Glory of The Daleks

Glory of the Daleks Foreword and Editor's Note
Author's Foreword
I could begin perhaps by telling when I started this story, or how long it took me to finish it, or why it's taken
such a long time to be published. But I won't. On the former, suffice to say that a naive but persistent fifth
former thought he could write a better Doctor Who story and the WhoCon short story competition gave him the
excuse he needed to do it. Of the latter, I'll leave it up to the person who faithfully edited this epic, Chris ‘I've
got a few pages of changes I'd like you to make’ Mander to explain.
In answer to your first question: no, it was never meant to be this long. The short story competition for WhoCon
had the generous size limit of 10,000 words - a limit I think I exceeded by half as much again. 'Too broad and
too deep for the small screen' - doubtful. 'Too broad and too deep' to be completed in ten or fifteen pages - well,
I hope you think so.
There were several aims I had in mind when writing this story. The first was to produce a decent Doctor Who
story in a historical setting. For some strange reason, fan fiction shies away from these - just have a look at any
issue of Timestreams. To my knowledge, the only other example of this is Jon Preddle's Tibetan Sojourn in
Timestreams #1. Yet isn't it much easier to base your story in a place where the society and customs are created
for you?
Second, I wanted to show the Daleks in a different light - not just as mindless killing machines capable only of
yelling ‘Exterminate!’ and shooting things. In this sense, I wanted to show the Daleks as they had been seen in
their earliest episodes before they were overtaken by the 'Davros syndrome'.
Third, I wanted to include at least one good, old-fashioned, ‘how the hell is he going to get out of this one?’
cliff-hanger.
With luck this will not be the last piece of novel-length fiction, it offers many more opportunities for writers to
go ‘broader’, ‘deeper’... longer(!). Glory Of The Daleks has barely scratched the surface of possibilities. New
worlds are waiting out there.
The end... or just the beginning?
Christopher Owen
Editor's Note
‘I've got a few pages of changes I'd like you to make’ is absolutely true. Most, if not all of said changes are ones
which I could easily have done myself, and sped up the whole process no end. But that's not how I like to edit;
before I know it there'd be a whole series of TSV Books out there written by Chris Mander based on original
ideas from various members of the club. Christopher Owen has his name on the front of this book, because it's
what he wrote - all I did was the vacuum cleaning to tidy it up just a little.
The other detail that slowed this story down considerably was in waiting for its sequel. The two stories had
originally been planned to be published together, as a seventy-plus page 'double-feature'. Over time it became
apparent that the sequel would take more time and more pages than earlier anticipated, so will now be published
separately (and is already looking to be well worth the extra effort spent on it).
This is the first in what will hopefully be an ever-expanding range of original fiction ‘novels’ published by this
club, with currently three more books on the ‘possible’ list. The only criterion I personally place on novel-
length submissions of this type is that they must be interesting and imaginative enough to make me want to put
in the considerable amount of work it takes to get them to this stage. There's nothing worse than working on a
project half-heartedly because you're not convinced that it's going to be all that good in the end.
The other thing to remember is that the NZDWFC does not, and should not have a monopoly on publishing new
Who fiction in New Zealand - there's absolutely nothing stopping you from trying this sort of thing yourself if
we're taking too long about it.
It seems that 1992 is becoming a good year for finally seeing results of WhoCon - first the videos, and now this
story. With any luck more fiction should follow, optimistically in the not too distant future. In the meantime, to
borrow a famous quote, ‘read and enjoy’...
Chris Mander
Prologue
The sound of explosions was little more than a distant echo to the two men hunched beside the door. Sweat was
beginning to form on their brows as they struggled with the lock.
‘We'll never make it, Doolan!’ one cried, looking around desperately.
‘Calm down Rayner! I'm almost through,’ Doolan replied. There was a hiss and the door in front of them glided
open. The men were young and unshaven. Their once proud uniforms now sported rips, tears and scorch marks.
They wore the uniforms of the Thal Imperial Guards, but their faces bore a weary, haunted look.
‘Halt! Halt or you will be exterminated!’ The familiar battlecry of a Dalek broke across the room. The soldiers'
guns blazed and the domed head of the Dalek exploded in a melting conflagration of flying plastic.
Doolan closed the door, while Rayner made for a strange machine. It appeared to be some sort of large
computer, dominating the room. Of more immediate interest to the soldiers was a small sphere, suspended
above a glowing column of swirling energy. The sphere itself was pulsing, throbbing, radiating the same
energy.
Rayner was typing quickly on a keyboard. With a flourish he stabbed a button and the column slowly
descended, lowering the sphere onto the console. The energies channelled through it disappeared, leaving it
devoid of the life it had previously shown. Rayner grabbed the now-transparent sphere and dashed out, followed
closely by Doolan.
The corridors seemed endless to the two saboteurs, as they fled with their hard won prize. It can't last, thought
Rayner, contemplating the lack of opposition to the fugitives escape. As if hearing his prophetic thoughts, a
Dalek rounded the corner, its gunstick trained on them.
‘Halt! Do not try to escape or you will be exterminated!’ Swinging his weapon desperately, Rayner sheared off
the Dalek's eyestalk. The Dalek began to fire wildly, in all directions.
‘Intruder! Intruder! Exterminate! Assist! Assist! Vision circuits inoperative!’ As the two Thals raced past the
screaming Dalek one of the random blasts caught Rayner in the leg. As more Daleks came into view, Rayner
shouted.
‘Go on! Get out of here! It's the powersphere that's important! I'll hold them off!’ With one last look at his
friend Doolan sprinted down the corridor. Rayner pulled out a black, squat cylinder and began manipulating the
controls mounted in the top.
‘Do not move! All intruders must be exterminated! Exterminate!’ With a crooked smile Rayner gave the
cylinder one last twist...
The explosion behind Doolan was thunderous, sending shards of metal and globs of molten plastic flying at all
angles. Doolan peered into the conflagration. Already dark shapes were moving, continuing the pursuit. For
such a prize, their chase would be endless.
There was the door to the shuttle bay! Relief washed over him - beyond the confines of the satellite, he might
stand a chance.
Dashing in, he sealed the doors and prepared for take-off.
‘The intruders have escaped. They have the sphere.’ The Dalek stood before the menacing spherical shape of
the Emperor Dalek.
‘It is of no matter. They will be unable to use its power. Trigger the explosive device!’ The sleek, bullet shape
of the shuttle appeared on the viewscreen, streaking away from the Dalek outpost. Suddenly the entire ship was
consumed in flames and the burning hulk drifted away.
‘The intruder has been destroyed,’ the Dalek reported obediently.
A lone sentry patrolled the Arab camp. He looked up to see a burning object high above. To his horror he
realized it was getting larger. He cried out in fear as the inferno descended, comet-like, to explode on impact
beside the Great Temple.
As he threw himself at the mercy of the gods, little did he realize the significance of what he saw...
January 14, 1901 - The Manor House, Berkshire
Police Investigate Mysterious Disappearances
Yesterday the police were called in as an eighth person disappeared,

adding to police fears more will follow. The victim was Sir Richard
Brambury, Earl of Wessex.
The Police are baffled by the disappearances, but they suspect foul play.
Suggestions that it may be the work of a single person have been ruled
out, and the police are now searching for a gang of perpetrators.
‘I just can't understand it,’ reported Inspector Mackerby. ‘We haven't

