Davros was enraptured, captivated by his own vision: the Elite implanted with the neural arrays. Himself at the centre of a web of cables, able to control and access every idea in their minds. He was certain this could be implemented in the Daleks as well. And after that, why not the entirety of the Kaled populace? His mind was so busy polishing the future of his dreams that it took Commander Nyder several tries to get his attention.
When Davros finally came enough to himself to realise that Nyder was in his office, he snarled, "I left orders that I was not to be disturbed!"
"Davros, I had to countermand them, you must see-"
"I must review this data and integrate it into my research! All of it! Now!"
"You don't have all the data." Nyder suggestively flourished the heavy folder he held, with Davros' own name prominent on its label. "They have hidden material from you."
"How do you know that I do not have this material already?" said Davros, his hand twitching towards the folder.
"Because if you did, you would have ordered the execution of every Red Hexagon member in this laboratory."
Davros tilted his head a fraction, his ruin of a face towards Nyder. "Really. Then you will deliver your summary, and then I will review the data in detail. And then, perhaps, we will review one of the Red Hexagon personnel. In detail."
Nyder drew a deep breath, and began.
# # #
Sub-Laboratory Twelve was a smaller room, with only two chairs and a single table covered with glittering glassware. Gharman was sitting, but rose to his feet when the Doctor and Sarah Jane entered.
"I don't believe it," he said.
"Believe what?" asked the Doctor.
"That Security Liaison would arrange for us to be alone in here."
"Are you sure we are alone?" The Doctor gestured around the room, then touched his finger to his ear and whispered, "Listening devices?"
Gharman shook his head. "This room is clean, I checked."
Reassured, the Doctor offered Sarah a chair. She sat down, resting not just her feet but her head, which felt overstuffed. It had been a busy morning.
"Nyder's going to be furious with Security Liaison when he finds out," said Gharman.
Sarah Jane gave a little snort of disbelief. "Funny, that's just what she said to us."
"Nyder may find himself a bit distracted by ongoing events. You see," said the Doctor, "he's just discovered that your Laboratory Assistants have completely emptied the sealed lab space next to their quarters, and filled it with their own supplies and equipment. And also, that there are a lot more than five of them."
"Are you certain of this, Doctor?" asked Gharman.
"Saw the laboratory space with my own eyes. But I wonder, I wonder. Was there something there that I missed?"
The Doctor started to pace back and forth, touching the glassware here and there with one finger as though to mark off his points. "There were food supplies, blueprints including Dalek blueprints. There were file cabinets, of paper records. And that's what really puzzles me."
"Why?" asked Sarah.
The Doctor looked at them through the side of a test tube he had plucked from its rack; the glass cylinder distorted his features. "Because if the Red Hexagon really have neural transmission technology, they would be able to pass memories mind to mind. Perfectly. So, why do they need paper records?"
"Posterity?" suggested Sarah. "Maybe they expect the system to break down."
The Doctor put down the test tube, and pulled loose a thin wire that was hanging loose against the well. "Is this wire capable of transmitting as a superconductor?"
Gharman frowned. "Yes, it was put in when the Bunker was first built. It was for a holographic transmission system that was soon abandoned. The wires are all over the Bunker. Why?"
"Because I saw Security Liaison use one to receive orders via her neural array. And I think Third Outer Speaker did the same. Are these wires all through the Dome and the tunnels as well?"
"Yes. They are." Gharman sat in the chair the Doctor wasn't using. "So they've been talking to one another in secret, in and out of the Bunker, for as long as they've been here. But that makes no sense. If the Dome officials, if Councilmen like Mogran and Than knew what was really going on with the Dalek program, it would be halted at once. So why haven't the Assistants told them what they have seen here?"
Sarah Jane quoted in a flat voice, "' The Daleks are creatures of superb potential. It is in the best interests of all that this potential be correctly focussed.'" She went on in her normal voice. "That's what she said, Security Liaison."
The Doctor said, "I think that by the best interests of all, though, she meant the best interests of Red Hexagon. Whoever or whatever they really are. Gharman, what can you tell us about Hif, the scientist who disappeared? What was his area of specialization?"
"Cloning." Gharman loosened his collar. "He wanted to create cloned Kaled females to propagate the race, but Davros was adamant; females would inevitably be exposed to the environmental poisons, and their children would be mutated as well. He was - harsh, with Hif. When he disappeared, we all thought that he might have been dismissed."
"And?" asked Sarah Jane.
