Chapter Twelve

 

Since the discovery of the Dalek, Gwydion’s house filled to overflowing with police officers.  The Daleks were well known on Shardonia, and they were considered the ultimate form of threat; a race of sociopaths with the power to level galaxies.  The Daleks were known pack hunters, so a sighting of one meant others weren’t far behind.  And so, the police came.  They arrived in droves, swarming about the premises clutching enough firepower to obliterate twelve city blocks.  Ravner hoped that the law-enforcement/ military liaison would soon arrive with hope of assistance from the army.

While the police officers were actively digging out the concealed Dalek, the Doctor had carried Mel to the only intact couch and made her comfortable.  He knelt by her side and washed the dirt off her face with a damp cloth.  All the while, Ravner stood over him, supervising.

“Would you quit hovering?” the Doctor snapped.

“Very well.”  Ravner moved away from the Doctor to check on the progress of the forensic officer, Phyl.

While Ravner was a human living on the planet, Phyl was a genuine Shardonian and had the distinctive appearance of a native.  His skin color was a bright, glistening turquoise.  Spiny fins stretched from his wrists to his elbows and from his webbed feet to his knees.  A short dorsal fin was folded down under his police uniform that rose and fell slightly when he breathed.   Shaped like a fish’s skull, his head’s main feature was that of an enormous mouth.  Lipless, tongueless, and permanently open, the cavity was sixteen full inches in diameter.  Four fangs framed Phyl’s wet, pinkish-blue throat.  The rest of the head was just taut white skin.  His nostrils were two small slits above his maw and his eyes were small and sunken.

Phyl used a metal rod to scrape away a sampling of the charred mortar that surrounded the aperture in the wall.  He placed the sample in a plastic bag, staring at it with flat, black eyes devoid of pupils.  “I hope to be able to determine what happened here with what I've collected so far.”  The gills on his neck fluttered when he spoke.  “Do you want the facts as they are or my interpretation of them?”

“You’ve been an officer for twenty years.  I trust your instincts better than mine.”

Phyl nodded appreciatively.  “We found scorch marks from Dalek gunfire and a set of footprints.  It seems the Dalek chased somebody up the stairs.  Also, the roof tiles and every other area hit by the Dalek blasts show traces of radioactivity.  This wall that was blasted open has the highest reading.  We found an accumulation of organic material seven yards from the front entrance which we believe may be all that is left of the poor fellow who was trying to escape.”

“Let’s hope not.  Carry on.”

“Yes, sir.”

Just as Ravner finished his discussion with Phyl, Mel was gradually regaining consciousness.  The Doctor looked down on Mel, smiling.  Based on the inside information a person would get when they time travel, the Doctor knew he’d stumble upon her so soon and in such a way.  As it stood, he knew an awful lot about her, but she’s never even laid eyes on him before.

Mel’s eyelids fluttered open.  Dazed, she looked around, trying to steady herself.  “What happened?”

“You were hurt,” the Doctor said quietly.  “But you’re safe now.  My name is the Doctor.  I’m a friend.”

Mel smiled weakly.  “I’m Mel.”  She gave a sharp intake of breath.  “The Dalek! Where’s Gwydion?”

Ravner stepped forward again, “Gwydion?”

Seeing Mel’s confusion, the Doctor smiled reassuringly.  “That’s Lieutenant Ravner.  He’s a policeman.”

Mel looked up at Ravner.  “Gwydion is my partner.  We’re working together on an archaeological project.”

“We haven’t found him yet, “ said Ravner.  “Are you up to a question or two?”

“Yes.” Mel sat up slowly, despite the Doctor’s recommendation that she rest for longer. As she did so, she got a good look at the Doctor’s clothing for the first time.  Mel couldn’t help but the giggle and she felt guilty immediately afterwards.  “Sorry.  I’ve just never seen an outfit like yours before.”

Actually, she had.  The clowns wore stuff like that at the circus, but she was too polite to tell him.

The Doctor shrugged it off.  “It’s alright.  Nobody likes my clothes.”  Certainly not Peri, he recalled ruefully.  “Did you say something about archaeology?”

“Yes.”

“What are you excavating?”

“I thought I,” Ravner grumled, “was the one who was going to ask the questions.”

The Doctor waved him away.   “After I’m done, there’s a good fellow.”

Something in the Doctor’s eccentric, zany appearance inspired Mel’s confidence.  She felt comfortable enough with him to speak fairly freely.  “We’re looking for the Conscience of Shardonia.  Everyone knows it exists, but nobody knows where it wound up.  Sort of like the quest for the Holy Grail on Earth.  If you want to know about our progress, just check what’s logged on the computer.  It’s all there.”

Ravner shook his head.  “Your computer was destroyed in the blast.”

“You’re kidding!”  Mel jumped up and looked at the mass of wires and burned circuitry that composed the remains of her months of work.  “Oh, no!”

The Doctor glared at Ravner.  “How nice of you to break the news to her like that.”

“You’re one to talk!” Ravner spat.  “The king of tact!”

The Doctor brushed past the officer and put a comforting hand on Mel’s shoulder.  “Trust me.  Even though the computer is in pieces, you’re work wasn’t destroyed.”

Mel waved an exasperated arm at the wreckage.  “Of course it was.  Look at it.”

“I have a strong feeling the Daleks attacked you because of the research you were doing.  They wouldn’t destroy what they’ve tried so hard to obtain.”

“So they’ve got it.  That doesn’t do me any good.”

“It certainly does you good, Mel, if the information you want is stored in this Dalek’s memory banks.”

 

The house did not seem immediately menacing.  Nevertheless, Peri’s fear grew as she closed the distance between it and her and she walked close to Yrcanos for comfort.  It was a bright, white, one-story house surrounded on the front by a vast, patterned rock garden made of various colored stones.  A wide, twisted tree in full bloom rose from the right of the house and hung over the garden.  The steps leading to the front entrance were carved out of stone and a black, metal railing ran alongside them.

When she reached the house, she motioned to Yrcanos to follow her around to the side.  They edged around to the rear of the home with their backs against the wall.  Soon they encountered a windowsill that was set just low enough for Peri to see into.  Before she looked, she attempted to dispel the grisly images of corpses strung up on display that haunted her.  She peered into the gloom, trying to make out the interior.  Having realistically expected to find an array of actively blipping computers, gun racks hanging from the walls, and grenades on shelves, she was rather relieved at not finding any of them.  As it happened, her expectations were entirely incorrect.  From what she could tell, the inside of the house was handsomely furnished and had a warm, comforting feel to it.

“We will not fight?”

“Quiet,” Peri whispered.

“I do not like hiding in shrubbery,” Yrcanos grumbled.  “I am a warrior!  I fight! Not hide!”

“Be quiet!” she hissed.  “I don’t want them to know I’m here yet.  I want to stake the place out first.”

“Then we will fight, yes?”

“No.  I don’t know what we’ll do.”

“I do,” he heard the female Movellan say.  “You will come with me.”  Matrisa stepped into view and forced a friendly expression on her face.  She extended her hand to Yrcanos, who grasped it cautiously and shook.  Through his hatred of Movellans, Yrcanos wanted to prove his strength was superior to Matrisa’s, so he squeezed her hand with all the strength he could summon.  Matrisa made no attempt to exert any more force than necessary; it was a gesture intended to indicate friendliness that Yrcanos stupidly interpreted as physical weakness on her part.

Matrisa’s Voord companion appeared behind Peri and extended his hand as well.  Despite herself, Peri was hesitant to touch his glistening scales.  The reluctance bristled the Voord somewhat.  “You may to find this harrd to believe, but is to mean you no harrm.”

Peri’s eyes moved from the long blade sheathed at the Voord’s side to the cone-shaped weapon attached to Matrisa’s belt.  “I suppose.”

The Voord gestured to the house’s side door.  “To enterr, please.  Ourr masterr is verry eagerr to make yourr acquaintance.”

 

The Doctor handed Mel a steaming mug of tea that she accepted gratefully.  Having found it too uncomfortable resting amidst such devastation, Mel had asked the Doctor to take her into the study away from all the activity.  The study walls were lined on all sides with ancient texts and modern field study guides. Three tables were placed in pyramid formation at the center of the room, each of which supporting a display of Gwydion’s most treasured artifacts.  He had either obtained them himself on one of his expeditions or bought them at a great expense from prominent collectors.  It was this collection which he had used to impress the respected scientists – specifically the more beautiful and buxom of the women – who paid him occasional visits.

The feature of the room the Doctor was mainly concerned with was the videophone.  After he gave Mel the drink, he set about examining its design to see if it would suit his purposes.  Exactly like the Earth telephones the Doctor was so used to using, the videophone had the additional characteristic of being able to project pictures of whoever was speaking on the other end on a monitor.  “Perfect.”

