Doctor Who: Remembrance of the Daleks: 50th Anniversary Edition (Doctor Who 50th Anniversary Collection)

by Ben Aaronovitch

  ‘It’s well boggling.’

  ‘It’s obscene,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now for their time controller.’ He reached behind the desk and pulled open a drawer.

  ‘What is it?’

  It was a globe with lightning at its centre. ‘It’s the device they use to travel through time.’ He looked into its heart. ‘They’ve come a long way.’ The Doctor placed his hands on the globe. Lightning clung to his fingertips. Ace saw his shoulders tense as he seemed to push with his arms.

  The globe went dark.

  ‘Have you broken it?’

  The Doctor looked at her with surprise. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to lumber Earth with a Dalek battle squad. I merely put it out of phase. They can fix it but it will slow them down.’

  The Doctor flexed his fingers. A white rectangle appeared like a playing card in the hand of a conjurer. It, however, was smaller than a playing card – more like a gentleman’s calling card. The Doctor placed it by the time controller. There was strange angular writing on the card.

  Ace heard a noise. It was time to leave.

  Something was wrong.

  Outside of the battle computer, data transmission was imperfect. The interface between the girl and the Dalek Supreme blurred further.

  Something was wrong.

  The Dalek Supreme re-entered the operations centre. The girl moved with biped agility to the time controller.

  Time controller deactivated, sent the girl, along with a set of repair parameters. She discovered a small rectangular card. Through her eyes the image of the card was scanned and shunted into analysis. One nanosecond. Broken down into hexidecimal code, it flashed through perfect crystal memory storage as a beam of coherent light. There, deep in the core memory, listed under Gallifrey – cultural dynamics (symbols of). Two nanoseconds. The symbol was the seal of the Prydonion Chapter: Prydonion Chapter – politico-economic faction. Three nanoseconds. Renegade Time Lord, Ka Faraq Gatri, enemy of the Daleks, bringer of darkness.

  The Doctor.

  Four nanoseconds.

  The Dalek Supreme felt a sudden thrill of fear.

  The girl was back in the chair; the battle computer gestalt was running. The Dalek Supreme was getting tactical updates on the positions of its warriors, which were spread out in prepared defensive positions around the warehouse. The battle computer urged pursuit, capture and recorded disintegration of the Doctor. Five nanoseconds. Such an act would gain prestige with other renegade factions. Perhaps drawing them into the conflict with the Imperium. Six nanoseconds.

  The Dalek Supreme gave the order to all renegade Daleks: Seek, locate and exterminate the Doctor.

  Ace was following the Doctor, and the Doctor wasn’t going to stop. A hundred metres behind them bits of brick were still falling onto the pavement. Two grey Daleks had opened fire from hiding, as Ace and the Doctor crossed the road. Ace hadn’t seen the Doctor move when suddenly he swung her out of the line of fire. Brick-dust and flame erupted from the wall beside them. The after-image of the energy bolt was still flashing on her retinas. ‘They’re eager,’ was all the Doctor said.

  Now the two Daleks chased them up the road.

  They’re not fast, thought Ace, but they keep on coming.

  Ace pounded after the Doctor who ran light-footedly round a corner. They saw the Dalek before it saw them. Without looking the Doctor gripped Ace’s arm and pivoted her around. Something blocked out the sky; she felt rough cloth against her cheek – a workman’s tent. It went very quiet.

  ‘Why didn’t you just run off with the Hand of Omega and give it to the other Daleks?’

  ‘With some luck,’ said the Doctor, ‘the imperial Daleks will eliminate the renegades for us. Besides, if I just roll up and give it to them, they’ll get suspicious.’

  ‘Suspicious of what?’ asked Ace. ‘You still haven’t…’ The Doctor placed a cool hand over her mouth and jerked his head to the left. Ace slowly turned her head and saw the rear of a grey Dalek half a metre from them. She closed her mouth and swallowed carefully.

  Private Abbot saw Sergeant Smith motion with his arm and led the section out of the school gates. Abbot’s grip on his gun was sweaty – he didn’t have any faith in it any more, not even with the special-issue armour piercing rounds. Might as well spit at the damned pepperpots.

  ‘All right,’ said Smith, ‘come with me, and keep your eyes peeled for Ace and the Doctor.’

