdrew a sealed scroll from within the folds of her robe.   She handed the message to Peri.  “You’re presence is requested at my master’s home.”

            Peri looked inquiringly at Matrisa.  “Who is that?”

            “Read the message.  All will be explained.”

            With shaky hands, Peri broke the wax seal and unraveled the scroll.  In bright red calligraphy, the following message was etched into the parchment:

           

“My Dear Peri,

 

Although you do not know me and, therefore, have no reason to trust me, I assure you my intentions are honorable.  I do not wish to alarm you unduly, but I have reason to believe your life is in dire peril.  If you desire my help, please come to the house on 894 Gantert at 19:30 hours tonight.  Once you arrive, I will furnish you with all the information I have.  Together we will devise a plan of action to successful deal with the coming danger.

 

                                                                                    Your Faithful Servant,

                                                                                                L”

 

 

Peri closed the scroll when she had finished reading it.  Who is L.?”

There was nobody to respond.  The furtive Movellan had slipped away while Peri’s attention had been drawn to the message.  She had disappeared with the stealth and swiftness she had used in arriving.

Peri frowned.  “It’s like talking to Batman.”

Based on previous puzzling conversations with Peri, Yrcanos knew better than to ask who Batman was.  He knew he would never comprehend the response.  Instead, he snatched the scroll from Peri and glanced over it.  “This language is too complicated for me.  Why does he use such heavy words?”

“They want me to go see them tonight,” Peri translated.  “They say somebody wants to kill me.”

“You don’t sound too worried.”

“I am a little,” she admitted.  “But I’m a veteran of situations like these.”

“Do you think it is a trap?”  His tone told Peri he was hopeful that it was.

Peri looked over the note once more.  “No,” she said at last.   “If this person wanted me dead he could have had the Movellan shoot me right now.”

Yrcanos pounded his chest.  “She was afraid of me.”

“Possibly,” Peri said diplomatically, even though she didn’t really believe it was true.  She knew androids tended to be immune to fear.  “But there’s also the wording.  If this ‘L” guy is out to get me, he sure is polite about it.  He’d be the most well-spoken and gentlemanly bad guy I’ve ever seen.”

Yrcanos detected the uncertainty in her voice. “But you are not totally convinced.”

Peri shrugged.  “I guess not.  I don’t want to check this out, but if I don’t I’ll be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.  That’s why I want to come with me.”

“Of course!  Action at last!  No more weeds!  No more rats eating nuts!  I will protect my woman from harm.”

Peri cupped her head in her hands.  “What would the Doctor do in this situation?  I know!  He’d go there now and stake the place out.  But is that what I would do?”  Peri mulled over the thought for a few moments before she came to her conclusion.  “No, I’d probably run back to the TARDIS.” 

“Are we going?” the King of the Krontep asked eagerly.

Peri sighed.  “I suppose, but I’m not in a hurry.”

Yrcanos took her by the hand and pulled her off the bench.  “Then we charge into battle!”

“Wonderful,” Peri muttered as he dragged her along behind him.

 

The time rotor in the center of the control console eased to a halt.  The TARDIS had materialized.  But where?  The Doctor reached forward and turned on the viewscreen.

He had arrived in what was left of a house.  The rear wall appeared to have been blasted in and part of the ceiling had collapsed due to structural damage.  Broken furniture and glass was strewn everywhere.  Through the hole in the wall he could see a cracked and neglected road twisting off into the darkness.

“Looks like we missed all the action,” the Doctor said to nobody in particular. When he was alone and had no companion, his eccentric tendency to talk to his TARDIS was far worse.  “Let’s have a look around, shall we?”

 

A Hovercraft sped along the streets to the site of the ruined house.  It screeched to a halt by Gwydion’s house.  Lieutenant Ravner stepped out of the craft, straightened his police uniform, and withdrew his handgun.  He darted across the lawn and stopped in front of the main door.  Peering inside, he saw no immediate sign of occupancy.  Whoever attacked the house was probably still inside, hiding.

As he opened the door, four more Hovercrafts parked next to his.  Each of the newly arrived officers sped to different sides of the house, hoping to take the enemy be surprise.  Comforted by the presence of back up, Ravner continued on into the house.  The first sight that greeted him was that of a caved-in stairway.  He carefully avoided broken chunks of wood as he progressed.  He was about to turn into what was left of the study when something made him hesitate.

He heard a voice speaking in a soothing whisper.

