It was some kind of a computer panel, and there were four men there with it. One of the power lines fed this, but the second was rigged into a wall panel beside the door. The men were too preoccupied with whatever they were doing to look up and notice her. And there was something that wasn’t quite right…

It took her a moment to realise what it was that was troubling her, because it was such a small thing. When she finally figured it out, she almost screamed in anger and horror.

The light in the ceiling of the chamber was casting a soft glow over the whole room, which was why she could see everything so clearly. And that could only mean one thing. These idiots were feeding power into the Dalek systems!

Whatever DA‐17 was, they were reawakening it…

‘They’re pulling back, sir,’ the radio operator reported to Haldoran. ‘Barlow is reporting a complete rout.’

‘Tell him to pursue and kill them all,’ Haldoran ordered impatiently.

‘No,’ Estro suggested mildly. Haldoran glared at him, disliking having his orders questioned. The man spread his hands. ‘They’ve seen what the Dalek guns can do,’ Estro explained. ‘Let them run back to London, whipped. Their panic and fear will spread once the story gets out. I think your experiment has worked perfectly. It’s time for me to fetch you more Dalek weapons from my store. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble now getting volunteers to use them – do you?’

‘No,’ Haldoran agreed. He considered Estro’s suggestion. ‘All right,’ he decided. ‘Tell Barlow to advance, and hold as much ground as he can, but not to pursue the fleeing rabble. Let them take their tale of terror back to their lair with them. Then they can all burn up with fear as they wait for their coming day of judgement.’ He turned back to Estro. ‘Fetch me more of these guns – many more. How many can you bring me? And how soon?’

Estro smiled. ’Another forty by morning,’ he promised. ‘Perhaps a further hundred within the week. I really don’t think you’ll need any more than that to conquer this entire island, do you?’

‘No,’ Haldoran agreed. ‘that will be more than enough. Good work, Estro. I promise you a high place in my council once London is taken.’

Estro bowed slightly. ‘I shall be honoured,’ he murmured. ‘I’m proud to be able to serve you so well. If you’ll excuse me…’ He hurried out, obviously off to fetch the guns from his mysterious stockpile. Haldoran waited a moment or two, then signalled a man to follow him. While Estro was indeed very helpful, it would be more helpful if Haldoran himself knew where the guns were being brought in from.

Portney cleared his throat. ‘You don’t trust Estro?’ he asked.

‘I trust nobody outside of my own skin,’ Haldoran answered. ‘Least of all you.’ The man had the grace to blush, at least. ‘But even a man you don’t trust can be useful. And can be relied on to do as you wish, if you know what motivates him. I know what motivates you, Portney – greed. And as long as I’m the ticket to the wealth you’re accumulating, I know you’ll be loyal to me. It’s the only reason I haven’t had you killed yet for theft.’ Portney blanched and started to stammer. Haldoran waved him to silence. ‘Don’t bother to deny it. Portney. I’ve known about it for quite some time, and I have copies of your duplicate records. I could have had you killed any time I wanted.’

Portney was starting to regain his wits. ‘Then… then why haven’t you?’

Haldoran sighed. ‘Because you’re no use to me dead,’ he answered. ‘You’re on notice: you cross me even once and I take your left hand. The second time, your right. And there are plenty of other parts of your anatomy I can take before you even get close to death. But you’ll be on very, very intimate terms with excruciating pain.’

The white‐faced man nodded his understanding. ‘I take it that you have something you want me to do, my Lord?’

Perceptive; it was one of the reasons he was so valuable. ‘Indeed there is. Barlow and Craddock have been getting awfully chummy of late, and I don’t like that. When my two most powerful generals are on good terms with one another, it may be a sign that they’re aiming to be on bad terms with me.’

Portney nodded his understanding. ‘You want me to find out if that’s what they’re doing?’

‘No, you blithering idiot! They’d trust you about as far as I do. Which means they’d be stupid to let you in on their plans.’ Haldoran took a deep breath. ‘No, what I want you to do is much simpler. I want you to make them distrust one another. That way, they won’t plot together. Concoct something to set them at each other’s throat.’

That brought a smile to his face; it was the sort of thing he’d enjoy. ‘I quite understand, my Lord,’ he said. ‘I promise you, by this time tomorrow, their relationship will be rather… strained.’

‘It had better be,’ Haldoran said. ‘If they’re talking tomorrow, you can kiss your left hand goodbye.’ He savoured the look of fear on the man’s face for a moment before turning away. Portney would do what he promised, of that he was certain. Otherwise, he’d take great pleasure in hacking off Portney’s hand himself…

Estro hurried to his room in the castle, pleased with progress. The Dalek weapons were having precisely the effect he’d been expecting: professional soldiers blessed with a devastating weapon in their hands wanted more. It was an addiction he had every intention of feeding.

His room was spartan, since he didn’t actually live in it – merely a bed, a desk, a chair and a large wardrobe. He opened the door of the ‘wardrobe’ and stepped inside to the welcoming hum of his console room. He crossed to the controls, skirting around the boxes that contained one hundred and forty Dalek guns, ready for delivery. There was no need for Haldoran to know that the weapons were already in his possession. His supposed trips to collect them gave him the excuses he needed to slip away from time to time.

He switched on the viewscreen, wondering how long it would take the man Haldoran had sent after him to try entering his room. He imagined the look on the henchman’s face when he discovered the room was empty and his quarry gone.

He checked the co‐ordinates again, and then flicked a number of switches…

Susan leaned back against the corridor wall, both her hearts pounding. These people had to be stopped, and stopped now, but there were simply too many of them for her to tackle. How could she delay them?

She smiled slightly as she realised that there had to be some sort of power‐relay coupling in the immediate vicinity. If she could overload that and burn it out, then –

Her skin suddenly prickled, and she gave a slight gasp. There was something… She shook her head, unable to identify what she was feeling. A kind of tension in the air, as if…

There was a faint sound, growing louder, and then a large computer console stood in the open area of the vestibule beyond.

Susan stared at it in shock. There was only one thing that it could possibly be: a TARDIS. But not her grandfather’s, surely, unless he’d made a tremendous amount of repairs. It was almost soundless, as it was supposed to be, and the chameleon circuit was obviously fully functional.

‘Grandfather?’ she whispered, hoping and afraid.

A panel in the ‘computer’ opened and an unfamiliar traveller stepped out. Susan took in the dark suit, the severe manner, the neat beard and the gloves. A person who isolated himself from others, cold and self‐contained. It wasn’t – couldn’t be – her grandfather. Was it even a Time Lord?

The man moved away from her, towards the technicians. She realised the humans hadn’t been surprised to see a TARDIS materialise. And that could only mean that whatever this traveller was here for, it was something he’d set up a while ago.