The Doctor sighed, exasperated and irritated. 'But you've tried tried that. And look what happened.' that. And look what happened.'

'We have found another way,' said the President. 'Senator Rhombus-Alpha?'

The blue-white diamond shape of the Ixtricite senator floated into the centre of the chamber. 'I have made a study of the Omnethoth. They are animated by a form of electrical energy. An ionisation field could disrupt the delicate balance of electrons within the Omnethoth, neutralising their controlling intelligence and dispersing their structure.'

President Vargeld grinned. 'And it works. We have already tried it on the one we captured.'

The Doctor looked up sharply. 'What?'

'It was totally destroyed.' The President walked up to the Doctor, hands behind his back. 'Did you know they could be destroyed by this means?'

The Doctor stood up, squaring his shoulders. 'Well, since you ask, yes.'

A mutter of disquiet ran around the Senate chamber.

The President's face was white with anger. 'Why didn't you tell us before? Why bother with all this DNA-altering nonsense?'

The Doctor put on his most earnest expression. 'Because ionisation is extremely dangerous! You'll be creating an enormous electrical field, disrupting anything within thousands of kilometres. Your ships will be able to transmit the killing charge but there will be no escape for them!'

'We know that,' said the President solemnly. 'And we have all decided that the sacrifice is worth it.'

The Doctor kneaded his forehead with his knuckles. 'No no no! Can't you see? There's no need for further loss of life! I can reprogram them!'

President Vargeld's eyes had a sheen of bloodl.u.s.t. 'Can you destroy them?'

The Doctor met his gaze. 'Even if I could, I wouldn't. Even manufactured life is still life.'

'What if there was no other choice? Them, or us?'

The Doctor squared up to Vargeld. 'There is always a choice. If ifs and buts were candy and nuts '

'Silence!' barked the President.

The Doctor grimaced. How could he have compared this man to a brother? Only one thing connected them: loss, a universal emotion common to all life forms. The Doctor had more in common with the Ixtricite than the Yquatine leader. 'You're sacrificing your people for no reason whatsoever.'

President Vargeld turned away, ignoring him.

The senators gathered around the console at the far end of the chamber.

The Doctor sank back down in his chair. The idiots. He wasn't going to give up. He'd let them plan their attack and then he'd have another go at convincing them. Maybe some of the other senators would listen...

He became aware of a presence before him. He looked up. Senator Zendaak was standing in front of him, arms folded. 'Want to come Omnethoth hunting?'

Chapter Nineteen.

'Escape? No, thank you very much!'

There had been installations on Muath ever since the twenty-eighth century during the original colonisation of the Minerva System. Over the decades, the small moon had gone through many changes of ownership and usage, and the original envirodomes had been upgraded and replaced many times, mostly by choice, but sometimes through necessity. During the Anthaurk conflict Muath had been an important staging post. from which s.p.a.ce Alliance ships had struck out against Anthaurk attacks on Yquatine. After the war, the moon had languished unused for a few decades until various industrial concerns had taken it over, and then it had been turned into a residential area and theme park. This has prospered for fifty years, after which its popularity had begun to wane and it began to lose money, with people moving back to Yquatine or off to other planets.

In the early years of the twenty-ninth century the University of Yquatine had set up a research facility for scientific studies requiring low gravity and isolation such as the more microscopic, infectious reaches of xen.o.biology. Now, however, the university no longer owned the whole installation. Various industrial concerns once more had vested interests, using it for their more dangerous lines of research.

Powell Industries had recently purchased a plot on Muath, and, being of a rather strict financial outlook, had decided to use prison labour for the difficult, dangerous work of erecting the outer sh.e.l.l of their envirodomes.

Prison labour was cheaper than robotic labour. It wasn't quite slavery the prisoners were paid, and were glad of the work, and, like Sorswo, glad of the change of scene but it struck Fitz as a very old-fashioned way of going about things. Surely Powell Industries could plonk their domes down with no help from humans. Dakrius, who had accompanied them to Muath, had told Fitz the reason money, or lack of it and this had rea.s.sured him.

