I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Back in the office, the Doctor put the magazine down, and was sitting upright. After a pause, he spoke softly, trying to remain calm. “I thought you’d died with the others. How did you escape?” The man in the dark suit gave an oily chuckle.

“Simple, really. I used a personal force field. A technology borrowed from the Quominides. They were quite an intelligent race, very quick and agile as well…and very tasty.” The Doctor frowned. “I didn’t come here to discuss your love of fast food. What are you doing here?”

“Oh, all in good time, Doctor, all in good time. As the humans say, ‘patience is a virtue.’ But you, Doctor. What brings you here? I was so hoping that we would meet again, and here you are. It is, as they say in certain parts of this planet, kismet.”

The Doctor leaned back, putting his hands behind his head. “Oh, I rather like the cold, you see. Thought I’d hang around the city, enjoying the nice crisp weather. Good for the lungs you know, less pollutants in the air.” The white phone on the man’s desk rang. He picked it up. “Yes. Yes. Prepare them immediately for the harvesting. How many? Good. But we need more. Oh, I’d say about five hundred thousand should do for a start. Yes, of course, that will be fine. Oh, and bring one up for me, would you? It’s time for my breakfast.”

The Doctor eyed the man in black, his mind working furiously. Five hundred thousand? Of what? In answer to his question, the door opened. The Ice Warrior shoved a man through the office door. The man walked in stiffly, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. He marched, mechanically, into the middle of the room, until the warrior whispered “Halt.” The man was in his late twenties, dressed in navy coveralls and a neon green safety vest--a refuse collection worker, by the looks of him, the Doctor thought.

The Doctor at first, thought perhaps, that the man was oblivious to his surroundings. However, when the Doctor got up and walked over to the man, he could see that the man was completely aware of what was happening to him. It was in his eyes--they were filled with a mixture of helplessness and sheer terror.

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed as he whirled to face the dark figure still seated in the chair. “Whatever you did to this man, I want it stopped. Do you hear? Right now!” The figure stood, and smiled condescendingly, saying, “You are in no position to demand anything, Doctor, and you know it.”

The Doctor stood there and thrust his hands in his pockets. “What did you do to him? What’s it for?” The man smiled. "A simple technique, really. We take these humans, and process them through a relstrich stimulator, then use them as we need them.” The Doctor’s expression changed to one of horror.

“A relstritch stimulator? But they were banned by my people eons ago--how could you know about that? And where did you ever find one? Even your lot hasn’t the technological skills to build one of those. That anyone would even want to change a being’s brain chemicals so that you obliterate their free will--not their emotions, not their thought processes--just their ability to act on their own--besides the fact that the whole process is excruciatingly painful--that’s…” The Doctor groped for the right words, “a fate worse than death, if you ask me.”

The man turned on his heel and faced the Doctor and the refuse collector. “But I didn’t ask you, did I, Doctor? Now stand aside.” He gave a smug little smile. “It’s time for my breakfast.”

The Doctor said, “What?” incredulously. “You’re not…” But before he could utter another word, there was a flurry of wings and a horrible screech as a winged creature materialized seemingly out of nowhere and swooped down on the petrified man standing helpless in the middle of the room. The man only had time to utter a brief, incoherent shriek, before the creature ate him.

It happened so quickly, all the Doctor could do was step back helplessly. He turned away, then stopped stock still. “Wait a minute. Processed…that’s what you meant when you--Martha!” With a panicked look on his face, the Doctor bolted for the door, hoping to catch the warrior there by surprise. He heard a commanding screech from the creature, as the Ice warrior aimed his weapon at the Doctor. A bolt a light shot out, and the Doctor cried out and dropped to the floor. “I’m sorry, Martha,” he whispered, as his vision darkened and consciousness left him.