Mel eyed the Doctor with interest.  “What are you doing?”

“I may have need of this later.”

“You can use it whenever you want,” Mel offered.

The Doctor can use it whenever you want,” Mel offered.

The Doctor placed a finger to his lips.  Without turning to look at Mel, he asked, “You’re from Earth?  On an archaeological expedition to find the Conscience of Shardonia?”

“So I told you.”

“What is that, exactly?  Does it have anything to do with the Conscience of Marinus?”

“You’re familiar with the Conscience of Marinus?”
            “Intimately.”

“The two are closely linked.”

The Doctor raised both his eyebrows.  “Indeed?  How?”

“I’ll show you.”  Mel strode over to one of the many bookshelves lining the wall.  “It’s all written down in a book called ‘Mysteries of the Montov’.”  Her eyes scanned the numerous volumes, searching for the book.  “It should be here somewhere.  I remembered exactly where it was.”  She shook her head.  “It isn’t here.  Someone must’ve taken it.”

“Pity.  I would’ve been curious to see what it said.  I don’t suppose you remember any of it offhand?”

Mel smiled. “Would you like me to recite the chapter to you?”

The Doctor looked at her quizzically.  “’Recite the chapter’?”

She tapped her temple lightly with her finger.  “Photographic memory.  I remember exactly what it said.  I could even tell you what pages it was on.”

The Doctor sat down at the center table.  “That isn’t necessary.  Just tell me what you remember.”

Mel settled herself on the table’s surface and looked down at the Doctor.  “There was a chapter on the Consciences of Marinus and Shardonia.”

The Doctor fell silent and folded his hands together as Mel began to recite the passage to him word for word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                           Chapter Thirteen

 

                         “’The History of the Conscience of Marinus

                         as recorded by Sabetha, daughter of Arbitan

 

Two thousand years ago, Marinus faced a terrible surge in unlawful activity.  A group of renegades known as the Voords had begun wrecking havoc on small towns and cities alike.  The citizens had no faith in the criminal justice system to contain the damage.  Judges had either become too liberal, allowing lawbreakers to get off with impunity, or too harsh to make up for their lenient counterparts, sentencing people to death for the most paltry of offenses.

In response to the growing problem, the Scientific Coalition worked to produce the most incredible machine known to Marinus – the Conscience.  It was programmed to be the penultimate judge.  Being a computer, it was not prone to feel sympathy for a rapist because of an unfortunate childhood or to make unfair examples of youthful offenders.

Its efficiency and mastery of law increased, and its use became exponentially more widespread.  Its rulings on difficult cases were documented brilliant ninety-eight percent of the time.  As respect for the machine’s wisdom grew, the Scientific Coalition enabled it to radiate its moral standards and dominate the minds of every lifeform on Marinus.  Individual thought was controlled to the extent that temptation was stricken from men’s thoughts.  Without temptation, violence of all kinds ranging from emotional to physical was eliminated.  Thefts, lust, murder, hate, and every other sin had become obsolete.  Our sister planet of Shardonia shared our technology and developed a duplicate Conscience for its population with the same success. For seven centuries, evil on both worlds was a thing of the past.

Or so it was thought.

Somehow, a seed of iniquity still remained.  Despite the Conscience’s influence, a Voord had the idea of attempting to resist it.  His name was Yartek and he succeeded in inventing an immunizer that he distributed amongst his fellow Voords.  Once again, a Voord reign of terror began, but this time with the Conscience making everyone too passive to resist the Voords.  Violence, remember, was alien to Marinus.

At this point, the Conscience was becoming an incredible danger to the well being of the planet.  Should Yartek have obtained control of it and reprogrammed it, they could have forced all of Marinus into Voord servitude.  The idea of such evil people using the Conscience to subjugate and destroy caused the Scientific Coalition to deactivate the machine and scatter its five key microcircuits about the planet.

My father, Arbitan, became guardian of the then-useless Conscience.  After years of research that I assisted him in, he eventually reprogrammed the Conscience so that it was powerful enough to overcome the Voord immunizers.  It was then safe to reactivate the Conscience.  However, the machine was useless without its five microcircuits.  In an attempt to once more gather the circuits, Arbitan sent his assistant Altos and I on a planet4-wide quest for them.  With assistance from four off-worlders named Ian, Barbara, Susan, and the Doctor, the circuits were recovered.

Sadly, upon our return, we found my father slain and the Voords in control of the Conscience.  All our hardships had been in vain.  In the ensuing conflict, the Voords were killed and the Conscience destroyed in an explosion.  The Doctor, as he departed Marinus, took charge of the only intact key as a grim souvenir of his adventure.

The Conscience of Shardonia never encountered the crisis point of the Conscience of Marinus.  The Shardonian Voords were not successful in overcoming its influence and Yartek had failed in his attempts to smuggle over his immunizers.  Nevertheless, the King of Shardonia decided that, although insurrection had not yet occurred, it would eventually.  Therefore, he had the Conscience of Shardonia deactivated and sealed in an underwater cavern, never to be used again.  It was, indeed, a wise decision.’”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                    Chapter Fourteen

 

 

            Finishing her dictation, Mel sighed and slipped off the tabletop.  She looked at the doctor for any reaction.  It was one of total surprise.

            The Doctor smiled thinly.  “Amazing.  In nine-hundred years I’ve never seen any human with that sort of memory.”

            Mel beamed sheepishly.  “I guess I’ve spent so much time working with computers I’ve half become one myself.”

            “Hardly.  You’re too effervescent to compare yourself to a machine.”

            “I’ve also had the advantage of reading the chapter several times,” she admitted.

            “What information was stored in the computer the Dalek destroyed?”

            “In our last dig, we unearthed a small cavern. One of the things we found inside it was a large metal plaque with archaic words carved into it.  I had written the words down and taken them back here to try to translate on the computer.  They corresponded to no known language and seemed to be some sort of code that was near impossible to crack.”

            “Whoever carved the words obviously didn’t want just anyone to be able to read them.”

            “But I cracked the code.”

            The Doctor raised his eyebrows.  “You did?”

            Mel pulled a face.  “Ten seconds before the Daleks came.  I never had an opportunity to read it.  That was why I was so devastated when I found out my computer had been destroyed.  Now I’ll never know.”

            The Doctor held up his hand.  “Hold that thought.”  He turned to see Ravner enter the room, flanked by the other four police officers, wheeling in the battered, dust-covered Red Dalek.   “Excellent,” the Doctor smiled.  Hopefully, this fellow here” – he jerked a thumb in the Red Dalek’s direction – “will tell me what I want to know.  All I’ve got to do is hook it up to the videophone.”

“You’re going to hook up the Dalek to a videophone?”  Ravner asked incredulously.  “What for?”

The Doctor nodded at Mel, “Tell him.”

“Since my computer was destroyed, we can’t use it to access the Dalek’s memory banks.  If the Doctor knows Dalek technology well enough, he can project the information on this video-screen even though it’s usually used for person to person communication.  Right, Doctor?”

“Correct.”  The Doctor adeptly removed a section of paneling from the base of the Dalek and peered inside at the mass of machinery within.  “My, is this different to what I’m used to.”  As the Doctor set about inspecting its interior, he massaged his chin, made the occasional noise with his throat, and, every so often, uttered an “Ah!” of achievement or a “What?” of astonishment.

“What I don’t understand is why this Dalek is alive to begin with,” he mused.  “I thought all the new generation of Daleks were destroyed by Orsini’s bomb on Necros.  Davros wouldn’t have had an opportunity to make any more of them because, last I saw, he was under arrest by the original Daleks.  So, where does this fellow come from?”

The Doctor reached deep into the base until his fingers wound around a triangular object with glowing alien digits set into it.  He wrenched at the device, putting his whole weight into the tugs, until he managed to snap it free.  He held it up for Mel and Ravner to better see.  “At least I know what this is.  The Dalek identification code.  Extremely important.”

“If it is,” Ravner cut in, “then I would like to have it.  The lab boys can take a look at it.”

The Doctor shook his head.  “Sorry.  I may need it.”

Ravner glared back at the Doctor.  “It was not a request.”

Grunting inaudible Gallifreyan profanities, the Doctor surrendered the Dalek organ to the hands of the police.  Ravner accepted it and placed it in his breast pocket.  When the Doctor returned to his macabre surgery, Ravner did what could to distract the Doctor from the unpleasant interlude.  “So, Doctor, will looking into its memory tell us what happened here and why?”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” the Time Lord grumbled.  “Mel, can you give me a hand with this circuitry?  I can’t make head nor tail of it.”

Mel knelt beside him.  “I thought you were the big Dalek expert.”

“So did I, but it looks like my knowledge is behind the times.  I’ve never seen anything like this.”  He pointed at a glossy black box set into the Dalek war computer.  “That’s a whole new component they’ve added on there.  I have no idea what it is.”

