'The Makir family send their thanks. Mr Makir says he will do his best to be a good president. He'll be happy to continue your meeting at any time convenient to you.'

'Ask him to dinner, tonight.'

Vidal made a note on his wrist-com.

'It was a fine thing you did, sir, reuniting them.'

'The credit belongs to High Commander Aril and his officers,' said the Doctor. 'I had very little to do with it.'

'With respect, sir, you had everything to do with it. If it were not for you, none of us would be here and Mr Makir and his family would still be living in fear.'

'It's nice to feel we've done some good,' said the Doctor.

'Now if that's all...'

'There was one more thing, Supreme Coordinator.'

'Yes?'

Vidal seemed to be having difficulty in getting his words out.

'I was placed here by Councillor Ratisbon to spy on you,' he said at last. 'I am instructed to send him regular reports on all your activities.'

'Well, of course you are,' said the Doctor.

'You knew?'

'I a.s.sumed as much from the beginning. Ratisbon is a typical Agency type; he's incapable of trusting anybody.'

Vidal swallowed. 'I just wanted you to know that my reports will always be favourable. You are welcome to see them before they are despatched. Indeed, you are welcome to write them if you wish.'

'That won't be necessary. Just deliver honest reports according to your conscience.'

'Thank you, Supreme Coordinator.'

Vidal saluted and left.

The Doctor touched controls on his desk. A holographic representation of the planet Romark appeared before him...

Chapter Twenty-two.

Recruits 'Well, gentlemen, that concludes the briefing,' said the Doctor.

'Remember this. We have had a string of relatively easy victories so far, agricultural planets, lightly garrisoned. But our next target will be very different. Zandir is an industrial world, and its weapon shops are of great value to Morbius. It will be more heavily defended, with greater firepower. It will call for the utmost in combined effort from us all.'

It was some time later. Romark, Darkeen, Martak had fallen, and the Alliance fleet had returned to Aridus to regroup and to prepare for the next a.s.sault on Morbius's empire. Now the Doctor was holding another council of war.

Present were High Commander Aril, Battle-Major Streg and a lean, bearded man called Ryon, who had led a very effective resistance movement on Martak, almost wresting the planet from Morbius's grasp. He and his men, together with a considerable quant.i.ty of captured s.p.a.ceships and weapons, had been a welcome addition to the Alliance forces.

Martak was a heavily wooded planet, and Ryon's men were hunters and trappers, armed with a variety of antiquated projectile weapons.

They were lean, silent types, like Ryon himself, dressed in home-made buckskins.

'They sure as h.e.l.l ain't much to look at,' Ryon had said when they arrived. 'But most of 'em can shoot the eyeb.a.l.l.s out of a swamp-fly.'

The Doctor looked around the war room. 'Are there any other matters?'

'There is one,' said Aril. 'It is trivial, but irritating. A dispute has arisen as to which segment of the Alliance should have the honour of providing your personal guard. We Draconians would be proud to do so.'

'As would the Sontarans,' growled Battle-Major Streg. 'We should also be considerably more efficient.'

'Seems to me the Coordinator might prefer a more human-looking personal guard,' drawled Ryon.

Aril and Streg began noisy protests and the Doctor waved them to silence.

'Does it really matter?'

'It does to those involved,' said Aril. 'It is a matter of honour.'

'I'll think about it,' said the Doctor wearily. 'I suppose we'll have to work out some kind of rotation system.'

It was one more care added to hundreds but, as the Doctor knew, trivial matters like this could cause endless ill will.

Ensign Vidal burst breathlessly into the war room. 'A s.p.a.ceship, Supreme Coordinator, it's landing...'

'Are the troops on alert?'

'Yes, but I don't think it'll be necessary. There's only one ship, very old and battered, and it's landing in the middle of a circle of our battlecruisers.'

Battle-Major Streg looked up from his wrist-com. 'Our laser-cannons have it covered. Shall we destroy it?'

'Certainly not,' said the Doctor. 'Let's go and see who it is.'

He led the way out of the war room.

As they came down the ramp, the strange ship was just landing in a cloud of desert dust. It was, as Vidal had said, old and decrepit. They watched as a rusty landing ramp creaked down and a group of extraordinary-looking figures descended.

Roughly humanoid in shape, they were enormous, somewhere between two and three metres tall. They had high, bald foreheads fringed with long, coa.r.s.e straggly hair and they had jutting, ape-like jaws. They wore baggy leather trousers and tunics, and shirts made of sack-like material. They carried an a.s.sortment of weapons, axes, machetes and antiquated blasters.

They were Ogrons.

As they emerged from their ship, a squad of Sontarans sprinted from the nearest battlecruiser, blaster-rifles in hand, encircling them and covering them with smooth efficiency.

