This time Barbara beat me to the café. She was standing at the counter as I walked in; nodding to me, she immediately requested another coffee from the girl.

Dennis was there, too. He got up as I went to the counter, then looked at me in a kind of wary way, as if afraid to interrupt. I excused myself to Barbara and went over to him.

‘Must be a really fascinating set of conversations on science fiction you’re having,’ he smirked.

I didn’t grace the remark with a reply, except by grimacing at him. ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘for bringing Caro round. We did some good work on those song lyrics.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t thank me. It was her idea.’ He eyed me speculatively. ‘So…good afternoon, was it? What time did she go? Or is she still there?’

‘Very funny. After the work we went out for a stroll, and she went about half eight.’

‘And?’

I shook my head slightly. ‘Sorry, Dennis; I’ve got company.’ I turned away, but Dennis took hold of my arm, looking genuinely puzzled. His head jerked in Barbara’s direction. ‘What is going on with you two?’

I took a deep breath. ‘I’ll explain some other time,’ I said, raising a placatory hand. ‘Really. See you.’

I joined Barbara at a small table in the corner. ‘Thanks,’ I said, pulling my coffee towards me.

She was looking over towards Dennis. ‘I suppose we shall get quite a reputation if we keep meeting here.’ She turned her eyes to me. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Doesn’t matter what they think.’ I leaned forward. ‘But…we could meet at yours or mine, if it bothers you.’

She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t,’ she assured me. ‘But perhaps this place is a bit impractical. And less comfortable. Do you want to come back to the flat after this drink?’

I considered. ‘All right.’

We seemed to have little to say to each other on the bus. I wondered if she was only interested in me as an ear for her stories. I remembered my own plans for what I was about to hear, and felt slightly guilty. I tried some small talk.

‘How’s the survey going?’

She lifted her head sharply, as if startled. ‘Oh. Very well. Too well, actually.’ She let out a small sigh. ‘I’ll be finished at the end of the week.’

‘I thought you had another fortnight or so…after the holidays.’

She looked at me, smiling wryly. ‘So did I, but we’ve been a little too efficient. There’s less work left than they thought, so they’re streamlining the team for the last couple of weeks.’

‘So you’ll be out of a job. Can they do that?’

She nodded. ‘They can. I’m partly there as a favour to Sally, anyway. She’s tried to reverse the decision, and her immediate superior is sympathetic, but there’s nothing he can do. The order’s come from higher up.’

‘I’m sorry.’ I wanted to say something more, but nothing presented itself. I felt an urge to reassure her further, and for once I gave in to it. I reached out and pressed her arm, gripping it briefly. She smiled, and it struck me how much warmth and sincerity there was in her face. This was why I was half-inclined to believe her, whatever she said; there was no madness in those eyes, only a kind of calm humanity.

‘I ought to apologise,’ she said softly. ‘I haven’t been good company so far. I was brooding about the future, I suppose. Although,’ she gave a tiny laugh, ‘my career prospects are unimportant enough compared to what we’ve been talking about lately.’

‘Mmn,’ I hummed non-committally. I was thinking about the possibilities of finding her a job with anyone I knew. I was afraid she might leave the city if she remained unemployed. After all, there were many cheaper places to live. No ideas came to me immediately, but I could ask one or two people. I decided not to mention anything to her; it seemed unfair to get her hopes up. Then I reflected that she’d had two years of unemployment and still stayed in the city; there was obviously something that kept her here. I wondered if it might be Ian Chesterton. Even now, with Caro closing in, I found myself hoping it wasn’t.

The bus dropped us very close to her flat. The rain which had been threatening all day had finally arrived, and we ran for the steps of the building. I was reminded of my walk with Caro. I wondered if she might call me tonight, then decided it wouldn’t do any harm for her to miss me. I didn’t want to seem too keen.

The neighbours’ door opened again as we went up and Barbara smiled at me, her expression oddly conspiratorial. I felt an sudden rush of adrenaline and wondered if I was going to be surprised twice in a row by a woman. I shook my head faintly; it seemed highly unlikely in this case.

