In a garden on Gallifrey, the TARDIS mourned. She felt the fluttering touches of alien communications, but she ignored them. She had said all she had to say. She had done the necessary thing. Now she could see the consequences, of her actions and of the Doctor's actions, rolling through time like an avalanche of razors, slicing reality.
It was going to happen. It had happened. It would happen.
She mourned.
# # #
The Doctor and his companions finally reached the Panopticon, which looked like a particularly cold and pompous meeting hall; a large open space with serried rows of balconies high around it, and a metal-inlaid stone platform in the centre. The platform was occupied.
A figure in gold and white robes and the wide flaring gorget-crest of the Time Lords stood there, back towards the travellers, and the Doctor stepped forward a little indignant. He had told Flavia that she could act in his stead, but surely that didn't extend to wearing the robes of the President.
The figure turned, and before the Doctor even saw the face he knew that this was not a member of his species. No Time Lord ever born would turn and let their robes get so bunched up, dragging behind them as they moved; they had centuries' worth of practice in handling the multiple layers of clothing that were expected formal attire.
He didn't recognise the President. Well, he recognised the robes and the sash; but the face was not a Time Lord's face. Certainly not Flavia.
But despite that, it was a familiar face.
The man bore the most ancient trapping of Time Lord power as ornament - or perhaps trophies. He was twirling the metal-inlaid Rod of Rassilon between his palms like a toy. A familiar heavy gold sash hung in rectangular links over his shoulders and down his front. He had short dark hair with striking slashes of white through it, pale skin and dark eyes that met the Doctor's fearlessly, eyes full of power and force and not a little madness.
"Davros. You're dead," the Doctor breathed. He felt like his hair was standing straight on end, blown by the wind. He had been on Skaro when the Thals has struck: he could still smell the burning orchards, see the blazing pillar of fire that had been the Dalek city. He had been told by one of the survivors that everyone in the Kaled Bunker had perished.
"The Doctor was premature in reporting my death," said Davros; his voice unchanged. Still the harsh, arrogant tone of a man used to absolute command. The Doctor had heard that same tone when Davros was a withered cripple, kept alive and speaking only with machines. In his new body, the arrogance glowed through with fresh menace. Davros freed one hand and shook the heavy robes into place, flowing out around him.
The Doctor paused; if Davros didn't recognise his new face, it might be in his best interest to keep it that way - at least for a time.
"And you must be one of the pets, I assume?" Davros asked.
The Doctor opened his mouth a little, and then closed it.
"Pets?" said Tegan, her voice rising with indignation.
"Yes, non-native life forms. There's a savage woman who's running loose, an old paramour of the Doctor. But I will catch her. Soon."
"Leela was never my-" and the Doctor caught himself. So much for his intentions of remaining anonymous.
Davros seemed to tense with interest, his mobile mouth twitching in a satisfied smile.
"So you are the Doctor." His eyes raked over the blond man in front of him, as though comparing him to someone else. "Remarkable, this regenerative abilities of your species. I really must perform some experiments. Soon." His smile turned remarkably ugly without changing at all.
The Doctor decided to ignore this unsubtle threat, and skip past Davros' surprising survival and go straight for the matter of interest. "How did you get here, Davros? How could you possibly penetrate the barriers around this planet?"
"Well, it seems that there was a massive power drain recently. Something to do with one of your leaders misusing the time travel equipment - typical." That with a sneer. "And after the drain was stopped, your High Council formed a Committee to consider possible energy conservation strategies moving forward. And they printed out many official schedules, and ran up dozens of prototypes of official robes that committee members would wear, and held many, many meetings."
The scorn was thick in his voice now. "Your resources were barely enough to keep the lights on, never mind your defences. The deflection barrier was no match for me, especially after my Fleet transmitted your transponder signal. The Time Lords destroyed themselves; they opened their gates to me, and all is mine, from the Citadel to the Death Zone."
Turlough gasped. "The Death Zone. Oh, no. You aren't trying to enter the Tomb of Rassilon, are you?" he said, his eyes nearly starting from his head. "To gain immortality?"
The Doctor turned to silence his companion, and caught a sly look in Turlough's eye that turned his stomach. They both knew what would happen to any person who penetrated the Tomb of Rassilon and asked for immortality. Turlough was trying to trick Davros into suffering Borusa's fate.
"As it happens, I have already been there." Davros' eyes thinned and he looked at Turlough with something bitterer than amusement in his expression. "The Death Zone's defences were no match for a full Dalek force, not even that pretty dancing little robot. I know what is waiting there, in the Tomb of Rassilon, and that is not the immortality I seek."
"Who is this?" Turlough asked the Doctor. The Doctor's tone and manner suggested this man was very important, and Turlough preferred to know who was in charge here - especially if it wasn't the Doctor.
