Chapter Twenty

 

            The windswept wastelands of Gallifrey – in some regions sandy and desert-like while in others not unlike an endless rock quarry – saw the appearance of a ghostly circle of crackling blue energy.  A bright flash of color emanated from the disturbance.  When it subsided, it left six figures marooned on the wasteland.

            Gusts of wind tore relentlessly into the disoriented people.  They were feeling weak and sick, a consequence of passing through the time dilation of the ancient Shardonian transporter.  Mel tried to maintain balance by grabbing onto Ravner, but only succeeded in pulling him down with her. 

            They managed to untangle themselves soon enough and climbed to their feet. Steadying themselves at last, they got a good look at their brutal surroundings.  Once the disorientation passed, the swearing, complaining, and tales of owe weren’t far behind.

            Peri was the first to bring out the violin.  “I don’t believe this.  This isn’t happening.  Where the hell are we?”

            “It seems wherever the transporter sent us,” Matrisa deduced.

            “Oh,” Peri replied sarcastically.  “I see.  And just where is that?”

            Matrisa accessed the personal directional pathways in her programmed brain.  When she discovered their location, she looked at Peri.  “You know of the planet as Gallifrey, your Doctor’s home world.”

            Peri regarded the surroundings in a new light.  “I didn’t realize he was born on such an ugly planet.  Hmph.  No wonder he took me to see so many barren worlds.  They reminded him of home – a planet that’s one large armpit.”

            Mel noticed an object to their left.  Laying on its side with another large dent added to the collection of blemishes on its outer casing was the Red Dalek.  Once again, it was unconscious and even more rabaged than before.

            “Is it still alive?”

            Leo gave the Red Dalek a sharp kick.  “Dead.  I hope.”

            “I am always one to make certain.”  Matrisa fired off three blasts at the Dalek, blowing gaping holes into its side.

            “So now what?” asked Peri sourly.

            Leo smiled at Peri.  “I understand you’re distraught.  I am too.  But I’m also glad we survived the battle.  Try to focus on that if it’s any consolation.”

            “It isn’t,” replied Peri, “but thanks for trying.”

            “He doesn’t even care about the battle’s outcome!”  Mel burst out unexpectedly.  She glared at Leo while directing her comments at the others.  “Doesn’t care who lives or dies.  All he’s interested in is saving his mistress.  To him this is all just a diversion until he finally meets that Toymaker person!”

            Leo felt unbelievably low and couldn’t bring himself to respond.  He knew there was a degree of truth in what sh said.  Perhaps more.

            Matrisa defended Leo’s position.  “We have always made our priorities clear.  The presence of the Daleks does not alter the fact that the Toymaker is the real menace here.  Nevertheless, that does not mean we lack feelings for your plight.”

            Matrisa’s coldly logical response served only to make Mel even more violent.  “See what I mean?  Our plight! Not theirs!  They don’t even see themselves as involved.”

            “You are acting hysterically,” Matrisa rebuked.  “Be silent or I will render you unconscious.”

            “Please, Mel,” Peri soothed.  “You know as well as I do that Leo and Matrisa are just trying to help us.”

            Mel dried her eyes with her hands.  “I suppose.”  She took a moment to compose herself.  After a long sigh, she looked awkwardly in Leo and Matrisa’s direction.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  I’m just … not feeling very well now.”

            “None of us are.”  Matrisa ran a hand along her shoulder and her side.  Both areas were severly damaged by Dalek gunfire.  Exposed circuitry and program chips crackled as small wisps of smoke drifted up from them.  “Try to remember that.”

            “Matrisa,” Leo warned.  “Mel is apologizing.”

Matrisa’s eyes darkened.  “Then I accept the apology.”

Leo smiled benignly at Mel.  “Alright.  Let’s put all that behind us.  What do you suggest we do, Mel?”

“It’s certainly better we start moving rather than mope around waiting to die of starvation.”  The degree of self-reproach in her voice was unmistakable.

“Sounds sensible,” Leo added.

Matrisa pointed mortheast.  “I detect a structure five point seventy-three miles in that direction.”

“’Into the valley of death ride the six hundred,’” Leo quoted in an attempt to be humorous.  It failed utterly.

Moments after they started off, the weather changed drastically.  The wind died unexpectedly and the sky brightened.  And so, the climate became much warmer.  It wasn’t long before the presence of the sun was foremost on their minds.  Mel could feel the hot sand seeping into her shoes.  She was perspiring heavily and had a hard time keeping her footing.  For most of the journey she faced the chore of either trudging up the side of a tall dune or slipping down a steep side.