I had already eaten with Mrs. Muller, having expected to spend the evening over cups of coffee at the café. Barbara had had nothing but said she wasn’t hungry; I couldn’t decide whether this was a pretence for my benefit, but I let it go. She made tea and we sat down in the armchairs. She eased off her shoes and stretched her legs and I found my eyes caught by her calves. After a moment I realised what I was doing and looked up. She was watching me.

For a few moments neither of us said anything. Then she said: ‘It’s odd. Given your age, I really should look on you almost as a kind of pupil. I don’t. I wonder why that is?’

‘If you did, I think I’d be insulted.’

‘Yes.’ She smiled into her tea. ‘And I wonder what you think of me?’

‘I wish you’d been my history teacher. I might’ve paid more attention.’

She smiled, seeming slightly embarrassed. ‘Thank you.’ She sat up. ‘Well,’ she said briskly, ‘time to get on with the story.’ She looked over towards her desk. ‘There’s something I wanted to show you – something I did yesterday. I’m not quite sure why I did it – it might have been your influence, or just the thought of you being a writer.’ She put her tea on the low table and got up, going over to the desk. She picked up a sheaf of paper and came towards me, holding it out.

I took it. It was several pages of closely-packed, orderly handwriting. ‘What is it?’

She sat down and crossed her legs, resting her teacup on her knee. ‘It’s the next part of the story. In my own words. I wondered if it might be easier for you to digest like this. You can ask questions after you’ve read it, if anything puzzles you.’

I looked at the paper.

‘Or we can talk our way through it, if you prefer,’ she said. ‘I just thought I’d try this, to see if it worked.’

I leafed through it quickly. ‘There’s a lot of work here.’

‘A lot happened on Skaro. It took me all yesterday to get it down.’ She lifted her cup. ‘That’s the third draft.’

I gave her a sidelong look. ‘You make me ashamed of the time I waste not writing.’

‘Well, that wasn’t the idea,’ she smiled. ‘Will you read it?’

‘Of course.’ I settled the paper in my lap. ‘And while I’m doing that, I think you should eat something. In fact I’ll make it a condition of my going through this.’

She smiled again, conceding defeat, and got up, taking her tea into the kitchen. ‘You sure you don’t want anything?’

‘I’m fine.’

I picked up the first sheet. It read:

THE DALEKS an account by Barbara Wright

Following our narrow escape from the tribespeople of ancient Britain, we arrived in a place which was unlike any other I had ever seen or imagined. It was recognisably a jungle, but one composed of types of trees I did not know – and all the vegetation was oddly petrified, dead. I had hoped to see the familiar environs of 1960s London, and even after stepping out of the TARDIS I tried to cling to the hope that we were simply somewhere else on Earth. The Doctor was once again unsure of our location, and again he blamed the precipitate nature of our departure. Ian and I were in no position to argue with him, but the despair that set in was crippling; instead of being nearer home it seemed likely that we were farther away than ever. Ian was wonderfully positive, as usual: without him I think I would have collapsed in a heap and cried.

We spent a little time examining the jungle but could find no clue as to what had happened to the vegetation. It was while wandering around that I came face to face with the most hideous creature I had ever seen. It was dead, like everything else. And it was metal, the Doctor told us. It was not a native of Earth. There was no hope that we were anywhere on our own planet.

We were about to return to the TARDIS when Ian spotted the city. I have to confess that despite everything – the terror, the strangeness of it all – a discovery like that seemed to wipe all else from one’s mind. There was no disputing that it was a magnificent structure. We took turns looking at it through the Doctor’s magnifying device. There was no sign of life on the walkways and towers; it seemed like the rest of the planet – utterly devoid of life.

The Doctor announced his intention of studying the city. We immediately objected; if there was danger down there we could lose him and end up trapped on the planet with no way to operate the TARDIS. The Doctor was not to be dissuaded from his chosen course, until Ian pointed out that it was getting too dark to do anything; the decision was delayed and we went back into the ship. I remember feeling very uneasy; the Doctor seemed unlikely to change his mind, and I wasn’t sure how we could stop him if he wanted to go and explore.

