Stillman was on his way to see Torpes when he was accosted by one of the workers he’d tried to persuade some cycles earlier.
“Mr Stillman,” said Oscar tendentiously. “How good to see you, are you busy?”
Stillman looked behind him to check they weren’t being watched: “No, not really,” he said.
“Good, that is good, then you must come with me to see the reactors where I work,” he said breezily. “They are a most marvellous feat of engineering.”
He led Stillman down a series of steep metal staircases into the very bowels of the factory. They came to a giant windy tunnel that stretched for miles in all directions: “This is part of the reactor cooling system, feel that air? It’s being warmed by the reactor which is located several miles down the tunnels!”
Stillman sighed: “Look I’m sure no one can hear us down here, so you can cut the guided tour crap!”
Oscar nodded gratefully, looking round once more he turned to Stillman: “Well, you heard what happened in the square two nights ago?”
Stillman gulped: “Yes, unfortunately”-
“A lot of my people are very worked up,” continued Oscar. “They want to get back at the Daleks so bad it hurts.”
“I thought that’s what we were all doing just by working here?”
Oscar shot him a glaring eye, before catching the irony: “Ah yes, very witty Mr. Stillman. None of us has ever been that stupid.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“But we all had people in those cells Mr Stillman,” he said. “We all hurt badly now.”
“I had people in there as well,” said Stillman. Though ‘people’ wasn’t really correct; he had Jane in there. Maybe she was still out there somewhere, but he didn’t dare to hope.
“Then we are both agreed then,” said Oscar. “We work together to bring them down, every single one of the bastards!”
“Amen to that,” said Stillman, looking with interest down the long tunnel. “Tell me more about this reactor set-up…”
The Red Dalek came to inspect progress at Invidious’ Laboratory.
“Report!”
One of the Daleks who had been working on the teleport panel came forward: “Initial decrypting of the user log is complete. We will need an extra three rels to isolate the last destination code.”
“You have two,” said the Section Leader. “Report to me as soon as you have found it.”
“I obey.”
He needed to contact the human agents at the Mark V Factory, make sure that their rebellion would happen as planned. The Section Leader experienced a certain exhilaration of the prospect ahead- soon the Emperor would pay for his abomination.
“You wanted to see me Torpes?”
“Yes, Stillman, that was several rels ago, but better late than never, eh?” said the Overseer testily. “Better shut the door behind you.”
Stillman did, he noticed the grimmer than usual expression on Torpes’ face. “Something wrong?”  he asked innocently.
“Something wrong?”  spluttered Torpes, red-faced. “Nearly sixty-thousand people are dead not five miles from here and you ask what’s wrong!”
“None of us are unaffected by that!” Stillman yelled back. “I’m sorry for your wife, I really am”-
“Are you? How very touching!”
“But we haven’t time to grieve now,” said Stillman. “We’ve the fate of our species balancing on our shoulders!”
“Bollocks to the species!” spat Torpes angrily. “If they all died out tomorrow I couldn’t give a damn! How can the species help me carry on; there was only ever one of them whom I really cared for about and she’s dead now!”
“Then do it for her than,” said Stillman. “Do it for her and all the other people the Daleks have butchered. Do it out of blind vengeance if need be!”
Both men stood facing each other as if either one of them could suddenly crack at any moment and grab the other in a half nelson. Eventually Torpes regained enough composure to get down to business.
“The Section Leader has sent me a message,” he said passing a printout to Stillman. “He wants us to proceed to the next stage tonight.”
“Tonight!” said Stillman aghast. “But we haven’t finished testing the Psionic Laser yet!”
“I don’t suppose that matters to him,” said Torpes.
“I have to agree with you there,” said Stillman. “Just as well I was late getting here.”
“Why?”
“Because I picked up a few converts to the cause on the way,” said Stillman and he explained to Torpes about his meeting with Oscar.
“Good,” said Torpes. “Then we have a fair chance of succeeding if we get the timing right.”
“Yes, I believe so. The atmosphere is very different now, people are on edge, things are going on elsewhere, which are having an affect on how they perceive things here. Something is going to give, sooner rather than later.”

