To his left, a section of blackness bulged inwards and detached itself from the main ma.s.s. It floated towards him, a wraith of black smoke, trailing grey tendrils.

The Doctor reached out with his mind. Yes there was intelligence, of sorts. Nebulous, indistinct, but the thing approaching him was definitely a sentient being. Whatever the Anthaurk had used to conquer Yquatine, it was highly advanced.

It bore down on him soundlessly. He felt its smoky edges brush his skin.

He backed away, towards the ship, recoiling from its caresses. 'Now this is nice, but we haven't been introduced.'

And then, suddenly, the cloud creature surged all around him, closing like a fist around his body, crawling into his nose and mouth, choking him. The Doctor fought against it briefly, but it was too strong. His lungs filled with the thing, his vision clouded and darkened, he tried to scream. And then consciousness slipped away.

Chapter Ten.

'I've just got to get off this planet'

After a week or so of living in the city of Yendip, Fitz had settled into a kind of routine.

He would rise a few hours before lunchtime and swallow a bit of breakfast, either alone or with Il-Eruk, who habitually rose at some frightfully early hour. Then there would be a few hours of cleaning and tidying. There were three lichenous wooden rooms below the bar, only a few metres above sea level a store room, a pantry and a square, low-ceilinged kitchen. All trod a greasy line between cleanliness and filth, and it was Fitz's job to maintain this seedy equilibrium. When things were quiet down below Fitz could hear the lapping of the waves around the struts of Pierhaven. It always made him feel precarious, as if the whole tavern was about to plop down into the deeps.

It was the main kitchen that occupied Fitz the most. Gleaming pots and pans and a worrying number of knives hung from a giant creaking wooden construction which occupied the centre of the room. An ancient, grimy electric oven crouched against the far wall, years of grease baked hard on to its dull metal surfaces. There was also a freezer big enough to ice a bison, a cold store full of alarming things wrapped in plastic, and a dishwasher that looked to Fitz like the torso of a decommissioned battle-droid. There was more: toasters, blenders, coffee makers, food mixers. all of a similar age and dubious safety. Il-Eruk often spoke of upgrading his cooking appliances but there never seemed to be the time or money.

Usually Fitz would grab a bite to eat after his cleaning duties, and begin work serving behind the bar. The tavern was open from just before lunchtime until whatever hour Il-Eruk pleased there didn't seem to be any licensing restrictions in Yendip and Fitz sometimes worked all through the night. Apart from the bouncers, who seemed to turn up only when they liked Il-Eruk obviously bring too scared to impose set working times upon them there were only two other staff. Val, a tall, busty and flirtatious woman of 'a certain age' who kept giving Fitz the glad eye, and Zabulong, a rather nervous alien which looked like a light bulb with about twenty arms and legs. It was good at clearing tables but absolutely useless behind the bar. Fitz would have thought it able to serve loads of customers at once, but many limbs and one rather skittery brain were a recipe for broken gla.s.s, spilled beer and hurled abuse. Fitz often covered for both Zabulong and Val, who was always taking sick days, but he didn't mind. He needed to earn as much money as possible in order to buy himself off this doomed world.

He tried not to think of the coming invasion, or what may be happening to the Doctor, or what would happen to the people he'd come to know Val, Il-Eruk, Zabulong, Lou Lombardo, the regular customers in the tavern and beyond them the millions of innocents in Yendip and all the other towns and villages of Yquatine. But at night, when he lay exhausted in his tiny room, back and arms aching from pulling endless pints, he often found he couldn't sleep for thinking about the black ships, the acid rain. One thought preoccupied him: an illogical fear of the attack coming now, despite the certain knowledge that it wouldn't happen until Treaty Day. He would eventually fall into a fitful, sweaty slumber, only to arise irritable and drained. Often he drank to help himself sleep, and this only made him feel worse.

When he had a few hours to himself, he would explore Yendip, visiting the libraries and museums, building up a picture of Yquatine and the Minerva System. The more he learned, the more his heart sank at the grim future that awaited Yquatine. Fitz tried to hide behind his customary shield of cynicism, but it didn't work. He would walk along the sh.o.r.e of the lake and gaze across at the Palace of Yquatine, torn with awe at the serenity and beauty of Yendip. Or on one of his rare free evenings he would brave the stiff sea breeze and walk the length of the stone pier (he still half-heartedly hoped that Compa.s.sion would reappear there) and gaze back at the yellow lights of the town spread out along the dark humped coastline, faint sounds of music drifting over the lapping waves. He'd become filled with a numb sorrow, an almost overpowering sense of impotence. This whole town, this whole planet planet, was going to come to an end. Forces beyond his control were cranking slowly towards war. The feeling would soon change, as the wind whipped his hair into his face and flapped his cheap imitation-leather jacket against his body, to one of guilt. His pot of money was growing, slowly but steadily. He would be getting off Yquatine in a few weeks. Abandoning it to its fate. He'd given up trying not to feel too bad about it.

