Chapter Text
“He’s a Dalek,” Libby said.
Brian rolled his eyes at her. “Always with the hyperbole. The Daleks invaded Earth three times. They killed billions. You’re making light of the atrocities that the Daleks committed when you compare people like Krat to the Daleks.”
Krat was definitely a Dalek. He had the eyestalk, the whisk gun, and the plunger arm, he spoke in a screeching robotic voice, and his solution to everything was exterminating inferior races. Nonetheless, he was constantly getting booked for TV interviews like the one we were watching.
“What do you say to those who accuse you of being a Dalek?” said the interviewer.
“I AM NOT A DAAAA-LEK,” said Dalek Krat. “THESE SORTS OF COMPAAAAARISONS ARE POI-SON-ING OUR POL-I-TIC-AL DIS-COURSE. I AM OPPOSED TO THE DA-LEKS – WHO, IN-CI-DEN-TAL-LY, WERE EXTREMELY LEFT-WING. I WOULD DESCRIBE MYSELF AS A CLASSIC SPECIES REAL-IST.”
“That sounds fair to me. How would you distinguish between a Dalek and a Classic Species Realist?”
“WELL, JER-E-MY, A DALEK WISHES TO EX-TER-MIN-ATE ALL INFERIOR SPECIES. AS A CLASSIC SPECIES REALIST, I SIMPLY BELIEVE IN OPEN DIALOGUE ABOUT THE INFERIOR NATURE OF NON-DALEK LIFE FORMS. SPECIES SHOULD ASSUME ROLES TO WHICH THEY ARE SUITABLE: FOR EXAMPLE, HUMANS ARE NATURALLY SUITED TO SLAVE LABOUR AND DEATH. BUT SOLIDARITY WARRIORS DON’T LIKE IT WHEN I SAY THAT. INSTEAD OF DEBATING MY POINTS, THEY TRY TO SILENCE ME. WHY DO THEY FEAR THE TRUTH?”
“Dalek Krat, as always, you make many valid points. Helen Grant from the Solidarity Party, do you have anything to say in response?”
“Dalek Krat is a Dalek…”
“YET AGAIN, INSTEAD OF DISCUSSING MY POINTS, THE LEFT TRIES TO SILENCE ME!”
“You just interrupted me!”
“STOP GETTING EM-O-TION-AL.”
“I’m sorry, Ms Grant, you really should apologise to Dalek Krat.”
“I won’t apologise for describing…”
“Dalek Krat has made it clear that he is not a Dalek.”
“But-“
“And this concludes our debate. Tune in next week when we will be debating whether Zygons have too much power in our society.”
This was sadly typical. These days everybody was tripping over themselves to show their commitment to “balance” by inviting Daleks to give their thoughts. TV shows, newspapers, radio – all of them were giving ample platforms to the likes of Krat. Even the internet seems to be reluctant to moderate Dalek content.
“I know you don’t agree with everything Krat says,” said Brian, “but you’ve got to admit, he is probably the greatest public intellectual of our time.”
“Krat is an idiot, with no appreciation for subtlety or nuance and refusing to consider any new ideas,” said Libby.
“He speaks common sense – something you don’t often get from the mainstream media. Really, what’s wrong with wanting people to stick to their own kind and do the jobs they are good at?”
“Sticking to your own kind is speciesist…”
“Seriously, Libby, why do you always try name calling? Everyone who disagrees with you is either a Dalek or a speciesist.”
No, thought Libby, I just only bother vocally disagreeing with Daleks. But arguing with Brian was useless. He was a conscientious housemate, and even pleasant to be around, as long as politics didn’t come up. As soon as they did, though, oh boy. Brian was bigoted and boorish, there was no getting away from it. He was generally superficially nice to Libby, but she always avoided speaking to him about her experiences as a black disabled woman. He wouldn’t be sympathetic.
So, for her own sanity, Libby left the house. She trundled down to the local food van and bought some fried grasshoppers. She ate them in the park, watching the ducks on the pond. There was a group of six friends stood near her, looking up at the sky. One was openly a Zygon, one of the men was brown, and the two women were holding hands – one of them even had prosthetic legs. This was a good sign. She went over to them.
“First time on Callisto?” she said, brightly.
The oldest of them – as far as Libby could tell – was a grey-haired man in a red velvet jacket. “Have you noticed the Daleks?” he said.
Well, this conversation was going better than Libby could have hoped for. “Oh, thank you! Yes, I’ve noticed the Daleks.”
“Finally, someone around here who can see what’s right in front of their face,” he said. “I’m the Doctor. This is Nardole,” a bald-headed white man waved at her, “Sally, Róisín, Mo, and Clyde the Zygon.”
“Just ‘Clyde’, thanks.”
“I’m Libby.”
“Why isn’t everyone looking at this?” said one of the women. Only the Doctor and Nardole had looked down from the sky. It wasn’t full of Dalek saucers. Instead, Jupiter loomed large, its swirling red eye just about distinguishable. Ganymede was also visible, with New Heraklion lit up on its dark side.
“Honestly, you get used to it,” Libby said. “The view from Titan is better.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” the woman said.
“Where is Titan?” her girlfriend – or wife? – asked quietly. Where had these people come from, if they didn’t know where Titan was?
“It’s the largest moon of Saturn. Second largest moon in the Solar System.”
“Behind home?” They were Vogans? Libby thought humans couldn’t survive on Voga, and they didn’t look like any native Vogans that Libby had ever met.
“No, Sally, behind Ganymede,” said… Róisín. Or was she Mo? No, Róisín was a woman’s name, Mo was unisex. “Home is fifth, behind this place and Io. I think that’s Io,” Róisín said, pointing to a small light in the sky.
“Io and Europa aren’t visible today,” said Libby. “That’s Amalthea.”
“Oh, of course,” said Róisín. “How embarrassing.” She looked down at Libby and smiled. Oh, that was a lovely smile. She was a very handsome woman – they both were. Quite a bit older than Libby, and spoken for, but, hey, a girl could admire the view. “I’m Róisín. I must seem like such a gringo to you.”
“Sorry?”
“Ah, my friends are using translation software,” said the Doctor. “I’m afraid they don’t speak fluent Standard. Unfortunately there’s no literal translation for gringo in Standard. Róisín was saying that she seems like an ignorant tourist.”
“Oh, don’t worry, it can be hard at first. Although I am surprised you didn’t mention Voga. I know the Vogans still call it a planet, but it’s a moon now, no two ways about it. It has three times the mass of Ganymede.”
“I have so many questions,” said Róisín, “but I think the Daleks are more important.”
“Well, they just showed up one day. It wasn’t immediate, but they started appearing on TV and then you’d see them online or casually on the streets. Sometimes some of them get together and chant about extermination or about how they don’t want to be replaced by Zygons, but mostly they just deny that they are Daleks while saying speciesist rubbish. People started treating them like their ideas deserved respect if they were phrased in a certain way.”
“And you’re the only one who can tell?” asked Sally.
“Well… no. I have contacts. But you look at most people and they just don’t seem to care, or they even repeat some of the Dalek talking points.”
“What are their talking points, exactly?” said the Doctor.
Libby looked around. There were no Daleks in the park, but there were Callistans, who were starting to eye them up. “We shouldn’t talk here.”