The Dalek Factor

by Simon Clark

  Switching on helmet lights, we enter the tunnel. Almost immediately we see the boy. He's standing just ten paces away. His eyes are wide as he gazes at us. He wants us to follow. So we do follow. Ready to fire if need be.

  The walls of the tunnel are rock. Vines cover them in swirls of greenery. Clumps of plants grow from the floor. Moving deeper into the tunnel, we're gripping the weapons more tightly now. The bellow of thunder recedes. A hundred paces into the tunnel it turns abruptly. Whatever lies round the corner is hidden from sight. This generates a ripple of unease through the platoon. We pause. Look at each other. Our hands tighten around the weapon grips. Without speaking, the Captain waves us on. As commanding officer, he'll position himself behind the turn in the tunnel while one of the experienced rangers moves in a spurt to the far wall. From there, there'll be a clear view of what's around the corner. What the ranger sees will determine whether we continue. Or retreat. Or start firing.

  Golstar moves forward with a burst of speed, flinging, himself flat against the far wall, while staring down the hidden section of tunnel. He pauses, examining something just ahead of him. The angle of his head tells me he's mystified by what he's found. Then he waves us forward.

  Picture this. The boy stands in the tunnel ten paces from us. Ten paces beyond him is a high-backed chair with its back to us in the centre of the corridor. The boy turns and slowly walks past the chair, then stops. He gazes at the chair - or something in the chair that we can't see. Then looks back at us.

  Silently, we move forward, closer to that lone chair in this tomb-like structure. Closer… closer. The chair is upholstered in a plush red fabric. I see a pair of casually crossed legs clad in black trousers. Then hands. They are holding an open book on a lap.

  We edge forward, guns at the ready. I now see a man in the chair. He's sitting there motionless. Reading so intently he doesn't look up. Moments spin out. Tension grows inside me. It's so intense that I find myself holding my breath. I'm wanting to breathe but can't. The man doesn't look up. Doesn't seem aware of our presence. He's dressed simply in trousers and a white shirt. He's clean. His hair is tidy. I glance at the boy. He's stares at the man, too, who still continues to read.

  Captain Vay lifts his visor. There's a faint click of the locking mechanism. At this, the man raises his eyes. He's not surprised. Instead he smiles. A bland, almost drowsy smile. It's only his eyes that contain real expression, mingling a suggestion of wisdom with sorrow.

  'Hello.' He speaks in a soft voice. 'And to think, I wasn't expecting anyone new.'

  'I am Captain Vay. This is my platoon.'

  'Really?'

  'If I could ask-'

  But the man interrupts. 'And the boy? He's with you?'

  'No. We followed him to you.'

  'Oh, in that case…' The man places a fabric strip in the book to mark the page, carefully closes it, rises from the chair before placing the book on the cushion. Then, without a noise, and without any fuss or change in expression, he steps toward the boy. Before any of us can react, he grabs the child by the jaw and pushes his head back against the wall. This is executed with such force that it shatters the boy's skull.

  EIGHT

  CAPTAIN VAY RAISES HIS HANDGUN, AIMING IT STRAIGHT AT THE stranger. 'Don't move,' he tells the man.

  'But I merely-'

  'Raise your hands. You are under arrest.'

  'For swatting a fly?'

  'Do not move. I will fire if I have to.'

  'Or swatting several flies, to be more precise.'

  'Sir,' the Captain is insistent. 'Stand still, sir. Or I will fire.'

  'I'm merely indicating what I am to be arrested for.'

  We look down at the body of the boy. His head has been smashed open, so that the shards of the skull resemble the petals of a huge flower. The face is still intact… well, was intact. We watch as the body appears to liquefy in a matter of moments. Only instead of blood or body fluids, a stream of insects crawls from the body across the floor. They are flexing gossamer wings. Within seconds they take off, then stream back silently along the corridor, returning to the open air. Soon the entire body of the boy - or what we took to be a Thal boy - has evaporated into a myriad of flying insects.

  The man begins to speak. There's a sudden enthusiasm there that speeds the words from his lips. 'What you have - no, what you had - there was a hive: a walking hive of insects! They have an inbuilt telepathic ability. When they target their prey they swarm, clustering together tighter - ever tighter! - to form the body of an individual that their prey will find non-threatening: a member of their prey's own species, and one that will arouse the instinct to protect, such as a juvenile or potential mate.'