The lookout saw Olsen and his men approaching from about half a click away, their boots kicked up enough dust for a small host. Luton was alerted and arranged his men at strategic points along the roof of the processing plant.
“I want no shooting, unless I order it,” he shouted. “No blood is to be spilt if it can be helped. Bring me Venables.”
One of the men nodded and disappeared down below and returned several minutes later with a badly beaten Venables. The Overseer looked dusty in his usually immaculate uniform and his pants were still dark from where he had wet himself during the fight for the plant. “What do you want with me?” he asked in a quavering voice.
“Shut-up and come over here!” growled Luton. In the distance the column of dust was getting larger. The Overseer reluctantly complied; when he was closer Luton grabbed him with his good hand and held his head over the parapet. “One foot closer and his head is the first part of him we throw down!”
Olsen waved his men to a stop; Luton was surprised how few of them there actually were, barely a dozen all around. Surely Olsen didn’t believe he could storm the place with such a piddling force as that?
“You can throw the little shit down if you like!” shouted Olsen. “It’s not him I’m worried about!”
“Your not getting this plant Olsen!” shouted Luton.
“I don’t want the damn plant!” yelled Olsen. “But neither do you really, you want a ticket out of here, don’t you?”
Luton was suspicious: “What d’you mean? There ain’t no way out of this hell-hole!”
“So what do you want, Luton?” asked Olsen. “Death or Glory? Negotiate with the Daleks? You think they're big on industrial relations?”
“They can’t get to us here, the rocks’ll play havoc with their systems!”
“So you say, so you say, but can you be that sure?”
“Get to the point Olsen, I haven’t time for your stupid games!”
Olsen held up his hands and walked forward, gesturing to his men to stay back. “No use shouting to each other from a hundred yards away”-
“Stay back!” growled Luton, pushing Venables’ face further out over the parapet.
“Look I’m unarmed!” Olsen yelled, twirling round so that his opponent could see. “I’m here to parley! We’ve much to talk about!”
Luton continued to hold Venables face over the parapet; eventually he relented and signalled to one of his men. “Okay Olsen, you’ll get your parley!”
On the outer surface of the asteroid a great army of Mark V Daleks was being assembled in the shadows of large crater. Many thousands of them continued to pour up from the elevators that were linked to the production lines. From a sealed capsule on the surface, the Supreme Dalek watched as the first of the ships of the Dalek fleet approached from deep space, opening its vast holding bay doors as it came to a stop over the crater. At a given signal the lines of Daleks began to ascend in order directly into the holding bay.
A senior Dalek interrupted him: “Supreme Dalek, a group of human slaves has seized control of the dark matter processing plant. Dark matter production has ceased.”
“Unacceptable!” roared the Supreme Dalek. “Production needs to resume immediately!”
“The conventional Daleks are unable to take back the processing plant due to the distortions created in their electrical fields.”
“Order the release of a group of Mark V Daleks,” said the Supreme Dalek. “We need to make an example of these human beings!”
“I obey!”
Olsen emerged from the processing plant a couple of hours after he went in, wearing a face like thunder. Orpheus was waiting for him.
“Bloody pig-headed fool won’t listen to reason!”
“I take it he’s not coming out then?” asked Orpheus.
“No, he isn’t,” said Olsen, taking one last look at the compound. Luton was looking down at him, a smile masking the funereal air about him. “At least I convinced him we’re on the same side now. But he wants to fight it out until the end.”
“You think the Daleks will come?”
“Oh, they’ll come alright,” said Olsen. “We better get back to the mines before they arrive!”
The rest of that long afternoon the Daleks buzzed the plant from a long way off; most of this was purely psychological in intent as they rarely approached within more than a kilometre. When they did they not infrequently had problems controlling their hoverbouts as the effect of the Dark Matter took hold. Olsen had evacuated everyone to the mines as he suspected the first place the Daleks would hit would be the sleeping quarters. Sure enough a column of smoke ascending into the afternoon sky confirmed his fears.
Over on the roof of the processing plant, Luton joined his men at the lookout.
“Any sign of them?” he asked.
