'Ten points, that lizard,' said Fitz. 'Another odd thing. People were being murdered. . . and yet the auction carried on as normal. I mean, come on, it's all a bit suss, isn't it? Unless the auction was the whole raison d'etre of the murders. . . '

Vors.h.a.gg leaned forward. 'Why was I I invited here?' invited here?'

'All we've heard about is how desirable all these worlds are, how valuable they are, how they are absolute bargains. And yet, what, only half a dozen of us turn up for the auction? Looks bad, doesn't it, if you can't even manage 177 any of the decent monsters where are the Daleks, the Wrarth Warriors, the Krargs all you can get is the c-list! I mean, come on I've never heard of any of you before!

'That's why you're here, Vors.h.a.gg. I'm sure that's why I was accepted so easily, too. To make up the numbers. Because if the Fabulous Micron suspected that it was the only bidder the only bidder, it might not be so willing to fork out the readies.'

'You mean,' said Welwyn, 'this whole thing was for the Micron's benefit?'

Fitz nodded. 'This whole thing has been a set-up, organised by our friend, estate agent and murderer, Dittero Shandy.'

'Really?' A smile insinuated itself on to Dittero's lips and he rose, clasping his clipboard to his chest.

'One last thing. When I was trying to work out how someone might control Vors.h.a.gg or Micron's bodyguards, I was thinking where could have they hidden the remote control? And then it struck me. Here we are, with all this high-technology around us, and you're still using a clipboard clipboard.'

'What?'

'I don't think I've seen you write on it once. You just tap it with your fingers.

Is that how you make Poozle speak?'

'Try it yourself,' snapped Dittero as he threw the clipboard across the table at Fitz. Fitz caught it, and and saw what Dittero had concealed beneath the clipboard. The stubby laser pistol swung in his direction.

'You don't mean. . . ' Welwyn was aghast. 'It was you you!'

'Welwyn, not only are you stupid. . . ' said Dittero, 'you are. . . well, actually stupid is all you are.'

'The Fabulous Micron wishes to express his disapprobation.'

'Oh, does he?' said Dittero. 'Well you can tell his minisculeness, his credit card payments have cleared, so frankly I don't care. Oh, and he's an insignificant insignificant little insect with delusions of grandeur. That should get his back up.' little insect with delusions of grandeur. That should get his back up.'

Fitz backed into the corner. Glancing down at the clipboard, he noticed a crosshair grid printed on the front sheet.

'The Fabulous Fabulous Micron!' Dittero laughed. 'I've picked out more impressive life forms from between my toes.' Micron!' Dittero laughed. 'I've picked out more impressive life forms from between my toes.'

Vors.h.a.gg rose to its feet with a roar of self-righteousness. 'Dittero Shandy!'

Dittero levelled his pistol at the reptile. 'And the all-powerful Vors.h.a.gg. So dangerous, so terrifying, so impotent impotent. While I, on the other hand, am perfectly capable of killing. . . ' Dittero swung his gun back towards Fitz, '. . . any any of you.' of you.'

'Why d'you do it?' said Fitz. Using his left hand, hidden by the clipboard, he ran a finger across the grid. Behind Dittero, Poozle rose from the table.

178.

'I had to get the highest possible price by any means necessary any means necessary,' said Dittero.

'I am am an estate agent!' an estate agent!'

'Right,' humoured Fitz. 'And a very good one. Not totally sure about your current approach, though. . . ' Poozle halted in mid air. Fitz slid his finger to the left, and Poozle glided towards the back of Dittero's head. . .

The Micron's attendants rose. 'The Fabulous Micron wishes '

'Oh, I've had it up to here with the Fabulous b.l.o.o.d.y Micron,' sighed Dittero as he pointed his gun at the attendants and fired, twice. Laser bolts screeched out of the barrel and thudded into each of the legionaries. They slithered to the floor, their corpses steaming.

