'Just over there, I think, Mr Glitz,' Dibber agreed, pointing to a clump of buildings about a mile away. The buildings were orbiting a central tower block at a barely perceptible rate.

'Good, good,' the Doctor said cheerily. 'He'll suffice for our first recruit.'

'You and he should get on like a house on fire, Doctor,'

Glitz said. 'Monty's well into sorting out the latest equipment, and all that sort of fiddly business. On the way, you can think of how you're going to persuade him to be charitable.'

The Thor Orbital Facility was something of a misnomer, as it was not actually in orbit around Vandor Prime. The designation was merely part of the secrecy surrounding the Security and Intelligence Division's research and development complex. Powerful gravitational repulsor fields allowed it to descend far enough to spend most of its time in the upper atmosphere. They also enabled it to move around, so as to avoid being definitively pinpointed by anyone who might wish harm upon it.

Theoretically, something as large as a five-mile-wide asteroid should be easily detectable by any sensor on the planet, but the theory didn't allow for such an object being slightly out of phase with the local space-time continuum. It was visible to the naked eye when sub-orbital, of course, but avoided such inconvenience by largely adopting holding patterns over uninhabited areas of the planet.

It currently hovered over a temperate area of the great northern ocean, sitting in the calm eye of a dark grey storm created by the force of the repulsors. They also pressured the air underneath, and forced a shallow depression into the surface of the ocean itself. Had Vandor Prime still retained a natural weather system, all the equatorial butterflies in the world would do as well to pack in the wing-beating business and head home, totally outclassed.

Even in a crisp white lab coat, Cronan somehow managed to look seedy and greasy. Lank, thinning hair, beady eyes and a receding chin surrounded a prominent nose, making him look rather rodent-like. He didn't care about that, because he knew he was superior to everyone else here. He didn't need any IQ tests to tell him that; he thought so, therefore he was. It was a neat little paradigm.

He brushed aside a guard's greeting with a curt phrase ending in 'off' as he passed through the central core. There were as many guards as staff in the asteroid, a testament to the level of security in which the place was shrouded. Most other people would have been worried about so many law-enforcement types being around, especially since many barely legal, quasi-legal, and downright illegal programmes were being operated.

In this case, however, the security was an advantage.

Everybody scrupulously avoided observing each other's pet projects, and even the illicit ones were protected by the assumption that they must have tacit government approval to be here at all.

Cronan loved it. Here he could do what he liked without fear of getting caught by those who didn't like it.

Unfortunately, business being business, he still had to deal with other people. The asteroid didn't fund itself.

He slipped through a metal door and into a small visiting room. It was dull compared to the shiny metal stairways of the main core, and gave visitors the uncomfortable impression of being in a prison cell. This was reinforced by the presence of armed guards outside the door. Visits were by approved appointment only, at least if the visitor wanted to leave alive. Cronan invited his guest to sit down in one of the two uncomfortable chairs.

The visitor was Barrand, the pilot of a vetted supply shuttle. At least that was his profession for the purposes of visiting the Thor Facility. 'So,' he said, breezily, 'what have you got for us this week?'

Cronan bridled at this presumptuous familiarity, but wasn't quite stupid enough to press the issue where business was concerned.

'Your usual order - Rush, spectrox... but there's a couple of specials on offer. We've messed around with the PCM formula to come up with little individual hits. That's pretty common, though, so it's only four-fifty per unit wholesale. But...' He grinned. 'I got a real deal for you.' He palmed a small vial of white dust and passed it across. 'Introductory price, seven-fifty a unit.' He tried to conceal his increasing excitement as he waited for Barrand's reaction, seeking approval for this new piece of art.

Barrand sniffed at it, and touched a speck of the powder to his wristband. The sensors inside spat out a stream of figures, and a slow smile crossed his face. 'The PCM's still good, OK,' Cronan went on, feeling the need to explain things to Barrand as if he was a child. Cronan felt that way about everybody. 'But this... trust me, you won't make a loss on this one.'

'I know what I'm looking for,' Barrand said sharply. 'Mr Zimmerman only hires professionals.'

Cronan shrugged. 'Whatever. I'm not just saying stuff, right. People who want the best synthesis and refinement get products from Thor, it's that simple. If you can find vraxoin purer than that anywhere in GalSec space, we'll refund triple your money.' He knew he would never have to make good on that particular promise, so it was an easy one to make. There was was no purer source of vraxoin. 'In the Delphinus group it's a seller's market. You could get a bargain price out in Andromeda, but you'd be getting fifty per cent purity at best.' no purer source of vraxoin. 'In the Delphinus group it's a seller's market. You could get a bargain price out in Andromeda, but you'd be getting fifty per cent purity at best.'

