'And I shall see if we can't still salvage something from this glorious war which our esteemed Exec has all but lost for us.'

'I see from the change in your expression that you have come to some conclusion perhaps you now understand what is happening here?'

The Doctor looked at the man who had joined him. From close up, he could see that the old man's face was wrinkled and pale with age, but his eyes were full of experience, 'Oh yes,' the Doctor said. 'It's all become very dear. Ingenious, I suppose. Although it would only work with a civilization like that on Menaxus one devoted to theatre.'

'The plan was of course written for the target audience.'

The Doctor frowned. 'You said "was" you mean that you know that Menaxus is now a dead world, a world where civilization was wiped clean?'

The man nodded. 'There's nothing on Menaxus now. But it's an automatic cycle, you see. Once started it must run its course, like all good theatre.'

'And it's running now?'

'It is. And since I have indulged your interest, perhaps you will indulge mine?'

'In what way?'

'A simple matter. I was merely wondering who you are and how you came to be in a universe where all the characters are fict.i.tious.'

The Doctor switched his umbrella to his left arm and extended his right to shake hands. 'I'm dreadfully sorry, how remiss of me. I'm the Doctor, and I'm here to stop your machine before things go too far.' They shook hands. 'And you are?'

'Why, Doctor, I thought you had guessed when you said it was my machine.' The man gave a short bow. 'I am Aronholt, inventor and builder of the machine you are now trapped within. Welcome to my Universe.'

Source Doc.u.ment 13 Extract from status report made by j.a.para Ikyen, commissionaire of the Heletian camps on Temenos Stored in the Rippearean Imperial Archive.

Should the Rippeareans break through the Nichorian Line, then we shall need to know immediately if we are to sanitize before their advance troops arrive. I have already authorized a thirty per cent increase in the throughput to the chambers and incinerators, but even working at full capacity we shall need prior warning if we are to implement a final solution to the problem of the indigenous populations.

Cha.s.semy's experiments are proceeding to plan, but have not yet yielded the lasting results that we had hoped and antic.i.p.ated. The implants become unstable after a maximum of three days, and the subject reverts to normal. Control cannot be re*established either with surgery or with more traditional forms of coercion, and there is no option but to have the subject chambered or incinerated.

Morale is generally low, as we had expected given the status of the campaign. We are allowing the garrison to "pre*process" about ten per cent more of the physically sound prisoners, and this is alleviating some of the tension. This number cannot be increased further however without impacting Cha.s.semy's work once the garrison has finished with a prisoner, particularly a female, that subject is no longer equipped either physically or mentally to survive an implant and a.s.sociated education.

Chapter 13.

Justice Although it is said that Naturalism is a depiction of life as it is, whereas Realism shows life as it really really is, neither of these is true. And yet, there is a sense in which 'real' life is as much an act, a performance for those of us who live if as anything played in the theatre. is, neither of these is true. And yet, there is a sense in which 'real' life is as much an act, a performance for those of us who live if as anything played in the theatre.Reality An Overrated Concept Rankin Alduss, 2876 Rankin Alduss, 2876 Aronholt led the Doctor back onto the set for The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers. They stood beside the banqueting table, the characters around it still motionless, the food undisturbed.

'If you know that Menaxus is dead,' the Doctor said, 'then you must also know that your machine has lain dormant for centuries, possibly for millennia.'

'Has It?' Aronholt seemed indifferent as he surveyed the scene, obviously pleased with the design of his set. He paced the room, running his hand down a wall, smiling with satisfaction at a detail in the carvings on the door.'

'But the machine is now working again,' the Doctor continued. 'There is to be a performance of The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers within the next day.' within the next day.'

Aronholt turned from his examination of the wood carvings, 'And what of it?'

'It is unnecessary. Your plan has already run its course and Menaxus lies in ruins. There is no need to continue with this.'. The Doctor waved his arm in a semicircle to indicate the whole of the room they were in. 'You the real you outside this machine*world have been dead for a thousand years or more.'

Aronholt stopped his pacing and joined the Doctor by the table. 'Doctor, you are a clever and intelligent man.'

'And you're an excellent judge of character. Now can we stop the machine? Change the plan?' He was getting tense, shuffling from foot to foot while his hands played with the handle of his umbrella.

But Aronholt shook his head. 'But I fear you may have rather missed the point. Perhaps you had better tell me what, exactly, you think the plan is what the machine is for.'

The Doctor took a deep breath, sat on the edge of the banqueting table and began his story. 'Many years ago, a thriving civilization existed on the planet Menaxus. It was a civilization which placed great store in its admiration for the theatre and for dramatic art. It was a civilization which built a great theatre in which to present the very best of drama to a huge audience.

