Your Little Dalek

      ‘Hey, Wildy, I was waiting for you. Why are you sitting in the control room and meditating on the console instead of playing gun?’       ‘I don’t want to.’ I quickly put aside my sorting and analyzing the obtained information. ‘I need to concentrate, there is the Paternoster gang ahead. Is their name the first words of some ancient poem on Earth?’       ‘Not a poem, but a prayer. It suits them, although they just live on a street with the same name.’ Song says, already staying next to The Doctor, and they are speeding up the TARDIS with four hands before a jump into 1893.       The Doctor looks at River Song strangely. I don’t have enough terms to describe it. Perhaps… Once I experienced something similar in the space fleet. We were in the middle of uphill battle. The ship next to ours made a ram attack on the enemy flagship to assure our victory. We all turned on our filters on maximum for not to collapse from the empathic shock, but still “heard” the agony of the dying Daleks, and I still remember it. Anyway, I did not feel pain or despair. Rather, there were bitter and admiration at the same time, but these words do not fully describe what I exactly felt that day. I do not know how to call it correctly. Then, of course, we pulled ourselves together and turned the enemy into clouds of plasma, but the feeling of the most beautiful loss still lurks in the corners of my memory.       This is how The Doctor looks at River Song. She is obviously irritated by this, even asked a couple of times what was wrong with her and why he was staring at her, to which he elegantly diverted the conversation.       What about me, I suddently find myself quite curiousing to watch semi-sensible individuals of different sexes. We have lost so-called “flirt” with the degradation of some basic instincts. Even the difference between our male and female embryos is almost conditional, based only on chromosomes, way of thinking (males are more shrewd, females are more thorough), and voice modulator frequencies, everything else has long been erased by mutations. We would completely abandon this distinction, especially since we can reproduce only in vitro, but a population of monogenic clones is completely unviable. One successful infection, and everyone will die without having time to get scared, genetics is so… genetic. This is exactly what we do with Sontarans and other cloning species if we have to face them. The freedom of natural selection and the variability of heredity must always be preserved for the safety of the species. However, the extinction of the reproductive instinct freed our brains for more important matters.       But... When there is simply nothing else to do, it is curious to observe a couple like The Doctor and River Song in their natural habitat. I would spend my time much more useful in the Pathweb, but it is suicidal to stick my photoreceptor in there now. I even can’t go to the library, the growling sound of landing indicates that we’ve arrived at our destination.       Hello, ancient London. You greet us with your signature fog and rain in the dark twilight. Time about six in the morning, the plants are in the gold spectrum of Earth autumn.       I turn on the heating on the photoreceptor so it doesn't fog up.       ‘Why didn't you land the TARDIS straight to Vastra’s home?’ Song asks and dives back for an umbrella.       ‘First, I want to look around. They're clever, familiar with alien technologies, and could have guessed what happened to them. Can you imagine what it's like a Dalek technology with a glitched program?’       The smart, prudent Predator.       I chuckle, ‘I can “imaaagine”. An insoluble conflict and a split personality. An extremely dangerous mode. I don't have the passwords to activate their self-destruction.’       The Doctor groans, squeezing my manipulator with his both hands. ‘Wait, do such passwords exist?’       ‘Correct, in the government sector of the Pathweb.’ After all, he doesn't know us enough, we have backup options for any operation.       ‘And you didn’t tell me?!’       He gives me a big kick and then hops on one leg for a long time, muttering something terrible through his teeth. Maybe a reliable bullet can scratch me, but it is hopeless to strike my outershell with a boot.       ‘We still won't get them. I am an architect, not a programmer, and I can't hack the government sector.’       I have already tried. Why, do they think, I’m outlaw?       ‘What's my screwdriver for?! We could have flown to Skaro and immediately given the order straight from your snake pit…’ He jumps again. ‘Ouch, it hurts!’       Song walks past us with a smile. When did she change into local clothes, and even make her curls into a hairstyle?! Stop. According to my devices, it’s a holography, but it looks persuasively. The colors are also pleasing to me, black with a slight bronze tint, it reminds my home and my high commander.       ‘Leave this little holiday to Wildy, sweetie. Any Dalek dreams of killing, if not you, then at least your friends.’       Right on target.       She continues, ‘Let it be useful for the cause, without bloodshed.’       I hardly admit, ‘If I don't destroy them, I'll really want to destroy you. In that case, my life will be under a very serious threat, which is not a part of my plans.’       ‘Daaalek!’ The Doctor says with disgust and even pity. Yes, I'm a mentally unstable Dalek, who is curious about them both, a normal one would have shot them long ago. But to pity me for this?! Humiliating. How much longer is he going to provoke me? I turn off the microphone, push the air out of my only lung with maximum volume for a couple of rels, trying to throw out the anger, then catch my breath, turn on the microphone and move forward so as not to see this long-legged symmetric jerk.       However, I suddenly told them the truth. Oh, wait. I really blurted out the truth without thinking. Extraneous emissions? No, the truth field is absent. But why?.. Strain your smart brain, darling. Observe and think. There's something you noticed but didn't pay attention to, so it didn't stick in your memory.       ‘If they could figure out the situation, we'll proceed with caution.’ Song says as we relocate to number thirteen Paternoster Row. ‘I’ll go first. Doctor, catch up with me in a minute and a half. Wildy, you'll enter the house at the same time as me through the back door by the kitchen, inspect the basement. If it's empty, go up and check the attic. Well, in the event of a shooting, it's not forbidden to run to each other's aid.’       The Doctor immediately becomes grumpy, ‘I don't understand why I'm the last one.’       ‘Because if they didn't understand anything, they'll be glad to see even me. If they did, they'll try to chat you away and kill you. And your well-spoken tongue won't help you.’ Song explains.       Their bickering is starting to get on my nerves. It's time to set a good example for you, Doctor. It's not that I acknowledge Song as the commander (I don't at all!), but surely as an educational measure...       ‘I obey.’       I turn into the alley to the back stairs leading to the lower semi-basement. My peripheral vision cuts off Song's victorious smile addressed to The Doctor. I don't like this. I tear myself away from the external view screen, glance at the system window… No, there are no new closed sectors in the memory filter, I won't have to rummage through the microchips with a piece of wire. But the feeling that I missed something does not leave me.       I crank up the protection to the max and go down the stairs, past a large coal bin. Everything here is covered in dust, black as night, like the rank markings on my outershell… Here it is! I understood what the matter is! Come on, Song, you were constantly shining in the periphery of my vision, dressed in black and copper! You deliberately took advantage of our automatism in subordinating to our commander! If they see black somewhere on the side, they'd better to obey right away, no thinking, of course! Excess thoughts, as The Doctor said, get the brain dirty, huh? Also that floor-length dome skirt with the butt sticking out... It's you who is an old weasel, Song! That's it, I simply have to take control of myself before she starts using it around. I have to think through everything, even orders from the black spot in the corner of my visor. It's not for nothing that I don't trust her. It's still unknown what to expect up there, what they're whispering about behind my sensors.       However, right now I have a dark semi-basement kitchen and switch my photoreceptor to a combat mode. There is an alarming fact, the hearth is not burning. The infrared scanner shows that the fire went out many hours ago, the ashes are almost cold. Either Paternoster gang is away, or they understood everything. The next fact that confirms my fears is the corpse of a fake Sontaran, cut in half by some very sharp object. Of course, we didn't spend expensive materials, here it's mostly plastic and cheap metals. But still, this duplicate was cut from head to groin with something dangerous.       I remember that the ladies from the wild trio use strips of sharpened hardened steel. An ancient Earth weapon, a modification of a sword, the name isn’t in the active dictionary, because there is no need to waste space in memory... Hmm, I’m curious, did they just figure out the Sontaran and get out of here, or did all three quarrel? A cocktail of the contradiction “I am a friend of The Doctor/I am a Dalek duplicate” can produce very interesting consequences. By the way, thanks to them for the fact that I will not have to compete in the speed of a shot with this Sontaran.       