December 1963

Group Captain Gilmore stood before the Minister of Defence and tried not to show how nervous he was. He had commendations for courage under fire and medals for valour. A high-ranking government official shouldn't make him twitchy.

The Minister got straight to the point. "You have been chosen, Group Captain, to lead a small unit on a mission of research. The boys at Jodrell Bank Observatory have detected signals being beamed down from high orbit to a location in central London. Your job will be to determine where exactly the signals are being received and take any action necessary."

"I understand, sir," Gilmore replied. "Is it the Communists?"

"That's the problem, Gilmore. We just don't know. That's why we need this done quietly and efficiently. You come highly recommended by your commanding officer. You will, of course, have full powers of requisition and evacuation, should the need arise."

Gilmore nodded. "I was going to ask about that, sir. I'll need scientific expertise, by the sounds of things. Full powers, you said?"

"That's correct. Men and materials are at your disposal. I trust you'll use them wisely."

"You can rely on me, sir," Gilmore said, saluting smartly. He left the office.

The Minister turned to one of the other two men in the office with him, both of whom had remained silent while he briefed Gilmore. He addressed the dark haired one.

"What do you think?"

The man, who had been lounging against a filing cabinet, blowing cigarette smoke at the ceiling throughout, shrugged.

"If you say he's discreet, I believe you," he said with a marked American accent. "But if it all goes wrong, it's your mess to clean up."

The other man nodded in agreement. He was sitting in an armchair, hands laced across his stomach. He was blonde and in his late twenties, like the American.

"We can't be seen to be involved," he said, rising from the chair. He was English and very smartly dressed. He brushed an invisible speck of dust from the lapel of his immaculate suit. "This isn't really our problem. We just brought you our intelligence, gave you a starting point. We will deny ever being here, if asked."

"But if these are extra-terrestrials, as you say, then we may need your assistance. What if the public find out?"

The man with the cigarette was following his colleague out of the room. He paused to shrug again.

"Deny everything," he said simply.

***

As Group Captain Gilmore trotted down the steps of the Ministry of Defence to the waiting staff car, he knew exactly where he wanted to go. He needed to recruit the best scientific team he knew of and he knew just where to find them.

He considered for a moment that meeting again like this might be awkward as he climbed into the back seat of the car. But he pushed those thoughts from his mind. He had a job to do and he wanted to do it to the best of his ability. That meant finding the best people.

"Where to, sir?" asked the driver, a female Private.

Gilmore smiled slightly. "The British Rocket Group, Private Bell. And don't spare the horses!"

***

George Ratcliffe stood nervously before the alien creature. He had fought for his principles in the last war, and fought hard. He had seen many horrors. But these ... things still made him twitchy.

"WE REQUIRE TRANSPORT TO THE PRIMARY SITE. YOU WILL PROVIDE IT," the Dalek demanded.

"I obey," Ratcliffe replied, giving the creature the response it desired.

"THIS UNIT WILL TRAVEL ALONE," the Dalek intoned. Ratcliffe nodded and went to find Mike.

It had all started when he had been working late one night, trying to get the accounts up to date. A strange humming noise from the warehouse had alerted him and as he crossed to the connecting door to investigate, a harsh, white light had been visible around the edges of the door.

Suspecting burglars, Ratcliffe had armed himself with a handy piece of lead pipe. He was totally unprepared for the sight that met him in the warehouse.

It had been a little over five feet tall, grey in colour with black lumps on its cone shaped body. The domed head swivelled in his direction and the eyestalk had swiftly assessed him.

It demanded his instant obedience. Suspecting some sort of trick played by the local kids, Ratcliffe had challenged it. When the gun stick had vaporized a pallet of builders sand, Ratcliffe had decided this was a higher power than he could ever have imagined.

Ratcliffe had officially been on the wrong side in the last war. Now he had allies, powerful allies at that, who believed as he did, in the total extermination of the lesser races and the triumph of the strong over the weak. The Dalek had promised him power.