'We'll take a thousand units today. If Mr Zimmerman is happy, we'll talk about a standing order.'

'I'll get things sorted out,' Cronan said. Barrand was so predictable. Of course he was going to take the deal; who wouldn't? And the best thing about it was that all the law-enforcement types who filled the station would help out without saying a word against him. Their inferiority was a blessing.

Monty Kast ran a hand across his thinning white hair, and straightened up from under the shuttlepod. Every time he had to do a servicing on the underside of one of these things, it seemed to get more difficult to sit back up afterwards.

Those inspection hatches weren't designed for good posture.

Mind you, they weren't designed for humans at all. The shuttlepods had been built at a time when a sixty per cent unemployment rate had been a small price to pay for accurate robot maintenance.

Monty preferred it when there were service bots doing these jobs - he might have been poor, but at least his back hadn't hurt. And, of course, service bots could always be reprogrammed by someone with a little imagination and a hefty gambling habit. Humans, sadly, could not.

He was getting too old for this, he reflected. Not that the age reached his eyes: they were still clear and sparkling. That was more than could be said for the garage, which was old and stained with a lifetime of fuel and coolant vapour.

'It's probably the lateral compensators,' a voice said from behind him. 'They're usually the first to go in these vehicles.'

Probably some civilian looking to charter a pod, he thought, turning. They got that a lot.

Instead, he found himself facing two bearded ruffians in bohemian spacer garb, a man in a patchwork coat, and... a penguin? He wondered if maybe the coolant was leaking from the shuttlepod, and causing him to hallucinate. All the same, there was something awfully familiar about the first two...

Before he could gather his wits, the one with the curly blond hair and multicoloured coat had stuck his head into the inspection hatch.

'Yes... I thought as much. Very nasty. You'll need to replace the whole unit.'

'I can see that,' Monty said. 'Who are you?'

'A friend of mine,' said Glitz, stepping forward. 'And now a friend of yours, Monty my old mate.'

'What? Who were they?' Maybe they'd been sent by one of his creditors. He'd lost a lot on that last race... It took Monty an anxious moment to place that bearded face. 'Glitz?

Sabalom Glitz?'

'In the flesh, as it were,' Glitz confirmed cheerily. He clapped an arm round Monty's shoulder. Monty mostly felt relieved that it wasn't one of his gambling creditors round to collect. 'You remember my young friend Dibber?'

'Of course.' That was the more youthful ruffian. Monty nodded at the third visitor, who was even bigger than Glitz.

'Who's the dilly in the test pattern?'

The Doctor smiled and thrust out a hand to shake. 'If you mean me, I am known as the Doctor. And this is Frobisher.'

He indicated the penguin, who inclined his head.

Monty nodded back, trying to let his mind catch up with his ears.

Glitz broke in. 'Now, Monty, I reckon you and I have some business. Is there somewhere we can talk?'

Monty nodded again, and led them into the shuttlepod itself. Sabalom Glitz after all these years... He wasn't sure about that "we can talk" bit, though. That usually presaged either a risky job offer or a begging session. Glitz wasn't above either, if Monty's memory served him.

'Stay on watch, Frobisher,' the Doctor told the penguin.

'Right you are, Doc.'

This was something Monty could could take in his stride. He'd been around a lot longer than Glitz or Dibber, and seen enough not to be fazed by a mere sentient penguin. take in his stride. He'd been around a lot longer than Glitz or Dibber, and seen enough not to be fazed by a mere sentient penguin.

The interior of the shuttlepod was cramped but clean. Two rows of seats faced each other, and Monty sat opposite Glitz and Dibber. The Doctor sat next to him. 'I'm sorry I can't offer you boys a drink,' Monty began. 'If you'd come round after hours...'

'Not to worry,' the Doctor told him. 'We're on duty, so to speak.'

'On duty?' What the hell did he mean by that?

Glitz looked suitably embarrassed. 'Well, we've brought you an offer, haven't we?'

Monty had expected as much. It was flattering, if a little rude, to be so direct, but Monty doubted he was quite up to it these days. 'I have a straight job now,' he replied, trying to instil his voice with a pride he didn't feel. 'It doesn't pay much, but it's a steady living, and people tend not to shoot at you too much.'