  'Their prey?' The Captain looks unsure of the man.

  'Yes, prey! Those are nasty bugs, Captain. Very nasty indeed. Once they have lulled you into the sweetest form of security - sleep - they will dissolve the hive, and then those insects will lay the eggs of their young by injecting them into your skin. You would become their very own candy man. The larvae would have hollowed you out in days. Hence the-' He mimed pushing the boy - pseudo boy - into the wall. 'Luckily for us, the dear little things weren't yet ready to lay their eggs. Hence the-' He mimed the shove again. 'Best not to delay in these matters. I've seen several of those things around here. But what a remarkable leap in evolution! Brilliant when you think about it, isn't it?' He pauses, putting his hand to his mouth in surprise. 'But don't ask me how I know all that. I haven't a clue. Not the foggiest.'

  The Captain opens his mouth to speak again, but the man thrusts out his hand.

  'Captain Vay, you said? Gratified to meet you, Captain.'

  'While we're observing the formalities, sir… Might I enquire who you are?'

  NINE

  THE MAN INSISTS ON SHOWING US TO HIS QUARTERS, REMARKING: 'That chair is my outermost outpost. There I can take my ease, catch the breeze, enjoy my reads… Oh, there I go again, speaking in rhyme… badly, if I'm to be altogether candid with you… Isn't it annoying? Don't you find it annoying, Captain? Sometimes I sit back there for hours, at ease with the breeze, a book on my knees, marrying one word to another that sounds the same. I've been very successful at it, too. Some couplings elude me, though… Take rhyme for instance. The very word "rhyme". What will rhyme with "rhyme"?' He pauses before a door that leads off from the corridor. He's considering the problem he's set himself. His eyes are fixed and staring, as if he's digging deep into his mind to find the solution. A tic jolts his cheek. This is painful for him. I can even hear him grinding his teeth. The platoon exchange quizzical glances.

  He releases his pent up breath with an explosive sigh. 'Oh, well… It'll come to me at some point, I suppose.' He takes a deep breath, relieved to be freed of the peculiar, self-inflicted necessity to find a rhyme for 'rhyme'. 'Now: enter. Please enter.'

  Our training has imprinted on us the necessity of always being on our guard when in unfamiliar territory. Amattan and Golstar remain at the entrance, ensuring that nothing follows us down the passage. The rest of us enter the room in a standard reconnaissance formation. Experienced rangers in first. We wait with Captain Vay for the all clear before we move through the door, guns at the ready. The stranger is bemused by our wary manner.

  'Do sit down. Do make yourselves at home.' Smiling, he waves us through. 'Not a palace, more of a prison really.' He falters on the word 'prison'; his eyes narrow as if remembering some painful incident. Then his face breaks into a sudden grin again. 'Take your ease, as you… No. I'm not falling into the trap of rhyming again. It's altogether the annoying trick of an eccentric… Oh dash, I've done it again, haven't I? You. You by the door.'

  He fixes those bright eyes on me.

  'Yes, you! The moment you catch me slithering into rhyme, nudge me with your elbow. Right… where were we? Ah, yes. Make yourselves comfortable. I haven't had guests in a long, long… Let's see.' He holds up a finger. 'While. Yes, a long while. Now, Captain Vay. What can I do for you?'

  Capt
ain Vay glances round, taking in the comfortable lounge area with its upholstered seats. We're deep underground here in a planet that's moist as a soaked sponge, but the structure is dry. The place appears well ventilated. On walls of a pale polished rock are drawings. Mainly details of bird feathers and insect heads. The room is illuminated by glowing strips that criss-cross an otherwise featureless ceiling.

  Captain Vay turns his attention back to the stranger. 'We are a detachment from the Thal Ranger Division. We're on a reconnaissance mission.'

  'Ah, a division with a mission. Splendid. Well…' He waves a hand, taking in the room. 'Reconnoitre at will.'

  'Thank you. But first I need some answers.'

  'Of course. But I have a question for you. Reconnoitre? What rhymes with reconnoitre… Goitre? Loiter? Oh… good heavens. You, by the door. Yes, you! You were supposed to guard me from this dratted habit. Obsession's a better word for it. Yes, obsession: the prison of free will.'

