The President slammed his hand down on the table again. 'She is nothing to do with you! Put her out of your mind for ever.'

'All right, all right' The last thing he wanted to do was provoke Vargeld. 'Look, I really don't know what happened to her. One minute she was fine, the next she pa.s.sed out.'

'Whether that's true or not, you still took her away from me.' Vargeld seemed to marshal himself. 'Were you were you sleeping with her? Were you in love with her?'

Fitz shook his head, started babbling. 'No, no, I was just helping her. Never even touched her.'

The President folded his arms, his face a cold. unsmiling mask. 'I don't believe you.'

Fitz looked down at his hands in his lap. He'd picked one nail right down to the quick and a crescent of blood was forming on his finger.

The President was still speaking. 'I don't believe you, but until Arielle comes round if she does I won't be able to check your story: Fitz sniffed, looked up at the President, acutely aware that his fate lay in Vargeld's hands. 'So what are you going to do to me?.

'You're an anomaly. There are no records of you anywhere in the System. You could be a spy for all I know.'

So, political problems. A hint of the disaster to come? Perhaps he should tell all. After all. Vargeld was the ultimate authority. He might be able to do something about it. Fitz opened his mouth to speak. He changed his mind at the last minute. 'I'm not a spy.'

The President smiled. 'Maybe not, but as far as I can tell you have no money and no home. You may as well stay here. It's not bad.'

He was trying to be funny, but the words chilled Fitz to the bone.

Vargeld got up to leave. 'You'll stay here, at my pleasure. until our investigations are complete.'

Christ. It was less than a month until Treaty Day. Doomsday. 'How how long will that take?' said Fitz through the lump that was forcing its way up his throat.

The President waved a perfectly manicured hand in the air. 'One month, two? Who knows?' He stood up to leave.

Fitz stood up. He'd come to a decision. 'Wait.'

Halfway to the door, the President turned. 'What is it?'

Sod the timelines, he had to get out of here. 'What if I told you that on Treaty Day, Yquatine is going to be attacked?'

The President nodded: Then I'd say you were probably right' He turned, was almost through the door.

'And totally destroyed!' yelled Fitz.

But the door slammed shut behind the President.

Then they came and put him in his cell.

Fitz stared out of the window at the exercise ground, the inner perimeter fence, the outer perimeter fence, the rolling fields and the free blue sky of Yquatine.

He could hardly believe his b.l.o.o.d.y, b.l.o.o.d.y b.l.o.o.d.y bad luck. bad luck.

He'd been home and dry, away from the doomed world, only to be s.n.a.t.c.hed back as if he'd been attached to it with elastic.

No attached to it by his own stupid desires. He'd gone and fallen for the President's totty, for G.o.d's sake! How could he have been so dumb? Now he'd die along with everyone else. And he couldn't save Arielle. That thought hurt worst of all.

There was one hope, one futile, childish hope.

Maybe Compa.s.sion would materialise in his cell and rescue him in the nick of time.

Yeah, right. That sort of thing only happened in books.

Stefan Vargeld was the happiest man on Yquatine. Never mind the growing problems in the Senate, his girl was back from the brink of death! He felt like singing. He felt like dancing. He tried to hold the feeling inside until he actually saw her with his own eyes. He drifted through an interminable Senate meeting, parried Zendaak's grievances and the interminable question of the taxation of trade routes. He ached to get away, go to the infirmary to see her. The doctors had contacted him earlier, with the joyous news that she had shown signs of life. She had opened her eyes.

Now, the business of the day over, he walked quickly through the sterile white corridors of Yendip Infirmary, his two bodyguards taking up the rear. If they hadn't been there he'd have burst into song. Arielle's doctor was keeping pace with him.

'She snapped out of it an hour ago and has made an incredibly swift recovery. It was as though nothing had happened.'

The President turned to the doctor, a small, fussy lzrekt. 'Have you any idea what caused it?'

The doctor shook his head. 'All our tests have come up negative that is, all the tests we've been able to carry out so far.'

'Why can't you do more tests?'

The doctor sighed. 'She's discharged herself. I don't suppose you could persuade her to stay? For more tests?'

The President considered. If she had recovered, that was good enough for him. 'She's checked out OK? No sign of any illness or disease?'

'Yes,' said the doctor, 'but I strongly suggest that she stays for further tests. In fact, I insist '

The President stalled him with a wave of his hand. 'I'll see what I can do.'

He reached the door of her private ward. Should he knock? He faltered. 'You can wait for me outside,' he told his men. 'And I'll let you know what she says,' he told the doctor.

When they had all gone, he was left alone, facing the door. He let out a sigh of relief. He didn't want them to see the grimace of shame and guilt on his face. Didn't want them to overhear the words he was almost certain Arielle would say to him. Maybe she would hate him; she had every reason to, because he had hurt her. He had struck out at the woman he loved, a rash gesture of anger and frustration. Now it seemed like a lapse into madness, and he didn't understand why he had done it. Maybe to get some reaction, any reaction. He found it hard to reconcile with the intricate politics of the System. He could handle Zendaak and the others, so why couldn't he handle Arielle?

He could barely admit it to himself. He'd behaved abominably and scared Arielle away. And now he was going to put things right. He was going to go in there, apologise; she'd be so pleased to be alive that she'd fall into his arms he could almost feel the weight of her body against his and everything would be all right, all right. Hope made him smile, swelled his heart, against the odds.

With a tense hand, he opened the door.

He was surprised to see Arielle standing by the bed, fully dressed, comms unit pressed to her ear.

He stepped into the room. 'Arielle?'

She didn't even look up. A hot flush of disappointment and shameful anger. He spoke again, trying to keep his voice light. 'Arielle?'

