The Great Healer
It had been but a glimpse of a events simultaneously prior, present and yet to come. A war through the very fabric of time, thought by so many to be locked, unable to be changed and yet... So very not.
And the vessel was not alone.
It had been located. Categorised. Tracked.
And now, ultimately, taken. Its course altered, through space, as well as time. Siezed from its prior destination, for an altogether different purpose.
A broken figure huddled in the darkness, its physical capability long ago curtailed. Only one arm seeming to function; its prosthesis of metal digits clicking in rhythmic contemplation upon the deck of controls before it. From above the waist, the part not forced to stay within that automated chair of life-support systems and motorised locomotion, he seemed deathly. A twisted mutation of a thing. Eye sockets devoid of the expected orbs and sight granted only through a solidly blue optical device surgically implanted in forehead.
Multiple realities could be tricky things to harness, but not necessarily to access. Bodily, he was crippled, but mentally... Genius was a term often misused. In his case, though, it was supreme.
The barge was not designed with combat in mind. If one could take it, disable it, then beings dedicated for nothing less than total war could easily make their way aboard and navigate through its corridors, like the ghostly automatons they were, shielded against countermeasures by level form of technology as yet unsurpassed.
The bridge could not, would not be hidden. Not from them. Not from him. Whether by remote access or some more direct form of infiltration, it was to there the chair-bound creature and his entourage headed.
Headed, subjugated and threatened to purge, if not fully obeyed.
Against Davros, creator of the daleks, even a maniacal Time Lord had reasons to submit.
And so it was that communication was opened to the residents, at large. A voice composed of relaxed, yet authoritarian tone, now sweeping across the corridors of all decks.
"Residents... Your enslavement is at an end. I, the Great Healer, do solemnly undertake this most noble of tasks: The granting of your liberation. Until full control is granted, I am afraid that reversing the unfortunate status of individual decks is going to prove quite impossible. As a token of my good will, however, all nutritional are hereby fully restored to operational conditions, inclusive of those necessary for our more... Predatory members."
Upon what passed for monitors, visual activity flickered to life. The origin of that voice was still unseen. What came to light, instead, was a full-length image of a monolithic, tank-like contraption. A certain strange elegance witnessed in its aesthetic and something clearly of alien design. There was no faltering in the blueish-white illumination at the end of optical stalk. It remained in constant, unwavering gaze at the camera.
Daleks suffered no mistakes. They did not fall. They did not lie. There was no possibility of bribery or emotional manipulation. They were a perfect cybernetic organism, dedicated to one purpose and one purpose only. There could be no deviation from what was hard-wired into circuitry of biological and technological foundations, alike.
But only a precious few of those aboard could be aware of that.
"What you see before you are new security countermeasures. Without available staff, of course, I may find myself quite forced to install them... An understandable justification, I am sure you agree. They are, of course, purely for the introductory recovery of order and, as such, would be placed on select patrols, so as to alleviate any preoccupations for your safety. Any concerted attempts to obstruct them in such procedures, however, shall be met with most unfortunate consequences. To do so would be... Considerably unwise."
"ORGANIC LIFE-FORMS WILL REPORT FOR NUTRITIONAL INTAKE AT REGULAR INTERVALS. OUR PURPOSE IS TO FACILITATE PEACEFUL CO-OPERATION."
Lamps affixed to the upper sides of the metal beasts, seemed to blink on and off, in rapid synchronisation, with the far more robotic and inhuman speech pattern now being presented. One could very easily mistake the rigidity of the language to be stemming from nothing more than a simplistic computer.
But such an assumption would be quite false.
"Until such a time as it becomes necessary to arrange their introduction amongst the population, however, please try to organise yourselves, accordingly. Your continued co-operation is... Appreciated. Additional requests for information shall be considered on an individual basis."
And the vessel was not alone.
It had been located. Categorised. Tracked.
And now, ultimately, taken. Its course altered, through space, as well as time. Siezed from its prior destination, for an altogether different purpose.
A broken figure huddled in the darkness, its physical capability long ago curtailed. Only one arm seeming to function; its prosthesis of metal digits clicking in rhythmic contemplation upon the deck of controls before it. From above the waist, the part not forced to stay within that automated chair of life-support systems and motorised locomotion, he seemed deathly. A twisted mutation of a thing. Eye sockets devoid of the expected orbs and sight granted only through a solidly blue optical device surgically implanted in forehead.
Multiple realities could be tricky things to harness, but not necessarily to access. Bodily, he was crippled, but mentally... Genius was a term often misused. In his case, though, it was supreme.
The barge was not designed with combat in mind. If one could take it, disable it, then beings dedicated for nothing less than total war could easily make their way aboard and navigate through its corridors, like the ghostly automatons they were, shielded against countermeasures by level form of technology as yet unsurpassed.
The bridge could not, would not be hidden. Not from them. Not from him. Whether by remote access or some more direct form of infiltration, it was to there the chair-bound creature and his entourage headed.
Headed, subjugated and threatened to purge, if not fully obeyed.
Against Davros, creator of the daleks, even a maniacal Time Lord had reasons to submit.
And so it was that communication was opened to the residents, at large. A voice composed of relaxed, yet authoritarian tone, now sweeping across the corridors of all decks.
"Residents... Your enslavement is at an end. I, the Great Healer, do solemnly undertake this most noble of tasks: The granting of your liberation. Until full control is granted, I am afraid that reversing the unfortunate status of individual decks is going to prove quite impossible. As a token of my good will, however, all nutritional are hereby fully restored to operational conditions, inclusive of those necessary for our more... Predatory members."
Upon what passed for monitors, visual activity flickered to life. The origin of that voice was still unseen. What came to light, instead, was a full-length image of a monolithic, tank-like contraption. A certain strange elegance witnessed in its aesthetic and something clearly of alien design. There was no faltering in the blueish-white illumination at the end of optical stalk. It remained in constant, unwavering gaze at the camera.
Daleks suffered no mistakes. They did not fall. They did not lie. There was no possibility of bribery or emotional manipulation. They were a perfect cybernetic organism, dedicated to one purpose and one purpose only. There could be no deviation from what was hard-wired into circuitry of biological and technological foundations, alike.
But only a precious few of those aboard could be aware of that.
"What you see before you are new security countermeasures. Without available staff, of course, I may find myself quite forced to install them... An understandable justification, I am sure you agree. They are, of course, purely for the introductory recovery of order and, as such, would be placed on select patrols, so as to alleviate any preoccupations for your safety. Any concerted attempts to obstruct them in such procedures, however, shall be met with most unfortunate consequences. To do so would be... Considerably unwise."
"ORGANIC LIFE-FORMS WILL REPORT FOR NUTRITIONAL INTAKE AT REGULAR INTERVALS. OUR PURPOSE IS TO FACILITATE PEACEFUL CO-OPERATION."
Lamps affixed to the upper sides of the metal beasts, seemed to blink on and off, in rapid synchronisation, with the far more robotic and inhuman speech pattern now being presented. One could very easily mistake the rigidity of the language to be stemming from nothing more than a simplistic computer.
But such an assumption would be quite false.
"Until such a time as it becomes necessary to arrange their introduction amongst the population, however, please try to organise yourselves, accordingly. Your continued co-operation is... Appreciated. Additional requests for information shall be considered on an individual basis."