He became aware of someone standing close behind him, a tall reflection in the smoked gla.s.s.

Fitz turned round, resenting the intrusion. 'Yes?'

The intruder had a heavy, pockmarked face, black hair and thick eyebrows, or rather one thick eyebrow, as the two met in a point above his flat beak of a nose. 'Mr Fitz Kreiner?'

Fitz was instantly on his guard. 'How do you know my name?' d.a.m.n! Why didn't he just say no?

The man smiled, but his eyes remained cold. 'A certain drinking establishment provided us with all we need to know about you.'

Fitz couldn't imagine Il-Eruk squealing on him. 'Who are you, anyway?'

The man took a step towards Fitz, his suited body invading his personal s.p.a.ce. 'I work for President Vargeld. I protect his interests. Make sure nothing untoward happens to them' He was looking over Fitz's shoulder at Arielle. He sucked in a breath through his teeth. 'You've got a lot of explaining to do.'

All the President's men. Fitz wondered why they hadn't been collared earlier. Then he remembered an unscheduled stop at a s.p.a.ce station a few hours ago. He'd thought nothing of it, nor had Arielle. Pair of idiots.

'I don't have anything to say to you. I've got nothing to do with her condition!' Fitz's voice rose in panic.

Another man had appeared, slimmer and with thinning blond hair, and a dainty but deadly-looking pistol.

'You're coming back to Yquatine with us,' said the first man.

It sounded like a death sentence. 'No I'm b.l.o.o.d.y not!'

The second man smiled. 'Yes, you "b.l.o.o.d.y" are.'

Fitz had a moment of sheer panic. They were going to take him back. He wasn't going to escape. Events were closing in on him like a net of steel. 'There's nothing I can say or do that will persuade you otherwise?' he babbled.

The two men exchanged glances.

'No, I don't think there is; said the first man in a loose, casual drawl.

Then he punched Fitz right in the stomach.

Treaty Day was over. It was now the small hours of the 17th of Lannasirn, a date now meaningless because the planet upon whose seasons that calendar was based no longer existed.

President Stefan Vargeld lay under a single sheet, damp with sweat he could feel it on his back, behind his knees, under his hair totally unable to sleep.

If I ever sleep again, I want to dream of her A mood of detached numbness pervaded his body, and he lay tense, waiting for the shock to hit him. A whole planet and all its people gone, just like that. But it didn't seem real. It made him want to laugh, and that made him feel worse. He recalled his flight to Muath with the Doctor. The way he'd broken down. Lost control. Cried like a kid. Could he blame it on the aftereffects of the medication? Or was he losing it?

If I ever look into her open eyes again Easy enough to be President when all that concerned you was the taxation of trade routes and interspecies technology transfer policies. He'd probably even have been able to cope with a conventional Anthaurk attack. But this? A whole planet smudged out of existence not just any planet, but the heart of the System?

He closed his eyes and saw Ahalt's face, unsmiling, hostile and closed to him for ever. She wasn't alone. There were people with her people and beings the millions of dead. They all wore that distant look she'd had the night he proposed to her. Frightened, but composed. Hurt, but determined. Private, resolved. You're never coming back in here again.

Take me back to the time before it happened I'll make it all right I'm President it's my d.a.m.n job to make it all right Then, under the weight of it all deep in the artificial night of Aloysius Station, he cried, and he wasn't a President: he was a kid again.

Too young to be President Never be able to cope with the responsibility He woke up shouting, the tears dry on his face. Must have fallen asleep at last. He winced, rubbed his eyes. His watch told him it was morning.

The day after.

The shock would be hitting home all across the System. The people of the Minerva System would be looking to him for leadership. Now was his chance, his time. He'd make sure the Anthaurk paid for what they had done.

His comms unit bleeped and he spoke through a mouth coated with stale, dried saliva. 'Yes?'

'President Vargeld, sir?'

He rubbed his unshaven face. 'Who else would it be?'

'There's a Senate meeting in half an hour, sir.'

