General Ravon stumbled down the Wasteland ravine, dusty and thirsty. He didn't dare drink any of the standing water; it might as well be pure cyanide. But back here, if he remembered right, yes! This barred entrance was what he was looking for.

Ravon had never been the most stable of personalities; the tentative personality wheel that the Daughters of Davros had created for him showed great unbalanced swatches of red and black, hate and fear and aggression, and very little else. The news of the war's end had not improved his stability. He had spent all night in hiding. Now that he had finally circled round and located these caves, he was obsessed with getting into the Bunker, somehow. In there they would know what to do, in there he could still find something to fight, someone to fight for! His chin quivered for a moment, like a boy's on the brink of bawling. It was all going wrong, everything! Then he heard a faint noise behind him and spun, pointing his gun at a figure even more ragged than himself.

"General Ravon?" the figure said. Under the dirt, there were once-white robes, and the face was -

"Councilman Than!" said Ravon. "Why aren't you in the Dome? No, I heard - something about you rebelling against the Daughters?"

"They're mad," said Than. "They're going to destroy everything! Don't they understand that without military leadership, military command, the people will rise up and destroy everything? The people have to be controlled, for their own good, but these Daughters, these lunatics don't understand that."

"Well, what do you expect of women?" Ravon sneered.

Than continued, "Mogran and I escaped the Dome. He said he had a plan to flee to the islands, but I stayed here. I wanted to get into the Bunker, somehow. Warn Davros of what was really happening, but there are these robot creatures guarding the entrance, I didn't dare get too close."

"I know a way into the Bunker. It was an exercise that I used to run with Commander Nyder." Ravon did not mention that the exercise had involved the most unusual punishments for failure. "There are ventilation shafts that open out into this cave. Big enough to crawl through. But there are some very dangerous animals that live inside, as well. Perhaps I should watch your back. There's no reason why we can't combine our plans."

Together, the two men moved into the strangely barren cave.

# # #

The main laboratory was in a buzz around the Doctor and his companions, after the announcement had been made that the Peace Accords were to be signed in one of the Bunker chambers within hours. Nobody was really interested in talking to the alien prisoners now. Again and again the Doctor tried to get someone's attention, but they always brushed him off. He shook his head sharply in frustration, making the curls bob over his forehead. "I've warned them about the Daleks, about the Reflectionists, but nobody will listen!"

"Well, they just might think the Peace Accords are more important," said Sarah Jane. To herself she thought that the Doctor must find it a shock to be overlooked.

"Doctor," said Harry, "try to look at it from their point of view. This is the end of a thousand years of war! I spent time in their hospitals, time I'll never forget. If all those poor men and boys can leave the battlefield forever, surely that's worth putting up with a few aliens around, these Reflectionists. After all, they put up with us." He frowned a little. "I still don't know why they all keep going on about these fountains, though. Isn't there enough water here?"

"Particle fountains, Harry. A device that forces atomic material into a lower energy state; absorbs radiation and turns it into harmless energy. The Elite invented it - at least, that's what their records say. But the records are fakes, probably planted there by the Reflectionists."

"The records are accurate as to the results, if not the contributors," said one of those Reflectionists, one of the Laboratory Assistants, inserting herself into the conversation. "The particle fountain could not have been created without the research of Davros into atomic level disruption. We simply looked at the problem from a different angle. Or rather, from multiple angles at once."

She moved a step closer to the Doctor, and stared up into his eyes. "This is necessary, all of it, Doctor. All this interference, this tampering and meddling - it must be, if we are to save the Kaleds. We believe that they are worth saving."

"And so do I!" said the Doctor a little too quickly.

"Then do not obstruct us, Doctor," she replied in a voice that held a hint of a growl. "You are welcome to attend the Peace Accords signing ceremony, but refrain from taking the stage for your own little performance, if you please." She scowled and moved off.

"That could have gone better," said the Doctor pessimistically. Ronson wandered by, looking dazed and happy, and the Doctor stretched out an arm to stop him.

"Scientist Ronson, I was wondering," said the Doctor with a smile, "shouldn't I and my friends be released or something? I mean, the war is over. I'm not entirely certain you still have the authority to hold us."

"Davros' authority is still in effect. I can't let you go, not without Davros' specific order. And he is not here. Besides," Ronson looked wistful, "letting you go didn't exactly work out last time." The last he said very softly.