  The Captain glances at us. From his expression, I can tell he's not expecting this to be easy. What's more, he must be reaching the same opinion as we are about this stranger in his subterranean lair.

  The Captain addresses the man. 'Our robot pathfinders have swept this star system. We expected to find no settlements here.'

  'Oh? What did you expect to find?'

  'We did detect signals consistent with hostile forces.'

  'Hostile forces?' The man repeats, while running his fingers back through his hair. 'Hostile. You won't find me hostile in the least. Feel free to make yourselves at home. Roam hither and thither if you wish…'

  'Thank you. What I need to know, sir, is: what is the purpose of your stay on this planet?'

  'My stay!' He thinks for moment. 'I really can't say.'

  Captain Vay speaks politely, but firmly. 'I insist, sir. You must tell me your reason for being here.'

  'Reason? I can only repeat: I can't really say…' He clicks his tongue. 'Or did I say: I really can't say? Not that it matters. I can't.'

  The Captain shows a first glimmer of impatience. 'I am empowered to detain you for interrogation if-'

  'Interrogation? Won't do you any good.'

  'Why?'

  'Simply put: I don't know why I am here. I'm just here. Just as that chair is here - and that vase of flowers is there. I don't know who put them there; I don't know who put me here - or implanted in my mind that ridiculous habit of rhyming.'

  'I see.' Captain Vay glances at us. 'Then may I have your name?'

  'Name? See! I've developed another ridiculous habit. I'm repeating the key word of your sentences. Key.' He appears shocked that he has used the word 'key.' As if a profanity has slipped from his lips and he's ashamed. He moves his lips to soundlessly repeat the word. Then: 'Key words,' he muses. 'Skeleton key. Key Largo. Key note. Key makes free.' He glares at me. 'You have my express authority to shoot me if I should rhyme again.' He winces. 'To rhyme is to crime.' There's a pained look in his eye that mates confusion with fear. 'Rhyme… Crime… Lime… Chime… Climb… Grime… Mime… Prime… Slime… Rhyme… What else rhymes with "rhyme"?'

  Captain Vay takes a deep breath. I gather he's taking another run at the interrogation. 'You appreciate, sir, that I must establish your identity and your purpose in the Quadrille.'

  'Quadrille?'

  'The planetary system of which this world forms a part.'

  'Oh.'

  'I have to satisfy myself that you pose no threat to the Thal people.'

  'I see.'

  'Then may I have your name?'

  The stranger shakes his head then touches his temple; a gesture of regret. 'Really… I just don't know.'

  'You don't know your own name?'

  'Is it important?'

  'Yes. We need to establish your identity.'

  'Friend or foe and all that.'

  The Captain nods.

  The man shrugs. 'Names differentiate individuals who occupy the same environment. I'm alone here, so have no use for an ID label. When I think about myself I refer to myself as "I" I will go to the library. I will eat. I will bathe. I go. I stop. I sit. I sleep. See! No need to refer to myself by name at all. What are you doing, Captain?'

  'I'm calling my commanding officer.' The Captain touches the comm pad on his sleeve.

  'Oh, you can't do that.'

  'Why?'

  'I don't know.'

  Fellebe reminds him. 'Captain, all comm links went down an hour ago.'

  Captain Vay shifts uneasily. 'Yes, of course.'

  The man smiles. 'A philosopher once said that forgetfulness is contagious. Which philosopher? Who knows? I can't remember her name.'

  Captain Vay motions Kye to him, then he turns to the man. 'This is ranger Kye. I should be grateful if you would give her as much detail as possible about your life here and the layout of the tunnel network and the kind of equipment you have in your possession.'

  'If it helps.' The man's willing to volunteer information and immediately starts speaking to Kye. 'This tunnel extends three hundred and eight paces from the chair at my outermost outpost to here. I should know because I've paced the distance, counting every step - done that often. Solitude you see. Loneliness. The progenitor of eccentricity. There is a suite of eleven rooms here. This, the lounge. Next to this, the morning room. Morning room? It sounds dreadfully formal, but that's where I find myself every morning. Through the doorway there in the corner…'

  With the stranger speaking to Kye, the Captain waves us back through into the corridor, then beckons us closer so he can speak without the man overhearing. 'I've had easier conversations,' he admits with a grimace.