But still he was nervous of them. He knew that his own life was at stake should he ever displease them.

He found Mike smoking by the warehouse stairs. The young man grinned as he approached.

Mike's father had been Ratcliffe's best friend. They had grown up together, joined the Fascists together, fought together. When Jack Smith was shot for treason during the war, Ratcliffe had promised to look after his widow and child. He had kept his word. Now Mike was a strong, confident young man himself, and always willing to help out Uncle George when needed.

"Our guest wants taking to Totters Lane," George said.

"Fine," Mike replied, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall. "I'll fetch the truck round."

Ratcliffe smiled. The boy was a lot like his Dad. George missed his friend. He cursed the authorities that had taken Jack's life. And now, with the help of the Daleks, he would have his revenge.

***

Rachel Jensen knew it was going to be one of those days when she got out of bed and stubbed her toe on the half open door. From there things had gone rapidly down hill.

Bernard was in Australia, trying to sort out the fuel line problems on the new rocket. Micheal Baker, his deputy, was in an all-day meeting with the Minister over finance. That left her in charge. She knew something was bound to go wrong.

She was working on satellite telemetry with Allison when her forecast problem arrived. Mary the receptionist rang through with the news.

"Army gentleman to see you, Professor," she said. "Says it's urgent."

Rachel sighed. "It usually is with the army," she replied. "Can't you tell him we're busy?"

"He's most insistent. Asked for you by name."

This caught her attention. A creeping feeling of dread followed swiftly.

"Did he give his name?" she asked Mary.

A pause. "Group Captain Gilmore," came the reply.

Rachel's heart sank. It was him. After all this time. She had always known he would come back into her life one day. Now that day had dawned.

"You had better show him through," she told Mary, putting the phone down quickly before she could change her mind.

***

Three years and he hadn't changed. If anything he was even more distinguished. His moustache looked freshly trimmed. Her mind smiled at the thought.

They had first met during the incident with the Velgorn in 1959. She hadn't been too involved in it, but had been around at the end, when Doctor Smith had talked the alien into turning back his races invasion fleet. Then Bernard had asked her a favour.

That favour had been to thank the pilot that had caused the Velgorn to crash, thus helping avert the disaster. That pilot had been Flight Sergeant Gilmore.

There had been an instant attraction between them. They had gone out together to the pictures, to dances, even to an Air Force ball. They had been the perfect couple. Then he had transferred to the army.

His new career seemed to keep him away from home more and more. Eventually they had drifted apart.

It had been an amicable split, very civilised. The first year they still sent birthday and Christmas cards. Then even that had stopped.

And now here he was, standing before her in a crisp military uniform. It was like they had never been apart.

"Hello, Rachel," he said, smiling slightly. "Long time no see."

Rachel nodded. "It has been a long time," she said in reply to Gilmore's statement. "What can I do for you, Group Captain?"

He was thrown momentarily by her business like approach, but quickly recovered.

"I'm putting together a team to track a signal coming in from high orbit. I need expert scientific help. That's where you come in."

She looked at him curiously. "Are you drafting me into the Army?" she asked, aghast.

"In a way," he admitted. "Temporary assignment. Cleared at the highest level. I've been given special powers."

"I'm very happy for you," she muttered, her mind racing. "So, basically, you're saying I have no choice?"

"You have no choice," he confirmed.

Rachel thought for a moment. "I'll need an assistant."

"You can have anything you need. It's within my powers to commandeer any personnel or equipment."

I'll bet it is, she thought. "We can use the satellite detection equipment in the mobile tracking vehicle," she said.

He nodded. "Good. When can you be ready?"

"Give me an hour to sort things out here," she requested.

"Very well. I'll send someone along to show you where we are based. Thank you, Professor." He turned to leave.

"Oh, Group Captain?"

He turned back to face her, eyebrow raised.

