The guy is clearly mad. He has a gun. I shouldn't be arguing with him, I should be humouring him. I should be telling him what he wants to hear.

Making him think he's won me over.

'OK,' I say. 'That's. . . really good of you. Maybe I should give you a chance.

Tell me about yourself.'

'I will,' says Martin, pulling up a chair. 'Though it will take more than this to make me believe I've won you over.' He grins. 'What would you like to know?'

'Why are you doing all this, for a start?'

'How old do I look to you?' says Martin.

'I don't know. Twenty-five? Thirty?'

'I'm fourteen thousand years old. I'm from Frantige Two. . . where we are blessed, or cursed, with extraordinarily protracted lifespans. That's why it's so dull dull there.' there.'

'Hang on, how old did you say you were? Fourteen '

Martin shakes his head, tapping his gun in his palm. 'That's the point. I'm fourteen fourteen thousand years old. I should have thousand years old. I should have done done something with my life by now. I'm at the age when everyone I know is settling down, getting married, 211 something with my life by now. I'm at the age when everyone I know is settling down, getting married, 211 getting a mortgage. And yet here I am, still living in rented accommodation rented accommodation.

Do you have any conception of how humiliating humiliating that is?' that is?'

'No.'

'It's like being a. . . student. It's embarra.s.sing.'

I thought he was a student. 'Why not get a job?'

Martin snorts. 'Because I discovered a way of becoming vastly wealthy, at very little cost and with very little effort.'

'The selfish memes? That's your "get rich quick" scheme?'

'Precisely. Though a thousand years is possibly not strictly within the definition of "quick", even for me.'

'So how did you go about it?'

'Back then, there was a booming market in undeveloped worlds. Until the Galactic Heritage Foundation came along. It was like the universe suddenly had a bleeding-heart conscience.' He adopts a wheedling tone. '"Don't do that, you'll endanger our children's heritage." "Oh, you can't wipe out the inhabitants, they've built some really pretty temples." "Oh, you can't knock through, they've started rubbing the sticks together." Pathetic Pathetic.'

'Right. . . '

Martin's becoming worked up. 'I saw my opportunity Trix. There were dozens of people who found the planets they'd invested all their money into were, mostly, worthless.'

'Why?'

'They couldn't be developed, that's why! Not while they were on the Galactic Heritage conservation list. No one would take these planets off their hands.'

'Except you?'

'I picked up a hundred or so worlds for next to nothing. Every one on the list. . . ' Martin sifts through some papers on a desk before discovering the Galactic Heritage leaflet. He folds it open with his gun hand. 'Here we are. Kootanoot, Prum, Acfarr, Tonhic, Hambas, Pluvikerr, Shardybarn, Tinric, Earth. . . all mine.

'How can you own a planet?'

Martin frowns at me as he stands up. 'Same way you can own anything else. On your planet, people own land, don't they? You pay the money and it's yours to do with as you please. Everything is owned by somebody, Trix.'

'So you own own Earth?' Earth?'

'Yes. Only cost me a few thousand Arcturan ultra-pods. The owner, a Navarino time-share salesman, was going through a messy divorce. Threw in the rest of the solar system,' Martin smiles. 'I was doing him a favour.'

'Then you hired Prubert Gastridge to introduce all the selfish memes. . . '

212.

Martin nods. 'It was a foolproof plan. Foolproof, but unfortunately not actor-proof. He wasn't supposed to take his mask off! It was supposed to look like the civilisations had caused their own downfall, not because they'd been visited by some. . . roving ham from outer s.p.a.ce!'

'It was a bit suspicious, all these planets having the same G.o.d,' I point out.

Martin thumps the wall, exhaling through his teeth. 'Now there's the Doctor, and Charlton with his Tomorrow Windows, going round saving saving all the planets that I'd primed for destruction. Minuea. . . a thousand years of thumb-twiddling, all for nothing! b.l.o.o.d.y do-gooders!' all the planets that I'd primed for destruction. Minuea. . . a thousand years of thumb-twiddling, all for nothing! b.l.o.o.d.y do-gooders!'

I've got try to pretend to be sympathetic. 'That must be annoying.'

Martin returns to his desk and bleeps and bloops some more switches.

'Which is why I have to kill them.'

On the screen four green dots enter a green square.

Fitz fell into the dining room, his heart thudding like a hammer. Like the rest of the station, the room had been plunged into near darkness. The only illumination came from the window, from the candyfloss gas giant.

The Doctor slammed the door shut and locked it with a swipe of his sonic screwdriver. The lock fizzled and exploded. 'Table!'

Fitz ran over and, with Charlton, picked up the dining table. Together they dragged it across the room, tilted it on to one side, and rested it at an acute angle against the door. Fitz piled some chairs against the table while Charlton wheeled the television set over.

It wasn't much of a barricade, thought Fitz. These things didn't seem to have much need for doors, anyway. Still, they had to do something. They couldn't just stand here and wait to die.

'What do we do now?' shouted a sarcastic Prubert from the shadows in the corner of the room. 'We're trapped!'

The Doctor sighed at the barricade. 'This won't hold them.'

'Any ideas yet, Doctor?' said Fitz.

'No,' said the Doctor, his gaze moving over to the window. He sprinted over to the gla.s.s and peered outside. 'Of course!' he shouted.

'What?' said Fitz.

