Your Little Dalek

      The sound of landing becomes almost customary to me.       All three of us stay still at the console, tensely waiting for what will happen, but so far nothing is happening.       ‘Gravity is normal, atmosphere is normal, radiation is normal, everything is normal.’ Song reports, studying the data from devices.       The Doctor echoes, ‘Turning on the scanner.’       The scanner shows nothing.       ‘What is this red arrow resting on the top of the scaaale?’ I ask, looking at the device right in front of my photoreceptor.       The Doctor answers, ‘It’s the paradox counter. Let's wait to go out, we need to understand why it is going off the scale and why the scanner is empty.’       He and Song continue to click levers and buttons, throwing around names of various indicators that are barely understandable to me. Finally, The Doctor makes his verdict, ‘It seems that the area outside the TARDIS is so amorphous that it takes shape depending on who is looking at it. What you expect is what you get. If we go together, we will see something average. If we go alone, then each one will get something on his own, to the extent of his depravity.’       ‘Oh,’ Song smiles obscenely, ‘then this will be a very depraved Ash-Heap of History.’       I note, ‘Then we must go each alone. If the landscape begins to change, it will be a sign of an other intellegence. It is an assured method to find the survivors.’       ‘We will need communication with each other and with the TARDIS, as not to get lost.’ The Doctor says. ‘Somewhere I had the TARDIS compasses.’       He pulls out a small box, which reminds me that Earth thing, “car glove compartment”, from under the console and takes out three bracelets. He puts one on himself, fastens another on Song, and looks at me confused with the third in his hand.       I open my outershell a little and stick out a pseudohand. ‘Give it to me. If it doesn't work through the polycarbide, I'll put it on your first associate I find.’       ‘What a radiation dose will he catch with you?’       ‘You will cure him.’ I snap, yank the bracelet out of his hand and slam my shell shut again.       Meanwhile, Song approaches the doors and pulls them toward herself. A gust of dry cold wind comes from outside, and we see a reddish-brown dusty valley under a starless sky. Here and there, strange remnants stick out of the ground: stones, iron, or something completely organic. No idea, where the light comes from. Song tests the ground with her foot.       ‘It’s firm. We can walk.’       She steps carefully out. I follow her. The Doctor switches something on the console one last time and exits third, locking the door. Hello, Zone, we've come to tear you apart. Maybe not as “easy peasy”, as it expected.       Nobody wish to talk anymore. We nod to each other and go our separate ways. I feel myself scary of this endless emptiness and loneliness, but alas, as I said myself, and no one pulled me to my microphone: it's logical to look for others one by one. But this rusty wasteland gives me goosebumps. How I want a little closed space…       ...       ...How did I end up here? This is… Oh… I’m home! It’s Altak town, of course! I'm driving along the old familiar corridor towards the archive, dragging a box of external storage device. Oh, I remember, my subdivision has a task to elaborate a new orbital shipyard, so I had to look at the blueprints of previous versions over the past two hundred years. Now all this must be analyzed, weak points identified, good ideas improved and something new and truly beautiful created. Battleships deserve the best. It's strange, why did I suddenly fall into a waking dream, and stand in the middle of the corridor? I hope no one sees this, especially controllers. I can't even tell anyone, that my mind is in chaos because of the important project, my brain demanded a break and threw me a hallucination about a trip with The Doctor. Phew, it's so good that this is just a momentary glitch. That's it, Solar Tetrahedron, throw this nonsense out of your brain and think about your task. You have to present a draft of the project in a day, your superiors are waiting. You’ll rest on a recycling conveyor, darling, after your death, and now, you’ll load up your subordinates and you three will work, and work, and work together.       I drop the device into the storage facility and move back to the engineering department, greeting everyone I meet. A familiar, leisurely, measured work environment and no running compass with a bowtie. Ugh, he’s crawling into my brain again, what the hell is going on? I just need to erase this stupid dream, that's all. It's strange that my filter didn't cut it off; all right, I’ll do it manually. I reach for the upper mainboards… By Mother Radiation! And this... what is this?!       I stare at the strange object in my own pseudohand. I can swear it's the bracelet from the dream. But... how did it get here, it's impossible! I need to analyse it, but not now. I have so much work, no time for free research. What's more, I don't even have time to drag this strange thing to the specialized department, it's on the other side of town! Tomorrow I'll send it to them by courier, and let them figure out whether this thing really is a compass that reacts to time machines, or is just a… thing… that somehow got inside my outershell. For now, I tuck the bracelet into the hammock under me, so it doesn't flop around and short-circuit anything, and go back to my office and my workplace.       