'Can't be done,' Vendam said. 'We must keep up proper appearances. It's good for morale.'

'I must agree with Lord Vendam,' Fostel said reluctantly.

'The city must be preserved until the last possible moment.'

'But I'm sure if we explained to them ' Draad began.

Vendam interrupted him: 'You're employed to solve problems and manage the city.

That's what Functionaries do best. Now you know what's required, so don't bother us about the details. Just get the job done.'

And his screen blanked.

'Remember, the cathedral must have improved protection.

Fostel reminded Draad. 'Meanwhile, I expect a repair team to be here within an hour.'

Then he also vanished.

For a moment Draad sat staring into s.p.a.ce. The selfish narrow-minded fools, he thought. How did we ever come to deserve such anachronisms? Tradition weighs us down like a yoke around our necks. Well, soon we'll have a chance to begin again to build something cleaner and better.

'Monitor, link me with Professor Jarrasen.'

In a few seconds Jarrasen's perpetually distracted features appeared on the screen. Pale, dark-shadowed eyes blinked out from under a mop of unruly hair, now shot through with grey.

When they had started the project, Draad recalled, Jarrasen's hair had been quite black. But then so had his own, and there had been far more of it.

'h.e.l.lo, Tovel. How's the Ship?'

Jarrasen managed a thin smile. 'We can launch any time.

Surviving the flight is another matter. There's so much we can't test down here.'

'What do you think our chances are? Honestly.'

Jarrasen shrugged. 'I think it's fifty-fifty whether we'll be dead on arrival or not.'

Chapter Three.

The Wall Zone Ian was too sick with worry over Barbara to notice their transport had reached the camp. Only when he and the Doctor disembarked did he take in their new surroundings. There was a strip of open land perhaps half a mile wide between the outermost city buildings and the perimeter wall. The ground had evidently been cleared some time ago, leaving it resembling a huge bomb site with straggling weeds growing between scattered piles of rubble.

It was obvious where the cleared material had gone. The ma.s.sive concrete ribbon of the city wall towered above them.

A walkway along its summit linked the towers from which the missiles and beams had been launched against the meteor shower. Nestling against its sheer inner face was the camp, enclosed by a tall mesh fence topped by barbed wire.

Floodlights and cameras were mounted on pylons at each corner. Within the outer gates a cl.u.s.ter of simple frame buildings formed the administration and service quarters. A second inner gate opened on to a large compound that resembled a ramshackle tented army camp.

Over the main gate was the sign: NC2 INTERNMENT CAMP.

Ian and the Doctor were processed rapidly. They were photographed and fingerprinted, given ident.i.ty cards, a pack of bedding, water bottles and plastic food bowls and utensils. A bored guard led them through to the inner compound.

'You're in row E unit 17,' he said. 'Think you can find your way?'

'Certainly, young man,' snapped the Doctor, having regained some of his spirit.

'You get water from a standpipe at the end of each row,'

the guard continued, unperturbed. 'Three meals a day in the mess hall. Sanitary block's over there. Listen out if your number's called over the speakers.'

They walked along hard-trodden paths that meandered around old piles of rubble between the signposted rows of tents. People stared back at them, some curiously, others beyond caring. A few wore civilian clothes in various degrees of disrepair, others were dressed in utilitarian one-piece overalls. Some tents had been enlarged with rickety extensions built with improvised materials. Whole families seemed to be living in them. It was like a refugee camp with a thousand or more inhabitants. Over it hung an air of despondent resignation.

Tent 17 row E was just big enough for the two of them. It was not made out of canvas, but from light, rigid plastic panels that clipped together. Its sole furnishings comprised two low, camp-style folding beds.

They sat on them wearily, laid their meagre possessions out and stared at each other; trying to come to terms with what had happened. After a minute the Doctor cleared his throat.

'If you want to say something, Chesterton, you might as well get it over with.'

'What are you talking about?' Ian asked flatly.

'That we wouldn't be in this situation if it wasn't for my insistence on exploring this city. Susan wouldn't have been injured... and Barbara wouldn't be missing.'

Ian looked at the Doctor with as much dispa.s.sion as he could muster. 'Is there anything I could say that would make you feel worse than you do already?'

'No, Chesterton. It is my fault, I won't deny it.'

It was almost shocking to see the Doctor so contrite.

'Then I haven't anything to say to you,' Ian said. 'Just promise me that you'll help me get us out of this mess as soon as possible.'

'Naturally I shall do everything in my power to put matters right.'

Ian resumed his private thoughts about Barbara.

Realistically he knew the chances that she was still alive were slim, but he could not let himself give up hope. If they had let him stay with the rescue teams he'd know at once if they found her alive or dead. They had seen no trace of the lift cage itself during their frantic search through the rubble. If Barbara had stayed inside, and if the cage wasn't crushed, she might just have survived. Too many ifs, but it was all he had.

The waiting and uncertainty would be the worst part.

He realised the Doctor was sitting on his bed grim-faced.

He must be equally concerned about Susan, Ian thought. She had looked in a bad way when they pulled her out of the remains of the road tunnel. Half-conscious, she'd kept mumbling over and over: 'Barbara pushed me clear...' Ian looked at the Doctor again and sighed inwardly. He really shouldn't add to the old man's troubles.