"People who are dismissed from Davros' service, well, they are generally believed to have a very short retirement." Gharman mimed a gun to the head with his thumb and forefinger, and both of the visitors understood at once. "Certainly they are never heard from again."
The Doctor spoke firmly. "Gharman, I realise that you are endangering your own life by being here. I believe though, that you are as revolted by what the Daleks are now, as I am by what they will become in the future. There must be some weakness, some flaw in their genetic makeup or their casings that can be exploited. Help us to help you, Gharman. Please."
# # #
Harry had to admit, he was in a bit of a tight spot here. And he couldn't see any obvious way out of it. The ranting Mogran was between him and the doorway, and he had an unpleasant feeling that at some point Mogran would shoot him to punctuate one of his more colourful statements.
One of the guards was right at his back, and he whispered to Harry, "Are you really a traitor?"
"No of course not, I'm a doctor!" Harry whispered back.
"I'm not a traitor either, believe me, but I can't be a part of this. I'm getting out of here. Step back. Slowly."
The guard took Harry by the elbow. Step by step, trying not to attract the attention of the Councilmen, they moved backwards - and then suddenly a door closed between them and the Council chamber!
Harry looked around; he was in a narrow, dimly lit corridor that seemed to slant downwards in the distance.
"This is the Council's emergency escape route, it leads to the heart of the Dome," said the guard, thumbing some control at the side of the door. He was shaking, looking almost sick to his stomach. "This is wrong, it's all wrong. Killing women! And this talk about Davros, it's the worst treachery. Davros couldn't betray us to the Thals!"
"I've seen nothing making me think that he is working for the Thals," said Harry, truthfully enough. Then he shushed the guard, and listened. They could dimly hear the Councilmen still ranting through the door, but there was also a very faint sound off in the distance, at the far end of the corridor.
….eyiyiyiyiyi…
Harry put his hand to his throat, and tried to imitate the sound. All that he got was a gargly squeak at first.
"What are you doing, we should get out of here!" hissed the guard.
"No, that noise, it's the alarm signal, it will bring the Daughters."
There was the sudden sound of fists thudding on the door, and shouts.
Harry looked grim. "At least, it had better do that."
He cleared his throat, and then as high as he could pitch it, shouted down the corridor, "Eyeyeyeyiyiyiyiyiiiiii!" The thunder of fists grew louder, and the door jumped open a hand span.
And the answer came, came from dozens of throats as the darkened corridor was suddenly filled with charging figures, all wearing gas masks, all yelling, all heading straight for the Council door. The guard thoughtfully opened it wide, and the figures streamed past, into the Council chamber. So many squeezed through that both Harry and the guard ended up squashed against the walls.
Their guns spat, and the Councilmen and the other guard fell or fought with darts sticking out of arms or legs. Some who continued to fight were felled by puffs of gas from canisters that the Daughters carried. One of the Councilmen crawled under the table, only to be hauled out and have a dart stuck in his behind by hand.
One of the attackers turned and pulled off her mask. "Doctor Sullivan, I presume?"
Harry nodded, trying to catch his breath from the buffeting he had received.
The Daughter smiled. "Sorry about that, we came as quickly as we could. It looks like we were just in time." She turned around and started counting, then told the others, "Send word. We're missing Than, Gelc, and Mogran."
"Mogran? No, he was just here," said Harry. He looked around at the sprawled unconscious figures, but the moustached man was missing.
One of the Daughters waved her hand for attention and said, her voice muffled by her mask, "Councilman Verro's still alive!"
Harry went over to the wounded man at once. He fell to his knees and saw that the bullet had penetrated high on the chest. The Councilman had clapped his hand over the wound and kept the lung from collapsing. He must have lain there on the floor, thought Harry with a shiver, not making a noise, sure that if he cried out for help he would get only another bullet.
"Keep pressing down, that's it," Harry assured the wounded man, sliding his own hand under Verro's back and pulling it back wet. "We need to get pressure on the exit wound."
Another figure knelt beside Harry, and he looked up to see a Daughter in medical gear that was marred by a ragged bloodstain over its front. He looked at her again, and snapped, "Thirteenth Surgeon! You shouldn't be here, you're wounded!"
She wheezed as she answered, "We need everyone right now, Doctor Sullivan, everyone. We are too close, we can't lose anyone. I am not going to lose anyone, not if I can help it!" Her hands were pulling Verro up a bit, then clapping a gauze pad to his punctured back. "Litton is in surgery, and we need to get Verro there as well."
"Wait," said Verro weakly. "The bomb."
"Bomb where?" asked Thisu.