"I'm doing this for Queen and Country, no other reason."

"Of course," he replied smoothly, saluted and left.

***

When they were alone again, Allison stepped forward from where she had been checking readouts and eavesdropping.

"Is that him?" she asked.

"Rachel sighed. "That's him," she said heavily.

Allison smiled. "He's quite dishy, really."

Rachel couldn't help returning the smile. "Yes, he is."

For a moment the two women were lost in thought. Then Rachel broke the spell.

"Well, we had better dust down the tracking van for the nice Group Captain, hadn't we?"

Grinning like schoolgirls, they left the office.

***

The Dalek on duty at the monitoring station on the bridge of the Imperial ship swung its head round to look at the Emperor.

"TEMPORAL DISPLACEMENT OCCURRING ON PLANET'S SURFACE," it reported.

"IS IT THE REBEL FACTION?" asked the Emperor.

"NEGATIVE. ENERGY SIGNATURE INDICATES CRAFT OF GALLIFREYAN ORIGIN."

"CAN YOU IDENTIFY?"

"AFFIRMATIVE. THE CRAFT MATCHES THE RECORDED PARAMETERS OF THE DOCTOR'S TARDIS."

Beneath the domed head of the Emperor's casing, Davros almost smiled. So, the Doctor had returned to try and thwart his plans one last time. However, this time he would not succeed. He would be exterminated!

***

Ace poked her head out of the TARDIS doors and scowled. Naff city.

"It's London," she protested as the Doctor eased past her and locked the door. The familiar shapes of the buildings and streets around her could only be her home city on Earth. It was the last place in the Universe she wanted to be.

"Correct," replied the Doctor, with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. "But look closer. Do you notice anything?"

She glanced again at the urban sprawl. Something was different. The tower blocks looked cleaner, newer. On the street an old car was parked. No, she realised, it was a new car. At least, it was in this time period.

"We're in the past," she grinned.

The Doctor nodded approval. "Very good. It's 1963. December, to be precise. I have a little unfinished business in the area." He smiled. "But first, let's go for a stroll."

The two friends walked over to a nearby park, unaware they were being watched by a twelve-year-old girl in a school uniform.

***

Ratcliffe jumped when the telephone on his desk rang. Relieved to think it wouldn't be a Dalek on the other end, he picked it up. It was Mike.

"The Dalek at Totters Lane has been destroyed," he said simply.

As well as doing odd jobs for Ratcliffe and being a Party member, Mike was a serving soldier and part of the Army unit investigating the signals generated by the two Dalek factions. An inside man, so to speak. And one that didn't bring good news.

"How?" Ratcliffe croaked, paling at the thought of what the Daleks would do about this.

A pause. "This bloke turned up. Called himself the Doctor. He blew it up."

"Can you get away yet?"

"Yeah, when things cool off a little. What's the plan?"

"If you can go back with the truck, we could bring the remains back here," Ratcliffe suggested.

"I'll get away as soon as I can," Mike promised. He hung up.

Now, thought Ratcliffe, all I have to do is inform the Daleks.

***

Time passed. But on the bridge of the Dalek ship, the quiet hum of activity continued.

A Dalek reported. "TRANSMAT AREA BREACHED."

"SEND A SCOUT," ordered Davros. "EXTERMINATE INTRUDERS."

A Dalek moved into position on the bridges transmat pad. It shimmered, became transparent, then became solid again. In two halves.

Emperor Davros considered for a second. "ACTIVATE SENTRY. MONITOR VISUAL CORTEX."

On the bridge screen, two fleeing figures could be seen heading for the stairs. One stumbled, turning towards its Dalek pursuer.

"IDENTITY CONFIRMED," reported the monitor Dalek. "MALE FUGITIVE IS THE DOCTOR."

This time Davros was sure he was smiling. "EXTERMINATE!"

