Assuming, of course, that Downs hadn’t managed to torture and kill the Doctor. It was an appealing thought but, frankly, rather unlikely. The Doctor could think rings around a cretin like that in his sleep. The most the Master was expecting was for Downs to delay the Doctor, and perhaps kill one or two of the human assistants the Doctor always seemed to pick up like stray dogs.

With a sigh, his TARDIS landed in the anteroom of the Dalek installation, and he reflected irritatedly on the Dalek scrambling‐technology operating inside the Artefact that prevented his TARDIS from landing inside. He used his scanner to check the area outside, but there was nobody there. His eyebrow rose when he saw that the doors were open. The programme was complete, then, and access to the weapon was his! Eagerly, he left his craft, locking it carefully behind him, and proceeded through the main door.

And stopped immediately. From either side of the door, Daleks trained their guns on him. He didn’t know where they were from or how they had come to be here, but they were not likely to be in good humour.

‘Ah, there you are,’ he improvised, with a small bow. ‘Good, I’m glad to see that you’re on the alert. Take me to your control centre immediately.’

‘Daleks do not take orders from humans,’ the one on the left stated.

‘I’m not a human,’ the Master explained patiently. ‘I have been working for the Daleks now for some time. I must check in with your commander to receive an update on my orders.’ He gestured towards his pocket. ‘I have confirmation for what I say here. Don’t be alarmed while I retrieve it.’

‘Proceed,’ the Dalek agreed. It did not, however, lower its gun‐stick.

The Master reached into his coat. His fingers brushed his TCE, and then moved to a small computer disk which he brought out slowly. ‘These are my credentials from the Dalek Prime,’ he explained. ‘If you check them you will see that I am telling the truth.’

The Dalek considered. It was most likely calling for orders from higher up, unable to make decisions like this on its own. After a moment, it said, ‘You will go before me. Your information will be investigated.’

‘Of course,’ the Master agreed. He slipped the disk back into his pocket and palmed his TCE. ‘As you command.’ He started down the corridor. One Dalek fell in behind him, the other remaining on duty to guard against further intruders. The Master walked swiftly, scanning the corridor and side corridors as he went. There didn’t seem to be many Daleks about, which was to the good. While his credentials were reasonably good, he could hardly chance their being checked. If these Daleks had access to Skaro Central, they’d be sure to read that the Master had failed the Daleks on his last mission, and they had only one punishment for failure.

As soon as he was alone with his escort, therefore, the Master spun around, and applied his TCE to the dome of the Dalek. Triggering it sent powerful energies tearing through the Dalek. It didn’t even have sufficient time to fire at him as its computers and the living thing inside the shell were both attacked and compressed by the Master’s weapon.

Brushing the six‐inch inert Dalek into a side room, the Master followed it in. There was a small computer panel there, and he smiled. Just what he needed. A little hacking, and he’d discover just where in this complex the weapon he was after was stored…

Lord London stared at his map board again, his stomach churning worse than before. He’d managed to take a little milk, but it had done him no good. The claws were starting to move into place about New London now, and it would be only a matter of an hour or so before his escape route was cut off completely. If he stayed here to fight, he was bound to be captured, tortured and then executed. Haldoran would never allow either him or his immediate family to live. They would only be a seed for rebellion.

He’d arranged for his sons’ families to get to runabouts that would take them to safety. All that was left now was himself and Donna – and he was unable to locate her anywhere. He was becoming more and more certain that she’d disobeyed his strict instructions once more and gone off somewhere with this Doctor she’d found. Damn the girl!

Well, that was her problem now. He’d done all he could for her, despite her treatment of him and his honour. She’d shamed him publicly, ruined his plans for any kind of peace with Haldoran, and disobeyed him constantly. Perhaps it was time she paid for her mistakes, instead of his sheltering her once again from the consequences of her actions.

He turned to McAndrew, Durgan and Broadhurst. ‘I’m leaving now,’ he informed them. ‘I have to get out of the city before Haldoran’s men arrive. You may do as you wish, but I would strongly advise against waiting for the inevitable.’

Broadhurst scowled. ‘You’ve changed your tune. You’re fleeing New London without even putting up a token defence?’ he growled.

‘What defence is there?’ London asked wearily. ‘They’ve wrecked most of our army. All we can do now is to escape.’

‘We’ll never be able to get our families out before they arrive,’ Durgan whined. ‘There isn’t time for that. They’ll be trapped here and killed.’

‘You should have planned for it,’ London informed him coldly ‘I did.’

‘So did I,’ McAndrew added, smiling slightly. He moved, and London was abruptly aware of something in the man’s hand a second before McAndrew used the knife to slice through his throat…

McAndrew watched as London gasped, choking on his own blood, clutching at his half‐severed neck as if to somehow stop the spray. Specks dotted McAndrew’s jacket and face, but he ignored them and the near‐dead man, turning to look at his shocked comrades.

‘We now have something to offer for our lives,’ he explained. ‘Proof positive that London is defeated and dead.’ He kicked the former Lord as he collapsed, choking and dying, to the floor. ‘This carcass can buy us our lives and our freedom.’

Durgan looked ready to faint any second; the man was a weak fool. But Broadhurst nodded his understanding. He, at least, seemed to appreciate necessity.

‘I think we’d better contact Haldoran,’ Broadhurst said slowly. ‘And negotiate our surrender.’

Nodding, McAndrew moved towards the communication equipment. Something could yet be salvaged from their defeat…

It seemed as if her torture was never going to end. Donna stared up at Barlow’s astonishingly impassive face as he regarded her, David and the Doctor. His men had them surrounded, and there was no way they could fight their way free. Barlow held out his hand and she meekly turned over her pistol.

‘I have a strange suspicion that I’m looking at the remains of the weapons I returned to collect,’ he commented.

‘Quite correct,’ the Doctor agreed, sitting up.

‘Ah.’ Barlow nodded slightly. ‘I was looking forward to using them, too. Well, can any of you think of a good reason why I shouldn’t have you executed here and now?’

‘Yes,’ said Donna and the Doctor at precisely the same moment.

Barlow raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, it looks as though I may have been a trifle hasty.’ His eyes met Donna’s. ‘Perhaps we’d better let ladies go first.’

‘Because there’s no point to it,’ she answered. ‘Haldoran’s dead. I blew what few brains he had out.’

That got some reaction at last from the soldier. Not grief, certainly, and not exactly relief. Donna couldn’t recall Barlow very well. He’d been considered a good soldier, but he’d never indulged in the popular pastime of torturing her that Downs and Portney had so enjoyed. He’d been considered a trifle odd. All she could remember of him was that he had a wife and a couple of children, and that he was a brutally efficient warrior. Complicated emotions seemed at play within him right now.