The Doctor winced. When he and Sarah had tried to escape (with Ronson's help), the Reflectionists had not yet revealed themselves - but they still had enough manpower, or rather womanpower, to stop them. By now they could have put any number of layers of defence in place.

Ronson continued. "And I would very much like your, shall we say unique viewpoint? On the technical specifications of the Thal fungus treatment and telepathy bomb. All of the Bunker records say that they will work, but the final data is not yet in our hands."

"Does the Peace Accords ceremony include exchanging data on the Bunker's other research - the Daleks?"

Ronson's eyes widened. "No, that mustn't happen," he said emphatically. "If the Thals knew about the Daleks, what they are capable of, that would be the end of any chance for peace."

"Can you destroy the data on their creation? Wipe the computers, keep them out of sight?"

"No," answered Gharman unexpectedly; he had been listening. "I tried to wipe the Dalek experimental records from the main computer, but according to the Red - according to the Reflectionists, everything is backed up off-site."

The Doctor frowned. Then he looked up, at the overhead speakers made a soft bonging noise. A woman's voice said, "The Peace Accords are to be signed by the Thals and Kaleds in thirty minutes. All interested Bunker personnel are invited to watch in Section Two."

The seated Elite rose to their feet, and there was a general movement towards the exits. It was clear that everyone who was anyone was going to this ceremony, and the three travellers resigned themselves to going along as well. Hopefully it wouldn't be too tedious.

# # #

Commander Nyder was looking for Security Liaison. He had something to tell her, something to say right now. It couldn't wait. He finally found her in Davros' office. She turned from the desk as Nyder entered, and said briskly, "I left a report for Davros to review, he should do so as soon as possible."

Security Liaison was wearing a thin black jumper under her tunic. Nyder looked at her covered arms and said, "For the bandages?"

"For the simpering, sir," replied Security Liaison, sullenly. "I cannot stand it when the Elite simper at me in empathy for my pain. And also the bandages leak."

Nyder looked aside, then turned sharply and stood with his back to Security Liaison, apparently staring at the wall. His hands were working behind his back almost as though he was nervous.

"I wanted to thank you for - Nenno." Nyder's words sounded calm, but if Security Liaison had been able to see his face she would have found its expression cold and calculating. Then a more neutral expression was deliberately drawn over his face, and he turned to the woman who waited in the room with him.

"I thought you would appreciate it, Commander." She looked down at her hands folded in front of her, and did not look up when Nyder came closer.

That wouldn't do at all; Nyder wanted to see her face.

"And I was curious," Nyder came another step closer, "if you are going to be integrating yourselves more fully into normal Kaled society. Are you planning on retiring to the Womens' Quarters, then?"

If Nyder had gotten Security Liaison to look up, he would have seen the blush starting to creep up her cheeks. She cleared her throat, and answered, "There are no plans to remove me from my present position. Sir."

Nyder whispered, "Excellent."

Now Security Liaison did look up, because Nyder had taken her hand in his, and raised it, and pressed the back of her gloved fingers to his lips.

Davros' office was so quiet that Nyder could hear Security Liaison swallow; she on the other hand could hear nothing but the blood singing in her ears. And now Commander Nyder came the one last step closer – close enough that there wasn't another step to be taken between them. Gently running his hand along and up the back of her uninjured arm, his face intent, he murmured, "Then I am very much looking forward to working more with you. Esselle."

The look of delight that dawned on her face was startling as she nodded. "Is that ... what you wanted?"

"Yes," breathed Nyder. He leaned close as his gloved hand reached the back of her neck – and squeezed. Hard.

Suddenly Security Liaison was not smiling but grimacing in agony; and at the sight of her pain the first hint of a genuine smile came to Nyder's face. She writhed, her hands going for the back of her neck. Nyder squeezed harder, his fingers finding a tiny bump on each side of the base of her skull, and depressing them both together. Her hands darted forward, towards Nyder's eyes.

There was a sudden metallic 'click' from deep inside her flesh. Her striking hands stopped just in time, her fingertips tapping randomly on his glasses. Nyder removed his own hand, and Security Liaison swayed and collapsed to the floor. She was still breathing.

Nyder touched a desk switch; a few seconds later, the door opened and Davros came in. "Perfectly executed, Commander," he said as he brought his chair to a stop beside the vaguely twitching body. "The neural reset switch is a definite weakness in the constructed bodies of these Reflectionists – one that can be easily exploited."

