The Daleks moved closer to the victims, still shrilling, "Exterminate!"

"Cancel order, cancel order!" shouted Davros. "Stop!" The Kaled scientist was shaking with agitation.

At once the two Daleks stopped. The Doctor heaved out a sigh of relief, and without looking behind her Security Liaison reached out and touched his arm. "Wait," she cautioned.

The Daleks began to move, turning around to focus on Davros. One of them grated, "Why do you give us contradictory orders, Davros?"

"Hang on, you're Davros?" said Harry, gesturing towards the strange half-man half-machine in the middle of the laboratory.

"Of course!" he rasped. "How-"

"Wonderful! Sir, it's anhonour to meet you!" said Harry, moving forward with a broad smile and an outstretched hand. He completely ignored the two menacing Daleks, walking between them as though they were post boxes. Nyder moved into position to intercept Harry if he touched the Kaled scientist, as he seemed poised to do. "It's amazing, what you've done for the Kaled people. You've ended the war, a magnificent triumph! That is, you and all your lovely daughters, of course."

Davros wheezed in shock. "Daughters?"

"Sure, like her!" Harry pointed at Security Liaison, whose face was frozen in a wide-eyed expression of - fear? "All over the Dome, fixin' things up, making things work, those wonderful Daughters of Davros. Hundreds and hundreds and fours and twos and fives of them. Everyone loves them. Everyone loves you."

Harry swayed forward, and Nyder caught him. Harry smiled into the Security Commander's stiff face, and slurred, "Wonderful chap. Ended the war! All by himself!"

"There are hundreds of - her, in the Dome? Red Hexagon women?" asked Davros.

"Well, they call themselves the Daughters of Davros, but it's a, um, what did they say? A spiritual title, that's it." While Davros absorbed this information, Harry wobbled a bit in Nyder's grasp, and asked him in a hopeful tone, "Dance?"

"No!" snapped Nyder.

"We require clarification of conflicting orders!" said one of the Daleks. "All aliens are to be destroyed! Security Liaison is to be preserved! Negate the conflict, give us orders!"

"Demanding little wights, aren't they?" said Sarah to the Doctor in a low voice; she could have sworn that she heard Security Liaison chuckle, but that didn't seem likely. Since everyone was paying attention to the Daleks, she thought it was a good time to scoot over and grab Harry by the sleeve, pulling him away from the Commander. Nyder gave his prisoner up with a will.

"What's wrong with you, Harry?" she asked.

His pupils were huge. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong, I feel fine. Fine and dandy." The Doctor looked on, his attention split between his companions, and the confrontation between the Daleks and their creators.

"Security Liaison is not an alien," said Davros.

"Security Liaison is an alien," the Dalek stated flatly. "She is Red Hexagon. All Red Hexagon are aliens."

"How do you know that?"

The Dalek's answer was immediate. "It is obvious to any intelligent being. Only with the use of alien technology could the Red Hexagon have taken control of the Kaled Dome."

"They've taken the Dome?" said Nyder, incredulous. "Impossible. How could they, a mere handful of women?"

"Lot'sa women," objected Harry, who was now having to deal with the Doctor examining his too-large pupils. "Many, many handfuls of them."

"The Red Hexagon have mastered the generation of full humanoid bodies in artificial wombs. They are converting organic mass directly into copies of themselves." The Dalek's voice almost purred as it added, "We approve of their techniques."

"But where did you get the uncontaminated organic mass necessary to create so many new bodies?" Ronson asked Security Liaison.

The Red Hexagon woman drew herself to attention. "You've all visited the Mausoleum of the First Fallen. It is the greatest Kaled war shrine. It holds the bodies of those slain in the first few minutes of the War. It was sheathed in lead to contain bodies so irradiated that even their bacteria died, and they could not decay. The Mausoleum is - a tad empty these days."

Her eyes came alight. "The particle fountains have cleansed the bodies. They are dead, but we live. We are their purified flesh, reborn. We shall redeem their deaths and bring peace to Skaro."

She paused, and took in Ronson's revolted expression. "And before you make that face at me, consider. The Kaled people's attitudes towards death and the dead are a bit casual, after centuries of wholesale slaughter. They will not object to what we have done. Indeed, the more religious will probably see it as prophecy fulfilled."

Davros skipped over the slight matter of how they were creating fully sentient copies of themselves - clearly the neural implants were more useful tools than he had theorised. He went right to what concerned him most. "Are you saying that I could have had as many Red Hexagon workers in the Bunker as I desired? That the limits you placed were arbitrary?"

"If we had given you all the Red Hexagon you desired, Davros, you would have disposed of all current members of the Elite." The scientists murmured to each other, and Security Liaison looked at them with scorn. "Oh come on, what do you think happened to the Laboratory Assistants who were replaced? Did they retire? With benefits?"

"What did happen to them?" asked Ronson.

