Chapter 6

Kneeling before the altar, the three men looked up in awe at the Doctor. He was standing on the raised dais before the altar, looking at them with a somewhat disconcerted expression.

The elder warrior looked up and spoke with a tone of utter reverence.

"I am Manchert, headman of the Warriors of the Temple. We are honored by your presence, oh Lord of Time. Long have our people awaited your arrival. We pray you shall help us. You are our only hope."

"Erm—Manchert, is it? Are you certain you want me? Not someone named Obi Wan Kenobi?" The Doctor asked dryly, raising his eyebrows.

"I am afraid that I do not know that person." Manchert gave the Doctor an oily smile, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture, "But it is you, Doctor—not this Obi Wan, whom the Great Scroll predicts will be our saviour."

"Oh, OK. Better not tell that to George Lucas, though. I don't think his ego could handle it." .

"The elders have spoken of your coming for more time than any here can calculate. For truth, some of our our people had begun to speak of you only as myth. A tale told to explain the unexplainable. A man conjured out of thin air to encourage good behavior, or as an excuse for condemnation. Yet, here you are with us!" Manchert exulted, as he and his two men stood up. "The Oncoming Storm himself!"

The Doctor narrowed his eyes, his face suddenly a mask of suspicion and distrust. Unlike the joyous manner of the warriors, his tone suddenly became quite somber.

"You keep calling me that. Not many people do. I wonder why? Let me guess. Not that I really need to. I am very clever. As you probably already know. Someone has kept you very well informed. And I don't think it was my companion, here."

He eyed Clara. She raised an eyebrow at him in return.


"You've not grassed me up to them, have you Clara?"

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. "Oy! Don't be daft, Doctor."

"No? Of course you haven't. You're my companion! Anyway, how could you? We've only just arrived. And that leaves me to ponder on something very peculiar, Manchert. "

Abruptly, the Doctor spun on his heels, pointing with both fingers at the painting of the green aura-enshrouded victims.

"You want me to save you from this? Am I right? Yes! Of course I am! As you say, I am the Oncoming blinking Storm."

The Doctor just as swiftly turned back to the three men. "But then, if that painting is depicting what I think it is, I wouldn't need to save you. You and your people would already be dead. For thousands of years, judging by the age of those images." He frowned deeply. "Question is, why aren't you lot taking the long dirt nap right now?"

"I—I beg your forgiveness, my—my lord. I understand not your words." Manchert stammered, looking confused.

The Doctor shook his head sadly. "Oh, but I believe you do! I think that it has slowly begun to dawn on you, Manchert. Hasn't it? You are suddenly aware of something. A nagging suspicion that you aren't quite what you thought you were. Not entirely, anyway. Right now, one tiny little worm of an idea is burrowing its way into your self-conscious. And, as I said," he swung his lanky body up to perch on the edge of the stone altar, "there is one last, very important thing I need to quiz you on."

Speaking like a television presenter, the Doctor asked, "And here's the final question, Manchert! For the car, the cash and the trip to Disneyland." He bent down and stared intently into the man's face, Just who are you, really?"

"I...I...don't...I don't know." Manchert said, as he looked down at himself with a baffled expression, "I am...I"

Manchert's whole body went rigid. Without warning, a Dalek eyestalk grew out of his forehead. The bodies of the two other warriors followed suit.

The of other two men echoed Manchert's words then, all three voices suddenly changing to a more mechanical, grating chant, "...we are...we are...we are..." before shouting one last, final word, "DALEK!"

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