found any common threads linking the missing people. With the exception of
George Cartwright, the people have completely vanished without trace. The
gang can strike at any time, which makes them particularly dangerous. So
far we have discovered no pattern in the disappearances.’
Sir Richard was out riding alone. When he did not return, his manservant
contacted the authorities, but extensive searches failed to turn up his
whereabouts.
- The Chronicle, 14/1/1901
A carriage pulled up in the shingle drive of one of the countless country manors found dotted across England's
green pastures. Out stepped a short, balding figure who quickly disappeared into the interior of the house. As
the carriage rolled off a familiar grating wheeze echoed across the estate...
From the depths of the TARDIS's interior a voice was heard.
‘Trust me, Ace! You'll enjoy a stay in the country!’ Out of the door of the TARDIS stepped the Doctor's latest
incarnation, a curious figure in floppy hat and umbrella wielded purposefully.
‘Every time you say that we end up fighting some strange alien menace, or locked in life or death struggles with
nutcases,’ Ace called, emerging from the TARDIS. The Doctor however, was already out of earshot, making his
way towards the front steps of the country house. ‘Professor!’ Ace called despairingly, then gave up. She
hastened after the Doctor who was mounting the steps.
They were greeted by a genteel, if aging butler. The Doctor paused for a moment's recollection.
‘Crabtree, isn't it?’
‘Yes, m'lord. Would you like to see the master?’
‘Yes, yes I would. Is he in?’
‘M'lord is reviewing his inheritance. If you would follow me, Mister..?’
‘Ah, Doctor actually.’
The butler led them along a corridor into a back room.
‘M'lord, the Doctor here to see you with his companion,’ Crabtree announced respectfully. Ace gazed round the
room. It seemed almost entirely devoted to the storage of every imaginable archaeological relic. Two men were
currently cataloguing the items, checking them off against a very long list.
‘A Doctor, you say?' One of the men turned to face the new arrivals. ‘Good gracious, is that you Doctor?
You've changed since I last saw you.’
‘Well, time gets to us all eventually,’ replied the Doctor conversationally.
The man was in his late fifties. His back was unbowed by his years, and you could imagine him meeting every
obstacle with typical stoic British aristocratic defiance.
‘Sir Arthur, meet my companion Ace!’
‘Ace room, Arthur!’ Ace breathed. She hurriedly put down the shrunken head of some great tribal chief.
‘Well, my father passed away recently. A great archaeologist, treasures from all over the world.’
‘Yes, fine sarcophagus,' the Doctor said peering under a large pile of relics. 'Your father was in Egypt, was he?’
‘Yes, and he managed to bring this find back. Quite rare, with the grave-robbers having got to just about
everything first,’ Sir Arthur replied knowledgeably.
‘Sir Arthur, I was wondering if Ace and I could stay here for a few days. I think some peace and quiet would do
us good.’
‘Feel free, Doctor. You can help Willards and myself sort out this junk. I'm glad to have company out here. It
gets so damned lonely in these halls. Still, a man's got to make the best of it.’
While the Doctor acquainted himself with the various items of the late George Cartwright's collection, Ace
explored the grounds of Sir Arthur's estate. The gardens were extensive, stretching round corners, following
meandering paths, filled with mysterious nooks and crannies. In her absorbed search, she didn't notice a dark
figure, peering from behind a hedge...
‘So what happened to your father, Sir Arthur?’ asked the Doctor, picking up a skull.
‘He passed away under somewhat mysterious circumstances, Doctor. The coroner said it was similar to a
lightning strike, but there hadn't been a storm for miles. Nobody could make head nor tale out of it. It kept the
press speculating for weeks.’
‘Massive electrical charge. Curiouser and curiouser,’ the Doctor muttered absently to the skull.
‘What was that Doctor?’
‘Nothing, Sir Arthur. Just thinking, that's all. Willards, check off the neanderthal skull.’ The solicitor obediently
ticked off another item on the extensive list of artifacts.
The garden had finally given way to fields and paddocks. Ace leaned on the fence, and surveyed the rolling
countryside. So this was the famous British countryside, as yet unpolluted by the creeping tendrils of the
industrial revolution. Still, Ace thought, people like Sir Arthur can afford to keep it that way.
Opposite where Ace was standing was a collection of buildings, apparently stables. A young girl was on a
horse, cantering around a track. Ace envied her carefree lifestyle. Ace thought back to boring Perivale. Life had
been simple then. It had all changed when one of her chemistry experiments had brought her to Iceworld. It was
there she had first met the Doctor. It was the start of a series of adventures that had led her to - what? Turn of
the century England? She sighed. Still, if dynamite had been invented, it couldn't be all bad. She would like to
have had a few words with Nobel, though. She smiled at the thought of all the improvements she could make.
The girl seemed to have finished and was going in. Taking her cue Ace turned back to the house, and began
retracing her steps through the garden. Something was different this time. Some sort of sixth sense warned Ace.
Rounding a bend in the path, she was confronted by an Arab dressed in white robes, with a black headdress
disguising his face. Waving lazy circles in front of him was a long curved sword. As he edged, Ace inched
back, then turned to run. Behind her was another robed Arab also armed with a sword. Grabbing a branch she
held it, eyes darting from one to the other, her mind temporarily ignoring the incongruousness of the situation.
Arabs in the garden? When she felt constantly out of place herself, Ace was never surprised by the appearance
of similarly displaced persons, and she had subconsciously resigned herself to it, as one of the pitfalls of
travelling with someone like the Doctor.
Their sabres flicked menacingly, weaving slow patterns in the air. ‘Come on, then. What's keeping you two?’
Ace said, with characteristic bravado. However, she was feeling far from brave, realizing the hopelessness of
her situation. If they attacked her simultaneously she was in deep trouble.
Taking the initiative, she brought the branch down on the second Arab. He blocked easily, but she locked their
weapons, preventing him from swinging. Changing the direction of her attack, she suddenly thrust viciously,
catching the assassin in the chest with the end of the branch. Her foot lashed out and he collapsed gasping.
Ace had no respite. She barely fended off the other Arab's attacks, desperately blocking a flurry of blows. As
they circled each other, she knew she couldn't run. She braced herself for the next assault.
‘Ace!!’ The Doctor's call came from the direction of the house. Hearing this new voice, the Arab hesitated and
then fled, taking his now recovered companion with him.
Ace leaned against a tree, contemplating her recent brush with death. The Doctor came up the path.
‘Ace, there you are!’
‘Doctor, something funny's going on!’ The Doctor glanced uneasily at the worried look in his young friend's
face.
‘Assassins, you say?’ said Sir Arthur incredulously.
‘Yeah, two Arab blokes, walking round with swords in your garden.’ Ace had recovered her good humour, and
was now trying to convince Sir Arthur of her story.
‘But it seems totally preposterous! Arab assassins creeping around my garden!’
‘There are a lot of things in this universe you would find hard to believe, Sir Arthur,’ replied the Doctor,
rousing himself from one of the armchairs populating Sir Arthur's drawing room. ‘I rather fancy there is a
mystery afoot!’ He held up a newspaper, displaying a prominent headline: ‘Police Investigate Mysterious
Disappearances’.
‘You don't think there is a link between these disappearances and those Arabs, do you Doctor?'
‘It is a possibility. But there is still something missing. Something important.’
‘Doctor, I have to go into London today on business. But if these assassins are still about...’
‘By all means go, Sir Arthur. Ace and I will go with you.' Sir Arthur was somewhat taken aback by the Doctor's
enthusiasm. 'Ace, have you ever been to a music hall?’
‘A concert? Doctor, you're kidding - right?’
‘You'll enjoy it, Ace. There's magic and fire eating and knife-throwing...’
‘Doctor, you said the same thing about the Psychic Circus. Remember? Promise me there'll be no clowns this
time!’
‘No clowns,’ replied the Doctor, ‘I promise. Besides I have a couple of old friends I want to check up on.’
January 14, 1901 - London
Arab's Final Performance Tonight
Tonight will be the great Rama's last performance before returning to his
native Egypt. Over the past two weeks he has thrilled audiences with his
dazzling ability at fire breathing, knife throwing, sword- swallowing and
mastery of the arcane.
Ever since his arrival he has played at packed houses all over London,
with an act you will never forget. Tickets are selling fast. Don't be the
one to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity.
Seats from 2/-
London, 1901. It was a time when the grip of the Empire stretched into the depths of the African jungle, to the
lofty peaks of the Himalayas and to the distant islands of the Pacific. In those days London was the still the
commercial centre of the world, the point around which all events pivoted. It was in Queen Victoria's last days,
which would see the passing of an era. Soon the automobile would succeed the hansom cab, the electric turbine
would replace the water wheel and furnace, and the aeroplane would make its debut at Kittyhawk, North
Carolina. But all that was in the future.
Sir Arthur, Ace and the Doctor arrived to see a population going about its business with the leisurely confidence
of knowing the world revolved around them. In dark alleys shadowy figures skulked, flitting images gone in the
wind. Horses waited patiently, tethered to iron posts. Young debutantes walked hand in hand with eligible
bachelors, signs of social circles gearing themselves up for the 'Season', when the far flung nobles of the land
would arrive to mingle with Royalty, and improve their prestige among friends.
Sir Arthur let them off at the Royal Albert, while he wound up his affairs with his father's solicitor. The Doctor
looked around and then walked up to the ticket office.
‘I'd like two tickets for tonight's performance, please.’
‘You're in luck,’ replied the ticket lady. ‘It's Rama's last night.’
‘Rama?’
‘Surely you've heard? He arrived a couple of weeks ago from Cairo, and he's been the talk of London ever
since.’
‘What does he do, this Rama?’
‘Everything. Magic, fire eating. He's a real wizard with the knives. You can't miss him. He's a great Arab. I
don't usually hold with foreigners, but he's something else. Here are your tickets, then. See you tonight.’
‘Oh, one other thing. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a Mister Henry Jago, would you?’
‘Henry? He retired a few months ago. Can't rightly recall where he is at the moment. Litefoot'll know, though.
Professor Litefoot is a great friend of Henry's. He has an office over in Greenwich by the Royal Observatory.’
The Doctor doffed his hat, and escorted Ace back into the sunshine. The ticket lady was busying herself with
the cashbox when she felt a cold presence behind her. She started, surprised by the silent dark figure, until
recognition dawned.
‘Oh, Mister Rama, you scared me. Creeping up, all silent like. What are you doing here then?’
‘Those two people you were talking to, who were they?’
‘I don't know. Just two people wanting to buy tickets. One was a friend of Mister Jago's though. Seemed to
know him from a long time back.’ The Egyptian gave no reply, instead staring intensely at the space where they
had been. His expression sent shivers down the ticket lady's spine. She felt that sometimes he possessed
knowledge beyond that of mere mortals. There was something eerie about the way he carried himself. Maybe
that was why he was so popular with the patrons. Magic of the orient, the fear of the supernatural. But her mind
was wandering. Rama had left abruptly, and there were still things to be done. She wondered why he was so
interested in the customers, though. Like those two were... special?
A short ride later, a hansom cab dropped off the two time-travellers at Litefoot's offices. The Doctor walked up
to the door, and wiped a smudge from the neatly stencilled brass plate on the wall. Grabbing the heavy
embossed door knocker he gave several short knocks. The door was opened by a harassed looking clerk.
‘Hello? Do you have an appointment?’
‘I'm the Doctor and this is my assistant Ace. We've got urgent business with Professor Litefoot. Just mention
Mr Sin to him, and Giant Rats.’
Inside the building, Professor Litefoot sat, gazing at the window. As Hobbes entered, he made a pretence of
poring over various accounts.
‘Yes, Hobbes, what is it?’
‘Two people to see you, Sir.’
‘I'm busy, Hobbes. Tell them to make an appointment.’
‘Very good, Sir. Oh, one mentioned something about giant rats and Mr Sin. Couldn't understand it myself, Sir.’
As Hobbes left, Litefoot stood pondering. ‘Giant rats...’
‘My dear Litefoot,’ the Doctor exclaimed from the doorway.
‘Heavens, this is most improper. Identify yourself at once!’
‘Litefoot, is that any way to greet a friend?’
‘I have never seen you before in my life.’
‘Don't you recognize the Doctor?’ Ace asked curiously.
‘But that's preposterous. He was...’
‘All teeth and curls? Yes, that part gets a bit difficult.’
Litefoot's heart sank. Another madman. Still, he could afford a few minutes of his time to humour this impostor.
‘What brings you here, Doctor? I trust it's nothing too unusual. Henry gets so excited. He's liable to do
something foolish.’
‘Actually, we're here for a holiday. Allow me to introduce my companion, Ace.’
‘What's your line, Professor?’ she asked, examining a shrivelled hand on a shelf with unsettling relish.
‘I don't understand.’
‘What's your occupation?’ the Doctor translated.
‘That's what I said!’ she protested indignantly.
‘I am a criminal pathologist.’
‘You cut up a bodies?’
‘That's one way to put it. I prefer to think of it as advancing science.’
‘What do you make of these disappearances, Litefoot?’
Litefoot started to despair. Would there be no end to these questions? ‘They're very strange. Nobody can make
head nor tail of them. Henry's the one to ask. He's heard all the rumours. Can't say I pay much attention to them
myself.’
‘What about George Cartwright?’
‘Sir Arthur's father? The renowned archaeologist? Now there's an exception. He didn't actually disappear. He
was brought into the morgue about a fortnight ago. It was most strange. Sudden heart failure, severe burns. I
could have sworn it was a lightning strike.’
‘Where was he found?’
‘In the study of his manor. It might have been electrical charge, but his estate hasn't been put on electricity yet.
The circumstances were peculiarly disturbing.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser.’
At that moment, the door opened and Hobbes entered.
‘Mr Jago, sir.’
Henry Jago was just as the Doctor remembered. A few more lines perhaps, the odd grey hair, and a few extra
inches round the waistline, but that was all.
‘My dear Henry Jago, how have you been? Still in the music hall business? It's me, the Doctor!’
‘Surely my eyes are deceiving me?’
‘He seems to be the genuine article, Henry,’ said Litefoot, turning to face the newcomer, and winking broadly.
‘Of course I am. Who did you expect? Now Henry, I was wondering if you could give me some information.
What do you know of these disappearances?’
Henry was a trifle taken aback by the stranger's effusive manner, but then his showman's instinct reasserted
itself. An audience was an audience, no matter who they claimed to be. ‘Rumours have been rife, ever since it
started.’ His voice dropped to a low whisper. ‘The latest word from the speculators is that it's a mysterious
group.’
‘What sort of group, Henry?’ The Doctor's voice was as quiet as Henry's.
‘An Arab cult, with strange purposes, and stranger ways.’
‘Not Arabs again!’ said Ace, breaking the silence. ‘First there were the two blokes with swords, then we find
out about Rama at the ticket office, and now this.’
‘It fits. What do they want though? Tell me, Henry,’ suddenly resolute, 'when did these disappearances first
occur?’
‘A couple of weeks ago. I remember Rama had just arrived in town. Must have been the night of his first
performance. He created quite a stir, I can tell you. Lockerbie was in the audience, I think. I spoke to him
briefly, just as he was leaving. He never made it home that night.’
‘The plot thickens, eh Professor?’ Litefoot started at Ace's comment. It had definitely been addressed at the
person calling himself 'the Doctor'.
‘Professor?’ Litefoot glanced at the pair suspiciously.
‘So nice talking to you Litefoot, and you Jago, but we really must be going.’ With this cue, the Doctor tipped
his hat and they made a quick exit from Litefoot's office.
When they were gone Jago turned to the pathologist.
‘Do you think it was really him?’
‘If it wasn't, Jago, it was an impersonation the likes of which your Rama would be hard put to match.’ Litefoot
sat down, wondering if he would ever know just who the person who had stepped through his door was.
‘But the performance is going to start in half an hour. You can't go out for a walk!’ The theatre manager's
protestations went unheeded by the figure methodically wrapping himself up against the cold. The mechanical,
bespectacled figure that did up his final buttons was hardly recognisable as the great mystic of the posters.
‘Your performance will not be affected. You will receive the full value of the ticket sales, and none of your
patrons will ask for refunds. That is all you need to know. Now go. I have business to attend to.’ The manager
thumped his palm in frustration, muttering low inaudible comments about unreliable acts. ‘No, wait.’ Rama
called the fuming manager back. ‘Tonight, no one must enter the backstage area, no one. Especially not a short
man, with a floppy hat and red-handled umbrella, or a girl, in a black jacket. Watch for them. They could be
dangerous.’ The theatre manager was mesmerized by Rama's words, so startled by the request that he could
only nod foolishly in agreement. The Arab picked up an umbrella, and strode purposefully out.
‘Doctor...’ began Ace.