Nyder drew his gun. "Shall I kill her?"

"No!" replied Davros. "When you depressed that pair of switches, you randomised the electrical patterns in her brain. Security Liaison is dead, but the body lives. Leave her. Later we can arrange to have her organs harvested."

Nyder holstered his weapon with only minor regret; he had already enjoyed himself far more than he thought he would today.

Davros turned his chair, paying no attention to the report on his desk, and said, "The cabinet under the vision screen – open it." Nyder went to the concealed cabinet and withdrew a machine gun and ammunition. He slung the gun at his shoulder and awaited further instructions.

Davros rasped, "You must be in position in precisely twelve minutes. Wait for my signal."

Nyder saluted, and left.

# # #

The Elite were gathered in one of the Bunker chambers, and the Councilmen were assembling. Meeting them were people who must be the Thal officials: men and women in stiff-looking green uniforms, with blond hair and harsh expressions. They sat at opposite ends of a white table, and started passing papers back and forth, and making long convoluted statements about the ramifications of the Peace Accords.

It was standing room only in the chamber, and everyone was completely concentrating on the ceremony. The Doctor was concentrating on it as well, but not completely. He looked around the room - yes, practically everyone from the Bunker must be here. He didn't see Davros, oddly enough, or Nyder. Perhaps they would be appearing at some grand climax of the ceremony.

What mattered was that the Bunker outside must be nearly bare of personnel. Or might be: perhaps it was full of Reflectionists. But if not, this was the Doctor's chance. He took a casual step away from Harry and Sarah, then another. He moved as though looking for a better vantage point, which just happened to move him towards one of the doors. He hated to leave his friends behind, but they should be safe enough, at least for the duration of the ceremony. Safer than with him, maybe.

Outside the chamber, the sounds of the ceremony were still audible: it was apparently being broadcast over the sound system. It covered up the faint noises of the Doctor slipping away.

# # #

Thanks to the Red Hexagon passkey, Commander Nyder could enter Section Two and even get very close to the ceremony chamber's equipment entrance, without being seen by the security cameras. The entrance in question had a wide double door that would give him a broad sweep of fire.

Of course that would also make it easier for those inside the room to shoot back at him, but he put that thought aside. Davros had said that he would send backups to cover his retreat, Dalek backups, unstoppable.

He was tensed to shoot any woman he saw on sight, and was almost relieved to see it was two of the new Security men on guard. Their posture was lax, too close to one another. He considered simply ordering them to leave, and then discarded the notion. These were servants of the Reflectionists, not his men. And he didn't have time to waste.

"Where's Security Liaison?" he asked them crisply, walking up to them with the machine gun slung at his left hip, barrel down. "She was to meet me here."

On the word 'here,' he lashed out with the short truncheon that had been hidden up his right sleeve. He had practiced this strike, and hit the right-hand guard in exactly the right place to send him to the floor. Without looking, he jumped to his left, to entangle the other guard's weapon harness.

Damn! The other man was younger, faster, too fast; he had stepped aside and now stood tensely alert, his submachine gun aimed at the Commander. With easy skill Nyder snapped his own gun up.

"Drop your weapon," ordered Nyder crisply. The guard didn't even twitch. There was a moment of breathless tension as the two men faced off, each one poised to kill.

A gunshot broke the tension. The standing guard stiffened, and crumpled. Nyder looked down at him, then up to see the ragged figure of General Ravon at the end of the corridor. His gun was still smoking as he stepped forward.

"Ravon!" snapped Nyder. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the ventilation shafts, Nyder," he replied, his usual snide languid tone more rushed than usual. "And what are you doing here?" Ravon's gun was pointed at Nyder now, and his eyes were a bit too wide.

Battle-mad, thought Nyder. "I'm carrying out Davros' specific orders."

"Do those orders include the assassination of the Kaled filth who have assumed command of the Council? Who consort with Thal scum even now to betray us?" He gestured angrily to the speaker overhead, where the voice of a Thal politician droned out some tripe about water boundaries.

Nyder's eyes narrowed. "You could say that, yes."

"Then it is clearly my patriotic duty, Commander, to render you all due assistance," Ravon said, moving to Nyder's side and unslinging his own machine gun, checking the weapon to make sure it had not been damaged in his crawl through the ducts. Neither of them paid any attention to the men lying unconscious and possibly dying at their feet.

