"Stop! Disengage Code Proper-Storm!" came a woman's sharp voice out of the gloom, and the two guards stood motionless, weapons raised. Frozen like statues. Or like-
"Robots!" said the Doctor. He rose to his feet, dusting off his rather rumpled clothes. Sarah was helping Harry up.
"Yes," said the voice, and two people came into view. One of them, a man in a green Thal uniform, covered the travellers with his weapon. Sarah thought that she recognized the other person, a woman with short-cut hair. She certainly wasn't one of the Reflectionists.
"Aren't you one of the Thal Council?" Sarah asked.
The woman looked at her and frowned. "I'm the Undersecretary of War Education, Bettan," she introduced herself. Then she frowned again, this time at the guards. "I thought all these things were powered down and taken off the roster."
The Thal man replied, "There were some intrusions in this area. We put these out as a temporary fix. It seems," he moved and shoved one of the frozen figures, which toppled over stiffly, "that the radiation has scrambled their programming tapes. Again."
"Well, get them taken back for repairs, and this time, wipe all attack procedures out of them. An audible alarm will do." Bettan jerked her chin up, and addressed the three outlandishly dressed figures in front of her.
"How do you know me? You aren't Kaleds," she stated rather than asked. They certainly didn't look Kaled.
"Oh no, we're travellers," replied the Doctor. "I'm the Doctor, this is Harry Sullivan and Sarah Jane Smith. We have some very important information for the Thal Council. Very fortuitous, our meeting you here. Can you take us to the Council?"
"What is the information?" When the Doctor hesitated, she went on in ironic tones. "You can't expect me to bring everyone who wanders out of the Wastelands with a mysterious message before the Thal Council, after all."
"It's about Davros. We've just, ah, left the Kaled Bunker where his work is hidden. He has an invention, a creation of his actually, of almost limitless power for destruction. I must be allowed to tell what I know to the Thal Council, so that they can make an informed decision about it as part of the peace process."
The man with Bettan looked interested, very interested. Bettan noticed his interest, and said, "Seph, we will escort these pri-, these people to the Dome. Where they can be questioned in private." Then she came close to the Doctor, and absolutely hissed, "And don't say anything in front of him!" Her head jerked to indicate Seph, who frowned.
"We still have a patrol to complete," he objected.
"Fine," said Bettan exasperatedly. She moved and pulled a hand weapon from Seph's belt, and pointed it at the travellers. "You complete the patrol, I'll escort the prisoners."
Seph looked ready to disagree, but moved off into the dimness instead. Bettan gestured sharply, and the three travellers fell in before her, walking to the Thal Dome, which loomed vaguely overhead, too big to see all at once.
"What's a member of the Thal Council doing on an outside patrol?" asked the Doctor, curious.
"All must serve," she said, and nothing more. She didn't have to: the Doctor could fill in the rest. A society where anyone could be called on at any moment to take up war duties. And if they didn't suffer from the lack of women that the Kaleds did, presumably men and women must fight on the battlefield.
They got to the Dome, and Bettan's presence got them through the entrance. Soon they were walking through an endless maze of corridors, bleak and utilitarian.
"Why didn't you want me saying anything in front of that fellow Seph?" asked the Doctor, and Bettan paused to reply.
"Too many Thals don't seem to be taking the end of the war to heart, unfortunately, and Seph is one of them. Asking for extra patrol duties, hanging around the armoury. I have a feeling that Seph is going to be a problem. I don't like the feel of his mind. And he talks too much."
"I say, look at this!" said Harry and the others turned. He was peering through a window set in a corridor door. "There's a really tremendous rocket in there!"
"An abandoned project," said Bettan with a wave of her weapon. "Useless now, not even capable of a suborbital lift. Now, I think I know where I can put you until the Council can be gathered."
They went down four more corridors, up three levels in a lift that shuddered frighteningly under their feet, and into a medium-sized room lined with chairs. In one of the chairs sat a dark-haired man, who looked at them with an expression of wide-eyed interest. He looked strangely familiar, and his uniform marked him as a Kaled soldier.
"Don't I know you?" asked Sarah, frowning.
