'I'm not "his" woman,' said Arielle irritably. 'And, oh yes, he's very good at his job. Very popular. Slick Stefan.'

'It doesn't matter who he is, he can't treat you that way.'

She banged the table again. 'I know!'

Il-Eruk began calling from the kitchens.

Arielle gestured towards the bar. 'Duty calls.'

d.a.m.n! He leaned towards Arielle. 'Anyway, you gonna take my advice? Get shot of the Pres?'

Arielle frowned. 'I dunno. It's late and I've had quite a bit to drink.' She stood up, pushing her chair under the tabletop.

'Fit!' came a rasping voice from the bar.

'Coming!' yelled Fitz, following Arielle to the door. 'Come here again tomorrow night. Drinks on the house,' he whispered. glancing over his shoulder. 'Let me know how you get on.'

She eyed him appraisingly from beneath a raised eyebrow. 'I might take you up on that.'

With that she pushed through the clattering doorway and into the rickety wooden corridors of Pierhaven.

Fitz watched her go, wondering if he should have offered to walk her home, wondering if he would ever see her again.

He did see her again. The very next night. She came in very late, wearing a figure-hugging red dress, and a frown the size of Scotland. By the way she floated up to the bar Fitz could tell she was the worse for drink.

'How did it go?' he asked gently.

Arielle's beautiful face bunched up, reddened, and she shouted a word that silenced the bar and made Fitz gasp in horror.

He wordlessly poured her a gla.s.s of whisky. She downed it in one go. Then she burst into tears.

All the customers had turned to look at her.

Fitz turned to Val, whose face suggested she had just popped the sourest boiled sweet in the universe into her mouth. 'So, yer girlfriend's back,' she growled.

'Val, take over for a sec. I need to speak to her.' Fitz turned away before Val could protest. and, taking the bottle of whisky, ushered the compliant, weeping Arielle to a private booth on the far side of the bar.

She sat opposite him, shoulders slumped. face wet with tears. Fitz wanted to reach over and hug her. Crying women always made him feel guilty and upset as though somewhere down the line it was all his fault.

Clearly not so, in this case.

Fitz hated this President guy for bringing her to this state. He'd seen him on the news earlier that evening. He looked a right smarmy git. He guessed Arielle didn't want to know his opinion of her lover, but instead needed cheering up. 'Good swear back there,' he said.

Her brown eyes flicked up at him, and down. There was the briefest of smiles.

Fitz began to feel uncomfortable. Should he tell her how great she looked in that dress? He remembered her litany of hate. 'He only likes me for the way I look.' Probably not. He settled for an uninspired, 'What happened?'

She spoke, not looking up at him. 'He took me out for a meal. Well, not out. At the b.l.o.o.d.y palace. He b.l.o.o.d.y proposed to me.'

Silence. The whole world seemed to recede to just him, the woman in the red dress, the whisky on the table and the bluegreen curtains of the alcove. 'Go on,' prompted Fitz.

'I turned him down. And I told him I never wanted to see him again.'

'How... how did he take it?'

She looked up at him then. Her eyes were like two golden jewels, bright, unattainable. 'He went mad. Violent. He scared me.'

Her hands reached out across the table. Fitz took them. He noticed a bruise starting to bloom on her forearm, the imprint of gripping fingers clearly visible.

He quickly looked up at her. Through choking sobs, she was saying something Fitz couldn't quite make out.

'What? What is it?'

She let go of his hands, wiped the tears away from her eyes. 'I did it. I'm free of him! Free of him.'

Fitz felt sh.e.l.l-shocked. He'd never had someone take his advice with such devastating effect.

She didn't want to go back to her rooms at the university that night, in case the President tried to contact her, so she slept in Fitz's room. Fitz slept in the kitchen, in the baleful presence of the dishwasher, the oven and the refrigerator.

The next day, Fitz got the morning off to help Arielle sort out her life. They left the tavern early and breakfasted together in the town. It was a bright, clear Jaquaia day, and Yendip was as serene and beautiful as ever.

Arielle didn't speak much over breakfast. She asked Fitz about his life, and he spun some tale about coming to Yquatine to find his fortune, and ending up working in Il-Eruk's Tavern. She accepted what he said without further questions.

After breakfast, as they walked along the esplanade. Arielle came to a decision.

'I'm leaving Yquatine,' she said as she gazed out at the wide green ocean. 'Today. Within the hour.'

Fitz stood beside her, trying to act casual, unconcerned, while his guts knotted and his heart pounded.