***

Mike drove carefully through the streets of London. He wasn't one for taking extra care usually, but he didn't want stopping by the police carrying this cargo.

The remains of the Dalek he had collected from Totters Lane were under a tarpaulin in the back. He had bluffed past the soldier on the gate with ease. He was well known and liked among the men. One of the lads. Now it had paid off.

Whistling a Presley tune, he pulled into Ratcliffe's yard.

***

On the screen of the Imperial ship, the picture dissolved into static.

"VISUAL SIGNAL OF SENTRY LOST," a Dalek reported. "REMOTE IDENTITY BEACON TERMINATED ALSO."

Davros fumed inside the Emperor's casing. So, the Doctor lived. Well, he wouldn't live long enough to interfere with his plans now. Davros would not allow that.

It had been a long and hard rise from prisoner to Emperor. The fact that the Daleks had put him on trial in the first place showed how weak and leaderless they had become. So when a number of them rebelled and rescued their creator after the sentence of extermination was passed, he wasn't too surprised.

A short but violent war resulted. The faction supporting Davros had triumphed and claimed Skaro, while the opposition had fled. Then the rebuilding began.

It had been a long job. He had re-engineered the basic Dalek mutant, giving it enhanced reasoning and cunning as well as suppressing any emotional responses that might blunt its ruthlessness. The casings had been redesigned too, made stronger and lighter.

New specialized Daleks had been created. Scientific Daleks, mostly brain, that didn't move but were wired directly into their workstations. Special weapons Daleks, which were basically huge guns, proved successful on the battlefield.

It was during a routine check of the database on Skaro that Davros discovered the reference to the Hand of Omega. The information had come directly from the Doctor's brain, during the initial phase of the aborted duplication process during Davros' release from the Earth prison ship. Little of what had been absorbed from the Time Lord's brain was of use, but the memory of the Omega Device, and its location, burned bright in his mind.

Soon, that Device would belong to the Daleks and Davros would lead his army on a rampage through the history of the Universe.

***

Things were quiet in the command room, while they awaited the latest figures from Jodrell Bank. A few of the soldiers were taking advantage of the lull, sleeping in chairs or eating sandwiches.

Rachel scanned the room, looking for one particular individual. He was sitting alone in a corner, hands resting on the handle of his umbrella, chin resting on his hands. Brooding.

Slightly surprised his young friend wasn't with him, Rachel took her chance and walked over to the Doctor, seating herself next to him. For a few long moments, neither spoke nor moved.

"Can I ask you something?" she eventually inquired.

The Doctor looked at her sideways. "Most people do, eventually. How can we defeat the ruthless invaders, Doctor? Where have we landed this time, Doctor? How long is a piece of string, Doctor?" he smiled suddenly, relaxing. "Ask away."

Rachel seemed nervous. "I was just wondering if you, well, that is to say, are you..?"

"Human?" he asked mildly. He sat back, hands behind his head. "Define human."

This caught Rachel off guard. "Erm, well," she began, then stopped again.

The Doctor spread his arms wide. "Do I look human?"

After a moment, she nodded. "Yes. Yes, you do."

"Then I must be human," he concluded with a small smile.

She thought about that for a while, as he returned to his brooding position.

"Looks can be deceptive," she challenged.

"Can they?" he said, arching an eyebrow. Then he looked her straight in the eye. "I am a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey. I have two hearts, a normal pulse rate of 170 beats per minute and a respiratory bypass system. Does that answer your question?"

Rachel frowned, unsure if any of that was true. "I suppose so," she said.

"Good. Now, does that make me inhuman?"

For a moment Rachel was almost thrown off track again. Then she had an idea.

"Define inhuman," she challenged.

The Doctor grinned at her. "It's people like you, Professor Jensen, that give me faith in the human species. Now, shall we go and deal with your Dalek problem?"