‘Shhh. Rama's about to come on. We don't want to miss him.’
Ace looked as if she was going to continue anyway, but then a voice bellowed from the stage.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen, The Royal Albert is proud to present, in his last night in London, the incomparable
Great Rama!’ There was a thunderous round of applause from the packed house. Rama had drawn a capacity
audience to see his final act.
The clapping died down. Silence stole over the crowd. Ace involuntarily held her breath, waiting to see what
would happen. Almost imperceptibly the gaslights dimmed, until the theatre was nearly pitch black.
Suddenly the stage blazed into life. The curtains had parted in the darkness. On the stage stood a huge throne,
standing high upon a large platform. Wide steps led down to the stage floor, where dozens of dark skinned
figures prostrated themselves, chanting strange words, a deep constant hum. An explosive cheer welled from the
crowd.
As the cheering died down, Ace noticed the figure on the golden throne. Dressed in vermilion robes, he
commanded attention. His face was clean, his hair closely cropped, a magnificent crown adorned his head. To
Ace's eyes they didn't look like Arabs... her mind struggled to remember a long-forgotten history class. The
crown he wore... her face creased in concentration.
‘The crown of the high priest,’ she exclaimed, momentarily forgetting where she was.
‘What is it?’ whispered the Doctor.
‘This Rama bloke is wearing the crown of the high priest of Amunra. On important ceremonial occasions, the
high priest of Amunra wears this special crown.’
‘What sort of important occasions?’
‘Only on the death or coronation of a king of the united kingdom.’
‘Who's Amunra? I seem to have forgotten that particular god.’
‘Not surprising really. Our history teacher dredged him up from some prehistoric textbook. Some king ascended
to the throne and thought he better cut the church down to size. So he replaced the old gods with new ones, and
a hierarchy controlled by him. He was murdered by fanatics four years later, who wanted the old gods back. The
high priest vanished taking his crown with him.’
‘Until now. I think a word with the great Rama after the performance wouldn't go amiss.’ Deciding on a course
of action, the Doctor settled down to enjoy Rama's act.
Rama had stood up while they were talking, and now he moved to the front of the wide platform. He started to
speak, a rich mellow timbre, complemented by the low chanting from the worshippers.
‘A light for the Temple of the Sun,’ he boomed. He held a club in one hand, its head shrouded in a pitch soaked
rag. He slowly held it aloft and tilted his head back. Pausing for what seemed an eternity, he then began to
exhale. There were gasps of admiration and awe. As he breathed out, a jet of flame lit the torch. He held out a
hand to silence the applause.
‘As night comes, so darkness falls.’ The torch descended. Ace realized with fascinated horror that he was going
to swallow the flame. The fiery head disappeared into Rama's mouth, then emerged extinguished. Suddenly he
tossed the torch into the air.
The move caught the audience by surprise. Hardly had they registered the fact that he no longer held the club,
than he was holding a golden sceptre seemingly plucked from the rafters. The clapping was rapturous.
He motioned for silence. An almost imperceptible signal, and hidden drums boomed. At the back of the
platform, two sun-bronzed giants opened an ornate gate set in the rear wall.
Out wafted a beautiful young woman, her face veiled by soft white robes that might have floated on and stuck
there. She paused, the gaslights now catching her radiance. Rama beckoned. Smoothly she flowed beside him.
He turned and gently lifted the delicate veil. He murmured a few low words, unintelligible to the audience. As
he spoke, he brought the sceptre up and started to move it across the girl's face in a complicated pattern. Slowly,
he increased the speed up the sceptre's passage. His words were louder, clearer. Now the legions of figures on
the stage were providing an invisible counterpoint, echoing the words, magnifying them, filling the hall with
their power. It was only a short phrase repeated over and over. Yet nobody could think of anything else.
‘Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum, Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum.’
Ace was concentrating on the pattern the sceptre was making. The speed was dizzying. The Egyptian's words
drummed on her skull. The rhythm of the drum was almost hypnotic. She couldn't tear herself away. The theatre
blurred. She felt herself slipping... ‘Ace!’ The Doctor's sharp whisper brought her back to self awareness with a
snap. She looked at the stage. The young woman was now in a trance. Rama had stopped the sceptre's
bewildering flight, and was now using it to emphasize his words.
‘Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum, Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum.’
Now Rama was speaking alone. At every emphasis he thrust the sceptre at the air. It was as if he was trying to
levitate the woman by will-power alone.
Then to the audience's astonishment, the woman slowly began to rise, a few inches at a time. When she was
several feet off the stage, Rama changed the direction of his movements. He started to draw the sceptre across
his chest, struggling against some invisible force, still chanting.
The woman's body turned till she was lying on her back. The delicate robes hung from her limply, shaping the
curve of her body. She began to move forward, floating across the platform. At the far side, Rama motioned the
figure to stop. There was silence.
To Ace, watching a magician levitate someone was not a new experience. However it was the first time she had
seen it in a live performance, and even by her own modern standards she couldn't help but admire Rama. He
knew exactly how to hold an audience.
A large board was rolled out by some invisible stagehand. To Ace's surprise Rama positioned the woman on it.
Ace corrected herself - the woman was floating upright a few inches in front of the board, still trance-like.
Rama plucked several knives seemingly out of thin air. Each one was a masterpiece unto itself. The blades were
curved with a wicked edge, but the handles were ivory, intricately carved. He held them aloft, then turned
towards the woman. He stood perhaps fifteen feet away, on the opposite side of the platform. Ace could see that
the board extended about a foot from either side of the girl. Rama drew back one of the glittering blades.
The first knife whistled through the air, to sink into the wood above the girl's head. More knives followed the
first, outlining a pattern around Rama's assistant. The supply seemed endless. When the last one was thrown
Ace counted twenty four knives sticking from the woodwork, none more than six inches away from her
immobile body. The applause was deafening.
Rama put on a blindfold, and held up his last knife. This one was the most ornate of all, with colourless gems
flashing above the painstakingly carved handle. Ace looked to see what his target was. She gasped. The woman
was holding a small wooden target, not more than three inches across. How could Rama possibly hit such a
target blindfolded?
Rama was not even facing her. His back was turned as he held out the knife in front of him. With no almost no
apparent movement, he flicked the shining blade across the stage. There was silence for a moment as the
audience tried to discern where the knife had landed. It was then they noticed the target. In the exact centre
protruded the ornate knife.
Before the audience could react the lights went out. One woman screamed and pandemonium was unleashed on
the unsuspecting crowd. Shouts, screams, a cacophony of panicking gentry, forced to suffer incalculable
damage to their dignity. Finally the lights rose. A short balding gentleman, perspiring heavily, walked out in
front of the lowered curtain.
‘I'm sorry for that interruption to the performance. We had a minor technical difficulty which we are working
on. However I'm afraid to say that the rest of the evening's entertainment will have to be cancelled. Partial
refunds are available at the door.’ He walked off, and ushers appeared, to escort the unsettled audience out.
As the crowd slowly shuffled towards the exits, Ace noticed the Doctor hadn't moved.
‘What's up, Professor?’
‘I'm just interested in knowing where Rama is at this moment.’
‘We're going to take a look, aren't we?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the staff won't like that, will they?’
‘Not particularly, I'd imagine.’
‘So what are we waiting for?’
The stage of the Royal Albert was a cathedral. Cat-walks and ladders stretched as high as the eye could see. Ace
peered into the unfathomable depths of the stage. The Doctor had found an oil lamp in some corner, and was
now casting it round the gloom. What they saw was unsettling.
The stage was empty. Not one set, not one board remained to betray the existence of the act which they had
witnessed scant minutes before. Nobody was in sight. Of the cast of hundreds, not one lost soul was in sight.
The Doctor bent down.
‘Looking for clues, Professor?’
‘Yes. Look at this dust.’

‘What about it?’
‘Elementary, my dear Ace.’ Slowly he dragged his finger across, revealing a thick coat on the stage. ‘This dust
hasn't been disturbed for a long time.’
‘But that's impossible, we saw...’
‘Never rely on what you see, Ace. Things are not always what they seem.’
‘So what do we do now?’
‘I think I'd like to have a word with the great Arabian magician, Rama. You, are going to wait for Sir Arthur.
He should be back any minute.’
‘Doctor...’
She was left talking to the darkness.
The maze of corridors honeycombing the dark recesses of the theatre could be daunting at the best of times, but
the Doctor wasted no time in finding Rama's dressing room as soon as possible. There was only one problem,
and it stood six feet tall.
It was only as he was staring at the sentry's muscular torso that the Doctor realized he wasn't going to be
allowed in. The Doctor retreated a little, and considered his choices. He was several hundred years out of
practice with his Venusian Aikido, and he didn't favour his chances against the brawny Arab's sabre. The guard
looked impassively resistant to bribery, not that he had much of worth anyway. Intimidation he could rule out,
pleading was too humiliating, and the guard might as well have been set in stone.
Still he had to try. The Doctor slowly sauntered up to the guard...
Ace was getting irritable. Sir Arthur had turned up, but the Doctor had been gone for ages.
‘Come on, Sir Arthur.’
He looked up in surprise. 'Where are we going?’
‘It's time we found the Doctor,’ she said nonchalantly.
‘But... but the sign says Staff Only.’
‘When do you ever follow the sign's advice? Come on.’ She tugged him through the door.
The corridor beyond the door was like the entrance to Hades. It stretched on into darkness, doors branching off
on either side. They rounded a corner and...
‘Looking for something?’ The voice was cold and hard. Ace's gaze moved upwards to fix on the granite features
of the Theatre Manager.
‘A friend of ours is down here,’ Ace said, without her usual bluster.
‘You are mistaken. This area is off limits to the public.’

