Doctor Who and the Genesis of the Daleks Read online

  Crouched in one corner of the trench, Sarah heard a grinding noise. Peering through the struggling mass of bodies, she saw the heavy metal door slide open. A fresh contingent of soldiers appeared. They were better uniformed than the first attackers, and better armed too. There was a sudden fierce chattering of automatic weapons. Sarah jumped up to warn the Doctor, but a wild swing from a rifle butt caught her on the temple. She collapsed face downward.

  The Doctor heard the chatter of machine guns and realized that the character of the battle had changed. These new arrivals had no hesitation in shooting. 'Down, Harry!' he yelled, and flung himself to the ground. As the two dropped down, heavy shapes began falling on top of them—the now bulletridden corpses of their first attackers.

  Shielded by the bodies of their former opponents, the Doctor and Harry laid low.

  The rattle of machine-gun fire ended at last. The leader of the victorious soldiers saw that the green gas had drifted away. He pulled the gas mask from his face and took in great gulps of the foggy air. He was very young. As the others pulled off their gas masks it could be seen that they too were little more than boys.

  Pushing aside the dead body which held him down, Harry began struggling to his feet. Instantly the nearest soldier raised his gun. The Doctor struggled up, shouting, 'No...'

  Then came the sound of more shooting from outside the trench, the yelling of a fresh wave of attackers. The leader indicated the Doctor and Harry. 'Into the tunnel with them—quick!' Harry and the Doctor were clubbed down and dragged unconscious through the metal door. The leader followed his men, and the door clanged shut behind them.

  Outside the trench the sounds of yelling and shooting faded as the attack moved on to another section of the line. Hidden beneath a pile of bodies, Sarah lay unconscious, a trickle of blood running from her temple.

  Harry and the Doctor were carried along a dark tunnel into a small, concrete-walled room at its far end. The place was primitively furnished with wooden tables, benches and a couple of bunks. One of the tables held some kind of field communications equipment. On the far side of the room was an arched opening in which stood a small passenger trolley. The trolley was on rails which disappeared into the blackness of the tunnel. It looked like the terminus of a miniature underground railway.

  As the patrol crowded into the room, Harry and the Doctor were dumped casually on the ground. The soldiers began struggling out of their equipment.

  Looking at his two prisoners with a satisfied air, the young patrol leader wrenched the gas masks from their faces. His expression changed to one of puzzlement. 'They don't look like Thals...' He thought for a moment. 'Stick them in the transporter, I'll take them to Command Headquarters.' A couple of soldiers grabbed the two prisoners and threw them into the trolley. The patrol leader climbed in after them and operated controls. The trolley rumbled away into the darkness.

  Harry and the Doctor recovered to find themselves rattling through pitch darkness at terrifying speed. The trolley shot into a big, well-lighted area and jolted to a halt. Armed guards swarmed around and dragged them along more concrete corridors and into a large room.

  By now the Doctor had recovered enough to take an interest in his surroundings. They were in some kind of central command post. Maps covered the walls, there was more communications equipment, and in the center of the room was a huge maptable holding a relief map, a kind of model landscape. It seemed to depict two dome-covered cities, with the trench-riddled battlefield between them. A fitting image for the present state of Skaro, thought the Doctor. He noticed that the guards were smartly uniformed here, their weapons modern and well cared for. Strange how all wars were the same, thought the Doctor. The staff back at H.Q. always had better conditions than the men actually out fighting...

  A tall, very young officer, elegant in his gold-braided uniform, was shifting symbols on the relief map. He straightened up and looked coldly at the patrol leader. 'Well?'

  'Two prisoners, General Ravon. Captured in section one-zero-one. For interrogation.'

  The officer smiled. 'Excellent I enjoy interrogations.'

  The Doctor looked at him. The young face was hard and cold. 'Yes,' he said cheerfully, 'I must say, you look the type.'

  A blow from the rifle butt of one of the guards sent the Doctor staggering. 'Insolent muto,' said Ravon. He turned to the patrol leader who stood rigidly toattention, obviously waiting to speak. 'Well, what is it?'

  'My section totally destroyed the Thal attackers, sir, except for these two prisoners. But—well,the men are exhausted, and ammunition is running low.'