For miles they hiked over the horrible landscape.  Once the Citadel came into view, it acted like a beacon of safety to the exhausted travelers, so they hastened their pace to get there faster.  Another part of the motivation to move quickly was the hope that the Gallifreyans could stop the Daleks.  Blissfully unaware that they missed the invasion by several months, they also had no idea of the exact outcome of the battle they had just deserted (although they had noticed before they transported out that the good guys weren’t doing very well).  Fortunately for them, they discovered the bad news before entering the Citadel.

Just as they were about to reach the main Gateway of the structure, the massive metal doors began to part.  Caution suddenly overcoming Leo, he urged everyone to take cover behind a nearby dune. They didn’t see the need for such pussyfooting around, but Leo was adamant.  Luckily, his overcautious nature finally acted to their advantage.

Much to their horror, three Imperial Daleks emerged from the Citadel.  At first, the five travelers assumed their presence had been discovered and that the Daleks had been sent to kill them.  However, the Daleks gave no indication that they were aware of Leo’s entourage.  Instead, the creatures went about their task.

The Daleks carried between them a metal slab six square feet in size.  Lying piled up on the slab like discarded laundry were over a dozen nude Gallifreyan corpses.  The bodies were hard to see clearly, but they seemed to have a mouldy green substance growing out of their faces and extremities.  Some of them were so mutated that they no longer appeared humanoid in shape but squid-like in form with an incandescent emerald fungus for skin.

The Daleks approached a large ditch that had apparently been dug for them earlier.  They stood by the edge of the crater, dangling the slab over it. With a twist of their sucker arms, they tilted the slab.  The corpses slid off the metal sheet and dropped to the bottom of the ditch with nauseating thudding sounds.

Repulsed by the sight, the hidden witnesses turned their eyes away.  Only Matrisa watched the Daleks dispatch the bodies.  Since she too was an android, their total disrespect for the dead did nothing to disturb her.  She merely observed the ritualistic way in which the Daleks used a portable force field to cover over the ditch with dirt and sand.

Once the earth had been smoothed over, and indications of the grave’s existence were eliminated, the Daleks turned around and trundled back inside the Citadel, leaving the doors unlocked.

The burial was over.

“How horrible,” Mel whimpered.

Leo put a reassuring arm around her shoulder.  “I know,” he said quietly.

“How could the Daleks have gotten here before us?” Ravner mused.

Matrisa took another reading from her inner computer.  “Do you want a comprehensive answer?”

“Just give it to me in English.”

“It seems we have altered our natural temporal position.  We have been propelled several months in the future.  Exactly how much time has passed since the conflict, I have as yet been unable to calculate.”

“What does that mean?” asked Ravner.  “How could we have traveled through time?   We came here by transporter, not the TARDIS.”

“The transporter must have had a time dilation mechanism.”

“Of course,” Ravner replied, none the wiser.

Understanding his lack of comprehension, Matrisa attempted to elaborate.  “Because the journey from Shardonia to Gallifrey is so great, it is usually incomprehensibly too far for a mere transporter to send people. Aside from range difficulty, such a far transport would take months.  With a time dilation, the range isn’t a problem.  Time is.  The journey still takes months, but the transporter warps ime within its own field so that those transported make the trip instantly and do not age.”

“Please, don’t try to explain.”  Ravner looked back at Leo.  “I don’t know why I bother speaking to this woman.  Ask a simple question and you get a dissertation.”

“I was merely trying to answer your question to your full satisfaction,” Matrisa protested.

“Do you think we should sneak in?” Leo asked.

“Are you crazy?” protested Peri.  “The place is probably loaded up with Daleks.”

“Would you rather stay out here?”

“Yes!”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.  You’ll die out here.”

“I’ll die in there.”

“Well, Leo snorted.  “I’m goiong in.  Who’s with me?”

Everyone else chose reluctantly to enter the Citadel.  Not wanting to remain outside alone, their actions forced Peri to go along with them.

Ravner stopped short suddenly.  “Wait a minute!”  He fished around in his pocket, searching for something.  “Ah!” His hand emerged holding a triangular object with glowing alien digits set into it.  It was the component the Doctor had removed from the Red Dalek back at Gwydion’s house.  He glanced at Mel.  “Didn’t the Doctor say this contained the ‘Dalek identification code’?”

“Yes.  What do you suppose it could be used for?”

Ravner shrugged.  “Maybe if we’re caught this could get us out of trouble.  We could pretend to be authorized personnel, or something.”

“Good thinking.”  Matrisa nodded.  “But there’s one small flaw in your plan.”

“What’s that?”

Matrisa pointed to her chest.  “That pass won’t cover me.”

“Why?” asked Leo.

“In the past, the Daleks have worked with human assistants.  Therefore, you have hald a chance that you will be accepted.  Such is not the case with me.”

Peri slapped her forehead.  “Of course!  There’s no way a Movellan would be considered ‘authorized personnel’ in a Dalek stronghold.  It’s like allowing a Soviet access to top secret Pentagon files.”

