Revelation of the Dalek

By David Lawrence


In a flash of light, the Dalek appeared on the transmat pad in the centre of the car park. The fact that a twentieth century Earth car park happened to have a transmat pad in the middle of it was actually quite unbelievable, but this programme had never made a hell of a lot of sense to the casual observer anyway.

Its mission was to conquer the Earth. Quite a predictable mission, the Dalek thought to himself. But then Daleks had never been renowned for their originality.

The Dalek had not counted on being mistaken for the fake Dalek that was supposedly being delivered to this exact place. However for the Dalek this was an immense stroke of luck...

Blair Rhodes, long-time Doctor Who fan and acting-co-ordinator of the NZDWFC's Wellington Chapter, could be aptly described as a blond-permed twit. Indeed he had been described so many times before and had seen no reason to disagree with the description apart from the fact that he liked disagreeing with descriptions and borrowing lines from Douglas Adams novels.

Blair had had a rather hectic day so far. He'd only been awake two hours at that, too. Today, Blair was organising Wellington's first Doctor Who convention.

So far, things were going well. Admittedly only thirty people had turned up, but then they hadn't been given free advertising on the network news or anything like that. And now the opening ceremony was upon them. Despite the fact that there were loads of people on the convention committee, Blair found that as with everything else in the Wellington area, he ended up doing all the work and spending countless hours on the phone.

Blair looked out at the people in the audience before him and drew in a deep breath before speaking. He had just gone through the day's programme with them and now was announcing the star guests. ‘... And here, as Guests of Honour at the Wellington DoctorCon on Saturday, the second of February, I am proud to present to you...’ He took another deep breath to create the greatest impact possible when he spoke the two names considered as legends in DW fandom. ‘... the Second Doctor and Jamie “What's that you've got stuffed in your sporran, eh?” McCrimmon!’

The audience erupted in screaming and cheering and applauding a as two faces familiar to them all entered on either sides of the stage.

James Robert McCrimmon, Jamie for short, was a fairly short Scotsman wearing a kilt and a shirt. The Second Doctor was even shorter and wore checkered trousers, a black frock coat and a spotted bowtie, and was probably the liveliest corpse this side of the Horsehead Nebula.

‘Thank ye, thank ye,’ said Jamie as the applause died down. He smiled at the audience. ‘It's greet to bee here, ain't it, Doc?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes, Janie. I've always wanted to come to New Zealand for a convention, it's something I've wanted to do all my life.’

‘Despite the fact,’ added Jamie, ‘that he's been dead since 1987.’

‘Yes, well it's never stopped me before, so I see no reason why it should now. Pity Billy couldn't have done the same.’

The fans applauded; they loved this sort of thing.

Blair spotted people moving the recently-arrived Dalek into position at the back of the hall. ‘Hey boys,’ he cut in, ‘how about a few photos with the Dalek?’

The fans applauded so loudly that the Doctor and Jamie didn't have much choice but to oblige to their pathetic desires. It was times like this Pat wished he had stayed dead. After all, it was American fans who killed him in the first place, wasn't it?

The Doctor, Jamie and Blair stood beside the Dalek that stood at the end of the hail.

‘What a crappy replica!’ cried Jamie indignantly when he first saw it.

‘Jamie!’ hissed the Doctor under his breath.

But Jamie ignored him and went on. He couldn't stand shoddy versions of Doctor Who memorabilia. ‘But it's all wrong! The thing's too short, it's painted all wrong, the dunny plunger's too short, looks like a blu'dy harpsichord!’ He kicked the Dalek but obliged to have his photo taken with the thing.

The official con photographer, Paul Rigby, aimed his trusty Kodak camera at the trio whilst the other fans gathered behind him. ‘Say cheese!’ he called.

‘Cheese!’ chorused Blair, Jamie and the Doctor.

At that moment the sink plunger on the Dalek rose and a harsh metallic voice rasped, ‘EXTERMINATE!’

The Dalek had come to life.

Janie and the Doctor did what they usually did - they ran like hell. The Dalek did what they usually did - opened fire on unsuspecting fans who at this point, despite constantly using the phrase ‘Don't Panic!’ screamed and ran around like a pile of chickens who had just had their heads cut off.

At this point the Dalek became mobile and began gliding down the hail, screeching ‘EXTERMINATE!’ and killing all fans in its path. Daleks hate fans, especially fans who make shoddy replicas of them.

This wasn't fair. Blair Rhodes wasn't having his convention, his first ever convention, disrupted by some maniac Dalek intent on killing a few dumb-ass fans. Blair had already fallen on a hard surface whilst swinging in mid-air, and he had hurt himself quite badly and was no longer in the mood to be tolerable of such a stupid unbelievable thing happening.

As the Dalek mopped up the remaining fans, Blair unslung his multi-coloured 20 foot long scarf from where it had casually hung around his neck and tied it into a lasso. Swinging it wildly, he flung it and managed to sling it around the top of the Dalek. He tugged, and to his horror the Dalek swung around to face him. The gun stalk blazed and Blair was bathed in radiation beams, or whatever John Peel had called them.

