Genesis of a Genocide
Title Genesis of a Genocide
Genre Drama/Introspection
Rating Teen (references to violence)
Spoilers Serious for "The Parting of the Ways," and references to "Dalek" and "Genesis of the Daleks"
Characters Nine, with a bit of Jack and Rose
Summary Five lifetimes ago, he could have destroyed them.
Archive Please ask
Disclaimer Not mine.
Notes Thanks to tselmende for her beta and title help. For the new_who_wotdfic challenge, as listed below. Cross-posted at my journal and time_and_chips
cogent \KOH-juhnt\, adjective:
Having the power to compel conviction; appealing to the mind or to reason; convincing.
“He’s gonna be all right. Isn’t he?”
Rose’s words echoed in the Doctor’s head along with everything else. There were no promises this time, no guarantees. It wasn’t his usual life-or-death situation, where the odds were at least slightly stacked in his favour.
He knew Jack would die. They would all die.
Five lifetimes ago, he could have destroyed them. The Time Lords had sent him, in fact, to ensure that they never existed in the first place. And he had gone along with their plan, until the bitter end, when he had been utterly unable to touch two simple wires together in order to obliterate the Daleks from time itself.
Five lifetimes ago. So long that it felt like he had dreamed it. But it hadn’t been a dream when he’d destroyed everything he knew in order to stop them. The moral dilemma hadn’t been such a problem that time, when all of creation, including his own world, hung in the balance.
He knew he’d been irrational when he’d encountered the lone Dalek at Van Statten’s compound. He’d taken advantage of the opportunity to taunt it, hoping to exorcise some of his own demons in the process. It hadn’t worked, and it took Rose to get through to him as he stood there with a large weapon aimed at her because she was between him and the Dalek.
It was hard to believe any of it had happened. He wished now, on the Gamestation, that he’d touched those two wires five lifetimes ago, with the authority of the Time Lords. It would have been so simple, the work of a second. He’d thought himself wiser than them, and that wiping out the Daleks just before their birth would somehow make him like them. “Do I have the right?” he’d asked himself, just before he told Sarah Jane that “out of their evil, must come something good.”
Well, what the hell did he know? Maybe the Time Lords had been right, and he’d been wrong. Certainly, he couldn’t think of a damned thing right now that he could consider good coming out of the Daleks’ evil. Not one. Especially not now that they’d gone completely mad and he was almost undoubtedly going to die right here on this godforsaken station as a result.
He continued to work on the Delta wave. It was the only answer. He laughed internally at the irony. Two little wires would only have wiped out the very first generation of Daleks, and prevented the creation of countless others. Instead, he was now forced to choose the destruction of the human race, a species he’d worked with, and for, and grown rather fond of, along with the Daleks.
Lady Cassandra O’Brien would never be born, much less be the Last Human. He snorted. He had some trouble convincing himself that hers was a great loss, considering.
Why was it so much easier this time? Was it revenge? Desperation? Jack’s updates and the status reports from Lynda were egging him on, forcing him to do what he had to do. He felt almost as mad as he had upon first encountering Van Statten’s “Metaltron,” only this time, he was not helplessly locked in a cell. This time, he could do something.
He could hear guns firing, and Daleks screaming “Exterminate!” It was a sick chorus, as he seemed to hear every Dalek he’d ever encountered all at once. He heard glass breaking, and a woman screaming. Lynda-with-a-Y was gone.
He had to continue. Had to be faster. Work, work work, connect the wires, power them up, create the wave before the Daleks got there. Kill or be killed. But die either way.
Dead. All dead. Jack, if he wasn’t already. Lynda-with-a-Y.
And himself.
He had a difficult time getting too worked up about that possibility. Maybe after the Time War, his instinct for self-preservation was weakened. He was always saving someone or other, but it was more about them than him. More about assuaging his own survivor’s guilt than saving himself.
“Doctor, you’ve got twenty seconds, maximum!” It was down to Jack now, who had to know he wouldn’t succeed. But he fought anyway.
The Doctor heard a single-shot pistol, then one last bout of Dalek fire from the floor below, and knew Jack was gone. It hit him almost as if he’d been the one who was shot, but there was no time to mourn. Time for that later. Not that there would be a later. He knew that when the Daleks got to him, even though he tried to warn them off.
“I am immortal!” the Dalek Emperor insisted. Amazing, the way megalomania ran in the Dalek family tree, the Doctor thought. Davros would be proud.
“D’you want to put that to the test?” He knew the Emperor was quite sure, but couldn’t resist jabbing at him anyway.
“I want to see you become like me. Hail the Doctor, the Great Exterminator!” The Emperor clearly gave as good as he got.
I’m not exterminating out of choice, you moron, he wanted to shout. It’s self-defence, in the face of invasion. It’s necessity, not just because I feel like it! I’m not a cold-blooded maniac like you! But he kept silent.
“What are you, coward or killer?” the Emperor asked, knowing he was pushing the right buttons.
Push push …push the lever down, kill us all, kill everything, finally be free of the guilt and the shame and the responsibility! Do it do it do it! Now! Time seemed to slow down.
He could hear Margaret Slitheen’s words, accusing him of knowing a little too much about killing. "From what I’ve seen, your funny little happy-go-lucky life leaves devastation in its wake. Always moving on because you dare not look back. Playing with so many people’s lives you might as well be a god."
There had never been, and in all likelihood never would be, a better, more compelling argument and justification for genocide. But he didn’t have the right all those years ago, and he still didn’t have it now.
“Coward. Any day,” he replied, standing up and facing his executioners. It was Skaro all over again, five lifetimes later. So much had changed, but so much was the same. Only this time, he knew he would die.