On our way back to the ship Susan was frightened by something. She was convinced someone had reached out and touched her. This seemed impossible, given the state of the jungle, and Susan took herself off from the rest of us, upset at being disbelieved. The Doctor came to me and appealed to me to talk to her; I think it was about the first hint of any kind of vulnerability he displayed. He said something about the generation gap, and generally seemed quite at a loss as to what to say to Susan. I was more than happy to help; I still didn’t care for the old man personally, but Susan was a different matter. I went to see her, still marvelling at the sheer size of the interior of the vessel. (Before we went out we had gone into another section to clean ourselves up from the caveman adventure – the TARDIS had a fully equipped bathroom area, and I’d seen glimpses of corridors and doorways leading off into other parts of the ship.)

Susan was drawing, just one of the many things that reminded me that, no matter what her origin, she was still very much a child. She was still at that age where one does everything, before the possibilities have narrowed. How many of us drew throughout our childhoods, and how many of us then abandoned it because it wasn’t "practical" in the "real" world? I took a moment to wonder at the similarities Susan displayed to any ordinary teenager – but then I decided it was not so unusual. After all, whatever our origins all our lives are an exploration, a gradual coming to terms with what exists, and by and large, we seem to be given the same faculties with which to make that journey. Of course, this made things easier for me; I was able to talk to Susan as I would have done to any of my pupils, despite the bizarre circumstances, and I think I was able to comfort her.

The Doctor showed us another remarkable aspect of his technology; he produced small bars of food which tasted of eggs and bacon! At the time I wasn’t fully able to appreciate this, as I was developing a rather severe headache. I was given something to combat it, which seemed to be working when we heard a sound outside the ship. It was unmistakable; a scraping and tapping noise, too regular to be produced by anything other than a living creature. The scanner showed us nothing, but I didn’t care; I wanted to get out of there quickly. The Doctor still insisted he was going to look at the city, but he was outvoted, and he set the ship in motion.

But we did not take off. As we later discovered, the Doctor sabotaged one of the TARDIS systems, simply so that he could go and look at the city. It was actions like this that made him so difficult to like or trust in the early days of our travels. He later admitted to me that it had been a very difficult adjustment for him; for so many years he had been alone, with Susan offering no obstacle to whatever he wanted to do. With the two of us – especially Ian – very much less susceptible to his influence, things had changed. It temporarily distorted the Doctor’s perspective, I think – he felt almost as though he was battling intruders, trying to hang on to his independent lifestyle.

So – as it appeared – we had to go to the city to get some mercury to repair the ship. We rested overnight – and by now it was almost no surprise to find that there were rooms for each of us inside that "Police Box" – and set off at first light. Before we left we found a small box outside the ship – clear proof that someone had been there. The box was full of vials; having no time, we left it in the ship and went on.

How can I describe the city? How can one describe the product of alien minds? There are no words. Some of the structures seemed familiar, others were totally alien. The whole thing seemed to be made of metal. But we had little time to admire the architecture; the walk had exhausted the Doctor and all of us were feeling strangely unwell. We discovered how to open the doors that led to the interior, and we split up to look for mercury.

I felt no fear, initially, as I wandered through the corridors alone. The city might still have power but I was convinced it was dead. I did notice that the ceilings were all rather low, and I wondered briefly at the kind of people who might have lived there.

I’m not quite sure when I realised something was wrong. I ran into a dead end, I think, and then I found it difficult to retrace my steps. Suddenly, some of the doors would not open. I was no more than mildly apprehensive, at first, but gradually it came to seem almost as though I was being herded in a certain direction. I began to feel frightened; I started to panic. The city seemed to have come to life. I felt as though something was closing in on me, although I had seen nothing. I was still unwell – I was in danger of losing control of myself. There seemed no way out.

And then, they appeared.

Meeting living specimens of early humanity was one thing. Meeting a completely alien creature was an experience for which I was entirely unprepared. I remember I could do nothing but shriek as the first one approached me.

They were about five feet in height; legless, machine-like creatures moving on a round base, with metallic rods for arms and a stalk on a swivelling dome at the top that seemed to serve as an eye. They were called the Daleks.

She came back into the room, startling me. For a few minutes, I had felt almost as if I was somewhere else.

She was carrying a plate of spaghetti. She looked at me for a moment before seating herself. ‘Well? What do you think?’

I looked at the page in my hand. ‘Incredible.’