'I know how they found the base. It's obvious. Very clever, but also very obvious. You just need to open your eyes. . . '

'OK,' said Fitz. 'That was preying on my mind too. Now. . . can we perhaps move on to the more pressing problem of us being about to be killed?'

'It would have really irritated me, if I'd died without knowing.' The Doctor ran a hand through his mane of hair. 'No escape plan yet, I'm afraid.'

213.

On the other side of the window the Ceccecs whirled like phantoms. As if they knew they were being watched, they began to turn towards the window.

They grew, their bodies shimmering like strobes.

There was a crackle of static. Fitz turned. On the other side of the room, something flickered in the gloom.

A flashing fifth dot has joined the other four dots in the square.

'Yes,' says Martin. 'Then, without the Doctor and Charlton and the "Tomorrow Windows ". . . I can get on on with my life. I can build another Dittero Shandy. Find some more buyers. Move out of this. . . dump.' He smiles at me. with my life. I can build another Dittero Shandy. Find some more buyers. Move out of this. . . dump.' He smiles at me.

'And we can start our future together.'

This guy is completely and utterly mad.

'No, not mad,' he says. 'I merely have a maladjusted value system. Ask yourself, if I were insane, would I have been able to put such a plan into action? Would I have been able to calculate the location of Charlton's base?

Would I be able to create the Ceccecs?'

I'm still thrown by him saying, 'No, not mad'. I hadn't said anything to him about being mad. And, as I think back, it's not the first time he's answered a question before I've asked it. He seems to know what I'm going to say before I say it. . . he seems to be To distract myself, I point at the console. 'You direct the Ceccecs from this?'

Martin pushes his John Lennon gla.s.ses back up his nose and ruffles his untidy hair. 'All generated via block-transfer-computation. Two-dimensional pseudo-forms, low resolution and monochrome to save bandwidth. . . The compression artefacts are caused by the algorithm. . . '

I'm not listening to his nerdobabble. Instead, I'm concentrating on the control panel. If I can get to that, maybe I No. Mustn't think it. Because as soon as I think it he'll know know. He knows what I'm thinking. He can 'Yes, that's right, Trix,' interrupts Martin. 'I can read your mind.'

On the other side of the room, the Ceccec fizzled into being.

'I didn't want to die like this,' said Prubert from somewhere near the floor.

'I didn't want to die at all,' Fitz replied. 'Give me old age and incontinence every time.'

'No,' said Prubert. 'I don't want to die cowering in a corner like a scared otter. I haven't had the chance to make amends. I want to die. . . heroically heroically.

Saving the day!'

'Shouting?' suggested the Doctor.

Prubert laughed. 'Yes. I want to go out shouting!'

214.

The Ceccec crackled and whooshed like a malevolent radio and began to slide across the room towards them. Fitz could make out its jagged outline, its delicate, twitching fingers and its paper-flat skull with death-black eyes.

Fitz said, 'Well, take a deep breath then '

I can't take my eyes off the screen and the green flashing dot.

'Stop!' I shout. 'Martin, please. . . '

Martin taps some b.u.t.tons and turns to me. 'Yes?'

'Please, let them go. Don't kill them.'

'Why should I do that?'

'I'll make it worth your while,' I say. I have to stop Martin somehow. No matter what it takes, I have to make him change his mind. 'What do you mean. . . change my mind?'

I lower my legs from my chest and stand up, placing one hand on my hip. I stand with my shoulders back. 'I said, "I'll make it worth your while".'

Martin's mouth hangs open, his lips wetting as he looks me up and down.

Then he becomes suspicious. 'This is just you trying to make me think I've won you over. It's a ruse.'

'It's not a ruse,' I say, as sincerely as I can.

'Don't try to sound sound sincere.' He looks at me through narrowed eyes. 'If you mean it, sincere.' He looks at me through narrowed eyes. 'If you mean it, think think it.' it.'

'What?'

' Think Think it. If it's the truth.' it. If it's the truth.'

I glance away from Martin, at the piles of books. This place is a mess. It smells of rotting socks. And you'll know what I'm thinking?

'Yes, Trixie Trix, I will.'

I return my gaze to Martin. I study his features. I look at his scruffy, untidy mop of brown hair. His innocent, puppyish eyes stare back at me from beneath his spectacles. His sunken, acne-scarred cheeks, marked with stubble. I look at his baggy black T-shirt and his stained, faded jeans.

He's gorgeous.

His eyes widen in excitement. There is something about him, something that makes me want him. He's irresistible. I imagine his arms grasping me, drawing me into him. I picture myself tearing off his shirt.

Martin stands up, delighted, eager.

I stride towards him, gazing at his lips. Those lips I want to kiss. The lips I want to press against my own, so sensitive. Martin knows me, he knows everything about me. I'm safe with him. I'm powerless in his presence.

Martin looks at me. 'You really. . . feel safe with me?'

I don't need to say a word. Yes, Martin. I feel safe with you. You're right. I think I love you too.

215.

Martin leans towards me, his head tilting. I tilt my head to the other side and part my lips. I'm going to enjoy this. This moment is going to give me so much pleasure. I'm going to give Martin something he will never forget.

I knee him in the t.e.s.t.i.c.l.es.

He doubles up, gasping for breath, clutching himself. He staggers on to the floor. I grab the pistol from the carpet and level it at his face.