"Commander Nyder processed their terminations of employment. And terminations."

"That is a lie," snapped Nyder.

"A lie? And what about the testimony of four laboratory assistants who very much appreciate my arranging for the blanks in your gun. Commander, I was there. That is," Security Liaison's voice suddenly changed. Not louder or deeper, but more precise, more sharply accented. "I who am the many and the one, I who am Security Liaison and the Laboratory Assistants and the Surgeons and the Healers and even the Leader - I who am that I am, I was there. Watching in secret. Watching, always watching."

"I was afraid of that," said the Doctor grimly. "Definitely alien. A group mind, with shared memories and artificial personalities lain on top. No wonder the Elite find you so useful! You could edit your personalities to fit whatever they wanted you to be. You aren't Kaled. Who are you, really?"

Security Liaison stuck out her chin. "Since when are you in charge of interrogation? I wear no mask. Test my genes, I am Kaled." She looked aside at Davros.

"It's your transmitted memories that I'm wondering about," said the Doctor. "And what have you done to Harry?"

"What?" asked Security Liaison. "Oh. He shouldn't have eaten so much at the Dome; he's gotten a double batch of a drug we haven't had time to name yet. A biochemical reinforcement of his tendency to follow authority. Plus an extra dose of benign good cheer on top. He's still himself, just a bit more biddable, and happier overall, and more likely to dance."

"Love to dance," nodded Harry in agreement. "End of the war, ought to celebrate, old girl!"

"So why did you drug all the Kaleds in the Dome?" asked Sarah, trying to fend off Harry's attempts to swing her round.

"Let's say that we are throwing them a very special party. We are uniting them as a people, instead of a cluster of backstabbing tribes, each one fighting, or fighting not to fight. We are giving them a great memory of celebration and oneness, letting them put a hard line in their minds that says here, here the war ended." Security Liaison drew a line through the air with her finger, in a quick slashing motion.

"We are also starting personality analyses in batch - you would not believe the level of psychosis that is permitted in the military personnel! So long as they know which direction to shoot in, their mental injuries go completely untreated. With the same results as leaving physical wounds to fester."

"These matters are not important to the Daleks." One of the Daleks turned and moved forward towards Security Liaison. "You are the sole representative of Red Hexagon remaining in the Bunker-"

"I am?" she interrupted, eyes wide.

The Dalek ignored the interruption. "We require information on the matter disintegrator and the telepathy bomb. We have not been given access to the full spectrum of data. You will give us the data."

"How?" asked Gharman, his brows lowered. The answer was both fast and frightening.

Security Liaison shrugged apologetically, and ran her fingers through her loose hair, baring one of the small metal plates set into her skull. She moved to the Dalek and tilted her head, touching that metal to the Dalek's dome. Her eyes rolled half-closed. The Dalek's communication lights, and her eyelids, began to flicker in uncanny unison.

"They've got the neural implants synchronised with the Daleks," said the Doctor. "They can transmit their thoughts directly to them."

"I did not authorise any such modifications!" snapped Davros.

"We requested the modifications," said the other Dalek, wheeling to face Davros. Then Security Liaison moved her head away, and the two Daleks faced each other. Then they both turned to Davros.

"We are defenceless against the telepathy bomb!" one stated. "It will delete our skills, our memories! It will destroy our minds!"

"The matter disintegrator cannot be blocked or repelled!" said the other Dalek. "We cannot determine a strategy!"

"I will determine your strategy," said Davros soothingly. Perhaps this was his chance to regain control over these erratic creatures, find out what was wrong with them. They were being much too independent. "But you must obey my orders. Not the Red Hexagon. Obey me, you creator."

The two Daleks were immobile, as though thinking. It seemed that everyone else in the laboratory was holding his or her breath: would the Daleks submit, or attack? At last, one of them grated, "We obey. Are we to destroy the Red Hexagon alien?"

"No, I need to question her. You will remain here and protect me." One of the Daleks turned round and started methodically scanning the room; the second oriented itself on Security Liaison, who stood straighter and brushed down her disordered hair.

"How long has your corruption been rooting itself here among the Elite, alien?" said Davros in a bitter, ugly tone.

"Oh, since the night our gazes met across a darkened laboratory, Davros," she said lightly. "I was just a recently animated experiment of Scientist Hif's, doing some editing on a formula written on a board, and you said," Security Liaison somehow lowered and roughened her voice to be a fair approximation of Davros, and growled, " 'How did you know where the error was? I have been looking at that board for two hours! How!' " Security Liaison coughed to clear her throat, then went on. "And then I said, 'I just saw where the mistake had to be, sir. I don't know how.' "

She went so far as to bat her eyelashes. "And I blushed. I'm very good at that, you know. Practice, practice, practice. Shall I demonstrate?"

"No." Davros' voice slapped down on Security Liaison's frivolity; she composed herself. "I was alone in that room," said the elder scientist slowly. "How could you know exactly what I said?"