The future wasn't a place of infinite choice, freedom and convenience. It was a place of injustice, pain, penny-pinching and inconvenience. At least, where the human race was concerned you never heard of this sort of thing from the Ixtricite, on whom Fitz had done some research while in the Centre. There were no Ixtricite prisoners, or even criminals: they kept themselves to themselves on their crystal world. In a moment of paranoid terror Fitz had imagined that they were responsible for the coming tragedy, which was going to happen tomorrow and which he was going to avoid. But no, it was the Anthaurk, wasn't it? Fitz remembered the way they treated him in Il-Eruk's Tavern all that time ago.

There were thirty workers including Sorswo and Fitz, only six of them human, and the accommodation dome was cramped. The work was hard welding, positioning, fetching and carrying but Fitz was glad of it. It took his mind off things and allowed him to plan his escape. But, as far as he could work out, escape was impossible. Thanks to the nanochips Dakrius was able to monitor their positions constantly on a portable unit strapped to his stony wrist, and while they were outside all conversations were monitored through their suit receivers.

There was also the fact that n.o.body wanted to escape, least of all Sorswo.

In the depths of the first night they spent on Muath, Fitz had enjoyed a hushed conversation with Sorswo which had gone something like this: 'Sorswo... wake up!'

'Huh... Fitz? What is it?'

'I wanna talk.'

'What about?'

'I think we should try to work out how to escape.'

Indrawn shocked breath. 'Escape? No, thank you very much!'

'Why not?'

Sorswo's eyes had gleamed in the darkness. 'I'm out of here in a few months anyway. Why bother trying to escape? We're bound to fail and that would be goodbye to my remission.'

Fitz gnashed his teeth. 'So you won't help me?'

'No' His voice took on a sonorous ring of finality. 'Let us never speak of this matter again.'

And so it had been with all the other prisoners. They didn't want to risk their parole. Miserable, short-sighted, mooching mice that they were.

So Fitz was stuck on the moon with no way off. What if the attackers struck Muath, too? Then he would be out of the frying pan into the fire. Or, at best, out of the fire into the frying pan.

Either way, it wasn't a very comforting thought.

There was one ray of hope: maybe the Doctor had escaped. He usually did. And maybe Compa.s.sion had gone back to him. Surely they would come and look for him. The Doctor wouldn't leave him behind. Or would he? One cold thought often filled him with dread: what if they'd gone on their travels, leaving Fitz smack bang in the middle of a war? That thought sent him into black moods. and he tried to entertain it as little as possible.

It was the day before Treaty Day. or rather the night before Fitz found it hard to keep track of time on Muath. He was out with Sorswo, applying sealant to one of the finished Powell Industries envirodomes. A feeling of dread had seeped into his bones. The attack was going to happen. within hours. He kept looking up at the bluegreen globe of Yquatine. hanging in the sky overhead.

Had he, the Doctor and Compa.s.sion arrived there yet? Was the earlier version of him buying gooey food off a giant insect? Were they in Lou Lombardo's pie shop? He tried to remember the exact sequence of events leading up to the moment the Yquatine sky had darkened with the invading ships, but it was all confused in his mind.

Sorswo's voice crackled in the earpiece of his helmet. 'Why do you keep staring at Yquatine? Homesick already?'

Fitz was seized with a sudden impulse to tell his friend everything. He fought it down. Too b.l.o.o.d.y late now anyway. Why hadn't he warned anyone? Didn't want to harm the timelines. What utter b.o.l.l.o.c.ks! Millions were going to die Il-Eruk, Zabulong, Val, President Vargeld and his goons and he could have prevented it. You could have done something, Fitz Kreiner. You could have made a difference, but what did you do? You tried to run away, and failed. You got p.i.s.sed out of your face. You ran away with the President's girlfriend only to be caught and that's why you're here now, you stupid b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Arielle. She was probably still on Yquatine now, still in a coma. She may even be dead. Fitz hoped she was. He couldn't stand the thought of her face staring up at the sky as the black ships polluted the air with their filth, screaming as the first spots of acid rain hit her skin Fitz fell to his knees, pressing his eyes shut, his gloved hands clawing at the dome of his helmet. He screamed in frustration and confusion, letting out all his pain, all his fear. How had he come to this? Why was the universe doing this to him? What had he done to deserve this?

Hands on his shoulders, a voice crackling in his ear, the concern evident even through the small speaker. 'Hey, friend, what's the matter?'