“Any guesses?”

“I don’t know, but whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

 

Matrisa and the Voord escorted their two guests through four connecting rooms until they reached the foot of a wide, curving staircase leading to the lower level.  Peri and Yrcanos were ordered to go down first; the others following after.  The stairway opened up into a large drawing room that contained a sofa and three chairs, all arranged so they faced the rear.  Crystal chandeliers hung low from the ceiling, cast light on the fancy Oriental rug spread out across the floor below.  Positioned at the center rear, like a majestic throne, was a huge wooden chair.  Peri was taken aback by the sight of the imposing figure seated on it.  It was a powerful-looking lion man.  In appearance and majesty, he reminded Peri of C. S. Lewis’ character Aslan, the leonine Messiah of Narnia.

“Good afternoon, Miss Brown.”  The lion smiled at Peri, unintentionally alarming her with his sharp, massive teeth.  His gaze moved to Yrcanos.  “Good afternoon, sir.”  The lion man stood up with a graceful swish of his red robes and gestured for Peri and Yrcanos to make themselves comfortable.  “Would you please?”  He watched as his nervous guests settled in the sofa.  “I wasn’t expecting you until later on.”

Peri found herself unable to respond to the declaration.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter.  There are many things we have to discuss.  But first, I must thank you for trusting me enough not to bring the police with you.”

“I might have been more inclined to trust you if you hadn’t been so secretive.”  Peri withdrew the note Matrisa had handed her in the park.  “You just initialed the letter you sent to me.”

“So I did.  I apologize if not knowing who I am worries you.  I assure you I have only the best of intentions.”

“What is the need for all this secrecy?”  demanded Peri.

“I’m sorry, but I felt it was necessary.  There is a very powerful enemy of mine at work.  Even now he sits on the sidelines observing events and influencing them to serve his purposes.  If it isn’t too late already, I want to keep my involvement in this affair a secret to him.”

“Then you are a coward,” observed Yrcanos.

Upon hearing this, the lion froze, his feline eyes fixed on Yrcanos with a savage stare.  When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and controlled.  “I am not a coward.  I am merely being cautious.”

Before Peri could silence the King of the Krontep, he piled on another indignity by insisting, “You are not a warrior.”

“How little you know.”  The lion smiled at Yrcanos’ ignorance.  “I assume you aren’t the Doctor.  You seem a little too obtuse to be a Time Lord.”

Yrcanos took the word ‘obtuse’ to mean ‘powerful’ and grinned to himself.  “I am Yrcanos, King of the Krontep.”

The lion sucked his teeth.  He’d heard of the Krontep.  “Ah, the Krontep.  A very…interesting people.”  He placed his paw against his chest.  “My name is Leo Lionhart.  My two colleagues, whom you have already met, are Matrisa then Movellan and Eukel the Voord.”

Yrcanos pointed a large finger at Matrisa and Eukel.  “Why do you surround yourself with garbage?”

Matrisa was unaffected by the insult, but the Voordarched its back and hissed at Yrcanos.

“Eukel!  Back.”  Leo waved the Voord into submission.  Once this was done, he responded to the bluntly asked question.  “A person in my position is not often exposed to a wide range of options.  These were the best agents available.  If you think they are bad, you should see the others I had to choose from."  He noticed that Peri was understandably dubious of their loyalties.  “I can certainly trust them.  Matrisa has been estranged from her Movellan relatives since her entire unit was slaughtered in a battle with the Imperial Daleks.  She is fiercely loyal to me because she believes vengeance against the Daleks is possible working through me.”  Leo nodded in the direction of the Voord.  “Eukel is another story.  I pay him well.  He will be loyal only so long as the pay keeps coming.”

Eukel bowed facetiously.  “Is to be all hearrt.”

“You certainly are,” Leo agreed.

Confusion at the Voord’s speech pattern hit Peri.  “I thought he was saying you were the one who was ‘all heart’.” 

  “The new Voord language,” Leo explained, “has no subject pronoun ‘I’ in its vocabulary.  They use the term ‘Is to’ as a substitute.  I suppose you noticed by yourselves that he also rolls his  ‘r’.”  Unexpectedly, an article of Peri’s clothing caught Leo’s attention.  “Ah!  How pretty!”  He moved closer to her and stared at a medallion that she wore about her neck.  “May I?”

Peri trembled slightly under his watchful stare.  “Yes.” 

The lion lifted the medallion until its silver chain became taut.  “It is very interesting.  What is it?”

“It’s my Saint Christopher.”

The lion nodded with understanding.  “Patron saint of travelers.  How very appropriate.”  He released his hold on the pendant and took a step back.

It had been a considerable effort on Yrcanos’ part to remain silent for so long, but the conversation was becoming too incomprehensible for him to bear.  He was befuddled beyond belief.  “What are you going on about?  First you’re talking about powerful enemies, then subject pronouns, and now we’re discussing some tour guide customer named Christopher!”

Peri held up her hand.   “We’re asking too many questions up front.  Let’s hear what Mr. Lionhart has to say first.”

The lion’s eyes glinted with approval.  “Thank you.  And please, call me Leo.”

“Leo.”

Leo reclined in his seat and folded his paws in front of his chest.  “Before I begin, can I offer you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“Very well, then.”

The barrage of pleasantries angered Yrcanos once again.  “Why are you being so damned polite?”

Leo shrugged his massive shoulders.  “I see that you are both nervous so I am trying to put you at ease.  That’s all.”

“You are being annoying!”  shouted Yrcanos.

“Silence!” Leo bared his fangs at Yrcanos and growled.

Peri restrained Yrcanos with her delicate hand.  “No.”  She returned her attention to Leo. “I’m sorry if he angered you.  Sometimes he doesn’t know what he’s saying.  I’ve gotten used to it.  You will too.”

“If he lives long enough,” Leo barked.

 

The videophone blipped into life, displaying rows and rows of Kaled symbols.  The Doctor smiled with satisfaction at the Dalek language.  “We’ve made the connection.”  He pulled up a chair in front of the videophone and watched the screen.  “Very interesting.”

Mel looked back and forth between the Doctor and the screen.  “You can read this?”

“It’s like a second language to me.  Apparently, these are the last thoughts which ran through the Dalek’s mind before it was knocked ‘unconscious’.”  The Doctor scrolled by before it was knocked ‘unconscious’.”  The Doctor scrolled by some of the text.  “Nothing interesting there.  Daleks can be so boring sometimes.  Ah!  Here we are.  The Dalek accessed and transmitted Mel’s file into space immediately before it was destroyed.”

“Would you mind translating what it says?” asked Ravner politely.

“Wait a moment!” the Doctor snapped. “I was about to.”  He leaned forward in his seat.  “It’s a set of numbers written out in scientific notation.  Four-hundred, nine, sixty-three, nine, twenty-one, nine, sixty-four, nine – “

“Alright, alright.”  Ravner waved to him to stop.  The irritation in his voice was unmistakable.  “What does it mean?”

“ – three, nine, four-hundred,” the Doctor finished.  They’re coordinates.”

“Which lead to the Conscience of Shardonia, I suppose.”  Ravner rolled his eyes.

The Doctor gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Very good.”

“Could it be that simple?” asked Mel. “After all these years of searching can we have finally found the Conscience?”

The Doctor frowned.  “I certainly hope not.”

“Why?” exclaimed Mel  “It would be the greatest archaeological discovery of the century!”

“If the first archaeologists to uncover the Conscience are the Daleks then it will spell doom for us all.”

 

Perched on the edge of a wide precipice one mile outside the dome Marteria it rested.  The settlement was a colossal, underwater construct shaped like a diamond and held a crew of over seven hundred men.  Seeing as its position was many thousand fathoms underwater, the average water temperature and pressure surrounding it was not conducive to comfortable living.  Naturally, the city domes located furthest underwater, such as Marteria, faced the same dilemma.

However, it was this very enormous Environmental Control Center (ECC), one of the multitudes of which were scattered about the planet.  Its numerous functions included weather control over the domes, manufacturing breathable air, regulating pressure, and maintaining illumination for the civilians.  The illumination aspect of the ECC’s task force was particularly important because no natural sunlight could reach waters of that depth.  All of the sea life that existed at that level had learned to survive without light.  Many of them had outgrown the need for eyes and relied more on personal sonar systems.  Others had developed huge eyeballs to try and scrounge up the rare, disjointed particles of light with which to see.  This, of course, would not do for the humanoid Shardonians.  And, so, the ECCs around the world gave light to the masses.

Aside from lighting the dome Marteria from the one mile distance, that ECC exuded enough illumination to light the distance, that ECC exuded enough illumination to light the station’s personal space to keep the crew from going stark raving mad from lack of light.  The administrators turned the lights on and off to simulate day and night to make the station feel as natural as possible.  It was a poor substitute, but effective.