‘Do you mean that literally?’

‘Um…well, yes and no. I don’t know. It is pretty much outside my experience.’

‘Where have you got to?’

‘The first appearance of…’ I checked the word, ‘the "Daleks"?’

‘Ah.’ She looked pleased. ‘I came back at the right moment, then. The…the passage that follows is slightly different. I tried to recall what happened in as much detail as I could, to try to convey the feeling of what it was like, being there.’ She paused, her face sober. ‘That passage actually contains one or two things I’ve never told anyone.’

I looked again at the page. ‘Can I read a bit further?’

‘Please.’ She continued to look at me for a moment, then bent to her meal.

I went back to the story.

But we did not find out their names, or much else about them, until some time later. In the beginning, all that struck me was their strangeness. Here, as accurately as I can recall it, is the sequence of events immediately following my first sight of the Daleks.

The sucker cup on one of the arms pushed me back against the wall, exerting firm pressure on the hollow below the arch of my rib-cage. I sagged; the metallic rod pinning me to the wall was the only thing that kept me upright. My throat was still raw from my scream; I tried to gasp in a breath, but the force on my chest restricted my movements. My head throbbed and I felt a wave of nausea.

‘Move.’

I gathered myself, preparing to obey, fighting my weakness in response to the menace in the single syllable. Then my eyes opened wide. I gaped at the gleaming dome, at the short rod with its contracting iris.

English? English, here?

‘Move, move.’

Please, I tried to say, but the word was a dry, breathless whisper.

The sucker cup shifted, pulling me sideways and then away from the wall. I swayed on my feet, my hands closing on the extended rod.

The arm shot back out of my grasp and then forward, pinning me once more. I cried out as the cup fastened on my breastbone, dragging the thin material of my shirt.

‘Do not resist.’

The machine turned, pulling me forward. With a flip of its arm it yanked me towards the end of the short corridor, sending me stumbling . I caught at the wall with numb, sweaty hands. I could barely feel the smooth metal; all my senses seemed to be withdrawing from the world around me. My breath laboured in my chest.

There was pressure at my back. A single push.

‘You will move.’

With one hand on the wall I made my way unsteadily along the passage. I plucked at my sweat-soaked shirt; the air seemed so thick it was almost a physical barrier. And behind me I could sense, almost touching the damp creased cloth against my back, that insistent, shining arm.

Another of the things glided past me; I found myself under the passing scrutiny of an inquisitive, pulsing eye. The one behind me prodded again, and I stumbled on a few steps. I tried to turn, sucking out saliva to ease the dryness that prevented me from speaking. ‘My friends...’

‘You will be silent.’

A violent shove from the sucker arm. Just ahead a dull metal door blocked my progress. The sucker arm stretched in a smooth telescopic movement, and the black cup swept across a small panel to one side of the door. The metal slid aside.

‘You will enter.’

My fingers clutched at the door frame as I entered a large room. Somewhere at the edge of my vision lights flickered and flashed in rapidly changing patterns. A dull throb like the beating of a cold mechanical heart sent vibrations through the floor, counter-pointing the pulse of blood through my temples.

The floor seemed to leap up to meet me; I was vaguely aware that I had fallen on my hands and knees. A smell, familiar but seeming out of place, filtered into my nostrils.

‘Is she damaged?’

‘There is no evidence of physical injury.’

I was pulled to my feet, one sucker gathering my shirt collar from behind and another arm pushing up across my ribs. I felt myself steered across the floor, my feet slithering and slipping. A final push and I was released; a clear curved wall closed around me and I leaned against it, my breath clouding the thick plastic.

‘Is the analyser prepared?’

‘Recording has commenced.’

The level of light began to rise. New fear flooded through me and I forced my eyes fully open and looked up. On the wall close by, a figure moved in a tiny picture. I saw myself, trapped inside a slender cylinder. Beneath the screen, a metal arm fitted with a different attachment was turning a dial.

‘Adjustment for level one analysis calibrated.’

‘Activate.’

As I watched the screen, the cloth of my shirt seemed to shimmer and melt into my skin. After a moment my skirt followed. I looked down at my body. The garments were still clinging to my damp skin. But the screen showed otherwise.

