The Dalek
Created | Updated Jul 1, 2018
The Dalek
The in-dig-ni-ty! The in-dig-ni-ty!!"
The dalek railed against the state it found itself in. Like some circus freak in aside show, it found itself trapped in a horrific dimension of powerlessness.
In a few minutes some human idiot would pay the credits necessary and out he'd roll again, firing blanks and shouting all kinds of obscenities at those that had captured this virulent tin bucket.
"Death to all hu-mans!"
"A-ttack! A-ttack!"
"Ex-ter-mi-nate! Ex-ter-mi-nate!"
How did he manage to get immobilised and captured, he wondered? There was a big explosion, his gun ceased functioning and a giant rock crushed him against the ship. The battle moved on but he stayed jammed where he was, rusting in anything but peace. Years passed. Dirt and dust built up on his carapace. He watched and waited, until the mess eventually covered his eye stick. At this point he shut down and went into hibernation mode. He'd hoped that he could have self-destructed, but the radiation blast had disabled this function and many others.
According to the dalek survival manual, no member of his race was ever finished – no matter what state it found itself in or where. It could shut down, reawaken and replicate itself as a fifth columnist behind enemy lines.
When the scrap metal merchant arrived, millennia later, they had no idea who or what he was. This was a lifeless moon and he was just another piece of waste metal (like his ship) that they could sell on: The universe is so vast and old that newer races and civilisations are always discovering remnants of bygone eras and errors – so much so that they had become blasé about it.
And now here he was – sold to a games arcade manager, on a dump of a planetoid, who recognised this tin pot monster for what it was.
"Yeh, I'll give you ten credits for this rust bucket."
"It's worth more than that!"
"Who to, a museum? No, ten credits or you can dump it where you usually dump such rubbish, Jago."
"Fifteen or I'll never come here again!"
"Is that a promise?"
"Branket!"
"Temper, temper! Eleven as I know you, no more because I know you too well."
They shook (Their bodies with rage, not their hands in agreement). Money was exchanged and they parted.
"A dalek - what a prize! You'll look good in the central arcade, beside that other rusting hulk of a Zircon war robot. Now a little bit of spit and polish, and you'll be fine!"
So it came to pass...
"I hate hu-mans! I hate hu-mans! Free me from these re-straints and I'll show you what a da-lek is made of!"
"I don't think so. That's almost human sentiment, my friend."
"Friend? Friend? I am not your friend! I am a da-lek, you're mor-tal en-e-my!"
"Settle down, you're not going anywhere. Your gun is plugged and we're going to have a long and fruitful association."
"The in-dig-ni-ty! The in-dig-ni-ty!"
After a thousand years, another dalek battle cruiser appeared on the horizon, destroying the arcade and most of the rest of the transport cafe complex that made up what little life existed on the planetoid. It accidentally freed the dalek too, which spent the rest of its existence, roaming the now lifeless world.
"The in-dig-ni-ty! The in-dig-ni-ty!" It ranted, lost in the eternal insanity of its hurt pride.