The guys are already poring over their virtual screens, selecting materials according to the parameters “strength-price”. Strength of materials, economics, logistics, and nothing more, the entire creative part is hanging on me.       ‘Unit Twelve, check out the new steel samples from the Velian system brought in a month ago. The cost of delivering the material is the same, but the internal structure of the metal may be stronger.’ I order to my assistant and stare at my screen. In response, I hear such a familiar “I obey!”, that it takes my breath away. Clicking through old drawings and identifying design features that require revision is not too difficult, now it's time to think with the 3D editor in the manipulator hand. Here, and also like this, and I can do also like this... Excess thoughts, as they say, get the brain dirty. I don't remember who said it. Well, maybe, and it doesn't matter who...       I work calmly for twenty skarels before it comes the general signal for nourishment break. The shipyard's skeleton is already starting to appear on the holography, my guys are responding to my every request with information about the best material options for each construction detail. It's not easy for them either, I'm in charge of the structure, and they're in charge of selecting building materials and all the calculations for the total cost of construction. I definitely need to let them go on a break, but want to work a little in full silence. I'm used to skipping lunch; after all, The Unit Seven will bring me my nourishment right here. Eating at the workplace is prohibited, but, “rank has its privileges”. I'll have a short snack in our office, because my constructive ideas has just started to develope. I'm eager to admire the result of my labor and don't want to tear myself away at all.       Signal.       ‘Unit Seven, Unit Twelve, you are free until the end of the break.’ I turn the photoreceptor to them and give a signal with the manipulator hand. This means, “Unit Seven, bring me something to eat, all right?”       He answers, radiating silent laughter, ‘I obey.’ They both have studied the little weaknesses of their young commander within four months of collaboration. Our head of the engineering department, Unit One, turns a blind photoreceptor at such violations, the main thing for him is that the work goes quickly and without failures.       The guys move off to the nutrition zone to unload their brains, the office is quiet, and I will not bother anyone if I turn the projection onto the entire room and take in the emerging picture in detail.       I reverse to give me some workplace…       BOOM!       What did I run into, excuse me? There was nothing there just now! I turn around and see...       ...a couch.       An ordinary couch from planet Earth.       A couch, varga’s tail. A real one, completely material! What's wrong with my brain?! Dreams can fool the consciousness, but they can't fool outer sensors, yet my systems also register the presence of a couch. And behind this piece of furniture, where the door just now was, there's a corridor covered in striped wallpaper. Brrrrr! What's going on?       I move forward, going around the couch, on which a newspaper and a TV remote control literally appear out of nowhere. I... don't understand how this is possible. Unless...       I suddenly feel incredibly scared.       Unless I'm still in my dream about Doctor Who.       Or rather, it wasn't a dream at all, but I'm sleeping now, lulled by the insidious Ash-Heap of History.       What did The Doctor say? Everyone will see the AHoH Zone to the extent of their depravity?       I swallow and yank the TARDIS compass out from under me. Quick, back to my pseudohand! Am I really that homesick deep inside me that I could easily believe the sweet fairy tale about the engineering department? After all, the rest of us could fall into the trap, and then there would be no way out of here!       The white earth ceiling inconceivably intersects and merges with the slats of Altak native ceiling in the color of “white metallic”. The ribs of the frame beams protrude through the orange-white-green stripes of the wallpaper, and the door to the landing is our typical flap, but not made of translucent plastic, but of wood. As if two buildings intersected in space. This means something... I turn around: the familiar milky-white glow is moving away at great speed, faster and faster.       Click!       I am standing on an endless reddish-brown plain, and in front of me are two middle-aged human beings. A red-haired female and a dark-haired male leaning on her shoulder. Apparently, his leg is injured. They look absolutely tired and exhausted.       The redhead is breathing heavily, helping her companion move. Her forehead and nose are wet.       ‘A couch… Rory, I see a couch!’       ‘And I see a Dalek.’ He responds.       Rory and Amelia Williams. Why exactly them?! No, I'm just hallucinating again.       ...But only real creatures, not phantoms, can change the landscape of the Zone.       The redhead mutters soothingly, ’Come on, it's not a Dalek, it's just our imagination! If it were a Dalek, we'd be dead by now. Or, at least shot. It's just our imagination, that's all. It's a Dalek ghost. Where did you see polka-dotted Daleks among our jailers?’       ‘Yeah, I hope so.’ The male groans.       Polka-dotted?! Damn, no one has ever insulted our rank markings like that!       They finally collapse on the couch. The male winces and rubs his injured leg.       ‘I had to hurt myself like that!’ He looks at me and waves his hand. ‘Hey, dotty one. Shoo. Disappear and don't be an eyesore.’       I know what does it mean on Earth, that “dotty”. It’s worse even than “polka-dotted”. I stop pretending to be a motionless statue and turn the photoreceptor right on them.       ‘There is a problem with disappearing. Daleks do not obey the orders of the inferiors.’       ‘Ouch!’ He leaps at his place. His wife grabs the remote control, holds it out in front of her menacingly and jumps to her feet.       ‘Listen, you, an armoured hoover! Just dare to come near! We are very dangerous!’       Well, what can I tell them to calm them down?       ‘Fish fingers and cuuuustard.’       Her hand drops.       ‘Uh... How did you know?’       I open my outershell and throw the TARDIS compass into her hands.       ‘Take this. It is from The Doctor.’       ‘It can't be real…’ She whispers, staring fixedly at the bracelet, and tears begin to shine in her large, naive eyes. Ugh, too much emotion. Such space plankton...       ‘He will take us to the TARDIS.’ I say. ‘Don't ask unnecessary questions, Amelia Williams. Where is the Dalek ship? What about the rest of the prisoners?’       Rory answers, ‘The rest? We didn't see anyone. Who are you?’       ‘You may call me Wildy.’ I introduce myself, and think that this call sign will stay with me forever. ‘The Doctor and River Song are here too. They are looking for survivors in other directions. The Daleks prisoned two hundred and eighteen living beings from different planets and times. All of them, like you, were associates of The Doctor. They should be on the ship you left. Did you escaaape?’       Amelia sits down on the couch again.       ‘Yeah... Just luck. Nothing happened for a long time, but then all sorts of ghostly creatures and things started appearing. And then the lock thinned out to the point that we were able to break down the cell door and escape before the Daleks noticed. Now they are hunting us. Uh, everything here is so… uncertain. It isn’t even clear whether we are alive or not.’       I see. As soon as the Daleks forgot about The Doctor and the operation to remove his companions, the Zone began to absorb the ship.       ‘You are alive, but you must not stay here. We all are in a black hole, devouring not matter, but the forgotten thoughts. Phantoms are the result of your thought process. Me and you, we are different, so, standing next to each other, we see The Ash-Heap of History as it is understandable to all three of us. As soon as we part, it will do something that will make us forget everything and get lost in its depths.’       Suddenly, something alarms me. Something new has appeared at the very edge of my peripheral vision. I turn around and see a blindage that just wasn't there. Our blindage. Did Williams say something about pursuers?       ‘Hide behind the couch and stay silent!’ I command in a completely different tone. Oh, if only the bipeds could distinguish it! Now I need to camouflage the Doctor’s associates. Daleks are clever enough to understand fast, why and how the phantoms appear. So, I must urgently come up with something and materialize it over this totally Earth object, but what?! Wow!       Puff! A large tetrahedron appears around the couch, emitting a sun glow. Nothing better came to mind, but this is a obvious Dalek installation. Let the pursuer come closer, I'll try to talk to him.       And here he is, I see him approaching from afar. He is open to world, he is moving at completely flat place, but he is winding, as if under fire. Precisely, he's hallucinating. The Zone glitches are strong, if even the computer detects them as reality. It's curious how it happens. Probably Daleks know the answer: what else is there to do here, except guard the prisoners and study the phenomenon of The Ash-Heap of History? Considering how long they've been hanging around here... No, wait, time here and time there can flow differently. It is unknown, how long they've been here in subjective time. People don't look old, and the cells weren't equipped with a stasis device. A hundred years have passed outside, and only a couple of days could have passed in here. That's enough for only the roughest researches.       Finally, a Dalek pursuer enters the radius of our thinking. He stumbles and freezes for a third of a rel. Apparently, he suddenly snaps straight to a picture of the plain. Now I can even see that this is an ordinary private in an awfully outdated high-protection warshell.       ‘Unknown Dalek, identify yourself.’ I say as loud as possible so that he identifies me as a real, live Dalek. He thinks for another third of a rel. Then, a wave of distrustful hope touches me. Well, yes, he’s not blind and sees that I’m not wearing heavy armor, just taking a walk from recharging to recharging. Would a normal Dalek show off in such junk in a dangerous environment? And there’s also the marking of junior command, and our computers are about to call each other, and mine will tell him the date. Wow, we’ve called each other. Yeah, according to his subjective time, a ten-day period has passed. Ten days, and the Zone has already started digesting them. Brrr!       ‘Unit Fourteen, ship “Retribution”.’ He reports, having overcome his amazement, and moves closer.       ‘Unit Two, a member of the rescue mission to The Ash-Heap of History, commander assistant.’ I reply. I haven't lied a word, have I? What a good girl I am!       A wave of radiant happiness floods The Fourteenth. I understand him, everyone wants to live. For a moment, I think, why not to send The Doctor into the quasar jet, why not to seize TARDIS and get out of here with the Daleks, but… Then I understand that, firstly, I won't be able to control the time machine, I don't have enough resources to subdue it. Secondly, even if I manage to convince The Doctor to get the rest of the Daleks out, they won't be able to cope with their instinct to kill inferiors and will start a massacre onboard. These are ordinary troopers with ironclad brains. No one would send the elite on the suicudal mission. And the rank and file have a very hard time switching from one program to another. Here we need a Black Dalek with full command rights, and not a something intermediate like me. It's very painful, but these Daleks cannot be saved.       ‘How many of you are there?’ I continue to ask. ‘The data on the “Retribution” expedition was partially lost due to the Doctor's new associate.’       And I still haven’t lie a word!       Unit Fourteen reports, ’There are twenty of us, all survived. But two prisoners escaped. I was sent to locate and bring them back.’       ‘They are irrelevant. They will die outside the ship.’ I declare. At the same time, slowly but surely, I understand what I must do now. I must, and that's all, to survive.       ‘Where is the “Retribution” ship?’       Unit Fourteen checks the internal devices and throws me a picture. Not so far… All right, I found out what I wanted.       ‘Your outdated antenna will not be able to receive a signal from the rescue ship. Open your shell and get a beacon.’       I open myself a little to the sounds of so familiar ‘I obey.’       He also opens his shell.       We look at each other, eye to eye.       And I shoot.       The pain wracks me, wild, hellish pain, and I scream, pressing the trigger, screaming with Unit Fourteen until it all ends. Silence falls abruptly. I go limp in the hammock. No strength to move, no strength to think, no strength for anything except complete emptiness. I killed. I killed with a shot to the face. I killed a Dalek. I killed one of my own people. Just now. I killed. I killed. And for whom?!       With an effort, I move up closer to the dead shell, extend the manipulator hand and turn off the distress signal. Otherwise, we’ll have troubles. More precisely, we’ll have guaranteed troubles with other Daleks, who are to come because of the signal, but we will be far from here. I hope.       The dead body is too heavy for me, but I must pull it out. I shot at the Daleks during the escape from Skaro, but that was a honest fight without killing. And now I killed in cold blood, in the face, having first forced myself to believe and open up the shell, having given hope for salvation. What happened to you, little Dalek, who didn't like fighting on the front lines and dreamed of a quiet place in the engineering department? You're simply disgusting, Tlayll Dal-Rah. You're a cowardly scum.       The body falls into the red-brown dust. I rip off the old brain board and insert my own one. I won't throw away his memory either, it will come in handy as an additional module, but I'll do the reconfiguration later. And now I need to stick the corpse into my old outershell and activate the self-destruction program according to a clever scheme. All by myself: my radiation level is too high.       ‘Maybe we should help you?’ comes timidly from behind the couch. I got distracted, and now the tetrahedron around them has disappeared.       ‘Stay away!’ I order with pant, slowly pulling the limp Unit Fourteen in. ‘Or you will get the radiation sickness. We are too radioactive for your species.’       Two heads look at me over the back of the couch. I see in their eyes a mixture of fear, hostility and... sympathy? Female, however, is more reserved in showing her emotions, but the male openly demonstrates his feelings.       ‘Answer,’ I hiss, tapping the emergency buttons of my outershell and taking the priceless cesium. ‘Can you kill a human to save a Dalek?’       Both faces stretch noticeably.       ‘Then do not make me angrier. You will obey without questions and remain silent without orders. Female, call The Doctor and River Song. Male, climb onto my back. With such a limb, you won't get far yourself, and soon all nineteen Daleks will be here. I cannot handle them alone. We will die if we don't get to the TARDIS quickly.’       