Mel and Ravner were perplexed by the analogy seeing as how the Soviet Union back on Earth had been dissolved for centuries, but they simply chalked it up as another of Peri’s eccentricities.

Matrisa nodded.  “Precisely.  I will wait out here.”

Leo folded his arms in front of his chest.  “We’re not going in without you.”

“The decision is not yours to make.  My presence will put you in even greater danger.  You will be in enough as it is.”  Matrisa removed a small computer chip from the handle of her weapon and handed it to Leo.  “Take this.  If you are exposed, use this to summon me.  I will find you and do what I can to rescue you.  As of now, though, I am staying.”

Realizing it was a wise one, Leo accepted her decision.  They all shook hands with her good-bye and headed for the entrance to the Citadel.  Matrisa stood watching until they disappeared from sight behind the double doors.  When they were gone, she walked off to find somewhere to conceal herself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                      Chapter Twenty-one

 

“… and the rest you know,” Peri finished.  She looked across the table at the brown-haired Doctor, searching his expression for a reaction.  The only response she read in his features was pensiveness.

Surrounding both of them were Leo, Ravner, and Mel, who had all contributed their experiences to the overall story Peri had told the Doctor. Their amateur war conference had been held amidst the luxury of the Lord President’s private chambers that Ravner had unwittingly acquired for them. 

The Doctor sat there, silently reviewing the facts.  There were numerous and startling, and yet he was in total control, approaching the problem using logic.  The tale they spun had exaggerated, emotional, and disjointed as narrators switched and storyteller’s objected to one another’s interpretation of events.  Much senseless bickering on the part of the narrators constantly interrupted the flow of the yarn and stretched it to a length of five hours. However, all this aside, the Doctor was able to make sense of all the events and conversations related to him.  Mentally, during the silence that followed, the Doctor organized the conglomeration of information into a discernible order.

The Doctor rubbed his mouth with an open hand.  “Go on.”

Peri shrugged.  “There isn’t much more to tell.  Once we entered the Citadel, Ravner produced our identification for Castellan Spandrel and Chancellor Goth.  Almost immediately after, they gave us a place to wash up and offered us new clothing from the wardrobe.  Then we were led here, to the Lord President’s private quarters.”

“How did you manage to evict Madame President from her quarters?”

“It seems,” explained Leo, “that we are considered of a higher ranking than the president and we are entitled to the best quarters Gallifrey can offer.”

Ravner looked downcast.  “If the Daleks now rule Gallifrey as a result of the Conscience, then that must mean the battle on Shardonia was lost.  Everyone who fought there was probably massacred by the Daleks.”

“Try not to think about it, old chap.”  The Doctor folded his hands across his chest.  “With any luck, more people survived than you think.  Anywhow, now that you all have been kind enough to fill me in on what happened to you, I must tell you what I know.”

The Doctor then proceeded to relate to them his story.  He covered his arrival on Gallifrey, the abandoning of the Citadel, the brainwashing of the Prydonian woman, and the details of his subsequent capture and imprisonment.  The others listened intently, absorbing the full horror of what it meant for the Daleks to have won.  It disturbed Ravner, who never had a real conception of what the Conscience was capable of, especially.  Before he had difficulty seeing it as anything more than a mysterious hund of junk machinery that had been buried in ice for centuries.  Now he saw things in a new light.

When the Doctor gave them all the details he could think of, Leo raised his paw like a student would to attract a teacher at school.  “One question, if I may?”

The Doctor smiled at him.  “Go right ahead.”

“That Prydonian woman you told us about.”

“Yes?”

“Why would the Daleks need to put a control device in her head if they had the Conscience of Shardonia?”

Mel, being the resident expert on the Conscience, spoke.  “Because its effects last only so long as the Conscience is nearby.  If the Daleks ever removed it from Gallifrey to use on another planet, the Gallifreyans would regain their independence.  To prevent this, the Daleks surgically implanted pacification rods in the heads of the Gallifreyans while the Conscience was still on the planet.”

Ravner shook his head.  “I’ve never felt so powerless in all my life.  While the Daleks are running amok about the cosmos ll we’re able to do is sit here talking.  The odds are so against us it isn’t funny.”

“My dear fellow,” the Doctor grinned.  “I’m at my best when the odds are totally against me.”

“Then what do we do?” Mel asked.

“As the trite saying goes, ‘Knowledge is power’.  Your lot never actually saw how the battle ended.  You were transported away before it was resolved.  If we find out from the Dalek records exactly how the fight was lost, then we may have a better chance of altering the outcome.”

“Then what?”

“That’s simple.  We reclaim my TARDIS and get out of here.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Don’t be deceived.  Even if we manage to rescue the TARDIS, we still have a problem.”

“What problem?” Leo asked.

