Susan had never expected to see Robomen again. They were the living dead – people whose minds had been wiped of all personality and independent action, completely unrecoverable. The only thing that kept their bodies functioning was a small radio receiver in the helmets that they wore. This was a tiny computer that issued Dalek orders to them, and updated directives. Robomen were grotesque creatures, shambling, and totally loyal to the Daleks because they had no other option.
Luckily, this lack of independent thought made them marginally slower than a healthy human being.
Swiftly, Susan punched out with her right hand at the Roboman’s stomach. They weren’t allowed to feel pain, but even they had to breathe. The blow forced the air from its lungs, as Susan’s left hand grabbed the Roboman’s weapon and pushed it aside. The creature wheezed for breath. Wincing at the necessity, Susan grabbed at the Roboman’s conditioning‐helmet, and pulled it free, severing his connection to the Daleks. His eyes glazed over and he collapsed, spasming, to the floor. Susan couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty, even though she knew the Daleks had already killed the human being this pitiful shell had once been.
Jerking the gun from the dead man’s grasp, Susan moved out into the corridor. Typically, the Daleks had assumed that a single guard was sufficient for a human prisoner. Though there were Daleks constantly being produced, she had seen that this was a fairly large complex. With luck and care, she could avoid running into further trouble.
While she had been held captive in the control room, she had seen and memorised a schematic of the place. It was essentially two parallel corridors, cross‐connected several times, with a nest of short side corridors. The control room was centrally located, but she had no intention of heading for it. Her target had to be the weapon the Daleks had developed. The most important thing right now was to prevent them from activating it. And that was located in a short corridor near the entrance to the complex.
Susan hauled the body of the dead Roboman back into her cell, and closed the door from the outside, careful not to trip her own trap. If a Dalek came along to investigate, it was going to get a nasty shock…
Reaching the weapon chamber wouldn’t be easy, but she set off determined that nothing would stop her. Cradling the machine gun made her feel better, even though the chances of damaging a Dalek with it were slight. It was some form of reassurance, at the very least.
Craddock halted at the walls of New London, surveying them as the sun began to rise. It had been a long night, and a tiring one, but ultimately a very successful one. London’s troops had been chased back to their lair, and they were skulking miserably behind these walls, waiting for the inevitable. Their spirit had been broken, their leaders panicked, and their hopes shattered. Craddock felt good.
He had never learnt to enjoy combat as such, but he did love the aftereffects. The glow of victory was intoxicating, even though it might be a trifle premature. London hadn’t fallen yet, and could hold out for a while. But the battle had already really been won. The important thing now was to seize the prize before one of the other Domains scented the carcass and tried to claim some booty of its own.
One of his aides hurried up to him and saluted. ‘Sir, there’s a delegation from the city to see you. They wish to discuss surrender terms.’
Craddock raised an eyebrow. ‘Do they indeed? That’s a lot more sensible than I expected Lord London to be.’
The aide cracked a smile. ‘I gather he isn’t exactly behind this as such. One of the men is carrying his head.’
‘Ah…’ Craddock understood now. London’s men had been even more demoralised than he had expected. While it would be possible to lay siege to London and take it, it would be wasteful of lives and probably destroy a lot of useful buildings and industries. A negotiated surrender was far to be preferred. ’Well,’ he said cheerfully, let’s not keep them waiting. I don’t imagine London’s head will smell any better for a delay.’ He strode briskly off towards his victory.
Donna glanced at the Doctor, who had been fretting the whole way back to DA‐17. It wasn’t hard to understand why, if he was correct about the Daleks somehow having been reborn. She’d heard so many stories from so many people about the days Earth was ruled by the Daleks, and every one of them had made her shudder.
The only emotions they knew were rage and hatred, and they despised human beings. Donna could remember Haldoran being gentle with his children, so there was some spark of decency left in the worst of human beings. But the Daleks possessed no such thing – nor did they desire it.
If the Daleks had been resurrected, it would mean unimaginable horror.
She hugged herself as the runabouts sped towards their target. She and the Doctor were with two of Barlow’s men. She supposed that they were guards, even though they paid very little attention to either her or the Doctor. Donna tried to sort out her feelings about Barlow. At first he’d seemed little more than another professional killer. Certainly he spoke and acted about life as if it was of little importance to him. Yet, at the same time, he was clearly not the kind of man Haldoran or Downs had been. There was a coldness and a calculated air about the man, but he didn’t seem to enjoy killing. To him it was simply a necessity, a means to an end. He’d spared Haldoran’s children even when Brittany had been willing to sacrifice their lives to further her own ends. Why? They could only end up being trouble for him. Or was he simply trying to give the appearance of mercy, and aimed to murder them later anyway?
What was she to do now? According to Barlow, New London was poised to fall to his and Craddock’s combined troops, and the attack was still being pressed despite Haldoran’s death. Barlow was the heir presumptive, and Donna didn’t know how to take this. Would he be any better than Haldoran had been? He could hardly be worse, but that wasn’t a recommendation. What irritated her the most was that there was a small part of her that perversely seemed to like the man, even though he was partially responsible for the raid on London and attempting to overthrow and kill her father. It had all the air of a Greek tragedy about it. And here she was, working with him and the Doctor. It felt… odd. And, once more perversely, almost enjoyable.
The runabout came to a silent halt, and Donna could see that dawn had broken. Faint pink light illuminated the fresh landscape outside. It looked like being a glorious day, the storm having vanished overnight. It didn’t seem right. If the Daleks were rising from their graves, there ought to be lightning flashing and thunder rolling, not birds singing and a soft breeze playing.
The Doctor hopped out of the vehicle without a word and started forward. Donna and the two soldiers hurried to fall in behind him. The other runabouts drew up and disgorged their passengers. David and Barlow moved to join them.
‘There’s some kind of detection system,’ the Doctor informed them all. ‘The Master – the man you know as Estro – stole it from the Draconians a short time ago. In which case, it’ll use infrasonics.’ He had his sonic screwdriver in his hand, and made a slight adjustment to it. ‘This should set up a counterpulse that will create a null area in the shield for us to walk through.’ Then he grinned at last. ‘Theoretically!’ He marched on without stopping.
‘Let’s hope you’re right, Doctor,’ Barlow said. He was carrying what looked like an antique grenade launcher. Donna eyed it with envy, feeling naked without a weapon.
‘Where did you get that?’ she asked. ‘And how much ammo do you have for it?’
‘Museum,’ he answered briefly ‘And ten shells. It’ll blow the hell out of even a Dalek. Ten times if my aim is good. I’ve been told small‐arms fire isn’t much use against them.’
‘It doesn’t even irritate them,’ the Doctor informed them. ‘So you’re better off without a gun if you meet them. They may save you for last to kill. This way.’ He moved towards the rise looking down on DA‐17. ‘Odd that there’s no sign of guards up here, isn’t it?’