"Would you like me to write out the formulas again?" she asked. "I was there, Davros. This body may not have been, but my memory is unbroken, I was there!"

Nyder bit his lip, unseen. If this was the same person as the woman Davros was referring to, then she was J29A.

Davros went on. "Commander Nyder tells me that you can extract information from dead minds using your techniques. Why have you not destroyed us all, taken our knowledge for - for yourselves?"

"What, after all that effort to keep you safe and whole? Squeezing the information from your minds using our techniques would destroy more than it retained. We would rather persuade you to work with us freely." She shrugged. "But if you will not work for us, if the Elite would truly be happier as ditch-diggers or file clerks, well, the Kaled people need ditch diggers too."

"You may control the Dome, but not the Bunker. Not yet. You cannot strip me of the Elite!" Davros' voice was a bit high-pitched with panic. "My work is vital, I cannot do my work without them!"

"Davros, the deception is over. All masks off. We are sorry we had to limit you to only five of us. Now, you may have five more, or fifty, or five hundred, as you please. Of course," and her voice became uncertain, "you may have to wait for them. A little while."

"Explain!"

"The Kaled military leaders, and others, they are - deeply unwell people, some of them. They will probably attack us, even as we try to save them. Many Red Hexagon could die tonight, and over the next few days. Radiation poisoning, land mines, assault, accident, murder." She sighed deeply. Under her breath, she whispered, "Warn Heaven and Hell."

"Gotcha!" shouted the Doctor. Everyone in the room jumped.

He went on, "I know who uses that oath. I know your species now, you're a Reflectionist!" The Doctor seemed to relax. "Well that's a relief. I was worried for a moment there."

"A relief?" said Security Liaison, arching one brow. Inside she was cursing at herself; her muttered words had betrayed her.

"Yes, well, the Reflectionists are basically harmless as aliens go. Unique as a purely neural-based species, independent of any one known biological source. I've heard them called the Reflected Meme, the Skull Farmers, the Hands of Reason, and now the Red Hexagon and the Daughters of Davros, apparently. They travel from star to star as charged energy patterns, setting up shop with native bodies and alien neural patterns. They're sort of an intergalactic sewing circle, each of them doing their little bit towards the whole of the Reflectionist race. I've met them before, always thought they were rather fun folks. They throw great parties." The Doctor's jovial tone suddenly became uncertain. "But Kaled society is weakened by war, completely open to their influence."

The Doctor stared at Security Liaison. She stepped a little bit closer to the Dalek at her side. "You were saying?" she invited. "Please, do go on."

"The Reflectionists have never been a great intergalactic power, because they always work with another race, not alone. And they never found powerful enough allies." The Doctor breathed in sharply. "Until now. The Daleks, that's what you're here for. To join with them. To give them advanced technology, here at the moment of their creation. Daleks with matter disintegrators, plus Reflectionist personality editing and pattern transmission - no. No, you cannot, you absolutely cannot do that!"

"Who will stop me?" Security Liaison said, with a ghastly grin. "You?" She swept her gaze over the Elite. "Or these?"

She turned back to Davros, and said, "Or -", and then stopped with her mouth hanging open. Davros was sitting absolutely still, not even seeming to breathe. As though her words had struck him dead.

"Davros?" she said worriedly. There was no response.

"Whiteout," said Gharman, stepping forward and pulling her away. She suddenly looked very small and scared. In a detached tone, he said, "It's all right, you've just given him too much to think about at once. The Elite call it a whiteout. Just leave him be. Ah." Davros' sole remaining hand was moving again, crawling back and forth between the switches on his chair.

"I … they … The Daleks are to return to their scheduled duties," said Davros slowly. The two Daleks promptly manoeuvred themselves out of the laboratory, single file. Davros went on, a little faster, "The prisoners are to be returned to their cells. Nyder, see to it. I need time. Time to think about this new information. All Elite staff are…to proceed with their normal tasks." He spun round, and ordered, "Security Liaison, accompany me!" as he rolled towards the door. With her face reverting to its usual Nyder-like blankness, she followed. Behind them, the laboratory staff immediately fell into a dozen heated discussions.

# # #

Nyder made a decision when he got down to the detention level with his prisoners. He had suffered quite enough of having these meandering aliens underfoot. Now that there were three of them, he was going to stick each one into a separate cell. One guard would be enough to watch all three cells.

As they walked down the corridor, Sarah tried to find out how much Harry's will was eroded by the drugs. "So if I asked you to never call me old girl again?"

"Absolutely, whatever you say!" Harry looked at her with a happy, dazed expression: clearly he had no idea what he was agreeing to.

Sarah Jane felt suddenly sad. "Harry, no. You can call me old girl … whenever you want."

The Doctor went into the first cell, and Sarah into the second. The stumbling and convivial Harry Sullivan was caged last.