"That, Turlough, is Davros. The creator of the Daleks." The Doctor's sharp, short gesture indicated the man on the platform, as though he didn't want to draw his attention.
Turlough looked interested rather than afraid. "Really? The way they talk, you'd think they invented themselves-"
"Turlough, what a striking name. You always did have such interesting taste in companions, Doctor. And who is this young lady graced with the remarkably lovely-"
"Legs?" Tegan cut him off. Undoubtedly, she'd heard it all before.
"Arms, actually, I was going to say. I've always been an arms man." Davros' eyes seemed to drink in the sight of Tegan, her smooth white arms and dark red hair. She twitched, as though wishing she'd worn something over her short-sleeved top to keep off both strange eyes and cold drafts.
"Tegan Jovanka and Vislor Turlough are my companions and are under my protection," the Doctor said, his eyes suddenly blazing.
"Understood," said Davros flatly. "They will be just as safe as - you are." The two men exchanged a look of cold understanding.
"So, Davros. What bring you to Gallifrey?" The Doctor tried to keep his tone light. "Not exactly the cream of galactic tourist destinations. I should know."
"There were a number of places I wanted to visit once I left Skaro. Places the Reflectionists recommended as being of interest. For example Biblios - have you been there?"
"Of course. The library planet."
"Marvellous." Davros stared into space for a moment, his eyes wide with something that was almost awe. "An entire planet-sized library, and so beautifully indexed! I could have drowned myself forever in it, in its data banks and scrolls and endless, wonderful books. I was there to give them a copy of my autobiography, among other things-"
'"Autographed?" Tegan said snidely.
"But of course," Davros answered. "I was almost reluctant to have a purpose; how much better it seemed to just wander through those endless aisles, picking and reading…But I did have another goal besides posterity. There were certain writings of Rassilon, commentaries on his history that had been annotated in his own hand."
Davros held out his hand. "I held one book in my hand and thought, he held this book. He wrote these words…" He dropped the hand, and scowled. "And then that very annoying man showed up. He rather reminded me of you, Doctor, in manner if not in looks." His eyes pierced the blond man before him. "Wore black. Had a natty little beard. He claimed to be a Time Lord called-"
"The Master," Tegan and the Doctor breathed as one. Turlough felt a shiver creep down his spine, and he looked to make sure nobody was sneaking up behind them. He seemed to feel a cold breath on the back of his neck.
"Yes, in fact. He seemed rather interested in Rassilon's words as well, and we had the most violent argument about the book in question. By the end of it we were chasing each other up and down the reading tables, the Daleks screeching at us to stop, and the librarian robots threatening all of us with triple fines…Most unbecoming exertion for a man my age." He smoothed the back of his hand over his brow, ostentatiously; then had to shake his arm when he lowered it to make the sleeve hang correctly.
The Doctor snapped, "I don't suppose that you left the Daleks on Biblios, either." He was remembering those long parallel scrapes on the floors of the corridors. He should have recognised them: on how many battlefields, how many abattoirs, had he seen those same marks?
"This entire Citadel has been infiltrated, by my Daleks and also a rather cleverly tailored fungus that will support Gallifreyan life forms in deep sleep indefinitely. Oh, your people are quite safe, I assure you. For now."
"And they will remain safe for how long, I wonder?" the Doctor asked.
Davros shrugged - or maybe not; it was hard to tell under the shoulder-armouring collar. "You know."
"Tell me anyway. Enlighten me, Davros." There was steel in the Doctor's voice.
"Oh, I've certain you have guessed. Why I have travelled the years and the light-years to conquer your world." He smiled. "I am here for the Harvest."
That single word sent a shiver up all their spines; but while Davros seemed to shiver with delight, the three travellers felt something distinctly colder move over them.
Davros continued, his words rolling out like pounding waves. "That great ritual of combining and condensing soul-energy that will advance myself - and my Daleks - to the next level of existence, to the realm of the Gods. We shall become Eternals, beings of pure energy and pure power. It has been done many times, and the Reflectionists have given me all the data that is required.
"Of course, under normal circumstances Skaro itself would be our launch point and our fuel, combined. But these are not normal circumstances. I have decided that I do not need Kaled souls for the Harvest. Instead I will use - yours."
The Doctor flinched.
"Time Lord souls. The quality shall be the finest, I think - that is, if we are to judge by you. I am sure the energies will be sufficient." Davros' eyes gleamed with ruthless joy. "Many races enter that realm in spirit, but I shall enter it in flesh. Not only myself, but my Daleks and my Fleet. We shall meet the Eternals clothed and armed, stronger than any race has even been! And the fact that in the process I shall strike at you, the people who have done so much to interfere with me…well, that's just a delightful bonus."
"So," Turlough cleared his throat with almost a chuckling noise, "I'm sorry, but what you are saying is, you don't want to enter the realm of the Eternals unless you can bring your pants with you?" He smirked, and Tegan did as well.