Blair looked down at his rapidly disintegrating chest and gave a gasp. ‘My god,’ he cried, ‘I'll never hear Elvis again!’ With that, he died horribly and painfully.

It just wasn't Blair's day.

The Doctor and Jamie, meanwhile, were running around in circles outside. Screaming fans filled the carpark, despite the fact that at the moment the Dalek wasn't around, so there was nothing for them to be screaming about.

As if on cue to prove the storyteller wrong, the Dalek suddenly appeared, miraculously appearing to have gone up and down several flights of stairs to catch up with them (note to all you smutty continuitists - at this point the Daleks could not fly up and down stairs!).

The Dalek's conversation didn't vary much. ‘YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!’

In true tradition, a stuntman standing on top of a two metre high wall was hit by a lethal blast form the Dalek's gun and fell from the wall to plummet unharmed to the ground. Unharmed apart from the fact that he was dead, that is.

The Doctor looked on sadly as more fans were gunned down by the merciless Dalek. ‘Come on, Jamie,’ he said, ‘let's get out of here.’

They ran up and down lots of alleyways, which Janie thought made a great change from corridors. Suddenly they turned a corner, and were surprised to find themselves facing the Dalek.

‘Run!’ yelled the Doctor, running.

‘Where?’ Jamie yelled back.

The Doctor stopped to look around and suddenly spotted the good old cliché. ‘Up those stairs!’ he cried. Jamie followed bin. The Dalek raced after them.

Jamie pulled a face at the Dalek. ‘Hah! Up yours, ugly!’

But the Dalek was not to be outdone. Casually it flew up the stairs after them.

‘Oh no!’ Jamie said, terrified.

The Doctor wondered how the hell the Dalek had managed that, twenty-one years before time. He would have to have a serious word with JN-T about interfering with his era like that, not to mention spoiling the whole fun of the series by teaching the Daleks to climb stairs.

But these things were irrelevant. The Dalek was setting nearer and was obviously about to kill them. What a predictable cliffhanger! They were going to get lynched!!!



Suddenly they were somewhere completely different - back in the hall amongst a pile of dead bodies.

‘Heck!’ said Jamie with a puzzled expression on his face. ‘How did we get back here?’

For a moment the Doctor didn't know. Then suddenly it occurred to him. ‘A total lack of continuity on the part of the BBC, I'd say,’ he mused. What a handy escape; he was sure he'd seen it in a Monty Python episode once.

Jamie continued to look puzzled. He was a plot device and knew how to do his job well. ‘What are we going to do now, Doctor?’

Why stop now? ‘Run,’ said the Doctor. He pointed past the registration office down to the other end of the hall. ‘Watch out for the corpses,’ he added, and with that, he ran down the hall, jumping over corpses. Jamie followed.

Sombre incidental music could be heard as the Doctor and Jamie reached the door at the end of the hall. They opened it and went inside.

‘Aha,’ said the Doctor. ‘The video room.’

The room was spacious, with chairs unevenly distributed about the place. There were many corpses, looking surprisingly like the ones they'd just seen, littered across the floor. There were even a few live people sitting up watching a video. The Doctor recognised it - one of ‘Nancy Boy's’ (as he so often like to refer to his successor), stories - that one where they blew up the church or something, The Daemons. The Doctor thought he might like to stop and watch it, but the quality wasn't brilliant - it was a converted copy of a colour American print. And he didn't like Americans much - not since they killed him.

‘Ssshh!’ he gestured to Jamie, and indicated in the direction of the kitchen. They ducked around the corner and came across a pile of even more corpses.

‘Where are we?’ asked Jamie. Gosh, his dialogue was getting repetitive these days, wasn't it?

‘It's called a kitchen,’ explained the Doctor. ‘There aren't any in Scotland; you're not advanced enough.’

‘How did all these corpses get in here?’ Jamie asked.

‘I don't know. Perhaps there were just too many people for this story, and they had to cast them all as extras.

A long scene ensued; boring and tedious so as to pad out the adventure which was under-running by fifteen minutes. Following that, the Doctor and Jamie decided to go and watch Part Four of The Daemons, which had just started.

‘You'll enjoy this one, Jamie,’ said the Doctor as they sat down. ‘It's got a lot of people with silly accents in it.’

‘Ochh,’ said Jamie, sending a mouthful of phlegm across the room. ‘Why do ye' always ha' to meek fun of ma' accent, Doctor?’

Suddenly the door was kicked open and a policeman looking suspiciously like Blair Rhodes in a silly hat entered.

‘Not yet!’ said the Doctor. ‘wait another five minutes, we're still under-running!’

‘Oh,’ said the Policeman. ‘Sorry,’ and went out again.

The Doctor and Jamie turned their attention back to the television where the silver-haired man with the magnificent nose battled his dreaded enemies, the frightening and evil Morris Dancers.