‘I would advise you, Sir, that I am Sir Arthur Cartwright, of the Royal Society. We are assisting the
investigation of Inspector Mackerby into the recent and sudden disappearances. I hope you will do all you can
do help our inquiry.’ Ace was amazed by Sir Arthur's speech, and it seemed the theatre manager was taken
aback as well.
‘Do you have proof of your authenticity?’
‘You doubt the word of a knight of the realm?!’ Sir Arthur exploded. ‘I have in my possession the royal seal,
and a special dispensation signed by her majesty, Queen Victoria herself! Sir, you offend me!’ The theatre
manager was completely undone by Sir Arthur's brutal condemnation.
‘How could I possibly think that you were anything but what you claimed to be? I am your humble and obedient
servant, Sir. Anything I can do to help?’ Sir Arthur winked at Ace.
‘Yeah, bilge bag, what happened to the sets for Rama's act?’ The theatre manager's reply might have been
markedly different if Sir Arthur had not been looking sternly at him. As it was he reined in his barely controlled
temper.
‘I don't know. Rama agreed to provide all his own sets and costumes, if we would let him perform. Any theatre
owner would jump at the chance, especially if he had an act with the crowd pulling power of Rama. He was
sensational. This was his last night. He was responsible for what he did with the sets.’
‘Can we perhaps have a word with Rama?’ said Sir Arthur, matter of factly.
‘I'm afraid that after the performance he disappeared completely, along with everything he brought with him.
His contract had expired so we weren't overly worried. He left prematurely I know, but we can't do much about
it.’
‘I think that about concludes our enquiries. I will pass on your information to Scotland Yard. Thank you for
your time.’
The Doctor was frustrated. He had completely exhausted his repertoire of tricks to get past stubborn guards.
Even his unusually fertile Time Lord imagination failed to produce a satisfactory solution to his problem.
Irritated and annoyed, he set out to rejoin Ace. His agitated state of mind could be blamed for his lack of
concentration. But whatever the reason, the Doctor soon found himself lost in the labyrinthine underworld. It
was only by pure chance that he stumbled on an exit.
The Doctor found himself in a dark alleyway. Debris piled high, like silt resting on a river bed, catching in rips
and eddies. The Doctor had experienced alleyways on a multitude of worlds, but one was much the same as
another. The forgotten parts of cities, invisible to the public at large.
The Doctor disliked alleyways. They often reflected the real character of cities, and this was not always a pretty
site. He had once written a thesis on the philosophy of alleyways. They were places for intrigue, for secret
rendezvous, brutal murders and displaced souls. Of course the thesis had been heavily censored when he had
started wondering why Gallifrey had more dark alleys than anywhere else. He had abandoned the project and
delved into bus stations instead, which were an unknown concept on Gallifrey.
Just when the Doctor thought he should probably start to find Ace and Sir Arthur, his musings were interrupted.
Was that a shadow he saw? He quickly dismissed it as a figment of his imagination.
There, another one! Never quite in full view, they danced like fairies at the edge of his vision. The Doctor
started towards the road.
Something banged behind him. He whirled to see a startled cat fleeing as some unidentified piece of antique
garbage lay creaking on the cobbles. He relaxed and turned.
The war-cry was unexpected and shocking. From some high perch a white figure leaped in front of the Doctor,
sabre brandished viciously. The Doctor turned and saw to his dismay that from behind him, more white-robed
figures were approaching. As they encircled him he could not help but notice the evil swords they wielded. The
fearsome edges were starting to get uncomfortably close, and he couldn't help but think Ace was right...
Chapter 3
January 14, 1901 - London
Medium Claims Knowledge Of Missing People
A leading psychic, Marie Von Traunt, has come forward to help the police
with their enquiries, claiming divine sources would divulge the
whereabouts of the missing men. Mrs Von Traunt says she was compelled to
offer her services to Scotland Yard after receiving a terrible premonition
late last night.
‘It was about ten o'clock as I remembered it, and the night maids had just
turned in, when suddenly I had the strangest feeling. Everything went
hazy, and nothing felt real. Of course I knew right away it was a
visitation from the other side. Then I heard the sound of horses galloping
on cobbles, and a carriage rolling behind. And screaming... only it wasn't
screaming. Nobody could hear. It was all this murky darkness. It was
horrible.’
At this stage the police are not discounting the possibility that Mrs Von
Traunt's vision may be related to the other strange incident last night.
The Doctor felt that at times like these a little inspiration was needed. He reached deep into one of his pockets,
and casually pulled out... a rather crumpled, white paper bag.
The Doctor peered inside, confirming its contents. Something more useful might have come in handy, but one
had to make to do with what one had got. He stepped up to the nearest Arab swordsman.
‘Have a jellybaby?’ The Arab looked confused. His guard dropped for a moment. The Doctor didn't need a
second chance. He threw the contents of the bag at the Arab's face. The Arab screamed as he fought this strange
menace, and as he fell back clutching at his eyes, the Doctor sprinted down the alleyway.
However the enraged swordsmen were soon hot at his heels. The Doctor rounded the corner at a gallop, and
searched for some way of evading his pursuers. Spying a deserted carriage, he leaped on the side, bellowing at
the startled horses.
He nearly came to grief as the terrified beasts bolted before he was securely balanced. After a few precarious
seconds perched teetering on the running board he managed to establish his footing. His next challenge was to
control the terrified horses.
Struggling to the roof of the hansom cab, he saw the reins disappearing over the edge. A heroic full length leap,
and the reins were dangling from one outstretched hand. He let out a long slow breath, and looked back. His
heart dropped.
These assassins were very persistent, he thought woefully, as he saw another cab clattering several blocks
behind. The hansom cabs that usually plied the streets of London were limited to four passengers at the most.
On the cab behind, Arabs were hanging off every available space. What was more distressing was that they
were catching fast.
The Doctor turned, gripped the reins in both hands, and prepared for a race. He cracked the whip, and with that
signal the horses were off.
It started a frantic, madcap chase through the narrow cobbled streets. The Doctor pushed the flagging horses to
their limit, but he could not shake the second carriage. He veered round a corner and for a moment or two the
cab was balanced on a single wheel. Hanging on for dear life, he breathed a sigh of relief when, with a familiar
thud, the cab was once more on two wheels. As the Arabs' cab attempted the same manoeuvre, he heard several
cries, as some of the less well-braced members lost their grip on the situation.
Another opportunity presented itself as he turned within sight of London Bridge. He noted with satisfaction that
it was starting to rise to allow some vessel past. Steeling his nerves, he turned towards the bridge, urging the
horses forward. Almost spent, they summoned some last reserve of energy to break into a gallop. The cab
crossed just as the two halves began to split apart. The Doctor turned around and saw the other cab was still
following. The ever widening gap was several feet by now, and the odds were slowly going against the cab. As
it travelled the last yards, several swordsmen leaped off, preferring to take their chances in the Thames, without
a cab on top of them. The driver, however, never wavered. Lashing at the horses, he spurred them to leap the
widening gap.
For a few seconds the cab was suspended, caught in limbo, neither at one side nor the other. Then the wheels
landed with a crunch on the far side. Beside the driver the last visible swordsman was jarred off.
The Doctor was now rattling past the docks, ignoring the silent cranes and menacing silos, looking for
something. A forbidding tunnel presented itself, rusting railway tracks disappearing into its interior.
The Doctor was a resplendent figure as he entered the tunnel. Any observer would have looked twice in the
half-light at the small figure standing on the roof of a hansom cab, floppy hat pulled firmly on, reining in two
wild and frothing horses.
A moment later, the coach came out the other end of the tunnel. However this time, there was one major
difference. No one controlled the fiery beasts, no one rode the bucking cab, like some ancient charioteer.
The driver of the second cab had not relented the pace. As he disappeared into the tunnel, he paid no attention to
a slightly darker patch at the entrance of the tunnel. Only when the patch detached itself from the rest of the
tunnel did he regret his mistake.
The impact sent the driver sprawling to the edge of the cab. As the Doctor moved closer, his legs scissored
viciously, toppling the Time Lord. In a flash the Arab was on top of the Doctor, choking him, forcing him over
the edge, holding the Doctor's head mere inches from the rock wall of the tunnel. The Doctor managed to resist
these attacks, and they were out of the tunnel. The dockside was getting alarmingly close however, and the Arab
was making no effort to control the driverless cab.
The Doctor braced himself for the inevitable, but at the last second the horses turned. This was followed by a
sickening lurch as the cab tilted alarmingly. Unbeknownst to the two combatants, the pin holding the horses to
the cab was beginning to groan under the stresses placed on it.
The Doctor used the scant seconds to reverse his assailants hold, swinging round, so that now the Arab's head
was held over the edge.
‘I want to know what you want,’ the Doctor whispered fiercely, forcing the Arab's head back another inch.
‘You are a heretic. You would try to stop the ascension.’
‘What ascension?’ The Doctor's question would not be answered. The cab lurched again, and the Doctor's grip
was broken. Grappling with his assailant he found himself underneath again.
The Doctor's situation was made all the more desperate when a sword suddenly sheared through the roof from
below. Its deadly blade was protruding only inches away from the Doctor's body. The sword withdrew back into
the cabin, and the Doctor cursed himself for not thinking of the passenger compartment.
With desperate strength he turned aside as the sword sliced through the woodwork again. They remained locked
in that position as the sword came up between them, and the Arab was forced to release his hold.
The two gladiators rose to their feet. As the Doctor swayed unsteadily on the swaying coach, he wondered what
his chances were in this fight. His thoughts were interrupted when the Arab gave a howl of pain, and losing his
balance, toppled over the side. It was only afterwards the Doctor saw the sword penetrating the ceiling boards.
The mysterious swordsman had aided the Doctor inadvertently.
The Doctor looked around. The cab was heading towards the riverside again. He quickly stepped towards the
front of the cab and looked down. He saw the pin holding the horses and cab together was starting to come
loose in its fittings. As the Thames came closer and closer, he made up his mind. At the last minute he leapt
from the cab, as another sword thrust pierced the wood where he had stood seconds before.
The Doctor watched in fascinated horror as the horses turned away from the perilous waters. He heard in the
silence the snap as the pin restraining the horses broke. In slow motion, the cab continued moving towards the
edge, with no sign of stopping. The Doctor turned away as the entire structure disappeared beneath the turgid
waves.
Chapter 4
Mysterious Body found in Thames
Late last evening a body was fished from the lower Thames, amid some sort
of wreckage. The cause of death was identified as drowning, occurring
sometime between ten and eleven o'clock. The body itself is believed to
come from one of the Arab races, and was found in Arabic robes. However
the actual identity remains unconfirmed.
Around the same time, two hansom cabs disappeared from the area of the
Royal Albert. Police sources say the incidents may be related. Eyewitness
accounts of reckless driving in the region of the Tower bridge and the
lower dock area support these claims.
‘Crabtree? Crabtree?’ Sir Arthur's voice echoed through the dark and silent house. ‘When I left, I could have
sworn I told him to keep a light on. He's probably retired for the night.’
As Ace hung up her jacket on a coat hook, Sir Arthur walked over to a large desk. Opening a drawer, he pulled
out a flint and tinder. With practiced movements, he struck the flint against the steel and ignited the dry tinder.
With patient care, he moved the tiny flame to the wick of a candle, and elicited a small but steady flame. He
moved below a gaslight mounted in the wall. He opened the gas flow, and raised the candle to the lamp. To his
surprise nothing happened.
‘That's strange. Crabtree must have turned off the gas. Blessed unusual.’ He lit another candle for Ace, and then
led the way along the corridor. As they passed the study, Ace noticed the door was ajar. She thought Sir Arthur
had left it locked after cataloguing his inheritance. She would mention it to him later.
They came to the end of the forbidding corridor, at a door Ace guessed led to the kitchen. Sir Arthur paused a
moment, before opening the door.
At first all seemed normal. The candlelight showed the usual kitchen implements and utensils, a large cast iron
stove, large ceramic sinks, a long wooden table and... a body.
Cautiously they approached. It was Crabtree, obscured by the table leg. A quick check revealed he was alive.
Sir Arthur cursed and set about trying to get the gas running again to get some light. As the room was slowly
illuminated, Crabtree stirred.
It was clearer now that he had suffered a blow to head. An ugly-looking bruise was forming round a vicious
gash. Ace tried to bring him around while Sir Arthur got a wet towel, and started cleaning away the dried blood
from the wound.
‘Fly, devils!’ Crabtree roared, awaking with a start. He took in his surroundings and sank back. ‘I see you have
returned, Sir.’
‘What the devil happened, Crabtree?’
‘I was just preparing to retire, Sir, when the lights were extinguished. Naturally, I came down to investigate. I
opened the kitchen door and was confronted by an Arab of enormous stature. With the element of surprise
against me and several more opponents in the Kitchen proper, I was quickly overcome.’
‘I wonder what they wanted? Surely it can't have anything to do with those beastly disappearances?’
‘Could have something to do with this father of yours?’
‘George? His whole life was archaeology. If wasn't the Amazon, it was Burma. If he wasn't mapping the
highlands of New Guinea, he was dusting off pyramids in Egypt.’
‘It keeps coming back to Arabs and Egypt, doesn't it? Two weeks ago, Rama the Arab miracle arrives in town,
and woos audiences by the house-full. Around about the same time, people start disappearing. Today, there
were two Arabs in your garden. Then when the Doctor and I were at the theatre, Rama disappeared, devotees
and all. The stage had a layer of dust, as if it hadn't been disturbed all day. But it gets weirder still. Rama and
his band aren't actually Arabs. They're Egyptians. And your father was killed investigating, among other things,
an Egyptian sarcophagus. It might be a good time to take a look at this mummy your father dredged up!’
With that note of finality, Ace headed out into the corridor. Sir Arthur, pausing to make sure Crabtree was on
his feet, headed after her.
Sir Arthur reached into his pocket for the key, when he realized that the door was already open. He and Ace
were about to enter the room, when there was a knock at the door.
‘I'll get it,’ called Ace, already halfway down the corridor.
‘But what if...’
She interrupted him. ‘Think. If they're Arab assassins, they're not likely to knock on the door. And besides, why
return to the scene of the crime?’ She went to answer the door, while Sir Arthur entered the study.
Ace opened the front door, not without a few moments of trepidation. Standing there was a familiar well-worn
figure, who seemed to be sporting a few more scrapes and bruises than usual.
‘Doctor!’
‘In person. I see you've managed to keep yourself out of trouble for a few minutes.’
‘Almost. What took you so long?’
‘Well, you know turn of the century transportation. Primitive at the best of times.’
‘Sounds like a certain blue police box I know.’
‘Doctor! Ace! The sarcophagus is gone!’
The pair entered the study to find Sir Arthur looking at the collection of archaeological relics.
‘I remember we stood it up right over there.’ He pointed to a blank space of wall. ‘Those devils must have
stolen it!’
‘I think we should try and find out who our mysterious thieves are. Ace, fetch your stereo.’
‘I really don't think this is the time for music, Doctor.’
‘Just do it. Your tape deck can do more than you credit it.’
‘It didn't stop the Cybermen did it?’ With that last retort, she ducked out into the corridor.
‘A clue, a clue. Sir Arthur, your father didn't bring back anything else from Egypt, did he?’
‘He brought back a great number of things. Most of them he donated to the Royal Geographical Society. I think
he did have a few odds and ends though. I think I put them in the desk.’ Sir Arthur moved over to a large ornate
desk, and opened a wide drawer. There inside, in addition to many mundane pieces of stationery, was a small
framed portrait of a group of men, and a leather bound diary.
The Doctor held up the portrait. ‘Who are these people, Sir Arthur?’
‘It must be the Explorer's Club. He was always mentioning it. A group of geriatric globetrotters were the words
he used, I think.’ Sir Arthur peered closer. 'There's Thomas Marsden, and James Lockerbie, not to mention Sir
Richard Brambury.’
‘You know these men?’
‘Doctor...’ Sir Arthur's voice trailed off. He dashed out of the room to return with several copies of The
Chronicle.
‘Yes, here... Sir Richard Brambury disappeared while out riding. Here's Lockerbie and Marsden. Doctor, the
men who disappeared were all members of the Explorer's Club!’
‘But surely the Police would have realized?’
‘It was a very private group, Doctor. Who is interested in aging explorers who have nothing but past glories to
live on? No, the Police won't have guessed. I've had that painting ever since George died, and I never noticed.’
He momentarily winced at the painful memories. However the Doctor had been distracted by Ace's return, and
when he turned around Sir Arthur had regained his stoic composure.
‘Doctor, I just saw the strangest thing outside.’
‘Later, Ace.’
‘It was a brilliant light in the sky.’ She noticed the Doctor was concentrating on the tape deck. ‘Don't say I
didn't warn you.’
Sir Arthur looked on in puzzlement as the Doctor placed Ace's tape deck on the table, and began to fiddle the
controls. Sir Arthur little realized the Doctor's handiwork in crafting the tape deck even if he had known it's
original purpose. Built to replace the ghetto-blaster destroyed by the Daleks, the tape deck incorporated some
unusual features that had proved crucial to the Doctor's defeat of the Cybermen.
The Doctor had almost completed his task. Adjusting the dish mounted in the top, he punched a button and a
shimmering sphere appeared. He twisted a dial, and the picture sprang sharply into focus. It was clear to
everyone in the room that it was Sir Arthur's garden.
‘Ace,’ Ace breathed.
‘I added a few security features. It can also directly tie-in with the TARDIS computer.’
‘You mean you can operate it by remote control?’
‘If I need to.’ The Doctor adjusted the controls. The scene shifted to a different part of Sir Arthur's estate. The
picture changed again, to a deserted road outside. The Doctor was just about to look elsewhere with his roving
eye, when a small shape appeared on the horizon. As the Doctor zoomed in, it grew until it filled the tiny
sphere. The shape was a carriage. The observers peered closer.
A lantern was swinging from the side, creating an eerie luminescence that changed with every bump and turn.
Seated in the driver's position was a barely visible Arab, cloaked by the darkness. He was driving the horses at a
cracking pace, the whip snapping viciously above them.
The Doctor pulled back the image to try and determine how far away the carriage was. He had almost pin-
pointed its location when it vanished. The three watchers gasped. The Doctor desperately flicked more switches
but to no avail. The carriage had disappeared.
The Energy Converter: A Brief Romance
It was during the closing stages of the Dalek-Thal war, and the beginning
of the great Dalek expansion, that the energy converter was developed.
Initially used in orbiting satellites, plans were in place for a great
space armada, built around the energy converter. As a weapon and power
source it was unrivalled, operating on the principle of using your enemy's
energy to power your own ships.
Unfortunately, the device proved unreliable, and vulnerable to sabotage.

