The thin sheets of perforated wood it uses to weave complicated patterns became paper punchcards, and so on. The a.n.a.lytical Engine used punchcards so does Penelope's time machine; I've seen the little box she keeps them in.

All very steampunk.

I was trying to convince the daimyo how much more efficient his military record-keeping would be with the help of a konpyuuta konpyuuta, but he was already having all sorts of thoughts about how it could be used record-keeping for his estates, building stronger castles.

G.o.d help me, I think I've just introduced Computer Aided Design to the sixteenth century.

The idea, of course, is to see what good I can do here while the daimyo is playing around with his overblown calculator and it'll be years before that's that's built. I'll have to gradually unload the secrets of my mystic laptop as they're needed. And I'll have to make sure they're not misused. built. I'll have to gradually unload the secrets of my mystic laptop as they're needed. And I'll have to make sure they're not misused.

That's enough to keep any techhead busy for the rest of his life.

The thing now is to make sure that life isn't a very, very short one.

120.

Te Yene Rana held the device up to the lamp, turning it in her hands, lovingly.

It was soft and warm, a few inches of cybernetic life, dark and flexible as leather. The Prompter of Confessions Prompter of Confessions, in the dark tongue.

She was in a much better mood.

Her prisoner watched from the corner. 'My people have become experts in the design of these living machines,' she told him. 'One such device is the creature that prevents you from moving.'

He glanced at the animal embracing his left ankle. The Manacle of Flesh Manacle of Flesh, a variation on the Prompter of Confessions Prompter of Confessions, designed to partially inhibit the motor nerves. He could move, albeit slowly and awkwardly. And speak. And scream.

'This device,' she said, crouching in front of him so he could see it wriggling in her hands, 'will give me complete control over your tactile senses. I will be able to make you feel anything I choose. Pure heat, as though your nerves are on fire. Utter cold. And pain. Unimaginable pain. Wherever I choose, for how long I choose.'

He didn't try to resist as she knelt beside him and began to fit the Prompter Prompter of Confessions of Confessions behind his ear. He'd written the false note for his friend readily enough, almost as though he wanted the human to be on his way or was it just that he didn't want to risk displeasing her? behind his ear. He'd written the false note for his friend readily enough, almost as though he wanted the human to be on his way or was it just that he didn't want to risk displeasing her?

The Prompter snuggled against his skin, reaching down his neck to seek out his brainstem, and up to his temple. 'The device will swiftly seek out the centres of your brain which controls pain perception, forcing open any pathways which may have closed to inhibit the agony, multiplying the sensations I cause you a hundred times. The real genius of the device is that it simulates pain without causing physical harm.'

She would begin a finely controlled programme of stimulations, beginning with several high-level shocks to loosen him up, and then building, slowly, with variations, to a roaring crescendo of agony. All without asking any questions, of course. By the time she was finished with him he'd tell her anything she asked him.

She was just deciding whether to gag him when he plucked the Prompter Prompter off his head and tossed it out of the window. off his head and tossed it out of the window.

She shot to the windowsill and looked down into the street, where a large cart was running over the Prompter of Confessions Prompter of Confessions, mashing it into a pancake.

She turned back to him with murder in her eyes.

'Can't we talk about this in a civilized fashion?' he said, plucking the Manacle of Flesh off Manacle of Flesh off his ankle. his ankle.

She managed to catch it before it went out of the window.

121.

Penelope rode through the cool morning. She hadn't seen anyone since she'd left Toshi, except a wandering monk and a couple of merchants who had ignored her.

She took out the map while her horse ambled along the forest trail. She was less than half a day's easy ride from KAPTEYNIAN BASE.

She hoped that by now the Doctor's conscience was p.r.i.c.king a little at his behaviour towards her. She imagined him as one of those dreary university professors, taking it on themselves to lecture her on Woman's Place or something equally antiquated.

'Ah,' she could imagine him saying, 'you're one of those Suffragettes, aren't you?'

'Suffrag ist ist,' she would correct, fiddling with her spectacles in irritation.

