Prisoner of the Daleks

by Trevor Baxendale

  'Get it out,' ordered Bowman.

  Scrum and Cuttin' Edge picked up a pair of long metal staves, like boathooks, and approached the Dalek.

  'Don't do this,' the Doctor urged them.

  But they ignored him. Cuttin' Edge, grimacing in distaste, prodded the mutant creature a couple of times. The creature shrank back in its housing, but there was no escape. Scrum, his hands shaking, crouched low and inserted the end of his stave as well, trying to gain some kind of leverage.

  And then, gradually, the creature began to emerge as they gouged it free like an oyster from its shell. It was accompanied by a foul stench, a smell of pure wrongness, of something rotten sealed away for too long.

  Instinctively, both Scrum and Cuttin' Edge backed away. Whether this was due to fear, or a strange kind of respect for their captive, it was impossible to tell. Cuttin' Edge dropped the stave and drew his blaster, a look of utter revulsion on his dark, sweating features.

  Koral watched carefully, cautiously, ready to strike at a moment's notice. Bowman simply stood, arms folded, his face impassive.

  The Dalek oozed slowly out of its cradle, leaving a thick film of mucus behind. There was a long, obscene sucking noise and then, all in a rush, the rest of the creature emerged. It plopped out in a tangle of slippery tentacles, some over a metre in length. It didn't fall onto the floor. Something caught inside the machine and the Dalek hung there, dripping slime, swaying from side to side. One of the tentacles reached down to the floor and rested there, unmoving.

  'Is it dead?' Bowman asked.

  'Damn waste of time,' muttered Cuttin' Edge, lowering his blaster.

  'Wait,' breathed the Doctor quietly. 'Look...'

  He was pointing at the centre of the beast. In among the dangling appendages and wires still connecting the flesh to the armoured machine, there was an eye.

  And it was opening.

  NINE

  The eye was yellow and bloodshot with a single black pupil.

  No one said a word. The cargo chamber felt hot and claustrophobic now, more like a prison cell than a ship's hold. There was a genuine feeling that they were all witnessing something extraordinary.

  The eye twitched, as if gaining some kind of focus, and began to move slightly in its socket.

  'Dude,' said Cuttin' Edge, 'you are one ugly critter.'

  'Be quiet,' said the Doctor sharply. 'I don't suppose you're the number one poster boy on Skaro yourself.'

  'No, I guess that would be you,' said Cuttin' Edge.

  'Only if they're "wanted" posters.'

  'Shut up, the pair of you,' said Bowman. He stepped forward and looked down at the mutant. 'Can you hear me?'

  There was a faint, gurgling reply. Bizarrely, the lights on the Dalek's dome flashed weakly.

  'It's still connected,' Scrum realised, peering more closely at the nest of wires and tubes leading from the mutant's quivering flesh into the interior of the Dalek.

  'Get back!' cried the Doctor, pulling Scrum to one side. As he moved, the black suction cup on the end of the Dalek's immobilised arm suddenly flexed as if trying to grab hold of Scrum's head.

  'Whoa!' Cuttin' Edge cocked his blaster and aimed it at the creature's blinking eye. 'Steady on there, boy.'

  The sucker continued to grasp at thin air. The arm juddered in the vice-like grip of the cargo loader, and the Dalek let out a long, low groan of despair.

  'You got it, dude,' said Cuttin' Edge. 'We got you by the—'

  'That's enough,' growled Bowman. He turned back to the Dalek. 'You're on board the Wayfarer. I'm Captain Jon Bowman and this is my crew. You're our prisoner.'

  'I think it's worked that part out,' said the Doctor.

  'You stay out of this,' warned Bowman.

  'I can't.'

  'You can and you will. If you say another word, I'll have Cuttin' Edge throw you out. Got it?'

  Cuttin' Edge gave the Doctor a stony look to reinforce the promise.

  'You were one of a squad of Daleks on the planet Hurala,' Bowman continued, addressing the dangling mutant. 'What were you doing there?'

  'It won't answer,' said the Doctor.

  'Cuttin' Edge,' said Bowman.

  The Doctor held his hands up as Cuttin' Edge started towards him. 'All right, all right! I won't say another word – and nor will the Dalek.'

  Bowman smiled thinly.

