by George Mann
Clear vats filled with pale blue fluid lined benches on both sides the room. Inside, ugly green creatures about the size of a human head, with a single, pale eye, fat worm-like tentacles and sharp hooked claws, were suspended in the bubbling fluid. There were hundreds of them. Just the sight of them made Cinder want to gag, let alone the acidic stench that assaulted her nostrils with every intake of breath.
‘What are they?’ she said, the disgust evident in her voice.
‘Kaled mutants,’ replied the Doctor, coming to stand beside her. ‘Clones, at a fairly late stage of development. These will soon be ready to be placed inside Dalek casings.’
‘That’s what’s inside a Dalek,’ said Cinder, peering a little closer. ‘No wonder they have image problems.’
The Doctor stepped into the room and began fumbling with a metal grille on the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ she said.
‘Something I should have done a long time ago,’ he replied. He thumbed a lever and removed a small access panel by his feet, revealing a nest of coloured cables beneath. He grabbed a fistful and yanked them loose, sorting through until he found the one he was after.
‘Ah, that’s the one,’ he said.
‘What is it?’
‘Coolant pipe,’ he replied, tugging at it violently until it tore, shearing apart in his hands. Pale grey vapour began to seep from the ragged ends, condensing in the warm air and spattering across the floor. He cast the ruined piping away. Somewhere else in the saucer an alarm began to blare; an insistent warble, echoing around the empty corridors.
‘You’re killing them,’ she said. There was no accusation in her voice. It was a statement of fact. She could already see the mutants beginning to squirm in their tanks, growing uncomfortable as the temperature of the water began to increase. ‘They’re going to overheat, boil alive in those vats.’
The Doctor fixed her with a hard stare. ‘I’ve been here before,’ he said. For the first time, his voice sounded old, weary with the weight of centuries. ‘I’ve faced this in the past, and I didn’t act in time. If I’d only had the guts to do what was necessary back then, things might be very different now. But I’m a different man now. I don’t live by the same ideals. I have a job to do, and this time, I have no such qualms.’
Despite the coldness of his words, she could tell he didn’t really believe this. He was trying to convince himself as much as convince her.
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
He nodded. ‘Leave them.’ He left the room, marching directly toward one of the other doors. It slid open, revealing another small antechamber. This one appeared to be a store cupboard, holding a variety of Dalek components: manipulator arms, sensor globes, energy weapons. The Doctor approached a rack housing a row of broad, black cannons, just like the ones fitted to the new Daleks.
He grabbed one, hefting it, testing its weight. He turned it over in his hands, checking the power pack, and then nodded at Cinder, clearly satisfied. ‘Time to go,’ he said.
The alarm was still blaring, and as they stepped out into the corridor, Cinder fell back in terror at the sight of a Dalek no more than a couple of metres away, heading directly for them.
‘Stop! Intruder! You will be exterminated!’
‘Not if I can help it,’ said the Doctor from behind her. She threw herself against the wall of the ship as the Doctor depressed the trigger on the cannon, blasting the Dalek with a dose of temporal radiation. The Dalek screeched in fury, backing away, but the crackling pink light from the gun seemed to form a cocoon around it, warping and weaving as it tried to find a way in.
‘Expunge! Expunge!’ shrieked the Dalek.
Something was wrong. The weapon wasn’t behaving in the way he’d expected, having observed it being used against the human prisoners. Instead of seeping inside of the Dalek, eating it away from within, the light began to disperse in shimmering wisps, dissolving into the air, until a moment later, it had faded entirely, and the Dalek remained before them.
The Doctor lowered the cannon. ‘They’ve made themselves immune to it,’ he said.
The Dalek fired its energy weapon and the Doctor dived to the floor, cracking his shoulder off the wall and rebounding, landing on his knees. The energy beam missed him by a whisper, scorching a long, black line into the wall.
‘They’re not immune to this,’ Cinder said, raising her gun and squeezing the trigger. A bolt of white energy lanced through the Dalek’s sensor mesh, cracking its armour plating and bursting out through the back of its head, showering the corridor in fragments of Dalekanium and biological matter. Its eyestalk dimmed and stilled.
