It was common knowledge amongst the underdwellers that one of the robot caretakers took its cleanliness programming a little more seriously than its security programming, and regularly left a hatch open to air the place out.

He rounded a corner, and saw, a little distance ahead, a sliver of light. He was in luck! Shuffling forward, he bent down beside it. The hatch was open just a crack, but it wouldn't budge when he pulled it and the control panel was on a wall inside. He put his ear to the crack there was no noise from inside, no people, no robots, no showers running. If he could only reach in and hit the controls . . .

He lay down and extruded a pseudo-limb through the gap. The tentacles on the end of his pseudo-limb waggled in the air. He could sense the controls just out of reach. The cold, smooth metal taunted him. The edge of the hatch bit sharply into his flesh. Tingles edged down his tentacles, and his tendons strained until he thought that they would snap.

Powerless Friendless sighed and pulled his limb back into his body. He was going to have to ask Krohg to do it. He didn't want to, but it was the only chance he had.

'Krohg?'

Nothing. He tried again.

'Krohg? Please?'40.

Something stirred deep in a pocket of his rucksack. Careful not to touch Krohg's skin it was always a bit on the snappy side when woken up he slid a pseudo-limb into the pocket and waited until it had nestled moistly in his curled-up pseudo-palm.

'Sorry about this,' he said, pulling the limb out, 'but I need your help.'

Krohg stared malevolently up at him. As usual, he couldn't help wondering why he'd kept the creature. Not that he could remember how he had come by it; his memories became fragmented and diffused the further back he tried to push them. It was too ugly to evoke sympathy in the heart of any pa.s.sing human. Most of them found its slimy orange skin and fringe of cilia repellent, and the gleam of nastiness in its three eyes didn't help. Neither did its mouth.

Those cogwheel-like teeth had even given him him a couple of nasty rasps. No, it had to be said that Krohg didn't have many redeeming features. Occasionally, when it could be bothered, Krohg would help Powerless Friendless with fiddly things like half-open hatches and wallets in pockets. That was about it. a couple of nasty rasps. No, it had to be said that Krohg didn't have many redeeming features. Occasionally, when it could be bothered, Krohg would help Powerless Friendless with fiddly things like half-open hatches and wallets in pockets. That was about it.

He pointed it at the crack between the hatch and the frame.

'Good thing,' he muttered. 'Open the hatch for me.'

With a wriggle, Krohg eased itself onto the hatch frame and through the crack. A few moments later he heard the click of a magnetic catch, and the hatch sighed open. He found Krohg inside, curled up around the OPEN b.u.t.ton.

He picked it up and slipped it back in his rucksack with a murmured. 'Thanks.'

He slid through the hatch into the sports facility and slithered towards the showers, where he let the fingers of ultrasound caress his body and ease the ingrained dirt from his flesh. Shame it took all that lovely, protective mucus with it, but he was used to the sacrifice by now. After fifteen minutes he stepped out and slithered back into the dressing room. There was a full-length mirror field across one wall, and for a moment he stopped and stared at himself. He didn't like what he saw. His skin was greyer than he would have liked, the fringe of cilia around his mouth trembled slightly and his body was so thin that his basal foot was wider than his waist. The nubs of his withdrawn pseudo-limbs were withered and misshapen, and a band of scarring extended down his flanks, but his mind shied away from thinking about that.

And there was a number burned into the flesh of his tail.

Something cried out in the back of his mind. His head suddenly jerked away so that he couldn't see it.

There was a number.

He tried to turn his head back, but it fought him. Something deep inside him didn't want to look.

A number.

He didn't recognize his body; it didn't match with his memories. The scarring, the nu the nu the thing on his tail: it wasn't the way he remembered 41himself. What had happened to him? There had been better days, days when he had been handsome, and respected, and well fed, but there was a gap, and now there was here, and he didn't know how to bridge that gap. He didn't like to dwell on the memories. There were other things lurking down there, and it was best not to expose them to the light.

He was just about to leave when he heard someone coming down the stairs. Quickly he bundled all his things into a cubicle and slid halfway up the wall before the robot janitor entered and began to wash the floor. Powerless Friendless listened for the tell-tale series of clicks and whirs as the mop and bucket appendages disappeared back into the robot's body, then gave it another few minutes to leave.