"Captain Talt, isn't it?" said the Doctor. The man looked like the soldier who had captured Sarah and the Doctor in the Kaled Command Centre complex only a few days ago. A few days that seemed an age, even for a Time Lord.
The man beamed. "Yes, I'm Talt. Do I know you?"
The Doctor was confused. "What, don't you know if you know us?"
"No, actually," said the soldier cheerily. "I've forgotten everything. I don't even remember being a Captain anymore. But I feel wonderful, much better than I felt before. I think."
"Forgotten how?" asked Harry. "Amnesia?"
Sarah swallowed. "Don't you remember, Kavell saying that the Thals had developed a bomb that erased memories, erased minds?"
"I do," said the Doctor, looked at Talt with a horrified expression. "And this must be the result."
Talt waved his hands from side to side in a reassuring gesture. "I don't mind, really. I volunteered."
"How can you remember volunteering?" Sarah asked practically.
Talt stood up. "Look here," he said eagerly, moving to a vidscreen on the wall, "there's a something here, a, a, a string?"
"A tape?" suggested Sarah.
He beamed at her. "Yes, a tape of what I said. I push this button here," and he pushed it, then pulled over a chair and sat and watched with an expression of childish delight. The travellers gathered around him, and watched as well.
The screen came alight with the face of Captain Talt, looking considerably more muddy and miserable than he did now. "Talt, Captain, 08091123," he said.
A voice spoke from off the screen, a pleasant male voice. "Captain Talt."
The prisoner said again, "Talt, Captain, 08091123." He seemed broken, exhausted, too dispirited to say anything else. The Talt sitting beside Sarah leaned over and whispered. "I look so sad."
"Are you unwell?" the voice on the recording asked. "Do you understand what I am saying?"
"Talt…yes, yes I understand what I am saying." He blinked at the camera. "What are you going to do with me, Thal?"
"We would like to invite you to volunteer for an experiment."
"Oh yes, of course! Volunteer! And I suppose if I don't, you'll torture me to death! Or torture my men! I know you Thals!" On the screen, Talt crossed his arms over his chest, and snapped, "Talt, Captain, 08091123!" as though every word was a curse.
"If you don't, we will let you go."
Talt narrowed his eyes. "What sort of an experiment d'you think I would volunteer for, rather than be let go?"
"It is a test of a device which resets higher level neural pathways, while maintaining personality integrity."
"What does that mean?" he frowned.
"It will erase your memory. You will forget the war, everything that you did and was done to you. You will forget your training. But you will remember your language, your name, your self."
The Kaled just sat there, unbelieving. Then he whispered, "With a weapon like that, you'll destroy us all!"
"No," corrected the male voice. "The Kaleds have a different, but equally powerful weapon. There is going to be peace."
"Peace?" Talt drew his hand over her forehead, then sat back in his chair. "And after I forget everything, then what?"
"Then we will bring you back to the Kaleds, of course."
"To forget it all," Talt stared at the floor. "Forget everything I've seen…if I forget my training, that means I can't be a soldier anymore, right?" He slumped. "But they could retrain me. I don't think I could go through that again," he shuddered.
"The war is almost over. They will not retrain you as a soldier; why should they?"
"Forget my friends…but I barely had any." Talt went on, "Forget the war. You are certain, I'll forget the war, all of it?"
"You will absolutely forget the last ten years," said the Thal voice reassuringly.
"Start over. I could, I could start over!" and Talt weakly smiled, as though unused to it.
"You can start over. Or you can leave, right now. What do you choose?"
On the recording, Talt sat silently. Then he said, all in a rush, "I choose the experiment."
"You are certain?"
"Yes, please for the gods' sake, do it now before I lose my nerve and can't do it!" Talt was almost panting.
"Third time, you consent to this memory erasure experiment? To be exposed to the telepathy bomb?"
"I, Talt, Captain, 08091123, consent." There was an expression of hope in his eyes that was mirrored in the expression of the man watching himself.
There was a break in the recording, and then the watchers saw Talt sit back down. He had a broad beaming smile on his face now, and he looked into the camera with an expression of wide-eyed curiosity.
"What is that?" he asked.
A woman's voice replied, "It is a camera; it records sounds and images, and lets you look at the them later. Tell me, what is your name?"
"Talt," he said.