One night, Fitz was having a particularly hard time. A crowd of Anthaurk had taken over one corner of the tavern and were proceeding to get noisily and rowdily drunk. Fitz and Val were kept busy attending to their every whim. They continually demanded the most exotic drinks and the most obscure foodstuffs, in the rudest and most provocative manner possible. Fitz tried not to let it get to him, tried not to show his fear of these seven-foot lizards with their snakelike faces and blood-red eves. but he could see and hear Val becoming more uptight by the minute, almost visibly swelling and reddening. her bosom quivering like a trapped animal in her tight top. Il-Eruk, usually quite a mellow individual, took pride in his culinary abilities and so was not pleased that the Anthaurk sent back almost everything he prepared for them. Fitz could hear the swearing and clanging from the kitchen as Il-Eruk vented his anger on pots and pans.

As Fitz pulled another foaming gla.s.s of ale, Val thrust her face near to his. 'The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!'

Fitz placed the drink on a tray alongside seven others. 'What have they done now?'

She averted her head as he picked up the tray. 'Nothing.'

Fitz carried the tray over to the table, ignoring as well as he could the crusts and other detritus hurled at his head, and put it down quickly, stepping back as clawed hands reached across. He overheard a s.n.a.t.c.h of conversation: they were trying to work out how much money it would take for an Anthaurk to have s.e.x with a human female, and the conclusion was that there wasn't enough money in the universe to persuade them to perform such a disgusting, degrading act; and the best no, the only thing to be done with such a 'sagging, pallid beast' like Val was to boil her alive and feed her to the troops.

And they looked like they were seriously contemplating it.

No wonder Val was p.i.s.sed off. No wonder the Anthaurk had started a war. It seemed the natural thing for them to do. Fitz could hardly imagine them playing croquet or going to concerts or even sitting down quietly with a book. Here, in his place of employment, was an ugly mob of the creatures that would destroy Yquatine. It was all he could do to contain his anger and fear.

Fitz retreated behind the bar with Val, feeling quite well disposed towards the woman. 'Well at least they're spending money,' he said, wiping his beer-sodden hands on a grimy towel.

'Wish they'd go and spend it somewhere else,' muttered Val through clenched teeth. She had a flat, predatory face, with widely s.p.a.ced eyes and a full-lipped mouth the size of which actually scared Fitz. She had ma.s.ses of dyed red hair and wore short skirts and spangly tops, clearly blissfully aware that she was several decades past the suitable age for such attire. She reminded Fitz of the mother of the girl who worked in the greengrocer's down the road from where he grew up. She'd had a crush on him as well.

Fitz knew why their boss tolerated the rowdy Anthaurk, even though Il-Eruk's race, the Izrekt, had colonised Kaillor before the Anthaurk had claimed it for their own, even though the Anthaurk had slaughtered thousands of Izrekt and forced the refugees to live on Beatrix, Zolion or Yquatine: 'They're good for business. Think how much they've spent already, and it's early yet.'

'They're poor tippers, though,' said Val, taking a sip from a tall gla.s.s of something blue and strong. You weren't meant to drink on duty, but Fitz wasn't about to gra.s.s her up.

'True enough,' agreed Fitz.

Il-Eruk bustled in from the kitchens. The skin on his neck was taut and his eyes were gleaming. 'If they don't like it this time, then my patience is at an end.'

Fitz smiled and took the proffered dish, a lime-green fruity concoction. He'd noticed that the more agitated Il-Eruk was, the clearer and more precise his speech became.

He carried the dish over to the Anthaurk. There were about a dozen of them, their orange scales gleaming like jewels in the subdued lighting.

Fitz laid the dish down at the head of the table.

An angry hiss. 'You expect us to eat this?'

No, I want you to smear it over your k.n.o.bbly reptile a.r.s.es, Fitz felt like saying. He steepled his fingers and adopted tone of mild servile concern. 'What appears to be the problem, sir?'

The Anthaurk dipped a claw into the stuff, and tasted. He spat it out, all over Fitz's ap.r.o.n. Fitz clenched his teeth and counted to ten.

The Anthaurk stood up, swaying slightly. He was a good two feet taller than Fitz. His red eyes glowed. 'Your food is excrement, human. You You are excrement!' are excrement!'