‘Now we’ve done it,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now we’ve really got their attention.’ Cinder could hear the chant of Dalek voices coming from deep within the ship. They were stirring, summoned by the alarm and the blast of the energy weapons.
‘A simple “thank you” would have sufficed,’ she said, helping him up. ‘But let’s just say I was returning the favour.’
The Doctor grinned. The sound of the Dalek voices was growing closer. ‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Now!’
They charged out of the ship onto the gantry by which they’d boarded. They were ten metres up, at least, and below them Daleks were swarming out of the other saucers. There was no way they could jump without doing themselves an injury, and if they did, they’d never be able to get away in time.
‘Back to the other ship,’ cried the Doctor, grabbing her by the upper arm and charging up the slope.
‘Exterminate!’ An energy bolt zipped past them, close enough to scorch the back of the Doctor’s jacket. They charged across the walkway towards the other ship.
Ahead of them a Dalek emerged from the open hatchway, but Cinder didn’t hesitate. She squeezed off another shot and watched the Dalek explode, the momentum carrying its casing back into the mouth of the ship.
Daleks were taking to the air now, screeching a chorus of threats as they unleashed shot after shot, but the Doctor and Cinder ran on regardless, sliding haphazardly into the other saucer. Somehow, they’d managed to make it across the bridge without getting shot. It didn’t seem like much of a consolation.
With a shove, the Doctor sent the remains of the dead Dalek trundling into the path of another two that were coming down the corridor toward them, and led the charge in the opposite direction, circling around the ship to head back the way they had come, down to the lower level and past the human hatchery.
They burst out into the courtyard to see a least ten Daleks heading straight for them. Cinder knew she couldn’t take them all before they brought her down, and the cannon still being clutched by the Doctor would prove utterly ineffective.
They were all here, all the various types of Dalek and Degradation she had seen before: standard ones in bronze and gold, Gliders, Spiders, Temporal Weapons. There were new ones, too, versions she’d never encountered on patrol: black ones; silver ones with blue domes; another of the purest white, like a pale ghost – each of them as deadly as the others.
She levelled her gun at the oncoming tide, resolved that she would take at least half of them down with her.
‘The walkway!’ bellowed the Doctor. Cinder glanced up. There were three Daleks coming over the gantry above.
She swung the barrel of her gun round and fired three consecutive shots – not at the Daleks themselves, but at the metal gantry on which they stood. The metal twisted and buckled, causing the Daleks to wobble uncontrollably, and a fourth shot split the walkway in two, sending them crashing down on top of the Daleks beneath. At least five of them were sent spinning off across the courtyard, their weapons blasting indiscriminately, whilst two more were incapacitated, sent sprawling, their domed heads caved in by the impact from above.
It wouldn’t stop them for long, but it was enough of a distraction for the Doctor and Cinder to get out of the line of fire.
‘Head for the city wall,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ll lead them off.’ He started off in the opposite dir
ection.
‘What about the prisoners?’ called Cinder. Surely they couldn’t abandon them now?
The Doctor hesitated, stopping in his tracks. He looked pained, as if trying to decide whether to risk it. ‘Damn it!’ he barked. ‘Hold them off.’
He turned around, charging diagonally across the courtyard towards the ship, where earlier they’d seen the Daleks shepherding the human prisoners.
Cinder ran after him, as he charged up the ramp, but stopped short, turning to face the three remaining Daleks who were rounding on her. ‘Come on, then!’ she screamed. ‘Come and get me, you stupid metal cans!’
Just as she was about to empty the remains of energy pack into the Daleks, there was a terrific explosion from inside one of the saucers. She felt the vibration of it as a rumble beneath her feet, rattling her bones.
A plume of flame and dark, oily smoke erupted from the top of its dome, and the Daleks swivelled in the opposite direction, barking commands. She realised it must have been the hatchery which the Doctor had rigged to overload, finally reaching critical mass.