‘No abrasions or other mutilations apparent.’

‘Level two analysis.’

I half-expected what followed, but I found myself utterly unprepared for the sight. My flesh dissolved into strands of muscle; my face became an intricate map of striated contours. My wide eyes moved within red, twitching fibres.

‘No muscular damage evident.’

‘Initiate level three analysis.’

Dark, numbing, silence swamped my senses. I lost consciousness.

I looked up. She had finished her food and was watching me with nervous expectancy. ‘Well? What do you make of that? Where did you get to?’

‘You’ve just passed out.’ I let my eyes fall to the page again. ‘It’s very different to the other stuff.’

‘That doesn’t sound like a compliment.’

I shrugged. ‘Oh, I dunno. It’s very vivid – maybe a touch over-written for my taste.’

‘I was trying to convey the essence of the experience; I thought I should put in as many details as I could remember.’ She shifted a little awkwardly. ‘I suppose I may have dramatised things a little.’

I leaned forward. ‘Look, don’t get me wrong. It’s very effective in a way. Maybe it just starts to sound more like a story – like something somebody made up.’

‘The unembellished narrative is more convincing, then?’ She smiled slightly.

I laughed softly. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t.’

‘Do you want to read on?’

‘If I can get a cup of tea to keep me going.’

She got up and went to the kitchen, smiling. I lowered my eyes to the page.

My faint seemed to last only a few seconds. The next few minutes were a nightmare whirl of lifts and corridors, until I was put in a cell. There I was soon joined by the others, also captives, and they told me that we were all suffering from radiation poisoning. Ian also told me about the Doctor’s subterfuge in order to see the city; that didn’t seem so important with death an imminent possibility. Our one hope was the box of vials, which seemed likely to contain some sort of anti-radiation drug. The Daleks were also interested in these drugs, and because she was the one only one fit enough, sent Susan to retrieve them. Meanwhile, we grew steadily weaker; the Doctor was the worst hit but after a while I started to slip between sleep and consciousness, and I found it harder to keep awake. I don’t remember Susan’s return. But we did have an interesting conversation shortly after I regained consciousness that highlighted once again the Doctor’s and Susan’s alien nature. This, as far as I can recall, is how it went:

The strength was seeping back into my body. I shifted, sitting upright against the wall. I sensed someone's eyes on me and looked up to see Ian regarding me with a kind of reserved concern.

‘The drug's working?’

‘It seems to be, yes,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

He smiled encouragingly at me. I was not sure how to respond so I tried to match his smile. Then I looked over to where Susan was kneeling next to the Doctor. ‘How is he?’

‘Much better, I think.’ Susan essayed a smile of her own as she looked round, but it barely stretched her lips. The Doctor moaned softly.

I moved onto my knees and crawled slowly across. I drew myself up on my haunches next to Susan. The Doctor's eyes were not yet open, but his breathing was even and the sheen of sweat on his features was drying.

‘Susan..?’

‘Yes?’

‘The people on this planet – they seem to speak English.’

Susan glanced at me. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Ian paying attention.

‘Yes, well,’ Susan said, seeming to enjoy the moment, ‘don't worry about it. It's a little gift Grandfather and I share. Something the TARDIS gives us.’

Ian moved closer. ‘Some kind of...of instant translator?’

‘If you like.’

‘That's ridiculous!’

Susan looked at Ian and for a moment I saw something in her eyes, something like a strange, superior pity. ‘What language do the Daleks seem to speak to you, Mr Chesterton?’

‘Well...’ Ian was obviously ready to concede the point; perhaps he was remembering the fantastic things he had already seen.

‘Is it linked to some kind of telepathy?’ I asked.

‘That's it.’

I could see Ian struggling with his disbelief. ‘Are many of your people telepathic?’ he enquired.

Susan smiled and shook her head slightly, as if to indicate that he had misunderstood.

The Doctor coughed and sat upright, patting his chest. Susan turned her attention back to him. My eyes met Ian's. He shrugged slightly. I nodded at him, to show I sympathised.