I've already passed the kitchen and the servants' room, but the house is still empty. Where are our two lost dolls? Are they really talking to River and The Doctor upstairs? Hmm, the next room is completely dark, without windows; aha, this is the hallway, and there should be a staircase behind the door. There's a mirror hanging opposite the entrance. I feel uneasy in this darkness, and even more with the mirror, which clearly shows who's approaching, that is, me. I need to check before moving in. I'm sending out an echolocation pulse... And so it is. Under the ceiling, on the splits, down-head, and with a sharp strip of steel in her only free hand, a Silurian duplicate waits.       ‘Get down,’ I order, not moving into the room, ‘You are detected. Obey, or you will be exterminated.’       She ignores my words.       I repeat, ‘I order you to come down from the ceiling and drop your weapons.’ So that she understands that I am not bluffing and that I really know her location and plans.       A quiet, unkind hiss is heard in response. I check the name on the list.       ‘Vastra, get down. You cannot resist the Daleks.’       A soft thud of landing.       ‘I killed S-Strax with my own hands. And Jenny. Where is my Jenny?’ I hear from behind the wall. ‘What did you do to her?’       ‘And to you too. You are not a Silurian. You are a Dalek duplicate. You may check by cutting your skin.’       ‘Have you come to fix the breakdown?’       What an inappropriate sarcasm.       ‘The Daleks came to retrieve you.’ I lie, because any persuasion is useless. To any duplicate who finds out that he is a duplicate, the word "Doctor" will be like a red rag. And nobody will believe the fairytale that a Dalek can be on the same team as The Doctor and River Song. ‘The operation is cancelled.’       The darkness answers, ‘Oh.’       And then appears the Silurian. IN BLACK.       I feel uneasy, as if I found a soil chinchbug in my hammock. Then, Song did not take advantage of my weakness. It was a warning in the hope that I would figure it out myself and try to resist the conditioned reflexes hammered into my brain. No, when I understand that I am dealing with a robot or an inferior, I will never obey reflexively, but if I had not noticed the Silurian in time... Couldn't Song say it in words? Or didn't she want to do it in front of The Doctor? Ah, varga’s tail! First the TARDIS, then Song, is everyone playing against everyone else here?! Or am I missing something else? Or is this a coincidence and I'm making things more complicated? It's a pity I never managed to get the archives of the Cult of Skaro. Then I would have understood the inconsistencies in logic between me and the bipeds better.       ‘Why did you destroy two other duplicates not assuring your own condition?’       ‘I did.’       The Silurian duplicate continues to behave, practicing the implanted person model. It’s bad. Without a code word, I can’t bring her into a mode of strict obedience. And, perhaps, she is lying about her assistant and stalling for time. She may also have surprises inherited from the Sontaran. I feel like I am out of my shell. When we act in a squad, empathy gives us impudence and self-confidence. How do you think, why Daleks do not like to walk alone? But now I am completely alone.       I order, ‘Drop your weapon.’       She doesn’t even think to obey, and there is an aggressive predator in her pose, driven into a corner.       She’s dangerous.       ‘Anssswer first,’ her legs begin to slowly spring, as if for a jump, ‘What’s up with Jenny?’       ‘She is alive.’       There is no more time to think, and I shoot, but at the same time a black lightning, blacker than darkness, jumps to a height unthinkable for a biped and somersaults to land to the side of me, out of range. The strip of steel rests against the force field just at the level of my hammock. What are these suspicious blue sparks running along it?       ‘Don't move. My katana can pierce your outer protection.’       ‘It will break on my shell.’       ‘The monomolecular sssharpening doesn't care about your armor.’       I swallow. I'm in trouble.       ‘Where is my Jenny?’       ‘She is in The Ash-Heap of History.’       I almost lost control on the situation in panic. Quiet, darling, pull yourself together and think. Her so-called katana is a more unpleasant weapon than just a piece of steel. Let's buy some time to switch some plugs and reconfigure the properties of the external protection. So, I say, ‘She's with you. With the real you. She is not in danger, just in oblivion. If The Doctor remembers you, he'll save you.’       The Silurian duplicate feigns a sweet smile, gracefully tilting her head to the side, ‘But The Doctor doesn't know where we are. Therefore, Jenny is in danger. And S-Strax too.’       Well, I do a maximum persuasion in my voice, choosing words carefully. There's a little chance that I'll be able to convince and subdue her.       ‘You are a robot. She is not your Jenny, and he is not your Strax. You killed your Jenny and your Strax foolishly. Separate these concepts in your brain. You are not the Paternoster Gang. You are just three duplicates which used to think they were the Paternoster Gang. Turn on your logic block and understand this. You are a Dalek duplicate. Obey.’       Her smile becomes even sweeter:       ‘Sssay a magic word.’       I wish I knew it!       ‘EXTERMINATE.’       ‘It’sss a wrong magic word.’       The mechanism built into her katana is actively eating up the energy of the forcefield. My defence is a cool thing, but unfortunately, it's not all-powerful, especially when they don't hit it with all their might, but slowly push through. I can't shoot Vastra with a gamma-blaster: if I move, I'll die. But a cheap duplicate designed for Victorian England is not protected from a good electromagnetic pulse, and I've already finished reconfiguring my defence. All the energy from the batteries, except for the minimum reserve, has been transferred where it needs to be. The moment the fake Silurian breaks through the external protection and touches me with even a molecule of her katana, the circuit will close and knock out all the electronics in the house. The outershell will protect my internal systems; it will more or less defend me even in the epicenter of a nuclear explosion. But duplicate won't survive.       ‘I must tell you something before I leave. You are right in suspecting that there are no other Daleks here, and no puppets, and no robots, and, in general, I am here without the command's knowledge. But you are wrong in thinking that I am here alone. Now break your logic on this thought before you are destroyed.’       I turn off all receptors and drop the force field.       It's a pity, but you are playing at being a living creature too much.       Die of the EMP.       The life support systems' alarm light is replaced by the norm. My side is sore. Seems, it’s not real pain, but an echo from my outershell. So, there is a minor damage. I wonder if The Doctor was hit hard with his screwdriver? I turn on the receptors again and reset everything back to the standard mode of functioning of my outershell, admiring the broken robot. Her memory is now beyond recovery. And then a curious thought burns me, do the Daleks even remember about these duplicates? And if so, how do they explain their presence? Although no. If they remembered, they would have already run a check at all addresses, why the duplicates are turning off one by one. Somehow my logic is failing, I did not take this into serious account when I was planning the operation. It's good that now you understood it fully, darling.       That's it, I need to get out of here. Blow the door down and go up... Oh, damn it! I spent almost all my energy on generating an impulse! How will I get to the TARDIS?! As if in response, the sound of feet running up five steps at a time and the Doctor's indignant voice are heard behind the door.       ‘What did that armored hoover with the rotten squid inside think up?!’       The next second, the door flies apart into splinters and smoke. The Doctor and Song, who is covering him from the shot, are lying on the floor right in front of it. In the stairs there is a gaping, beautiful, red-hot hole and droplets of melt are flowing down. Only a moment later I realize that I fired by myself, at full power, with all my hatred and disgust for this time jerk. Aaah! My energy level!!!       ‘I am a Dalek. Not a rotten squid. Not an octopus. Not a galactic slime. Not an amoeba.’ I hiss into the microphone, shaking with anger. ‘I am a Dalek, your enemy, your nightmare! We are on the same side now, but this is a temporary truce, not an eternal peace! I hate you, Doctor, never forget that! Because I am a Dalek!’       It seems they've both realized who exactly shot them, so they're silently blinking their eyes, hugging each other on the floor. Song is starting to break into a wide smile.       ‘And now,’ I hope my vengeful intonations are so strong that they break through the voice modulator, ‘my battery is dead, and you will drag me to the TARDIS!’       The photoreceptor goes out. In general, everything goes out, except for the air filtration and other emergency life support systems. The energy is on its minimum, here we go. If they abandon me now after such a heated speech, I'm dead. I won't survive for long outside my shell, in this environment. How stupid I was, allowing myself to lose self-control. I got all worked up about the duplicate, and here's the result, I'm once again a hair's breadth from death.       The slight shaking that rocks me in the hammock says, that someone tries to push me from the outside. Then, very, very faintly, I hear, ‘Damn, it’s heavy…’       The shaking stops, and the voices become completely indistinct. It’s impossible to make out what they are talking about. Then a long silence, and suddenly I hear Song's voice quite clearly, ‘Wildy! The Doctor goes for the TARDIS. Hold on for a few minutes, we'll drag you to the recharger.’       