And that, no doubt, was what IMC needed Legion for. Humanity didn't have the technology to control black holes even the atom*sized ones that had been formed by density fluctuations during the Big Bang. They were leasing the technology from Legion's race.

She had to stop it before it started.

Christine stood up and headed for the airlock.

Bishop slipped a hand inside his robes and wrapped his fingers around the b.u.t.t of his judicial weapon. He could certainly take out one of the troopers, but he estimated a forty per cent chance that the Doctor's head would end up sizzling on the wall before he could disable the other.

'Wait!'

The troopers looked up as a ma.s.sive bulk glided from the shadows.

'IMC policy is that there should be no unnecessary deaths,' Bronwen ap Bryn rumbled.

'Seconded,' the Doctor said around the muzzle of the neutron cannon.

'Ah, well, that all depends...' Kreig shifted from one foot to another.

'...on your definition of unnecessary,' Ardamal finished, removing his cannon from the Doctor's mouth and wiping saliva from it. The Doctor ma.s.saged his gums resentfully.

'Get on with your rounds,' Bryn snapped, gesturing the troopers away. Bishop noticed with some satisfaction the distaste with which they squeezed past her. Interesting: they obeyed orders, but they didn't seem to like it. He filed that one away for later use.

'The company I'm forced to mix with...' Bryn said apologetically.

'I'm surprised to find you so reluctant to aid and abet murder,' Bishop said, stepping forward to confront her, 'considering how you must have stood by and accepted the slaughter on Moloch.'

'There was no slaughter on Moloch. You heard Legion.'

'On the basis that the Project Eden team were issued with no weaponry,' Bishop said, falling into his Adjudicatorial manner, 'how do you explain the wounds, if not by organized IMC butchery?'

'Don't come the high and mighty with me,' Bryn snapped. 'Your record isn't exactly lily*white. How many murders have you committed in your time?'

'None,' Bishop said, affronted.

'You killed fifteen people on Callisto.'

'Drug dealers.'

'And another thirty*eight in Macedonia.'

'Revolutionaries.'

'And the entire population of Frinelli Minor?'

'Energy*wasters and dysfunctionals.'

'Correct me if I'm wrong,' Bryn simpered, 'but you currently hold the Guild of Adjudicators record for most deaths incurred in the course of duty.'

'Judicial executions,' Bishop snapped.

'Murders by another name,' Bryn chided. 'The Guild of Adjudicators, IMC, what's the difference? They both decide what is right and what is wrong. They both kill in line with that decision. Who is to say that one is any better than the other?'

'There are laws '

'Laws are made by humans. When Earth Central made the laws, the Guild enforced them. Now the Earth Alliance of Corporations makes the laws, and they have their own enforcers. The Guild has no rationale any more, no justification. The future is with the EAC.'

'You may have sold out,' Bishop spat bitterly, 'but I still believe in truth, and justice, and right.'

'You don't understand, do you?' Bryn's deep voice was smothered in malicious pity. 'There's nothing left to sell out from from. And the EAC decide what is true, what's just, and what's right.'

'It's the golden rule, isn't it?' the Doctor said from the sidelines.

'You understand,' Bryn said. 'I'm so glad.' She turned and waddled daintily back into the shadows. 'I remember you as a young squire, Bishop,' she said as she retreated. 'You were good. Too good to waste your life clinging to outdated ideals. When you've changed your mind, let me know.'

Her footsteps echoed loudly through the corridor for a few moments, and then there was silence.

'She let us go,' the Doctor said, surprised.

'I was her squire, for a while,' Bishop said. 'Long ago, when I was young, and she was honest. Perhaps she thought she owed me something.'

'Perhaps she suspects she's made the wrong decision, and wants to make some kind of amends.'

'Either way, she should keep personal sentiment out of justice.' Bishop took his hand from the b.u.t.t of his weapon, where it had been all the way through the conversation. 'Oh, and what is the "golden rule"?'

The Doctor smiled. 'Whoever has the gold, makes the rules,' he said, and walked off.

The side of the executive transporter had been cleaned by the time Christine stepped out of the airlock. She was wearing a s.p.a.cesuit whose name tag read 'SHIPARELLI', she had the helmet screwed on, and she had the polarization set on full. It was like she was stumbling around in the dark. There were enough technicians and pilots around dressed the same that she didn't look conspicuous, but that didn't stop her feeling like she had a big glowing holosign above her head saying Escaped Prisoner! Please Apprehend! Escaped Prisoner! Please Apprehend!

The bustle around the newly arrived executive transporter was attracting a lot of attention, and Christine managed to get to the side of the bay without being noticed. She didn't actually know where she was going: it was like some autopilot had kicked in, some part of her subconscious which kept her putting one foot in front of another whilst the rest of her mind sorted out the difficult things like reason, and direction.

The airlock in the new executive transporter had opened now, and two suited figures were emerging.

She had to find the Doctor. If anybody could fight IMC, he could. That meant stealing an executive transporter. d.a.m.n! She was heading in the wrong direction. She should have stayed back in the 'Hey, you! Stop right there!'

There were upwards of thirty people in the bay. There was a good chance she was safe. She took two more paces.

'One more step, Christine, and I burn your spine out!'

It was over. Somehow, the thought bought its own measure of relief. No more decisions. She turned.

Ace's face was set into an implacable mask. The barrel of her gun was a long, dark tunnel with death at the end of it.

'Hi!' Bernice said brightly. 'Glad you could join us.'

There were signs in the heavens.