“I have to deduce the precise time you left Shardonia, which is a very difficult operation.  I’ll have trouble steering the TARDIS accurately.”

“Why?”

“When I was in my TARDIS en route to Gallifrey, the TARDIS began to buck violently.  Because the disturbance passed quickly, I dismissed it as one of the many strange quirks that plague the TARDIS during travel.  Now I realize what caused the temporal turbulence.”

“I’m not going to ask,” Ravner promised, unsuccessfully hiding an inquiry in the declaration.

“The TARDIS was accidentally thrust into an alternate time line that I don’t belong in.  None of us belong here.  What we are in now,” the Doctor gestured grandly with his long arms, “is a possible future.  It is a future that will become reality if we don’t go back in time and win the battle the Shardonians lost.”

“I don’t understand,” Ravner blinked.

“The battle fought on Shardonia was vital to the shaping of history.  It was the pivotal moment that decided the destiny of the Daleks. At the second the Shardonians lost, the Daleks became all powerful and this reality was created.  Had our side won, none of this reality would be.  We would be standing on Gallifreyan soil dominated by Gallifreyans – such as they are.”

“Alternate reality?” Peri asked.  “Didn’t I see that once on ‘Star Trek’?  There were evil crew members from another dimension, and I remember Bad Spock had a goatee.”

The Doctor nodded.  “That’s what I’m talking about.  I must return all of us to the instant this reality was created.  If I don’t go back far enough, we will materialize in this reality again.  On the other hand, if I go back too far … well, you see what I’m up against.”

“What if you destroyed the Conscience before the Daleks even found it?” inquired Ravner.  “Then nobody hs to die in the fight later on.”

The Doctor nodded at Peri.  “Tell him.”

Peri paused.  “Well … it will create a … time loop, is it?”

“Yes,” answered the Doctor.

Peri found herself struggling to explain.  “If the battle never happened, then we’d never get sent here to Gallifrey, and then we’d never be able to prevent the battle.  So, if we don’t prevent the battle, the battle happens, then we get sent to Gallifrey.  But, if we’re sent to Gallifrey, then we can go back and prevent the battle.  If we prevent the battle, then we can’t get sent to Gallifrey.  And, if we can’t get sent to Gallifrey, we can’t prevent the battle.  If we can’t –“

“Okay!” Ravner smiled.  “I understand.”

“We’ll worry about that when we get to the TARDIS,” the Doctor said to prevent any further discussion on the time loop theory.  “Have any of you had the opportunity to look around the Citadel?”

Mel nodded.  “Leo, Ravner, and I looked around, but we didn’t see anything.”

The Doctor put a finger to his lips.  “That’s because you didn’t break into the doors marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’.  That’s ‘where the action is’, as Peri would say.  I intend to go sneaking where I don’t belong to see if I can gather any more ammunition.”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” asked Leo.

“Most certainly.”

“Then let me come with you.”

“No. None of you can come with me yet.  I’m an escaped criminal.  They can never see us together, or it will destroy your cover.”

Peri began to protest.  “But –“

“No.  You all get some rest.  You’ll need it.”

“We can’t sleep at a time like this,” Ravner adde.

“Trust me.  After all you’ve been through, you’ll drop.  If not for any other reason, you’ll sleep from sheer exhaustion.  Maybe in the morning, after you’re invigorated, you’ll be less quarrelsome.”  The Doctor fished a deck or cards out of his pocket and tossed it at Mel.  “If you can’t sleep, play a bit of this to take your mind off of your problems.”

“Thanks,” Mel smiled.

Leo stared at the Doctor and shook his head.  “I still don’t believe you’re the same Doctor I met on Shardonia.  You’re far too amicable.  The Doctor I know doesn’t have half your charisma.”
            “I don’t know whether to be complimented or insulted.”  The Doctor rose.  “Right.  I’m off.”

“Be careful,” Peri urged.

The Doctor smiled broadly.  “I’m always careful.”

 

“I am not happy.”

Madame President Allene Varalla looked down on Chancellor Goth and Castellan Spandrel.  Both men were too ashamed of their actions to look her in the eyes.

Allene sucked her teeth and began walking in small circuits around the two men.  “The Emissaries, four of the highest ranking Imperials in our empire, arrive on Gallifrey.  You do not inform me of their arrival.  You do not inform the Blue Dalek.  Instead, in an effort to impress them and to further your own political careers, you attempt to cater to their needs without assistance from the proper rulers of Gallifrey.  And what occurs in the process?”  Allene stopped in front of Castellan Spandrel.  “Answer me.”

Spandrel screwed up his eyes to look at Madame President.  “You and the Blue Dalek look negligent.”

“Indeed we do.”

