"So?" Daw-son looked at his client: "You seek a legal opinion?" "Well? That is your function is it not?" snarled Davros. "Good, well since you ask: I think the multiplicity of charges they have levelled against you is all to distract from the paucity of evidence they have against you as opposed to what the Daleks have done." Davros inhaled deeply and twiddled a switch on his control panel. The chair lurched forwards, stopping barely a millimetre from Daw-son's toes. His face filled all of Daw-son's field of view. "And what, does that mean for me?" Daw-son smiled: "There entire case rests on proving their Core Case- Indictment Number 35 (c) the creation of a weapon of mass destruction with intent." "I see, said Davros. "Is it normal for your people to destroy scientists and inventors?" "No," said Daw-son, "there is very little precedent. The inventor of a chemical explosive on ancient Earth became the patron of one of their most prestigious prizes. The inventors of atom bombs, nerve gases and deadly viruses are very seldom prosecuted. Their governments are, although unfortunately in your case there is no government. You are the sole survivor of your race I understand?" "That is true," said Davros as he reversed the chair to face the view screen. An outside shot of the Moon's surface with a mountain range on the foreshortened horizon was displayed. "I created the Daleks because my people were dying. Without their armoured life support units they could not survive." "I see," said Daw-son, "and you're subsequant involvement with their development?" "Curtailed," snapped Davros, "when the Daleks turned on me. I was their creator! But they exterminated me as soon as they thought I was no longer required!" "Really? But how did you survive?" "Ah,"purred Davros, "my chair is a truly remarkable item of technology. It is designed to sustain the life of its occupant. It has many, many defensive protocols. Its core programme contains a back-up of my personality at any time." "I see," said Daw-son. "So your chair kept you alive for centuries?" Davros voice dropped an octave or three: "There was much damage; to all intents and purposes I was dead. My chair helped by regenerating damaged tissue, I grew new kidneys, new lungs, a liver, a Brain." "H'mmm, so technically you may not be the same person who..." He got no further because Davros was in his face again: "Not the same person?" he snarled. "My personality was backed up on the Chair's hard-drive! I am Davros! I will always be Davros!" "Okay, maybe that wouldn't be such a good idea. Nevertheless, given what you have told me I think we can weaken their core case considerably. Does your..er..remarkable chair have any way of recording events electronically." "Yes, it does," purred Davros darkly. "Unfortunately, as you know, like me my chair has been sitting in the bowels of an ancient city for thousands of years." "Oh?" "No electronic records could survive that long. I have to rely on my memories like everybody else." "I see," said Daw-son. "That is a shame." "Yes, I imagine it is," agreed Davros. Thanks to Redfern for his Davros props.