Several of the orbiting stations were lost, either to a fracturing of the
crystalline matrix, and subsequent release of stored power, or to
uncontrolled energy draining, the devices literally eating every unit of
power aboard. There were also several instances of Thal attacks on the
stations, and captured energy converters were used to deadly effect.
One of the suggested problems with the energy converter, was that in order
to be able to process the widest ranges of energy possible, later models
were given a form of limited artificial intelligence. While this has never
been confirmed, artificial intelligence research in the Dalek Empire was
not sufficiently advanced to be able to guarantee faultless operation.
When dealing with devices as powerful as the energy converter, it pays to
be very careful how much independence you give it.
- The Children of Davros, Vol V

by Njeri Ngugi (4065)
One minute, the carriage had been rolling on the road. Then it had been enveloped by a blue nimbus. Suddenly
it was gone. Ace noticed the Doctor's intense agitation.
‘What's wrong, Professor?’
‘Something's going on here, and I've got no idea what it is.’
‘Feeling left out?’
‘Extremely. Carriages don't just disappear without a reason. And when there is a reason I like to know about it.
It usually means strange technology is involved, and you know what problems technology causes. Especially in
the wrong hands.’
‘That's not the whole story, is it?’
‘Ace!’
‘Come on Doctor, spill the beans.’
‘Oh all right. I'm annoyed that things are starting to happen which I have no control of what so ever. I feel
insignificant. I've got virtually no clues, and a carriage - possibly carrying an Egyptian sarcophagus, purpose
unknown - has just vanished under my nose.’
‘I think I detect a note of jealousy.’
‘Ace.’
‘For once, you have no idea what's going on!’
‘I would have liked to hide that from you a little longer. It gives me my competitive edge.’
‘Well, why aren't you doing anything about it? You could start with that diary under your hand.’ The Doctor
looked down. Unconsciously he had rested his hand on George Cartwright's log book.
‘Ace, what would I do without you?’ He began flicking through the pages. ‘Aha, this looks promising.’ He
started to read the diary aloud:
17 September, 1900: Valley of Shifting Sands
I believe I have discovered the location of the Tomb of Rahtep, King of the United Kingdom during the Fourth
Dynasty. Led by the scrolls found in the catacombs of the Temple of Amunra, I have come here to the Valley of
Shifting Sands. King Rahtep, in his short reign, tried to destroy the power of the church by establishing a new
regime of gods. They worshipped Amunra, or Sun-mother. However, from what records I can find, barely three
years after his ascension, he was murdered by fundamentalists, and the old gods returned.
21 September, 1900: Valley of Shifting Sands
I have discovered the Tomb of Rahtep. It was here that he was buried by the faithful of his new religion,
following his death. It seems that the High Priest of Amunra conducted the ceremony before disappearing along
with the crown of his office.
I have recorded below the most amazing hieroglyphics. They seem to depict some event which gave the
followers of Amunra great powers. In several scenes, Rahtep is shown holding some sort of gem or amulet. This
seems to be a source of immense power for his religion.
The Doctor gazed at the hieroglyphics. Then he grabbed a blackboard and a piece of chalk and began scribbling
furiously. As he worked, Ace heard him muttering incomprehensible statements on the Egyptian language as a
medium for preserving information.
Sir Arthur had pulled the curtains back from one of the windows and was staring out. ‘Doctor, I think you had
better have a look. I think something's moving out there.’
‘Mmm,’ the Doctor replied, totally absorbed with his work.