  'Your men will fight until they are relieved. As for ammunition, conserve it. Use the spears and knives you were issued with whenever possible. Return to your patrol.'

  'Sir.' The patrol leader saluted wearily and marched out, taking the guards with him. The Doctor glanced quickly round the room. Except for the soldier manning the communications unit, they were now alone with the General...

  As if guessing the Doctor's thoughts, Ravon drew his blaster and covered the two prisoners.'So—the Thals have degenerated to recruiting mutos, have they? Turn out your pockets!'

  The Doctor shrugged. 'Why not? I always try to turn them out every year or so!' He began piling up an incredible assortment of junk on the edge of the map table—a yo-yo, a bag of jelly beans, several lengths of string and a miscellaneous collection of scientific instruments. As hedid so, he took the opportunity to study the relief map.

  Ravon noticed the Doctor's interest.

  'Take a good look,' he sneered. 'In a few weeks we're going to change the shape of that map for ever. We shall sweep the Thals from the face of Skaro!' A note of hysteria was in his voice.

  The Doctor studied him thoughtfully. Basic insecurity there—or why would he bother to boast to a couple of prisoners. In tones of deliberate provocation the Doctor said, 'Oh yes? And how are you going to do that—with worn-out soldiers, no ammunition and boy generals?'

  Ravon reacted with hysterical rage. 'You've been warned about your insolence—'

  Harry Sullivan, who had been watching all this with keen if baffled interest, felt a pressure from the Doctor's foot on his own. He tensed, ready for the next move.

  The Doctor gave Ravon one of his sudden, brilliant smiles. 'I'm sorry, General. But you do seem to be having problems with this final campaign.'

  Ravon felt he had to convince this infuriating prisoner. 'When victory is ours, we shall wipe every trace of the Thals and their city from this planet. We will avenge the deaths of all the Kaleds who have fallen. Our battle cry will be, "Total extermination of the Thals."' Ravon's voice had risen to a ritual chant. He was repeating a lesson drummed into him since childhood. Deliberately the Doctor made his own voice low and soothing.

  'That's very impressive, General. You mean you're going to sweep across these trenches...' The Doctor suited his actions to his words, flinging one arm out in a sweeping gesture. At the end of it, the edge of his hand hit Ravon's wrist in a precisely timed blow. Ravons hand opened, the blaster flew through the air. Harry Sullivan caught it with the skill of a born cricketer. The Doctor turned to Ravon, who was rubbing his hand. 'Did I hurt your fingers, old chap?'

  The soldier at the communications set turned around to find Harry covering him with the blaster.

  'You won't get out of here alive,' Ravon blustered feebly. The Doctor ignored him. He crossed to the communications set, took the blaster from the startled soldier and put the set out of action with a few well-aimed blows. Outraged, the soldier jumped him—and the Doctor silenced him with a swift tap from the blaster. He lowered him gently to the floor with genuine regret.

  The Doctor's expression hardened as he swung back to Ravon. 'Now then, Alexander the Great, you're going to take us out of here.'

  Ravon struck a heroic attitude. 'Never!'

  Harry jammed the blaster under his chin. 'You won't get any medals for being stupid, General. In fact you won't get any more medals for anything—ever.'


  Ravon looked from the Doctor to Harry. These two were obviously desperate men. Surely his own life was too valuable to risk? It wasn't as if they stood any real chance of escaping...

  'All right. Where do you want me to take you?'

  'Back to where we were captured,' said the Doctor. 'We left a friend behind.'

  'In the Wastelands?' said Ravon. 'Yes, I suppose that's home to you mutos, isn't it? Well,come on. I can promise you won't get far.'

  The Doctor and Harry fell into step beside Ravon, the stolen blasters concealed in theirpockets. Ravon led them out of the room and along the corridor. Passing guards glancedcuriously at them, but no one dared question the actions of the General.

  They followed him along one corridor after another, twisting and turning until Harry at least had lost all sense of direction. He gave Ravon a jab. 'Where are you taking us? This isn't theway we came.'

  'There's a platform elevator at the end of this tunnel. You know what an elevator is, don't you, muto?'

