'We are at war!' insisted Galvakis.

'Really?' said the Doctor.

Charlton's attention drifted to one of the desks that consisted of a panel with an important-looking red b.u.t.ton at its centre.

Galvakis trundled up to the Doctor. 'Though not. . . very much. Our last great battle with the Aztales was over six hundred years ago. There was a ma.s.sive nuclear exchange.'

' Now Now we're getting at the truth.' we're getting at the truth.'

77.'Our arms race escalated until we developed the ultimate weapon! An electromagnetic pulse bomb, held in a satellite in geostationary orbit above the Aztale city. When the bomb is detonated, the Aztale people will be eradicated!'

'So what's stopping you, then?'

'The Aztales also developed a. . . similar weapon. There is a satellite in geostationary orbit above our city which, when detonated, would completely eradicate our people.'

The Doctor seemed amused.

Charlton frowned. 'Why don't you, the Gabaks, just blow up the Aztales first? Before they have a chance to blow you up?'

'At the moment we are broadcasting a radio signal to our bomb via a series of orbital relay satellites,' explained Galvakis. 'Our bomb does not require a signal to activate it. Rather, if there is any interruption in our signal telling it not not to detonate, it will explode.' to detonate, it will explode.'

'I see. And the Aztale bomb works on a similar principle.' The Doctor gazed abstractedly at the ceiling. 'So the moment you attack their city, the signal telling their bomb not to explode is cut off, and so it explodes?'

'That is correct.'

'And vice versa,' laughed the Doctor. 'You don't see what you've done, do you? You've stumbled across peace peace! A stalemate, a logical impa.s.se!' The Doctor jumped down to the floor. 'Two great powers, poised to destroy the other. . . instantaneously! Well, not quite instantaneously. Given the circ.u.mference of the world, the height of a geostationary satellite, the time it would take for the radio signals to circ.u.mnavigate the globe, there and back. . . what, a second?'

'Bit risky, isn't it?' said Trix. 'Relying on the signal not being disrupted?'

'The signal is controlled from within this bunker,' stated Galvakis. 'Our duty is to see that it is not interrupted.'

'From here?' The Doctor pointed to the red b.u.t.ton. 'You should label it, you know. One thing I've noticed, alien races rarely label b.u.t.tons '

'Do not move!' Galvakis's gun throbbed into life.

The Doctor backed away from the b.u.t.ton, raising his hands. His sonic screwdriver was held in one of them. 'One second away from mutually a.s.sured destruction. At any instant,' the Doctor paused for dramatic effect, 'the slightest interference, and it's the end of the world, in the time it takes for a tick to tock.'

'Doctor,' Charlton said. 'How are they going to be killed by an electromagnetic pulse? That would only affect computers and stuff, right?'

'Good point,' said Trix.

The Doctor nodded. 'You're right. . . unless. . . unless things are much more horrible horrible than I had previously imagined.' than I had previously imagined.'

78.Fitz followed the tour party through the gra.s.sy ruins. Tadek kept behind him.

They had slipped out of earshot of the clipboard man, but from their vantage point, hidden in the leaves of a bush, Fitz could make out his gestures. The clipboard man bowed like a singer completing a performance, and turned to lead on once more.

Due to his lack of a shoe, Fitz slipped on a fallen branch. It snapped, the sound abruptly sharp in the silence. It disturbed some birds in a nearby tree.

The thudder of their wings filled the air.

The clipboard man halted, squinting in Fitz's direction. 'h.e.l.lo?' The walrus-creature turned, as did the lizard. The sculpture and the two footb.a.l.l.s hovered. The two legionaries halted, their cushion held aloft between them.

Fitz motioned to Tadek to hide. 'What is it?' said Tadek, following Fitz's gaze.

Fitz stared at the clipboard man, and back at Tadek. 'You don't see them?'

'See what?'

'Never mind.' Fitz indicated that Tadek should remain in the shadows.

'Wait.'

'Can I a.s.sist you?' The clipboard man peered at Fitz, his peer becoming a suspicious frown. 'You're not of this world, are you?'

'No, I '

'Then what, may I ask, in expectation of a supremely fine answer, are you doing doing here?' here?'

'Well ' Fitz tried to look as though he wasn't thinking of something to say.

'Well?'

'I'm sorry I'm. . . late,' Fitz said at last. 'Held up in traffic. Hope I haven't missed anything '

The clipboard man peered at him through disingenuous eyes. 'You're a buyer?'

'That's it, right.'

'You don't resemble the typical typical purchaser.' purchaser.'

'I'm a representative, of. . . of somebody else. A third party that wishes to remain anonymous.'