The drugs worked quickly; while we recovered, Susan told us about the Thals, the humanoid race that shared the planet – the ones who had left us the drugs. One of their number, Alydon, had spoken to her when she fetched the drugs from the TARDIS, and told her a little about his people. They had once been warriors but were now farmers, forced to scrape out a perilous living, and now their lifestyle was seriously threatened. They wanted help from the Daleks, and initially it seemed that the Daleks were going to co-operate. But we soon learned that the Daleks were setting a trap, using Susan’s name on a message to lure the Thals into the city.

We knew the Daleks were watching us with some kind of television device; we disabled it, and, having worked out that the Daleks drew power from the floor, we managed to force one onto the cloak that Alydon had lent Susan, thus isolating it from its power source and effectively killing it. I don’t remember if I thought much about the morality of what we were doing, at the time. We weren’t certain at that point whether or not the Daleks were simply machines; I know that when Ian and the Doctor opened the inert one they discovered something inside, but Susan and I were sent to watch the corridor. I did later ask Ian what he had seen, but he seemed unwilling to discuss it.

Ian climbed into the Dalek and we set off through the corridors pretending to be prisoners. I don’t remember much about the escape; the most significant moment came when, from afar, we saw the Thals entering the city. It was our fault that they had been lured in, and as soon as we reached a position of relative safety Susan insisted that we warn them. The Doctor would have none of this, claiming it was not our affair – in those early days I think he was still very much the loner, trying to keep himself clear of involvement in the concerns of others. Anyway, he was overruled – I felt that we owed the Thals something because of the drugs, if for no other reason, and Ian was basically too decent to leave anyone in real need. It was decided that Ian would go to warn the Thals while the rest of us made our way to the TARDIS. I remember being unhappy about the plan; I didn’t want to be separated from Ian for any reason at that moment, but I could see that the idea made sense.

I didn’t see what happened during the ambush. I know that Ian’s warning saved some of the Thals, but several of them, including their leader, were killed. We met up again in the jungle outside the city, quite close to the TARDIS.

The Thals, it seemed, were pacifists, and we could find no way of persuading them that they should resist the Daleks. It was academic, anyway, as we were due to depart – until Ian remembered that the Daleks had taken the TARDIS fluid link from him when they searched him. Without it, we were stranded on Skaro.

In retrospect, I am not proud of the way we behaved following this discovery. For myself, especially, I am ashamed. Everything seemed subordinate to the need to escape from the planet; for a while, the pacifism of the Thals became a personal affront to me. We needed them to help us break back into the city; nothing else seemed to matter. The situation divided our party; Ian would not ask the Thals to sacrifice themselves for us, and Susan also had doubts, while the Doctor and I took the view that the Thals must fight. I remember saying that there was more than just our lives at stake, that the Daleks would certainly come out of the city and destroy the Thals whatever we did, but I wonder now if I wasn’t just trying to justify my own selfish fear. Ian was right, of course; they had to fight for themselves, and for no other reason. And eventually, he managed to persuade Alydon that there were some things worth fighting for, by pretending to threaten one of the Thal women. Alydon spoke to the rest of his people, and they agreed to help us.

It was a difficult prospect; we had no arms of any kind, and we were planning to attack a fortified and well-defended city. We split into two groups; the Doctor and Susan would try to keep the Daleks occupied while another group, led by Ian, would attempt entry into the city through the mountains at the back.

I had no difficulty deciding my own course. Ian was still the only link with home, and I would not stay behind while he risked his life. When I told him I would accompany him I thought he might object, but he simply looked at me for a moment, then nodded. Perhaps he understood why I needed to go.

The journey was a daunting one. After scaling the mountains that overlooked the rear of the city we had to pass by a swamp full of dangerous mutations, and then hope to find a way past the Daleks’ defences. We were accompanied by four of the Thals, two of whom had visited the area before. One of the latter pair seemed to take quite an interest in me. His name was Ganatus. We had talked several times at the Thal encampment, and as the journey progressed I noticed that he seemed to seek out my company. Nothing was said, but it was obvious from his actions, the type of questions he put to me and other signs, that his interest was more than polite. I did not know how to respond; he was a kindly, gentle man but possessed of a fierce courage and resolve, and he was not unattractive.