Now was his chance. He had to go with her. But how? What could he say? Could he tell her about the coming darkness?

She knew the President. She might have some sense of duty left, although she didn't love the man. She'd want to warn him. if only for the sake of everyone else on Yquatine. Fitz felt the colour drain from his face. Couldn't he warn the authorities? Let them deal with it? Pa.s.s on the responsibility? He was tempted. for just a moment, but then his doubts returned. headed up by the biggest and blackest of them all: what if the mere act of warning the authorities was the trigger that set events rolling towards the future he'd seen? what if the mere act of warning the authorities was the trigger that set events rolling towards the future he'd seen?

No. He couldn't. He had to think of something else. But his brain refused to help.

Something tickled his fingers, and he looked down with surprise to see Arielle's hand, finding his. He looked at her. Her face had a tight, concentrated look of worry. 'Fitz, all I have is the clothes I stand up in, and my credit card. I've packed some cases, they're back in my rooms. I can't go back there: I know Stefan, he'll have his people out looking for me.' She glanced over her shoulder, but the coast was apparently clear. Her hand squeezed his. 'I'm going to ask you something important. Can I trust you?'

Fitz nodded. 'Yeah. Yes, you can.'

Her eyes took on a veiled, distant look. 'You're not doing this just because you fancy me? Because if you are, then I'll do it on my own.'

'No, no, Arielle. I want to help.' Curse it! Why did his voice sound so insincere?

'And I also want you to come with me, away from Yquatine. Help me get away.'

Fitz almost laughed aloud. 'OK, I will.'

She shook her head. 'But your job...'

Fitz grabbed her shoulders. 'Oh, b.a.l.l.s to that! Look, I'll go and get your things, square it with Il-Eruk, and meet you in Founders' Square in an hour.' Now that he was actually going to get off the planet, he couldn't wait.

She looked surprised but pleased. 'OK' She handed over a plastic card. 'The key to my room. There's a case on my bed. It's all I need. Grab it and get out.'

Fitz took the key. 'I'll be as quick as I can.' He tried to look trustful and dependable as he walked away. He waved at her until he couldn't see her red dress through the crowds any more.

Fitz picked up Arielle's case without incident. There was no one watching her rooms the only people around were a gaggle of young female students. Fitz did not allow them to distract him.

He'd used a hover-taxi to get up to the university, which was some distance from the town. And from the university to Il-Eruk's Tavern, where he'd gathered all his money and possessions, and stole away with a gutful of guilt. He'd got the rest of the day off, after some argy-bargy with Il-Eruk. Zabulong would have to cope behind the bar, Fitz had pitched it as a learning experience for the lightbulb-headed alien.

Fitz had no intention of returning. He would never see Il-Eruk again. He would never throw his arms up in exasperation over Zabulong's incompetence again. He would never feel Val's sly hand on his a.r.s.e again. All three would die in the coming invasion. These were the facts Fitz carried away with him as the hover-taxi whisked him towards Founders' Square. Why couldn't he have warned them about the invasion? It was cutting him up inside. He swore that he was through with time travel. After this escapade it was all going be strictly linear for Fitz Kreiner.

And anyway, Arielle may not be there. She may have decided not to trust him. He could hardly blame her: they'd only just met. She may have left Yquatine on her own, or even reconciled things with the President. Then he would have to go back to the tavern. He may still be on Yquatine when the balloon went up.

And, more immediately, he may be stuck with a colossal cab fare.

But Arielle was there, and she looked worried. She ran up to Fitz and actually hugged him.

'I thought I'd made the stupidest mistake of my life, trusting you,' she murmured into his shoulder.

He laughed. 'Well, thanks!'

She kissed him. On the cheek, but it still made him go weak at the knees. 'You've just restored my faith in human nature.'

Fitz muttered something about paying off the hover-taxi but Arielle shook her head. 'We're going to need that to get us to the s.p.a.ceport.'

Fitz nodded dumbly. So this was it. He was leaving Yquatine.

With the President's girlfriend.

They boarded the taxi and were whisked off to Yendip s.p.a.ceport, where the s.p.a.ce cruiser St Julian St Julian awaited them in all its ceramic and chrome majesty. awaited them in all its ceramic and chrome majesty.

Chapter Eleven.