She took her chance and brought her weapon up, loosing off three shots, blowing the domes off the remaining Daleks while they tried to decide what to do.
Yet more Daleks were arriving on the scene, however, and she knew she only had seconds before she’d be overwhelmed.
‘Doctor!’ she bellowed, just as a swarm of people came hurtling down the ramp behind her, spilling out into the old playground. There were scores of them, and she realised they must have been crammed into cells on board the ship.
She heard the Doctor calling to them from the top of the ramp. ‘Go on! Run for your lives! Fight back! Now’s your chance.’ The freed prisoners responded with gusto, rounding on the Daleks. Even with no weapons they were finding ways to disable them, tipping them over by sheer weight of numbers.
Daleks swarmed in from above, firing indiscriminately into the crowd, but the prisoners were now in full rebellion and not about to be dissuaded.
‘It’s really quite impressive, what a handful of humans can achieve when they put their minds to it.’ Cinder turned to find the Doctor was at her side. In one hand he still held the cannon, while in the other he clutched his sonic screwdriver, which he’d clearly used to open the locks on the cells.
‘Now, Cinder. It’s time to run,’ he said. ‘Make for the main gates. We’ll find a way through.’
Exhilarated to see her people overwhelming the Daleks, Cinder did as the Doctor said and fell back. They ran, side by side, ducking into one of the side streets and braving a dash for the main gates.
With the insurgency raging at the main base, the gates themselves – as clearly the Doctor had anticipated – were unattended. Cinder didn’t bother to find a way to unlock them, however, and blasted at the old wooden doors with the Dalek gun, punching a hole big enough for them to scramble through.
Within moments, the Doctor and Cinder had disappeared once more into the ruins. Behind them, the orange glow of the burning Dalek base lit up the sky above Andor.
They didn’t stop until they reached the TARDIS. Exhausted, out of breath, they stumbled to the lip of the crater caused by the Doctor’s earlier unorthodox landing. The remains of the dead Daleks still lay in the road, cold and unmoving.
The TARDIS was perhaps the most welcome sight Cinder could have imagined, this funny blue box, lying on its side in the mud. To her, it represented safety, a chance to get away, to leave the War behind. But now it also represented something else – liberation. The day the Doctor fell out of the sky and made her look differently at the world, at what was possible. And now, although she knew it was only a mote in the eye of the War, the tiniest of victories, she’d helped to liberate some of her people.
Gratefully, Cinder hopped inside of the TARDIS, this time preparing herself for the odd shift in alignment between the outer and inner dimensions. Nevertheless, disorientated, she still staggered to one side like a drunk, forced to catch hold of the metal rail to steady herself.
The Doctor closed the door behind them, and she sank to her knees, flinging her gun on the floor and wrapping her arms around herself. She felt tears welling up, tears of relief, but she fought them down, sniffing and wiping her eyes.
She noticed the Doctor still had the Dalek cannon in his hands. ‘Why did you bring that?’ she said. ‘You know it won’t work against the Daleks.’
The Doctor glanced down at the gun, and then tossed it on the floor, where it clattered loudly before coming to rest. ‘I need to take it to Gallifrey,’ he said. ‘I need to show the Time Lords what we’re up against.
Cinder gaped at him. ‘But we had a deal,’ she said. ‘I thought you were going to take me away from all this, from the War?’
The Doctor nodded. ‘I will. I promise. I’ll take you somewhere safe. But first I have to visit Gallifrey. What the Daleks are doing here – it could mean the end of the War. Worse, the end of the universe. If they’re able to deploy that weapon there won’t be anywhere safe, in any corner of reality.’
‘Then I’m coming with you,’ said Cinder defiantly. ‘You’re not leaving me here.’
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I travel alone. I haven’t got time for waifs and strays. You’ll only get in the way.’ He started to turn away, but Cinder got to her feet, catching him by the arm. There was more to it than that. She could see it in his eyes. He was afraid of her in a way he hadn’t been afraid of even the Daleks.