"And that's all?"
"Yes, just…just Talt. Can I see what the camera sees?"
"Of course," and Talt got up and moved out of frame. A woman sat down in the chair where he had been, a woman with long blond hair.
"Can you see?" she asked.
"Yes!" he answered, and she smiled.
The screen went blank, and Talt turned to Sarah. "See? I did volunteer. It's just like I said." Then he looked back, as the screen lit up by itself. A Thal man appeared on it, and said, "This is an unencrypted broadcast from the Kaleds."
"I wonder what it is?" asked Harry. The screen changed, to show a room filled with unfamiliar equipment and familiar people.
"This must be from the Bunker. There's Gharman, and Ronson. It looks like a surgery. Who are the surgeons?" wondered the Doctor, looking at the people huddled around an operating table of some sort. One of them tucked a lock of long hair away under a surgical cap, and he said, "The Reflectionists, of course." The room was thick with Security guards as well.
"What's a Reflectionist?" asked Talt, curious. "What are they doing there?"
"No sign of Security Liaison," said the Doctor, shushing Talt with a gesture. Talt shushed.
"What do you think is happening, Doctor?" asked Sarah.
"Look at the wall behind them." There were two viewscreens side by side; the one on the left showed a blizzard of spiking electrical lines, the one on the right was a single flat line.
"Those are brainwave patterns, I think," said the Doctor. The camera moved, and focussed on Gharman talking to a young man in a dark blue military uniform that reminded the watchers of General Ravon's.
The man in blue turned and addressed the camera. "People of Skaro, I am General Ferr. As the Kaled people know, I was incapacitated during the Battle of Ges Plateau, six years ago. My body was damaged beyond repair, kept alive only by machinery. Now, thanks to Kaled technology, my mind has been moved into a new, young body."
He turned his head and smiled in the direction of the operating table. "And now, that technology is going to give a new life to its creator."
"There's Davros!" said Sarah, pointing at the hunched figure at one end of the operating table. "But what's that around his head?"
It was a cloud of metal tendrils, which seemed to be embedded into his neck and shoulders and the supportive harness that enclosed his head. The tendrils led into cables that snaked over the operating table, where a figure lay under a sheet.
"The neural transmission array, they've implanted it in Davros. Of course! His mind already had mechanical taps into it, so there would be no risk of fragmentation along the connective surfaces," the Doctor thought aloud.
The watchers sat, mesmerised, as the activity in the operating room sped up. Tools were handed back and forth, readings taken on strange instruments, low words exchanged between the surgeons, and everything centred on Davros and the figure under the sheet. The end of the sheet had been moved back now, and there were brief glimpses of a dark-haired man lying there, seemingly unconscious. The Elite stood by, their faces tight with tension; Ronson's hands were knotted against his chest as he swayed back and forth. Everything was ready; all the activity was working towards some peak. And then-
# # #
Davros opened his eyes.
He opened his eyes! He had eyes again! He could see a fuzzy grey that resolved into the ceiling of the laboratory. He sat up and - he could sit up again!
Gharman and Ronson were beside the table, grinning. Behind them were the surgically masked and gowned figures of what could only be the Daughters. One of them spoke - and Davros could hear plainly, not with electronic diaphragms and nerve stimulators but with his own ears again! - she spoke and said, "Welcome back."
Davros reached out, with two hands, and let them help him off the table. His feet felt incredibly raw and tender against the ground, but he didn't care: he had feet again! Toes, knees, hips, everything! The air in the room seemed to quiver against his skin, and he could feel his loose medical garb brushing against his flesh. He breathed in and it was the first time in too, too long that he could remember inhaling and not feeling the rasp of artificial valves opening and closing in his chest.
He was alive! He looked at his hands, young hands, two hands, two wonderful hands, and rubbed them together. He looked up; Gharman handed him a mirror, still grinning. He blinked; he could see everything about Gharman now, eyebrows, lines of his face, everything! Not just a machine-processed simulation of him.
Davros stuttered, "That's…thank you", hearing his normal voice in his own ears again, and looked into the mirror.