“Don’t worry, Mel.  I’ll soon get that bump on your head taken care of.”

Revner opened the door and peered around the edge.  The sight that greeted him was that of a war zone.  An overturned table, bits of exploded computer, half of a bed, the arm of a sofa, a broken-down desk, and a trashed lamp were just a few of the furniture debris strewn about the floor.  A wine cabinet had half fallen through the carpet and glass shards were everywhere.  A blue, rectangular object with double doors set into it rested in the rear corner of the room.  Not far to its left stood a cylindrical metal robot completely buried in concrete and wood shavings.

The voice he had heard came from a tall, gaudily dressed man who was kneeling by an unconscious girl.  The man was apparently tending to a wound on the side of her head.  Ravner cleared his throat to get the man’s attention.

The tall man didn’t behave at all like someone who had just been found amongst such chaotic conditions.  He approached the officer at the door with an impatient smile on his face.  “So, you’ve come to help.  Very good, but I think I’ve got a handle on things.”

“That’s all very well, but I need to know who you are.”

“The Doctor.”  The tall man responded with great exasperation as if Ravner should have heard of him.

“How did you know to come here?”  Ravner looked down at Mel.  “She sure as hell didn’t phone you.”

The Doctor scratched the side of his head.  “Hospital communication lines are tied in with police band emissions.”

Ravner eyed him suspiciously.  “Since when?”

“It’s a new policy.”

“Why wasn’t my department informed?”

“Ah, well….”  The Doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“I see,” Ravner fumed.  So you’re the first person on the scene?”

“That’s right.”

“Alone?  With no assistants?”

“Yes.”

“I find that very queer indeed.”

“Yes.”

“I find that very queer indeed.”

Three other police officers chose that time to enter the room.  Ravner regarded them a moment and then ordered them to search the house thoroughly for any evidence of what caused the damage.  He stroked his beard gently and turned to look at the Doctor.  “It looks like the explosion occurred outside because the wall was blasted inward.”

“I should’ve thought that was obvious.”

Ravner indicated the TARDIS and the entrapped Dalek. “Do you know what those things are over there?”

The Doctor walked over to the Dalek and patted it on its head.  “This is what is responsible for the wreckage.  If we uncover it, we may find out exactly what it hoped to gain by coming here.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a Dalek.”

“A Dalek.  I see.”  Ravner pursed his lips.  He walked purposely out of the room and shouted up the stairs, “Blake! Forsythe!  Get down here!  We’ve got a Goddam Dalek on our hands!”

 

Aboard the bridge of the Imperial Dalek Mother-ship Vorkim, Davros was furious with his subordinate.  “What?” 

The Special Weapons Dalek repeated its last statement.  “The mission was a success.  Although the Red Dalek was crushed by falling debris, he managed to transmit all relevant data back to our central computer network.  We know the location of the device.”

“Where is the Red Dalek?”

“We were unable to extricate the unit from beneath the rubble.”

Davros was incredulous.  “Why?”

“You ordered that we shouldn’t be seen by the natives.  They were attracted by the noise so we had to leave before we could rescue the Red Dalek.”

“So you left the unit to be found by Shardonians!  Brilliant!  Would you mind telling me what caused the accident?  I doubt two defenseless scientists were capable of destroying an Imperial on their own.”

“A wall was obliterated by Dalek gunfire.  It caused severe structural damage which resulted in part of the dwelling collapsing in on itself.”

Beside himself, Davros let out a high-pitched screech.

“Do not upset yourself,” interrupted Nyder’s icy voice.  “Seeing as how he was uncertain how to proceed, it was better that he returned for further instructions rather than do something to jeopardize the mission.”

Davros glared back at the abomination that addressed him.  “I have every right to be upset!  In trying to avoid ‘jeopardizing the mission’, he did exactly that by making a hasty decision!  His faulty reasoning has endangered our position.  We must retrieve the Red Dalek.”

Admiral Nyder disagreed.  “No.  There isn’t any time.  The damage has been done.  Our presence must have been discovered by now.  We must move swiftly.  Any delay could compromise the success of our mission, especially now that they know we are here.”

Davros pondered this.  “Perhaps you are right.  The damage has been done.  There is no sense in hiding our presence any longer.”

Nyder nodded.  “It matters little.  The Daleks are not ones to skulk about in the gloom, hiding from danger.  We face opposition and crush it.”

“But of course.  I would not have designed them any other way.”