I stretch out my pseudohands to the shell’s mechanical locks. It's all right, Song, just move away. Click...       ‘So, you won't abandon me?’       Song really moves away from the hatch illuminated by the cyan radiation light. There is a tin mug in her hands, I saw some of those in the servants' room. Well, that's also a way to scream through a closed outershell, especially if the volume of the respiratory system allows her to scream loudly.       ‘We won't abandon you. Although the performance was very impressive.’ She nods at the hole in the stairs, already cooled. ‘Madame Vastra would hardly be pleased with this chaos at home.’       I admit plaintively, ‘Also, I burned all their electronics.’       ‘Oh yeah, we noticed.’ Song chuckles. ‘By the way, that cyborg has decorated you. Don't get out, you can see on the TARDIS how critical this scratch is for you.’       ‘Her weapon has a monomolecular sharpening. There should be her special scabbard somewhere, take the blade for the real Vastra.’       Let's consider that my good advice is the price for the warning about the reflex “to black”.       ‘Where is the third duplicate?’       ‘Upstairs, slashed so much that it's scary to look at.’ Song tosses her styled curls and sympathetically adds, ‘You were pretty scared, weren’t you?’       ‘Daleks do not feel fear.’ I abruptly close my hatch. I don't need any compassion from the maniac professor!       Even with the deafened receptors, I hear a familiar sound. There is The Doctor with his blue box. I don't know why, but I feel destroyed, small and weak. I, one of the most perfect death machines in the Universe! I survived a duel with a mad duplicate without a reliable equipment, I became valuable enough for The Doctor so that he would not abandon me, why am I suddenly starting to whine? Come on, darling, stop it. You will survive. You will survive everywhere and always. Tlayll Dal-Rah, pull yourself together. Stop being weak, miss senior researcher!       The receptors and systems turn on so suddenly that I almost jump. Well, I'm still where I stood, but a cable runs from the half-open door of the TARDIS straight to the charger. The Doctor doesn't want to carry his enemy in his arms? It's a bit disappointing, enemies like me are the kind that need to be carried in arms.       ‘I’ll go look for Jenny's sword, she'll need it too.’ Song makes her way up the remains of the steps.       We are left alone with The Doctor.       I demonstratively remain silent. What, should I apologize for my shot? It would be nice for him to apologize first for all his insults he inflicted on me during our journey together. I won't even deign to turn my photoreceptor on him, until I hear something constructive.       He is also silent, squatting over the motionless body of the Silurian duplicate. Hey, the screwdriver is intact, he is moving it over the robot. Finally, he gets up, looks at the display again, hides his super-tool and says, ‘Hmm... Don't be offended, Wildy, but you are so... Dalek.’       If it is an apologize, then I am a burnt cable.       ‘For a moment I even hoped that maybe you would make a good Dalek. But…’       ‘I am a bad Dalek.’ I can’t keep my silence after this. ‘A good Dalek would have eliminated you long ago.’       ‘I guess we put different meanings into the word “good”.’       ‘You meant “a kind Dalek”? That's also wrong. We are very kind. To ourselves. We are perfect.’       He puts his palm in his face, ‘I noticed…’       ‘Don't you want to apologize to an ideal being for all your insults?’       He still won't catch my intonation, so I have to choose a more arrogant formulation to convey my feelings at least in words. And this jerk suddenly starts laughing, ‘My little Dalek, do you really know how to take offense?’       I turn around and go to the TARDIS, instead of answering. I don't want to see him. So much, so I feel disgusting even shoot at him. There's enough energy accumulated to drop the cable, roll to the cabin and plug into the charger there. I hate him, I hate my situation, I hate everything! I hate so much that even the gauge of aggressin is soaring to the red line, I almost need a medicamental hormone control, obviously the second time in the last half hour. After all, I shot at the Doctor without even thinking, it’s a mark of the dangerous level of aggressin in my blood. But now everything is just disgusting: The Doctor, and his TARDIS, and their River Song, and this whole damn mission. I hate everyone, and myself above all. Grrrr! It will be better to wait, staring at the TV with my photoreceptor, radiating hatred and resentment.       