This particular ECC was comparatively new.  It had only been operating for about twenty-three years.  Nevertheless, it was about to face early retirement.  The area just outside the field of personal light was pitch black.  Nothing at all could be made out within the blackness – not even any signs of movement.

The Dalek shuttlecraft emerged from the blackness with all its weapons primed.  Before the station watch could react to their presence, the Dalek struck.  The seas churned and foamed as twelve energy torpedoes streaked towards the helpless station.  They bombarded the reinforced hull of the ECC.  With each explosion, the hull grew weaker, until finally it buckled under the attack.  The moment the hull was compromised, the surrounding water pressure took over and finished the job for the Daleks.

So much for the ECC.

 

Leo had managed to calm himself down after being the recipient of so many insults from Yrcanos.  At last, he composed himself enough to speak to Peri in an amicable manner.  “Do you know what a ‘Familiar’ is?”

“You mean the monster?”

Leo’s mouth hardened.  “I am not a monster.”

The moment she realized what she did, Peri felt a flush of heat.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I suppose not…. A Familiar is a mystical animal that owes its allegiance to a sorcerer.  In the legends you know of, the broomstick-riding witch usually has a cat for a Familiar.  It isn’t just any cat, mind you, but a demon whose job it is to protect her when she is at her most vulnerable.”

“My stepfather used to love stories about things like that.”

“As you must know by now, I am a Familiar, not in the mythical sense, but in the genuine.  I too have a mistress who I must protect when she falls into hardship.  Instead of the classic caricature of the witch, she is an Eternal; an alien whose powers stem from enhanced mental energies.  Also very unlike a witch is her spirit.  While witches are known to be evil, my mistress is pure in almost every way.

“Predicting an inquiry into my own magical abilities, I will tell you up front.  I have no mystical talent whatsoever.  I rely mostly on my strength and intelligence.  The only bizarre endowment I do possess is my body’s ability to absorb energy and fire it back as force beams.   For example, if I am ever shot with a laser gun, I can reflect the beam back at the attacker, kill him, and emerge from the skirmish completely unharmed.”

Leo temporarily stopped his narrative and studied Peri’s expression.  “Do you have difficulty believing this?”

Peri shook her head slowly.  “No.  It isn’t that much of a stretch after some of the creatures I’ve seen.  Besides, now that I think of it, I have met an alien who reminded me a lot of a wizard.”

Leo leaned forward.  “Could it have been the Celestial Toymaker?”

Peri’s face paled, the full revelation of what was happening beginning to dawn on her.  She swayed slightly and clutched the arm of her chair for support.  “Let me guess.  The Celestial Toymaker is the one who is placing my life ‘in dire peril’.”

“Yes,” Leo replied frankly.  “Two weeks ago, he escaped from the prison you and the Doctor put him in.”

“That’s all I need.”  Peri moaned.

Yrcanos wisely opted to ask Peri the question rather than Leo; who would most definitely be unsympathetic to his ignorance.  “Who is the Celestial Toymaker?”

Peri sighed.  “He’s an alien whose mental powers are so strong that he can create and destroy things with only a thought.”

“He must be a great warrior!” Yrcanos cried.

“No,” Peri corrected. “It’s too easy for him to win in straight fighting.  He fights sort of indirectly.”

Yrcanos was even more befuddled.  “Indirectly?”

“He takes beings that aren’t as strong as he is and sticks them in dangerous situations he created.  He usually has one of his pawns do the fighting instead of him.  Then he watches as all hell breaks loose and tries to guess who’ll come out alive.  Whoever loses becomes his slave forever.  You see, it’s all a game to him.  The British have cricket, the Americans have baseball, and the Celestial Toymaker has high stakes gambling with human lives.”

Then Leo took up the explanation.  “Usually, the battlefield is the Toymaker’s home ground, the Toyroom.  This time, he seems to have strayed from the norm.  Now, Shardonia is the game board.  If anything, it gives us the advantage that the Toymaker isn’t in total control of what happens and who we meet.”

“And he wants to kill me?” Peri asked again.

“Yes.”

“No offense, but what’s it to you?  Why do you care what happens to me?”

Leo smiled.  “For one thing, you’re very pretty.”

“Oh, come on!”

“My mistress gave me orders to make sure you are safe.  Besides, I need your help.  You’ve fought the Toymaker before.  I only know of him through my mistress.”

Yrcanos placed his arm protectively around Peri’s shoulders.  “Would Peri know her?”

“No, but my mistress is a vital link in this situation.  Her name is the Great Composer.  Shortly after the Toymaker escaped, he took her hostage.  She’s the real reason I’m involved in this affair.  As her Familiar, it is my duty to rescue her from that creature.”

 

The force lapped at the Composer’s fingers, sending courses of pain up her arms.  She snatched her hand away from the energy wall that imprisoned her.  The Eternal could hear the Toymaker’s mocking laugh and it angered her.  She slumped down to the Toyroom floor and stared forlornly at the folds of her emerald gown for want of a better thing to stare at.

“I am curious what emotions you are experiencing now.  Your mind is difficult to read.”  While he spoke, the Toymaker whittled away at a piece of wood with a sharp knife.  It was impossible to tell exactly what it was he was carving.

**You can tell I am not happy.**

The Toymaker flashed her an infuriating smile.  “Neither was I when I was incarcerated.”

The Composer was uncertain where the Toymaker was leading the conversation.  He spoke in an off-hand manner, giving more care to his carvings than to the dialogue.  She wondered if playing on the sensitive side of his nature would bear any fruit.  Of course, that strategy would only work if he had such a side.

**I have never felt so alone; so purposeless.**

The remark interested the Toymaker.  He moved closer to her, not looking up from his work.  “It is funny that you should mention the word ‘purposeless’.”

The Composer suspected some form of mockery in the comment and reacted with hostility.  **Yes.  It is hilarious.**

“No.  You misunderstand.”  He lifted his dark eyes heavenwards in an unreadable expression.  “You have just identified my cause.”

**Curse?**

“Yes.  The curse of ‘purposelessness’.”  The Toymaker pulled up a chair in front of the Composer’s cell.  He sank into it and stared dejectedly at his captive.  One would not believe he was the one at liberty since his manner was even more tragic and defeated than the Composer’s.  He now reversed tactics, carving away at the wood in an absent-minded fashion as he spoke to the Composer.

“You see,” he explained, “for Ephemerals, not knowing the purpose of life isn’t much of a problem.  They die in such a short time that, in the end, there is little difference.  But for an Eternal like me, who lives forever, not knowing is torture.”

**Why does this bother you so much?** the Composer asked.  **Nobody knows the nature of existence.  Does it matter that you don’t?**

“It does!” the Toymaker cried.  “All of it matters, yet none of it is significant.  I have abilities akin to a god.  I can read the minds of any mortal, summon objects and creatures out of nothing and destroy them just as easily.  I have enslaved entire planets and brought the greatest armies in the universe to their knees.  Even now I am setting forth a series of events which will influence the lives of countless billions of innocents.  I am power incarnate.”  He paused and shook his head as if his entire speech was a send-uo of itself.  “And yet, I am not content.  The desire still haunts me.”

With one final cut of the blade, he completed the carving.  He looked down at the handiwork and ran his fingers over it, feeling the hardness of the wood.  The toy he had carved was an ape-like creature in a blue transit uniform.  Its features were grotesque and exaggerated and it radiated an aura of malignancy.  Carved deep into the small base it stood upon was the name: “D. J. Kahdules – Familiar.” 

“I am alone.  I surround myself with trinkets and am forced to kidnap people for companionship.  I fill every conscious moment with activity.  Still, I am incomplete.”  He looked inquiringly at the Composer.  “What is a man if he is not complete?”

**I don’t know,** replied the Composer.

The Toymaker bared his teeth and snarled.  He pointed an accusing finger at the Composer.  “You think you are a prisoner!  I am the real prisoner.”  He drew back his arm and hurled the carving as far from himself as he could.  “A prisoner of my own immortality.  A prisoner of loneliness and boredom and purposelessness.”

**Didn’t the Rites eliminate these feelings in you?**

The melody flowed beautifully form the Composer’s red lips. 

“I did not perform the Rites.”

The Composer snapped back into an upright position.  **That’s impossible.  Every Eternal is required to undergo the communion.  For a person not to perform the Rites is so dangerous.  Such a man has….**  Her voice trailed away as understanding of the Toymaker’s words sunk in.

“…no purpose,” the Toymaker finished.  “You see, when my powers fully matured and I realized I was one of the most powerfully psionic Eternals in history I was not on the homeworld to perform the Rites.  Reckless in my youth and heedless of warnings, I had left home to wander too early.”