Davros frowned. "Young man," he said, his every word edged in ice, "once you have gone a few decades without pants or anything to wear them on for that matter, you will think more highly of them."
"I've met the Eternals," said Tegan flippantly, and flinched at how Davros' eyes suddenly latched onto her. "I wasn't impressed," she continued. "Bunch of idlin' dilettantes, bored out of their minds. Can't imagine why anyone would want to join them."
"I appreciate the information, Tegan Jovanka," Davros said, making an abbreviated bow and then stopping when the bottom edge of his collar dug into his chest. "It sounds as though the natives will not be giving us any trouble then."
Tegan bit her lip. The Doctor knew that she had found the Eternals terrifying, for all her light tone: callous beings that would twist and manipulate people like dolls, without any care as to the results. But apparently even she wasn't certain that she wanted the Daleks loosed on them.
The Doctor was breathing a bit too fast, cheeks flushed as the full meaning of Davros' words sank in. "You can't just set up a Harvest here like a, like a factory!"
"Oh yes I can, Doctor." Davros paced forward a step and then stopped, his robes brushing behind him and his hair blowing around his head. "Our ships are aligning themselves now." He pointed upwards. "They prepare in orbit, even as we prepare here."
He looked pensive for a moment. "I wish you could have read those words of Rassilon's, Doctor. They would have given you a fresh perspective on the matter. He wrote about souls, you see. Their detection and their use. He even offered suggestions for how a Harvest could be conducted on this world. And according to him, I am missing one particular component for this ritual to be completed."
His eyes were like black embers burning in his face. "I require the Matrix, Doctor. The sum of all Time Lord knowledge, the repository for their memories and biodata, is to be placed under my control. And to access the Matrix, I require the President of Gallifrey."
Letting the Rod of Rassilon fall at his feet with a clatter, Davros reached under his robes and pulled out a heavy golden circlet set with domed gems. It seemed like a weapon in his grasp.
"It is time for you to fulfil the destiny your people have laid out for you, Doctor." Davros held out the Crown of Rassilon in his outstretched hands, like a gift. "Use the Crown. Send me on. Drive me and the Daleks out of the universe! Open the Matrix to me and mine, Lord President, and we will be gone for all eternity - or rather, into all eternity."
"Never." The Doctor's eyes burned as well, in fury. He pictured Gallifrey stripped and bare, like a burnt cornfield, nothing but ashes and earth. Davros rising from those ashes, a phoenix unbounded by any constraints, triumphant.
"I think you will. I think that I can - persuade you."
"And if you can't, you'll force me, I suppose."
"If that is how you wish it…" Davros tucked the Crown away, and make a subtle gesture with one freed hand.
A sudden breeze seemed to ruffle the Doctor's hair, and he looked up and gave a little cry, almost of pain.
Tegan looked up and thought of church bells. Great bell shapes were suddenly appearing out of nowhere, black-and-grey bells studded with half-spheres, hanging suspended in mid-air throughout the high open space of the Panopticon. The breaths of air that had been brushing by her suddenly made sense: these things had been above them, drifting back and forth. The bells had stalks poking out of them - then those stalks swivelled as one, fastening on her just as Davros' eyes had, and she realised that the bells were alive. And they could see her.
"Daleks," Turlough said, his voice more urgent than a shout. "Run!"
They ran. The Daleks settled to the stone floor behind them, a living metal wall around Davros that advanced to follow them. Their casings rang as they touched down, and Davros' laughter rang as well. The Daleks chanted as they moved in pursuit of their prey, a war chant that had frozen the hearts of billions.
"Exterminate! Exterminate! Exterminate!"
# # #
Above Gallifrey, a signal was received. Ships began to arrange themselves, twining their orbits and paths around and between each other, circling a single invisible point that was directly over the Citadel and the Panopticon. Daleks and Kaleds prepared themselves, calibrating their sense, plotting trajectories, stretching their limbs, testing mirrors and filters and focusers. They double-checked their calculations, charged their accumulators, or put on their dancing shoes.
Harvest time was here.
# # #
"Where are we going?" Tegan panted, running hard.
"Back to the TARDIS!" the Doctor shouted, the words trailing behind him like a scarf in the wind. "We need to find - STOP!"
He stopped, rearing back on his heels, and his companions came to a panting halt as well. The corridor was blocked before them, top to bottom, with a great white pulsating blob. This must be the fungus that Davros had mentioned, the same stuff that immobilised the unconscious people they had seen.
"It can't see us, can it?" Turlough said uneasily, looking over his shoulder to see if the Daleks were still coming. They were not in sight, but the rasping voices were definitely moving towards them.
The fungus rippled and suddenly grew blue spots - spots that looked disturbingly like eyes. With the slow finality of an avalanche, it started to move.
The Doctor turned to run. Before he could finish his turn, he fell, and the fungus rolled forward to engulf them all.