He didn't recognise the voice. Young, nervous, female. An image of Franseska flickered in his mind, and he banished it angrily. 'On whose authority?'

The voice stammered on. 'It's the Doctor, sir. He he says he's got something important to tell the Senate.'

'The Doctor?' Last he'd seen, the guy had been almost a goner.

'Yes, sir. The meeting's in Laboratory A.'

'How ' But the communication clicked off.

He dragged himself from his bed, ran his hands once again over his stubble and through his stiff hair, and groaned. He washed and dressed and left his quarters. To his surprise, Fandel was there, just about to press the entry coder.

'Fandel?' said President Vargeld. The bright white light of the corridor hurt his eyes.

'Did you get the message as well?' Fandel was virtually hopping from foot to foot. Despite the early hour, he was in full costume padded waistcoat, long frock coat and fastidiously pressed trousers. 'This is most irregular!'

'Well, we're living in irregular times,' mumbled President Vargeld, yawning as he walked along the corridor beside the Luvian senator.

Fandel was babbling away, ill.u.s.trating his speech with little jabs of his small white hands. 'The Doctor's emerged from his coma!' he cried. 'A few hours ago, he simply woke up, fresh as a daisy. No ill effects whatsoever! Turns out his coma was self-induced. And now he's called a Senate meeting!'

'He's overstepped his bounds,' said the President. He had to he seen to be in control. 'But we'll see what he has to say for himself: He quickened his pace towards Lab A, making Fandel scurry along beside him. He was fully awake now. The Doctor had found something, down on Muath. And it had to he something important so important that the Doctor had decided to convene the Senate all by himself.

Well. No harm in that, if it produced the desired results. President Vargeld set his jaw, pressing his teeth together until it hurt. He ached to see Zendaak's comeuppance.

Laboratory A was one of three scientific laboratories on Aloysius Station, used for the study of alien diseases, spatial radiation and observation of the sun. Arielle had been up here a few times, mapping the constellations of the System. He'd come with her once. It had been magical. Just themselves, a darkened observatory, and the stars wheeling in the blackness above. What choice did they have in such a situation? They'd made love President Vargeld shook his head and swore.

'You all right?' said Fandel.

'Yeah,' said the President. 'Bad night. No sleep.'

'Me too,' sighed Fandrl.

They reached the entrance to the laboratory. President Vargeld pushed open the double door and walked into a large, circular room, lined with equipment, Fandel scurrying at his side. In the centre of the lab, an isolation room had been set up, and inside this stood the Doctor, in his clothes, which still looked to the President like some sort of Luvian get-up, hale and hearty as you like. Grey-suited technicians stood nervously by.

All the other senators were already there. Krukon, Juvingeld, Tibis, Okotile, Rhombus-Alpha. All looking at or facing towards the Doctor.

And Zendaak, in his scarlet robe, his face impa.s.sive.

'Good morning, gentlemen,' said the President evenly. 'Doctor '

'Ah, now you're here we can begin,' said the Doctor, his voice crackling from speakers set into the ceiling.

Best to ignore this undermining of his authority. Had to stay calm. 'Begin what, exactly?' He walked right up to the gla.s.s and fixed the Doctor with a presidential stare.

The Doctor paced around the chamber, waving his arms, his face alight and alive. He didn't look as if he'd just woken up from a coma. 'Down on Muath, I encountered something. A form of gaseous life. It tried to attack me, but I managed to trap it within my respiratory bypa.s.s system' He coughed, holding his chest. 'And I don't want it there any longer; he wheezed.

Zendaak stepped forward. He was grinning, chin jutting forward, eyes glowing with triumph. 'The Doctor is going to prove Anthaurk innocence!'

'Yes yes,' said the Doctor. 'Now I'm going to release the creature.' Mutters of alarm. 'It will be quite safe in here, never fear.'

The Doctor stood stock still, eyes dosed, hands covering his ears, mouth open as if in a silent scream. President Vargeld was reminded of a very old and very famous painting.

Nothing happened for a few minutes, then a throaty rattling came from the speakers.