Fitz couldn't wipe the tears away, nor the snot that had begun to trickle from his nose. ''S all right,' he said, his voice thick and numb, his throat aching. 'I get a little claustrophobic in these suits '

'Shh!' The sound was a harsh burst of static. 'Don't let Dakrius hear that or he'll send you straight back to the Centre!'

Fitz bit his bottom lip. 'Course, yeah.' The thought of being sent back to Yquatine right now brought him back to his senses and he got to his feet, allowing Sorswo to help him, his qualm over.

Get a grip, Fitz. Don't give in to insanity. Was he p.r.o.ne to it? Would he end up like his mother? Would madness be a welcome release? Was that how it been for his mother?

So easy to give in, to abdicate responsibility for yourself.

As he stood, these dark thoughts swimming through his mind, something flashed on the horizon off to his right. He blinked, looked again. There, in the distance, was a silver shape, bright against the darkness of s.p.a.ce.

He pointed. 'Look.'

Sorswo looked. 'Well, I say.'

It was a s.p.a.cesuited figure. a few miles distant, standing on a low scarp of grey rock which bordered the horizon. As they both stared, the figure ducked down sunlight flashing off its visor and was gone.

'That was odd,' muttered Sorswo. 'Section Leader, sir!'

Dakrius's voice crackled in Fitz's helmet. 'What is it, Sorswo?'

'Is everyone accounted for?'

Dakrius confirmed that they were. 'Why do you ask?'

'We saw someone, on the horizon.'

Dakrius sounded indifferent. 'Probably someone from the university.'

'That's kilometres away,' said Sorswo. 'On the other side of the moon! It might be someone in trouble.'

Dakrius sighed. 'OK, finish up at the dome and then take the buggy.' Satisfaction crept into his harsh, grating tones. 'I'll be watching you, don't worry.'

A few minutes later, Fitz and Sorswo were rolling across the lunar landscape in the small buggy used to ferry prisoners and materials between domes.

This was clearly their one chance to escape, though Fitz dared not voice the thought. Dakrius was monitoring their conversation.

They climbed the escarpment. It sloped down gently on the other side. Footprints could clearly he seen, leading down the slope, towards a range of small mountains.

They drove the buggy to the edge of this. There was a small pa.s.sageway into the mountains.

Sorswo described the conditions to Dakrius.

Silence, then: 'Proceed, but be careful.'

Sorswo shot Fitz a rueful glance from beneath his faceplate. The look said it all: we're criminals, we're expendable.

They dismounted from the buggy and Sorswo led the way along the pa.s.sage. Walls of rock reared up on either side at wild angles, there was little light. Fitz switched on his helmet lamp.

They walked for what seemed like ages.

They came out into a clearing a deep, bowl-floored crater with walls hundreds of feet high.

Fitz and Sors...o...b..th cried out in exclamation at what they saw on the floor of the crater.

'What is it?' came Dakrius's voice.

How to describe the thing? It crouched in the bottom of the crater, like a giant, sprawling black flower or a mutated spider. The central ma.s.s was a pulsating abdomen the size of a house. Trailing out from it were hundreds of thin, black, hairlike roots or legs which shuddered and trembled as if alive.

And standing in front of the thing was the figure in the s.p.a.cesuit, one hand behind its back. Its faceplate was black, as if it had been coated from the inside.

'There's someone here, and some sort of growth,' began Sorswo. 'It's '

The figure took its hand from behind its back. It was holding a gun, with which it shot Sorswo.

He was blasted against the wall of the crater, a smoking hole in the fabric of his suit.

Fitz sank to his knees as Sorswo's dying screams and Dakrius's urgent enquiries reverberated inside his helmet. He reached up and, although it was forbidden, shut the speaker off.

Silence.

His ears ringing, Fitz gazed up dumbly as the figure approached him, the blaster hanging from a gloved hand.

Fitz tensed, waiting for the killing shot.

But it never came.

Instead, the figure holstered the weapon, reached up and started undoing the catches on its helmet.

Fitz watched mesmerised as the figure removed its helmet.

He couldn't find the voice to scream as the face beneath was revealed.

There before him, golden hair floating in the low gravity like a mermaid's in the deep ocean, eyes gleaming black, was Arielle.