Lianna felt a chill drive through her body. 'You . . . you have no right to invoke the curse upon me.'

'Your mind, your body, your being - all are evil,' Atissa repeated.

Lianna turned on her heel and left the sanctum.

Ten minutes later, Atissa was still murmuring the curse but no one was there to listen.

An hour later, her life. changed forever.

'h.e.l.lo-o-o.'

Over here-ere-ere; came the reply.

Bernice grinned. Gotcha, she thought. Second cavern on the right. Which she had come down a few moments earlier, noting the side caverns. She looked across at the third cavern - about seven meters down should be a small tunnel linking the two. She could nip down that and come out behind him.

'Coming-ing-ing,' she yelled, her voice echoing around the cold walls of the Pel catacombs. As she rushed into the third cavern it occurred to her just how childish this all was. Two grown people scampering around tunnels, yelling echoes to each other like schoolchildren. It had been Nic's idea but Bernice thought it reminded her of home. One of the better memories, before the Daleks came. She shrugged the old memories off - that was then, this was now and she could see Nic hiding behind a stalagmite, ignorant of her approach.

She got as close as possible and yelled, 'Boo!' in his ear. If she was expecting a jocular reaction, she was mistaken. Instead an elbow jabbed back, catching her expertly in the solar plexus, driving all the air out of her lungs. She was floored, gasping in less than a second, tears of pain blurring her vision. As Nic bent over her, muttering astonished words of apology, Bernice was momentarily convinced that his eyes said a different story. But what . . . She couldn't concentrate on that, she just wanted to breathe properly again, and allowed Nic to gently pull her up, rubbing his hands over her back, as if pumping air back into her.

'Frag it, Benny, I'm so sorry. You caught me completely unawares and frightened the life out of me.'

Bernice managed a weak wave-away of the apology. 'Stupid. . . move,' she said. 'Someone did that to me on a dig once when . . . when I was concentrating.' She managed to stand upright, but her stomach felt as if someone had sliced it open. I nearly hospitalized him. I thought he'd never speak to me again.'

And did he?'

'Clive? Yeah, became my best friend: 'Good,' said Nic Reece. I hope the pattern repeats itself.' He looked at Bernice and she smiled. 'Pax?' She laughed, glad to have the air back inside her. 'Pax? I haven't heard that in centuries.' Bernice suddenly realized that their faces were unusually close. She could see the laugh lines etched in his cheeks, around his eyes. She could almost count the stubble hairs on his chin, feel his breath . . .

She took an involuntary step backwards. He looked as if he'd been struck.

'Why?' she thought. 'd.a.m.n it, why did you do that? He's a nice guy and he likes you. Stupid!' She moved slightly forward again. As she looked closely her eyes rested upon the skin around his temples. Tiny, almost invisible scars on both sides. Most people would never have noticed, but Bernice prided herself on her instinctive and detailed examinations of everyone she met. Her frown must have caught his attention, because he slowly rubbed the right temple.

I . . . I had one of those blasted Neysc.r.a.pes. Put it in when I was fifteen.

Stupid, really. We all went out one night, had too much to drink and dared each other. Needless to say, I was the first to have one.'

'You're not a follower of Gaia then?' Reece looked puzzled, so Bernice explained what Kort had said to her about her lack of Neysc.r.a.pe.

Oh, right,' he said. 'No, I got rid of it because . . . because . . . well, it doesn't matter.'

Bernice found herself placing a hand on his wrist. 'Nic, whatever it is, you're going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Now, tell me to b.u.g.g.e.r off if I'm interfering, but I want to help. To be a friend. And a confidante.'

'Later.' Reece reached out and stroked her face. 'Nice skin.'

Bernice suddenly squealed and backed away once more.

She ran her finger along her cheek and realized she was bleeding.

Nic looked shocked. I . . . I'm sorry. I guess my nails are longer than I thought . . . I . . .'

'Hey, it's not a problem,' soothed Bernice. It's only a little scratch.'

Nic reached out and wiped some blood off her cheek but again Bernice instinctively flinched at the touch.

'Now I'm sorry,' she said and grinned. 'Look, let's head back, eh?' She turned and started to walk up the pa.s.sage.

Behind her, Nic Reece rolled the blood between his finger and thumb and slowly licked it off. As he watched Bernice wander into the gloom his face split into a wide grin. 'Hey, Professor, wait for me!' If he'd waited a second longer he might have become aware of the figure who had watched the whole incident. Two seconds and he would have seen the figure lumber off in the opposite direction, towards the apparently disused refinery. But he didn't and as a result missed the opportunity to drastically change his destiny.

What the h.e.l.l was wrong with her? Twice in the s.p.a.ce of half a day she'd been too late.

Too late to save the Pakhar and now too late to save the humans. She knelt over the student with the broken neck. Young. Attractive. Probably about nineteen years old. All the years of growing up; being fed and clothed, learning to walk and talk. Somewhere, some proud parents had paid for his education at the University of Pakha, and now all those years of learning, probable ambitions and plans, all wasted by a few seconds of savagery. She'd seen death many times - she'd killed more than she cared to remember, but somehow the loss of this one life seemed so . . . so cruel.