The various members of the tour party reacted with consternation. The walrus sputtered into its handkerchief. The sculpture floated over to Fitz as though inspecting him Fitz tried to avoid looking at it, it reminded him too much of a lava lamp. He also tried to avoid the gaze of the two baby-oiled legionaries with the cushion.

'A third party?' growled the lizard.

Fitz waggled a 'keep down' with his finger to Tadek, hoping he would remain out of sight. 'An extremely wealthy third party. Very interested in. . .

planets. It's a. . . hobby of theirs.'

79.'A collector?' The clipboard man's frown dissolved. 'Magnificent, magnifi-cent. Well, I'm glad you made it. I'm afraid I wasn't informed, it's all been a madhouse, what with one thing, and another hot on its tail. . . can I have your name?'

Fitz tried to think of something but couldn't. 'Fitz Kreiner.'

'Good to have you here. Resplendent Resplendent. Please, join us. The tour is, I'm afraid, almost over, but if you have any queries, do, do feel free to inter'

'rupt,' said Fitz. 'Sorry, it was all a bit last-minute for me too. You're. . . ?'

'Dittero,' said the clipboard man. 'Dittero Shandy. It is my pleasure to represent the owner of this property.'

'Who is. . . ?'

'I'm afraid,' said Dittero, 'they also wish to remain incognito. I'm sure you, naturally, will understand.'

'What about the, er, Gabaks?'

'They're not the owners!' Dittero laughed. 'They're merely the. . . residents.

No, the rights to this. . . property reside very much with another party altogether.'

'Got you,' said Fitz.

'The news delights me. I'm delighted to have "got you". The word to express my emotion is "delight". Now, if you would care to follow, I '

'One more thing.'

Dittero halted, his grip on his clipboard tightening. 'Of course, yes?'

'These other guys.' Fitz indicated the walrus, lizard, the lava lamp and the airborne t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es. 'Who are they? I have to report back to my boss, he's. . .

interested in rival bidders.'

Dittero exhaled in irritation. 'Naturally, naturally. This,' he indicated the walrus, 'is Nimbit.'

Nimbit's moustache bristled as he eyed Fitz through his monocle. 'Delighted,' he said ripely, like a country squire.

'Like the suit,' said Fitz.

Nimbit bowed, and handkerchiefed the sweat from his forehead.

He stooped, as though under some great weight.

Dlttero waved at the lizard. 'This is Vors.h.a.gg.'

'Hi,' Fitz smiled at the lizard. It scowled back, its tongue slavering.

'Poozle of the Varble,' continued Dittero, indicating the levitating lava lamp.

'What?'

Dittero tapped his fingers on his clipboard. 'Poozle. Of the Varble. Of the planet. . . Mim.'

The lava lamp floated over to Fitz. 'Gleetings!' it announced, its voice high-pitched and tinny. As it spoke, its midriff section the part with the floating 80 globules flashed on and off, almost in time with the words. Having gleeted Fitz, it hovered away.

'Poozle, Varble, planet Mim,' said Fitz. 'Right. Next?'

'And over here we have?' Dittero gestured towards the two floating b.a.l.l.s.

'We have?' asked Fitz, waiting for the name.

'That's right.'

'Sorry.' blinked Fitz. 'What?'

'We have. . . ?' Dittero pulled a quizzical expression, as though that explained everything.

'Yes. Who is it?'

Dittero looked perplexed, then said, '. . . is what it's called.'

'No, I'm sorry, but you've lost me.'

'My name,' the two b.a.l.l.s speeded to a point a yard over Fitz's head, 'is?'

'Is?'

'That is. . . almost correct, darling dear.' The voice seemed to come from one, or other, of the b.a.l.l.s. It had an effeminate, prim, schoolmistressey manner. 'My name does not correspond to your primitive modes of communica-tion.'

'No?'

'Instead, it's signified by a change in the tone of voice. A slight increase in pitch for the final syllable, which for you would usually indicate an element of doubt.'

'What?' said Fitz.

'I can see it's difficult, darling dear,' said the b.a.l.l.s, 'but you're getting there.'

'Hang on.' Fitz had to cover his eyes as the b.a.l.l.s moved against the sun.

'Your name Is. . . and I just say something with a question at the end?'

'Precisely,' said the b.a.l.l.s. 'That is my name.'

'That's. . . unusual.'

'Indeed. Uniquely so,' said Dittero, leading Fitz to one side. 'We tend to call it "question intonation" to avoid confusion. It's best not to make too many enquiries when it's around, or it will think you're calling its name.'

'Bizarre.'

Dittero ushered Fitz over to the two legionaries, and indicated their cushion.

'And here,' he said, with a flourish, 'is the Fabulous Micron.'

'Micron?'

'The very Fabulous Micron Fabulous Micron. Of the seven systems.'