About five minutes later, the door burst open, and the Policeman barged in again, whipping a revolver from his corset. ‘Nobody move! Hands up!’

Jamie raised his hands and was rather surprised when the Policeman fired a warning shot into his head. Jamie cried out in pain and collapsed to the floor.

The Policeman sneered. ‘Just a little joke of mine,’ he said. ‘Jamie!’ cried the Doctor, rushing to the aid of his companion. ‘Och, I'm all right,’ said Jamie, holding his head to stop the blood bucketing out of it. ‘Have ye no' forgotten they dinna' use real guns?’ The Doctor straightened up and turned to face the Policeman. ‘What do you want with us?’

The Policeman's gun was levelled at the Doctor's head. ‘There is a disturbing amount of dead bodies around this area, and I am in search of any sufficiently suspicious-looking persons whom I can put the blame on.’

‘Blame for what?’

The Policeman uttered a single word. ‘Murder!’

‘Ah...’ The Doctor nodded. ‘And you think we had something to do with it...’

‘Of course,’ the Policeman sneered. ‘It's a cliché.’

Bugger. The old Tom Baker Era cliché of being accused of a murder he hadn't committed. And here it was, here where it shouldn't be. His era was supposed to be the one involving people trapped in a semi-confined resort, facing death from some evil force, where the controller has gone mad...

‘This way.’ Discarding his gun, the Policeman seized both the Doctor and Jamie, shoving them around a corner.

They came to a small booth. The Policeman shoved them in, pressed a button, and a shutter slid down, locking them in. The Policeman stepped back and listened to the cries and protests as the Doctor and Jamie hammered against the shutter in an attempt to get out.

‘You can't get out,’ the Policeman assured them. ‘Wait there ‘til I get back with reinforcements.

He heard the Doctor yell something and shook his head. ‘No, don't worry. You'll get a fair trial and a fair hanging.’

With that, he was gone.

Inside their ‘cell’, the Doctor and Jamie had given up yelling for help as it didn't work.

‘Hey, Doctor,’ said Jamie at last. ‘Why is there a control panel covered in switches up there on the wall?’

The Doctor saw the object of Jamie's attention. It was indeed a control panel covered in switches, attached to the wall. ‘Unless I'm very much mistaken, that policeman has locked us into a transmat booth!’

Jamie noticed a large lever. ‘Cor! Will ye' look at the size of that thing!’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes, it is a big one, isn't it? I'd say that's the main control.’ He reached forward and pulled the lever. There was a flash of light and they disappeared.

Moments later, the Policeman returned and opened the ‘cell' to find his captives were gone.

‘Vanished!’ he cried, ‘Like Episode Four of The Tenth Planet!’

The Doctor and Jamie rematerialised on the transmat pad in the centre of the outside car park.


Typical transmat - here was the Dalek they thought they'd escaped from, right in front of them.


‘Oh... Oh...’ The Doctor panicked and tried to come up with something. ‘You can't kill me - I'm a genius!’

A few seconds later he was dead.

Jamie gave a gasp of horror and flung himself at the Dalek, wrenching its eye-stalk from its base and wrestling the Dalek to the ground. He slapped his hands together in satisfaction and then looked over at the Doctor, also motionless.

No need to worry, he thought. The Doctor never dies...

He decided he'd better make sure, and when he had, he was uncertain what to say. He could remember once reading (despite that he could not read), something which provided a list of various witticisms to use in the unlikely event of a lead character suddenly unexpectedly dying during a performance - things like, ‘Is there a mortician in the house?’ and ‘Some people will do anything to steal the limelight.’ or ‘He never did that in rehearsals!’ but as the book had also predicted, when the situation occurs, the person usually says what Jamie said.

‘Oh bugger,’ cursed Jamie. ‘He's snuffed it!’

With that he walked off and went to find a job as manager to a pro-wrestler.

The Doctor's mind was suspended in a limbo. He felt numb; no pain, just darkness. He heard a voice in his head.


And another.


Oh no. Not this. Not the regeneration sequence piled to the brim with flashbacks .



‘My ankle!’





And then, in a flash of light it was over. He felt a tingling sensation as his body reassembled itself into whatever form it would come up with this time.

And then there were the voices again! Why couldn't they leave him alone? ‘Doctor...’



And then suddenly one of the voices paused, and dared to suggest, ‘Nurse?’ At that, the Doctor sat upright and opened his eyes. Only they weren't his eyes... they were her's!

He appeared to have regenerated into a woman...


Revelation of the Dalek, also known as Renovation of the Dalek, was a story made on video at DoctorCon 1991 in Wellington, by members of that chapter of the NZDWFC. It starred Ian Bisset as the Doctor, David Lawrence as Jamie, Blair Rhodes as Blair Rhodes and the Policeman, Jessica Smiler as the female Doctor, and a horde of extras. The story you have just read is the novelisation of the video.

This item appeared in Timestreams 2 (April 1991).

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