"The traitors are in this room. We wait for Davros' signal," said Nyder. "It should be any moment now." Both men stared at the doors with hungry eyes, and waited.

# # #

Davros' shivering fingers drifted towards a switch on his travel chair. Everything was ready. Security Liaison's brain-dead body was here, waiting to be moved to surgery for disassembly. Nyder was in place, to destroy the Peace Accords ceremony. The Dalek control program had been updated and crosschecked by him, line by line; it waited now in the main computer. At the touch of a switch, the control program would broadcast from the Bunker systems directly into the command circuitry of every Dalek. Then, he would issue his orders, and they would be obeyed. Completely and absolutely.

Davros could picture exactly what would happen, what must happen. The Thal politicians falling and dying, across the bodies of the traitor Kaled councilmen. Daleks advancing into the Kaled Dome, slaying all in their path - he didn't bother to total up just how many would die - on the way to Hif. Hif would not be able to hide; these weakling women with their concern for life would have to hand over the rogue scientist to save themselves and their Kaled allies.

Once he had Hif, once he had questioned the man and extracted every drop of his knowledge along with his life, he would either use that knowledge to control the Reflectionists directly, or order the Daleks to capture them. Suitable experimentation on these aliens would allow him to devise a program that could be uploaded into them. There were certainly enough of them scuttling around; the deaths of a few would be necessary to control the many. And with their combined forces, he would wipe out the Thals and the Mutos, scrub the battlefields bare of life.

And after that, there could be a proper refinement of the planet's remaining genetic stock. Just as all Kaled children were tested and separated into groups; but applied to all, young and old. Scientifically. This time it would be Davros in charge, Davros choosing who would live and who would die. Who would be converted via the neural implants into his property, and who would be culled and cast aside. He breathed deeply, tasting victory with every breath.

"And now" – Davros' voice was very soft, as he spoke to himself – "for the Daleks to take their place in history. For me to take absolute and utter control of everything within my grasp. For me to finally destroy my enemies, once and for all!"

"No!" With no warning, hard hands were on Davros' remaining arm, crushing it, shoving it down until it was flat against the surface of his chair, and he could not reach any of the vital controls. Davros writhed, but his fragile body was just too weak to let him fight back. Panting a little with the exertion, Davros turned his attention to the intruder.

"You!"

# # #

"He should have signalled by now," said Nyder, his eyes darting to the overhead speaker. "He said to be ready in twelve minutes, why hasn't he signalled?" He listened, but there was nothing but the empty words of the politicians.

Ravon shook with unrelieved tension. He was primed to attack, eager for it. "Maybe something's gone wrong," he said.

Nyder breathed deeply, once, twice. Then he said, calmly, "Nothing has gone wrong."

"What?" asked Ravon.

Nyder raised his gun to the level. "We are going to attack. Now. Before the ceremony ends. Before the signal."

"I thought you said Davros would be sending us backup?"

"I'm not waiting for them. If the traitors have somehow stopped Davros, it is my duty to carry out his last order. Davros would want us to attack, to destroy the traitors. And I won't be taken alive." Nyder had made his last decision. He would serve Davros onto death, just not exactly as Davros had thought it would be. Better to die carrying out orders, than to have his brain drilled out while he was still alive. With Ravon beside him, he could do twice as much damage. And if he died, Davros would never be able to punish him for disobeying orders.

"I'm with you," said Ravon, adjusting the strap of his machine gun over his shoulder. What did he have to live for, after all, without a war?

Impulsively they clasped hands. Nyder could not help but notice that Ravon, in the heat, had taken his hand in an improper grasp; but he passed it over. Why not? They were both about to die anyway. So he returned the grasp, and they turned and stood side by side, guns ready. Nyder could feel Ravon's shoulder trembling against his, as his gloved hand reached out and hovered over the entry control. He mentally reviewed the layout of the chamber: their position would be close to ideal, at the top of a ramp leading down. They could fire over the heads of the spectators; kill the officials. Plus any Reflectionists or other aliens who were watching.

The doors opened and Ravon and Nyder lunged through. Bracing the stocks of their weapons, they pulled the triggers as one, filling the air with deafening noise and a lethal hail of bullets. Smoke rose from their weapons. Their teeth were bared, and their faces showed an identical, overwhelming desire.

To kill the Council, kill the Thals, exterminate every living thing before them!