**No wonder you are the way you are.**

“Yes.  No wonder.”

 

When Ravner’s attention was distracted, the Doctor unlocked the TARDIS doors and ushered Mel inside.  She hesitated a moment, wondering why he wanted her to enter so small and confining a space.  Then, the trust that she was beginning to form with the Doctor kicked in and she complied.  He soon followed, walking briskly into the main control room. 

Mel gaped with wonderment at the TARDIS interior.  “My God!  It’s so huge in here and so small outside.”

The Doctor smiled at her surprise.  Every person who had ever entered his TARDIS not knowing what it was had always made the exact same – rather obvious – observation immediately with the funniest expressions on their faces.  He took a moment to watch her wonderment before setting to work programming the TARDIS computer.

“How is this possible?” she asked.

“It’s dimensionally transcendental,” he replied, as if that explained everything.

“You mean the inside is in a different dimension than the outside?”
            “I’ll explain it to you better someday,” the Doctor said distractedly.  “At the moment, I’m busy.”

“What a marvelous piece of machinery!”

“Some people think the old girl is obsolete junk, but she’s capable of some pretty amazing tricks.”

“What does it do?”

“It travels through time and space.”

“Incredible!  Are there any others like it?”

“My people, the Time Lords, manufacture them.”

Mel rounded the central console and watched the Doctor’s progress from the side.  He had turned a set of slide controls to the numbers four-hundred, nine, sixty-three, nine, twenty-one, nine, sixty-four, nine, three, nine, and four-hundred.  “Those are the coordinates of the Conscience.”

“Correct.”

“Are we going there?”

“No.”

Mel’s brow furrowed.  “Then why did you enter them?”
            The Doctor was reluctant to tell her the truth, not knowing how she would react.  “Well…you see…I’m going to throw a temporal causality loop over the coordinates.”

“That’ll freeze the Conscience – and the Daleks if they’ve found it yet – in one instant in time forever.”

“Yes.”

Mel nodded.  “Good.”

“Good? I thought you’d be upset.”

“Not at all,” Mel cried.  “If the Daleks get the Conscience then I’ll be partly responsible.  Having to live with that for the rest of my life would be too much to bear.  I want the Conscience to be unreachable.”

“And so it will be.”  The Doctor entered into the computer some calculations that were unfathomable to Mel.  They were presumably required to engineer the actual Loop.

“But then what?”

“I don’t understand.”
            “If the Daleks are deprived of the Conscience, won’t they be angry?  They could take their resentment out on this planet.”

The Doctor pursed his lips.  “The Daleks have no emotions.  They don’t get angry.  With any luck they’ll move on to greener pastures.”

“Or try to make the best of a bad situation and conquer the planet.”

“We’ll worry about that situation when it arises.”  The Doctor finished entering in the program with a flourish  “All set.”
            “Wonderful.”

“All I have to do is flick this little switch” – he flicked a little switch – “and viola!”

On the other side of the console, an electrical fire flared up at the base of the auxiliary power control and the TARDIS lights dimmed.

“Oh, no!”

The Doctor raced around to try to control the damage.  He withdrew a patchwork handkerchief from his pocket and began beating at the flames until he smothered them.  Wisps of smoke rose from the flash-burned metal and curled around the Doctor’s angry face.  He brought his fist down on the console and growled.  “On second thought, maybe it is obsolete junk!”

“I suppose this means the Time Loop didn’t work?”

“Of course it didn’t work!” he barked.  “There’s smoke coming out of the computer.  It isn’t supposed to do that, you know!”

“There’s no need to yell at me!” Mel protested.

“This shouldn’t have happened.  I just did an overhaul of the TARDIS recently.”  The Doctor clenched his head between his hands and looked down at the floor, trying to dispel his disappointment.  “Look, I'm sorry.  I’ve just been under a lot of stress lately.”

Mel understood perfectly.  “That’s okay.”

“If you want revenge, you can always feed me some carrot juice later on.”

Mel began to smile at his quip when a thought struck her.  When did she tell the Doctor she liked carrot juice?  The thought was followed up by many more little peculiarities she’d noticed which she formally dismissed as trivial.  Now they became suddenly more glaring.

Why did the Doctor act so naturally around her as if they were friends?  Why did he speak of her amazing memory as something he’d always wondered about when he’d just met her?

“When did I tell you I liked carrot juice?”  Mel asked.

The Doctor shrugged.  “You must have mentioned it at some point.”

“I didn’t.  I know I didn’t.  I would have remembered.”

“I suppose you would have.”  His expression turned from subdued to dismissive.  “But what a stupid thing to quibble over!  Carrot juice!  We have more important things to do.”  He pointed an angry finger at the burned out console.  “Now that this course of action is a dead end, I’d like you to take me to the dig site.”

Mel began tapping her foot on the floor.  “Doctor,” she admonished.  “You’re not answering my question.”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“No.  You’ll tell me now.  How do you know so many things about me that I haven’t told you?”

 

 

                                                Chapter Fifteen

 

The Toymaker laughed at his own genius.  The way events were unfolding, the scenario was going to turn out to be very diverting.  On his giant monitor could be seen the flustered face of the Doctor, trying to adequately explain himself to Mel.  It was a very satisfying aftermath to the time loop fiasco, especially since he himself did not know how the Doctor possessed such knowledge of Mel’s personality.  It was little unexpected wrinkles such as these that made his games all the more interesting.

 The Celestial Toymaker wanted his companion to share the joke.  “In case you’re wondering, Composer, I – “

**You prevented the Doctor from creating the Time Loop because it would have been cinematically boring to have the Daleks defeated by the flick of a computer dial.**

The Toymaker placed his arm around the Composer’s waist, ignoring her flinch.  “Machinery is so unreliable.  You never know when it just might burst into flames.”

 

Nyder watched the debris from the ECC settle onto the ocean floor in the moments before darkness once again descended onto the ocean.  The dome the ECC was supposed to have serviced was now surely under the care of a back up ECC located somewhere else. The local authorities were sure to investigate the power loss, so Nyder wanted to move fast.

He strode across the control room of the shuttlecraft and addressed one of his Daleks.  “Are these correct coordinates?”

“Affirmative.  I detect a closed-off cavity set into the side of the precipice.  The Conscience must be located within.”

“Then we’ll have to use the transporters to get there.”

“There is one other fact you should be aware of, sir.”

“What’s that?”

“The atmosphere cannot support Dalek or humanoid life.  The temperature is too cold.”

Nyder nodded.  “I’ve thought of that.  I’m going to transport heat and air generators ahead of us and wait for them to adapt the atmosphere to our needs.”

“Very good, sir.  Shall I transport them now?”

“Yes.  And make it fast.  We don’t have much time.”

 

The sleek white monorail eased to a halt at the near-empty station; the early traces of dawn sunlight glinting off its window.  Its many doors all slid aside simultaneously, inviting passengers to enter.  Four passengers – Leo, Peri, Yrcanos, and the Voord – stepped on board.  The monorail compartment had cushioned cream-colored seats on both sides that faced one another.  Dual metal bars joined the ceiling and the floor at the center of the compartment.  They served as a brace for anyone who might be standing due to overcrowding.  It was there the Vrood stood, despite the availability of room, while everyone else sat.

Leo stared past the Voord at Peri and Yrcanos.  “You two have been very good about asking questions.  I bet you’re wondering where we’re going.”

“The thought crossed my mind, yes.”

Yrcanos was a little more forceful than Peri in his reply.  “Either you tell us, or I’ll smash your skull with my bare hands!”

I’d like to see you try, thought the Voord.  Leo could break you in half using only one finger.

Leo ignored the outburst, knowing by now to work only through Peri.  “We’re going to Nicholas’ Park, where I had Matrisa speak to you.”

“Oh?  And what’s there?” asked Peri.

“Is to tell you,” cut in the Voord.  “People arre to be excavating the parrk grounds.  Therre arre to be ideas that a legendary computerr is to be burried somewhere therre.”

“It’s kind of funny hearing about a computer being legendary.  On Earth we’re just beginning to develop good ones and here you’ve had them for millennium.  So, why is this computer so special?”

“It is to be hypnotizing entirre planets into obeying whomever is to operate it,” the Voord explained.

Peri was impressed.  “Sounds like a far cry from an IBM PCjr.  I suppose it really exists.”

“Yes.”

“It figures.  And the Toymaker wants it?”

“Close,” Leo interrupted.  “He wants the Daleks to have it.”

Peri blinked.  “The daleks are involved in this too?”

“Yes.”

Peri looked helplessly at Yrcanos.  “Have you gotten any news about transport back to Earth?  I’d really like to go home now.”