  'We'll see. Hey. Dalek. I know you can hear me. And I know you can understand me.' Bowman lowered himself to his haunches, so that he was eye-level with his prisoner. 'Now we're all humanoids here and we can be reasonable. It's your choice. Talk to us, tell us what we want to know, and things will be easier for you. If you don't cooperate – well, let's just say it won't be so easy. I don't want things getting ugly in here, but if they do... then so be it.'

  The Dalek's single eye glared at Bowman with a fierce, palpable hatred. But it said nothing.

  'That your final answer?'

  The eye closed.

  'Right,' said Bowman, standing up. 'You got that equipment I asked for, Scrum?'

  Scrum wheeled a small instrument trolley forward. Laid across the tray were a number of tools.

  'You can't be serious,' said the Doctor.

  'You know I am,' said Bowman bleakly.

  'I can't allow this.'

  Bowman raised an eyebrow. 'You're not in charge around here, Doctor. I am. I want some answers from this ugly son of a bitch and I'm going to get them – by whatever means necessary.'

  'You're better than this, Bowman!' the Doctor argued fiercely. 'You're a human being! Don't do this. Stand up for what you believe in.'

  'I'm standing up for Stella. I'm standing up for the people of Auros. What are you standing up for, Doctor?'

  'Something better than that!' The Doctor jabbed a finger at the mutant. 'Humanity!'

  'Well, that's a very precious commodity,' Bowman sighed. 'But it isn't worth a damn to the Daleks. They don't even understand it. They just want to eradicate it. And they'll do anything and everything to achieve that aim. You know they will. They'll stop at nothing to destroy us, and so neither can I if I want to prevent them.'

  'This is just one Dalek. It's as good as defenceless.'

  'So I guess it's my lucky day.' Bowman picked up one of the tools from the tray and switched it on. A crackle of energy leapt from the business end. 'This one Dalek could tell me all I need to know. Now you can either stay in here and watch, or step outside if you've not got the stomach for it.'

  'If you compromise your humanity now, Bowman, then the Dalek has won before you've even started.'

  For a second, Bowman looked doubtful. He stared at the tip of the energy discharger, frowning. Eventually he said, 'I'm sorry, Doctor. I cannot afford the luxury of humanity right now.'

  'I'll stop you!' growled the Doctor.

  'No, you won't,' said Cuttin' Edge, levelling his gun at the Doctor's head. 'One more word an' you'll be able to sharpen pencils in your forehead.'

  The Doctor glared icily at him. Then he turned to look at Scrum. 'What about you, Scrum? Are you a part of this, too?'

  'You know I am,' replied Scrum quietly. He looked away. 'Just get out, Doctor, while you still can.'

  The Doctor took a deep breath, realising that he was defeated. Koral watched him carefully from the other side of the cell, but her gaze was inscrutable.

  Finally, the Doctor looked down at the Dalek creature. There was a slight gurgle, no more than a cough, and the dome lights sparked once. It could have been a nerve twitching, or an attempt at thanks, or even an insult. It could have been anything.

  Tight-lipped, the Doctor stepped out of the room and the door hissed shut behind him.

  He paced the corridor outside, seething. He had seldom felt so helpless. Of all the difficulties he had ever faced, all the strange and deadly encounters with creatures and aliens and monsters, it had to be a bunch of humans that finally stopped him in his tracks. Stupid, stubborn, infuriating humans.

  Not for the first time, the Doctor fe
lt incredibly alone. He longed for someone like Martha or Donna, someone who would understand, someone who could help. He thought of Stella, and a deep sense of grief suddenly washed over him. She would have understood. She would have helped.

  With a heavy sigh, the Doctor leant against the wall opposite the cargo bay door. He could hear voices from inside the hold, but he couldn't tell what they were saying. He knew the Dalek wouldn't speak. He wasn't even sure if it could speak – there was no way of knowing how damaged it was after the cryo-charge had struck, or whether it had been harmed by the thawing process. Perhaps it was little more than a vegetable, incapable of thought or action.

  He wished it was dead.

  'Think!' he ordered himself, pressing the knuckles of his fists into his temples, running his hands backwards and forwards through his hair. He had to do something. Anything. There must be a way of stopping them.

  Seized by a sudden need to take action, he turned towards the flight deck. Perhaps he could take control of the ship, force them to stop. Or divert all power from the cargo hold so that none of their instruments and tools would work.