Looking back was a man that he barely remembered: the man that he had been before an explosion ripped him in half and yet cruelly left him alive. High cheekbones, a mop of dark hair rough-cut around the electrodes still fastened to his scalp, dark eyes staring with extreme puzzlement - and then dawning joy. He touched his face with his hand, to see the reflection move as well, to reassure himself that this was real.
He put down the mirror and turned, supporting himself on the table to see - himself.
It was the support chair that had carried the remains of his physical body for so long, and it was covered with a sheet. Under that sheet, he could just see the curve of what must be his own head, his old head. The chair's occupant was not moving, and Davros looked at the surgeons. One of them spoke.
"The transfer has completed. And you have deliberately withdrawn yourself from your old body."
General Ferr nodded. "It happened that way with me too, Davros. Like peeling off some hideous crust."
Davros looked up at the vidscreens. The right-hand one, still getting its data from the cables that trailed around him, was a tangle of brainwaves. But the one on the left was blank, a single flat line stretching across it. He looked at the figure under the sheet, then flicked his eyes to the watching surgeons.
One of them said, "If you want to wait for more tests, we can confirm for you that there is no remaining neural activity within that body that was once yours. Only the support chair is keeping him, it, alive."
"That will not be necessary." Davros raked his fingers through his hair, delighting in the drag of all ten nails against his scalp, and the cables fell in a clattering coil around him. Both screens on the wall went blank. He went to – that which was no longer himself, his empty body, his husk – and reached under the sheet, feeling along the row of switches, carefully avoiding touching the body's limp hand. The controls were backwards to him, but still he found the power switch.
He whispered, "I do not die. This dies," and pressed the switch. There was a shaking, a shuddering under the sheet, a last fight of a mindless body to survive. An alarm wildly shrilled and then wound down to silence. The movement stopped, and the body slumped forward as far as the chair could allow it. Davros stepped backwards, and gestured for the body to be taken away.
He turned to the camera, and breathed. Just breathed in and out, in pure happiness. "My people," he said, addressing the Kaleds who must be watching this all through the Dome. "I am alive, and the war is over. We are alive, and we have ended this war. And I swear, I shall lead you in peace as well as, no better, than I ever did in war. Together we will go forward and create a Skaro greater than we have ever imagined." He had thought of speeches, so many speeches he could make. And now there was time, he exulted inside, time to make them all! His mind was so bubbling over with the euphoria of rebirth that he could barely remember how to speak.
Then his attention was drawn to another matter.
"And what is our part in your future?" said one of the surgeons, pulling down her mask. She looked at Davros with a level expression.
Davros felt the temptation, he did not deny it. He could denounce these women, these alien Reflectionists, these invaders, right here and now. His men would tear them apart; his people would rise up and destroy them all at his word. He had his new body; there was nothing they could do to him now. He had power, he should use it! But something inside of him paused. Was it not better to be so powerful that there was no need to demonstrate it in some vulgar display? To show some reserve, some restraint?
No, better to wait. To see what power he could draw on, now that he could link to the Reflectionists mind to mind. But for now, he had to give a public answer. Mindful of the camera, he reached out and drew the surgeon closer, and looked her gravely in the eye.
"You are not the Daughters of Davros," he said. "You are the Daughters of all the Kaled people, of all of Skaro. And together, everything will be changed." He turned his face back to the cameras, and behind him the Daughter winked subtly. Then the screen went dark.
Talt clapped his hands together unreservedly, eyes wet with happiness. "Oh, that's wonderful, that's a miracle!"
"Yes," said Bettan, entering the room unexpectedly. "I was watching from outside. The Council is gathered now, Doctor, and you will be allowed to give your information."
"Excellent!" said the Doctor, rising to his feet. His companions rose as well, and Talt looked uncertain for a moment.
"Should I come too?" he asked.
"No," said Bettan. "There's a survey team heading for the pass in two hours, they've agreed to escort you through the mountains and into Kaled territory. Once you are there, you can contact your people and go home."
# # #
The Doctor and his companions were taken to where the Thal Council was gathered, a room surrounded by control panels and strange pieces of alien machinery. But the Thal men and women in attendance were familiar from the Peace Accords broadcast. They were excitingly discussing the broadcast of Davros' resurrection.
"Should we bargain with the Kaleds for this technology?" asked one of them.
