As Bernice entered the room, she guessed immediately that the mood did not match the surroundings. Soft armchairs, plush, thick carpets and the soft pastel watercolours on the wall could not disguise the atmosphere. She looked at the Cantryan commissioner. Immediately she saw the familial resemblance with Damakort. The same burnt orange skin, the thin face and hands with stubby fingers that looked as if they'd punched on one data-pad too many. She looked across at the Doctor, pacing up and down in front of the window. Bernice prided herself on her ability to gauge people by their body language, but the Doctor had always been her one blind spot.

However, the last few months of exposure to his foibles and mannerisms still gave her the message that he was upset. No quick wit and flash att.i.tude was the instinctive message she was getting from his subliminal posturing.

The Doctor pointed at a seat, a serious look on his face, and Bernice sunk into the billowing cushions, waiting to hear whatever it was she had been summoned for.

As he looked at her, unspeaking for a moment, Bernice decided that the conversation she had missed had not been the happy reminiscences she had a.s.sumed. The Time Lord's face had a far-away look, as if he was not entirely in the room with them. When he spoke, she thought it was more as if he were talking to himself than to her or the Cantryan commissioner.

A long time ago I visited a planet where the inhabitants only knew war.

They fought for many years, each side never defeating the other - every time one army got the upper hand, something would cause factions of that army to change allegiance. It was as if some totally evil force were using the people as p.a.w.ns in a game. War is a terrible thing, but when it goes on interminably, each new generation automatically picking up weapons and carrying on, with nothing else in their lives but to fight and die, no real knowledge of what they're fighting for, it takes on an even more horrific meaning.

'When I visited that planet I hoped I had cured it of its malaise. I found an object called the Diadem which I believed, indeed still believe, was inhabited itself by a wholly malevolent lifeform dedicated to war, thriving off the emotions that war creates. I removed the Diadem from the people and freed them. They became a vast amicable society, completely turning their backs on anything other than a philosophy of peace.' The Doctor paused for thought.

's.p.a.ce hippies!' Bernice immediately wished she'd kept quiet at the look the Doctor shot in her direction.

The Doctor wandered over to a window and stared down into the heart of the Federation base. His face clouded over, a mixture of disappointment and frustration etched into every line, every pore.

'That planet was called Pakha. The commissioner's daughter died there, sending back a message that people had been stealing great Pakha art treasures and selling them on the black market. One of those treasures sought was the so-called Ancient Diadem. Damajina was unable to confirm whether it had been located by the profiteers.'

The Doctor turned to Bernice and continued earnestly, 'Benny, if the Diadem has been found, it could unleash the most terrible curse upon this galaxy. All the years of peace that the Galactic Federation has striven for will be wiped away in an instant. It only takes one man or woman insane enough to wear the Diadem, to try to harness its power, and the whole galaxy will be plunged into a potentially never-ending war.'

Bernice realized that whilst the Doctor had been talking, she had been unconsciously holding her breath. She let it out and sank further in her chair, strangely exhausted. Even the Cantryan commissioner seemed shaken by what he had heard.

'Doctor, when my daughter. . . Jina, sent her message, we had no idea of the significance of the Ancient Diadem, only that these people chasing her wanted it badly. And as we now know, they were ultimately happy for her to die rather than let us know about her discoveries.' The commissioner slumped back in his chair and Bernice noticed how very old and very tired he looked. It seemed as if just listening to the Doctor's story and recounting his daughter's final part in it had aged him terribly.

The Doctor wandered slowly across the room, picking at a thread hanging loose from one of his jacket b.u.t.tons. He twirled it around his index finger, tightly, making his fingertip bulge white. All right, my friend, I'll go,' he said finally. I would never forgive myself if I didn't do something to find and perhaps this time totally destroy the Diadem.'

'Thank you, Doctor.' The commissioner managed a wan smile. Our latest intelligence reports suggest that our suspect, a human, must be within the Rho system. The trail ran . . . dry, I think you would say, a few weeks ago.

Among the information my daughter supplied, we learned that our enemy is something of a master of disguise. He . . . he formed an alliance with her, and betrayed her. One of his compatriots was killed on Pakha, the other, a mercenary named O'Brien, was found dead in a crashed shuttle on the second moon of Jahn. From there on the trail stopped. However, our projections of his possible flight path suggests that he might be hiding on the planet Peladon.'

The Doctor sat suddenly, and rested his chin upon the crook of his umbrella, a grim smile on his face.

'Peladon. Like a second home. Yes, Commissioner, definitely a good place to start our hunt.'

'You will have help, Doctor. I am sending a delegation from Mars. Officially they, and you, are going for the biennial restatement of King Tarrol's Ascendancy Vows. Peladon is steeped in such traditions but relations are not as secure as they once were. We are hoping that a Federation presence will strengthen Tarrol's convictions to remain part of our organization.'

Bernice leant forward. 'How difficult would it be to spot our man? Are the people of Peladon human-looking?'

The Doctor nodded again. 'Totally. He could fit in easily and we'd never spot him.'

