As the Doctor runs around like a giddy chicken with its soul restored, the Controller's voice rings out again, full of the pain of betraying her unnamable lords and masters. "Co-ordinates 5.6.1..." she says, and even as the Doctor frantically types them out, he begs her to stop. "The solar flare's gone, they'll hear you!" She cries out with pain, and continues in the midst of it. "...434. No. My masters, no! I defy you!" She screams out the sequence, and then she just screams, and when he looks up, the Doctors sees the wires fall away, niche empty, Controller gone.

The Controller appears on the floor of the spaceship, ports open and gagging all over where the wires were. And she stands, back straight. And she looks with her blind eyes at the place where her masters stand, and she is proud. Grace can be brave, it's not always a hug. More often than not, it's a slap. Justice isn't Mercy. Sometimes it brings the whole down. "Oh, my masters..." Behind her, you can see them advancing. She almost laughs in her glee. "You can kill me. For I have brought your destruction." And her skeleton shines brightly, and she falls to the floor. The only hero in at least a hundred years of history.

Jack and the male programmer flirt at great length about the transmat logs, and again the Doctor tells him to chill. The lady programmer, who I guess is now provisionally okay Excellently asks the Doctor to explain what's going on, and he tells her: "Going way back -- installing the Jagrafess a hundred years ago. Someone's been playing a long game. Controlling the Human Race from behind the scenes for generations." Jack reveals the location that the second transmat is taking them, and girl programmer is like, "There's nothing there." Which is the point: "Looks like nothing," says the Doctor. "That's what this satellite does. Underneath the transmission, there's another signal...hiding whatever's out there. Hiding it from sonar, radar, scanner.... There's something sitting right on top of Planet Earth...but it's completely invisible."

The Doctor cancels the signal, and before them lies a spaceship, revolving slowly, tearing his eyes wider. A chorus begins to scream, in Hebrew, and what they are asking is: "What is happening?" I feel kind of guilty for wishing they'd come back (or maybe the guilt is just a natural response whenever I hear Hebrew these days). We zoom out on hundreds more, all the same. Jack gasps that it's impossible, that "they" were all destroyed. "Obviously, they survived," says the Doctor, who's had kind of a big day and can be forgiven for being a bit blasé this late in the afternoon. Over Lynda's unheard questions, his fear rises. "Two hundred ships. More than two thousand on board each one. That's just about half a million of them." The male programmer asks "Half a million what?" and the Doctor answers: "Daleks."