Time to hit the walkways.

Fillip almost gave up when she told him that her name was Laverne, but she had curly blonde hair and legs that rose, stockinged and impossibly long, into tight black shorts, so he kept at it. She'd been working a twelve-hour shift in a bar in s.p.a.ceport Eight Seacity. She told him that she came from the Helvetian colony, and was slogging her way through a degree in Artistic Terraforming.

Fillip hadn't known that anybody could do do degrees in Artistic Terraforming. degrees in Artistic Terraforming.

Things had changed since his day.

It was the noise of several of the regular Earth Reptile bands who played there that had first attracted Fillip. He'd been sitting at his desk in the Transit Authority Tower, processing the paperwork for a party of Hith amba.s.sadors who had been granted an audience with the Empress, when the sounds of loud music and people having fun had drifted through the suppressor field of his window. He felt he deserved a drink: he hated aliens at the best of times, and this particular group of slugs seemed to be going out of their way to be irritating. They were all travelling to the Imperial Palace in orbit around Saturn from different planets, for a start, meaning that he had to complete a different set of forms for each one, and they insisted on putting their home world as. .h.i.this, even though everybody knew that Hithis was occupied entirely by humans. They all wanted separate rooms, preferably on separate levels, and he'd never come across a set of names as stupid in his life! Working late to impress the boss was one thing, but this was carrying dedication too far. He saved the forms in centcomp's memory under a TRANSIT AUTHORITY ONLY Pa.s.sWORD and followed the noise.

The bouncers were exchanging banter with their counterparts across the plaza when he arrived. He told them that he wanted a bar where he could sit and drink without having a menu thrust in front of him. Rather than lead him through the maze of corridors and stairways one of them took him round the side of the building, unlocked a door and gestured him in. He walked 42uncertainly up three flights of stairs and found a half-empty bar waiting for him. And Laverne.

There were two young Earth Reptiles squeezed into a corner of the room, each one wielding a hag'jat hag'jat and trying to sing further off-key than the other. and trying to sing further off-key than the other.

They weren't really aliens; in fact, some of his best friends were Earth Reptiles.

Fillip talked to Laverne, he talked to the Reptiles during their breaks, they all drank Martian ale out of huge bowls that looked like s.p.a.ce helmets, and pretty soon they were all squeezed in the corner trying to sing 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' by The Rolling Stones. The Reptiles with the hag'jats hag'jats only had an approximate idea of the lyrics but they made up what they didn't know, and it sounded fine. As they talked, and drank, and sang, the bar ebbed and flowed like a tidal pool some local customers, some tourists and some uniformed military personnel, all friendly and fun. only had an approximate idea of the lyrics but they made up what they didn't know, and it sounded fine. As they talked, and drank, and sang, the bar ebbed and flowed like a tidal pool some local customers, some tourists and some uniformed military personnel, all friendly and fun.

Eventually the Reptiles packed up their instruments and bade Fillip a long farewell that involved many bowls of ale and proclamations of friendship.

He asked Laverne if she would consider spending the night with a balding, middle-aged paper-pusher, and to his astonishment, she said yes.

Laverne drove her flitter too fast through still-busy airs.p.a.ces to her apartment, where they snapped laces and broke b.u.t.tons in a race to see who could get the other's clothes off faster. The Hith diplomatic mission was about as far from his mind as it was possible to get.

And while Fillip was asleep, Laverne poured most of a bottle of Arcturan brandy over the bed and set fire to him.

Despite the crowds, Powerless Friendless spent about half an hour slinking around one of the plazas, loitering at the entrances to the restaurants and trying to identify everything that he could smell before a securitybot moved him on. He didn't mind; they turned a blind sensor most of the time. Occasionally one of them got a bit heavy-handed, but it was rare. Anyway, with the change he hoped to pick up that morning, he should have enough to buy something decent to eat.

But he had to earn the money before he could spend it.