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘You don’t get off the hook that easily. I said I was in, and that means you don’t get to leave me behind.’
Their eyes met. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, neither of them willing to give ground.
Finally, the Doctor relented. ‘All right,’ he said, throwing his hands up in a gesture of resignation. ‘All right. You can come. But this is a temporary arrangement. I haven’t got time to be worrying about anyone else.’
Cinder grinned. ‘I think more to the point, Doctor, is whether I’ve got any time to worry about you.’
‘I’ve told you – I don’t go by that name any more,’ he said, with a frown.
‘Oh, I think you’ve earned it today,’ said Cinder. She ambled over to stand beside him at the console, examining the odd assortment of levers, dials and flashing buttons. ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘Are you going to show me how this thing works?’
‘Don’t push your luck,’ said the Doctor, as he hit the dematerialisation switch.
Chapter Eight
‘Report!’
The Dalek slid effortlessly into the hexagonal chamber of the Eternity Circle, its head rotating as its eyestalk peered at each of its five masters in turn. ‘Dalek operations on Moldox have been compromised,’ it said. ‘The temporary base in the city of Andor has been destroyed.’
‘Explain,’ barked the blue and silver Dalek on the central plinth.
‘A human rebellion,’ said the Dalek. ‘The prisoners escaped and destroyed the hatcheries.’
‘What of the progenitor?’
‘Rendered inoperable. The clones are unviable,’ said the Dalek.
‘Unimportant,’ purred another of the blue and gold Daleks on the plinths. ‘Testing is complete. The template for the new paradigm can be disseminated. Transmit instructions to the other progenitors in the Tantalus Spiral. Order them to begin production immediately.’
‘I obey.’
‘Did the humans have Time Lord assistance?’ asked the Dalek on the central plinth.
‘Yes,’ replied the bronze and gold Dalek. ‘Transmissions from the base indicate the presence of the Predator on Moldox. We have confirmed the energy signature of his TARDIS.’
‘Excellent. The plan nears completion.’ The blue and silver Dalek made a sound that might almost have been a chuckle. ‘Soon, the Predator will lead the Daleks to their ultimate victory. Soon, he will be ours.’
Part Two
Gallifrey
Chapter Nine
Karlax hunched ov
er his desk, wearily stabbing at a data screen with his index finger. Scrolling glyphs indicated countless reports coming in from the front – or rather, from the numerous fronts on which the Time Lords were currently engaged against the Daleks.
He selected one at random and pulled it up on the screen, then scanned the opening lines, not even bothering to check which epoch it referred to. They were all blurring into one, anyway – every period of Gallifrey’s history was now under assault from the vile Kaled mutants.
The story was the same. In each and every report, it was always the same. No matter how well they fought, how many Dalek saucers or stealth ships the Time Lords managed to destroy, more took their place. The things were relentless, and worse, somehow capable of replicating themselves at a rate of knots. They were wily, too – they’d taken to seeding their progenitors into uncontested eras, cloning themselves and manufacturing entire legions, which would then lay dormant, sometimes waiting for years for the right moment to strike. Inevitably, they would deploy to strengthen an existing Dalek attack force or else lay siege to an unsuspecting Time Lord stronghold during some chaotic period in Gallifrey’s history. They’d even attempted to purge prehistoric Gallifrey of its primitive life forms in an effort to stop the Time Lords from evolving.
To the Daleks, life was cheap and easily replaced. That gave them an edge. A Time Lord might have thirteen lives, but, reflected Karlax, regeneration was no good whatsoever if you’d been atomised in a detonating Battle TARDIS or eradicated before you’d ever been conceived.
Karlax sighed. His collar and robe felt heavy, today. He had the foreboding sense that they were only moments away from the apocalypse, that all of their efforts, all of their so-called victories against the Daleks would, ultimately, be for nothing. They were locked in a stalemate, and it would only be a matter of time before the Daleks found a way to break it and the countdown continued. They were trying to hold the inevitable at bay.