"Just where exactly are you taking me? We've been squeezing through this corridor for more than twenty minutes," grumbled the man. They were stooping low and practically squeezing themselves through what seemed to be some sort of maintenance corridor. The place smelled dank and musty and beyond the confines of their tight little space, machinery could be heard thumping and grinding without end.
"These corridors cover most of the factory floor, but the Daleks don't know anything about them," said Jell. "I made sure to remove them from the floor-plan before I gave it to them; I figured they could come in handy if somebody mounted a resistance."
"Yes, but where exactly are you taking me?"
"You'll see."
They emerged from the corridor about half an hour later and found themselves in a rec room of some sort. It was quite large, with tables, chairs and various soft furnishings.
There were a few dozen Skalavornians scattered about the place, some exercising or playing games, while others huddled over roughly drawn battle-plans. They all looked up when they entered the room and swiftly jumped to their feet.
"It's OK," said Jell, "we-"
She was cut off mid-sentence as a thick tendril, about four times the width of her body, grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the wall.
"Jell!" yelled the man.
Jell dug into the tendril, trying desperately to remove it from her throat. She suddenly realised that there were two red eyes staring at her and slowly, she focused on the face of the Skalavornian who was trying to kill her.
"Well, well, well," came the deep, baritone voice, "if it isn't Jell the traitor."
She tried to explain; to plead her case, but all that came from her mouth was a garbled mess.
"I'm going to enjoy killing the Daleks' favourite pet."
"Excuse me, might I have a moment of your time?"
The large Skalavornian cocked his head in confusion, before looking over his shoulder at the small humanoid man.
"Yes, hello. Ordinarily I wouldn't interject in domestic affairs such as this, but as it happens, that woman you are a currently strangling could possibly be of assistance to me and my efforts and as such, I really would appreciate it if you could let her go."
Jell gurgled, as if to ask if the man could hurry things up a bit.
"Yes, yes," he replied, as if he had actually understood her.
However, the big Skalavornian was not impressed. "Beat it! This is personal." He then turned back, focusing all of his attention on Jell once more.
"Yes, I can see that. But you see, I'm here to wipe the Daleks from the face of your planet, but I regret to inform you that I really can't do that without Jell there."
The Skalavornian looked back at the man, releasing his grip slightly. "You think you can destroy the Daleks?"
"I've done it before," said the man with an edge to his voice. "Many times."
The Skalavornian considered this for a moment then grunted, releasing Jell and letting her slide to the floor. He strode over to the other side of the room, shaking his head and muttering under his breath.
Jell coughed and spluttered as air rushed back into her lungs, rubbing her tender throat. The man offered her a hand and helped her back to her feet.
"Dragor," she said with a raspy voice, "you have to understand that I was never on their side. I did what I had to stay alive and in my own way, I'd like to think that I've saved lives."
The Skalavornian – Dragor – turned and closed the space between them in half a dozen gargantuan strides. "You dare try to justify - "
"Alright, alright, let's not start that again," said the man, stepping between them, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Whatever Jell has done in the past is irrelevant. All that matters now is that you all may finally have a chance to be rid of the Daleks for good. Now, Jell, I take it that this, uh, gentleman is the reason we are here?"
Jell nodded, still rubbing her throat gently. "Dragor, I know that you've been gathering a resistance and you're working on a plot to overthrow the Daleks."
The other Skalavornians began to growl and Dragor leered at her with such fierce intensity that his fiery red eyes were reduced to mere pin-pricks of light. "Says who?"
"I'm the general manager; it's my job to know what's going on in my factory."
Dragor regarded her for what felt like an eternity and Jell braced herself for another attack. "What if I am?" he said, finally. "You gonna run to your masters?"
The man took a few casual steps so that he was between Jell and Dragor once again. "I think what Jell is suggesting is an alliance. You have the manpower, Jell knows the factory and how the Daleks are operating here, while I know how to fight them. What do you say?"
Again, Dragor was silent, regarding them both with those eyes that were like the dying embers of a once great blaze. "Fine. But if either one of you betrays us, you won't live to regret it."
Dragor turned to the other Skalavornians, who were all standing and watching Jell with fierce eyes. "I know how you feel about this traitor – trust me – but she and her alien friend claim that they can help us defeat those scum-sucking Daleks. If they don't come through, by all means, do what you want with them. But until then, I want you to hear what they have to say."
There were screams and complaints from the crowd as they cursed Jell and questioned their leader, demanding blood and justice. Their cries fell silent when Dragor let out a blood-curdling scream that sent ripples over Jell's flesh. The crowd went silent instantly and they all began to sit back down slowly.