Goth spoke up.  “It was not our intention to offend you, my lady.  We knew the Emissaries’ arrival had gone unnoticed so, in our haste to please them, we did not have opportunity to inform you of their presence until after they got settled.”

“Ah!” Allene smiled darkly.  “I’m glad you brought that up.  It brings me to my next complaint with you.  Where exactly did they wind up getting settled?”

Goth knew he was in for it.  “In your quarters,” he mumbled.

“Where?”

“In your quarters.”

“In my quarters.”
            Goth shifted from one foot to the other.

“Where did you intend for me to sleep tonight?”

Goth drew himself up to his full height and said as bravely as he could: “I didn’t think you’d mind.  It is a great honor to have your room slept in by the Emissaries.”

Allene buried her face in her hands, exasperated.  “As always, you miss the point.  I wonder if you have any idea the sort of impression the Emissaries must now have of you.  Of Gallifrey.  Of me!  First I appear to ignore them, then some of my subordinates give away my home without consulting me!  How insane is that?”

Spandrel stepped forward.  “But if you’ll only try to understand the position we were in!”

“Silence!”  Allene whipped a high powered gun from out of her belt compartment.  Spandrel tried to dodge the shot but was too slow for her.  Heat energy lashed out of the gun and struckf the Time Lord.  His shrill screams were cut off when his head disintegrated with the rest of his body.

Allene whirled on Goth, pointing the gun at him.   The moment before she was about to shoot him, thegun flew from her hands, across the room, into the grasp of the Blue Dalek.  It had used its sucker arm to disarm Allene from a distance, thereby saving Goth’s life.

Allene glared at the Blue Dalek.  “Why do you interrupt me?”

The Blue Dalek glided forward.  “I have just arrived, so I do not know what is happening.  I am uncertain whether the actions of these men warrants such a violent response.”

Goth’s body bent slightly forward, shaking, as sweat rolled down his forehead.

Allene strode up to the Blue Dalek.  “Do you know how these fools acted upon the arrival of the Emissaries?”

“These are the men who welcomed them and didn’t alert us to their presence?”

“Yes.”

“Then I understand your distress.  I was not pleased when I discovered they have already been here several hours.  It makes me seem incompetent.”

“That’s what I said.”

The Blue Dalek paused.  “I suppose you were right to kill Spandrel. Still, spare Goth for the moment.”

Goth bowed.  “Thank you, oh Great One.”

Allene scowled at him.  “Don’t simper.”

“Yes, madame.”

“Leave,” the Blue Dalek ordered, “before we change our minds.  Hopefully, you will learn from this lesson not to goover our heads again.”

Goth froze.  He had made one other decision that day without consulting the Blue Dalek.  Should he own up to it now or hope the Dalek never finds out?  He took one look at Allene’s weapon and decided to leave as quickly as possible.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                Chapter Twenty-two

 

It was the dead of night.  Runcible slipped quietly into his home, trying not to awaken his wife, Jesania.  He hadn’t gotten more than a foot into the room when the lights came on.  There stood Jesania, her arms crossed in front of her chest and a frown on her face.

“And just where have you been until this hour of the night?”

Runcible grinned sheepishly.  “I was on business for the Blue Dalek.”

Jesania’s head tilted to the left.  “And I’m the Lord President.”

“Fine,” Runcible sneered.  “Don’t believe me.  I have work to do.  If you aren’t going to do anything more than get in my way, why don’t you go to sleep?”

He tried to evade her by entering his study, but the furious woman marched after him, complaining about how dinner had been spoiled and how worried she’d been about him.  At the moment, Runcible didn’t care at all for her feelings.  He was far more concerned with the information he might have uncovered.  Ignoring Jesania, he activated his personal computer, ran the program in question, and watched as text scrolled down the screen.

Further enraged by his lack of concern, Jesania reached down and turned off the computer.  “You will listen to me!” 

Runcible stared stupidly at the blank screen.  Several seconds passed before he rose slowly and turned to look at his wife.  “Do you,” he began slowly, “have any idea what you might have just done?”

Jesania smiled darkly at him.  “I don’t care, really.”

Runcible began to advance menacingly at her.  “This was the culmination of over seven hours work!  You just ruined my entire day!”

“Good.”

That was not the right thing to say to Runcible.  He glared at her, shaking with anger.  “I would like you to leave me now.”

Jesania studied his twisted features.  She knew he was too passive to do anything physically to her, but was disturbed nevertheless.  Her own anger dissolving into intimidation, she nodded reluctantly and backed out of the room, leaving her husband alone.

When she had gone, Runcible shut and locked his study door behind her.  He then sat down at his computer to see if there was anything left to salvage.  Relief filled him when he discovered his idiot wife had not erased all the information.  It was still there.