We lost one of our number at the swamp, but we had discovered a set of pipes leading into the city; the Daleks drew their water from the lake. There followed something of an ordeal; we had to scramble our way through several miles of tunnels and ledges, never sure if we would find a way through. During this period Ganatus seemed to be gently probing me concerning my relationship with Ian. I did not encourage his interest, but I could say nothing that would have discouraged him. How did I feel about Ian? It was difficult to tell; at the moment he was my only reference point in a world that had turned inside out. That made him too valuable to lose; whether it made him anything else, I could not decide.

The journey through the darkness was difficult, and we lost Ganatus’ brother Antodus on the way. But we found a route into the Dalek city.

Although we did not know it, during our passage the Doctor and Susan had been captured by the Daleks. The first inkling we had of this was when we met Alydon in the city. Together with the other Thals, we made our way to the Daleks’ central control room.

It is slightly embarrassing to admit, but I do not now remember how we defeated the Daleks. I remember a struggle in the control room, and the horrific sight of a Thal being incinerated by a Dalek weapon. And I remember the Daleks losing power, dying slowly. One of them even asked the Doctor for help, but he was unable to give it. The last Dalek stopped moving, and the hum of power that characterised the city faded to nothing. There had been a terrible loss of life, but it was over.

Perhaps I should say almost over. We still had to say goodbye to the Thals, and it seemed to me that even the Doctor found that difficult to do. I wonder now if that adventure on Skaro was some kind of turning point for him, a step towards becoming re-involved in the universe. He had spent so much time cut off from his home, with only Susan for company, and now perhaps with the arrival of Ian and myself, he was forced to face the reality of other people. After his initial – and understandable – resistance, I think he found it unexpectedly pleasant to have others to share his travels. The following months seemed to bring about a change in him; the selfish, devious old man disappeared and was replaced by something altogether more benign.

It was something of an unexpected wrench for me to leave Skaro, as well; there was never any doubt about my decision, but my parting from Ganatus was a sobering occasion. If anyone had told me, only ten days before, that I would feel such affection for a man from another planet..! In the end we could say nothing to one another – nothing in words, anyway. I found a way to say goodbye to him, a way that better expressed my feelings and, I think, his.

A lot of things had changed, in that short time on Skaro. Although I was not conscious of it at the time, the TARDIS suddenly felt like home compared to what lay outside it. And I had begun a kind of personal transformation. Where before I had screamed and sobbed in the face of peril, during our expedition I found I did not give way to my feelings. It was not that I no longer felt the fear; it was simply somehow that I fought through it and did what needed to be done. For this perhaps I had Ian’s example to thank – and the unassuming courage of the Thals might also have been a source of inspiration. For whatever reasons, I would never be quite the same person again.

I stared at the page for a while after finishing it, not sure what I wanted to say to Barbara. I knew she was watching me. Eventually I raised my head. She said nothing but the question was plain on her face.

I shifted my eyes evasively. ‘It’s a very clear account. I suppose there must be a lot of detail you could fill in, but as it stands it reads well enough.’

‘But do you believe it?’ She leaned forward, perched on the edge of her chair.

‘I’m sure you do,’ I said, and wondered whether I had already said that to her. ‘And,’ I went on quickly to forestall possible objections, ‘I’m also sure you’re not mad. But…whether it all actually happened…’

‘So you think it might be some kind of hallucination I had?’ She was keeping her tone even but I sensed the beginnings of anger there. ‘Or a dream?’

I shook my head. ‘What can I say? What would you say in my position? How can I possibly tell without evidence?’

She looked at me for a moment, then her head bowed. Her voice came out in a mutter. ‘I suppose I can hardly blame you. You’re right; in your place, I probably wouldn’t even have bothered to finish reading it.’ She lifted her head. ‘But what can I do? How can I convince anyone?’

‘I don’t have an answer to that.’ I sat up a little. ‘But I would like to know about the rest of what happened to you.’

She hesitated. ‘Do…do you want to talk, or should I write it down again?’

‘Which is easiest for you?’

She shrugged slightly. ‘I’m not sure…it helps to discuss it, to say these things out loud, but I found setting it all out in writing to be somehow therapeutic, too.’

‘All right.’ I held out the paper. ‘Why don’t you write the next bit, then we’ll meet and discuss it.’