'What you have to understand, Miss Gate, is that the male and female of the species have completely different psychologies. Men's brains have been prepared by evolution for their role as thinkers, artists and leaders. The male mind is naturally more rational. Have you never considered, for example, why so few great painters were female?'

'I had always a.s.sumed it was because it was illegal to train women in painting,' she would reply. 'Have you never considered that these supposed differences in the minds of the s.e.xes are merely a convenient excuse for perpetuat-ing their current circ.u.mstances?'

In one version of her daydream, this lead into a fascinating discussion of Darwin, Marx and the Pankhursts, and a conversion of the offending professor to the cause of emanc.i.p.ation. In the more realistic version, the lecturer droned on painfully for some minutes about the scientific evidence for Woman's Place, et cetera.

She was barely tolerated in the universities. She had hoped that men of the future would be somehow better better.

Besides, he still scared the life out of her.

She swallowed her disappointment as she rounded a bend in the road, and saw the two samurai waiting for her, their hands on their sword hilts.

122.

14.The writing on the walls

The Doctor had ordered tea for them. Te Yene Rana watched in astonishment as one of the innkeeper's children delivered the tray. The Doctor returned the child's frantic bows and sent it on its way, sliding the door shut.

'What was it you wanted to talk about?' he said, pouring a cup of the pale, alien fluid.

It was no d.a.m.ned use. Te Yene Rana sat on the floor in front of him, aghast.

Her extensive training in interrogation suddenly seemed to have a large d.a.m.ned gap in it. She had been taught how to deal with all of the subjects'

possible responses confessions, lies, pleas, even madness. She had emphati-cally not been trained to deal with a subject who took the p.i.s.s. Thanks.

'Let me guess,' said the Doctor. He raised his tea cup in both hands, and inhaled deeply, smiling at the scent. 'You're interested in a certain object which, shall we say, made a crash landing in this area.'

'You know where it is?'

'You know what it is?'

Te Yene Rana scowled and fell silent. The Doctor said, 'We call it. . . the pod.' He took a mouthful of tea and smiled blissfully.

'It's a consignment of goods,' she said, grudgingly.

'What sort of goods?'

'If you must know,' said the Caxtarid, 'it's a smuggled shipment of Oolian knickers.'

'Don't the Oolians have enough underwear of their own?' said the Doctor.

'It's not for for the Oolians,' said Te Yene Rana. 'I just want my goods back they were accidentally jettisoned during an act of piracy by a Kapteynian vessel.' the Oolians,' said Te Yene Rana. 'I just want my goods back they were accidentally jettisoned during an act of piracy by a Kapteynian vessel.'

'Ah,' said the Doctor. 'They tried to nick your knickers.' He poured another cup of tea. 'All this overkill about underpants? I don't think so. Why don't you tell me what's really going on? I might be able to help.'

'All right.' Te Yene Rana let him hand her a cup of tea. 'The truth is, it's a survey satellite. Natural Resources Admin have been considering whether to 123 mine this planet. We needed to take a census of the planet's inhabitants, in order to develop a least-disturbance model for the project.'

'And the Kapteynians?'

'Rival miners,' said Te Yene Rana. The tea had a strange watery flavour, like flowers. 'They sabotaged our satellite. Without that survey, we can't get permission to touch so much as a pebble.'

'Hmm,' said the Doctor. 'I think I preferred your first story.'

'What?'

'In this time period, the Kapteynians aren't your economic rivals: they're your slaves. For another thing, when did the Caxtarids turn green? Your corporations have stripmined a dozen inhabited worlds.'

'Green?'

'Never mind. Suffice it to say that unless your planet has changed its com-mercial laws very suddenly, the underwear was a lot more believable.'

Te Yene Rana put down her cup. 'd.a.m.n you,' she said. 'Who are you? Tell me. I'll reciprocate with the truth. You have my word.'

'Right. I'm the President of the Intergalactic Flora Society.'

'Thanks. That's very helpful. The thing is a vital component of my ship. The Kapteynians sabotaged it. My ship's in orbit I can't leave until I repair it.'