"Mogran, he had a bomb. A City-Breaker, and he's using it against the Bunker."
"It's all right, Verro, we got here and stopped Mogran."
"No, it's not all right! Mogran was not arguing for us to act," Verro coughed, "he was forcing us to approve his act retroactively. The bomb, Mogran sent his men carrying it to the Bunker already! They're going in through the tunnel between the Bunker and the City, they'll be there at any moment!"
She gasped, then screamed. The Daughters screamed as one.
# # #
Security Liaison stood in a lower level Bunker room that was full of equipment designed for unpleasant use. She wore her laboratory standard issue clothing as though they were a uniform. Davros was before her. Nyder was doing nothing so crass as actually breathing down her neck; he simply stood behind her, waiting.
"Security Liaison," said Davros. "You are familiar with the Bunker Interrogation Centre, and its uses?"
"I have assisted Commander Nyder here on several occasions, sir," she answered. "Is there some function you would like me to demonstrate?"
Davros wheeled a bit closer. "No, the functions here are going to be demonstrated on you. I am going to ask you a series of questions. Then, I am going to wire you to the truth detection equipment, and ask those questions again. And then, under the most painful physical stimulations that can be devised, I shall ask you a third time. You may be permitted to survive if, and only if, I am fully satisfied that your answers to my questions under all three conditions are complete, truthful and exact. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Davros."
"I have been reviewing the file which Commander Nyder acquired in your illegally concealed work space." Those papers were now strewn over the interrogation room's desk. "Why was none of this material available with the Red Hexagon data in the mainframe computer?"
"Those data files were password protected, to prevent any of the Elite from accidentally accessing them. It would have caused them, " she seemed to hunt for the right phase, then came up with, "a distracting level of distress."
"Distress, yes, I am very distressed. These papers detail gene therapy and artificial replication experiments, of which I had no knowledge. No knowledge whatsoever. There are specifications given for a matter disintegrator that would have been of incalculable value to the Dalek program. It was not used, because I was never informed! I was NEVER informed!"
"Sir," said Security Liaison, apologetically. "The matter disintegrator is based on your own experiments of approximately thirty two years ago, relating to atomic particle disruption. The replication experiments-"
"The cloning experiments." Davros' voice was harsher than ever. "One cloning experiment in particular. Not only did the Red Hexagon programme involve cloning and gene engineering of Kaled females, draining valuable materials away from the Bunker, but it also involved the cloning of an example of the highest level of Kaled male genes.
"Myself."
Nyder tensed, waiting to see if Davros would call on him to start the physical level of the interrogation. He might; he seemed more agitated that Nyder had ever seen him, his hand shuddering and shoulders twisting with tension.
"You will tell me now, Security Liaison, where that clone is!" snapped Davros.
She did not answer; instead she bent over at the waist, putting her face on a level with Davros'. Her eyes stared levelly into his empty sockets. She raised her right hand to her left cheek, fingers shaped as though she was holding something, and then dragged her thumb down her face. She paused, as though expecting some reaction from Davros, then raised her hand and drew her fingertips down the other cheek.
Davros' shuddering suddenly halted, he sat frozen in his chair. Then he whispered, "You … have … my EYES!"
And Security Liaison chuckled lowly, her hands suddenly locked into fists at her sides.
Nyder immediately registered that she was in striking distance not only of Davros, but the delicate controls of the life support system built into Davros' chair. "Get away from him!" he hissed, and cupped the grip of his truncheon.
Security Liaison did not move. She said flatly, "Please stop grabbing your truncheon like that around me, Commander, I find it personally embarassi-"
Enough! Nyder grabbed Security Liaison by the shoulder and yanked her backwards, before smashing her across the forehead. At least it was supposed to happen that way; instead she ducked and weaved and evaded his hand, leaping to one side and then facing him, in a fighting pose that looked ridiculous when a woman struck it.
She stamped her foot, and Nyder took in her posture, the angles of her knees and arms, and realised that she might actually be challenging him. He kept his truncheon out, but reached for his pistol as Davros shouted, "Stop! STOP! I forbid you to harm her, Nyder!"
Nyder froze, and slowly lowered his truncheon, as Davros continued, "Do not harm one hair on her head! Because-"
"Because my hair is your hair, my eyes are your eyes, and all the rest. A perfect tissue match, except for the minor matter of gender." Security Liaison went from fighting stance to simply standing at rest. She straightened her jacket, touched her fingers to her chest. "Most importantly, my heart is your heart - and you know full well, Davros, that a full mechanical replacement for that organ will require a complete retooling of your support system. Far easier for you to take mine."