"No," said the man who seemed to be the Council Leader, an older gentleman with a sharp face and white hair. "That will not be necessary. We have no soldiers in that condition. It is not an urgent matter."
"My matter is urgent," said the Doctor, and the Council members turned to him.
Bettan stepped forward. "This man says that he has information on Davros that is of crucial importance to us."
"Important to you and to the future - and not only the future of Skaro, but that of many worlds," said the Doctor, and the Council stirred and looked at once another. He went on, "What I am about to tell you may seem fantastic, but it is of crucial importance to yourselves and to your people. You must listen to me." The Doctor went on, to discuss in passionate terms the powers and the future potential of the Daleks. The Council listened, their faces grave. Harry and Sarah watched the Council, and both of them felt a nagging sensation.
Harry had the strangest feeling that he had met one of the people in this room before. Not one of the Council members, but maybe one of the others who waited here, secretaries or whatever they were. There was something familiar about them, or about one of them, but he couldn't put his finger on which it was.
Sarah was looking at the alien equipment that lined the walls, and trying to figure out why she thought she had seen some of it before. Same technology base, same planet, of course she shouldn't be surprised that some bits would be the same for both races. But there was some specific thing in here, that she felt she had seen before, but she couldn't remember where, or when.
The Doctor reached the end of his speech, and looked expectantly at the Thals.
"We will have to discuss your information, Doctor, before we can decide how to proceed," said the Council Leader firmly.
"That's all I ask," said the Doctor.
As the Council gathered at one end of the room and talked amongst themselves, a few of the Council hanger-ons drifted over and looked at the strangers. Harry looked at them, at one of them, and suddenly felt his heart drop into his shoes.
"Doctor," said Harry, nudging with an elbow, "I think we've seen her face before, don't you?"
The Doctor stared at the woman, and realised that he did know her. Everything about her face was instantly recognisable, except for her long fall of blond hair. Her brows and lashes were still dark though, and her sharp-nosed, pale profile was unpleasantly familiar.
The Red Hexagon woman with the blond hair smiled at them, and said, "I was wondering when you would notice."
"The Reflectionists. Here? How?" snapped the Doctor, and the woman took a step back.
"As soon as there were enough of us, six 'escaped' over to the Thal side, with 'stolen' technology from Davros. One of us," she paused and sighed, "one of us died in the crossing, and we shall remember her, but five Kaled women were enough of an oddity to get the Thal Council involved. And once the five of us were given enough resources, and a spot of hair dye to help us blend in," she tugged at a strand of her hair, "we of course started creating more Thals."
"Such as myself," said the strikingly handsome blond man who came to stand at the Reflectionist woman's side. "There is no need for us all to be female, or all to look alike, here. We are genetically pure Thals now."
"I don't believe we've been introduced?" said the Doctor, feeling a bit faint.
"My apologies. This," he indicated the woman at his side, "is Third Originator called Thior. I would guess that you have had contact with the Thals in the future?"
"Yes," said the Doctor, blinking, wondering why all of a sudden he felt both sleepy and soothed.
"Well then. You will not be surprised to know that I am Thirty-Fourth Telepath, called Thifote," he said, and turned on the charm. Literally.
All three travellers felt it: warmth, soothing relaxation that seemed to seep into their minds. A sudden desire to relax, to trust. Sarah Jane and Harry subtly leaned towards each other, their faces filled with happy languor. "Stop!" said the Doctor, fighting the alien impulses, his teeth grinding with effort.
The irrational feeling receded. "Of course," said Thifote, as the strangers jerked themselves back to attention. "That was merely a demonstration. The Reflectionists will have no problem in working with this society in harmony."
"Or dominating it entirely, as you please." The Doctor felt blank horror, realising that the Thals around him had let the Reflectionists into their society, even as the Kaleds had, and that they were now-
"Their helpless slaves?" said Thifote, completing the Doctor's thought. His eyes were sharp, and his mind just as sharp it seemed. "Never. We are much too fond of the Thals to treat them so badly. We are Thals now, Doctor. We are them, and they are us."
Thior stepped forward; she had been enjoying watching Thifote at work. "We are here for all the races of Skaro. The Thals are worth saving: no race that could survive a thousand years of war is to be taken lightly."