The senators had crowded closely around the isolation chamber, in various att.i.tudes of fascination, disbelief, or in Fandel's case, scorn. 'What is this conjuror's trick?'

The rattling became thicker, more m.u.f.fled, and the Doctor's mouth filled with darkness. Suddenly, something leapt from the Doctor's mouth a streak of black, like a skid mark in the air. It began to curl in on itself, like a comma. It was followed by another, and another, black plumes twisting in the air like snakes.

Fandel, Krukon, Zendaak, Tibis and Juvingeld all invoked their various deities.

President Vargeld stared, mesmerised. The Doctor was standing stock still, eyes closed, as the smoke-snakes curled around him. caressing him. Was this what had happened to Arielle?

Then the Doctor opened his eyes.

They were totally black.

His voice boomed from the speakers, thick and distorted: 'We are Omnethoth. All solid mortals will be dissolved.' 'We are Omnethoth. All solid mortals will be dissolved.'

Part Three

For How Long, Though?

Chapter Fifteen.

'If you even call me, it is over between us'

None of the guides Fitz had read, and none of the people he'd spoken to, had ever mentioned Yendip Internment Centre. It was tucked away on a windswept plain beyond the hills surrounding Yendip, an apology of unsightly red-brick buildings cl.u.s.tering in a cracked and weed-strewn concrete compound. Neglected. overlooked, swept under the carpet, it was Yquatine's only prison though no one used that term. Everyone police, warders, judicials and Inmates' called it the Internment Centre. or simply the Centre. It was as though no one wanted to admit the existence of crime on such an idyllic planet as Yquatine. But exist it did. On a planet where hundreds of species came into daily contact with each other, crime was inevitable.

The Yquatine authorities had come up with an ingenious solution to this problem. Most criminals were sent to one of the maximum-security inst.i.tutions on Beatrix for incarceration or readjustment the problem transferred to another planet. Crime took place on Yquatine, but the criminals were rooted out and transplanted like weeds. Yendip Internment Centre was used to mop up the overspill, take care of the least disturbed and less violent type of criminal. Fraudsters, petty thieves, pickpockets folk who would, on the whole, learn their lesson well and do their time meekly and patiently with their eyes on remission. So the Centre wasn't a dangerous pressure cooker with weekly riots and a history of suicides. But it was still a prison, with its claustrophobia and hopelessness and the sense of endless days with nothing to fill them. A new experience for Fitz.

If he stood on the chair in his cell, he could see out of the barred, semicircular window at the top of the wall opposite the door. He could see the exercise yard with its cracked concrete and weeds. He could see the inner perimeter fence, and beyond that the outer perimeter fence. And beyond that fields so green and a sky so blue that it almost broke his heart.

To this maddening view he would sometimes shout in blind rage. Other times he would stare, feeling nothing, not believing he was here, hoping that he would suddenly wake up. Or he'd try to will himself through the barred window. Or wish that, like Compa.s.sion, he could turn into a TARDIS and varoosh himself out of here. It seemed to be the only way, because Yendip Internment Centre was totally escape-proof. The authorities were very keen on preserving the wholesome image of Yquatine. Escaped criminals could make a serious dent in tourism revenue. All prisoners were therefore implanted with nanochips which constantly mapped their movements. These otherwise harmless chips were injected into the lymphatic system, where they spread throughout the whole body. There was simply no way of getting rid of them. There was no escape.

Fitz was in prison, and looked like staying there until literally doomsday.

He'd argued all the way in the shuttle from the St Julian St Julian to Yquatine that he'd done nothing wrong. From Yendip s.p.a.ceport he'd been taken in a hovercar down a long dusty road across the plain to the Internment Centre. Still he'd pleaded and bargained, but his captors had ignored his pleas. There were two of them the tall, thickset mon.o.brow and the thinner, almost refined-looking Aryan type. The very sight of them had repelled and terrified Fitz. Men paid to do one thing and one thing only: intimidate, threaten. Stolid, humourless goons. to Yquatine that he'd done nothing wrong. From Yendip s.p.a.ceport he'd been taken in a hovercar down a long dusty road across the plain to the Internment Centre. Still he'd pleaded and bargained, but his captors had ignored his pleas. There were two of them the tall, thickset mon.o.brow and the thinner, almost refined-looking Aryan type. The very sight of them had repelled and terrified Fitz. Men paid to do one thing and one thing only: intimidate, threaten. Stolid, humourless goons.