"That would be fatal," Nyder noted.
"And your point is?" Security Liaison caught his eye.
"No point at all, I assure you," he said smoothly.
Davros wheeled closer, his vision system focussed totally on the Red Hexagon woman. "Shouldn't you be taller?"
"I was underfed deliberately, so that I would not reach my full size and my organs and limbs could be fitted to your body as necessary, without - trimming. They bobbed my nose," Security Liaison rubbed at it, "and performed other plastic surgery so that I would not attract undue attention. I was to be simply another Red Hexagon member, until the day came when I was needed for you, Davros." She straightened proudly. "My limbs, my organs, my eyes, my flesh for you." Her voice rang with conviction.
The room suddenly shuddered, and the lights dimmed. A booming noise echoed through the Bunker corridors, and an alarm siren wailed and was abruptly cut off. There was the distant chatter of a machine gun, then several guns.
"What!" shouted Davros. Nyder drew his pistol; Security Liaison was instantly alert, all eyes and bared teeth, looking ready to fight.
A garbled voice came over the intercom. "The Bunker is under attack! The B-" and then there was only the crackle of static.
# # #
The conspirators' discussion of Kaled polycarbide cartilage had been interrupted as well. Now there was a sudden flurry of what sounded like hail against the door of Sub-Laboratory Twelve. Sarah jumped and screamed.
"Back, get back!" shouted Gharman. "That's machine gun fire!" There was the thundering of feet outside, then more gunfire from further off.
Gharman went to the door control, which was blinking red. "One of the bullets must have smashed the lock mechanism on the outside." He looked at the alarmed Sarah and reassured her, "The door is armoured, we're quite safe here. We'll have to slide the door open by hand, that's all."
In the main laboratory, the scientists converged from throughout the Bunker. It was the most heavily shielded room in the facility, and standard emergency drills had it be the rendezvous point, rather than risking evacuation into the outside world. After Kavell dashed in a side door, he turned and touched the blast shutter control, and a heavy ceramic plate slid down from the ceiling and covered the door. Nothing could get in now.
At the main door, Ronson urged the scientists in. "Hurry, hurry!" he cried, and looked over his shoulder. "Where's Gharman?"
Security Liaison came through the door, at a run, and shoved Ronson across the floor. She slid with him as though in an absurd dance, while saying, "Gharman is in Sub-Laboratory Twelve, we will hope he is uninjured."
"Why-" and Davros slid through the door after Security Liaison. Ronson checked himself; Security Liaison had just been clearing the doorway so that Davros could get in.
"Seal the laboratory," ordered Davros. Ronson paused for a moment, then went to the main controls and lowered the shields over all the doors. Anyone still outside would have to take their chances.
Davros' hand flipped a switch on his chair, with no results. He demanded, "Where are the Dalek test subjects?"
"We were upgrading their sub-infra vision systems, they're under anaesthesia," said one of the scientists. "Even if we could wake them in time, they would be blind." To himself, he thought that blind, armed Daleks blundering around in the Bunker was almost as frightening as outside attack.
"What is happening out there?" said Davros. "Who is attacking us?"
Security Liaison slid over to the main console and flipped a switch; a screen rose out of it, and started displaying rapid-fire images of corridors and empty laboratories - all shot from video cameras inside the Bunker.
"That screen can't access the internal cameras!" said one of the guards.
"It can now - HA!" Security Liaison's reply was cut off by the sight on the screen of six men carrying a heavy steel cylinder in a sling of straps between them; a man before and behind with a heavy machine gun guarded them. She touched a control and the camera stayed on them. "Kaled uniforms, they look Kaled. Oh no." She pointed to the screen with one shaking hand. "Please, someone, please tell me that you blood-gutted morons did not leave a City-Buster lying around where someone could get their hands on it! NO!" she shrieked.
Everyone in the room flinched at that shriek, except for Davros. Security Liaison was standing on her toes, face bestial with rage.
"It is a City-Buster," moaned Ronson, shaking. "The super-bomb. It'll contaminate the entire Bunker just by being here, and if they set it off!"
"Those men are already dead from radiation, but still walking," she said, in a shaky voice. She touched the controls, and the cameras showed empty corridors, then Gharman and the Doctor in a sub-laboratory, then Nyder leading a squad of men with heavy weaponry.
"Nyder's too far away, he won't make it before they reach Section One and detonate." Security Liaison's voice was trembling small. "If those men are cornered, it will be the work of an instant to flash-trip the bomb and kill us all." They could all see that a tangle of loose wires led from the nosepiece of the bomb to a crude control on top.