***

On Skaro, the Chief Scientist, second only to Emperor Davros in the Dalek Empire, awaited the arrival of the Hand of Omega patiently. It had been in constant contact with the ship in Earth orbit, receiving messages to say that Imperial forces had captured the Device, that the Rebel faction was all but destroyed and that the Doctor would be found and exterminated.

"OMEGA DEVICE ENTERING OUTER EDGES OF SKARO SYSTEM," reported the Dalek at the science panel.

"PREPARE LANDING BAY ONE," ordered the Chief Scientist.

"COURSE DEVIATION. OMEGA DEVICE HEADING TOWARDS SOLAR ORBIT.

"ABORT MANUAL FLIGHT. SEND A SHIP TO RETRIEVE THE DEVICE."

"I OBEY."

Seconds passed slowly as orders were sent to the Device.

"FLIGHT OVERRIDE INOPERABLE. OMEGA DEVICE ENTERING OUTER CORONA."

"REPORT TO EMPEROR IN EARTH ORBIT."

"I OBEY."

"ATTEMPT THE ABORT COMMAND AGAIN."

A pause. "NEGATIVE RESPONSE. DENSITY OF SOLAR MASS INCREASING."

The Chief Scientist knew this was the end. The Doctor had tricked them, had programmed the Device to destroy Skaro's sun, taking the entire solar system and the Daleks with it.

"THE DALEKS WILL GO ON. WE WILL REBUILD. WE WILL CRUSH ALL RESISTANCE. THE DALEKS ARE THE SUPREME POWER OF..."

The sun exploded.

***

On the bridge of the Imperial ship, the news was received of the destruction of Skaro. Then the monitoring station reported the Omega Device was returning.

Knowing he had been trapped by the Doctor, Davros did the only thing he could. Escape. The Emperors personal escape pod detached from the Dalek ship and sped away into space, moments before the ship was destroyed by the Device.

Davros fumed inside his casing. He had lost everything. The Omega Device. Skaro. The Doctor had beaten him. Again.

But this would not be their last encounter. He would live long enough to see the Doctor exterminated by his new Dalek army. Already, Davros was plotting his next grand scheme of conquest.

***

Gilmore stood once more before the desk of the Defence Minister. There were three silent witnesses this time, the same two as before and a third, slightly older man.

"Congratulations on a successful operation, Group Captain," said the Minister.

"Thank you, sir, but it was very much a team effort."

"Of course. Has Professor Jensen returned to the British Rocket Group?"

Gilmore nodded. "She and Doctor Williams are back at work. They have already signed the Official Secrets Act, when the joined the B.R.G."

"Very good. And this Doctor..?"

Now Gilmore frowned. "He and his companion seem to have disappeared. We can't find any trace of them in the area."

"No matter," the Minister decided. "What about the artefacts left by our visitors?"

"Everything is safely locked away in a government warehouse, sir. Not that there was much. A few casing fragments, some organic material, that sort of thing."

The Minister stood and shook Gilmore by the hand. "Good job, Group Captain. There will be a commendation in this for you."

"Thank you, sir," Gilmore replied. He saluted and left.

The Minister turned to his three guests. "See, I told you he could do the job."

"It was a sloppy operation," commented the new member of the group, an American with a throaty, Southern drawl.

"Everything turned out well, in the end," the Minister protested. "Maybe if you had assisted us..."

"I told you, we couldn't get involved," said the blonde, smartly dressed Englishman. His smoking companion remained silent.

The man with the drawl handed the Minister an envelope. "We're requisitioning the artefacts," he stated.

"You can't do that!" the Minister spluttered. "They're government property!"

"I think you'll find that's signed by both the new President of the United States and your Prime Minister, Mister Douglas-Home," drawled the American. "We'll stop and collect them on the way to the airport."

The three men started to leave the office, their business concluded.

"I thought we were allies," said the Minister.

The man with the drawl stopped in the doorway. "I'll give you a piece of good advice. In fact, it's something I live my life by. Trust no one!"