The Dalek High Command was assembled in the Grand Conclave Chamber, an imposing hall of steel and menace, with a rather charming floral motif worked into the extermination consoles—an aesthetic touch suggested by Dalek Reginald, who had a rather keen eye for décor.
"Gentlemen," intoned Dalek Augustus, their leader, his eyestalk swivelling in a manner that suggested grave pronouncement. "The time has come for the conquest of Earth. Our plans are meticulous, our weapons unmatched, and our battle cry—if I may say so—rather stirring."
"Exterminate!" chorused the assembled Daleks, in the manner of clubmen toasting the King’s health.
"Yes, quite," continued Augustus. "Now, our initial wave shall target the major population centres, striking fear into the hearts of the human populace. Dalek Algernon, you have studied their weaknesses. Any recommendations?"
Dalek Algernon, who had spent several seasons on reconnaissance disguised as a very large pepper grinder in London’s finer establishments, gave an imperious nod. "Yes, my dear fellow. The human species appears to falter most grievously when deprived of tea. If we were to seize their supply lines of this rather essential beverage, their resolve would crumble within hours."
Dalek Cecil, an old hand at subterfuge, emitted an approving hum. "Excellent stratagem, Algernon. One might say it is positively Machiavellian, were Machiavelli not himself, regrettably, a human and thus unworthy of commendation."
Dalek Reginald, who had been largely silent, now tilted forward. "A thought occurs. If we are to instil terror, would it not be even more fiendish to replace their tea with something altogether more distressing—such as lukewarm chamomile?"
A horrified hush fell upon the conclave.
"Reginald, old chap," Augustus murmured, his voice trembling slightly, "you are a devil."
"Thank you, Augustus. I do try."
Dalek Bertie, who was in charge of morale, interjected with a note of caution. "This all sounds very capital, but might I raise a concern? Our recent effort to conquer the planet Sontarria ended in a spot of bother when it was discovered that their entire species was made up of exceptionally belligerent gentlemen with very little patience for polite negotiation. Are we quite certain that Earthlings will not prove similarly difficult?"
"An excellent point," Augustus conceded. "Algernon, what is the measure of the Earthling’s fighting spirit?"
Algernon considered. "Most of them are quite hopeless. They spend an inordinate amount of time engaged in minor quarrels on the wireless and taking photographs of their meals. The primary military force of one of their dominant nations is currently occupied with infighting over uniform regulations."
"Capital!" declared Augustus. "Then the invasion shall commence at dawn! We shall launch our offensive, seize their tea supply, and ensure that every human on the planet is subjected to the horror of subpar brewing."
The Daleks gave a triumphant cheer.
"To victory! To dominion! To lukewarm chamomile!"
And thus, with much mechanical enthusiasm and no small amount of clubman-like camaraderie, the Dalek High Command prepared to do what no alien force had done before—exploit Britain’s Achilles’ heel: a proper cuppa.