  'The man's clearly insane,' Tar'ant states. 'He doesn't know his name; doesn't know why he's here; doesn't know squat.'

  'Or eccentric,' the Captain counters.

  'Or lying.' Fellebe is uneasy.

  Captain Vay nods. 'That's one of the reasons I don't want to quit on him yet. According to the robot probes, there should be no sentient life on this planet. They didn't even detect this tunnel complex.'

  'Shielding?' asks Dissari.

  'Perfect shielding at that.' The Captain is grim. 'Its builders have invested time and energy to conceal what appears, so far, to be a retreat for a lunatic. That's enough to turn anyone's head into a breeding ground for questions.'

  Pup shrugs. 'He could have been forced into making a landing here, or been deliberately marooned, then he stumbled across the place.' He gives another expressive shrug. 'Bearing in mind most of the world out there is bug-ridden swamp, this place is dry and bug free.'

  I add: 'And the solitude has sent him…' I tap the side of my helmet.

  'Crazy,' Tar'ant agrees with feeling.

  'In the constitution there's no prohibition against mental aberration. I can act contrary to our host's will only if he's a danger to us, or to the Thal nation, or to himself.' The Captain removes his helmet. 'Once I've established that, he'll be at liberty to speak in rhyme or whatever he does until the end of time - if that's what he wants.'

  Fellebe looks back at Kye still trying to talk to the man. 'So, what can we do now, sir?'

  'We've still to locate the energy signature the sensors picked up. Odds are, it will be nothing more than one of those hunks of Dalek scrap. When we've done that, we'll conduct a detailed search of the gentleman's…' - his eyes scan the tunnel walls - '…residence. Then we return to the ship.' He checks the pad on his sleeve. 'My comm link and environmental sensors are still down. Anyone still have a link?'

  We check. There's a chorus from the platoon: 'No, sir.' 'Mine's dead.' 'Nothing here.'

  'That has to be a mighty electrical storm building up there.' Captain Vay shakes his head. 'OK. I want that Dalek trace located as quickly as possible. I know it'll be a lump of rust, but we have to verify its position and status, then we can cross it off the commander's "to do" list.' He gives a wry smile. 'So does anyone still have their tracker in working order?'

  At first everyone choruses their 'Negative' again, bu
t I see Rain recheck her sleeve pad, then catch the Captain's attention. 'Wait… Mine's rebooting itself, sir. It'll just be a moment.'

  'That's something,' he breathes. 'We'd be in the crap if we couldn't get a lock on the next target.'

  'Sorry, sir. It's slow. It must be the electrical storm outside.'

  'When you source the trace it will be very weak. We're probably talking about a piece of scrap the size of your hand.'

  'It's coming through, sir. That's it.' She touches the tiny screen on the sleeve pad. Then she stiffens. There's an expression of shock on her face as she stares at the screen.

  'What's the matter, ranger? You've got a reading?'

  'Yes sir. But it's strong - very strong… Wait! Sir, it's gone right off the scale!'

  'Ranger. In what direction?'

  'It's not indicating a direction.'

  'Concentrate, ranger. It must give co-ordinates.'

  'No, sir. I'm registering a powerful Dalek signature.'

  'But where from?'

  'That's just it, sir.' She looks at him, her eyes shockingly wide. 'It's all around us.'

  TEN

  'DALEK, YOU SAY?'

  'Yes. Dalek!' Captain Vay repeats the word for the fifth time.

  'Dalek… Dalek? Dalek.' The man, in turn, repeats the word as he taps his lips with the fingertips of one hand. He frowns. 'No. Sorry. Never heard of the word.'

  'You don't know your own name? You've never heard of Daleks?'

  'No. Should I?'

  'Everyone's heard the word Dalek.'

  The man shrugs. 'I don't mean to be obtuse. But the word has no emotional value for me. I don't react in any way whatsoever to it.'

  'How about the word "prison".' Captain Vay notices the man flinch. 'And do you know another word that rhymes with "rhyme"?'

  The man shakes his head. The smile has vanished from his face.