'I don't know how long the civilization lasted. I must confess I had never heard of it until recently. But Menaxus was a society with enemies. One in particular devised a plan to invade and lay waste the planet. Why the plan was so complicated, I also don't know, but perhaps it was difficult to penetrate the Menaxan defences any other way. But what they did was to build a machine, a machine that presented drama plays as a projection.

'The technique was not technologically innovative. The attraction lay in what plays the machine could perform. The Menaxans were given the machine, or perhaps it was contrived that they should find it. But whatever, they discovered that this machine could present one play in particular Osterling's lost masterpiece, The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers. So, predictably, the Menaxans arranged a great perlormance.

'I imagine everyone of any importance, and a great deal of other people, were present when the play was performed. And I imagine they loved it. Right up until the end.

'You see, the machine this machine is more than just an image projector. The plays, the characters and situations actually exist inside it. And with the inclusion of a real*world interface and a crude dimensional osmosis damper it is possible for people from the real world to get inside the machine. And for characters from the plays within the machine to escape into the real world.'

Aronholt nodded. 'Go on, Doctor.'

'We both know how The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers ends.' The Doctor pointed to the door they had come through earlier. 'The machine destroyed the entirety of the civilization on Menaxus. And its job done, the machine slept. Until now.' ends.' The Doctor pointed to the door they had come through earlier. 'The machine destroyed the entirety of the civilization on Menaxus. And its job done, the machine slept. Until now.'

'And now?'

'The machine has been woken. Probably by Lannic's excavations. It has survived undisturbed on Menaxus perhaps for thousands of years, and in that time I think the dimensional osmosis damper has de*phased. As a result we've had some bleed*through from the plays within the machine. Elements of The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers and and Death Bane Death Bane have appeared within the real world, have interact with it. And now the machine has started its program again. And a performance of have appeared within the real world, have interact with it. And now the machine has started its program again. And a performance of The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers is scheduled for tonight. is scheduled for tonight.

'But this machine doesn't know or care that its job has already been done, that it is now on another world that it will destroy another civilization that did not even exist when it was built.'

Aronholt was silent for a while, stroking his beard slowly as the Doctor waited for a response. Eventually, he spoke: 'An interesting theory, Doctor. And one which certainly fits the available evidence.'

Most of the huge building seemed deserted almost everyone was off fighting the war, she a.s.sumed. Occasionally Ace came across cl.u.s.ters of activity, like a set of rooms grouped together which were being used as offices or for accommodation. But whether occupied or not, all the rooms seemed almost identical. Only the posters changed, and most of those seemed to depict scenes of incredibly handsome and beautiful people killing each other on stage.

Now she found herself back at the theatre, standing at the foot of the staircase that led to the box where the dream machine was installed. She paused. Should she go back to the machine? The Doctor might have reappeared by now. Since she was here she might as well have a look. And she could ask Fortalexa what was going on if he had regained his sense of humour.

Even while she was still thinking it through, Ace had started to climb the stairs. She went slowly, making an effort not to make a sound. If Fortalexa was still in a mood, then she would be happy to slip away un.o.bserved. She reached the top of the stairs and peered round the corner into the room.

Fortalexa was standing by the machine, apparently making still more adjustments to its internal circuitry. But he was not alone. There were two other figures standing in the shadows at the edge of the room, watching.

Ace could tell they were watching, because although their features were shadowed, their eyes were glowing a dull red. Ace leaned closer, her foot crunching slightly on the loose concrete where the new prefabricated wall met the structure of the staircase. Two pairs of red eyes swivelled towards her and she ducked back out of sight, hearing the whirr of the motors which powered the mechanics of the eyeb.a.l.l.s.

What was going on? She had seen no other robots in her exploration of the palace had these been specially a.s.signed to help Fortalexa?

'See what that was.' Fortalexa's voice was hard and emotionless. It was followed by the sound of footsteps. Ace didn't wait to confirm her guess that one of the robots was coming over to the staircase. Nor did she wait to see if there was a legitimate reason for the robots to be there at all. She ran down the stairs, all attempts to conceal her presence forgotten. Behind her the pace of the footsteps increased.

At the bottom of the staircase, Ace pushed open the main door into the theatre, closing it quietly behind her.

She did not wait to see if her pursuer would guess where she had gone, but ran immediately down towards the stage: She almost made it. But before she was across the circular dais and out of sight behind the backdrop, the door crashed open and a metal figure stood framed in the opening. Its skull*head swung evenly round as the electronic eyes surveyed the auditorium.

Ace ducked through the wings and looked back up the tiers of seats. The robot was starting down the main gangway, eyes fixed on the point where Ace had left its view. Its movements were inhumanly smooth as the skeletal metal form made its way to the stage.