'You know,' said the Doctor, 'I can keep this up all night.'

'Gonads!' said Te Yene Rana. She looked around for something to throw at him. 'Why isn't there any d.a.m.ned furniture!'

He just managed to dodge the teapot as he lunged for the window.

Penelope was continually amazed not to be dead.

When she had seen the samurai waiting for her in the road, she had resigned herself to capture at best, slaughter at worst, or the large number of alarming possibilities in between.

But one of them had said, ' O-jochu O-jochu, it is not safe for an unaccompanied woman to ride through this forest. There are brigands and rude peasants at every turn. Allow us to accompany you to the castle of our lord, Gufuu Kocho, who offers his protection.'

It wasn't an invitation. Scowling inside her hood, Penelope let them flank her horse, and lead her off in completely the wrong direction.

It took several hours, riding between the stoical samurai, to reach the castle.

White walls rose behind brown stones, curved roofs and barred windows, tier after tier.

There was a ma.s.sive gate where the samurai shouted for entry. The great wooden doors pulled slowly open servants dragging the doors' weight, servants kneeling in the dust as they rode in.

124.

Every eye was on her. She imagined she could hear the gossip drifting softly on the breeze.

Once inside the palace she had only one guard, and just a lad, and he had put away one of his swords. But one young samurai with one sword was more than enough. Even if she somehow got away from him, she doubted she could find her way, back to the gate and who was going to let her through it?

He stalked the polished cedar floors in his slippers, doing his best to look forbidding, while she walked just behind him in bare feet. 'Please excuse me,'

she said, 'but where are you taking me, O-samurai O-samurai?'

'To your quarters, O-jochu O-jochu,' replied the boy. 'Here we are.' He slid open a door. Penelope had no idea how he'd recognized the right one in this maze of wooden pa.s.sages.

The room was, as usual, large and empty. There was a screen at one end, delicately painted with an image of geese in flight. 'I will see to it that you are brought food and drink, and whatever other comforts you require,' he said.

He even bowed, a little. 'Someone will always be on hand if you need them.'

She returned the bow, and he slid the door shut. He might as well have locked it.

Penelope slid to the floor, sitting European style, and put her head in her hands. Her mind was churning with penny-dreadful fantasies. She forced them down, feeling her rational mind struggling with her equally rational fear. No one had threatened her. Yet. No one had mistreated her. Yet.

She wasn't important. What they wanted was the pod.

She felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. All she wanted to do was curl up on the thick straw mats and fall asleep. But even with her eyes closed she stayed relentlessly awake. Distantly she could hear the footsteps of people moving through the house, sometimes catch a shout from the courtyard or a raised voice from another room.

Trapped, she thought. Trapped again.

She blinked. The light had faded. . . or had the paper walls turned dark and hard?

Penelope sat up. She was in the Room With No Doors.

'Oh no,' she said. 'Not again.'

Chris had been sitting in his room at the inn, eating shrimp and moping.

Whatever the Doctor had gone to investigate, it was taking him forever.

The cab chase had been great, just like old times, taking him back to when he flew a flitter for the Adjudication Service. Skimming through the buildings like a knife, scaring the bejeezuz out of some perp by being smarter and braver and fasten The poor cab had just managed to limp into Toshi town before the 125 back axle had finally and spectacularly snapped, nearly throwing them off the cab.

He'd got some paper, and dug a chewed-on ballpoint pen out of the Doctor's satchel when the Time Lord wasn't looking. After a while he started to write: 'Dear Doctor, I didn't always feel like this.'

He stuck out his bottom lip at the piece of paper. G.o.ddess, it was like a 'Dear John' letter. 'This is tragic,' he said out loud. 'I'm going for a walk.'

He decided to go and see how the blacksmith was getting along with the pod. He walked through the muddy streets of the town, peeking into shops and trying to ignore the stares he got. He should be used to it by now, after visiting a hundred different planets and times, and sticking out like a sore thumb in most of them. This time he wanted to shout, 'Yes! I look weird!

Don't you guys realize what a cliche cliche it is to stare at me?' it is to stare at me?'