'I assure you, Monty,' the Doctor interrupted, 'that shooting is the very last thing I want here. In fact it's precisely to avert violence that we need your help.' He sounded sincere, but, of course, all the best con men did. Most importantly, Monty didn't know this man; that made his words less convincing.

'I repair shuttlepods and taxi cabs, I'm not a GalSec ambassador.'

'But you do look at the news, don't you?'

'Sometimes. I'm not all that good at reality.'

'And what about this situation with the Veltrochni?'

Monty shrugged. 'Klein says they're manufacturing the crisis to make themselves look big. I don't believe a word of it, but it doesn't matter, does it?'

'Oh, it matters, Monty. You didn't always repair cabs, did you?'

Monty went on the defensive immediately. What was Glitz trying to do by bringing this guy here? 'My business is my business.'

'As a matter of fact,' the Doctor continued, 'ten years ago you helped to steal a cylindrical relic from Veltroch, and Glitz fenced it.' Monty wished he had a gun, and the reflexes to use it. This guy must be a cop; and Glitz had betrayed him.

'We need your help to steal it again.' This was - Monty's thoughts stopped cold.

'Say that again?'

'We need your help - and the help of the others - to steal the Veltrochni's cylinder again.'

Monty was stunned. 'But why?'

The Doctor leaned forward. 'Because the Veltrochni want it back, and could well destroy this planet if they don't get it.'

'You work for them?'

'No. I'm just looking for the best solution all round. I can't promise any profit, Monty, but the Veltrochni may well put up a reward. The important thing is that you'll be helping to save millions of lives, starting with the population of this planet.'

Monty leaned back in his seat. This was just too bizarre.

Steal something he helped steal years ago? Return it to its rightful owners? It was a stupid waste of effort... But anything might be better than working here. 'What would be in it for me?'

'The lives of yourself and anyone else on this planet that you care about. And I think I know someone who might be persuaded to pay a legitimate wage, with the proper encouragement.' The Doctor allowed himself a half smile. 'If nothing else you'd have my eternal gratitude.'

Monty barked out a short laugh. 'Is one person's gratitude more valuable?'

'If he's the former President of the High Council of the Time Lords, yes.'

That impressed Monty. You didn't bump into Time Lords that often, but it was certainly wise to keep in with them, especially if you wanted your past to stay in a reasonably chronological order. And an ex-President? Must've fallen on hard times if he was hanging around with a penguin and the likes of Glitz and Dibber. The whole thing was about as believable as a lawyer's tax return, but he was damned if there wasn't something about this Doctor that made Monty want to trust him...

'You trust him?' he asked Glitz, nodding at the Doctor. trust him?' he asked Glitz, nodding at the Doctor.

Glitz hesitated. People like them never really trusted anybody. 'Well, sort of. He's not a bad bloke, really. Honest, of course, but he doesn't let it handicap him too much...'

Monty doubted that the Doctor would ever realise how high this praise was by Glitz's standards.

'You'll never get Jack to do it. Not for no gain.' Jack Chance might be a thrill-seeker but he wasn't exactly desperate for a way out of his lifestyle like Monty was. Nor was he, Monty supposed, as stupid.

'Don't you worry,' Glitz said. 'The Doctor will persuade him.

He could talk an ayatollah into opening an off-licence.'

'That I have to see.' Monty sighed. One last wild chance, or back to work for less than the legal minimum wage: what a choice. 'All right, Glitz, I'll go along for now. But if I see anything I don't like, I'm out.'

'Well said, Monty,' Glitz said appreciatively. 'You know it makes sense...'

'Not really, but if the cops are going to hound me anyway, I might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb. If it comes off, maybe I'll get my retirement out of it, and not have to work in this damn garage any more.' He shook his head sadly. 'The galaxy's changed around us, Glitz. It's getting so's you can't make a dishonest living any more.'

Brokhal stared impassively out of the hologram field as Klein greeted her. Mandell watched with interest, noting that it was trickier to read her body language through the transmission.

'Can I help you, Mr President?' she asked.

'In a way I hope not,' Klein said. 'We've just received word that one of our patrol vessels, the Thornton, Thornton, has been attacked and boarded. Their last message spoke of contact with a Veltrochni Dragon, and we wonder if your countrymen witnessed anything that may help in our investigation.' A diplomatic way of hiding the accusation, which Mandell knew wouldn't fool Brokhal for a moment. has been attacked and boarded. Their last message spoke of contact with a Veltrochni Dragon, and we wonder if your countrymen witnessed anything that may help in our investigation.' A diplomatic way of hiding the accusation, which Mandell knew wouldn't fool Brokhal for a moment.