I don’t know how much time has passed, I didn't keep track. The aggressin has stopped pounding in my brain, the hormonal system has calmed down and no longer boils my blood, but I still don't want to communicate with bipeds. We have to catch a Scottish Highlander in the gullies and steal a stewardess out of the plane, then we'll talk. But for now… I hate everyone!       There are the rush of air to the ventilation and the hiss of an opening airlock. A hand without a protective glove, a man's hand, gives me a strawberry yogurt.       ‘Please don't pout, Wildy.’       ‘You'll be irradiated. There's a dangerous level of ionizing radiation here.’       ‘Yeah. Eat it and don't grumble.’       ‘This is a bribe. It must be punished by rank demotion, even to penal trooper squad in the case of large amounts. A bribe from The Doctor is equal to an extra large amount.’       ‘Excuse me?.. Sometimes the Daleks drive me crazy.’ He sits down cross-legged on the floor. ‘Now were you being serious or trying to joke?’       I answer gloomily, ‘If you think logically, then this law, even if it actually existed, is already indifferent to me. Therefore, it was a joke.’ It's not that I want to chat with him, but strawberry yogurt from Earth is a very nutritious thing…       The Doctor jumps up and starts to walk thoughtfully around the cabin. This room is very little for him, especially since I am nearby. So, two steps one way and two the other, like a pendulum. He still keeps my promised nourishment in his hands.       ‘The black humour of a Black Dalek. That’s a rare thing.’       Because nobody shows it to you, usually.       ‘You do not know the Daleks at all, this is my conclusion. I will use a primitive example which you can understand. Tell me, is there a difference between a soldier in an SS punitive battalion and an employee of a German engeneering bureau of the same year?’       He flops down on the floor again, ’In general, yes.’       ‘Or no. One burns an inferior race alive in barns, the other leaves traces of coffee mugs on the blueprints for a new crematorium for prisoners of war. So, what is the difference?’       ‘Hmpf, in this case, perhaps only in the level of cynicism. A poisonous comparison and amazing self-criticism.’ His voice sounds venomous.       ‘Self-criticism? Explaaain, do you condemn the rat exterminators and openly accuse them of mass murder of extremely intelligent creatures? How do you feel about lab assistants who eat sandwiches right at work, and then go and inject rats with plague culture and feed them poison? Do you destroy their labs, or organize a society for the protection of urban rodents, or start a world rat revolution?’       The Doctor's distinct brain creaking.       ‘Are you hinting that rats have a different opinion on this topic than people?’       ‘I am. Now, provide me my yogurt.’ I open my outershell and stick out my pseudohand. There is the sound of a foil lid being torn off, then I feel a cool heaviness. Wow, The Doctor isn't afraid at all. The radiation is very strong, even if a protective injection was made. Although Gallifreyans are more resistant to radiation than other humanoids.       I slam my shell, lick the top layer of my yogurt and continue the lecture. Why didn't I go to write educational hypno-informers for posterity, after all, when I was offered it? ‘We are neither one nor the other. If you like to look out of the corner of your eye, think with the corner of your brain. If we hate all living forms and wish them death, then why do we need shells that protect not only us from the environment, but the environment from us? After all, they even have protection from secondary radiation, we are completely harmless to you from the outside.’       The doctor freezes. No, honestly, he was stunned, as if he had calculated the Skasis paradigm. Maybe it is good to be friends with a rich imagination, but with logic is much better. An obvious fact that lies on the surface, but how fantasy interferes with these bipeds! One fool said, “mutants must be bad”, others picked up on it and invented myths. In all our existence, we have never killed anyone in vain, never produced needless victims, and unbalanced sadists have been regularly exiled into Asylum. The General Ideology approves only of strictly verified actions plus the ironclad rule of natural selection, “the strongest survives”. Yes, our civilization is a death machine, and it is better to never turn up under our graviplates. This is true, and we are proud of it. But...       ‘I will tell you something else, Doctor. Uninhabited planets are quite enough for us. Space is filled with raw materials for production. There are developments of asteroid fields, dust nebulae and gas giants for those who are not lazy, and thermonuclear fusion of any primary substances for the lazy ones. Our adaptability to radiation allows us to live in places that have very few competitors. Our technologies allow us not to spend resources on slaves and not to pay attention to the inferior worlds until they begin to pay attention to us themselves. Why do you think, we attack this plankton?’ I almost hiss. A bribe is a bribe, but the rage hadn't gone away, and I'm not telling the truth. More precisely, I'm twisting the facts in order to hit my opponent harder. Let’s check how exactly he’s ready to believe your lies, darling. ‘Because wherever we attack, you appear. You are our main and only target!’       He recoils and looks at me with the same hatred, to the point of trembling.       ‘You want to say that all the blood you've spilled…’       ‘…is a bait to exterminate YOU.’ That’s a complete lie. Even the scary Predator isn’t worth such resource expenditure. But he definitely won’t understand it now, when he is shacking with anger.       The Doctor flies out of the cabin in a rage, almost knocking out the airlock. Phew, I did something nasty, and how much better I feel! Let him growl with anger now, darling, finish your yogurt and read some books. It’s bad, of course, that we quarreled halfway, but looking at the situation from a different angle, it’s even surprising how long we lasted together. I feel like we both need a little time-out from communication.       In two scarels, I’m scanning books in the library. The cabinet with Gallifreyan literature is locked, but I can still run a scanner beam through the glass. I can’t read Gallifreyan, it wasn’t my specialisation, but I can simply pack it in the archive and put it off until better times. Yes, yes, “the scientific literature only up to my subjective year” etc, but it seems that this cabinet will be enough for my aims. Maybe here are translations of Gallifreyan scientists into other languages​, no time to dig around in the stolen goods yet.       I feel someone coming in from behind. The steps sound like the Doctor’s.       ‘I have one question for you.’ He says in a choked voice, standing behind me. ‘Answer the truth. It depends on whether you continue the journey with me or be kicking from here to the the nearest star.’       Surely, I know his question.       ‘For what exactly me?’       Just as expected. He is a victim of a conscience unknown to me.       ‘Because you unequivocally took the side of the Thals. You allowed yourself to judge with bias. There is a golden rule of any conflict: two in a fight, the third keeps out. You destroyed the fragile balance and provoked another round of war. You finished off Skaro. We hate you. We will take revenge until the Universe collapses.’       ‘You are abnormal biorobots with one short program.’ The Doctor responds with disgust.       ‘Perhaps, if you mean program to assure maximum security for the revival and domination of our race. To do this, it is necessary to eliminate any threat. You are more dangerous than all other threats combined. You must be eliminated by any means, from direct extermination to verbal persuasion. I have been doing the latter since our meeting.’       A disgusted response immediately follows, ‘Thanks for informing me!’       ‘You are weeelcome.’ The Doctor deserves to “polite” human words and a small piece of truth. It is useless to shoot at him, I have no information about the mechanisms of regeneration. Maybe, if we would have attacked him in a crowd… But I’m alone. And the only thing available to me is to show the situation from our point of view and make him think a little.       ‘You will not be able to revive the Kaleds for several reasons. Firstly, they have long been aliens to you, and secondly, you still do not have a DNA sample.’       I answer calmly, ‘We do not need to re-create Kaleds. But we still have a chance to refine our DNAs to become more stable.’ This is a strange calm, as if I firmly know that in this round of the verbal duel, my victory is assured. I have not felt such cold calm for a long time, since the day I was captured on Skaro.       The Doctor answers, ‘I talked to the Kaleds.’ Why am I not surprised, tee-hee? ‘If there is anything left of them in you, it is only a way of thinking, and from the worst representatives of the race. Purity of blood, unacceptability of aliens, concrete brains, the army drill from the fence to lunch, dissenters must be “exterminated”. But biologically, you are not even close. And you will not be able to go into your past for a sample either, even to re-encrypt your own DNAs. You follow the law of the Time balance more strictly than even we Time Lords ourselves.'       ‘The improvement of our race is our own concern.’ I finally turn slowly, as if going to ram, and say, ‘Why did you interfere in the Skaro conflict?’       He glares at me as I glare at him. We are two sworn, fierce, irreconcilable enemies. Now both my instinct for self-preservation and his duty to his friends are powerless. Hatred, furious hatred floods the library. Yes, we feel too much mutual disgust to cling to each other, this is a duel of the spirit. The one who loses his temper first loses.       