'But how many travellers go to Peladon?' insisted Bernice. 'Surely the locals could spot a stranger a mile off?'

The Cantryan stood up and adjusted his flowing robe. 'Professor Summerfield, Peladon is saturated with offworlders at the moment. That is why we suspect he will have headed there. Holocrews, journalists, cultural attaches; half the Federation are showing an interest in the events. An absolute monarchy is such a rarity in these times, people will wallow in the splendour for as long as possible.' The commissioner turned away from Bernice and held his arms out in a gesture of helplessness to the Doctor.

'My friend, my old friend, I can do no more than thank you for your help and look forward to your safe return.' He looked across at Bernice again. 'Your knowledge of the Martians is, the Doctor a.s.sures me, second to none.

Naturally, I hope you will feel able to go.'

As Bernice smiled at the Doctor for his trust, the commissioner spoke again. I have another reason for wanting you to go. My son, Damakort - have you met him?' Bernice nodded as he continued: 'Well, he has been invited as my personal representative. I do not want him to go - I know it will be dangerous, but nevertheless, my role as Federation Chair requires me to put aside my personal feelings.'

Bernice frowned. excuse me for suggesting this, but if you are aware of the danger, can't you send someone else? Protocol or not, he is your son.'

The commissioner shrugged and the Doctor intervened quickly.

'Commissioner, we will be delighted to take Damakort with us. Bernice will make an excellent nanny.'

As Bernice politely smiled at the joke, her eyes were sending the Doctor vats of acidic looks, but he didn't appear to notice. She got up, straightening her vinyl jacket.

The Doctor bowed slightly to his old friend.

The commissioner then took the Doctor's hand in his and, despite his great age, knelt before the Doctor. 'My life is yours.'

Clearly shaken by the ancient regal honour bestowed upon him but nevertheless extremely flattered, the Doctor remained where he was as the Cantryan rose once more. As he slid his hand away, he spoke softly.

'For our friendship and for the memory of your daughter, I shall not let you down, my friend.'

Leaving the commissioner staring out of his seventy-eighth storey window, the Doctor and Bernice left the suite.

After a moment the door slid open. Damakort entered and put his hand upon his father's shoulder. Without looking at him, he placed his hand upon Kort's and clasped it tightly.

'Take care, my son,' he said. Kort nodded and walked back out.

The commissioner sighed deeply, thinking of his wife; angry, bitter and estranged. Of his daughter; young, beautiful, a scholar and now dead. And his young son; facing dangers and evils on Peladon. A single tear trickled down his aged face, one of many he had shed recently. He hoped it would be the last.

'Well! Martians!' As they left the tower and emerged back onto the covered walkway Bernice found herself running slightly to keep up with the Doctor.

'Hey, where's the fire?'

'Probably all around us, "Professor Summerfield".' The Doctor stopped suddenly, and Bernice overshot him. As she turned back, she noticed his face had what Ace called his Donald Duck look - lips pursed, eyebrows down and a wrinkly frown on his forehead. I don't like them.'

'What, the Martians?' Bernice paused and looked hard at the Doctor.

'Yes, the Martians. Fierce, militaristic, loyal, dependable, honourable -- and yet I wouldn't trust one further than I could throw him.'

'How far's that?'

The Doctor smiled slightly. I couldn't lift him half an inch.' He resumed walking and with a resigned sigh Bernice followed, knowing she was not going to get to the bottom of this one in a while. Instead she asked, 'Where are we going now?'

'To the s.p.a.ceport. We've a ship to catch.'

'You mean, we're not going in the TARDIS? We're leaving it and Ace here?'

The Doctor nodded.

All this must be pretty serious then. After all, it's bad enough letting the TARDIS out of your sight, but her as well? What's going on?'

'She has a mission of her own.'

'How much of this Diadem and Peladon stuff did you know about before we landed?'

The Doctor smiled. 'Bits. This and that. Some of the other. I knew enough about stolen art treasures to send Ace off to Pakha. I suspected the Diadem's involvement, but the commissioner confirmed it. Peladon is an added bonus.'

'And Kort?'

'The son? Well, that didn't exactly surprise me. n.o.ble blood, you see.

Diplomatic courtesy. Nice boy, is he?'

'Not really. Teenage angst. Where are we meeting him?'

'At the s.p.a.ceport.'

'What a shame. He was looking forward to travelling in the TARDIS.'

'His father, I expect. Filling the child's mind with nonsense and romantic tales of derring do.'

Bernice caught the Doctor's sleeve. 'So, how do we get to the s.p.a.ceport?'

The Doctor pointed his umbrella towards the crowded walkway and seconds later, Bernice heard the hum of a flyer above her.

'Citizens. Where to?'