Thank god he’d sent Rose home.
Genre Drama/Introspection
Rating Teen (references to violence)
Spoilers Serious for "The Parting of the Ways," and references to "Dalek" and "Genesis of the Daleks"
Characters Nine, with a bit of Jack and Rose
Summary Five lifetimes ago, he could have destroyed them.
Archive Please ask
Disclaimer Not mine.
Notes Thanks to tselmende for her beta and title help. For the new_who_wotdfic challenge, as listed below. Cross-posted at my journal and time_and_chips
cogent \KOH-juhnt\, adjective:
Having the power to compel conviction; appealing to the mind or to reason; convincing.
“He’s gonna be all right. Isn’t he?”
Rose’s words echoed in the Doctor’s head along with everything else. There were no promises this time, no guarantees. It wasn’t his usual life-or-death situation, where the odds were at least slightly stacked in his favour.
He knew Jack would die. They would all die.
Five lifetimes ago, he could have destroyed them. The Time Lords had sent him, in fact, to ensure that they never existed in the first place. And he had gone along with their plan, until the bitter end, when he had been utterly unable to touch two simple wires together in order to obliterate the Daleks from time itself.
Five lifetimes ago. So long that it felt like he had dreamed it. But it hadn’t been a dream when he’d destroyed everything he knew in order to stop them. The moral dilemma hadn’t been such a problem that time, when all of creation, including his own world, hung in the balance.
He knew he’d been irrational when he’d encountered the lone Dalek at Van Statten’s compound. He’d taken advantage of the opportunity to taunt it, hoping to exorcise some of his own demons in the process. It hadn’t worked, and it took Rose to get through to him as he stood there with a large weapon aimed at her because she was between him and the Dalek.
It was hard to believe any of it had happened. He wished now, on the Gamestation, that he’d touched those two wires five lifetimes ago, with the authority of the Time Lords. It would have been so simple, the work of a second. He’d thought himself wiser than them, and that wiping out the Daleks just before their birth would somehow make him like them. “Do I have the right?” he’d asked himself, just before he told Sarah Jane that “out of their evil, must come something good.”
Well, what the hell did he know? Maybe the Time Lords had been right, and he’d been wrong. Certainly, he couldn’t think of a damned thing right now that he could consider good coming out of the Daleks’ evil. Not one. Especially not now that they’d gone completely mad and he was almost undoubtedly going to die right here on this godforsaken station as a result.
He continued to work on the Delta wave. It was the only answer. He laughed internally at the irony. Two little wires would only have wiped out the very first generation of Daleks, and prevented the creation of countless others. Instead, he was now forced to choose the destruction of the human race, a species he’d worked with, and for, and grown rather fond of, along with the Daleks.
Lady Cassandra O’Brien would never be born, much less be the Last Human. He snorted. He had some trouble convincing himself that hers was a great loss, considering.
Why was it so much easier this time? Was it revenge? Desperation? Jack’s updates and the status reports from Lynda were egging him on, forcing him to do what he had to do. He felt almost as mad as he had upon first encountering Van Statten’s “Metaltron,” only this time, he was not helplessly locked in a cell. This time, he could do something.
He could hear guns firing, and Daleks screaming “Exterminate!” It was a sick chorus, as he seemed to hear every Dalek he’d ever encountered all at once. He heard glass breaking, and a woman screaming. Lynda-with-a-Y was gone.
He had to continue. Had to be faster. Work, work work, connect the wires, power them up, create the wave before the Daleks got there. Kill or be killed. But die either way.
Dead. All dead. Jack, if he wasn’t already. Lynda-with-a-Y.
And himself.
He had a difficult time getting too worked up about that possibility. Maybe after the Time War, his instinct for self-preservation was weakened. He was always saving someone or other, but it was more about them than him. More about assuaging his own survivor’s guilt than saving himself.
“Doctor, you’ve got twenty seconds, maximum!” It was down to Jack now, who had to know he wouldn’t succeed. But he fought anyway.
The Doctor heard a single-shot pistol, then one last bout of Dalek fire from the floor below, and knew Jack was gone. It hit him almost as if he’d been the one who was shot, but there was no time to mourn. Time for that later. Not that there would be a later. He knew that when the Daleks got to him, even though he tried to warn them off.
“I am immortal!” the Dalek Emperor insisted. Amazing, the way megalomania ran in the Dalek family tree, the Doctor thought. Davros would be proud.
“D’you want to put that to the test?” He knew the Emperor was quite sure, but couldn’t resist jabbing at him anyway.
“I want to see you become like me. Hail the Doctor, the Great Exterminator!” The Emperor clearly gave as good as he got.
I’m not exterminating out of choice, you moron, he wanted to shout. It’s self-defence, in the face of invasion. It’s necessity, not just because I feel like it! I’m not a cold-blooded maniac like you! But he kept silent.
“What are you, coward or killer?” the Emperor asked, knowing he was pushing the right buttons.
Push push …push the lever down, kill us all, kill everything, finally be free of the guilt and the shame and the responsibility! Do it do it do it! Now! Time seemed to slow down.
He could hear Margaret Slitheen’s words, accusing him of knowing a little too much about killing. "From what I’ve seen, your funny little happy-go-lucky life leaves devastation in its wake. Always moving on because you dare not look back. Playing with so many people’s lives you might as well be a god."
There had never been, and in all likelihood never would be, a better, more compelling argument and justification for genocide. But he didn’t have the right all those years ago, and he still didn’t have it now.
“Coward. Any day,” he replied, standing up and facing his executioners. It was Skaro all over again, five lifetimes later. So much had changed, but so much was the same. Only this time, he knew he would die.
Thank god he’d sent Rose home.