Fitz wasn't about to start a fight with a seven-foot drunken reptile. 'I'll get you another,' he said, turning away.

A claw snared the collar of his shirt and yanked him backwards. 'Hey!'

The Anthaurk grabbed Fitz by the lapels and hefted him off the ground. 'I insulted you, human. What are you going to do about it? '

'Akhhh,' gasped Fitz. The other Anthaurk had all risen. glowering, clawed fists bunched. The bouncers hadn't turned up tonight. He was on his own. He was paste.

'Put him down.'

The voice was female, and it came from behind him.

'Put him down,' it said again. And then it said something in a hissing, clicking alien tongue.

The drunken Anthaurk let Fitz go with a grunt. He dropped to the ground and crawled to the nearest chair.

Val appeared, all fluttering hands and shrill concern. 'Are you all right, love?'

Fitz looked up. The drunken Anthaurk was looming over a tall, slim woman in a purple tunic and black trousers. She was gabbling away in the creature's own language. As Fitz watched the Anthaurk raised its hands in a gesture of resignation and stomped back to his comrades.

The woman smiled, looking very pleased with herself, and came over to Fitz. Fitz blinked. She was incredibly attractive, and she walked with an economic, wiggle-free gait. Val muttered something beneath her breath, pouting with jealousy.

'Are you all right?' said his rescuer, raising perfectly sculpted eyebrows over big brown eyes. She had incredible hair, like honey and spun gold, which fell in tresses down her back. She brushed a strand away from her face and blinked at him.

Fitz knew he was grinning all over his face but he couldn't help it. Female beauty did strange things to him, especially when it was of this calibre. 'Well, I am now, baby!'

She rolled her eyes. 'Oh, please.'

'Sorry,' muttered Fitz, suddenly embarra.s.sed. 'Still a bit shook up.'

The woman flashed a brief smile. 'That's all right.'

Val was staring over at the Anthaurk. 'Whatever did you say to them. love? They're all meek and mild now.'

Fitz straightened his collar. Much as he was enjoying having two women fussing over him, he wished Val would leave him alone with this gorgeous specimen. 'What did did you say to them?' you say to them?'

She sat down on a chair next to Fitz. 'Oh, I just reminded them that twelve to one is hardly the sort of odds for honourable warriors.' She waved a pale, fine-boned hand. 'They're suckers for all that honour-andglory stuff, even when drunk.'

'Well, I don't know how to thank you.' But he did. 'Val, be a star, bring us a bottle of Chateau Yquatine.'

Val narrowed her eyes towards Fitz and leaned in towards him. She smelled of gin and cheap perfume. 'I see your little game.'

'Oh, go on,' said Fitz through gritted teeth. Then he turned to his rescuer. 'Fine wine for ' He leaned towards her. 'What's your name?'

'Arielle.'

'For Arielle.' He knew he was deliberately winding Val up but she'd been getting a bit touchy-feely of late and this should put her in her place.

'All right. Seeing as you saved his scrawny neck and more importantly prevented any damage to the furniture, this is on the house.' Good job Il-Eruk was still working or most probably sulking in the kitchen. Val minced off, muttering under her breath, returning with a slender blue bottle with a thin neck and two gla.s.ses, which she plonked down on the table between them.

Fitz watched her go with some relief. Arielle had watched this little performance with detached amus.e.m.e.nt; her mind was clearly on other things.

Fitz poured the wine, enjoying the trickling glug of the dark ruby liquid. 'My name's Fitz Kreiner, intergalactic man of mystery currently down on his luck and working behind a bar.'

Arielle smiled distantly, sipping her wine. 'Arielle Markhof, first-year xen.o.biology student, currently sitting in a bar wondering what the h.e.l.l to do with her life.'

This sounded extremely interesting. Fitz took a sip of wine. but then duty called the Anthaurk started demanding more ale, with a perceptible degree of politeness. Within half an hour they upped and left for another bar, but more parties arrived and Fitz was kept busy, able to glance at Arielle only once in a while. She sat on her own, drinking from the bottle of Chateau Yquatine, avoiding the glances of the male customers. She looked as if she'd been stood up or chucked, but even in despondency her face was quite something. The angles of her cheekbones, the tilt of her nose, the refined pout of her lips, combined to stunning effect. If Fitz had been asked to design the perfect woman, Arielle would pretty much fit the bill. And there was something else: she carried her beauty casually unadorned by make-up, uncaring of the loose strands of hair that fell over her face. Every now and then she'd toss her head so it all flew back into place. The way she did it was natural, without affectation, as though she had no idea how d.a.m.n s.e.xy d.a.m.n s.e.xy she looked. she looked.