  'Yes, but I don't know what a muto is,' said Harry. 'You're making a mistake, General.'

  'If you come from the Wastelands, you're mutos!' Clearly that settled the matter for Ravon, and Harry didn't bother to argue. The elevator appeared at the end of the corridor. Ravon touched a control beside it, and they all stood waiting.

  Harry gave the Doctor a worried look. 'I hope Sara's still there.'

  Ravon couldn't resist the opportunity to sneer. 'If you're not mutos, then you won't last long up there.'

  There came the sound of jack-booted feet on the concrete floor. Someone was walking along the corridor toward them. Harry gave Ravon a warning jab with the hidden blaster in his pocket. 'Just remember we'reyour friends, won't you?'

  The newcomer was a slightly built, thin-faced man. His black uniform was plain except for silver insignia, and seemed somehow different from Ravon's. Not a soldier, thought the Doctor, but some kind of policeman. Ravon's greeting confirmed the Doctor's theory.'Greetings, Security Commander Nyder.'

  Nyder's reply was equally formal. 'Greetings, General Ravon. I was just on my way to see you.' He stared curiously at the oddly assorted trio. The Doctor beamed, and Harry managed a curt nod. Nasty-looking customer, he thought.

  Ravon coughed nervously. 'Perhaps you would be kind enough to go to my office and wait. I shall only be a few minutes longer.'

  Nyder nodded, but made no attempt to move on. He looked more closely at the Doctor and Harry. 'You're civilians?'

  The Doctor nodded. 'Just here on a brief visit to our old friend General Ravon. Don't let us detain you.'

  'You won't.' As if satisfied with this riposte, Nyder started to walk away. Then suddenly he jumped back, drawing a pistol. 'Ravon—get down!' he shouted.

  Ravon flung himself to the ground as Nyder fired at the Doctor. The bullet sang past his head, chipping concrete fragments from the wall. The Doctor yelled, 'Run for it, Harry,' and the two fugitives disappeared around the corner.

  Nyder produced a pocket communicator. 'Alert all guards. Two Thal intruders in command complex. Sound the alarm.'

  A few seconds later, a high-pitched siren began to blare through the corridors. Nyder looked at Ravon, who was shamefacedly picking himself up. 'You're a fool, General Ravon,' he said dispassionately.

  Ravon tried to justify himself. 'They took me by surprise.'

  'What kind of soldier allows two unarmed prisoners to overpower him in his own headquarters?'

  Stung by Nyder's scorn, Ravon said, 'Those weren't ordinary prisoners. there's something different about them. They're not mutos and they're not Thals.'

  Nyder looked at him sceptically. 'No? Well, if they are different—we'll find out when they're recaptured.' There was total confidence in his voice.

  The Doctor and Harry sprinted along a corridor with no idea where they were going. Their one thought was to escape the pursuing guards. Unfortunately more guards appeared ahead, and only a providential side corridor saved them from capture. Shots ringing all around them, they turned left, then right, ran down an even smaller corridor and found themselves in a dead end. The corridor ended in a pair of elevator doors like the ones where they'd left Ravon and Nyder. They turned to go back, but heard guards running toward them. Instinctively the Doctor pressed the elevator controls. The running feet came nearer. As guards appeared in the corridor the elevator doors opened and Harry and the Doctor dived inside. The soldiers raised their guns, the Doctor stabbed frantically at the controls, and the doors closed—just in time to save Harry and the Doctor from a hail of bullets.

  Nyder arrived to see what had happened. He snatched out his communicator. 'Alert surface patrols to watch for intruders in area seven!'

  The high-speed elevator whisked Harry and the Doctor to the surface in a matter of seconds. The doors opened on a featureless stretch of open country—Wastelands as Ravon had called it. As yet no soldiers were in sight. Harry stared out into the drifting fog. 'Where to, Doctor?'

  Figures loomed out of the fog, then came the sound of shouted orders. 'Just keep running,' called the Doctor, and shot off across the battlefield like an ostrich, Harry close behind. The Kaled patrol lumbered after them.