Dragor nodded to Jell and the man, indicating that it was their turn to speak.
"Oh, umm," Jell hadn't really thought about what they were going to say. Come to think of it, she had no idea what their plan was. That wasn't really her department. "Umm," she looked at the man, "would you like to take the floor?"
The man looked hesitant, but he took a few steps forward, hands clasped behind his back and began addressing the room full of hulking, rage-fuelled aliens as if it were completely natural to him.
"I can see that you're all angry and no doubt, ready to fight."
The room burst into shrieks and cries of affirmation.
The man gave a shallow nod. "No doubt, you'll also have discovered that rage and a strong will are not adequate weapons to fight the Daleks." He was pacing slowly, back and forth across the room. "But if we're smart about how we use that rage and that willpower, well, the Daleks won't stand a chance. There are what, sixty-eight of you?" He looked at Dragor, who nodded an affirmation. "Sixty-eight," he mused. "Of course, what really fascinates me is the fact that there aren't any guards on the door. Nor is there actually a door, for that matter.
"Yeah," snorted Dragor, "and no flag or giant sign saying, 'resistance fighters – entry by appointment only'. What we've got is way better and more discrete, look."
He pointed down by the base of the doorway, where Jell could see a small red light blinking. There was another one on the other side of the doorway.
"What are they?" she asked.
"Something some of the old R&D guys came up with. It's programmed to detect Dalekanium – the stuff that the Daleks' battle casings are made out of. If it detects it, it sends out a high-voltage electrical charge through the floor – enough to destroy at least a few Daleks and give us some warning." His mouth quirked into a crooked smile. "We call it the Dalek-Zapper."
"Very impressive," said the man in all sincerity. "Do you think that you could make more of them?"
There was some murmuring, before one of the more slender Skalavornians stood up. "Yes, it should be easy enough. We've been able to scavenge materials without too much trouble and we've got access to machinery, so it shouldn't be too hard."
The man nodded. "And what about making them bigger and with a higher voltage?"
The slender Skalavornian tilted his head. "How big?"
For the next three hours preparations were made. Dragor, Jell and the man poured over maps of the factory, making notes, going over Dalek patrol patterns, planning out routes and trying to work out the points at which they would have the biggest advantage.
Some of the other Skalavornians worked on making more Dalek-zappers, including one supersized version. The rest of them set out into the factory, collecting more materials and trying to get as many reinforcements as possible.
Jell leaned back in her chair and stretched - she'd been hunched over the map for hours without moving. As she did, she felt her tendrils smack a Skalavornian as he was walking by.
"Oh, sorry," she exclaimed, jumping up from her chair.
"Watch it traitor," he growled before continuing on his way.
Jell slumped back into her chair and sighed.
"They'll get over it," said the man.
Jell looked at him, sitting there, fiddling with that slender device of his.
"I don't think they ever will," she said with dismay.
"What have you actually done?" he asked. "I know that you've been overseeing the factory for the Daleks, but surely there must be more to it than that."
Jell shook her head. "No, that's it. When the Daleks came along, everybody was forced into working the factory floor – security guards, technicians, cleaners – everyone. Except for me. I managed to convince them that since I'd managed the factory for so long and with such efficiency, I'd be of more use to them just doing that. They agreed. In the eyes of the others, that made me a traitor. I chose to work with the Daleks and aid in their plans, just to keep my job and maintain a degree of comfort and protection. To them, I'm scum. And maybe they're right."
She bowed her head, daring not look at the man. She'd seen judgement in the eyes of so many of her friends and colleagues; she couldn't bear to see it in the eyes of this stranger too.
"Jell, let me ask you something."
She turned her head slightly to look at him. But she made sure to avoid his eyes.
"Have you killed anyone or hurt anyone under orders of the Daleks?"
"No, not exactly."
The man nodded. "Have you at any point sympathised with the Daleks or, more importantly, lost all compassion for your fellow Skalavornians.
"No, of course not!" she practically yelled as she turned to face the man fully.
The man nodded again. "What exactly has your job been under the Daleks?"
"Well, much the same as it's always been, overseeing the day to day operation of the factory."
Again, he nodded. "Well then, I'd hardly call you a Dalek sympathiser, much less scum. Tell me, how do you think the Daleks would be running this place if you hadn't convinced them of your efficiency?"
"Well, I don't know."
"I do," he said, his voice grave, "and I can assure you that administration and shift management are not the Daleks' style. Trust me, Jell, you have probably saved countless lives, even if they don't realise it."
Jell gave a tight smile. "I pray to the Mother that you're right."