She took the paper and stared at it unseeingly. ‘I still don’t know how to thank you for this. I’m not sure I should—’

‘I’m not doing it for you. Remember that.’

She looked unconvinced, but she managed a half-smile.

‘I’m curious about one or two things I’ve just read.’

‘Oh?’ She looked pleased.

‘Uh, it’s…’ I felt oddly embarrassed. ‘It’s actually about you. What did you mean about not being the same person again? I mean, I understand roughly what you’re talking about, but I wondered if you could tell me a little bit more about how you feel you changed.’

Her eyes dropped; her hands were clasped in her lap. ‘I don’t know, really. In some ways, now, I feel very much the same person I was before…before I travelled with the Doctor. Somehow, the…the everyday-ness of things here seems to hem me in, bring me down.’ She smiled ruefully. ‘I can certainly sympathise with your disbelief, since I sometimes have trouble believing any of it happened. But it did; incredible adventures, one after another, that forced me to look at life in a completely different way.’

‘What way?’

‘It’s…well, I don’t want to sound too self-aggrandising, but you become…less petty. Fighting day by day, sometimes literally for your life, makes you appreciate everything more. And yet, at the same time, despite the value of life, the prospect of death doesn’t terrify you quite so much. I wouldn’t say you ever get used to facing death, but somehow…’ she shook her head. ‘It’s difficult to explain. Perhaps you get used to the idea that you’ve pushed yourself to the limit, done your best…or something like that. You can face oblivion knowing that you have taken everything that life had to offer.’ She looked up. ‘Does that make any sense?’

After a moment I nodded. ‘Some.’ I wondered if I would have the courage to ask her my second question.

She looked at me searchingly. ‘Was there something else?’

‘Um…’ I could not look her in the eye for a moment. ‘This, er…this Ganatus.’

Did she colour slightly? ‘What about him?’

‘You said…you found a way to say goodbye to him. A way that expressed the feelings of both of you?’

‘Oh. All I did was kiss him. Rather chastely, as I recall.’ She lifted her eyebrows. ‘What did you think I meant?’

‘I…wasn’t sure.’

‘Really.’ For a second I had the distinct impression she was laughing at me. ‘Don’t forget I’m not from your generation.’

I spread my hands. ‘I wasn’t making any assumptions. Really.’

‘But you were curious.’

‘I suppose.’

‘Why?’ She sat forward a little, not taking her eyes from me.

I was sure every drop of my blood must be rushing to my face. I waved my hands vaguely. ‘It…well, if you had—I mean if there’d been…with him being an alien and everything, the implications…’ I couldn’t go on, and I let the words fade. I stared at her helplessly.

She dropped her gaze slightly, and her eyes seemed to mist over. ‘I wonder if it would have been…different.’ She looked up and smiled. ‘Well, we’ll never know.’

‘So you did think about it?’ For a moment I could not believe I had spoken; the thought had come to me and I had just let it out.

She didn’t seem offended. She sat back in her chair. ‘I….not at the time, no. I suppose it occurred to me later.’ She smiled, apparently to herself. ‘I suppose I was very naïve, in some ways, even then.’

For a few seconds neither of us spoke. I found I could see no way of carrying on the conversation. It did occur to me that I had just been discussing Ganatus as if he was – or had been – a real person, and I wondered if she had noticed that. It was difficult to maintain absolute disbelief in the face of her unforced conviction.

‘Well,’ she said eventually, ‘perhaps we should call it a night.’

I nodded, standing. ‘So…you’ll write the next section, and call me when it’s ready?’

‘All right. As long as you’re still sure you want to continue.’

I reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘You’re going to have to stop asking me that question.’

She glanced at my hand. I withdrew it, too quickly, and turned to the door. She moved past me and put her hand on the doorknob, then twisted to face me as I came up to her. ‘Conrad…I hope…I’m sure I don’t have to tell you not to repeat what we’ve discussed – to anyone.’

Caro appeared in my mind’s eye, but I said: ‘Of course not. I can understand how you feel. Until you say otherwise, it’s between me and you.’

She smiled and bent forward to kiss my cheek. I held myself still while her lips brushed my face and went out of the door without looking back.