The Time of Change

Hope

The dalek looks at me for a lengthy minute without saying a word. My husband moves to my side, taking my hand for the thousandth time today. I feel him shaking against me and entwine our fingers to qualm my own tremor.

"You've found us," he says lowly. "Now what?"

There's a second-long beat in which the entire world seems to move in slow-motion, waiting for the first punch to be thrown. Neither to my surprise nor to the Doctor's, it is the dalek who throws it. "Exterminate!" it buzzes, raising its eyestalk to us.

Against my will, everything I have and have never done flashes across the forefront of my mind—from the dire mistakes I've made all the way to not yet giving birth to a child who grows more impatient by the second. My hand subconsciously tightens around the Doctor's, and I clench my jaw but keep my feet firmly planted, forcing myself not to flinch or run away. Shockingly, no beam shoots out of the stalk. The robot repeats itself as if worried we did not hear it initially, but still, the Doctor and I stay completely stationary. His breaths sound like small gunshots in the perfect quiet.

After a moment, the dalek lowers its ray again. "You are not afraid?"

"I'm terrified," I whisper, "more so than I have been in a very long time."

"Then why," it demands slowly, "do you not show your emotion?"

Goosebumps erupting on my arms, I answer, "What would be the point? You'll kill us whether we're afraid or not. And if I'm going to die, I will not die a coward."

"All other races are confusing and difficult," it growls in response. "They must be exterminated." Still yet, it does not attack, and gradually my fear begins to recede. If it was going to murder us, it would have done it already. I exchange a glance with my husband that confirms he is thinking the same thing. I press a hand to my stomach as the baby tries to cut its way out with a pocketknife.

"Why am I alive?"

I look up sharply, floored. The dalek still has not moved, but its eye is now focused on me in a different way than before. Somewhere behind the emotionless blue, I imagine I can see a flicker of doubt, of curiosity, of dread. Although its voice is at the same low buzz, it sounds almost uncertain.

"An accident," I tell it without much thought. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Doctor flick his gaze to me.

The dalek inquires, "What does this mean?"

"It means," I explain patiently, sounding like a tired mother, "that the only reason you didn't die in that torture chamber is because I made a mistake."

"A... mistake..."

"Yes. And one you did not deserve."

As if in warning, the Doctor squeezes my fingers.

Everything is completely, maddeningly still for a full two minutes. My very soul feels like it's quivering, waiting for a reaction that is sure to come. The dalek does not remove its stare from my face, nor does it approach. It's almost like we're at a standoff to see which of us will break first.

Finally, it says, "I know you."

As if these were trigger words, the dalek begins to quake violently, steam pouring out of the open paneling and crevices in its shell. Its screams start anew, but now they are not of rage. The howling is agonized. I stumble as the Doctor pulls me back against the door by my hand. We cling to each other as a massive crack tears through its body, and a flash of blindingly white light fills the entirety of the room. I bury my head in the Doctor's shoulder, my glasses pinching my temples.