  The Doctor was already reaching into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver when the door hissed open. He looked up, surprised and hopeful.

  It was Koral. The door hissed shut behind her and she stalked towards the Doctor. 'I've been sent out to stop you doing anything stupid.'

  'I'm not the one who's doing anything stupid.'

  'Put the sonic device away.'

  The Doctor looked imploringly at her. 'Koral – you could put a stop to this madness. You know you could.'

  'Perhaps. But I do not wish to.'

  'But, Koral—'

  'No buts.' She held up a hand and out jumped the steel talons. 'It would be much wiser to do as I ask.'

  'Would it?' The Doctor's shoulders slumped and he put the screwdriver back in his pocket. 'All right. You've made your point.'

  There was a hint of a smile as the claws were sheathed. 'Bowman guessed you would try to sabotage the ship or otherwise attempt to stop him.'

  'He was right.'

  'I will make sure that doesn't happen.'

  The Doctor did not reply. He simply looked down as they both heard the sharp, galvanistic crackle of Bowman's energy discharger starting up, the noise slightly muffled by the cargo hold's heavy door.

  The Doctor closed his eyes.

  And then he heard an awful, shrill scream of pain as the discharger was used on the Dalek. It was followed by a long, involuntary gargle of relief as the agony ceased.

  Koral stared straight ahead, utterly impassive.

  The Doctor sank to the floor, his head in his hands.

  TEN

  The screaming continued for another full minute before the Doctor cracked. He leapt to his feet and dived towards the cargo bay door. But Koral was there before him, steel claws at his throat. They felt cold and sharp on his skin.

  'On my homeworld of Red Sky Lost, we hunted koogah beasts alone. Each koogah has a thick, armoured hide and poisoned tusks and we respected it as a formidable enemy. It is why we developed these claws.'

  'Very useful, I'm sure.' The Doctor didn't move a muscle.

  'With these, I could rip an adult koogah wide open with a single strike. I'm used to extreme violence and the spilling of blood. You mean less to me than a koogah beast, Doctor. I wouldn't hesitate to kill you if I had to.'

  'Yes, I can see that.' Very carefully the Doctor backed away from the door, hands raised. 'But tell me, Koral – when you were hunting these koogah things... did you torture them as well?'

  She made no reply. All they could hear was the crackle of the power discharger.

  The Doctor leant back against the opposite wall. 'So, what are we going to do now? Stand out here and listen to that thing scream until it dies?'

  'If necessary.'

  'But that's just it.' The Doctor's teeth were grinding together as he bit off each individual word. 'It's not necessary.'

  'Nor was the destruction of Red Sky Lost!' It was the first time the Doctor had seen Koral lose her cool, even slightly. 'The Daleks razed my planet to the ground. They slaughtered everyone. Everything. Genocide!'

  'They are masters of it.'

  'And you expect me to stand aside and allow them to go unpunished?' Koral glared hotly at him. 'I am the only survivor! The last of my people! After me, there is nothing.'

  'Yes,' said the Doctor sadly. 'I know.'

  She shook her head. 'You know nothing.'

  He leant closer to her again, looking directly into her flaming eyes without flinching. 'Let me go back in there, Koral. Stop Bowman from tearing that creature apart and let me talk to it.'

  'You?'

  'Yes! I can make it talk!'

  The corridor was filled with another round of screaming. Something thick and wet gurgled in the Dalek's vocal cords – or whatever it used to speak – and the noise suddenly choked off, replacing by a pathetic, ululating whimper.

  'If it's not too late,' insisted the Doctor, 'I can make it speak. I know how to get information out of it.'

  'You're bluffing.'

  The Doctor didn't even blink. 'Trust me!'

  The silence that followed was thick with possibilities. In the end it was broken by the sound of the cargo hold door opening.

  The Doctor and Koral separated quickly, as if they were lovers caught by surprise, but no one was interested.

  Bowman stood in the doorway. His big shoulders were slumped, and there was sweat on his face. A waft of hot air, carrying an indescribably fetid odour, seeped out of the hold.

  'It's over,' he growled. 'It's dead.'

  Scrum and Cuttin' Edge emerged behind him. Scrum looked white-faced and physically ill. Cuttin' Edge's face was etched with what could have been distaste or fear. He was still carrying the stave, and the end of it was covered in a sticky, green ichor.

