One of his aides hurried up to him and saluted. ‘Sir, there’s a delegation from the city to see you. They wish to discuss surrender terms.’

Craddock raised an eyebrow. ‘Do they indeed? That’s a lot more sensible than I expected Lord London to be.’

The aide cracked a smile. ‘I gather he isn’t exactly behind this as such. One of the men is carrying his head.’

‘Ah…’ Craddock understood now. London’s men had been even more demoralised than he had expected. While it would be possible to lay siege to London and take it, it would be wasteful of lives and probably destroy a lot of useful buildings and industries. A negotiated surrender was far to be preferred. ’Well,’ he said cheerfully, let’s not keep them waiting. I don’t imagine London’s head will smell any better for a delay.’ He strode briskly off towards his victory.

Donna glanced at the Doctor, who had been fretting the whole way back to DA‐17. It wasn’t hard to understand why, if he was correct about the Daleks somehow having been reborn. She’d heard so many stories from so many people about the days Earth was ruled by the Daleks, and every one of them had made her shudder.

The only emotions they knew were rage and hatred, and they despised human beings. Donna could remember Haldoran being gentle with his children, so there was some spark of decency left in the worst of human beings. But the Daleks possessed no such thing – nor did they desire it.

If the Daleks had been resurrected, it would mean unimaginable horror.

She hugged herself as the runabouts sped towards their target. She and the Doctor were with two of Barlow’s men. She supposed that they were guards, even though they paid very little attention to either her or the Doctor. Donna tried to sort out her feelings about Barlow. At first he’d seemed little more than another professional killer. Certainly he spoke and acted about life as if it was of little importance to him. Yet, at the same time, he was clearly not the kind of man Haldoran or Downs had been. There was a coldness and a calculated air about the man, but he didn’t seem to enjoy killing. To him it was simply a necessity, a means to an end. He’d spared Haldoran’s children even when Brittany had been willing to sacrifice their lives to further her own ends. Why? They could only end up being trouble for him. Or was he simply trying to give the appearance of mercy, and aimed to murder them later anyway?

What was she to do now? According to Barlow, New London was poised to fall to his and Craddock’s combined troops, and the attack was still being pressed despite Haldoran’s death. Barlow was the heir presumptive, and Donna didn’t know how to take this. Would he be any better than Haldoran had been? He could hardly be worse, but that wasn’t a recommendation. What irritated her the most was that there was a small part of her that perversely seemed to like the man, even though he was partially responsible for the raid on London and attempting to overthrow and kill her father. It had all the air of a Greek tragedy about it. And here she was, working with him and the Doctor. It felt… odd. And, once more perversely, almost enjoyable.

The runabout came to a silent halt, and Donna could see that dawn had broken. Faint pink light illuminated the fresh landscape outside. It looked like being a glorious day, the storm having vanished overnight. It didn’t seem right. If the Daleks were rising from their graves, there ought to be lightning flashing and thunder rolling, not birds singing and a soft breeze playing.

The Doctor hopped out of the vehicle without a word and started forward. Donna and the two soldiers hurried to fall in behind him. The other runabouts drew up and disgorged their passengers. David and Barlow moved to join them.

‘There’s some kind of detection system,’ the Doctor informed them all. ‘The Master – the man you know as Estro – stole it from the Draconians a short time ago. In which case, it’ll use infrasonics.’ He had his sonic screwdriver in his hand, and made a slight adjustment to it. ‘This should set up a counterpulse that will create a null area in the shield for us to walk through.’ Then he grinned at last. ‘Theoretically!’ He marched on without stopping.

‘Let’s hope you’re right, Doctor,’ Barlow said. He was carrying what looked like an antique grenade launcher. Donna eyed it with envy, feeling naked without a weapon.

‘Where did you get that?’ she asked. ‘And how much ammo do you have for it?’

‘Museum,’ he answered briefly ‘And ten shells. It’ll blow the hell out of even a Dalek. Ten times if my aim is good. I’ve been told small‐arms fire isn’t much use against them.’

‘It doesn’t even irritate them,’ the Doctor informed them. ‘So you’re better off without a gun if you meet them. They may save you for last to kill. This way.’ He moved towards the rise looking down on DA‐17. ‘Odd that there’s no sign of guards up here, isn’t it?’

‘You’re neutralising their alarm,’ David pointed out. ‘Why would they be checking?’

‘They had better be,’ Barlow answered gruffly. ‘My men aren’t trained to rely entirely on electronics. There should be foot patrols as well. The Doctor’s right, we should have heard or seen one by now.’

‘Maybe they’ve been taken out,’ Donna suggested, wishing she didn’t have to be the one to voice what they all clearly felt.

‘We’ll soon find out,’ the Doctor announced. ‘Everybody down.’ They all crawled to finish the journey to the edge of the cutting, and they cautiously looked out at DA‐17.

Donna shuddered as the Doctor uttered the name they had lived in fear of all their lives: ‘Daleks’.

There were a dozen Daleks moving slowly around the opening to the pit. With them were armed men, all wearing bulky helmets of a style she didn’t recognise.

‘What’s going on here?’ Barlow demanded softly. ‘Those men with the Daleks are ours.’

‘Not any longer,’ the Doctor replied grimly. ‘They’ve undergone robotisation. The Daleks have drained their will and personality and replaced them with mental implants that have turned them into robotic slaves. They’re not your men or anyone’s any longer. They’re no longer human, They’re just machines that walk around and do exactly what the Daleks order, without hesitation or question.’

Donna shuddered at the thought. It was too much like the tales of zombies she’d heard as a teenager, and the idea of being an animated corpse with no knowledge of self, or of needs, scared her. It would be a mercy to kill them.

‘What are the Daleks doing, Doctor?’ David asked, trying to make sense of what they were all seeing.

‘Expanding their perimeter,’ the Doctor explained. ‘See those devices on their backs? These Daleks can’t get too far from a source of broadcast power or they die. We’re lucky that this means the vicinity of the Artefact. But they’ve seized Haldoran’s communications equipment, and they’re converting it to their own use. If they can get that to mesh with their own equipment, they’ll be able to travel as far as the horizon – and, if there are any working satellites still left in orbit, probably further. We’ve got to stop them now, before they get that operational. If they’re stuck down a hole, we might be able to contain them, but if they’re on the loose, it could be impossible.’

Barlow nodded his understanding. ‘Then our immediate target is that transmitter,’ he decided. ‘We have to take it out. My job, I think.’

‘Good man,’ the Doctor said approvingly, his grim expression softening a little. ‘But let’s get a little more planning done before you do that.’ He studied the Daleks below, his face tense. ‘It’s obvious that this super‐weapon of theirs was a trap to lure the Master into providing them with the power they needed to restore their systems. There’s obviously some sort of Dalek hatchery in there producing nasty little embryos. And there must be some sort of assembly line producing the casings and computers. Now the organic part is easy enough to obtain, but it’s got to be a lot harder for them to build their shells. Where would they be getting the metal from?’