A quiet mechanical whir was the only sound that disturbed the hallway of the Nasgard home. The sound preceded a bright-eyed, black haired boy of twelve years, confined to a chair for the rest of his life. The prospect of never walking did nothing to dampen the boy's natural curiosity. All of his free moments were spent in his lab, tinkering with anything and everything he could get his hands on. Which, due to his indulgent mother, was quite a lot of things.

The boy's name was Davros, and his mother was the Lady Calcula, a senator in the Kaled Council. His biological father was Colonel Nasgard, but there were whispers he had been born out of an illicit relationship between Calcula and another man. The identify of the other was alway disputed. And despite her publicized life, Calcula always managed to keep the truth of the matter secret.

The rumors did not bother Davros himself at all; there were only two things in his life that truly bothered him: people pitying him, and living a public life. In a sense, they were one in the same. As the son of a senator, whenever Calcula was called to appear somewhere or attend something, he was more often than not expected to accompany her. Should it have been allowed, Davros would much have rather have spent all his time in his lab; even going so far as to take meals there. He didn't have friends, and the only people he interacted with were those he was forced to. In his twelve years of experience, Davros had come to loathe the way his fellow Kaleds looked at him when they thought he wasn't looking, or even when he was. Their gazes were full of pity, or regret, or sadness. And they were always looking at his chair. It was as if they didn't consider him to be a person. He was only a machine. A poor machine, that would never walk. "A person's achievements outweigh anything else about them," he had told his mother, fuming after one such occasion.

As such, Davros spent every moment he could get in his lab, located in basement of Colonel Nasgard's large estate.

Fsshhh...pop! Fshhhhh

A bright blue flame hissed and popped, emitting a paler blue smoke. It was carefully lowered to meet another flame, this one red. The two burning substances touched, and for an instant, burned purple.

FSSSHHH..BANG!

A polite knock drew Davros' attention away from his current experiment. He sighed, attempting to smooth down his singed hair. How annoying. "What do you want?"

Draxon, their bulter, poked his head through the door.

"Your mother requests you prepare yourself for a dinner party, sir." His gaze fell briefly on Davros' ruffled hair and singed clothing.

He refrained from rolling his eyes. It had been a while since they had gone to a dinner, but he had hoped it would be longer than this. More than likely his mother would want him to talk to the other children his age - as if he had anything in common with them!

"Yes, I'll be up shortly."

True to his word, Davros soon emerged upstairs with neat hair and fresh clothing. His mother smiled at him, and he returned it politely. She knew he didn't enjoy these appearances, but appreciated that he did so anyway without much fuss.

"This one is just dinner with a few other families, it won't be as big as some others. Are you ready?"

He nodded, but without much enthusiasm. He definitely was going to be sat with other children his age, never mind he was as smart as all of them put together. None of the elder Kaleds considered him yet old enough for 'adult' conversation.

Davros pressed his palm down on his chair and it glided forward, out the door and towards the waiting hovocar.

The hovocar drew up to a lavish home, its walk lit by the new "pocket suns". The pocket suns were the size of one's hand, and the markets claimed they would last as long as a real sun. The suns had only been out for less than a standard week, yet most of the wealthy families already displayed them. They were like tiks, birds that made their nests out of shiny objects in order to show off to other tiks.

It was a very nice mansion, Davros thought, as his chair was lowered to the ground, but wasn't any different than any of the others he had seen. All flaunted their wealth in similar ways and kept closely to the trends set by other wealthy families. That was the real politics that went on in the government.

Calcula led the way up the path and to the sturdy doors. They looked like had been built to withstand a bombing; the only unique feature of this home. Were the owners merely trying to look different, or was their something more? It was interesting to consider.

His musing were cut short as the door hummed open, revealing a nicely-dressed couple. The woman's face lit up at the sight of them, and she drew his mother into an eager embrace.

"Calcula! It's been so long! Eight, nine years? Come in, come in!"

She ushered the group inside, and paused to look over Calcula with some degree of concern. She drew her a little away from the other guests, as they approached the door to greet the new arrivals.

"How have you been doing?"

Calcula gave her a warm smile.

"Fine, Yara. How about yourself? Are your children well?"

Yara waved away the questions, and shot a glance towards Davros, politely exchanging pleasantries with the others.

"I mean, how have you been coping?"

Calcula's eyes turned cold.

"I don't know what you mean." She pushed past Yara and fixed her friendly expression in place once more as she encountered the rest of the guests.

Davros hid a smile.

Dinner was still being prepared by the cooks, and so the adults and present children mingled. The atmosphere was pleasant and warm. Everyone smiled, exchanged stories, and caught up with one another.

In short, it was mind-numbingly boring.

He found his thoughts wandering back to his current experiment. Surely it would be a success if he could alter the temperatures of the two flames? No, that wouldn't work. Temperature had nothing to do with why it was failing. Maybe it would be best to abandon it entirely at start with something fresh. Perhaps creation? That was an unexplored area of research..

"Hello."

"Hello," Davros returned, annoyed. Was there no one who was content to enjoy their own company, and leave him to his thoughts? The boy had a forced smile on his face, as did many of the other guests. Just once Davros might have been content to be interrupted if the person was interesting.

"Are you enjoying the party?" Ah, rehearsed words.

"Not particularly. Judging by your expression, neither are you." The boy offered no response, and Davros began to turn his chair to leave. "Now that we've established our mutual boredom, if you'll excuse me, I'm not interested in talking at the moment."

"Nyder." The boy caught his arm before he could leave. "My name is Nyder. You're Davros, aren't you? The crippled son of Lady Calcula?"

Davros felt the usual anger welling up inside him, but when he met Nyder's eyes, was surprised to find a lack of pity there. The other boy only gazed back at him with a calm expression, waiting for a response. Despite himself, he found curiosity replace the previous anger.

"I suspect the chair gave it away. Are you a son of one of the senators, Nyder?"

"No, my father is a general from one of the wars. Unfortunately, important enough to be invited to these gatherings." He paused to sigh, then pointed towards a graying man near the window. "That's him. Expects his son to follow in his footsteps and be a good little soldier." Bitterness colored his words, and the corners of his mouth turned down in disgust.

"Oh? And what would you rather do?" Nyder's intelligence wasn't anything special, which would make him already bored under most circumstances, but the fact Nyder hadn't offered any pity in response to his handicap made him interesting enough.

"Someone in the government. Not a senator; I think I would like to be head of the war department. Or a similar job to that." Nyder lowered his voice, and leaned in closer. "Personally, I think we need a new governmental system entirely. This works now, but what happens when there's a war? Peace talks only get so far." He shot a glance towards his father. "And he won't talk about it at all. He says I'm too young to be thinking about things like the government and politics."

Davros' interest heightened. He had said similar things to his mother on occasion, and while she had listened, hadn't wholly agreed. 'Diplomacy is a weapon that is often underestimated,' she told him. But if Nyder thought the government should be changed, how many others agreed? Especially the younger generation. They were the ones set to interheit everything their parents had.

"Some people are too set in their ways," he replied. "It's up to their children to change those ways."

Any further conversation was put off by the arrival of dinner. What was served, Davros wouldn't be able to recall. He spent the rest of the evening engaged with conversation with Nyder, and only fleetingly noticed his mother's approving glances.