's.p.a.ceport Two, if you please.' replied the Doctor. The flyer landed beside them and they crammed themselves in. The synthetic voice suggested that they hold tight and seconds later they found themselves flying just above the walkways and crowds. Bernice looked out of the window -- other flyers skimmed about, and she could see into huge office blocks where multicoloured humans and aliens went about their daily business. She gasped momentarily as another flyer skimmed towards them but at the last minute it veered off to the right and swung around the corner of a tower block. Ahead of them, the walkway seemed to stretch to infinity, but just as Bernice started to wonder if they'd taken the wrong direction, their flyer turned left and the voice announced that they would be at the s.p.a.ceport in four minutes. She looked across at the Doctor, but he had relaxed in his seat, his crumpled fedora hat tilted forward, covering his eyes. He certainly wasn't asleep, but experience told Bernice that it was best to let him think when he did that; it was like a sort of personalized Do Not Disturb sign.

Finally the flyer started its descent and smoothly stopped outside a vast open area, secured by wire fencing. Large double gates bore the notice that this was indeed s.p.a.ceport Two and a large rectangular slab of stone stood just inside the gate.

The Doctor tipped his hat back and beamed widely at his companion.

'Here starteth the adventure, "Professor Summerfield",' and he thanked the flyer as the door opened.

'Do we leave a tip?' she asked but before the Doctor could answer, the flyer's voice replied 'Your contentment and safe arrival is enough. Thank you,' and it took off.

The Doctor traced around the notice on the gate with his umbrella point and then walked purposefully towards the slab of rock.

'Good morning. I'm the Doctor, this is my a.s.sociate. We are expected, I think.'

Bernice looked on with bemus.e.m.e.nt as the Doctor talked to the stone. Just as she was about to make some biting comment, the stone's centre glowed slightly orange and the gates swung silently open. The Doctor sauntered through, doffing his hat at the stone. Bernice slowly followed and then stopped and stared at the stone. It glowed again and the gates closed.

Suddenly Bernice was aware of the Doctor's umbrella crook on her arm, giving a slight tug.

It's rude to stare,' he admonished.

'Bu . . . but it's just a rock. . : Bernice looked, bewildered towards the Doctor and back at the stone.

It's an augmented Ogri. I'll explain one day. Right now we're in a hurry.'

With a final look back at the now plain-looking stone, Bernice shrugged and mentally noted the name Ogri. Of course, should have known,' she thought sarcastically. 'Where I come from, everyone's got one.' That spurred on her next question.

'By the way, Oh Great and Wise Know-All, what year are we in? Just so that I don't make any faux pas. I know how you hate to be embarra.s.sed by such things.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Mid-thirty-ninth century, give or take a decade. I'll know more when we get to Peladon.'

'Mid . . . frag, that's the furthest we've been. No wonder I don't know what an Ogri is! And by the way, why didn't you tell me about the Horun ruins?'

No reply.

She followed the Doctor towards a metal hut, the word 'Reception'

emblazoned across its door.

The door slid silently open as they approached, and a uniformed male Lurman, his silver hair decorated with an astonishing array of baubles, oozed charm at them.

'You must be the Doctor and Bernice. The Chair of the Federation informed us of your arrival. High Lord Savaar is awaiting you in the hospitality suite aboard the Bruk.' The receptionist smiled at Bernice, his eyes hinting at . . .

she didn't know what exactly but, she thought, he was the first person she'd met recently who might have been worth her discovering what made him tick. He looked well built, late twenties or early thirties, and those silvery eyes . . . She smiled back.

'Fancy a trip to Peladon?' She tried her best to look coy.

The receptionist suddenly looked alarmed. I . . . I don't think my mother.. .'

The Doctor once again came to the rescue, sliding his umbrella around Bernice's wrist and yanking her towards the exit.

'Come along, Professor,' he said loudly. 'We've got to find Damakort.'

Outside, the Doctor looked vaguely disapprovingly towards her.

'His mother?' Bernice tried to take another look back through the gla.s.s door but the Doctor gently pulled her along.

'Lurmans age mentally a great deal slower than humans do. He's the human equivalent of twelve years old, I should think.'

Bernice shook her head. 'Shouldn't be working then, should he?'

All Lurmans work hardest during their youth. It's when they mature you've got to worry about them.'

'Why?'

'Because they tend to go into show business. Come on!'

Shaking his head in resignation, the Doctor led her around the back of the reception but and stopped. There in front of them was the Deep s.p.a.ce lzlyr-cla.s.s cruiser Bruk.

Sleek seemed too dull a word for it. It was, in a functional way, Bernice thought, quite majestic. She'd seen a lot of ships in her time but this was certainly one of the more impressive. It was, she guessed, about a quarter of a mile long and about three decks high. Brilliant white metal, with pinp.r.i.c.ks of green-tinted Perspex windows and two vast nacelles at the back, obviously the Bruk's drive system. She couldn't see the front properly, it was too far away, but the slightly raised blur she could see suggested the bridge to her. Not too far away, a set of steps led to an open hatchway. Something vaguely green stood waiting there.

'Our invitation,' muttered the Doctor and wandered off towards the steps.

Bernice nodded. 'I'll go first,' she said, brushing past him. 'After all, I'm the appointed Martian expert. And you'll only be rude to them.'

The Doctor stopped. 'I beg your pardon?'