 

The Doctor saw it as extremely important he obtain Melanie’s trust before he continued with his investigation of the Dalek’s activities.  He took her away from the foreign ground of the TARDIS and away from the devastation of Gwdion’s house into the more lively atmosphere of Betrun’s Bar to try to get her in more pleasant surroundings.  As it happened, the bar was the same one where Peri and Yrcanos had eaten earlier, though there was no way the Doctor could have known it.

The Doctor was still feeling the effects of fatigue from his sleeplessness and had to stifle a yawn in front of Mel.  He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and sniffed to clear his nose.

“You look exhausted,” Mel noted, concerned.

“I’ve been through a terrible ordeal.  If you let me tell you about it, it will explain how I know you.”

Mel shrugged.  “Alright.”

“You see, I was on Thoros-Beta not long ago.”

Mel frowned.  “What a terrible planet to visit!  What were you doing there?”

“I had the idea somebody there was selling primitive cultures advanced weaponry.  Those tribes were using the weapons to wipe each other out.  I wanted to put a stop to it.”

“I would have wanted to.  Say, are you some sort of interplanetary policeman?”

The Doctor unconsciously scratched the side of his head.  “More of an explorer, but I fight so many criminals I might as well be a policeman.  Anyway, I found myself in a tight spot, so I had to pretend I was in league with the very people I wanted to stop.  It was a good position to be in because I could strike at them when they least expected it.  Unfortunately, in order to convince them I was on their side, I had to hurt a friend of mine named Peri."

“What did you do?”

The Doctor cleared his throat awkwardly.  “Bluntly, I beat her, put her in prison, and threatened to kill her.”

This revelation took Mel aback  “What?  Did she know it was an act?”

“No.  I couldn’t explain it to her because the bad guys were always watching me.  The one time we had a private moment, some fool named King Yrcanos tried to kill me for hurting her.”

“She knows it was all a trick now, right?”

The Doctor shook his head.  “No.  Those were the terms we wound up being separated on.  The first opportunity I had I began searching everywhere I could think of for her; every time and every place. I’ve been searching for her ever since.  The guilt and regret I’ve been feeling are overwhelming.”

He grimly recalled the last words Peri said to him in her cell on Thoros-Beta.  She looked up at him with a pale, tear-stained face.  Her lips trembled as she spoke.  “What’s happened to you, Doctor?  Why do you hate me so?  I thought that you were different, that you cared for justice, truth, good.  Oh, leave me; I can’t bear to look at what you are now.”  The hate and mistrust which he’d worked so hard to eliminate from their relationship had welled up anew with greater force than ever.

Mel’s next question broke into his sad reverie.  “And you think she may be here on Shardonia?”

“I’m sure of it.  Unfortunately, it’s because I know she’s somehow involved in this Dalek business.”

Mel tried to be encouraging.  “Maybe, by investigating what happened to me, you’ll stumble upon something that’ll lead you to her.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” the Doctor mused.  “If only I hadn’t been separated from her.”

“How did it happen?”

The Doctor sipped his alien ale.  “Before I could regroup with her on Thoros-Beta, the Time Lords arrested me.  They put me on trial for interfering in the lives and cultures of the people I visit during my explorations.”
            “That’s a heavy charge.”

“It certainly was.  They would have executed me if I had been found guilty.  Still and all, I put up a masterful defense.  I broke down all their arguments.  My defense was that I will become more cautious in my near future and bring about good through my actions rather than havoc.”

Mel was amazed by the prospect.  “You could use things that haven’t happened yet as evidence?”

“I can do anything I like.  I’m a Time Lord.”

“What did you tell them?”

“They used a time scoop to summon a character witness.  She knew me later in life, so she was able to vouch for the man I will become after a little bit of maturing.  Now, this is the tricky part.  You see, I hadn’t met her yet.  Since she was from my future, when she arrived at the trial she knew me but I didn’t know her.  In the future, she will grow to respect me greatly after traveling with me for a time.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Melanie Bush.”

Melanie’s eyes bulged.  “Me?”

“You in the future who knew me in the future.”

“Me?”

“I got to know you during the trial before they put you back in the right time line.  Now that the trial is over, the situation is reversed.  I know who you are, but you don’t know who I am.”

“You’re a very difficult person to understand, Doctor.”

“I’m doing my best!  It’s very difficult to be articulate when talking about time travel to someone who isn’t a Time Lord.”

Mel sighed.  “I suppose I grasp the general idea.”

The Doctor smiled at her, understanding.  “Good.  And if you don’t, never mind.  I don’t think I explained it very well.  Do you think you’re up to taking me to the dig site?”

Mel’s shoulders slumped.  “Must we go now?”

“Time is of the essence,” the Doctor reminded her apologetically.

 

Awareness seeped back.   Darknessthat had clouded the injured Red Dalek’s thoughts melted away as it recovered its senses.  Emerging from dormancy, it experienced excruciating pain as a horrible torrent of unprocessed data assaulted it. The information was as overwhelming as it was confusing.  None of it was coherent.  Fragmented images and vague recollections were all the mutant seemed to manage under the barrage of inconsistent information.

Too much data too soon, it thought.  Unprocessed data must be processed.  Malfunctions must have taken place during dormancy.

Part of the pain it experienced was physical because bright light flooded its optic sensors.  The mutant shifted its gaze from the telescopic sight.  One of its arms, a claw extremity, called up a list of alterations to be made in the systems output.  In an effort to ease the discomfort, the mutant adjusted its “eye”.  The blinding light became less intense, so it felt a little relieved.  As a precaution, it activated its insulators to filter out cosmic rays that may or may not have been present.  It couldn’t figure out which was the case since it couldn’t recall its location. Pulsing light on the data filled screen informed it that the four disks on its eye stalk had begun the filtering process.

It ran the sense globes’ readings on the screen, but none of them made any sense to it.  The Red Dalek found itself unable to concentrate on much of anything, let alone where it was.  It had no idea what was happening to it, nor did it completely care.  However, the part of its mind which was still rational urged it to run a systems wide self-diagnostic.  When the results of the scan logged in, the cause of its mental pain became immediately obvious. 

Its emotion circuitry had been irreparably damaged by the cave-in.  The delicate wires which gave it simulated feelings, instinct, and intuition had been crossed.  Now all those traits that had been such an advantage in the Movellan revenge war were causing the Dalek equivalent of complete and total insanity.

Within the Cavern of the Conscience, a burst of bright red energy collected itself in a blurry haze that manifested itself on the ice floor, shimmering.  The indistinct cloud began to take on the shape of a humanoid creature surrounded by two dozen cylindrical creatures.  Nyder and his Dalek retinue had arrived to claim their prize.

Nyder stared about the cavern with detachment.  The sight which greeted him was both frightening and beautiful, but invoked neither emotion in the callous Nyder.  His personality was as cold and constant as the glaciers that framed the cavern.  It was no surprise seeing as how his personality in part inspired Davros’ programming of the first wave of Daleks.

Ice stalactites and stalagmites gave the chamber the look of a giant mouth, ready to feast upon those who dared enter.  The frozen water shimmered as the intruders illuminated the room.  Just ahead, Nyder could make out an adjoining and substantially larger room.  Motioning for the Daleks to follow, his eight legs headed off in search of the Conscience.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                     Chapter Sixteen

 

A towering brick wall separated the archaeological grounds from the rest of Nicholas’ Park, cutting the off to an unwelcome public.  There had recently been a lot of controversy surrounding the Earth Federation scientists being the ones to head the archaeological investigation.  Many Shardonians felt that it was hallowed land and should not be violated by dirty human hands.  Militant patriots often staged riots and protests trying to force the unwelcome humans off their historic lands.

Such furor in the hearts of these radicals resulted in the vicious assault of a young Australian man and the attempted murder of the woman heading the project.  While the general public was originally sympathetic to the beliefs of the extremists, their methods were considered so offensive that the tide of public opinion swung radically in favor of the humans. And so, necessary precautions were taken to protect the scientists, such as encompassing the study grounds with a large wall.

Luckily for Peri’s party, many of the police who were originally consigned to guard the park were reassigned to the massive fishing competition taking place on the outskirts of the Quixar dome.  The grounds, which had previously been so tightly guarded, now saw a conspicuous lapse in security. 

Peri had arrived at the outskirts of the barrier after disembarking from the monorail with her three comrades.  She eyed the wall quizzically, wondering why so permanent a boundary had been set up.

“How do we get in?”

The Voord pointed down the length of the wall to an arched metal gate.  “Therre to be the door.  But therre to be men working just beyond it.  We would be seen.”

“We certainly can’t go there,” Leo mused.  “And we can’t climb the wall.  It’s too high, has no footholds, and there’s spikes all along the top.  Isn’t there some sort of drainage grate near the base of the wall somewhere that we can duck into?”

“Therre might to be one.”