She clicked the comms unit off, slid it into her belt.

Her eyes, oh h.e.l.l, her eyes. Framed with a frown of irritation, shut off from him, as if he was a stranger.

'Arielle, it's me. Stefan.' He reached out for her. but she remained stationary, closed. 'How are you?'

She blinked. Her eyes looked unfocused. 'I am well.'

He walked up to her, but the way she was standing, arms akimbo, prevented him from embracing her. 'What happened on the St Julian St Julian? What did Fitz Kreiner do to you?'

She moved her head, her hair falling across her eyes. 'Fitz?'

The words came out harsh, ugly, out of control. 'Yes! That guy you were with.'

That stare again. As if he wasn't there. 'Nothing.'

He looked away, feeling crushed, defeated. 'OK. I understand.'

Arielle stepped towards her bed. Should he tell her Fitz was in prison? He noticed she was packing a large case, obviously fetched by the hospital from her university quarters. 'Where are you going?' he said to her back.

She stopped packing, seemed to consider 'Muath: It took him a while to make sense of it. 'What the h.e.l.l for?'

'The university has a lab there. I'm going to do some work.'

He felt as if he was being pulled in two directions. One side of him wanted to tell her how ridiculous this was, that her place was with him. But the side of him that had loved Arielle, learned her moods and whims and odd sense of humour, told him that they needed some time apart. He knew that the only way to keep hold of this beautiful creature was to let her go, at least for a little while.

'OK. Then after we've both thought things over we can talk, right?' She carried on packing. 'Arielle?' No response. 'For G.o.d's sake, woman!' The instant they were out, he regretted the words.

She turned to him, her face still blank. 'I am going to Muath' Then she paused, and when she spoke again it was as though she had rehea.r.s.ed the speech. 'Do not follow me there. If you even call me, it is over between us' She turned to continue packing. then added as an afterthought, 'I'll contact you.'

So there was hope. 'When?'

She considered again. 'When I am ready.'

He nodded. 'OK' It was the best he could hope for, considering how badly he had acted.

She folded her arms, her eyes gla.s.sy, forbidding. 'Go now.'

With a last look at the person he loved more than anyone. President Vargeld turned and left.

Outside, he let out a long, shuddering sigh, and trudged off back to his private car. She would contact him soon. he was sure of it. And then he'd find out what had gone on between her and Kreiner. And until then, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d could rot in jail.

Chapter Sixteen.

'My need for hot, sweet tea has never been greater'

President Vargeld watched as the Doctor stood in the isolation chamber, eyes black, gaseous snakes writhing around him. He could feel the others watching him, waiting for a response to the Doctor's announcement. Clearly, he had been possessed, down on Muath. Maybe, even, he was behind the whole thing. Maybe he was responsible for the fall of Yquatine.

President Vargeld stepped up to the gla.s.s, turning his sudden rush of anger into action. 'Doctor, can you hear me?'

The Doctor opened his mouth and spoke in the same thick, distorted voice. 'We hear you.'

'What do you mean by "all solid mortals will be dissolved"?'

'All solid mortals will be dissolved.'

'That's not what I meant!' snapped the President.

Rhombus-Alpha spoke up, its representation floating above the chamber. 'How do you mean to accomplish this?'

'The first stage is almost complete. Soon we will expand. Soon we will destroy you.'

'We'll see about that,' said the President. 'Soon we will destroy you.'

'That is not possi Arrrgh!' Arrrgh!'

All at once the Doctor's eyes returned to normal, his hands flew to his throat and he let out a strangulated gargle of pain which poured from the speakers in a surge of distortion.

Medics rushed to the door of the isolation chamber as the Doctor slumped to the floor.

'Stand down!' barked the President. No way was he going to let that thing out into the station.

The Doctor was convulsing, coughing, chest heaving. He rolled on to his back, his spine arched, and a final streak of black gas shot from his mouth, bunching like a tiny thundercloud. The smoke-snakes joined it, forming a loose starfish shape above the Doctor.

Senator Tibis was on his knees, his great tiger-like head bowed, muttering a prayer to one of his G.o.ds. Fandel had gone as white as chalk. Okotile was chirruping in alarm, and Juvingeld was stamping his hooves. None of them were any d.a.m.ned good in an emergency, President Vargeld reflected ruefully. He swore as he was barged out of the way by Zendaak.

'What are you doing?'

Zendaak's eyes flashed. 'We've got to get him out of there.'

President Vargeld tried to hold the Anthaurk senator back. 'No, Zendaak! He could still be possessed by that thing.'

With a snarling hiss, Zendaak shoved him to one side.

President Vargeld turned. 'Troopers!'

s.p.a.ce Alliance troopers had been stationed around the edges of the lab and they now sprang into action, covering Zendaak.

Zendaak ignored them, and opened the outer door of the isolation chamber.

If they fired, they'd hole the chamber, let the thing out. 'Hold your fire!'

The gas creature was hovering over the Doctor, its dense, jet-black centre directly above his head, its tapering smoke limbs reaching to the side of the chamber. Its centre was darkening, bulging like a seed pod.

Zendaak walked straight in, waving his arms through the smoky limbs of the creature. It broke up into a diffuse cloud but almost immediately began to re-form. Before it had chance, Zendaak bent down and scooped the Doctor up in one sinewy arm. The President remembered how light the Doctor had been in Muath's low gravity, and was uncomfortably reminded of the great physical strength of the Anthaurk.

Zendaak stepped out of the isolation chamber, the Doctor draped over one arm. 'Put down your guns.'

The creature was flailing about the isolation chamber, reforming, the black centre emitting clear, liquid drops which hissed as they burned into the floor.