He made his way along the nearest walkway to the tower on top of which he usually played, and went up in the null-grav shaft. Without a biochip, there was no way for centcomp to know that he was even there. Five levels of the tower were occupied by the offworld zoo, and he timed his arrival to coincide with its opening for the day. He wasn't sure why, but something still drew him to it: the feeling that he had some kind of connection with it. People did their best to ignore him as they entered. He didn't mind. He preferred being ignored. He had dedicated a number of years to being ignored. It was safer that way.43.

Once he had emerged in the plaza and spent a few moments taking in the vivid greens of the gra.s.s and the vibrant hues of the flowers, setting up was easy. Powerless Friendless slumped with his back against the rim wall, his hag'jat hag'jat cradled in his lap. If it hadn't been for his case acting as a collecting plate, he would have looked as if he were meditating. cradled in his lap. If it hadn't been for his case acting as a collecting plate, he would have looked as if he were meditating.

As people pa.s.sed by on their way to work, he played, and to avoid having to think about the press of other beings around him, the claustrophobic presence of so many other living creatures, he let his mind float amongst half-formed dreams of his home planet, Hithis, and of the wide blue sward where a Hith could slither for days without having to see another Hith.

After a while he pulled himself back and paused for a moment to empty out his hat and look around. Fortunately, the crowds had thinned out now, and his gaze was attracted by a human woman who stood a full head above the rest of the workers. She was wearing a baggy overall of some sort, with a brightly patterned waistcoat over the top, and she was carrying a carton of take-away food from one of the stalls that lined the plaza. A man was with her a small man who scurried along as if he might trip over his feet at any moment. They were both looking at him, almost as if they were looking for for him. him.

He tensed, ready to flee. He didn't know why who on Earth would be after him? but it was an instinctive reaction and he could not fight it.

Too late: she stopped by his side. He let the last few chords die away, then looked warily up at her.

'Hi,' she said. 'My name's Bernice. What's yours?'

'Powerless Friendless,' he said hesitantly.

'This is my friend, the Doctor,' she said. 'We're friends of another member of your race: Homeless Forsaken Betrayed And Alone. Do you know him?'

Powerless Friendless felt a shudder run through him. The rooftop blurred around him, and he tried to quell the rapid pit-pat of his lymph pump. Homeless Forsaken. He hadn't heard that name for years. He'd been doing his best to forget it.

'Don't know him,' he said. 'Never heard of him.'

'Are you sure?' she persisted.

'I've never even heard the name before,' he shouted.

The woman looked at him in some concern, her gaze travelling across his dry, cracked skin, his painfully thin and scarred body. 'Here,' she said, pa.s.sing him the container of food. 'Have some of this.'

The Doctor leaned forward towards Powerless Friendless. 'May I ask a question?' he said.

Powerless Friendless retracted his eyestalks slightly. 'What sort of question?' he asked.44.

'Those scars,' the Doctor began, indicating the gnarled, twisted flesh of Powerless Friendless's upper torso and the nubs of his retracted pseudo-limbs.

Powerless Friendless flinched. He didn't like being reminded of of his scars.

They made him think about . . .

'Scars?' he asked, trying to quell the seething unease in his mind.

'Do you mind telling me where you got them from?'

Powerless Friendless opened and closed his mouth, trying to find the right words, but they were gone, gone wherever the memories had gone. 'I I don't remember,' he said finally.

The Doctor frowned. 'It looks to me,' he said slowly, 'as if you have been tortured. Quite comprehensively tortured. I would be surprised if you could forget something like that.'

Powerless Friendless extruded a pseudo-limb and ran it over the twisted flesh as if he had never really seen it before.

'And that number burned into your tail,' the Doctor continued remorselessly.

'Where did it come from? Who did it to you?'

The knife flashed in the half-light of his cell, drawing a line of agony across his flesh. flesh.

'An old-fashioned device,' a human voice said, 'but then, I am an old-fashioned man. You may find this difficult to believe, but I am over a thousand years old.' man. You may find this difficult to believe, but I am over a thousand years old.'

Powerless Friendless screamed.