  Abbot glanced back at Bellos who carried the anti-tank rifle. ‘Hey,’ he whispered. ‘If we see a pepperpot, do me a favour will you?’

  Bellos grunted. ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t miss,’ said Abbot.

  ‘Shut it,’ hissed Smith.

  I wonder what his beef is? thought Abbot. Adjusting his grip on the gun, he scuttled across the road.

  Mike ran up to the pub window and checked inside. Nothing. Behind him the section was pressed warily into the pub wall. He waved Bellos and Amery into point on the intersection of the alley and Coal Hill Road. The two men quickly set up the launcher and slipped a round into the back. Amery crouched down and readied a second rocket.

  It was quiet.

  Mike was watching for Daleks, white and gold ones. Ratcliffe had assured him that the threat came from them. He felt a twinge of regret for Matthews and the others killed at Totters Lane, but Ratcliffe explained it so well – sacrifices had to be made.

  Mike signalled Abbot forward. The soldier got into position behind a lamppost, gun at his shoulder and eyes alert to any movement. They were good lads. Once the Association was in power it would need men like that. Disciplined men who knew their jobs. Afterwards.

  But first, Mike wanted to see Ace safe.

  ‘Sarge,’ called Abbot. ‘Movement, up the alley.’

  Mike slipped the safety off his gun.

  The TARDIS was standing where they had left it in the shadow of the alley. Ace stared at the smooth blue paint on its surface. It was unnaturally smooth, that strange shade of blue. It was all she could do not to push open the door and go in.

  ‘Couldn’t we just…?’ said Ace, nodding at the time-space machine.

  ‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’ve got work to do. Here comes the military.’

  Ace looked and saw Mike running towards them a big grin on his face. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘Dalek hunting,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now it’s the other way round.’

  Ace felt absurdly pleased at the impressed expression on Mike’s face. Let’s play this nice and cool, said a voice in her head. Play what? asked another, younger voice. This! said the first voice. Oh, said the young voice, that.

  ‘Is Gilmore still at the school?’ asked the Doctor.

  Mike looked quickly at the Doctor. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we had better get back and soothe his troubled brow,’ said the Doctor and marched off. Ace hardly noticed.

  Mike wished that Ace wouldn’t look at him like that. The girl was so intense, but that was all right – he liked that. Mike wondered whether she kissed with the same intensity.

  You’re never going to find out, he told himself, unless you get something going soon. Mike had been thinking of and discarding one chat-up line after another. What could anyone say to a girl who attacks Daleks with a baseball bat? It had to be neutral sounding, but unmistakable. Mike cleared his throat.

  ‘Ace? When we’re finished with this lot do you fancy going to the pictures?’ For a terrible moment he thought she was going to laugh.

  ‘You’re confident,’ she said. ‘What’s on?’

  Mike’s mind went blank. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Ace, ‘I’ve probably already seen it on television.’

  Mike had about three seconds to try to figure that out before a bolt of superheated plasma blew away the wall behind him. They both ducked, heads jerking round to look for the enemy. Mike saw them first.

  They were grey Daleks.

  No, thought Mike, this can’t be right. Ratcliffe said.

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nbsp; ‘Daleks!’ He grabbed Ace’s hand and together they ran for the school. There was a flash to the left: smoke vented from the rear of the rocket launcher. Mike felt the heat of the rocket exhaust as the missile streaked past. It detonated behind him as it hit something.

  Bellos hung on to the launcher as Amery shoved another missile up the pipe. Three hundred yards up the alley a Dalek was brewing up nicely. Dense off-white smoke was obscuring any movement behind it. Amery patted him on the shoulder, the signal that the second missile was ready. Bellos squinted through the ratchet sight. He could see nothing through the smoke.

  ‘Come on, you lovelies,’ he murmured, ‘let’s be having you.’

  ‘We’ve got to fall back,’ said Amery.

  The haze was lifting, and within it shapes moved like shadows. There! One was framed in the rectangular sight. Belloos squeezed the trigger. He saw the missile shoot away, red and white flame as it accelerated. It struck the Dalek between gunstick and manipulator.

  ‘Gotcha!’ hissed Bellos. He felt the familiar rush of triumph. More Daleks emerged from the smoke. ‘Get another one in,’ he called over his shoulder. Amery was yelling about pulling back. Bellos was turning towards him when the light smacked him into oblivion.