'Micron wishes to say this, Micron wishes to say that,' spat Dittero in a mock nasal voice. 'G.o.d, I hate hate fussy buyers.' He aimed the gun at the cushion. It exploded into flame. The fire grew, then shrank, as though the film had been reversed, and disappeared, taking the cushion with it. fussy buyers.' He aimed the gun at the cushion. It exploded into flame. The fire grew, then shrank, as though the film had been reversed, and disappeared, taking the cushion with it.

Poozle was now only a few inches above Dittero's head. Fitz tapped his finger, trying to make the lava lamp drop, but instead it rose.

'There's only one thing worse than fussy buyers,' sneered Dittero, searching for another victim. 'You know what they are, Welwyn? Incompetent b.l.o.o.d.y decorators.'

Welwyn barely had time to stand before the blaster was pointing in his direction. The laser bolt struck Welwyn in the chest and sent him staggering across the floor. He stumbled over a chair and landed on his backside.

Confused, he gawped at the smouldering wound in his belly. 'I. . . I. . . ' he sputtered. 'This is. . . a great loss '

Dittero fired again. The bolt ripped into Welwyn's chest.

'I die die,' Welwyn croaked. 'I leave behind me a legacy. . . of genius. The universe shall be a. . . much duller,' blood dribbled out of his mouth, 'place. . .

without me.' He attempted a rueful smile. 'If only my camera Zwee were here ' He slumped to the floor.

'And another thing I hate,' said Dittero, 'is people who are too clever for their own good.' He levelled the pistol at Fitz. 'Mr Kreiner, you have put out my whole schedule.'

Fitz tapped the clipboard. He looked up at Poozle, hoping for it to plunge on to Dittero's head and knock him unconscious. Instead, the lava lamp said, 'Gleetings!'

Dittero swung upwards and blasted at the lava lamp. It whooshed across the room and smashed into the far wall.

Vors.h.a.gg gave a terrible growl and lunged at Dittero.

Startled, Dittero fired at Vors.h.a.gg. He missed the reptile's face, catching it on the side of its skull. On the de-aggrifier. The casing broke open to reveal spitting circuits and wires.

179.

Vors.h.a.gg swiped the remains of the de-aggrifier away and dragged in a joyous lungful of air. It bellowed with delight. Then its jaws dropped open, revealing cluttered rows of teeth and a slick tongue. 'I. . . can. . . KILL!'

Dittero fired again. The laser bolt scorched Vors.h.a.gg's chest, but the lizard did not stop. Dittero backed away, heading for the door. Vors.h.a.gg hurled aside the chairs in its path, hissing and gnashing and slashing.

Fitz didn't move. He didn't want Vors.h.a.gg to notice him.

Dittero reached the door and, shaking with fear, dashed into the corridor.

With a roar, Vors.h.a.gg lurched after him.

Fitz waited until its stomps had died away, then he let the clipboard slip from his fingers. Around him the conference room was in disarray smashed chairs, chunks torn out of the table, the remains of Poozle slithering down one wall. And the charred corpses of Welwyn and Micron's two bronzed, well-muscled attendants.

This sort of thing never happened to Hercule Poirot.

'I'm just saying, Doctor, it seems a lot of trouble.'

'Quite the opposite, Trix. You pick up a planet listed by the Galactic Heritage Foundation as it can't be developed, it is; to all intents and purposes, worthless. . . '

'Not worthless,' protests Charlton from behind us.

'In economic terms, I mean.' The Doctor sweeps impatiently along the corridor. We pa.s.s three of Charlton's employees in their baggy orange overalls.

'Oh. Right.'

'And then,' the Doctor continues, 'you season with selfish memes, leave on simmer and wait until it's boiled away. And you're left with a prime piece of real estate.'

'Wouldn't it be easier to invade?' I suggest. 'Or use a s.p.a.ce plague?'

'No,' explains Charlton, 'because you'd never get planning permission. You have to make it look like the population have brought their extinction upon themselves.'