The Councillors were still talking amongst themselves, and the Doctor looked at them in anguish. How to convince them that there was another threat, besides the Daleks, and even closer to them! If only he had told them about the Reflectionists! But that had seemed too wild a premise. The Daleks had seemed much more of an immediate threat.
Then one of the pieces of equipment behind the Councillors began to move. It moved out from behind the panel that had obscured it, and spun, pointing its eyestalk at the people gathered in the room.
"Oh no," said Harry. All three of them backed away from the Dalek as it advanced towards them. The Thals barely looked alarmed, casually moving aside to give the intruder room to move. Sarah wanted to scream at them that they were in danger, terrible danger, from this thing. But instead she looked at the Dalek, and noticed something.
"There's something different, Doctor. It's not like the others," said Sarah. The shape of this Dalek's base was somehow different, cruder almost.
"An older model, I think," said the Doctor, still backing away. "Look, it's running off an electrical charge," he ran out of backing-up space, and continued while pressing himself to the wall, "an electrical charge running through the floor. Stop!"
The Dalek stopped.
"Our mechanical components are based on prototypes which Davros constructed in the ruins of the Kaled capital city," said the Dalek in the resonating tones they all knew so well. "We anticipate the upgrading of our outer carapaces in the near future. Once the Thal populace has accepted the peace, we shall return to the Bunker."
"The Daleks are, so to speak, on loan to us," said the Council Leader, coming up behind the Dalek. "Without their help it would have been impossible to control the returning soldiers. And the Daleks have already shared with us their plans for the future of their species."
"Their plans? Their plans are to kill, to exterminate, and to destroy all life in their path! Either that, or to mutate your people into Daleks!" the Doctor snapped.
The Leader gave a little laugh. "What an imagination you have, Doctor! But we never saw a future in which the Thals would become so mutated as to require travel machines. We've always had excellent anti-radiation drugs. Now with the particle fountains and decontamination fungi, even those will not be necessary." The Leader smiled. "Once we have surveyed the mountain passes and sealed them, we can concentrate on the healing of our own people. On building a future for ourselves, apart from war."
The Doctor's eyes swept over the Thals, and then dropped. None of them looked sympathetic, and how could they? There was a Reflectionist telepath here in the room with them, and a Dalek, and they had already been told what the Daleks were to be – in the Reflectionists' opinion, at least.
It was too late. It was not the truth that mattered, here and now: it was who gotten here with their story, first. The Reflectionists had beaten him. They had taken over the Kaleds, then the Daleks, and now the Thals. It was too late.
"I am sorry, Doctor, but your information has not convinced us," said the Leader. "It is our opinion that the Daleks are not a threat. With our new weapons, we can prevent the Kaleds from even aggressing against us again. We look forward to a new era for the Thal people, where we can concentrate on exploring the world of the mind, of pure thought. It is all that we have ever wanted. And if you don't mind," his voice cooled further, " we should like to explore it on our own."
The Doctor looked at the Reflectionist beside him with barely suppressed fury; she looked back innocently. Then the Doctor's shoulders slumped in defeat. "All right, we'll go then," he said. "Come on Sarah, Harry." As the travellers were heading for the door, dismissed, Bettan stopped them.
"One of them gave me a message," Bettan said. Her gesture indicated Thifote, now across the room and talking to the Council Leader. "Oh yes, Doctor," she said at his expression of surprise at the word 'them', "we know that they are more than just some experimental creation of Davros'. Do you think that telepaths would hide that from us? The message is that someone is waiting for you at the second distance marker outside of the Thal Dome. It's a stone pillar about ten thousand paces straight away from the main exit. You can't miss it. And also, that you will find it difficult to leave Skaro, until you meet with that someone."
The Doctor's hand strayed to his sleeve. As soon as they were out of Bettan's sight in the corridor, he slipped the Time Ring off his arm, examined it, and found a thin paper label on the inside. In his haste to get the Ring back, he must have overlooked it. Now, he peeled the label off and looked at it closely.
"Is that French?" asked Sarah, peering at the label and the neat line of script across it.
"It is," said the Doctor gloomily. "It says, Ceci n'est pas un anneau de temps, or, this is not a Time Ring."