Ace walked over to the window to try and work out what Sir Arthur had seen. Did something move? There, and
there - black shapes darker than the rest.
‘There, finished.’ The Doctor stepped back and admired his handiwork.
His appreciation was interrupted by Ace. 'Doctor!!’ she shouted. Something was wrong.
There was a scream from the hallway, followed by the unmistakable sound of energy weapons. The Doctor
turned to see the door open, and Crabtree's inert form slump through.
Before the Doctor could react to Crabtree's plight or Ace's warning, a Dalek appeared in the doorway. The
Doctor's heart dropped. How could he hope his most persistent foes weren't involved? However his first obvious
reaction was anger.
‘That was unnecessary!’
‘The human had to be subdued,’ the Dalek replied in its harsh parody of a voice. It watched impassively as Sir
Arthur rushed to the side of his stricken butler, and moved him out of the way.
The Dalek filed into the room, closely followed by several more. One, the Doctor noticed, sported a different
arrangement from the usual sucker arm. It seemed to be some sort of sensor unit, for its arm consisted of several
tube-like instruments, built up around a central core. At random intervals these would swivel round, and the
Dalek would use a different instrument.
The first Dalek's head swivelled round. ‘Report,’ it grated.
‘Analysis indicates the powersphere is no longer present.’ This seemed to agitate the first Dalek. Its head swung
back to face the humanoids.
‘Where is the powersphere?’ As it talked, the Doctor noticed a nervous twitching among the Daleks.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ The sensor Dalek was monitoring the Doctor's reply carefully.
‘The humanoid is telling the truth.’
‘The instruments are wrong!’ The first Dalek screeched. ‘Where is the powersphere?’ it demanded again.
‘Suggestion: the people of this planet are primitives, and may be unaware of the powersphere's existence. It has
not manifested itself.’
The first Dalek seemed to consider this proposal. The Doctor had listened to this exchange with interest, and
decided it was time to act.
‘Just what do want here anyway? This world is of no use to you. You Daleks always were good at sticking your
noses in where they don't belong.’
‘This humanoid is aware of our identities. He may be a threat. Begin scan,’ the first Dalek screeched, getting
even more agitated.
The sensor Dalek rolled up to Sir Arthur, and started to scan him. The sensor stick rose and fell, its various parts
whirring and clicking as the tubes swivelled around.
Then it moved on to Ace. It spent a longer time, and started to twitch a little more. Finally after what seemed an
age, it moved on to the Doctor.
The Doctor was starting to sweat. He was unsure of the technology these Daleks possessed, and whether they
could identify him. The Dalek's scan stretched on... and on. After several minutes the Doctor was starting to get
impatient.
‘Well, get on with it!’ The Dalek duly recorded this, and then started to get very excited.
‘Report!’ the leader bellowed.
‘Third subject is of extra-terrestrial origin. Physiology resembles that of beings known as Time Lords, natives
of Gallifrey. Brain patterns and genetic coding identify subject as entity known as The Doctor. He is an enemy
of the Daleks. He has intervened on the Thals' behalf twice in our recorded history.’
‘I've always wanted to know how you Daleks do that. There are times when I am truly amazed by how fast you
identify me.’ As he suspected the Daleks could not resist the temptation to gloat.
‘Your records were on our computers from the moment of our creation. Experience with Gallifreyans has
indicated they are capable of both changing their appearance and time travel. For this reason, Dalek technology
found it necessary to devise a way of readily identifying potential threats. Fortunately, physiological and
neurological data on the Time Lord known as the Doctor already existed, enabling ready identification.’
The Doctor delved deep into his memories. From the moment they were created, records existed of the Doctor.
It must have when he had been sent to Skaro to try and eliminate the Daleks. His brow furrowed in
concentration. Of course! The security check into the bunker. Who was it? Nyder, yes he had run the Doctor
through some sort of scanning device. He sighed. So the Daleks would always know who he was. Or had been.
That was the tricky thing with time. What would have happened if he hadn't been sent to Skaro? Would they
have been able to follow him in their own time machine all those years ago? Or snatch Jamie and he from
Gatwick Airport to Victorian England, to perform a series of bizarre experiments?
Now was not the time to dwell on the past though.
‘You still haven't explained what you're doing here.’
‘Silence! You are in our power!’
‘Too embarrassed to admit you've made a mistake?’
‘Silence! We are the superior beings! We do not make mistakes!’
‘But you have, haven't you? You've lost it! Now things are slipping out of control. You were beaten to it.
Beaten to it by someone who is aware of its power.’ The Doctor's barrage was unrelenting on the agitated
Dalek.
Desperately, it tried to reassert its authority. 'Silence! You will obey! You will obey!’
‘Obey you? A bunch of overgrown dustbins?’
‘Where is the powersphere?’

‘So that's what you lost. Thought you would have progressed beyond that by now.’ The Dalek was enraged by
this insult to Dalek technology. The person who said Daleks were emotionless lied, thought the Doctor to
himself. They might have no compassion, but their egos were enormous.
‘Where is it?’
‘I really don't think I should tell you.’
‘You will obey the Daleks!’
‘Suggestion:’ the sensor Dalek interrupted. ‘The fabric in the female's clothes is not congruent with the
technology level of this planet. It would be safe to assume she was brought by the Time Lord. He may value
her.’
‘Doctor,’ the Dalek grated, its voice falling to a whisper as it realized its trump card. ‘You will reveal the
location of the powersphere, or the female will be exterminated.’ To emphasize his point, his gunstick rose to
train on Ace, as did the other Daleks' weapons.
Several long seconds passed by. Sweat formed on the Doctor's brow.
‘All right. I'll tell.’
‘Doctor, don't do it!’ Ace screamed.
‘I hid the powersphere.’
‘The Gallifreyan is lying! He is trying to hide something,’ the sensor Dalek announced. The leader noted this
with interest.
‘Move to the window.’
‘I will not!’
‘Doctor!’ Ace's voice was alarmed, as the Daleks moved closer. Their sucker arms started to telescope
outwards, prodding the humanoids into position. It was then that Ace saw the blackboard the Doctor had been
standing in front of. The Dalek spent several seconds examining it with his eyestalk. Then it addressed the other
Daleks.
‘The powersphere has been stolen by a group of fanatics, who hope to use it to resurrect their leader. They will
carry out the ritual in a building at these co-ordinates. Relay them to the mothership.’ He then read out a string
of numbers, which were meaningless to Ace.
‘Inform the mothership that we will rendezvous with the shuttlecraft and reclaim the powersphere.’
‘But how are we to get to the meeting point?’
‘We will use the Gallifreyan's time machine.’ The leader turned to the Doctor. ‘Resistance is useless. Do not try
to escape.’
The Doctor was crest-fallen as they were herded outside, and round to the TARDIS. Every time it was captured,
the results had been tragic. He couldn't help remember the deaths of Adric and Lytton, as a result of his
carelessness with the Cybermen. Now he was surrendering control to the Daleks.
Sadly, he unlocked the TARDIS door, and the group filed in. He strode over to the console, and started
punching in the co-ordinates. The Daleks milled around, apparently at a loss. The sensor Dalek was examining
everything, its sensor stick spinning round. Ace walked over to see what the Doctor was doing. She had
managed to snatch back her tape deck when the Daleks weren't looking, and it was swinging from her shoulder.
‘So what are you doing?’
‘Trying to concentrate.’ As they spoke several Daleks headed through the inner door, leaving only the leader
and the sensor Dalek.
‘When I say now, duck and try and push the leader out of the door,’ the Doctor whispered.
‘Won't that be dangerous?’ Ace replied urgently.
‘Extremely.’
‘Ace!’
‘NOW!!’ the Doctor bellowed. Ace dropped to the ground, while the Doctor dived forward, knocking both Sir
Arthur and himself to the ground. At the same time the leader fired, missing the time travellers, but blowing the
top off the sensor Dalek.
Then Ace and the Doctor were on their knees, pushing the struggling Dalek outside. As it passed through the
exit, the Doctor leapt back to the console and closed the doors. He breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Aren't you forgetting something?’ Ace reminded him. 'The other Daleks?’
‘Oh yes. Still got your tape deck? Good.’ He checked the tape. ‘Jazz. My favourite.’ He adjusted the controls,
inserted the tape and started it playing.
‘I don't hear anything, Doctor.’
‘That, Ace, is because it is being broadcast on the exact frequency the Daleks use to operate.’
‘You mean their brains are being scrambled?’
‘Exactly!’
‘Ahh, Doctor. I see you managed to remove those infernal creatures,’ Sir Arthur said, rising a little uncertainly
to his feet.
‘Unfortunately, they're still outside. I'm afraid you're going to have to stick with us till we sort out this mess, Sir
Arthur.’
‘I could use a change of scenery, anyway.’ Grinning, the Doctor pushed down the dematerialisation lever, and
the TARDIS disappeared.
Outside, the Dalek leader seethed as the TARDIS dematerialised.
‘The Doctor has escaped,’ it grated. ‘Destroy the building.’ The Dalek watched impassively as the other units
surrounded the house and started to fire. Soon their weapons had done their deadly work, and Sir Arthur's
mansion was a blazing inferno. As the flames licked through the aged timbers, the Dalek screeched.
‘You have not evaded us, Doctor. We will find you, and destroy you!’
Chapter 6
January 15, 1901 - Memphis, Egypt
Fire Strikes Country Manor
The police were called in to investigate a mysterious fire last night

which completely destroyed the mansion belonging to Sir Arthur Cartwright,
the noted cartographer. Inspector Mackerby, who has been assigned to
investigate several other mysterious happenings over the last two weeks,
has been baffled by the events.
‘This whole business is giving me ulcers. Sir Arthur's disappeared and it

looks like you can add him to your list of vanished persons. As for the
other events, I'm knackered trying to find a connection.’
He dismisses claims by the Rev. Fitzwillows that it is retribution from