So totally wrong.

There was a time she wouldn't have cared. But now? Now she cared.

'You're growing up, Dorothy. 'Bout b.l.o.o.d.y time, too.'

She gritted her teeth as she stared at the pain-wracked face, eyes staring in a rigid death-mask. The body was cold but not stiff. The blood around the mouth (he'd bitten into his tongue as he died, she guessed) was sticky.

He'd only been dead an hour or so. Ace thrust a hand inside his jacket and took out a data-pad. There was a small rectangle of microfilaments in one corner. She pressed and stroked but nothing. There must be some way . . .

Her eyes settled on his dead fingers. The index finger of his left hand had a similar mesh and then she saw another, slightly larger one on the side of his face. She ran the finger over the data-pad mesh, but nothing. d.a.m.n.

She sat down. 'Think, Ace. It's the thirty-ninth century. You got the TARDIS to show you how the clip-blaster worked. Think techno.' She cupped the dead boy's hand again and ran his finger down the strip on his face. The data-pad glowed faintly. 'Low batteries or low contact,' she shrugged.

'Name?' Nothing.

She thought about what she had learned from the TARDIS. Most personal equipment was individually coded by a DNA scan, therefore stopping anyone else accessing the information or whatever. That's right! The DNA scan is connected by the two microfilaments triggering each other and, like the gun she had, was initialled by a mental command. Therefore, it had to be not just any order but a personal one. Whatever brain activity was still fading within the young man's head had been enough to trigger the data-pad - she just had to ask the right questions.

'Who am I?' she said.

A hologram grew out of the pad - about seven centimetres high, the young man smiling happily. Probably taken in this centuries equivalent of those photo booths that used to litter stations and such like. Ace remembered herself and some friends . . . Who was there? Manisha? No, but Shreela was. And Ange. And Julian. All ducking and diving just to make silly faces four times over to use as their travelcard photocards. Julian was dead.

Could he have guessed that so soon after farting around in that photo booth he'd be gone? Nor could her unnamed new soulmate. Her dead soulmate.

'Hi, Julian Winmill here. Blood group O. I'm not telling you my age, but h.e.l.l, I can remember when music was real music and not that modern guitar junk. Bring back the samplers, that's what I say. And memo to me; dupe this for Mom. I promised her a record of everything within reason - regarding this semester: Julian. His name was Julian. Just like her Julian.

If I ever have a son (G.o.d help us), remind me never to call him Julian,' Ace said. Okay. Play me back my last diary entry.'

The hologram flicked off, to be replaced by one of Winmill in the clothing he wore as a corpse. 'Well, Joolz, tomorrow's the big day. Sharrod's taking us to some cavern to find some artefact. Pol Fehler is coming - what a surprise, his tongue's so far up Sharrod's . . . oh, what the h.e.l.l, who cares!

Hey, Nezz Larroq's coming. I wonder . . . Oh, dream on kiddo. You know, I have this reputation of getting to lay anyone I want. How? For Christ's sake, I'm a fragging virgin! I mean, where do these stories come from?

Christ, I can't believe I said that. I better wipe that in case someone ever slices this.' The hologram turned its head slightly and then back to facing front. 'Right. That was Vega Lexus calling, time to go. After this is over and I'm back tomorrow night, it's wipe-out time for you, dear diary. Seeya!' The hologram leaned forward, flickered and vanished.

Ace stared at the pad. Then down at Julian Winmill. She reached down and closed his eyes. I'm sorry, Joolz. I don't even know you and I'm really sorry' Her eyes were p.r.i.c.kling so she breathed in deeply and stood up.

Instantly she knew she was being watched. Her blaster was primed and aiming in her hand faster than even she thought possible. A shrill squeak of terror told her where her observer was crouching.

'Come on out, or I'll fry you.'

A black-furred Pakhar bustled from behind a rock, one paw in the air, the other scratching at its muzzle. Its nose visibly twitched as it got nearer.

Are they all dead?'

Ace nodded. 'Nastily.'

'Did you kill them?'

'You know I didn't. You've been tracking me, pretty b.l.o.o.d.y badly, since I left the hutch.'

The Pakhar's snout moved from side to side. Ace had spoken to enough Pakhars earlier to recognize a sign of disappointment. I'm not very good at this,' it started.

Ace lowered her blaster fractionally, but kept her finger on the trigger-stud, just in case. 'Stay primed,' she willed at it. The red light on top flashed back its acknowledgment of the order. 'So,' she said aloud, 'who are you?'

'My name is Ci'm'ur. I was an . . . a.s.sociate of Hyn't'n's.'

In other words, you're also a shifty, underworld opportunist. Pleased to meet you. What happened to Hyn't'n?'

Ci'm'ur shuffled slightly. 'Wrong sort. Human mercenaries. After the Diadem.'