Peri frowned.  There had to be a better way to get in than to go by Leo’s suggestion.  “I’m not one for traveling by sewer.  I’ll head down to the right and see if there’s a better way to get in.”

Yrcanos looked after her.  “I will come with you.  You need protection.”

“I’ll be fine,” Peri insisted.  “You go help them open their grate.”

The rest of the group went off in the opposite direction as Peri; Yrcanos naturally doing so with great reluctance.  It wasn’t long before the three men came upon the grate they had set out to find.  It was at the base of the wall and it was used to prevent flooding during rain that could destroy months of work at the dig site.  Just under the grate was a seven-foot drop to a chamber that gradually wound down into the sewer system.  The men knew once they got into the chamber below that they’d find another exit leading to the other side of the wall.

Yrcanos wrapped his massive fingers around the bars of the grate and pulled.  The force of the exertion caused perspiration to roll down his forehead and veins to rise from his skin.  He clenched his teeth together and cried out under the strain.  “Vroomnik!”

“Don’t overexert yourself,” Leo advised.

Yrcanos growled at the unwelcome advice.  “I am the victor of ninety-seven battles and one-thousand-and-twenty skirmishes, none of them minor.  I can surely handle a set of simple bars.”  The two wide bars began to gradually twist under his strength and the space between them was widened.  However, it was as yet too small to allow any of them to slip through.  “We need another four inches at least,” Yrcanos observed.  “I will get it in one moment.  I must rest first.”

“Is not to think you to be the rresting type,” the Voord said frankly.

Yrcanos broke into a wolfish grin.  “I did not win all those battles being an overconfident fool.  I know my limits; when to rest and when to act.”  When he completed the sentence, his countenance turned gradually pensive.  “Except, being with Peri, I realize that one thing I do need to learn is when to fight and when to think.  I never was very good at the thinking part.  Still, she is helping me; giving me inspiration to be smarter to win her love.”

“Women are great for building character,” Leo observed.

“That is why is to stay away frrom them.”

The Voord’s unexpected burst of humor caught Yrcanos by surprise.  He guffawed and gave the Voord a hearty slap on the back.  “Good one, good one.”

“Ssssh!”  Leo hissed.  “Don’t laugh so loud.  It wasn’t that funny.”

Yrcanos’ humor dissolved quickly into annoyance.  “I hate people who say things like that.  They’re just jealous that someone else is enjoying themselves more than they are.”

Leo pointed at the grate.  “Just get back to work.”

Once again, Yrcanos attempted to widen the gap between the bars so that the others could fit through, gritting his teeth along with the exertion.

The Daleks, led by Nyder, crept cautiously into the adjoining ice cavern.  Distrustful of the information granted to them by the Toymaker, they were wary of an ambush and kept their weapons fully charged.  It wasn’t long before their fears were further augmented.

Lying long dead on the slick, uneven floor were the corroded corpses of three Sontaran elite warriors.  Their decaying faces were forever twisted into a horrifying death scream.

Nyder nodded to the Green Dalek by his side.  “What killed him?”

The Green Dalek waved its sucker arm in the air inches above the cadavers.  “They appear to have been brutally stabbed to death.”

“What could have made those wounds?”

“Primitive weapons such as swords, axes, and the like.”

Nyder nodded.   “Whatever killed them will not be able to harm us.  Sontaran fighting ability is nothing next to Dalek combat prowess.”

“True, but we must not let our conceit blind ourselves to extreme danger,” the Green Dalek warned.

“Then we will proceed cautiously.”

 

Ravner slipped his hand under the Red Dalek’s claw arm for support.  When he saw that Forsythe had a good hold on its gun stick, the two of them hoisted the Dalek into the air and loaded it onto a police transport.  Twenty alert officers who watched the Red Dalek suspiciously surrounded the transport. As yet they had no reason to believe it was alive, but they were taking no chances. The police visibly relaxed once the Red Dalek was on board, knowing they would soon be relieved of the burden of guarding it.

When Forsythe released his hold on its whisk-like blaster, he stared at it warily.  “Has it been disarmed?”

Ravner nodded.  “Of course.”

“All the same, it’s best to make certain.”  In one, strong pull, Forsythe wrenched the gun stick from its moorings and tossed it away.  “I wish they’d let us destroy it now just in case it’s still dangerous.”

“I do, too,” Ravner agreed.  “But we have our orders.”

The motionless Dalek sat silently listening to the discussion of its fate.  It had been biding its time waiting for the right moment to strike.  The photo sonic screens in its control chamber lit up a picture of its adversaries via its eye stalk. It watched them with mounting excitement, eagerly anticipating the coming conflict.  When it felt the police were least likely to notice the movement, it craftily prepared to replace the weapon Forsythe had torn out.  From the newly created cavity rose a circular cluster of gun barrels, the Dalek equivalent of a Gatling gun.

Officer Ravner nodded at the driver of the transport, Siron Wolark.  “Take him back to the station.”

Suddenly, the Red Dalek became violently active.  “Look alive, men!”

The Dalek’s Gatling gun began to rotate on its axis, firing intense beams of energy at the police.  Every barrel loaded and shot automatically during each rotation.  The first victim of the bombardment was Forsythe.  The energy sliced through him at close range, sending showers of blood onto Ravner.  Forsythe’s body, mutilated by the barrage, burst apart as it struck the pavement.

All the police opened fire on the Dalek.  It retaliated by sweeping its gun back and forth, mercilessly strafing its adversaries.  Nothing could be heard over the deafening sound of energy to remain inside the transport.  The car shook violently under the assault.  He slouched low in the seat so his head was not so easy a target, and silently attempted to work out a plan of action.  Wolark unbuttoned his holster and withdrew his staser gun, keeping it at ready.

Outside, Ravner took cover behind the underbrush of Gwydion’s house.  He had barely managed to survive the first fusillade, suffering a small but painful wound to the shoulder and a rather substantial gash to his side.  When he saw that the Dalek’s attention was trained on one of the other officers, he emerged from hiding and emptied an entire round of ammunition into the creature.  Though some shots resounded harmlessly off the Red Dalek’s dome others rocked its base.  Five of its sense globes shattered, further disorienting the creature.  In retaliation, it turned and fired at Ravner.

There was a brilliant flash as the ground in front of Ravner exploded.  Razor sharp concrete debris and clumps of earth rained down on Ravner, further slicing up his side.  Near misses knocked huge chunks of brick and mortar off the side of the house.

“You men don’t seem to be enjoying yourselves at all!” the Dalek exclaimed.  “Why ever not?  To me, gratuitous violence is a form of entertainment; it’s one of the occupational fringe benefits of being a Dalek.”

The police were in no position to answer the absurd question.  They found themselves progressively reeling backwards under the Red Dalek’s onslaught. Their predicament worsened as civilians began to materialize on the streets, anxious to discover the cause of the commotion.  Having felt the beams striking his home, one man emerged from indoors furious, ready to reprimand the vandals.  He took one look at the Dalek and fled in terror back into the safety of his home, slamming the door behind him.

One of the beams the officers fired blasted out the transport’s hover engines.   The transport buckled in midair and crashed onto the pavement.  Momentum threw the Dalek forward.  It almost slammed into the ground as well.  At the last instant, it righted itself and used its anti-gravity propulsion system to drift safely to the street below.

At the moment the transport crashed Wolark’s body whiplashed as he was thrown about the driver’s seat.  When the wreck settled, he had to summon the strength to move.  The pain was paralyzing.  Wolark cursed himself for delaying so long in trying to leave.  He had foolishly hoped that, if he’d waited a little, the shooting would ebb and he’d have a safer opportunity to escape.  That opportunity was not forthcoming and he knew that eventually, no matter how armored it was, the car would explode.

Wolark knew he’d have to move with lightning speed and braced himself for the inevitable agony he’d experience.  Taking a deep breath, he threw the car door open and dove outside.  An instant later, a beam struck the door and blasted it off its hinges.  His gun drawn, he rolled off the road and scrambled for the nearest cover. 

Ravner silently cursed the Dalek, vowing to avenge his comrades.  He reached into a pool of blood and snatched up a fallen officer’s abandoned gun.  A series of shots zipped past Ravner’s head and singed the wall behind him.  Ravner turned and poured more bullets into the Dalek.  “Everyone!  Concentrate your fire on its mid-section!  The combined force should get it!”

The Dalek heard the order as well, so it intensified its barrage to prevent any officers from emerging to fire on it.  It couldn’t stop everyone.  Sergeants Blake and Rhack managed to fire simultaneously on the Dalek.  The concentrated fire ripped a hole in the side of the Dalek’s armor.  A small explosion burst forth from within, sending a wave of smoke and fire spewing from the wound.