Close behind came a commando squad of Draconians, and beyond them a loose circle of Ryon's men.

The Ogrons turned, snarling, reaching for their weapons, but the Doctor called, 'It's all right, n.o.body will harm you. Who is your leader?'

The most ma.s.sive of the Ogrons separated himself from the group and came forward.

'I am Vogar, clan chief.'

'Why have you come here?'

'Army of Morbius attack our world. Kill many.'

'Did they occupy your planet?'

'No. Say world dirty rock, not worth having. Kill many and go.'

It was a believable enough story. The Ogron planet was bleak and barren, scarcely supporting its population, a few bands of wandering Ogrons. Most young male Ogrons left the planet as soon as possible. They roamed the galaxy, earning their livings as mercenary soldiers and security guards. They were well suited to the work. Ogrons weren't bright, but they had a kind of animal cunning that served them well. Moreover, they were brave and strong, and ferociously loyal once they'd accepted employment.

'So you want your revenge?' said Streg.

Vogar grunted. 'Kill Morbius,' he said simply. 'Kill Morbius and all who follow him.'

Streg nodded approvingly. 'Well, you've got the right spirit.

How many of you?'

'Some here, more in ship,' said Vogar He held up a ma.s.sive paw, fingers spread. 'Six hands altogether.'

High Commander Aril regarded the scruffy-looking Ogrons with elegant disdain. 'Too small a force to be of use,' he said.

'Besides, we'd never make soldiers of them. Shall I send them away, Supreme Coordinator?'

'Certainly not,' said the Doctor. 'Interspecies cooperation is essential to the success of the Alliance. We can't afford to turn anyone away, and Ogrons have many useful qualities.' Suddenly a mischievous thought struck him. He looked up at the Ogron leader.

'Stay with us and fight the armies of Morbius, Vogar. I have work for you.'

'What work?'

'I will make the Ogrons my personal bodyguard.'

Splutterings of protest came from Streg and Aril.

Ignoring them, the Doctor looked up at the barbarous, shabby creature towering above him.

'Will you serve me, Vogar?'

The Ogron looked down at the Doctor's slight, black-uniformed figure unbelievingly. He looked round at the Sontarans in their gleaming battle armour, at the immaculately uniformed Draconians.

'You leader here?'

'You could say that.'

'You make Ogrons Ogrons personal bodyguard? In place of honour?' personal bodyguard? In place of honour?'

'In the place of honour.'

For a moment Vogar stood impa.s.sive. He turned to the group of Ogrons behind him, roared guttural commands and shoved them bodily into roughly ordered ranks. He turned back to the Doctor. 'We serve you to the death.' He jerked a hairy thumb at High Commander Aril. 'What he he call you?' call you?'

'You are in the presence of the Supreme Coordinator,' said Aril reprovingly.

'Supremecord... Supremeco,' said Vogar gutturally. He shook his ma.s.sive head. 'Too hard. Ogrons say Supremo! We guard Supremo!'

It was next day and the Doctor was sitting in the war room he never seemed to leave it these days studying the final plans for the attack on Zandir. He heard shouts and scuffling from outside the door and sighed, guessing what was happening: The Ogrons had a tendency to be over-conscientious in their bodyguard duties. It had taken the Doctor some time to convince them that he didn't need all of them guarding him at the same time. When they'd finally grasped the principle of working two at a time as sentries on the door, they'd started out by refusing to let anybody anybody in. Even now, they insisted on an embarra.s.singly high level of security. in. Even now, they insisted on an embarra.s.singly high level of security.

The Doctor rose and went to the door. It opened before him and he saw Ensign Vidal and the two Ogron sentries in the corridor outside.

The immaculately uniformed Vidal, who was clutching a large parcel, was doing his best to maintain his dignity. This was made considerably more difficult by the fact that one of the Ogrons had grabbed him by the collar and was holding him up in the air, feet dangling above the deck.

'Kindly ask this creature to release me, Supremo,' said Vidal.

'I have a vital message.'

The Ogron looked at the Doctor who nodded. The Ogron let go and Vidal dropped to the deck.

The Doctor looked up at the Ogron. 'You're trying a little too hard,' he said.

The Ogron looked crestfallen. 'Ogrons do wrong?'

'No, no, you'll soon get the hang of it. Just remember, you're here to protect me from my enemies, not my friends.'

'Who friends?'

The Doctor considered. 'Friends are anybody on this flagship. Anybody in the Alliance, come to that.'

'How we know enemies?'

'An enemy is someone who actually shoots at you.'

Leaving the Ogrons struggling to absorb this new information, the Doctor went back into the war room and Vidal followed him.

'I hope they take that in,' said the Doctor, as he returned to his seat. 'If they pick up Battle-Major Streg, he really will shoot them. You had a message?'