And Hyn't'n told them it was here?'

'A friend of ours works at the university. Good job, too - secretary to the administrator's personal a.s.sistant. Tells us lots of things. Like about Sharrod's expedition to find it.'

'This Sharrod. Good man is he? Trustworthy? Does he know how to find the Diadem?'

The Pakhar waved towards the older man sprawled over the artificial fire, a large hole burnt right through his chest from the back. Ace sighed. I wonder if he found it.'

I imagine so,' said Ci'm'ur. 'They're not here now. They've probably already got it.'

Ace moved towards him. I must get after them. Can I get a shuttle pa.s.sage easily?'

Ci'm'ur nodded. I can arrange that. One hour. Port Four. Ask for me.'

An hour! They could be hundreds of thousands of kliks away by then.

Halfway across this system.'

'Not possible. I work at the ports. I give clearance for take-offs. I arranged their exit permits. I can't stop them, but they won't be happy. I've held them up.'

'How?'

'Extended lunch break. Following you.'

Ace had to smile. Okay, let's go.'

The Pakhar moved forward and took her left hand, totally ignoring the blaster in her right. I don't know who you are,' he said. 'But I saw you look at that human boy's pad. I saw the way you reacted. You're not like them. I know you didn't know Hyn't'n any more than you knew Professor Sharrod and his students, but for me if nothing else, please find them and stop them.'

Ace nodded. 'Let's go.' She moved back to the bodies. She picked up Julian Winmill's pad. If I can, Joolz, I'll get this back to your folks.' Putting it in the inside pocket of her bomber jacket, she wandered after the Pakhar.

She looked at her wrist computer. Just an hour to go.

Sadler stared at the vacuum pack. It was inside a transparent safe-seal, attached to the shuttle's power-systems so that it was untouchable until they landed and powered down. But inside . . . Such power. Such dreams.

Such . . .

She shivered and looked away. Cruk it! The blasted thing was making her feel odd. She glanced across at Townsend's broad back, seated at the pilot's console. Lambert was on the communicator, moaning at Port Command. Something about the official in charge of telling the other officials that a bigger official had officially cleared them for take-off. About crukking time, too.

Power Townsend relaxed. 'That took long enough.'

'Why didn't we leave anyway? They could hardly stop us.' Cooper was swigging on a bottle of something vaguely toxic.

Townsend sighed. He'd explained this earlier. 'Look, this is a stolen shuttle.

We're far enough away from the major Federation s.p.a.ce lane to avoid detection on Pakhar, but I'm not taking any unnecessary risks. Anyway, Sadler's little charge,' he waved towards the vacuum box, s worth too much to foul up. Now, everyone ready?' Sarcastic murmurs were his only response.

Such power Lambert grinned laconically. All safety procedures intact, Captain. Pa.s.sengers secured and relaxed. A servicer will soon be along with refreshments and we have thirty-nine vid channels to choose from.

Thank you for flying with the Townsend Corporation.'

Townsend didn't smile back. Instead, he piloted the ship away from Pakha.

Sadler relaxed. And realized her hand was dangerously near the voice override control on the safe-seal. She whipped her hand away. What was she doing, she thought. She had to be tired.

Ambition. Domination. A smile seeped on to her lips.

Control - Her hand dropped to the controls, her eyes stared ahead.

Maximum power - Her fingers neared the override codes.

Infinite power! 'Launch confirmed, Shuttle My'n'ad. Good luck.'

'Thanks, Control. For everything. My'n'ad out.'

Ace gripped the arm rests as her new shuttle roared into the airzones of Pakha. The slight g-force held in place for a few seconds until she escaped orbit, then she settled down to relax and follow her prey. Ci'm'ur had done his bit - the mercenaries' shuttle had been delayed; hers speeded up so she was only three or four minutes behind them, running on navcom so she didn't have to do a thing. They'd programmed in the other shuttle's codes so she could trace it wherever it went. Some judicious use of the on-board computer-link and she'd essentially told her craft tfollow that shuttle'.

Good.

She kept her eyes on the hologram of her enemy.

Bernice sat in her room, alone. She had kicked her boots off and crunched her orange sweater into a pillow. She was propped against the wall, below the window, the sweater keeping the stippled rock from jabbing the back of her head. In her hands was her diary. She was staring at it, stylus in hand, but no words were being consigned to posterity. After a few moments of staring aimlessly she closed it and threw it on to the bed. She slipped the stylus into a pocket of her rather grimy chinos and pushed herself up, catching the falling sweater and stuffing it under her arm.

'Better go and see what trouble the Doctor's in by now,' she murmured and wandered out into the corridor. Her boots still lay beside her bed.

The first thing she saw was the king's champion, Torg, rushing past her.

She c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. Torg was a big guy and he was in a hurry. Good job she wasn't in his way. She wandered after him unhurriedly, wondering what his problem was. As she rounded yet another identical corner she heard a roar and absolute rage from ahead of her. Instinctively Bernice broke into a run and caught up with Torg.