By the time they had left him in the interview room, Fitz had developed a deep hatred of President Stefan Vargeld, for how he'd treated Arielle, how he was treating Fitz right now. So when the door opened and President Vargeld walked in goons in tow it was all Fitz could do to stop himself leaping from his chair and telling the man what a total and complete w.a.n.ker w.a.n.ker he was. he was.

President Vargeld settled himself in a chair on the other side of the table. Fitz had seen him on newscasts, where he had looked bland and inoffensive, a typical career politician. In the flesh, Fitz found him positively repugnant. For a start, though he didn't look much older than Fitz, he looked a d.a.m.n sight healthier. He walked with a confident, easy swagger, possessed a flat stomach, wide shoulders and blemish-free skin. He had the manner of a film star. a lazy, relaxed handsomeness, the sort Fitz knew women went all gooey over (he remembered Val going all misty-eyed over a picture of the President). Here was a man who never had to try for anything. So this was what Arielle had fallen for. Good looks and white teeth was that all it took?

'Doubtless you know who I am' His voice had the usual Yquatine accent, with an aristocratic tw.a.n.g, and his tone implied threat.

Of course, all Fitz knew about him was what Arielle had told him. Fitz grunted a dismissive response.

President Vargeld smiled coldly. 'And, equally without doubt, you are probably wondering why you have been brought here. I don't care. I don't care what you are thinking or how you are feeling.'

A pause. Fitz took in the closed faces of mon.o.brow and Aryan, the glazed brick walls of the interview room. The place smelled of detergent and Fitz was terribly hungry; he felt hollowed out and sick. He remembered Arielle talking about her former lover. his cra.s.s insensitivity. He shrugged. 'The feeling's mutual, squire.'

He'd gone too far and he knew it. When the punch came he was able to duck back, so Vargeld's fist smacked into the side of his jaw. Pain arced through Fitz's skull and his teeth hit down on his tongue, drawing blood.

He stared at Vargeld, more disgusted than hurt. He ruled an entire solar system but he couldn't control his temper. Pathetic or he would he if he didn't wield so much power.

'I want to know what you were doing with my fiancee. What you've done to her.'

Fitz fought down his sense of panic, swallowing the blood that filled his mouth. He felt shaken, scared. 'I didn't I didn't do anything to her.'

The President leaned back, sucked in his cheeks. He looked bored. 'I ask again, what were you doing?'

Fitz's only hope was the truth. 'Helping her to escape.'

The President leaned forward, instantly alert once more. 'Escape? From?'

Fitz shrank back, tensing himself for another blow. 'From you.'

The President's face coloured and his hands, steepled on the table in front of him, broke apart and slapped on to the surface. He controlled himself with a visible effort. 'She didn't want to "escape" from me!'

Fitz could see now the type of lover this guy would make possessive, jealous and dangerous. And as an enemy? Fitz began to shake uncontrollably. This madman could probably have him executed on the spot. His only hope was to try to reason with him.' Listen, I was was helping her. She ran away from you, that's the truth! She was is scared of you.' helping her. She ran away from you, that's the truth! She was is scared of you.'

Silence. They stared at each other for a while. No way was he going to let the merest hint of his true feelings for Arielle show. That would probably mean instant death.

At length, Vargeld nodded slowly. 'All right. Let's say she did run away from me. Let's say you helped her get off the planet. So far, so good. So can you explain to me why she is lying in Yendip Infirmary in a deep coma?'

Fitz remembered Arielle, her eyes totally black. Whatever had happened to her, it wasn't anything Fitz had ever come across before. It smacked of something weird and dangerous. 'Is she OK? I mean, have the doctors '