Val tried to take no notice of her, but Fitz could see a desperation in her eyes, a coldness towards him.

'Not jealous, are you, Val?' he joshed.

'She's young, she's beautiful, and you're already half in love with her.' She looked at him, her brazen manner abandoned, suddenly an ageing and lonely woman. 'Of course I'm jealous, you prat.'

Fitz smiled back at her. So often had he thought of her as a figure of fun, when he even thought of her at all. He whispered in her ear, 'I'll make it up to you.'

She put her hand on his shoulder. 'Promises, promises,' she said sadly, and went off to clean the ashtrays. She left shortly afterwards, claiming a bad head.

When things had quietened right down and looked like staying that way, Fitz went over to Arielle and sat down opposite her. He'd been thinking all evening of how to approach her and he'd decided the best angle was the friendly, sympathetic barman. 'You look like someone with something on their mind.'

She looked wary, as though she resented his intrusion. 'For all you know. I could be something with someone on my mind.'

Touche 'So what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?' he said with a selfconscious swagger in his voice.

She ignored the cliche 'Getting drunk to forget.' She waved a hand at him. 'You don't want to know.'

'I tried that once,' said Fitz, knowing it was more like every other night. 'Doesn't work.'

She sighed, and half sagged over the table. Her hair descended in a golden fall. 'I've just got got to get off this planet.' to get off this planet.'

Fitz boggled. He felt like crying. So do I! Let's go, baby! But he managed to stop himself. 'Love affair gone wrong?'

She glared at him. 'Does it show?'

Fitz shrugged. 'Lucky guess.'

Arielle leaned back in her chair. Her movements were slow and leisurely with wine, her eyes seeing distance. 'Then yes, you're right, love affair gone wrong.' She frowned. 'He's the problem. He's so b.l.o.o.d.y childish and clingy, he won't let go. Every time I go away he makes me feel guilty.' the problem. He's so b.l.o.o.d.y childish and clingy, he won't let go. Every time I go away he makes me feel guilty.'

Fitz couldn't blame him: who'd want to let a beauty like Arielle go? 'Why do you have to go away?'

'I would have thought that was obvious. I'm studying xen.o.biology. There are hundreds of races in the System, so...?'

Fitz nodded quickly. 'Ah, I see.'

'He only likes me for the way I look. has no interest in my inner life, or the reason I came here in the first place. But the worst thing is, he's totally restricted my life on Yquatine. My friends are his friends. All the other students shun me because they think I'm having such a great time with Stefan.' She sighed, and held out her gla.s.s for more wine. 'All I do is study, and go to functions and visits with Stefan. I'm in the papers all the time. Can't go anywhere without some fly-camera zipping around me like a d.a.m.n insect. This is one of my few places of refuge. n.o.body here cares who I am.' She let out a sigh of exasperation and took a long glug of wine. She smiled at Fitz. 'Sorry. I tend to go on a bit after I've had a few.'

Fitz already hated this bloke. What right did he have to treat her this way? 'No problem,' he said. I've been through a few relationships in my time,' he added to show his credentials. 'And I b.l.o.o.d.y hope I've treated my ladies better than that!'

She smiled at him. She actually smiled! 'I'm sure you have,' she murmured.

This was the green light for Fitz or at least it had been, once. Now he wasn't so sure. He didn't particularly want to get involved. Not now, so soon after Filippa. But Arielle had said she wanted to leave Yquatine. And she was extremely attractive and friende. 'You should chuck him,' he said casually, fiddling with the stem of his winegla.s.s.

'Chuck him?' Arielle's eyes widened as though this was the first time she'd entertained the idea.

'Yeah!' said Fitz, mustering all his self-righteousness. 'I wouldn't stand for being treated the way he treats you.'

Arielle's face had darkened. 'Do you know who he is?'

Fitz shook his head.

Arielle leaned conspiratorially towards Fitz. 'Stefan Vargeld.'

The name was obviously meant to mean something. Was it some Yquatine pop star? 'Who is...?'

Arielle looked insulted. 'Oh, come on!'

Fitz ran his hands through his hair. 'Look, OK, but I've only been here for a week.'

She banged the table with the side of her hand. 'Everyone's heard of him!' heard of him!'

'I'm from outside the System,' wailed Fitz.

Arielle rolled her eyes, a gesture Fitz was beginning to recognise as characteristic. She spoke in a slow, duh-duh voice. 'He's the Pre-sident of the Min-erva System.'

Politics had never been his strong point. 'Oh. Blimey. Well I hope he treats his const.i.tuency better than his woman.'