We walk across the plain, guided by the compass needle. Rory is shaking on the back of my neck; I turned both my hands back, he is leaning on them. Amelia is trying to contact The Doctor and Song, twirling the bracelet in her fingers.       ‘If only I could know how this works…’       Presumably, like everything else with the Time Lords, somehow, I think without responce. Her husband is not a feather, the inertia and balance point of me have changed significantly, and a new-old warshell isn’t familiar enough to me. I have to be extremely careful when moving. This is not so easy at high speed.       Rory suggests, ‘There must be a button somewhere.’       Amelia somehow runs her finger along the bracelet, and a blue light suddenly lights up on it.       ‘Hello?’ She asks uncertainly. ‘Doctor?’       ‘Amy?’ The bracelet responds no less uncertainly in the voice of Song. ‘I think you have the wrong number, mum.’       The redhead screams, ‘River! Oh, my God, River! Can you hear us?!’       ‘Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Don't shout like that, or the guards will hear you too.’       ‘My God, River, what's wrong with you?’       ‘It's the same old thing, Stormcage.’       I say quickly and clearly, ‘Incorrect. Professor Song, this is a hallucination. You are not in the prison of Stormcage. You are on The Ash-Heap of History, and your consciousness shows it as you are ready to accept it. I had to face this too.’       ‘Wildy?’ She asks hesitantly.       ‘Correct. Professor Song, prove that you are a real Dalek. We were going to tear up The AHoH Zone. So tear it up. Concentrate on the image of the red plain. It is the truth, the prison is a vision.’       Silence...       ‘It doesn't work. I can’t.’       ‘Then escape from prison. Right now. Guided by the needle of the TARDIS compass. Run as fast as you can. Run like you have never run in your life. Or the Zone will swallow you.’       ‘Okay, cutie.’ Song answers after a short pause. I understand her, I would be scared too. Or rather, I was scared when the moment of truth came to me. And now she is going through it too. If I lose the Williamses, I will probably end up in my department drawing shipyards until I disappear forever. An interesting question, what happened to The Doctor?       Amelia looks at me, and there is the same thought in her big symmetric eyes.       ‘Listen, Dalek... I mean Wildy. The Doctor doesn’t answer. Could he also get caught in visions?’       ‘Presumably yes. I saw my hometown. You saw your cozy house. Professor Song saw a prison where she spent so many years. The problem asks, where is The Doctor?’       ‘I will try to call him again!’ She says tensely, starting to twist and squeeze the bracelet. ‘Doctor! Doctor! Can you hear me? It is me, Amy Pond. Your Amelia. Doctor, can you hear me?’       Another light comes on. We hear a hum of voices, like in a public place.       ‘Doctor!’ we shout, all three of us, in unison.       A child's voice is heard from somewhere muffled, far away: ‘Wow, your trinket is blinking and saying something.’       ‘Really?’ a second child's voice responds.       We exchange glances, but only Amelia voices our general thought, ‘Oh. My. God.’       ‘Actually, it makes sounds sometimes.’ The same voice continues, getting louder.       A ringing laugh in answer, ’Maybe it asks to feed it, huh?’       A signal from Song's bracelet cuts into the conversation. She gasps, ‘It seems that someone has fallen into childhood literally!’ We hear the stamping of feet, the wail of a siren, and gunshots from her channel. ‘Sweetie, can you hear me? It’s me, River Song! Run where the arrow is pointing!’       ‘Oops!’ And the sound of metal falling on the steps.       Then again, dully, from afar, ‘Your trinket sounds strange... Where did you get it from?’       ‘I don't remember, I found it somewhere.’       ‘Maybe it's better to throw it away?’       ‘DON'T YOU DARE!’ Song screams wildly.       ‘Doctor!’ Amelia screams in the same way. ‘Doctor, don't leave us! We need your help!’       ‘It’s calling for some doctor…’       If the Predator loses the compass, he’s dead. According to my information, Song can operate the TARDIS, the contract will be fulfilled, but The Doctor will be lost here forever. Or maybe it's for the best? The old enemy of the Daleks died heroically, saving his associates, and all that...       ‘Listen to me.’ I say unexpectedly for myself. ‘Who wants to become a time wandereeer?’       Silence, then it comes a timid, ‘Uh…’       ‘Then, irrelevant. You can turn around and leave now. Or you can take your frieeend, put the bracelet on your hand and set off on the most magnificent journey of your life. This is a compass from a lost TARDIS, which needs a pilot. Follow the arrow if you want to get there. The choice is yours, Time Wanderer.’       ‘Hey, we have classes now!’ says the unknown Doctor’s fellow as gunshots tear the air around Song. Meanwhile, my photoreceptor sees a police box with an invitingly blinking light. The TARDIS is waiting for us and for her Doctor. I gave him a choice instead of a clear decision, I don't know why. No, I know. I do not wish him such an easy death in the clouds of beautiful visions. He will survive today.       ‘Forget this boredom!’ suddenly decides the unknown Gallifreyan beast, which was once The Doctor. ‘Think about it, a lost TARDIS! Let's at least take a look, okay?’       ‘No, I won't go. It's all too weird, and I don't trust that electronic voice either.’       ‘Then I'll go alone. We study every day, and not everyone gets to go on the TARDIS!’       The light on the bracelet goes out again. Amelia looks at me with delight.       ‘You did it!’       Have I say that “easy peasy”, or it is too much?       ‘Hey, guy, that was awesome!’ Rory agrees.       ‘Wildy is a girl.’ Song corrects him, almost colliding with her mother. She’s out of breath, sweaty, but for some reason terribly pleased. ‘Phew, I've been running around. It really was a hallucination, and I already thought that I dreamed in prison about our trip.’       They happily hug, kiss and show affection for each other in every possible way. I know, humans can have fun like this for a long time. I have to sober them up.       ‘We have to leave. The chase won't wait.’       ‘Wow... Hermit crab, when did you manage to change your shell, and where are your cute dots?’ Song suddenly asks. She noticed at last…       ‘The outershell was… borrowed from the Dalek pursuer. Because of this, the crew of “Retribution” had received a distress signal and already begun to chase us. I left them a trap with a surprise mine, in my old outershell. It will delay them, but not too long. We need to drive the TARDIS in the direction of the "Retribution", I have the coordinates. Besides, we’re against the nineteen angry Daleks.’       Rory confirms, ‘It's true.’       ‘It’s not good.’ Song bites her lip, clearly counting the bullets in her gun. ‘Why are you so sure they will chase us?’       ‘We don’t leave any Dalek besides, even if it costs us our lives.’ I say. ‘Presumably, if their entire mission will be in risk, they will leave the pursuit and focus on defense, but that will only make things worse for us.”       We almost reach the TARDIS, but then the area is slightly washed with the golden light, and The Doctor himself steps out from behind a rock outcrop to intercept us, his bow-tie forward, his hands in pockets, he’s grinning from ear to ear.       ‘How's that?’ He asks, opening his arms wide. ‘Amelia Pond, have you been waiting long?’ Amelia hangs on his neck with a squeal, Rory waves over the top of my head.       ‘What a dandy.’ Song says with sincere sarcasm. ‘The Daleks are after us. Come on, guys, go inside.’       She looks around tensely. A dull explosion and flash are heard from far away. The mine has gone off, and it looks like it's hit someone: I felt a distant pain. It immediately hit me again. I don't want anything, I can't do anything. To dump this injured inferior into TARDIS and hide in a far corner, that’s my only will now. It was not my fault! I had to! This is how the situation worked out!       Hey, stop dodging, darling. It's only your own fault. You didn't have to play games with The Doctor, but quietly and peacefully go into exile, as was originally suggested. And now admire the results of your “brilliant idea”. How much more pain will you have to endure now? The process has started, the mince cannot be turned back into meat.       I drag Rory into the TARDIS and patiently wait for him to get off my back. Amelia looks around in confusion, ‘Everything has changed here.’       ‘He was depressed.’ Song grins. ‘Dad, what happened to your leg?’       ‘He fell awkwardly when we were getting out of the Dalek ship. He hit a rock, either a bruise or a crack.’       The Doctor answers, ’Go to your cabin and rest, and we'll get the others.’       ‘The left corner from the entrance to the TARDIS, the distance is about one hundred and sixty lers.’ I orient him. ‘According to the Dalek we met, the “Retribution” fell there.’       ‘Thank you, Wildy.’       Wow, have I been promoted again?       I say, ‘I won't go with you. I’ve had enough.’       ‘What?’ The Doctor leans over the console, sticking out his chin and glaring at me.       ‘For the sake of your associates, I had to kill someone who trusted me. A Dalek. I've had enough for today! I don't want to shoot my own race for the sake of my enemies anymore! I can’t!!!’       ‘Leave Wildy alone.’ Song quietly asks, putting her hand on his shoulder. It seems she's the only one here who understands me. ‘After all, if it weren't for your little Dalek, you'd still be sitting at the same desk... let me guess.. with the Master?’       The chin moves back, the Doctor seems to age twenty years.       The sound of landing.       ‘Let's go to war, good man.’ Song pulls The Doctor by the sleeve towards the exit, however, not forgetting to grab two Earth swords and the Sontaran SDG-136-2 from the coat rack. ‘Wildy, look after my parents, please.’       I slide silently towards my cabin. I don't want anything. I don't need anyone. Let them start revolutions, blow up galaxies, destroy the universe. Let me die quietly.       The light blinks twice.       Back off, TARDIS.       The light blinks insistently twice again.       Burn into jet.       Again, twice.       Yes, yes, I understand, I need to work now.       ‘Can you receive my data remotely?’       Silence.       ‘Then show me where I can connect.’       The light blinks twice, and then a beam runs along the railing, from bottom to top. A hint? But I have no right to be at the console room without The Doctor.       The beam runs a second time. Well, since she is so insistently inviting me, then let's try to go up.       I didn't hit anything with my head signals, the way is clear. And I see an opening port at the console, quite suitable for the cable in my manipulator hand. Yes, the time machine is right, as soon as they return, we’ll have to immediately start and get out, but... But...       ‘Now, I need to compile the archive.’       In fact, I hesitate at the very last rel. The Doctor and Song are in a mood in which will be no survivors. If I return in the real Universe now, then who will bury the deads? Nobody gets left behind. Even the dead.       I must stay here.       After formulating this thought, I understand that it has been maturing in me for a long time. This was a one-way ticket from the very beginning, and I prepared for it according to all the rules. I will last in the Zone as long as they remember me. Not so long, presumably, but… Perhaps, by studying the Zone, I can extend my life. I can’t return in the Empire. To stay on the TARDIS? Ugh, thank you! But here, perhaps, it is still possible to live.       One more thing, The Doctor is my enemy. No, our enemy. I can’t allow him to win this round and leave with his associates unpunished. I am a Dalek. I am a Dalek, and he forgets this in vain, transferring his worries and emotions onto me. I am a Dalek, and I will be able to annoy you, Time Wanderer. Annoy so much, that you will hiccup for every Dalek who died because of you. I can do it. I can swallow my own slack and share information in the name of the Empire.       I quickly compile and encrypt the archive, start dumping it to the TARDIS, and compose a farewell letter at the same time. The amount of data is quite large, copying it will take at least three scarels. This outershell is quite old, it copies information at a very limited speed, although it seems that the TARDIS could have picked it all up faster. And then I still need to set up a connection to the Pathweb, it will take additional time. In short, I will have time not only to compose a suitable text, but even to decorate it colorfully. All inferiors love beautiful pictures.       The doors swing open with a bang, and a couple of familiar faces runs in. Hello, Captain Jack, hello, stewardess. How do you like the Doctor's new face? Why are you frozen on the threshold and staring at me? Am I so skary? Boo.       ‘My God!’ Amelia sticks her head out of the passage to the inner compartments. ‘Don't wait, come in, there are no enemies here.’       ‘But this is... a Dalek?’       ‘The Doctor’s one. Are you still surprised by anything about the Doctor? Come on, don't linger at the entrance. We have urgent loading.’       She walks over to us, stands by the door and looks at me defiantly with her big doe eyes.       ‘I’ll have to hurry them all up, otherwise you'll be hanging around here worse than a scarecrow.’       I say in answer, ‘I can't leave. I'm organizing your evacuation from The Ash-Heap of History. TARDIS, accept the algorithm for connecting to the Pathweb.’       Come on, only three percent left. I set the voice timbre in my letter. People keep arriving, Amelia and Harkness are in charge of the placement, I'm sticking out like a crowbar in concrete, in everyone's path. Two percent... One... Ready! Now drop the letter and establish a connection to the Pathweb. The security control will block my access key anyway as soon as the Daleks remember everything. There is a connect! Everything is ready for departure!       I throw off the cable and rush to the exit. Move, the redhead with doe eyes and a naive mind, let me pass. I wish you to reach your time without problems and live out your allotted life, like everyone else. Because when we come for your souls again, you must be in excellent shape. Otherwise, it will be too boring to exterminate you.       I move out of the time machine and find myself on the burnt hull of the ship. The TARDIS has landed right on the dome of the “Retribution”. In the distance, a hatch is visible, from which people are climbing out one by one.       ‘Come on, faster!’ Amelia waves to them, leaning her elbow on me like on a pedestal. ‘Over here!’       A series of gunshots rings out from the hatch. It's Song, there is no one else. Then it comes a loud “KABOOM”. Uh-oh, this is clearly a Sontaran chord.       ‘Run, run, run!’ The Doctor is pushed out of the hatch. It feels like he was kicked, followed by Song, the Paternoster Gang, and a punk girl with a torn-off manipulator hand at the ready. What, is our universal drive a baseball bat for her?! The Doctor and the Sontaran close the hatch. The manipulator goes to work, jamming the plate, amid the protests of the punk. This won't hold the Daleks back for too long.       ‘In, in, in!’ The Doctor screams at the top of his lungs, urging everyone on with energetic waves of his arms. ‘Wildy, don't stand as a monument!’       ‘I’ll stay here.’ I answer calmly.       ‘Wha-at?!’       He stops abruptly, not forgetting to push Song into the time machine.       ‘I can't go back. Someone needs to cover for you. Don't be grateful to me for this. An explanatory note is in the TARDIS memory, you will read it when you are left alone.’ I say as quickly as the voice modulator can reproduce. The ship’s hatch begins to blush: soon it will swell and burst with liquid metal.       ‘But you will disappear! You will turn into an information ghost, and that's it!’ The Doctor leans towards the photoreceptor and clasps my sensors with his both palms. His hands are warm and damp with an increased content of hormones, it’s a sign of thrill. ‘You will die, my little Dalek.’       What a time to argue!       ‘As long as you remember, I will live.’ I answer. ‘Once you will change your face, and lost me from your memory, but at least I will last for a while.’       Song’s firm elbow knocks The Doctor aside.       ‘I will remember you, Wildy.’       She smiles at me and... touches my dome with her lips. It’s unclear, but there’s no time to clarify the purpose of this gesture.       ‘I will always remember you. Next time we meet, call me your fairy godmother.’       I answer, ‘Go away. TARDIS, access key, Ypsilon, Lambda, Delta, Zero, Zero, One, Comma, Digamma, Six, Two, Zero, Three, One, Zero, Eight, Four, Five. Broadcast biosignature. Lift off!’       The Doctor jumps onto the threshold and drags Song in after him. The farewell noise of the engine, but I have already turned towards the flying molten hatch. Now there will be a long and tense conversation with the Daleks who survived the fight, but this does not frighten me anymore. All my thoughts are occupied with how my main enemy will take his fellows home, sort out a bunch of paradoxes associated with this story, say goodbye to River Song and her parents, and finally find a couple of rels to listen to my last words. This letter... Yes, it was worth the time spent. Perhaps I will scroll through it in my memory once more, so that I will never, ever forget how a little Dalek wiped her graviplate on the jacket of her sworn enemy.       “Hello again, Doctor. Are you surprised by this hologram? I tried to choose a good image, this is Veloni Rual, a Kaled woman who lived in the distant past. She was an inventor of the first neutron bomb on Skaro, and most importantly, had identical personality parameters to mine. In any case, you will be less unpleasant by her face than by mine, aren’t you?       “Let's get to know each other properly now. Last time I told you that our personal numbers have, in particular, encrypted call signs. So, mine is Tlayll Dal-Rah, which means in our language “The Solar Tetrahedron from Dalazar”, and I am female. You were indifferent all the way; for you, all the Daleks look the same, but from now on, when you communicate with them, call them simply "Daleks", otherwise females are offended by the words “amoeba” and “slime”. They might shoot you for this.       “Yes, we have an analogue of emotions that you do not see and do not understand. It is unlikely that you will ever learn to distinguish by ear when we are laughing and when we are in pain. But know that the Dalek standing in front of you also feels, although he will not show it to you. We have our own sense of beauty; yes, it works differently for us than for you, but the general principles of harmony are the same for the entire Universe. By the way, I am harmonious by our standards. Keep this in mind and, calling us disgusting, never do it to our faces. Otherwise, they might shoot you for this.       “Let me hope that, during our little journey, you realized that you do not know the Daleks at all, and will draw your conclusions. But one thing is true: we will definitely, absolutely and never be able to be “friends” with you. Plus and minus always give a spark, although they are drawn to each other. Opposites attract, but sooner or later they will explode.       “I reported the most important things. And now I want to add not on my own behalf, but on behalf of all the Daleks.       “You are too trusting and inclined to relax, Doctor. You let one of us into the archives of many civilizations, forgetting about the General Ideology of the Daleks, to which they are unwaveringly loyal. You let in the Dalek who was more curious than all the others. The Dalek who was able to extract the maximum benefit from your forgotten archives. In order to free you from The Ash-Heap of History, our soldier did his duty and restored memory to the people of Skaro. But in addition, she gave them all the information from your library regarding time travels. Now, having received and deciphered the archive, we will be able to improve our own devices for crossing the space-time continuum, overcome the barriers of the Time Lords and finally do what we have long been planning to do.       “See you on Gallifrey, Doctor.       “From myself and all the Daleks —       “Your Little Dalek.”       He will listen to the recording to the end, gritting his teeth. Then he’ll slowly straighten up, touch his bowtie, put his fingers behind his suspenders, and dreamily looking at the ceiling, will say with feeling:       ‘I HATE THE DALEKS!’