Miles Engado stared out from the Lift into the depths of s.p.a.ce. Messages had been spelled out across the cosmos in stars, galaxies and nebulae just for his eyes. They whispered to him of the importance of his life, of the vital part he played in creation. The Great Whale had arranged them for him. Only for him.

The medicine wheel was a painful weight in his arms, but he did not want to loosen his grip. It reminded him of what was important. It connected him with the only thing he had left: the past.

He had to see Paula again. He had to make the long journey down into the depths and confront the Whale on its own ground, to apologize to it, to ask it for his daughter back again and, if necessary, to sink into its maw in her place.

As the Lift inched closer to Moloch, he sank to his knees. He was tired, more tired than he had ever been. The stars broadcast their messages to him, but he could not understand. Their voices were a babble in his head: their words flowed together like the barking of the seals as they bobbed on the spume*tipped sea, like the endless beating of the waves. Rush and retreat. Rush... and retreat.

The coldness of metal on his cheek jerked him awake. Somehow, he had slid down to the grille floor which separated the main body of the Lift from the curved underside and provided a flat surface for the Lift's human occupants to walk on. He lay there, the metalwork making a waffle*iron impression on his cheek, his mind moving back and forth over the walk from his office to the Pit, the slide down to the Bridge terminal and the wait for the Lift to arrive. For the first time, he marvelled at the lack of any troopers on his journey. It was as if he were alone on Belial. It was as if he were being protected.

The focus of his gaze moved from the grille, to the darkness beneath the grille, to the curved metal of the Lift walls and the supporting spars.

And to the eye that watched him from the shadows.

'Miles,' said a m.u.f.fled voice, 'I'm so sorry...'

'I'm sorry,' Bernice said, 'but we did ask for an ocean view.'

The room was panelled in what appeared to be oak. Heavy gla.s.s chandeliers hung suspended from null*gray units, and computer*generated portraits of previous IMC Chairpersons adorned the walls. The ma.s.sive slab of mahogany that pa.s.sed for a table was laden with fruit and wine.

Bernice strode in as if she owned the place. 'No, this just won't do. Please take our baggage to another room.'

Christine followed her in.

Ace, gun in hand, stood in the doorway. 'You think you're so smart,' she snapped. 'Have I ever told you just how tired I get of your wisecracks?'

'I don't suppose there's any chance of you telling us what's going on?' Christine asked in a weary voice.

'What's the point in asking?' Bernice said levelly, staring at Ace. 'She's not operating on logic. Legion's played around with her mind.'

'That's a lie,' Ace snapped.

'What other reason could you have for abandoning your friends?'

'Deeper loyalties ' Ace stopped abruptly, as if she had reconsidered her words.

'What deeper loyalties? The Doctor did everything for you!'

'The Doctor did everything to to me. He relates to his companions the way a pusher relates to his pitbull terrier. We're useful to him, or are you too stupid to realize that?' me. He relates to his companions the way a pusher relates to his pitbull terrier. We're useful to him, or are you too stupid to realize that?'

'And you prefer blindly following IMC's orders?'

'We all follow orders,' Ace said, and met Bernice's gaze fully for the first time since they had left Belial. 'But at least my boss says he's my boss, and doesn't pretend to be my friend.'

Bernice looked liked she was going to explode. 'But don't you '

'No, Bernice.' Christine stepped forward and rested her good hand on the archaeologist's shoulder. 'Ace has made her choice. You can't change it.'

'Remember that,' Ace snarled, and slammed the door.

There was silence in the room for a few moments, broken only by the heavy clink of a magnetic lock.

'She was lying,' Christine said to herself, with some surprise. 'She doesn't want it to be this way at all.'

Bernice crossed to the table and picked up a bottle of wine. 'I thought as much,' she agreed, triggering the inbuilt cooling unit. 'She was tense in all the wrong places. She wants us to do something, but I don't know what.'

'There's obviously a history between you two and the Doctor. Care to tell me a little about it?'

'Why not?' Bernice took a swig of the wine. 'After all, there's precious little else to do.' She perched herself on the edge of the table and adopted her lecturing stance. 'It's just your basic, everyday story of a boy, a girl and a fungus...'

'Oh Miles, what's happened to you?'

Miles Engado stared out into s.p.a.ce as if he hadn't heard. The glare reflected from Moloch's approaching icy surface emphasized the deep creases and folds of his face. As she climbed up into the main body of the Lift, Piper O'Rourke was appalled. This man wasn't the smooth*faced Administrator who had so impressed her at the interviews for Project Eden. Miles seemed to have aged ten years in as many hours.

'Miles?'

No response. She flung the hatch in the grille flooring shut with all her strength, hoping that the sudden noise would shock Miles out of his lethargy, but he didn't even flinch.

'Miles, I can understand your anger, but '

'I'm not angry,' he said, with no emotion in his voice.

'But Paula '

'Paula is still alive.'

'You said that back in the refectory. I wasn't sure if '

'You should have faith. All things come to those with faith. All things...'

There was something seductively convincing about his flat delivery.

'Is it possible?' she murmured to herself. 'Could the Angels have rescued Paula?'

'No,' he answered, still with no inflection in his voice. 'It was an accident. That's what she told me. She collided with an Angel. Somehow their... souls... fused. She's one of them now.'

It was that calm correction that finally persuaded Piper that Miles hadn't slipped over the edge into insanity after all. She felt a strange kind of elation well up within her, but reality deflated it. 'What about the Project?' She tried to see the expression in his eyes, but it was like staring into a dry well for a glimmer of light on water. 'I betrayed you all.'

'It was written.'

'Don't you want to know why?'

Miles said nothing, but she needed to tell him. It didn't matter whether or not he wanted to know.