God.
A teeming metropolis. Everywhere white-robed Bedouins harked their wares, while others paused to inspect the
goods, musing thoughtfully before moving on. In a square, acrobats performed to the twangy accompaniment of
an out of tune guitar. A tidepool of humanity, the streets ebbed and surged to some incalculable rhythm.
In a secluded alley, a mere eddy in the cauldron, the TARDIS rematerialised, its arrival causing scarcely a
ripple as pedestrians streamed by.
The door opened and the three travellers stepped out.
‘Doctor, where are we?’ queried Ace.
‘Somewhere in Egypt, I should think. Memphis, by the look of the architecture.’
‘The old capital of Egypt, right?’
‘Very good. Now to find our king.’
‘Doctor, will those creatures try to follow us?’ asked Sir Arthur, leaning on a walking stick he had found in the
Doctor's wardrobe.
‘Most probably, but it should be the better part of a day before they pick up the trail again. We're relatively safe
for a few hours.’
With his usual nonchalance the Doctor led them out into the churning throng.
Ace was feeling distinctly nervous about the crowd. It seemed to be pressing in from all sides, tugging at her,
trying to sweep her away. With grim determination, she stuck close to the Doctor.
Suddenly a scream ripped through the crowd. Ace immediately ran forward, towards the source of the
disturbance. As she melted into the jostling bodies, the Doctor sighed and forged through the crowd, dragging
Sir Arthur with him.
Meanwhile, Ace had reached a small square, from which the scream had broken. Ace struggled to get a clear
view of what was happening. Suddenly she found herself at the edge of a crush of bodies. The crowd had parted
to provide a dry, dusty clearing. Inside were two people. One of them was one of the familiar swordsmen Ace
knew so well. He was menacingly stalking a small figure huddled on the ground.
A sudden movement of the crowd brought the victim into view. Ace gasped. It was a young woman, about her
own age. The veil had been ripped from her face, to reveal wisps of dark hair and sculpted features. For a
moment, their eyes met. Ace saw a pleading in the girl's eyes. A shock rippled through Ace as she realized it
was the young woman she had seen assisting Rama at the music hall. Then the swordsman charged.
The reflex was automatic. It was an action requiring no thought. Ace's foot swung forward, into a conveniently
strategic location. The charging Arab tripped and crashed to the ground. In the scant seconds he lay dazed, the
girl vanished like morning dew in the Egyptian sun.
The Arab rose with a low growl. He whirled, sword describing an arc in the air... to stop dead. Only inches from
his nose Sir Arthur's walking stick hovered, rock steady, with intent as deadly as a rapier. The Arab's own
sword had been checked just before striking the grey haired gentleman in front of him. Yet he hadn't flinched
and the stick wavered scarcely a whisper.
This broke the Arab's nerve. He backed away a few steps, and then turning, fled into the crowd. Sir Arthur
turned to the Doctor, who had joined Ace. ‘Heaven help me, Doctor, I thought I was getting too old for this sort
of thing. I was younger last time.’
‘Doctor,’ Ace piped up, ‘why were they trying to kill her?’
‘I don't know, Ace. Perhaps we should ask her?’
‘Find her in this crowd? You've got to be kidding, Doctor!’
‘I have a feeling we'll meet her again sooner than you think.’
‘So where do we go now?’
‘The central plaza. That's where the action is likely to be.’
The Doctor set a brisk pace through the narrow streets, and Ace and Sir Arthur were hard pressed to keep up.
Ace was amazed by way the Doctor seemed to know exactly where he was going in the bewildering web of
crowded alleyways. Was it possible he had been here before? He had met Cleopatra, and a trip to the old capital
wouldn't have been surprising...
She looked up to see they had reached a large flat square. It was less crowded than the congested streets, and it
was formed of cracked, but still discernible marble. The square was dominated by a large building. Crumbling
pillars supported a sagging roof, and it was obvious that it had seen better days.
‘What is it?’ asked Ace.
‘It once was a palace. Now it serves as a collection point for petty bureaucrats to shuffle papers. Can't say I
approve of what they've done to the paintwork.’
‘So why are we here?’
‘Because any minute now this place is going to explode.’
‘You mean it?’ said Ace excitedly.
‘Figure of speech, Ace,’ replied the Doctor, well aware of Ace's enthusiasm for explosives.
‘Doctor?’ began Ace.
‘Hmmm?’
‘A couple of things that are still bothering me. Where was Rama during the performance? And what about that
carriage that disappeared?’
‘Well, they're both tied up in the operation of the Dalek powersphere, which Rama obviously knows how to use.
The sphere is an energy converter - able to convert any form of energy into any other form. Incredibly powerful,
and incredibly dangerous things. Can you imagine what would happen if every form of energy on the planet
was drained by a powersphere? No movement, no growth, no life, no geothermal energy, no heat. It would be
reduced to a frozen husk. Imagine being able to use the energy that makes every single particle in every single
atom move. It would be enough to scare even the Daleks. They only used them for a few years.
‘But anyway, Rama probably used the sphere to store the mental energy of his followers. Then he converted it
into sound and light for his show, while he was off stealing the sarcophagus. The sphere was probably able to
prerecord the exact display of lights and sound he wanted.’
‘Sort of like a film reel - just shine light through it and let it run?’
‘Exactly. Then he just released the rest of the power in one discharge to transport the carriage from England to
Egypt.’
‘Wow. And the Daleks are trying to get their hands on it?’
‘It's not the sort of thing you want lying around. If someone else gets their hands on it, it could be their doom. If
they get it first, they can either use, preserve it, or destroy it. Anyway you look at it, it isn't causing them a
problem anymore.’
The Doctor turned and saw a lone figure in white dashing across the square. 'Hello, it looks like the show is
about to start.’ At first there was no sign of pursuit. Then from a dozen different alleys swordsmen ran,
converging on the heavily outnumbered fugitive Ace identified as the girl she had rescued earlier.
‘Come on, Ace!’ Ace turned and saw the Doctor sprinting across the wide plaza, Sir Arthur puffing gamely
behind. Ace hesitated and dashed after them on an intercept course with the girl.
The young woman turned and saw them approaching her. She hesitated, torn by indecision, unsure of which
presented the greater threat - the swordsmen behind her, or the trio in front of her. In the pause the Doctor
reached her, and grabbed her hand.
‘We're friends here to help you. You can trust us or face them,’ he pointed to the approaching swordsmen, ‘but
decide quickly.’ The young woman nodded, a glint of fire returning to her eyes. Marking her agreement the
Doctor turned to Ace. ‘We need a diversion. Something to slow the hunters down.’
‘I thought you'd never ask!’ exclaimed Ace, gleefully rummaging in her rucksack. The Doctor had no time to
consider the wisdom of his request. Grabbing the girl's hand he dashed towards the doorway, Sir Arthur
doggedly jogging behind.
Meanwhile Ace had thrown the first of her ever-helpful cans of Nitro-9 in front of the approaching horde. As
the ground erupted before them, they fell to earth stunned. Satisfied with her handiwork, Ace turned and
sprinted after the Doctor, pausing only to roll another canister of Nitro-9 along the smooth surface of the plaza.
There was a satisfying thump as she plunged into the twilight world of the halls of antiquity.
A startled clerk looked up at her dishevelled appearance and looked down at her with contempt. She slammed
the door, locking it, and gazed around looking for the Doctor and his charges. She spied him entering a little
used service door as a sword slashed through the door, mere inches away. Abandoning the support of the door,
she made a bee-line for the service door, as the main entrance started to tremble under repeated heavy blows.
She was barely halfway across when she heard the clerk scream and a rolling rumble as the door collapsed.
It was a race for the door as the Arabs spilled into the expansive hallway. A dagger whistled past Ace. Glancing
back she saw one of her pursuers drawing another one. As he drew back, she launched herself into a rolling dive
across the slippery marble floor. The dagger clattered against a pillar and fell harmlessly to the ground.
Ace slipped through the service door. A corridor stretched away, with doors and corridors branching out on
either side. To the side a staircase spiralled upwards into the unknown. She was racked by a moment's
indecision before noticing a few drops of blood on the steps. Concerned, she climbed the stairs, as below the
swordsmen began to hack at the service door Ace had locked behind her.
She emerged onto a balcony. Her run took her perilously close to the edge and she experienced a moment of
dizziness as she looked across the rooftops of Memphis. Reasserting herself, she looked around and saw the
Doctor leaning over the crumpled form of the young woman. Dashing over she caught a few phrases of what
she was saying.
‘...I was recruited by Rama to be an acolyte. By helping him in his performance in London, I was able to get
promoted from neophyte to disciple. It was only later I learned that he had gone to England to rescue the Stone
of Amunra, which had been stolen by unbelievers. However I then discovered that my real destiny was to be the
sacrifice required for Rahtep's awakening. I escaped but they followed me. It was after your friend saved me
that I received my injury. I was careless and one of the brethren saw me.’
‘Kala, why are they chasing you so hard?’ asked the Doctor.
‘I stole the Stone of Amunra.’ From her tattered dress she produced a smoky grey orb.
The Doctor took it in his hand and examined it. ‘Definitely a Dalek Powersphere. Ace, you had better look after
this. It is too dangerous for her to carry it while she's injured.’
Ace looked down at the woman the Doctor called Kala. Blood was slowly seeping into the robe she wore, and
staining it a bright scarlet. Ace glanced up at the Doctor and saw the strangest expression on his face. It was a
look of deep sorrow, almost tragedy. For some reason it chilled Ace to the bone.
‘Doctor, they're coming,’ Sir Arthur called from the doorway.
‘Keep them busy for a few minutes. I think I've got our escape ticket.’ Ace started to search through her
rucksack again. Triumphantly she pulled out a steel link ladder and her last can of Nitro-9. She turned to Kala,
who was struggling to her feet. ‘Take this. If you get into trouble, pull the pin out, throw and run for cover.
You'll have the biggest explosion this side of Hiroshima.’
Kala gazed in intense concentration at the canister. ‘An explosive device. I have heard of such objects. The
British possess them, and Rama says they are the work of the Devil, but it is a gift I will treasure.’ She secreted
it in the folds of her robe.
Wasting no more time Ace secured the ladder and spilled it over the edge of the balcony. Behind her, Sir Arthur
was valiantly duelling, forstaying the swordsmen with great thrusts of his marlinspike. Seeing Kala safely on
her way down, Ace ran to join Sir Arthur as the Doctor began his descent.
Despite their combined efforts, the odds were hopeless. Slowly the pair were being pushed back. As she fought,
Ace found herself entangled. Slowly she was lifted up, caught by innumerable hands. Sir Arthur saw her plight
but realized the hopelessness of rescue. It was all he could do to fend off the attacking Arabs for long enough to
allow him to climb down the ladder.
When he reached the ground Kala and the Doctor were waiting with concern.
‘What happened to Ace?’
‘I'm afraid she was captured.’
‘Quickly Kala, where will they take her?’
‘The Temple of Amunra. They are holding the ceremony of awakening tonight. Ace will be taken along with
the other chosen imprisoned by Rama.’
‘Where is this temple?’
‘An hour's ride by camel. We can steal them from the market.’
‘Steal camels? You're almost as bad as Ace. Come on Sir Arthur - we've got a date with Amunra!’
Chapter 7
January 15, 1901 - Temple of Amunra
British Garrison Alerted After Riot
The British Garrison in Memphis has been put on alert, after armed Arabs
ran through Memphis yesterday, terrorizing civilians and damaging the
Council Offices. Explosions were heard, and three Europeans were seen in
the vicinity of the conflict. They are currently being sought by the
authorities and there are grave fears for their safety. General Ainsbury,
Commander-in-Chief of the Egypt garrison, fears this event may spark calls
for the withdrawal of the peace-keeping forces or even start a wider
conflict.
The Doctor looked on in amazement at the rows and rows of kneeling devotees. Hundreds of the white-robed
figures prostrated themselves before the imposing figure of the High Priest. Even from his distant vantage point,
the Doctor recognized him as Rama, the amazing Arab.
He glanced at Sir Arthur. He seemed to be handling the possibly life-threatening situation well. In fact, the
Doctor would have said he was relishing the experience.
He thought of Ace, and suppressed a nervous shiver. Her disappearance worried him. He only hoped his hunch
had been right, and she had been brought here, to the Temple of Amunra.
A sudden tap on his shoulder brought him whirling round. He relaxed as he saw it was only Kala. She had
silently returned from her prowl.
‘I found the other prisoners and released them as you instructed, Doctor. I regret there was no sign of your
friend, however. I am afraid she might have been taken to be prepared already.’
‘Prepared? For what?’
‘If the worshippers of Amunra have abducted her, Doctor, it means only one thing. She is going to be the
chosen sacrifice. Her life blood will go to Rahtep, so that he may rise again.’
‘Oh, Ace, what have you gotten yourself into?’ the Doctor whispered sadly. Suddenly, he noticed the chanting
had stopped. The High Priest was addressing his followers.
‘Brethren, the Nile has flooded two thousand one hundred and fifty eight times since the stone of Amunra fell to
the Earth. It was a gift from Amunra, a gift which enabled the great king, Rahtep, to rule the land fairly and
justly in His almighty light. But the Nile had scarcely flooded four times before those who would deny Amunra
cut down our glorious leader. These heretics attempted to destroy our movement, but through the centuries
Amunra guarded us. Rahtep's tomb was buried, the location hidden for thousands of years. The secret of
Amunra was passed from father to son, until I became the High Priest, guardian of Amunra. And then the lord
revealed to us the location of Rahtep's tomb, so that he may walk among us again. However he chose to test us,
giving the body of Rahtep to an unbeliever. But we were true to Amunra, and the unbeliever was punished. We
recovered the body of Rahtep and the means of his awakening. I present the stone of Amunra!’
Suddenly, in his hands he held the powersphere, radiating some inner light, shining almost blindingly bright.
The devotees resumed their chanting with almost desperate vigour.
'Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum, Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum.’
‘Of course,’ the Doctor whispered. ‘Rahtep Ularum. Rahtep will return. Rama must be planning to use the
powersphere to resurrect Rahtep.’
‘Bring on the chosen victim, to be one with Rahtep!’ boomed Rama. As the chanting reached new crescendos,
Ace was brought out struggling and blindfolded. She fought almost demonically against the two Arabs holding
her. The blindfold slipped down, and the Doctor quaked with fear. Ace's eyes had gone a pale yellow colour,
growing stronger by the minute. The planet of the cheetah people possessed her still, and her violent struggles
had caused it to manifest itself again. This time Ace might not be so lucky...
The Doctor was not the only worried person - Rama was also starting to quail. In a sudden surge of strength Ace
had thrown off the two followers restraining her, and started to advance.
The Doctor was despairing. Ace's own personality was almost completely submerged beneath that of the
cheetah people. And there was nothing he could do about it.
As Ace moved closer to Rama, it seemed almost as if two people were menacing him. The young girl in the
leather jacket, and yet in the same place, was another more bestial form. Rama did perhaps the only thing he
could. He raised the powersphere in front of him.
Ace was still moving forward, but much slower now. Her form was flickering between her own, and that of the
cheetah people, but now her own was appearing more often. The powersphere was glowing brighter. It was
literally absorbing the energy from Ace. Ace was now almost at a halt. She was still clawing wildly, but now
sluggishly, slowly. The energy dwindling from her, she slowly collapsed to the ground.
The powersphere was glowing brighter still. The Doctor felt a tug at his mind, and realized that the powersphere
was drawing the life energy of everyone in the temple. He saw Kala stagger, and then steel herself, leaning
against a pillar for support. Sir Arthur stumbled to his knees, clutching his head.
The effect on the devotees was even more profound. The chanting continued without pause, but some clutched
their heads, or fell, while others winced through clenched teeth, or chanted with a new desperation. One man
screamed, and was silenced. The High Priest was exultant as the powersphere soaked up the energy in the room.
Now, the powersphere was glowing furiously. Sir Arthur was forced to turn away from its unrelenting glare.
The Doctor seized his chance and started to walk towards Ace's fallen form. The ranks of worshippers were too
occupied by the pain of the powersphere to hinder his progress. As the Doctor mounted the steps to the platform
and passed the sarcophagus of King Rahtep, he had to struggle against the powersphere's ever hungry greed for
energy.
At the last minute, Rama turned to face the Time Lord. ‘You profane the temple of Amunra. Now feel his
wrath!’ The Doctor was buffeted by waves of energy, battering his defenses, and draining him of the will to
resist. It was doubtful how long even the Doctor could have survived, had not the powersphere suddenly flown
out of Rama's hand. The Doctor turned to see Ace, propped up against the sarcophagus, slingshot in hand.
As Rama scrabbled for the powersphere, the Doctor helped Ace to her feet and the pair struggled back toward
Kala and Sir Arthur.
As they reached the safety of the far wall, the Doctor turned and looked back. Rama once more held the
powersphere in his hand but now he had to struggle to control it. Its energies throbbed angrily, resisting Rama's
commands. Then a new factor entered the struggle.
From the sides, Daleks appeared, blocking off the exits. Allowing no chance of escape, they began firing
indiscriminately into the crowd of exhausted believers. Countless screams echoed the Daleks' energy weapons.
For the Doctor and the others, their problem was more immediate. Two Daleks had come to prevent escape,
from the far end. Now they had new targets.
The Doctor turned and saw Kala running towards them. He was about to shout to her to stop, when an energy
blast chipped away the pillar beside his head. Ducking down, he saw Kala taking out the can of Nitro-9 Ace had
given her.
The next few seconds would be etched in his memory forever. 'NO!!!’ Ace screamed, but it was too late.
Turning for one last look, Kala twisted the top. The explosion engulfed her and the Daleks, bringing the entire
wall down on top of them.
The Doctor turned to see Ace sobbing against a pillar, and Sir Arthur looking on in shock. It had all happened
too fast.
The battle should have been a total victory for the Daleks. But they had miscalculated. They had miscalculated
the force of Rama's will. And they had miscalculated the power the sphere held.
Rama knew how to use the powersphere. The knowledge had been passed on for countless generations,
surprisingly intact after two thousand years. Now was the time to use that knowledge.
He held up the powersphere, and a lightning bolt arced between it and the nearest Dalek. For a few seconds,
nothing happened. Then the top exploded, sending debris everywhere. The Daleks milled around uncertainly,
unable to react to this new threat. As another lightning bolt blew up a Dalek, they finally took action.
They turned to face the High Priest and fired. Then they realized the powersphere had absorbed their shots.
Confusion overwhelmed them as they tried to adapt to the situation. Some Daleks began firing randomly. Some
hit the pillars, knocking alarmingly large chunks of the walls. The temple chamber was starting to fill with
smoke from destroyed Daleks, falling masonry, flaming torches. In the chaos, some Dalek fire hit other Daleks
causing more explosions.
Rama was continuing to use the powersphere to deadly effect on the Daleks, as one after another they exploded.
Finally a stray shot exploded on the platform beneath his feet. He found himself falling, and landed heavily on
the hard stone floor, the powersphere rolling just out of reach. A large piece of the roof came crashing down,
trapping his legs.
Seeing this turn of events the Doctor led Ace and Sir Arthur across the wasteland of charred bodies, smoking
Daleks, and falling pillars. Weaving their way between the still dangerous Daleks, the Doctor finally reached
Rama and the powersphere.
‘I go to join Amunra,’ he croaked, barely audible. ‘Two thousand one hundred and fifty eight years ago, my
ancestor found this stone. It led to great power, and now to this. I go now to my forebears.’ The Doctor looked
desperately for a way of moving the stone, but Rama was gone.
The powersphere was now glowing an angry red, and the Doctor scooped it up before leading the trio out of the
falling temple. No Daleks blocked their escape. The outer corridors of the temple were strangely silent, as the
maelstrom whirled in the main chamber.
Dashing across the cool night sands, the powersphere was now throbbing, flickering erratically. In the Doctor's
hand it was getting uncomfortably warm.
Inside the main cavern, the Dalek leader was surveying the carnage, its eyestalk twitching agitatedly. All around
was smoke and destruction, and dying screams. As still larger blocks of masonry started to fall from the
crumbling ceiling, the Dalek started to speak.
‘The Time Lord has escaped. The powersphere has eluded us. Prepare to retreat.’ However this option was also
closed to him, as the remaining Daleks were engulfed by the collapsing entrance way.
‘We have been defeated. The mission is a failure. We will remember your actions Time Lord. When we meet
you next time, you will not escape so easily. It may take a thousand years, but we will remember this outrage,
and we will find you no matter where you try to hide in time or space!’ The lone Dalek continued to scream
vengeance as all around the temple collapsed.
The Doctor's teeth were clenched tight, as the throbbing pain of the powersphere seared his nerves. Somehow
he kept going across the sands, towards his objective - the Dalek shuttlecraft. He prayed the Daleks in their
arrogance had left it undefended.
With the last of his strength he hurled the powersphere into the open hatchway of the ship. A Dalek appeared in
the doorway, droning in the familiar monotone.
‘Halt! You are an enemy of the Daleks!’ The Doctor paid no heed as he turned and dragged Ace and Sir Arthur
to the ground. The Dalek's last words were lost as the shuttle was consumed by a storm of flames.
Ace turned back to face the pyramid.
‘Look, Doctor!’ Almost in slow motion the temple fell to ground, collapsing in a maelstrom of mortar and
falling stonework. A rolling thunder that seemed to last for an eternity, the dying of a culture. The destruction of
the great temple echoed the last lament of Amunra.
Epilogue
The plod of camels had been the only companion for the silence, ever since they had left the ruined temple. Ace
had been unusually silent.
‘You knew.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, but the accusing tone bit like ice. ‘You knew, didn't
you?’ she shouted. Ace brought her camel to a stop as the truth hit home. ‘You knew Kala was doomed the
moment you saw her! You knew she would die!’
The Doctor's voice was a fierce whisper. ‘I knew nothing. And I knew everything. We are cursed. All around us
we see life slipping away, like sands in an hourglass. We see it, and yet we are powerless to stop it. Everywhere
we see death and decay. Everywhere despair. Worst of all, we look at ourselves, and see the wasting. Oh, the
folly of our race. Rassilon's greatest gift to the people of Gallifrey was the greatest evil the universe has known.
Rassilon's curse, they named it, when they realized the tragedy of their decision. But by then it was too late. Far
too late. He gave us the ability to see the future. But only he saw the despair it would bring. For thousands of
years I have fought this curse. I left Gallifrey to try and preserve all that was beautiful and alive. Sometimes I
have succeeded in delaying the inevitable, yet at every turn I am thwarted. Everywhere I am pursued by
Rassilon's curse. Through time and space, everything I see alive - growing old, dying, reduced to dust. I have
failed. And every day I am reminded of the penalty of my failure.’
Torn by the magnitude of his admission the three were silent as the camels plodded towards the sunrise.