'I don't know if I believe you'

President Stefan Vargeld stumbled down the short corridor from the c.o.c.kpit to the airlock, clamping on the helmet of his suit. The padded shoulders bounced off the instrument-lined walls. Hands trembling, he spun the airlock release valve. The inner door opened with an efficient sigh and he slipped through before it was fully ajar. He hesitated before punching in the code that opened the outer door. but only for a moment. The Doctor was in trouble and needed his help.

The outer door hissed open, retracting smoothly into the hull. Framed in the doorway was the Doctor, p.r.o.ne on the rocky ground a few metres from the ship. All around him was a wall of black cloud that looked ready to crash down in an instant. Again, the President hesitated. He was feeling weak and light-headed, and his limbs felt heavy and tired. Must be the medication wearing off. Legs shaking, he ran to the Doctor and hefted him up with ease in the low gravity. He carried the Doctor back towards the ship and through the airlock in one rush of movement, which made his chest heave and his breath mist the faceplate of his helmet. He unlocked the helmet, let it bounce to the floor, and half carried, half dragged the Doctor to the c.o.c.kpit, where he let him slump in the copilot's seat.

No time to examine him. President Vargeld hit the switch that brought the fields on line and initiated the take-off sequence. Soon they were zooming up through the dense, dark, unnatural atmosphere of Muath. The shields were holding, but only just. The President concentrated on keeping the ship going, trying not to think of Arielle, smothered and corroded by the black gas.

Soon the ship was free of the black substance and soaring out into s.p.a.ce. He looked over at the Doctor. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. A sense of relief surged through President Vargeld's body, followed by a crushing wave of tiredness and grief. He had just seen Arielle's tomb, the rocky moon of Muath wrapped in its coc.o.o.n of foul, choking gas.

President Vargeld leaned back in his seat, setting a course for Aloysius Station.

A few hours later, President Vargeld stood in the sickbay. looking down at the figure of the Doctor. He lay under a single white sheet, monitoring equipment pulsing at the head of the bed.

It was his fault that this man now lay in a coma, hovering just this side of oblivion. His madcap mission to Muath had endangered his life. He'd been a fool to think that Arielle could survive that stuff, whatever it was.

A medical orderly trod softly up. 'Mr President?'

President Vargeld turned round. 'Yes?'

'They're waiting.'

The President groaned. A Senate meeting had been convened on his return to Aloysius. It was the last thing he wanted. But he had no choice. Presidential responsibility was challenging, rewarding, even fun, in times of peace, but in wartime it frightened him.

He looked back at the Doctor. His face was so serene, picked out in the soft blue lights of the sickbay. He looked like a poet or an artist, and his clothes they looked like something a Luvian would wear, something from Earth's distant past. Not for the first time. President Vargeld wondered who the h.e.l.l he was. Now his mind was free of the effects of the medication, he could think rationally once more. Where had this Doctor come from? Who was he?

And what had he seen on Muath?

Something that proved Anthaurk culpability, he hoped.

'Well, you won't be telling anyone your secrets for a while,' whispered the President sadly. Then he turned and accompanied the orderly out of the sickbay.

On the bed, the Doctor's eyes opened.

They were shining, jet-black.

Then they closed again.

President Vargeld let the accusations and counter-accusations fly like arrowheads across the makeshift Senate chamber. He just stood there, taking his example from Senator Rhombus-Alpha, whose glowing form rotated slowly at the back of the room. It was fortunate that all but one of the Senate had survived. All had been en route to their homeworlds at the time of the attack. All but Senator Arthwell, who had remained on Yquatine, opting to communicate with her homeworld from the palace.

He heard Senator Fandel call out that the Anthaurk must have developed a superweapon. He heard Senator Krukon demand to know what had happened to the Anthaurk ships that had gone down to Yquatine earlier that day.

It was still Treaty Day, the President realised. It was very late, barely an hour left, but for that hour it would still be Treaty Day. He almost felt like laughing. What use the Treaty of Yquatine now, when where was no Yquatine? What use this bunch of squabbling senators? With Yquatine gone there was a hole at the centre of the Minerva System, and it would be some time before the shock hit home, and some considerable time before they could all work out what to do. Right now he knew that the best thing for them to do was go away, contemplate, wait for the realisation to hit home.

At length, he decided enough was enough. He was tired, it had been a long day, he wanted to get to his quarters and sleep. He clapped his hands for silence. 'Gentlemen, gentlemen!' The senators all grew silent. 'As you all know, I have returned from an expedition to Muath.'

'Ah. yes, hissed Zendaak, mouth curving in a sly smile. 'Your unauthorised, secret mission '