  Abbot flinched backwards. For one nightmarish moment he could see every bone in Bellos’s body. He reflexively closed his eyes, but it stayed as an afterimage, white bones against the darkness. Abbot rolled to the left, scrambling to get his feet under him. Amery was screaming somewhere off to the left. Abbot got his eyes open in time to see a Dalek bearing down on him. He tried to get his gun up but he knew it was too late. The gunstick started to point towards him.

  The eyepiece exploded in shards of silver, the roar of the submachine-gun in his ear deafened him. A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him backwards.

  ‘Get under cover,’ said Sergeant Mike Smith. ‘Move it.’

  White lightning flashed past his face. Abbot found his feet and ran.

  From the shelter of the school gate Ace winced. The energy bolt shot past Mike’s head, barely missing. Beside her a soldier was shaking violently, a white-knuckled grip on a rocket launcher. Mike was firing point-blank at the Dalek to little effect. Another Dalek was homing in on him.

  ‘Give me that,’ snarled Ace and grabbed the rocket–launcher from the soldier. Mike threw himself down, under the level of the first Dalek’s gunstick and rolled, putting the creative between himself and the second Dalek. Ace brought up the launcher and squeezed the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  Mike was trying to make his way back to the gateway, zigzagging sharply. The second Dalek glided sideways, turning to get a clear shot.

  Ace disengaged the safety and fired.

  The top of a post box exploded in a fountain of cast iron. Mike sprinted the last ten metres and threw himself through the gate. Through the smoke, Ace saw another squadron of Daleks forming up.

  ‘Come on, Ace,’ yelled Mike. ‘We’ll let the recoilless take care of them.’ He took her hand and started to pull her away. Ace took a last look at the mass of Daleks approaching. Next time she would get the thing aimed properly before she fired. She ran towards the school with Mike.

  Rachel dodged back as a squad of soldiers hammered through the foyer on their way to the playground. They seemed to flow round Gilmore who stood in the centre calmly giving orders. Allison was yelling into a radio microphone trying to make herself heard above the yells and bangs.

  ‘Five round the back, sir,’ said a young corporal, ‘about twenty at the front. Kaufman isn’t sure he can hold them.’

  ‘Get back there and tell Kaufman he doesn’t have any choice.’ Gilmore turned to her. Rachel saw a wildness in his eyes. ‘Where are they coming from?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she shouted.

  There was a muffled crump from outside.

  ‘That was the recoilless,’ said Gilmore. ‘Ye gods, they must be in the playground.’

  Where is the Doctor? thought Rachel.

  The doors at the end of the foyer flew open and the Doctor swept in. There was a flash behind him, another crump and whistle from the gun outside. Mike and Ace charged in after him. Ace’s face was flushed, her eyes were glittering.

  Gilmore turned on the Doctor. ‘I trust your little jaunt was successful.

  ‘Moderately so,’ the Doctor said calmly. ‘I’m afraid we brought back some Daleks.’

  Ace wiped her face with a handkerchief.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ said Mike. ‘They’ve got the Hand of Omega, why don’t they just leave?’

  Ace’s hand froze, holding the handkerchief to her face. The Doctor turned and looked at Mike. He took a step towards him and looked into his eyes. ‘How did you know that?’ he asked quietly.

  Ace turned to look at Mike, her face suddenly drained of colour.

  ‘Ace told me,’ Mike said desperately.

  ‘You toerag,’ Ace said softly, ‘you dirty lying scumbag.’ Her hand lashed out at his chest. Mike staggered back, more from the fury on her face than the blow. The Doctor caught Ace by the waist.

  ‘It can wait, Ace!’ he said.

  Ace flailed with her arms, legs kicking uselessly as the Doctor lifted her off her feet.

  ‘You’re a dead scumbag,’ she screamed at the cowering man as the Doctor inexorably pulled her towards the stairwell. Ace turned to Gilmore. ‘He’s a grass, a dirty stinking grass,’ she wailed. ‘He’s been selling us out to the Daleks.’

  Mike flinched at the hatred on Ace’s face. The Doctor’s eyes battered at his skull.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Gilmore. ‘What are they talking about, Sergeant?’