"No, no, no! I do not accept this, I cannot be defeated! Not now!" shouted Davros. "You must protect me! Security Liaison! You must protect me!"
Everything seemed to slow down for a moment, a moment that stretched.
Security Liaison was smiling. And growling through her smile; her face alight, limbs suddenly poised like a rock leopard about to pounce on her helpless prey. The noise she made was worse than animal, it shivered right to the nerves.
"I obey," she whispered, and moved. She dashed to a bare wall, and touched one of the rivets there, which unlike all the other rivets in that wall had been shaped in the form of a hexagon. A slender panel fell open, and she reached inside and pulled out what might be a weapon.
It was a strangely contorted silver rifle, with asymmetric antennae bristling from it. A trail of neural connector cables hung from the underside of the stock and barrel. She pivoted with the gun held loosely under her arm, and half of the scientists of the room ducked. Not just at the weapon, but at the look of gleeful, murderous joy on her face.
"Controlled matter disintegration, gentlemen, Davros. A great building tool, a fine trick at parties." Her ghastly smile grew even wider. "A weapon that can slice through mountains, destroy ships and planes and tanks in the flickering of a beam."
Some of the scientists who had not moved before started getting down on the floor, on second thought. There was a burst of machine gun fire in the distance, as the attackers killed two guards.
Security Liaison turned to face the outer wall of the laboratory, and started threading the cables from the weapon to her scalp. "And it will let me slice through that wall, across into Section Three, through that corridor and anyone in it," her hand flickered to indicate the monitor and the approaching figures with their deadly burden, "through the next wall, and then dissipate. It has better; the wall after that is load-bearing."
"You can't!" cried Ronson, from where he was huddled beside his desk. "You'll cut through Sub-Laboratory Twelve, you'll kill Gharman and the Doctor!"
"And Sarah Jane Smith." Security Liaison adjusted one last cable to her head, and balanced the stock of the rifle across her shoulder. "You must never forget the Smith."
She stood, head erect and poised, then slid backwards until she was standing by the central panel. She reached into one of her pockets and pulled out a tiny head-mount microphone, which she plugged into the control panel. The other end was strung over her ear, to hang beside her mouth.
Ronson looked up from the floor. By some unhappy coincidence, he could see both Davros and Security Liaison in profile; and he suddenly saw the alikeness, the alignment of them. A family resemblance, almost.
The cameras zoomed in, taking in sweating faces, one attacker's bloody nose, and the way they staggered as they came on. "I have to drop them now, if one of them falls they'll be out of the beam," she whispered. Behind her, the cameras were showing Commander Nyder, with his men, approaching an intersection; as soon as they came around the corner, they would be seen by the attackers.
"I must protect Davros," she said, as though in triumph. Only Davros was close enough to hear her whisper, under her breath, "I ask for forgiveness back. Nyder."
Her hand touched the microphone, and she spoke over the Bunker's intercom system. In the severely plain tone of an automated message, she said, "Project Long Ears. Five G's in ten seconds."
In the corridor, the six men carrying the bomb were burning; their muscles swollen and hot with exhaustion and radiation. The one at the front looked up, but he was too tired, too bleary and sick to understand the message. He just knew he had to keep going, go forward into Section One. And die.
In Sub-Laboratory Twelve, the Doctor looked up and said, "What?" Then he shouted, "Get DOWN!" and slammed Sarah and Gharman across the chest with his arms. All three of them dropped to the floor, and the Doctor's arms held them there, unable to rise.
Nyder and his men were almost in position; he was gambling that if he could drop enough of the attackers, they would be unable to carry their burden any farther. They were pelting the corridor before and behind them with bullets, he had to get enough men shooting back to drop some of them. That would give him time to seal the corridor, pump in gas, then anti-radiation foam, seal it off with portable lead panels. His mind concentrated on the clean-up, rather than the inevitability of his death as soon as he rounded that corner. Ahead of him, he saw a Red Hexagon woman step out of a doorway - a doorway? There was no door there - and she ran at him, darting through the intersection and staggering as the bullets punched into her side. She lurched forward, red spreading across her clothes. She hurtled herself at Nyder, taking him at the waist. In midair, her hands and feet flew out, managing to trip and tangle, and the entire squad went down on the floor in a heap.
Security Liaison closed her eyes, adjusted her stance minutely, and there was a searing electronic screech and stink of vaporised metal as she drew the rifle in a precise arc in front of her, at shoulder height.
The lights went out.