  The Doctor and Harry tore across the churned-up landscape leaping over pill boxes, dodging barbed wire, stumbling in and out of shell holes. In their frantic burst of speed they left the patrol far behind. It began to look as if they had succeeded in making their escape. But the battlefield held more dangers than pursuing soldiers. Stumbling down a muddy slope the Doctor's foot caught some kind of buried trip wire. He gave Harry a tremendous shove, yelling 'Mine!' and threw himself in the mud beside him. There was a muffled crump, and a fountain of mud shot up in the air as the long-buried mine was detonated. Harry and the Doctor escaped the flying shrapnel but they were close enough to be deafened and half-stunned by the blast.

  Dizzily they stumbled to their feet, shaking their heads to clear the ringing in their ears. The Doctor rubbed the mud from his eyes and glanced round. They were completely surrounded by the Kaled patrol, covered by a ring of rifles. The Doctor looked round at the circle of hostile faces. Slowly he raised his hands. Now what was it they said on Earth, back in the Kaiser's day?

  The Doctor smiled round at the soldiers. 'Kamerade?' he said hopefully. No one smiled back. The soldiers began to close in.

  3 THE SECRET WEAPON

  The Doctor and Harry were marched across the Wastelands, into the elevator, through the corridors of the Command Center and back into the room they had just left. Security Commander Nyder and General Ravon were waiting for them. Nyder was turning over the odds and ends taken from the Doctor's pockets. He held up a small, complex instrument surmounted with a dial. 'What is the function of this object?'

  The Doctor leaned forward and examined it. 'Very interesting little gadget, that,' he said chattily. 'Actually it's an etheric beam locator-but you can use it for detecting ion-charged emissions.'

  Clearly Nyder was none the wiser. 'It is not of Thal manufacture.'

  'Well, of course not. My friend and I don't come from your planet.'

  Nyder turned the instrument over in his hands. 'I have heard Davros say there is no intelligent life on other planets. And Davros is never wrong—about anything.'

  'Then he must be an exceptional man. Even I am occasionally wrong about some things. Who is Davros?'

  Nyder looked at the Doctor keenly, then, realized that the question was genuine. 'Davros is our greatest scientist. He is in charge of all scientific research in the Bunker.'

  Ravon, who had been standing by in the background, made an attempt to assert himself. 'They could be mutos, Commander Nyder. Mutos who've managed to develop some kind of technology...'

  Nyder gave him a look of silent contempt, but said nothing. Harry, equally silent up to now, burst out, 'Look here, I wish you wouldn't keep calling us mutos. We don't even know what they are.' Nyder looked wonderingly at him. 'Mutos are scarred and twisted monsters created by the chemical and radiation w
eapons used in the early part of this war. They were banished to the Wastelands, where they scavenge like the animals they have become.'

  'In other words, you just abandon your genetic wounded?' There was horror in the Doctor's voice.

  'The Kaled race must be kept pure. The imperfect are rejected, sent into the Wastelands. Some of them survive.'

  'That's a very harsh policy.'

  Nyder shifted uncomfortably. 'Your views are unimportant,' he said dismissively. 'GeneralRavon—I am taking these two prisoners for interrogation by the Special Unit.'

  'But they are prisoners of the Army...'

  'You will release them to me. The Special Unit will get more out of them than your crude methods.'

  Ravon crumpled before the cold authority in Nyder's voice. 'If you insist...'

  'I do insist.' Nyder produced a sheaf of papers from inside his tunic. 'I have a list of supply requirements here. All these items are to be delivered to the Bunker immediately.'

  Ravon scanned the list with growing resentment. 'I simply cannot spare this amount of equipment. Your spare parts requisition alone would take over half my available supply.'

  Nyder smiled coldly. 'General Ravon, you will notice that the requisitions are counter-signed by Davros himself. Perhaps you would prefer to discuss the matter with him?'

  Ravon shuddered, and shook his head. 'I'll have the supplies at the Bunker by dawn.'

  'By midnight, General. The orders specify midnight.'

  'Very well. Midnight.'

  Nyder turned to the guards. 'Bring the prisoners.'

  As they were marched away after him, the Doctor thought that it had been a very interesting demonstration. It was clear that the real power among the Kaleds lay not with the army, but with Davros, and those who served him.