  Mike had a sick feeling in his stomach. He was going to lose it all. ‘I didn’t know it was the Daleks,’ Mike was sweating. How could he explain the loyalties that had pulled him to this position: about Ratcliffe and the Association; their plans for the future; his feelings for Ace?

  Ace. Her eyes were burning. But the Doctor’s eyes were hiding a deep sadness. Mike looked away – perhaps the Doctor would understand.

  ‘I can explain everything,’ he said.

  The foyer door exploded.

  12

  SATURDAY, 15:42

  THE TARGET PLANET filled half the monitor. The shuttle was low enough for the cloud patterns to sweep past underneath. Onboard the pilot fed a continuous update to the commander. The screen flared as the ionosphere bit at the heatshields. The modular cargo bays held warriors webbed into a restraint matrix, and in a special section, isolated from the other Daleks, was the Abomination.

  The shuttle started to vibrate as it cut a swathe through the thickening atmosphere; the flaring spread to encompass the entire view. Communications were cut off as a layer of ionized air enveloped the shuttle. The spot temperature of the heatshields began to approach that of the sun’s interior.

  The shuttle fell towards London like a flaming torch.

  Eyes watched it fall.

  On the roof of a house in Hampstead, an eye nestled in the gable next to the television aerial. A sign advertised tile repairs courtesy of George Ratcliffe and Co. Data flashed from a microwave transmitter to a relay point on a roof of a tower block in Hackney and from there to the warehouse in Shoreditch.

  The battle computer was getting reports from hidden sensors placed in strategic positions over the south-east of England. An object was penetrating the atmosphere on a powered trajectory.

  Smoke was drifting up the stairwells. Allison felt explosions as vibrations through the floor. There were Daleks on the ground floor. She could hear men screaming.

  ‘What was that, Fylingdales, over?’ she shouted into the radio microphone. The operator at the other end kept on talking in a calm voice, inaudible over the battle. Allison took a deep breath. ‘I’m not reading you Fylingdales.’

  Ace ran past her, clutching a large bundle of something explosive close to her chest.

  ‘Say again, over.’ Again the maddeningly quiet voice, something
about a radar contact.

  The Doctor ran by.

  ‘Repeat that,’ asked Allison.

  ‘Ace,’ shouted the Doctor, ‘careful with that.’

  Fylingdales repeated the message. Allison missed the crucial bit when half the stairwell blew out.

  That’s it, decided Allison. ‘Speak up,’ she shouted, ‘or I’ll eviscerate you, over.’

  Fylingdales spoke up.

  Imperial shuttlecraft entering atmosphere, reported the battle computer.

  The Dalek Supreme considered this.

  We must defend the Hand of Omega, it decided, withdraw all units. Suicide warriors to defensive positions – stand by for attack by imperial Daleks.

  The battle computer spat out optimum strategy options. Recalibrating the time controller would take time; they had to hold the imperial stormtroopers until they could escape.

  After that, Time would belong to them.

  The Doctor threw himself on Ace. They both went skidding along the corridor floor. Blaster fire stitched a pattern where Ace had been standing.

  ‘Close,’ said Ace.

  ‘Stay down,’ hissed the Doctor.

  ‘This isn’t part of the plan,’ said Ace, ‘is it?’

  Another bang and a light fitting hissed overhead.

  ‘That’s very perceptive of you.’

  Rachel crawled over to them; one lens of her glasses had cracked.

  ‘Hallo, Rachel,’ said the Doctor. ‘Coping?’

  ‘I’ve done this before.’

  ‘Really, when?’

  ‘Summer of 1940.’

  ‘The Battle of Britain, wicked,’ said Ace. ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Not now, Ace,’ said the Doctor.

  Gilmore walked over and looked down at them. ‘You can get up now,’ he said. ‘The Daleks are withdrawing.’

  Abbot cautiously poked up his head from behind the wall of sandbags. The Daleks had turned and were leaving the playground, one of the destroyed ones belching a black oily smoke. Abbot slipped down again and leant against the wall. Fumbling in his pocket he pulled out a crumpled packet of woodbines and extracted a cigarette. He found a box of matches in Faringdon’s pocket and lit one. It was difficult to light the cigarette because his hands were shaking. Abbot took a deep drag, and looked over at Faringdon. The soldier was missing his head.