He had spent months trying to gain access to the Doctor’s TARDIS.  He felt it was a veritable fountain of information seeing as how the Doctor had been an explorer for so many years.  The TARDIS log, the Doctor’s personal diary, and the central database could conceivably give him enough material for years of Public Register Specials.  Provided, of course, it was politically correct to show.  He couldn’t display anything contrary to popular Dalek teaching.

At last, today, he had his wish.  Seeing no harm in it, Chancellor Goth had granted him access to the machine.  Runcible and his camera technician spent the evening attaching a transmitter to the TARDIS’ central console.  It had been programmed to send all information the Doctor accumulated over the centuries into Runcible’s home computer.  Runcible grinned at the fountain of information filling his computer to overflowing.  What should he access first?

“Access all information know about the Doctor.”

“Parameters are too broad.  Specify.”

“History of relationship with his home planet.”

“Accessing,” the computer announced.  “Ready.   Be aware there are gaps in the data.”

“Noted.”

The computer went on to give, in detail, the Doctor’s history.  It listed his possession of the Hand of Omega, his theft of the Type Forty TARDIS he now used, and his trial and exile to Earth.  All of these confirmed the general suspicion that the Doctor was an all-around terrible person.  And yet, the Doctor’s record seemed to glow from the time he was pardoned.  In a short span of time, he saved Gallifrey from Omega and prevented nuclear war on Earth.

Then the computer recounted the unthinkable.  “In this next encounter with the Gallifreyans, the Doctor was enlisted in a special mission to prevent the creation of the Daleks.  He then – “

“Wait!” Runcible shouted.

“Yes?”

“Access all the linformation on the attempt at genocide.”

The computer buzzed for an instant.  “The attempt at altering the course of history was always considered morally questionable.  It was later deemed illegal by the High Council.  The Time Lord who forced the Doctor to participate in it was a maverick and was executed for the crime.  The Doctor was released with impunity.”

Runcible was horrified at what he’d been hearing.  “Why would anyone want to harm the Daleks?”

The computer accessed further.  “The Time Lords had discovered a possible future where the Daleks produce an ultimate weapon which they use to enslave hundreds of populated worlds.  A large percentage of the universe fell under their control and remained there.  It seemed the weapon prevented all uprisings by mentally brainwashing the masses.  Since the Daleks were deemed by all the known universe to be evil, ruthless, and totally devoid of conscience, the Celestial Intervention Agency decided they were unfit to rule so many galaxies unchallenged.”

Runcible fell to his knees in front of the computer.  “It can’t be true.”

“It is,” the computer confirmed.

A light, hesitant tapping came at Runcible’s door.  Jesania’s voice wavered a little behind it.  “Runcible, dear?  Are you all right?  I thought I heard you shout.”

“Go away, Jesania!” he barked.  “I don’t want to see you now!”

Her voice lowered to a wounded whisper.  “Very well.”

Runcible rested on the floor for a full five minutes without moving.  He rubbed his temples, feeling a strong headache coming on.  Sadness and confusion gripped him.  Could the beings he had placed so much trust and loyalty in be so corrupt?  Could the Daleks really be such horrible creatures?  It couldn’t be true. 

Resolving himself to see the problem through, Runcible clutched the table and helped himself back into his chair.

“Alright computer,” he growled.  “What other surprises do you have for me?”

The ruined hulk of metal that was the Red Dalek rolled over in the dust.  It lay rotting under the eerie light of the Gallifreyan moon as wind whipped past its battered armor.  Wasteland sand had half-buried the Dalek by the time it cam to.  It had survived only be re-routing power to its reserve life-support systems.  However, they only had a limited life to them.  If the Red Dalek was not repaired within a certain number of hours, its reserve systems would shut down and it would die.

Using its anti-grav engines, the Red Dalek managed, with considerable effort, to right itself.  Its bent eye stalk scanned the region, trying to discern its location.  “It is hot.  It is very hot.  It is so hot that it seems cold.  Unless, it really is cold.  Or maybe it is warm.”  The Dalek looked down.  “It is definitely sandy.  Five liters of sand got in holes in my armor.  It’s rustling around in there.”

Hearing the harsh crack of thunder, it added, “It is thunderous.  So it is cold, hot, thunderous, and has lots of sand.  No.  I do not know what I am saying.  How can it be both cold and hot at the same time?”

The Dalek rebuked itself for behaving so irrationally.  It once again examined its readings.  This time it interpreted the information correctly.  “It is an arid, desert climate.  Occasional thunder provides a scary atmosphere.  Yes.  That computes.  But what planet am I on?  Not Shardonia.  Maybe Earth.  Arizona.”
            The Dalek surveyed the area with its long-range sensors.  A large construct was situated several miles away in a northeastern direction.  Another large structure stood far beyond it.  The Dalek could not detect any life radiating from the second building, so it decided not to go there.  There were no other buildings for several hundred miles. 