Springing up, he backed away from them, pseudo-limbs held up as if to ward them off. Before they could stop him, he had turned and slithered out of the plaza, leaving his hag'jat hag'jat behind, trying to block the words, the memories from his mind A spindly bot with an emblem on its chest tried to stop him, but he slithered under its four outstretched arms and across the plaza. It grabbed for him, its metal feet thumping the ground as it ran, but it only succeeded in grabbing the fedora from his head. The hat caught at his eyestalks, but he pulled away, panic-stricken. behind, trying to block the words, the memories from his mind A spindly bot with an emblem on its chest tried to stop him, but he slithered under its four outstretched arms and across the plaza. It grabbed for him, its metal feet thumping the ground as it ran, but it only succeeded in grabbing the fedora from his head. The hat caught at his eyestalks, but he pulled away, panic-stricken.

Homeless Forsaken Betrayed And Alone. A name that held a.s.sociations for him. Unpleasant a.s.sociations. Things he had done his best to forget. Things that he had paid people to help him forget.

Things that seemed to be bobbing to the surface, whether he wanted them to or not. Ghosts from the past.

The bot was following him. Perhaps the Doctor and Bernice had sent it after him. Or perhaps . . .

No. Not that thought. Not now. He dived into the nearest null-grav shaft, then out at the next junction. Using guile, skill and his knowledge of the myriad levels of the Overcity, he began to make his way towards the best access point to the Undertown. Within moments, the bot was out of sight.45.

Memories flitted through his mind. Faces and places that he thought had been buried. Old times. Painful times. As he exited the shaft and transferred onto a walkway, he tried to suppress them, but they were too strong. His old life was breaking through the patina of conditioning that had formed over it, and there was nothing he could do about it.

It was as if he had two parallel sets of memories: two ident.i.ties. There was Powerless Friendless the anonymous musician and down-and-out whose body was covered in odd scars and who lived in the Undertown. And there was the other, the s.p.a.ce pilot who appeared to him in dreams. The hero. The one who went away.

He made his way back towards the Undertown. It may not have been home, but it was the best he had.

Cwej was still shaking when Forrester led him into the refectory raft. The place was crowded with off-duty and resting Adjudicators. A scent of coffee and frying soy-bacon hung in the air. Simcords of alien forests and seas hung on the walls, making the place look tawdry rather than exotic.

'Hey, Forrester,' yelled a small man with a large moustache, 'who's your friend?'

'He's no friend, Susko,' Forrester shouted back, 'he's a rookie!'

'An' he's shakin' cos he's squired to Forrester,' another voice bellowed.

'Nah, it's the thought of working out of the same station as you, Lubineki,'

Susko rejoined.

The room erupted in laughter. Forrester left them to it. Finding an unoccupied table for two, she sat Cwej down.

'How are you feeling?' she asked.

'I can't believe it,' he said. He'd been repeating the same words ever since they left the interrogation truck. While he had stood by the door, looking back inside with a dazed expression on his golden-furred face, Forrester had called a bot over to guard the truck and sent another one to Adjudicator Secular Rashid with a message.

'Brain embolism,' she said calmly. The best way to bring him out of it was to be calm. 'It happens.'

His face was etched with lines of worry. 'But . . . a suspect, dying in custody.

We'll be slaughtered! The Adjudicator Secular will hang us out to dry!'

'I doubt it,' she said, punching an order for coffee into the tablecomp. 'We've still got the probe evidence. She was guilty, there's no denying that. All we've done is antic.i.p.ate the sentence.'

'That's not the point! We '

She banged the table, shutting him up and sending a tiny ripple of tension around the room. 'That's the way centcomp will see it,' she insisted, holding 46his gaze. 'We're good cops. We've got good records. The underdweller was a murderer. Case closed.'

He seemed to relax slightly. 'Are you sure?'

'Sure? Of course I'm sure.'

A multi-armed bot pa.s.sed by and deposited two steaming coffees on the table. Forrester sipped at hers and put it down again, grimacing at the heat.

Cwej swigged his without apparently noticing. 'I wonder . . . ' he said.

'What? What do you wonder?'

'Well, no. It was probably nothing.'

'If you want.'

'Like you said, I'm not familiar with the equipment.'

'You don't sound convinced.'

He caught his lower lip between sharp little teeth.