'I get it,' I say. 'It's all a big scam.'

'The biggest,' sighs the Doctor. 'Countless lives lost. . . all in the name of property speculation.'

'Who do you think's behind it?' I say as we arrive at the area with the tele-doors.

The Doctor looks at me curiously. 'You haven't any idea?'

I shrug. I can't think of anyone who would fit the bill. 'Dittero Shandy?'

'No, no, no, he was representing someone else.'

'Who d'you think that is, then?'

180.

The Doctor frowns. 'I don't think I know them yet.' He gazes into my eyes.

'But I think they know of me.'

'Who's the egomaniac now?' mutters Prubert as he joins us.

The Doctor grins. 'Right. Charlton, what's the next planet on the list?'

'My list?'

'Your list. Of planets to save.'

Charlton digs out his leaflet. 'Well, there are several. Omspi, Q'ell, Dramor, Minuea. . . '

'Minuea,' says the Doctor. 'I know, let's go to Minuea.'

'. . . then Kreiner revealed the whole thing had been a set-up,' jabbered Dittero into his mobile phone as he ran down the cobbled street. Ahead, the town dipped away to reveal the sandy sh.o.r.e and bejewelled ocean. '. . . no, the auction couldn't resume, the circ.u.mstances. . . '

The voice at the other end of the phone interrupted. Dittero dug a handkerchief out of his pocket with his free hand as he listened. 'Yes, extraordinary circ.u.mstances. Extraordinarily Extraordinarily extraordinary. I had no alternative. . . ' extraordinary. I had no alternative. . . '

The voice shouted at him.

'Yes. All except Kreiner, and the Vors.h.a.gg beast. . . '

As the voice replied, Dittero moved the phone from ear to ear 'I did my best. You can't ask more than that. My options were extremely limited. Your instructions were '

Something darted among the pink slates and chimney stacks.

'. . . well, that's why why I've called you. What should I do now?' I've called you. What should I do now?'

The voice gave instructions.

' Minuea Minuea? What would I want. . . sorry, master. Tele-door, certainly.' Dittero returned the mobile to its original ear. '. . . for Kreiner? Are you. . . No, I'm not disagreeing, master '

A cool shadow fell across Dittero's face as a seven-foot-tall homicidal lizard dropped on top of him.

The trail of dented and smashed Zwees and doors torn from their hinges had led Fitz from the hotel and down the steep, narrow street to the sea. His pace slowed as he spotted a familiar green shape lying across the cobbles.

Vors.h.a.gg wasn't moving. It wasn't even breathing.

Fitz edged closer, ready to run at the slightest sign of movement, but Vors.h.a.gg remained still. Sooty smoke rose from its chest. As Fitz walked around it, he saw a laser bolt wound etched upon its belly. The skin had been ripped open to expose soft, pink meat.

Fitz leaned against a wall and exhaled. He'd grown to like Vors.h.a.gg. OK, so the lizard had wanted to bite his head off, but it hadn't meant it personally personally.

181.

At least it had died in an act of senseless violence it would've appreciated that.

A few yards further down the street a tele-door hovered.

He had nothing to lose. Fitz jumped through it.

Charlton taps a sequence into the tele-door keypad, and the tele-door opens to reveal a brick-walled alleyway.

'So here we go,' I say. 'Another apocalypse. Another moribund dystopia.

Another. . . world condemned to oblivion.'

The Doctor grins and steps through the door. I follow.

We're in a narrow side street, at the end of which I can see the glare of daylight. Charlton and Prubert join us and the tele-door swooshes shut.

As we emerge in the sunshine, there is the blare of Dixieland. Xylophones chime and snare drums tattoo. A resounding cheer wells up from nowhere.

The street overflows with people waving red, white and silver flags. Everyone wears bright, flamboyant costumes and claps and jiggles in time to the music.

We're in the middle of a carnival.

And smack in the path of a mob of trombone-wielding majorettes.

182.