He stays silent. I continue, ‘I’ll tell you why you interfered. You are homesick. You are lonely. Anyone who looks like a Gallifreyan to you arouses your blind sympathy.’       His cheek twitches, as if I had slapped him not morally, but physically.       ‘Your main favorites are Earthlings, but other creatures with a hundred percent visual match fall under your unconscious desire to protect and save. It is a feeling of homesickness, Doctor. You saw beatiful race oppressed by disgusting ugly monsters, and rushed to do good, without delving into the details. The mistake, Doctor, is that, basically, Daleks and Thals are two subspecies of the same species, and their adaptability to the environment is approximately the same. The Thals are just as deceitful, sober, narcissistic, calculating egoists as the Daleks, they just chose a different strategy for protecting their race, their insulted innocence. They met a fool with a blue box, whose technology at that time exceeded everything conceivable on Skaro, and who was also obsessed with the idea of ​​​​world brotherhood and universal justice, and they simply could not resist. Just like us. But your biased blindness did not allow you to understand and see that you, like a napkin, were used by both sides, not one. Haven't you noticed that the Thals also have a reflex of rejection of aliens, and only the magic word “Doctor” is able to slow them down? After all, they also have their own protective disinformation and their own general ideology, just like us. We are different peoples on different evolution ways, but still one and the same species.’       ‘Are you finished?’ The Doctor is shaking with disgust and hatred. ‘Then get out of my TARDIS, immediately, before I kill you!’       ‘I’m leaving.’ I answer. ‘It is better to accept my sentence and suffer the punishment I deserved, than to travel with a coward who is running away from himself. After all... It was a worthless plan to use you.’       ‘Absolutely worthless!’ At least, we agree on something. ‘Dalek can’t be retrained.’       ‘The blind cannot see.’       I go away at the slowest and most majestic speed. You’re a pathetic Gallifreyan creature, Doctor. Add to your list of victims two hundred and eighteen associates to whom you owe something. I know that when you sober up from anger, you will feel great pain, although I do not understand why. But the main thing in the problem is that you will feel excruciating pain. And now, goodbye.       ‘Now, slow down you both.’ Voice comes from the semi-darkness of the corridor. And River Song appears on the threshold with a gun in one hand and a teacup in the other. ‘You measured your balls, that's enough. It’s okay about you, sweetie. But I didn't expect this from you, Wildy. Where did all your testosterone come from?’       I stop, just missing running over her shoes.       ‘Move aside, Professor Song. I'm an unwanted guest here.’       She answers, ‘For me, you’re quite welcome, cutie. If you don't want to work with The Doctor, that's fine, but help me save my parents. I'm asking you.’       ‘The professor has an interesting way of asking. With a gun at the ready.’       She looks at her right hand in bewilderment, gives the most cordial smile and says easily, ‘Oh, sorry, it’s my reflexes.’       The gun migrates to her vest pocket. Song sips her tea with the same relaxed and charming smile. ‘I’m really begging you. Finish what you started. After all, Daleks always see an experiment through to the end, don't they?’       I agree, ‘We do.’       ‘So let's bring The AHoH Zone to its knees and tear it apart. Easy peasy, huh?’       ‘Why is no one asking me?’ The Doctor says indignantly.       ‘Because you've already said it all, sweetie. You've already brought my parents under the weeping angel. I won't let you bury them in The Ash-Heap of History.’ She drinks tea, but her right hand is still in her pocket with a gun.       Yeah, The Doctor would have made a good Dalek, but I must admit, that Song would have been simply incomparable in that role.       I say out loud, ‘You managed to impress me. I’ll be in my cabin. Report me when we arrive at our next destination.’       Song shifts, giving me passage. The Doctor stays silent: yes, it played beautifully on both my and his weaknesses. No Black Dalek department responsible for planning operations against the Predator could even dream of such a thing, and certainly not me. How do they say on Earth, “to have a nervous smoke in the still corner”?       Behind of my back, I hear the satisfied voice of this incredible female, ‘Enough quarrels on board, sweetie. You have two balls, but Wildy has fifty-six, and all of them are explosive. You tamed your little Dalek with yogurt, so be patient.’       And then I hear the sound of a kiss.       Bravo, Song, you are splendid.       We will tear The AHoH Zone apart.       Easy peasy.