“Yes.  I am in Arizona.”

The Red Dalek proceeded to shut down all non-essential systems to conserve power.  Even essential systems, such as digestive and excretory, were deactivated until they were needed.  The Dalek then proceeded to move slowly in the direction of the Citadel, hesitant to move more than one kilometer an hour due to increased energy loss.  Fears as to its mental state were even more prevalent at this time than before.  Since the Red Dalek had no idea where it was, it worried that the landscape didn’t really exist, but was the product of a disturbed imagination.  Trying to curb such counter-productive thoughts, the Dalek rode off along the moonlit dunes in search of civilization.

 

Runcible’s mind was troubled by doubts.  Finding himself unable to get any rest, he decided his only recourse was to inform the Blue Dalek of his mental disorder and have his mind healed by the Cleansing Chamber.  He stepped off of the lift onto the level of the Citadel that was the center of activity for the Daleks.  It was here that he hoped to obtain assistance.

As Runcible rounded the last corner, his mouth dropped in astonishment.  He recovered quickly from his surprise and ducked out of sight, carefully observing what had so startled him.  It was the Doctor. That renegade Time Lord was lurking about in a restricted area.  The Doctor’s gaze searched up and down the halls to see if his presence had been detected.  Failing to notice Runcible, and thinking he was unobserved, the Doctor paused by two massive doors marked “NO ENTRY”.

He raised his sonic screwdriver to the control paney by the doors and proceeded to trip the locking mechanism.  Moments later, the double doors glided apart allowing the Doctor access.  With a mischievous grin, the Doctor stole into the chamber.

Runcible hesitated a few seconds before pursuing the Doctor.  Stepping into the room, Runcible found himself unable to make out any detail.  That room, like most other rooms used only by the Daleks, was obscured in darkness.  Objects blended in with the empty space.  One thing he could see clearly was the outline of a doorway leading into another room.  The reporter put his gloved hand out in front of him and felt his way through the chamber.

As he moved towards the doorway leading to the adjoining room, oises drifted to his ears.  There was a wide range of sounds and all of them awful.  From one side of the room came grotesque bubbling and gurgling sounds.  At the other end came sounds that would have been screams of agony and despair if they were louder than a whisper.

A long, orange object appeared in front of his face.  “Carrot?  They’re excellent for night vision.”

Runcible turned his head and found himself looking into the deep blue eyes of the Doctor.  He was at a loss for words.  The Doctor interpreted the lack of response as a “No” and began to eat thecarrot himself.

“Doctor …,” was all Runcible could manage.

“Yes?”

“Why are you in here?”

The Doctor shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Why are you in here?”

“I followed you.”
            “That isn’t an answer.”  The Doctor’s voice lost all trace of flippancy.  His expression became grave as the tone of the conversation took an unexpectedly grim turn.  “But enough of that.  Do you know what this place is?”

“How can I if I can’t see anything?” protested Runcible.  Although he didn’t completely trust the Doctor, he couldn’t bring himself to detain his old Academy friend.

“Davros has initiated his master plan.  He calls it the ‘Destiny of the Daleks’.  The contents of these rooms are dedicated to the culmination of that destiny.”

“And what is their destiny?”

“You tell me.”

“To bring enlightenment to all non-Dalek lifeforms.”

“No,” the Doctor frowned.  “They don’t care one jot for non-Dalek lifeforms.  To them, anyone who is not a Dalek is not alive.  Humanoids are just rodents to be exterminated.” 

“Beware, Doctor.  Think who it is you address.”

Contempt crept into the Doctor’s voice.  “I address a meek, fatuous little man whose life is nearing its end.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What do you think the Daleks have in store for you?  Do you really think they’ll let you go on living the way you are now?”

“I will live any way they wish me to.”

“Then let me make it clear what they wish.  They will only accept you as fully alive when you mutate into a tentacled blob with green, mucus-coated skin.  What little brain you currently have left will fall under the influence of a microcomputer obsessed with slaughter and conquest.”

Runcible clamped his hands over his ears, trying to block out the Doctor’s voice.  “You are speaking lies!”

“I am speaking of your future and the future of all Time Lords!  Of countless worlds and the innocent people who inhabit them!”

“Be quiet!”

“I am speaking of the true destiny of the Daleks as Davros sees it.”  The Doctor continued solemnly.  “To become the only living race in the whole of existence.”

“Silence!”

The Doctor waited a moment to allow Runcible to calm down.  Then he continued in a gentler voice.  “Do you know what this room is?”
            The respite had done nothing to comfort Runcible.  “Do not speak!”

“Do you know?” the Doctor urged.

Runcible pressed his palms tighter against his ears.  “I am not listening to you.”

The Doctor tore Runcible’s hands free.  “You will listen.  Listen!  Do you hear those sounds?”