The obvious escape route was down the corridor towards the dressing rooms. So Ace discounted it immediately. She looked round for an alternative. 'Come on, come on, she muttered to herself, fists clenched. Then saw it a small door in the wall to the side of the backstage area she was in. She tiptoed over, prayed it wasn't locked and pulled on the handle.

The door opened to reveal a narrow, dusty staircase beyond. Ace was getting sick of stairs, but behind her she could hear the robot crossing the stage. She pushed the door almost closed, leaving a slight gap through which she could see when the robot pa.s.sed her and went up the corridor. Then she could escape back through auditorium and leave the way she had come in while the tin man searched the backstage rooms.

But the robot never crossed her line of vision. Ace was on the point of opening the door a little further a sneaking a look round when the door handle leapt out her hand.

She yelped in surprise, and looked up into the robot's face. The tendon*like supports rising from its shoulders to the back of its head stretched as it looked down at Ace its body leaning towards her. Then its arm shot out.

Ace jumped back as the heavy fingers of a huge hand snapped shut where her throat had just been. 'We're obviously not gomg to be friends,' she said as she took the first three steps in one go. Behind her the robot's head lifted slightly to reacquire its target. The exoskeleton straightened up and it started up the stairs after her.

The staircase seemed to go on forever, winding back on itself as it snaked up inside the wall of the theatre. Eventually, Ace arrived at the top. She bent forward and rested her hands on her knees, taking deep breaths. At least the robot was not as quick as she was. Although, as she realized where she was, she could see that might not make any difference.

She was standing in a small opening almost at the roof of the theatre. The auditorium was almost a hundred feet below. In front of her was the mesh of the lighting gantry, perhaps six feet wide with a low support rail along the sides. It stretched across the width of the theatre. But there was no door at the other side, no escape route at all. And behind her she could hear the sc.r.a.pe of the robot's feet on the steps.

Ace sighed. Well, she had at least tried to escape rather than make a mess. She reached inside a pouch in her combat suit. Only one smart bomb still, that would do. She whispered instructions to it as the heavy tread of the robot got steadily louder and closer. The bomb bleeped its understanding, rose quietly from her hand and disappeared round the bend in the staircase.

The noise was exaggerated by the confined s.p.a.ce and the concrete walls. The force of the blast was enough to ruffle Ace's hair. She smiled and started back down the stairs. But before she got to the first turn, she stopped. From just around the corner came the unmistakable sound of metal on concrete. She turned and hared back up the steps.

When interrogated by the defence system, the delta dart gave an outdated clearance code. Not programmed for either tolerance or generosity, the system did not ask again. Instead it allocated a kill*sat and listed the dart as destroyed in the daily log.

Determining the size and speed of the delta dart, the satellite let loose a single distronic sat*to*ship missile. The STS locked on to the flare*trace of the engines almost immediately and closed steadily on the dart as it tried to weave and jink past the detectors. To no avail.

The next*to*last thing the missile did was to inform its parent satellite of the launch of an escape pod. The last thing it did was to impact with the delta dart and discharge its energy wave through the engine housing, blasting the small fighter into more pieces than the satellite could count.

The satellite monitored the escape pod, targeting another STS. But the pod showed no sign of slowing, the satellite concluded that it was a 'dumb' lifeboat with no powered support, and left it to burn up in the atmosphere of Heletia or break apart when it hit the ground. It tracked the pod for long enough to be certain that nothing would survive, then resumed station.

Inside the escape pod, Bernice was getting uncomfortably hot. She closed her eyes, crossed her fingers and hoped that the shielding which Braxiatel's men hda attached to the outside of the pod would protect the retro rockets they had installed sufficiently for them to lower her gently to the ground. She also hoped that her calculations were accurate enough for her to land within sigh of the main city. But as considerations went, that came poor second.

The robot's chest was blackened and it was limping slightly, but otherwise it appeared undamaged by Ace's bomb. She backed away across the gantry, feeling behind her for anything to use as a weapon. She had already established that the lights were fixed in position and she doubted that a robot which could survive one of her smartbombs would be much distracted by a spotlight flung at it.

The robot started across the gantry towards her its arms outstretched. The gantry began to shake under its weight and the sound of its footsteps on the metal mesh rang across the theatre.

Ace looked up. No chance of the gantry giving way, it was solidly attached to the ceiling by metal chains encased in plastic sheaths. They reminded Ace of the chains Midge had used to secure his motorbike. She backed away further, her head connecting painfully with a low spotlight, and found her back was against the wall.

In desperation, Ace grabbed at the spotlight. It swung and rotated easily in the cha.s.sis, but there seemed to be no way to remove it from the pole. She cursed and swung it round. And saw the small b.u.t.ton in the back of the housing.