Glory of The Daleks

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Glory of the Daleks Foreword and Editor's Note

The end... or just the beginning?

Dashing in, he sealed the doors and prepared for take-off.

‘The intruder has been destroyed,’ the Dalek reported obediently.

January 14, 1901 - The Manor House, Berkshire

Police Investigate Mysterious Disappearances

Yesterday the police were called in as an eighth person disappeared,

‘I just can't understand it,’ reported Inspector Mackerby. ‘We haven't

- The Chronicle, 14/1/1901

From the depths of the TARDIS's interior a voice was heard.

‘Crabtree, isn't it?’

‘Yes, m'lord. Would you like to see the master?’

‘Yes, yes I would. Is he in?’

‘M'lord is reviewing his inheritance. If you would follow me, Mister..?’

‘Ah, Doctor actually.’

The butler led them along a corridor into a back room.

‘Well, time gets to us all eventually,’ replied the Doctor conversationally.

‘Sir Arthur, meet my companion Ace!’

‘What was that Doctor?’

‘Ace, there you are!’

‘Assassins, you say?’ said Sir Arthur incredulously.

‘But it seems totally preposterous! Arab assassins creeping around my garden!’

‘It is a possibility. But there is still something missing. Something important.’

‘A concert? Doctor, you're kidding - right?’

Arab's Final Performance Tonight

Seats from 2/-

- The Chronicle, 14/1/1901

‘I'd like two tickets for tonight's performance, please.’

‘What does he do, this Rama?’

‘Hello? Do you have an appointment?’

‘Yes, Hobbes, what is it?’

‘Two people to see you, Sir.’

‘I'm busy, Hobbes. Tell them to make an appointment.’

As Hobbes left, Litefoot stood pondering. ‘Giant rats...’

‘My dear Litefoot,’ the Doctor exclaimed from the doorway.

‘Heavens, this is most improper. Identify yourself at once!’

‘Litefoot, is that any way to greet a friend?’

‘I have never seen you before in my life.’

‘Don't you recognize the Doctor?’ Ace asked curiously.

‘But that's preposterous. He was...’

‘Actually, we're here for a holiday. Allow me to introduce my companion, Ace.’

‘What's your occupation?’ the Doctor translated.

‘That's what I said!’ she protested indignantly.

‘You cut up a bodies?’

‘That's one way to put it. I prefer to think of it as advancing science.’

‘What do you make of these disappearances, Litefoot?’

‘What about George Cartwright?’

‘Where was he found?’

‘Curiouser and curiouser.’

At that moment, the door opened and Hobbes entered.

‘Mr Jago, sir.’

‘Surely my eyes are deceiving me?’

‘An Arab cult, with strange purposes, and stranger ways.’

‘Professor?’ Litefoot glanced at the pair suspiciously.

When they were gone Jago turned to the pathologist.

‘Do you think it was really him?’

‘Doctor...’ began Ace.

‘What is it?’ whispered the Doctor.

‘What sort of important occasions?’

‘Only on the death or coronation of a king of the united kingdom.’

‘Who's Amunra? I seem to have forgotten that particular god.’

‘Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum, Rahtep, Rahtep Ularum.’