“I don’t want to!” Runcible bit his lip, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Please.  For your own sake and for Jesania’s.  Listen.”

Defeated, Runcible gave in and listened so long as it would get the Doctor to leave him alone.

“Hear those sounds.”

“Yes,” he whimpered.

“Describe them.”

Runcible paused.  “They sound like … muted screams.”

“That’s exactly what they are.”  The Doctor released him.  “Follow me.  I will show you what the Daleks are really up to on our world.”

He led Runcible across the threshold into the next room.  While it was still pitch dark, Runcible felt them all around him.

Using his keen eyesight, the Doctor led Runcible down an unseen staircase into the midst of all the activity.  When they reached the base of the stairs, the Doctor’s hands felt for the light switch.  “Prepare yourself for a shock, Runcible.”  He pulled the switch.  Eerie red lights flickered on, illuminating the vast plant.

The sight immediately nauseated Runcible.  Feeling as if he were about to vomit, Runcible clutched his stomach.  Directly in front of him stood a glass jar filled with a clear, churning liquid.  Immersed in the liquid was one of the vilest things he had ever seen.  It was little more than a twitching, brain-like mass of green flesh.  Three tentacles lashed lazily about the water and its skin pulsated as it moved.  Oblivious to Runcible’s presence, it purred and gurgled contentedly in its habitat.  Runcible had no idea the Daleks looked so horrible underneath their battle casing. Looking about, he realized the creature was not alone.  There were hundreds of those incubating mutants lined up in rows about the left side of the room.

“I suppose,” intoned the Doctor, “that you’re wondering where these things come from.”

Runcible looked away from the vile creatures in the jars.  “Not particularly.”

“As I suspected.”  The Doctor walked past seven rows of the incubating creatures, beckoning Runcible to join him.  “But it is best you know.  The answer lies over here.”

Runcible reluctantly joined the Doctor on the other side of the vast chamber.  There were rows there also but this time, instead of jars, plain white tables were spread along the chamber.  The Doctor had stopped by one of the tables, looking down on it.  Laying on her back, stretched out over the table, was a Prydonian woman.  The Doctor recognized her as the person he met on the queue outside the Cleansing Chamber.  She was the one he saw the Daleks brainwash with the pacification device.  Sadly, she was not the same woman he remembered.  In place of her regal, elegant form was a grotesquely disfigured body.

Shrunken to half their size and width, her arms had begun withering away like gnarled tree branches.  In similar condition, both her legs had turned completely green and a coating of glistening mucus was forming around them.  Her chest had sunken flat and her ribcage appeared to be straining to burst free of her emerald skin.

Her nose had collapsed into a small, wrinkled mound of tissue that flapped as she breathed.  The lower halves of her ears were dissolved, the tops dangling loosely from the sides of her lopsided head.  Her lips had grown together, sealing off half her mouth.  The half of the mouth that was still open displayed loose and decaying grey teeth.  Saliva escaped from the opening, dripping down peeling and discolored skin.

She was turning into a Dalek.

She became aware of the two men standing over her.  Her glazed eyes opened and stared out vaguely into space.

Runcible could tell, by the way she looked around, that she had been blinded.  She attempted to communicate but, because of her closed-up mouth, was only able to make fearful, frustrated gargling sounds.  The strain of moving at all had become too painful for her.  Low, distorted moans drifted from her throat.  Abandoning hope, she slumped back into a motionless position.  Tears welled up in her eyes and slid down her temples.

Her tears were mirrored in Runcible’s eyes.  Instead of repulsion, he looked on the tormented woman with compassion.  Rage at those who had done this to her built up within him.  “What is responsible for this?”

The Doctor pointed to the apparatus she was hooked up to.  Wires ran into her wrinkled flesh from a large lamp that bathed her body in dim, white radiation.  “They’re mutating her.  She must have already been under exposure for some time because her mutation has progressed very far.”

Runcible noted that the rest of the room was filled to overflowing with similar tables.  Lying on their backs on the tables were hundreds of other Time Lords, all being slowly transmutated into Daleks.  Their appearance was similar to the Prydonian woman’s.  Some looked more human, some were in even more horrifying condition.  The destiny of the Daleks had begun in earnest.

Overcome with emotion, Runcible covered his eyes and turned his back on the Doctor.

The Doctor’s sadness went deeper than Runcible’s for he mourned both the woman’s pain and the reporter’s.  He hated exposing Runcible to those atrocities, but he felt it was for Runcible’s own good.  It was the only way that he knew of to break the Dalek’s hold over his old friend.

At long last, Runcible turned back to the Doctor and gave him a hard look.  “The Daleks have done this?”
            The Doctor nodded.  “Yes.”

Runcible bit his lip.  “If you can, help me be free of their influence.  I want no part of this.”