“Not a peep for over an hour now,” said Armstrong, one of Luton’s lieutenants.
“What are they playing at?” he wondered.
“I don’t know, but it”-
“Sh!” hissed Luton suddenly. “Can you hear that?”
Both men strained to listen as a faint insect like drone gradually got louder.
“That ain’t a normal hoverbout,” muttered Armstrong, scanning the rocky horizon for signs of where the noise was coming from. It was now increasing in depth as well as volume, a bass intensity overtaking the insect whine.
“Their coming from all around us!” cried Luton.
Torpes and Stillman had been busy that afternoon, rushing from one end of the plant to the other in order to talk to workers and draw up last minute plans. Stillman even managed to drop in on the secluded laboratory where Lemuel was slaving away with a technician in order to get the Psionic Laser ready.
“Its not my field of expertise!” protested Lemuel.
“Then today is your crash course friend,” said Stillman. “Are you confident that it will work?”
Lemuel glanced anxiously to Arnolds the technician. “Yeah, probably work,” murmured Arnolds. “Can’t say until we start firing it.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll get all the target practice you need soon,” said Stillman.
Towards the end of that afternoon Jenkins, the plant controller, ordered a compulsory general meeting in the main hall. This was perfect for Stillman, as it meant that close to a five thousand workers would be packed into the area they normally had their meals. As it was the hall was even more crowded than normal, as a giant telescreen twelve metres high by twenty across had been mounted against one wall. There was an air of expectation as Jenkins addressed the crowd from a raised platform.
“Silence for the Supreme Dalek!” his nasal tones rang through the speakers. From behind him the view screen sprang into life and a giant image of the Supreme Dalek glared at the workers from his base on the asteroid’s outer surface.
“People of New Skaro, your fate is bound to that of your masters, the Daleks!”
Stillman watched the crowd intently to try and see how this was being received. Mostly he saw scowling angry faces; that was good. For him the moment of action had to be carefully judged, like the flipping of a domino that causes a cascade to follow.
“There cannot be two masters, one race must serve the other, that is the law of the universe. If you decide not to serve us then you become our enemy!”
The scowling started to turn to muttering and here and there around the chamber Stillman could see the Robomen preparing for trouble. Full body armour and big guns on display seemed to be the order of the day. Jenkins looked as if he felt very vulnerable up in front of all these angry people.
“Which is why the rebellion at the dark matter processing plant cannot be tolerated!” The picture on the screen cut away to show a collection of metallic buildings jutting out of a dusty landscape. Stillman had never seen the processing plant from up close and so was taken aback by the scale of the place, which like the factory, spread out over several hectares of land. However the main focus was on a relatively small building some way down on the left of the screen. This building was where the angry swarm of Daleks was now flying towards and encircling.
“As you can see, the new species of Daleks do not require hoverbouts,” continued the Supreme Dalek smugly as the view changed again. Now they were afforded a ringside view of the action on the roof of smelter one as the Daleks closed in. Luton’s men defended themselves bravely but were cut down in droves as the death rays struck home. Uproar was the response of the people in the hall; the robomen cocked their guns anxiously. “Obey the Daleks or die!”
thundered the Supreme Dalek.
Time to play dominoes: “There you hear the truth for once,” called Stillman from the back of the hall. “This is your fate under the so-called New Daleks! To serve them or die!”
“Kill him!” Jenkins barked at a roboman. Before it could train its gun on Stillman it was set upon by a dozen slaves. All hell broke out in the hall as shots were fired and a roboman was thrown from the upper stories. A scuffle broke out on the stage as twenty workers pushed Jenkins into the crowd. The Supreme Dalek continued to crow triumphantly from the screen, apparently unaware that its plan had backfired.
Oscar had managed to steal a gun from one of the felled robomen and was now leading a group of slaves to the doors. “We must get to the guard's armoury quickly, the workers must be armed!”
The screen had been set upon by another crowd of slaves who seemed intent on destroying everything in their path. Stillman jumped into the fray and stopped them: “No, save your anger for the robomen, we need to grab control of the factory quickly, while the Daleks have their eyes elsewhere!”

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