The severe injury halted the Dalek’s attack long enough for every officer to emerge from hiding and fire at it.  The Dalek’s survival instincts took over.  It knew it would soon be destroyed if it didn’t retreat immediately.  The mutant within pushed its steering mechanism forward, rolling under his direction the metal bearing that moved the Dalek.  Then the Red Dalek began racing from the scene, dodging and weaving past enemy fire.  Individual beams struck it repeatedly, knocking loose more sense globes.  Somehow, it managed to avoid sustaining any more serious injuries as it plowed past the police position and fled down the Shardonian streets.

 

Shortly after the others had disappeared from her sight, Peri stopped by the black metal gate.  The gate’s bars were thin, so she could see clearly into the forbidden landscape.  She sensed, but did not see, a worker stirring off to the right, just out of range of her vision.

Maybe I should try the direct approach, she thought.  “Excuse me!”

The face of an aging man appeared on the other side of the doorway.  Thinning white hair had been pulled back into a pony tail and a five o’clock shadow framed a wrinkled but distinguished face.  His nose was at once wide and slightly crooked and his lips were full and fleshy.  “What do you want?”  He regarded her angrily because she had just disturbed him in the middle of his enterprise.

“I was wondering,” Peri stammered, “if it would be possible to see the grounds you’re working on.”

“Do you have a government pass?”

“Um … no.”
            “Are you a friend or family member of one of the workers?”

“No.”

His wrinkles became more pronounced as his temperament worsened.  “Then what in tarnation are you doing here?  Don’t you know that this area is closed to tourists?”

“But I … I ….”  Peri saw he was about to leave, so she thought fast.  “But I’m not a tourist.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m … I’m an archaeologist.”

“Really?” she reaffirmed.

The man’s face disappeared from view and there was some movement on the other side of the wall.  The gate was unlocked and opened just enough to allow the old man to stand on the threshold.  “Prove it.  Tell me what the Tigellan Dodecahedron is.”

Peri swallowed.  The what?  “Never heard of it,” she admitted.

The old man shook his head.  “That’s what I thought.”  He moved to shut the gate once more.

“Wait!” Peri protested.

“Yes?” he asked impatiently.

“I don’t know much about alien artifacts.  All my knowledge comes from the history of Earth.”

The old man pursed his lips.   “A specialist?  Well, as it happens, I’m from Earth, so you can’t put anything past me.  What was the last expedition you were on?”

“It was with my stepfather, Dr. Howard Foster.  We were in charge of recovering artifacts from the sunken remains of a merchant ship which dated back to ancient Greece.”

“And what did you find?”

“There were the usual cracked pottery pieces and shattered glass vases whose sharp edges were smoothed over by the water.  We found some interesting jewelry.”

“Anything special?”

“There was an almost intact statue of Eros, the god of love and fertility.  Howard identified him first.  I thought he was supposed to be Elton John.”

The older man cracked a smile.  “Elton John was alive long ago, but not that long ago.”

“The weird thing was that we found a device from Trion in the wreckage.”

The old man was incredulous.  “From Trion?”

“Trion,” Peri repeated.  “When I first saw it, I thought it was platinum.  I was kind of disappointed when it wasn’t, to tell you the truth.”

“But how did a Trion artifact get to Earth?”

Peri paused.  “You know, I’m not sure.  There was this whole big thing about exiled political prisoners and the double triangle insignia and the Master and a whole bunch of things.  I’d just had a big emotional shock so I was too busy getting my bearings to really care.”

“I see,” the old man nodded.  He pondered the question of the girl for a moment before continuing the conversation.  Her knowledge was genuine, so it was proof positive that she was familiar with archaeology.  He swung the gate completely open for her to enter.  “Come on in.”

“Don’t I need a pass?”

“Forget the pass.  By the way, I’m Graham.”

“I’m Peri.”

“Oh!  Like the fairy in Persian mythology.”

Peri stopped walking abruptly and her throat caught.

“Something the matter?”

She shook her hand.  “It’s nothing.  Just a bad memory.”

Graham led her around the blocks of earth being excavated by his comrades.  The plots were several square yards wide but only an inch or two deep as the archaeologists systematically examined every granule of dirt for potential information.  Plastic yellow threads roped off these areas.  Safe pathways across them came in the form of wide wooden planks which Peri and her host moved along.  At the moment, only three of the older man’s fellow diggers were working because all of the others had been sensible enough to wait for stronger daylight.

Graham eyed her, mildly astounded by her.  “I never would have pegged you for an archaeologist.”
“Actually, I’m more of a botanist,” she admitted.  “But Howard dragged me along on all of his digs.  I figured I’d have to learn to like archaeology or else I’d wind up sitting in the local Hilton watching re-runs of ‘Car 54 Where Are You?’ for most of my summers.  Not that it was a bad show, mind you, but I’m more of a sightseeing person myself.”

Graham smiled.  “And a talkative person, too.”
            “I’m sorry if I’m boring you, but you’re the first person from Earth I’ve met in ages.  It’s really refreshing.  Finally, somebody I can relate to.”

“It’s alright.”

The two came to an area where the ground was no longer level, but rose up into a steep hill.  “There’s something here I want to show you,” Graham said excitedly.

They came to an area of the hill where the earth fell into a large cavity and all the surrounding grass had either died or been uprooted.  “This was caused by erosion.  It was what first alerted us to the park’s being a potential fountain of knowledge.  A while back, the erosion exposed a buried tablet of yore with archaic lettering carved into it.  It was definitely some form of message, but we couldn’t crack it for the life of us.  So we got a really smart computer person -–Mel, she’s a very nice girl, you’d like her – to have a go at it.  Hasn’t cracked it yet.”

“Where’s the original tablet?”

“It’s not here any more.  We didn’t want to just leave it lying around.  That’s asking for trouble.”  Graham took several cautious steps up the hill until he’d reached the mouth of the hollow.  “What I wanted to show you is in here.”

“The Conscience?”

“Ha!  I wish it were.  But we are close to finding it.  My newest discovery proves it.”

They stepped down into the hollowed out section of the hill into a subterranean shelter that had been brightened by man-made lights.  “This, of course, was dug out after we found the tablet to see if there was anything worth finding.  And there wasn’t … until last night.”

Graham motioned for Peri to follow him deeper into the hollow.  They reached the left wall, which was composed of carved out earth, small rocks, and the roots of plant-life above.  Graham ran his hand along the earth in front of Peri and brushed away a thin layer of fresh dirt.  Underneath, Peri could see a metallic housing, one square foot in size, with a flat metal clamp attached to it.  Held in the grasp of the clamp was a small, glass-like disk.  When Peri squinted at it, she could see a multitude of circuits and filaments enmeshed within the disk.

“Is that a part of the Conscience?”

Graham nodded.  “In a sense.  It was created to be part of the Conscience, but was never actually joined with it.  It’s Arbitan’s anti-immunizer.”

“Does it help people resist the Conscience?”

“It does the exact opposite.  It makes the Conscience impossible to resist, even to a cyborg or an android.”

“So you’re saying Daleks would normally be able to resist the Conscience but, with the anti-immunizer, it can control even them.”
            “Precisely.”

A high-pitched beeping sound emitted from Graham’s wrist communicator.  He lifted it up to his full lips and spoke into it.  “Yes?”

A voice came through the communicator that was amplified just a little too loud to be comfortable for Peri to listen to.  “It’s Mel.  I’ve brought somebody with me who wants to have a look around.”

“My, today is our day for tourists.  I’m in the hollow.  I’ll be right out to meet you.  And boy, have I got a surprise for you.”  Graham glanced at Peri.  “If you want to look around a bit more, you can.  I’ll be right back.  Just don’t touch anything.”

“I won’t.  Oh!  If you bump into three lost souls who look like they’re from Oz, they’re friends of mine.  Could you let them in if they’re looking for me?”

“Alright, but I can’t have an army of people running around here.  We’re doing delicate work, you know.”

“I know.”

The wrist communicator crackled into life again.  Mel’s voice spoke up.  “My friend wants to know who’s with you.”

“Just another archaeologist from Earth.  Her name’s Peri.”  Graham trudged back outside the hollow as he replied, leaving Peri alone with the anti-immunizer.

She observed the component, wondering what she should do.  Should she steal the component and make a break for it?  While she had lots of experience running from cops and had become rather good at it, the fear of being arrested was one that never diminished much for her.  But was stealing it a chance she had to take?  According to Leo, the fates of peoples’ lives depended on her actions.  For all she knew, the entire situation was an elaborate con engineered by Leo for his own nefarious purposes to trick her into doing something dangerous.  She’d just met the man and already he was leading her into uncertain waters.  He knew too much about her and she too little about him for her to trust him as much as she’d like.

“Peri?”

Peri’s body went numb.  She eased herself slowly around to see who had arrived at the entrance to the hollow.  She gave a sharp intake of breath.  It was him.