'I suppose it might have been worse,' he said slowly.

The Doctor stirred slightly. 'In what way?'

'None of us would have objected to staying on the roof for a while longer. Then we'd have had no warning about the meteor storm. If we'd been on the far side of the roof when it hit, the building could have collapsed before we'd got back to the TARDIS.'

The Doctor brightened slightly. 'Yes, Chesterton, that is possible.' He appeared to consider for a moment, then said: 'I thought those excavating machines looked most sophisticated.

Yes, I'm sure they'll have that wreckage cleared away in no time. They'll find Barbara very soon, you'll see.'

'And if their medical facilities are equally advanced,' Ian said rea.s.suringly, 'then I'm sure Susan will make a full recovery.'

The Doctor smiled gently. 'Thank you, Chesterton.'

They sat in silence for another minute, then Ian said: 'I don't think the mayor believed who we were or how we got here. It must seem a pretty far-fetched story without any evidence to back it up. Maybe we're lucky he only had us sent here. It might have been an asylum.'

'Never fear, they will begin to recognise the truth when they uncover the TARDIS. Then they'll want to talk to us further.'

'You're sure the TARDIS will be all right?'

'Certainly. It will take more than a fall like that to damage it.' The Doctor suddenly seemed infused with new energy, and looked more like his irascible but indefatigable old self.' Well, we mustn't stay here feeling sorry for ourselves, Chesterton. If we are to improve our situation we must learn more about this city. Were those meteors somehow linked with the doom that seems to be facing it? What is the social order here and where do we stand within it? We cannot make progress until we establish these basic facts.'

'Perhaps we should draw some water from the standpipe,'

Ian suggested. 'That'll give us a chance to meet people and ask questions.'

'Capital, my boy. Let us do that very thing.'

It didn't take them long to find a suitable informant.

They had only been standing at the standpipe for a minute, slowly filling their water bottles, when a small wiry man dressed in a ragtag a.s.sortment of clothes appeared. At first he seemed to be walking past them with his head bowed, but then be took a few oblique steps, made a sidling half-circle and was suddenly at their side. Ian had the feeling he had already been sizing them up from afar.

'Haven't seen you here before,' he said with an ingenuous smile, as his sharp eyes flicked over them. 'Just got in, have you? Where you from?'

Ian decided to try the friendly approach, though he didn't like the look of the man. There was a distinct slyness about his eyes, which didn't quite meet his gaze directly. He smiled back.

'Yes, we've just got in. My name's Ian, and this is the Doctor. We... uh, come from the Ferren Islands.'

'And who do we have the honour of addressing?' asked the Doctor quickly.

'Gelvert. Harlo Gelvert,' said the small man.

'A pleasure to meet you, sir,' the Doctor continued smoothly. 'Actually, Mr Gelvert, being new here ourselves as you so perspicaciously observed and having travelled some considerable distance recently, we're rather out of touch with the latest developments in the city. Perhaps you could enlighten us as to the current state of affairs.'

Gelvert's smile became shark-like. 'You want information, you've come to the right man. But, you see, I don't give anything away, I trade. Know what I mean? What you got that might be worth something?' And he eyed the Doctor's sapphire ring meaningfully.

'Small, easily portable items of high value, I presume?'

the Doctor said. 'Useful to barter for favours and considerations.'

Gelvert shrugged. 'A man's got to do his best with what he's got. Make living in this place a bit more comfortable. No harm in that.'

'None at all,' the Doctor agreed heartily. 'And of course such items are also useful for a man who has to move rapidly and un.o.btrusively... perhaps without official approval?'

Gelvert's face did not change expression, but Ian saw the tip of his nose and cheeks suddenly become pale as the blood drained away. The Doctor's speculative shot had struck home.

'What you saying?' Gelvert asked huskily.

'That you are involved in a plot to escape from this camp,'

said the Doctor, beaming. 'Perhaps we should warn the guards of our suspicions. It might improve our standing with the authorities. After all one has to do the best with what one has, as you said. Don't you agree, Chesterton?'

'Absolutely, Doctor. Now, which is the quickest way to the guard hut?'

'All right, all right,' said Gelvert frantically, dazed by the sudden reversal of roles.

'Now, shall we trade information for our silence?' the Doctor asked.

Gelvert sighed. 'What do you want to know?'

'a.s.sume, for the sake of argument, that we are ignorant of this world's recent past and current circ.u.mstances. Tell us what has happened here.'

Gelvert frowned. 'What sort of game are you playing?'

'It doesn't matter, does it?' the Doctor inquired. 'Humour us and you have our silence.'

Gelvert looked at them suspiciously, as though he doubted their sanity, then shrugged. 'Fine, if that's what you want. Uh, better sit down over here.'

They settled on flat slabs jutting out of a pile of rubble on one side of the main camp thoroughfare.

'First, what are NC2s?' Ian asked.

'Non-Citizen, Non-Conformist, of course. Get it? If you come from outside Arkhaven, or if you don't fit in with their cla.s.s laws, or speak out against the Church, you're an NC2.'

'I see,' said the Doctor. 'And apart from internment, what else do they do to NC2s?'

'They don't have to do anything, they just keep us here until the Ship lifts.'

'Ah, would that be Zero Day?'

Gelvert laughed. 'Before then, unless they're stupid.'

'Why?'