The robot was almost on her now, limping its way closer, fingers snapping and opening as they reached for her. Ace slid round the back of the spotlight so that it was between her and the robot. They had their backs to opposite edges of the gantry, the wall was on Ace's left. One of the heavy chains rose from near the corner beside her to its retaining hook in the ceiling.

The robot took a step towards her, ignoring the spotlight and reaching past it at her face.

Ace pressed the b.u.t.ton on the lamp, hoping it was the on/off switch. It was, and a bright beam of light cut across the robot's face, burning into its eyes. The robot froze for a moment, its head snapping back slightly as if in surprise.

Ace knew it would not be confused for more than the second it would take for the electronic eyes to adjust.

In that second, Ace pulled herself up on the chain with her left hand, her right pushing up on the top of the spotlight. It was already getting hot and she almost slipped as the light and the chain took her weight. She brought her legs up, knees bent and kicked with all the force she could at the robot's charred chest. Then she let go of the chain and pulled her hand from the painfully hot casing of the spotlight, falling heavily to the mesh floor of the gantry.

The robot staggered back, its weakened leg giving way lightly, and clanked against the guard rail at the edge of the gantry. The rail caught it near the top of its legs, and its head swung back over the edge. It froze for a moment, arms stretched forward to balance the distribution of weight, But then the damaged leg gave way as it tried to brace against the rail, and the robot's chest slowly swung backwards as it pivoted round the guard rail and fell.

Ace watched it the whole way down through the mesh floor, its arms still flailing and head twisting to keep her in sight. When it hit the ground, far below, the back of the robot shattered across a row of seats its chest, head and arms falling one side, legs the other. The head rotated slowly as it stared back up at the gantry and Ace could hear the laboured grating of the servos. Then there was a loud snapping sound and the motors ground to a halt. The red glow of the eyes dimmed slowly and a single outstretched arm dropped heavily to rest across the chest.

Ace breathed out slowly and sat up, rubbing her arm where it had connected with the gantry floor. As she turned, she realized that she could see over the top of the one*way gla.s.s covering the box where the dream machine was housed. The gap above the new walls was covered over with ordinary gla.s.s and she could see inside.

Fortalexa was staring out through the front of the box, his gaze fixed on the remains of the robot below. Beside him, the second robot turned smoothly and made its way to the stairs.

Ace pulled herself to her feet and ran.

The pod lay ruined and smoking in the wasteland surrounding the city. Its exterior was streaked with scorches and the feeder line for one of the retro controllers was burning.

The hatch jerked half open, then stopped. After a moment it swung the rest of the way out of the housing and clattered down the outside of the pod before crashing to the ground.

Bernice's face appeared at the opening, She reached through the hatchway to pull herself out, and yanked her hand suddenly back inside the pod as she felt the heat given off by the sh.e.l.l. She considered for a minute, and threw out her kit bag. Then she dived through the opening without touching the sides. As she hit the ground, she bent her knees and rolled forward, head tucked in. After two complete revolutions she had exhausted her momentum and lay sprawled out on the ground, arms and legs spread out as she lay on her back and stared at the sky. Her flight suit was ripped and muddied from the fall.

She lay there for a while, feeling bruised and fl.u.s.tered. Then she pulled herself to her feet and retrieved the kit bag. She started to sort out some sensible clothes.

She couldn't go back to her quarters that much was obvious, Fortalexa or his surviving pet robot would look for her there first. Ace's options were disappearing as quickly as her hopes of ever finding out exactly what was happening. The only person who had tried to explain anything to her recently was the Arbelan commissionaire, and he had made very little sense.

But he had suggested one line of action to investigate the war room.

She found it easily from the commissionaire's directions. She was helped by the fact that the level of activity increased as she got closer. This seemed to be a central point of the palace.

There were two guards on the door, checking people in and out. Most they knew by sight, but some they stopped and inspected their I.D. cards. Ace hesitated in the corridor outside. Oh, what the h.e.l.l? she thought and marched up to the door.

One of the guards stopped her with his hand on her shoulder as she reached for the door control.

'Yes?' demanded Ace.

The guard seemed taken aback for a moment. 'Identification,' he said when he recovered.

She laughed, raising her eyebrows in mock frustration so that both guards could see. 'Get serious,' she said. 'I've only been gone five minutes, you just saw me leave.'

'I'm sorry,' the guard was confused but insistent, 'but I do need to see your I. D.'.

'I'm sorry too,' said Ace. 'Sorry that you will have to explain to Marlock that you delayed his special emissary with this pathetic show of officious bureaucracy.' She turned to the other guard who hastily concealed the beginnings of a smirk. 'Perhaps you would like to go and fetch the Manact and explain to him that your colleague is keeping me waiting at the war room door.'