  Bowman stalked away, calling Scrum after him like an obedient dog. Cuttin' Edge paused, raising his head so he could look at the Doctor. 'If it's any consolation,' he said quietly, 'you were right. It never said a word.'

  The Doctor just looked at him with contempt.

  Cuttin' Edge turned to Koral. 'Skipper wants us all in the galley,' he told her. 'Team meeting.'

  The door to the cargo bay remained open. Inside it was dark, except for a dull red glow from the emergency lights. The Doctor guessed that Bowman's power discharger had fused the illumination circuits at some point. Now the interior of the hold looked like a little pocket of Hell.

  Ignoring the stench, the Doctor stepped inside.

  The remains of the Dalek lay on the floor beneath the upended casing. It was quite small – the distended brain sac lying like a rotten melon in a pool of dark unguent. Some of its squid-like arms were coiled around the carcass, while others lay on the floor like dead worms, severed from the main body.

  There were many more wires and cables dangling from the Dalek casing, evidence of how Scrum and Cuttin' Edge must have had to scrape the creature out of its shell. Strings of glistening slime hung down like the drool of some strange metal beast that had recently vomited the half-digested contents of its stomach onto the floor.

  The Doctor knelt down carefully by the dead creature and put his glasses on. It was difficult to see anything clearly in the red emergency lighting, but there was something that made him want to check. You could never trust a Dalek, even in death.

  And, just fractionally, the single eye twitched.

  'You're still alive,' breathed the Doctor. His voice was no more than an awed whisper.

  The eye slowly closed.

  'Oh, come on,' said the Doctor. 'You can't fool me.'

  The eye opened again, swivelling jerkily in the broken socket until it was looking at the Doctor. There was no indication that it could actually see, let alone focus. Perhaps it was just registering the sound of his voice.

  'It's me,' said the Doctor. 'The Oncoming Storm.'

  The eye opened a little wider, and the red-b
lack dot at its centre shrank. An inarticulate gurgle emerged faintly from the glistening remains.

  'Or maybe you just know me as the Doctor.'

  Another gurgle.

  'That's the trouble with jumping the time lines,' said the Doctor, sitting down on the floor. 'It's difficult to work out where we're up to. Dalek history was confusing enough before the Time War.'

  'DOC...TOR...'

  The hairs on the back of his neck actually stood up. He swallowed, momentarily lost for words. Eventually he simply replied, 'Yes?'

  'ONLY... AT... THE END... DO YOU COME...' The Dalek quivered with the effort of speaking, although it was hard to make out the actual words. 'TO GLOAT.'

  'No,' the Doctor shook his head. 'No, I'm not gloating.'

  'THEN... KILL... ME...'

  'I can't.'

  'COWARD.'

  'There's no need to fight me,' said the Doctor.

  'THEN... WHY HAVE YOU COME?'

  'I'm not here for that. You're finished. Even you must admit that.'

  'DALEKS... NEVER... CAPITULATE.'

  'That's your problem. There's no reasoning with you. You've all got one-track minds. I bet if you could fire your gun now you'd exterminate me on the spot.'

  'YES!'

  'When any sane being would plead for their life. For mercy.'

  'DALEKS DO NOT PLEAD.'

  'I know. But you could have saved yourself a lot of bother if you'd spoken up sooner. Bowman only wanted to talk.'

  'BOWMAN...?'

  'The man who was... interrogating you.'

  'HE FAILED.' There was a hint of triumph in the croaking voice. 'I SHOULD NOT... HAVE ALLOWED MYSELF... TO BE CAPTURED. BUT HIS FAILURE... WAS THE GREATER. NO MATTER WHAT HE DID TO ME... I WOULD NOT TALK.'

  'Very impressive, I'm sure.'

  'HUMANS DO NOT UNDERSTAND TORTURE.'

  'Oh, I think they do. Unfortunately. It's not one of their more endearing traits, but they do know how to inflict pain and suffering, I'll give you that.'

  'I EXPECTED NOTHING LESS.'

  The Doctor stirred. 'No. That's wrong. Humans are capable of love and mercy as well. And generosity and charity too. There is no limit to the good they can do – or that they are capable of. Not like you. All you know is pain and suffering.'