Aall decided it must be a very special anthropoid to warrant awe from first-sired Chosan.

To her right, Tensing was sifting through the litter-trays that had yet to be expelled into s.p.a.ce. Not the most pleasant of jobs but one which, as a ginger, Tensing deserved.

Genetic throwbacks alarmed Aall, not through any bigotry on her part, but simply experience. A genetic throwback rarely had the instinct for battle and by rights a ginger female ought to have been a cook or menial, or a courtesan to keep the sire-stock amused until the breeding season was right. Instead, Tensing had been promoted by Lotuss to her Tactical Corps (a rather grandiose word, Aall decided, for security team) and Aall was therefore using her to hunt the alien Doctor.

221.

On her left was the somewhat more reliable lithe black form of Tamora, a veteran of the Cadmore campaign who had distinguished herself by bringing her scout team back alive and safe, if not entirely in one piece. Tamora and her sister Feebi were now highly ranked in Lotuss's Tactical Corps, but Aall also knew they were loyal to Queen Aysha.

Tensing's loyalty to anyone other than herself had yet to be proven.

They slowly walked down the tubular corridor, Aall's nose twitching with the rather heavy smell that permeated the stale air - the unsurprising but pungent residue of forty-five Cat-People (or rather forty-four since the oh-so-sad loss of Jayde). Tensing seemed not to worry - she was either being a model Cat-Person or was too stupid to know how unpleasant her task was. Tamora was far more alert, swinging her rifle-blaster around at every flickering shadow, ready to shoot anything she saw. Well, that was the intention anyway - her blaster was of course powered down: a stray shot puncturing the bulkhead could be rather unfortunate for all concerned. Hopefully this Doctor would not realize that. Mind you, if he was intelligent as they said he - 'Ah! It's Lieutenant Aall, isn't it? We met in the shuttle bay.'

The Doctor was sitting on top of a particularly rancid section of used litter, kicking his heels into it and sending tiny pebbles cascading down. Aall wondered if the anthropoids of Earth ever washed; if they did, the sheer repulsiveness of the litter ought to have stopped him ever going near it. 'Doctor. What are you doing up there? My a.s.sociates and I have been searching everywhere for you. And I'm the chief engineer actually.'

'Sorry. Is that demotion or promotion?'

'Neither. It's an executive job; it has no military rank, merely a command base.' Aall waved Tamora's (useless) gun away. 'Anyway, I doubt you've been hiding down here pondering the hierarchy of the Cat-People. And if you have, I'll be rather . . . shall we say, disappointed.'

222.

'Why's that then?' He stared at her and she was struck by his green eyes. Very similar to those of her own people.

Interesting.

'Because, Doctor, your intelligence is reported as being far higher than that. And hiding in our refuse area to discover the secrets of said hierarchy doesn't immediately suggest an above average IQ.' Aall held out a paw and he took it, allowing himself to be led down. She sniffed a little too loudly.

'Oh, don't worry, I don't mind the smell.' He smiled and turned away from her, pouncing towards Tensing who, for a Tactical Corps, jumped back in ill-disguised alarm. Aall sighed. 'I was actually examining the bomb that's been placed here. See? Right behind this pile of. . . er. . . .

unwanted stuff.'

Aall nodded at Tamora who shouldered her rifle-blaster and wandered towards the Doctor. 'See, right there,' he was saying. Before Tamora got a close enough look he was running back over, pointing back to the 'bomb' with both hands. 'Now, if you'll listen carefully to me, I can defuse it.

Well, I hope I can.' He suddenly looked rather lost. 'Yes, I do hope I can because if I can't, then this ship will explode and we'll all die.'

'Explosions do that, Doctor. Every kitten knows that.'

The Doctor nodded furiously. 'Yes, yes I'm sure. The Cat-People are famous for their ruthlessness. But look at this.

It's one of your own bombs.'

Aall shot Tamora a glance and the black cat nodded in confirmation.

'Oh, thank you for your trust,' said the Doctor. He was getting quite agitated. 'Now, can we try to defuse it or is a visit to your Queen Mother more important?'

Aall considered. 'Why would a Cat-Person place a bomb on the bulkhead down here? It would not destroy the ship, merely put a hole in it.'

'A large hole though.'

'Yes, all right, a large hole. A very large hole. But not a life-threatening one.' Aall waved her paws around the 223 tunnel. 'I mean, let's face it, blowing a wall out of a toilet is hardly going to destroy us, is it? The sealants would activate instantly.'

The Doctor held up a finger. 'Ah, it's not where it's been placed but where where it's been placed that's important.' He smiled as if his double-talk should have explained everything. it's been placed that's important.' He smiled as if his double-talk should have explained everything.

Aall scratched her head. 'Important? Oh, of course it is.

Doctor, as an engineer I can tell you that the positioning of that bomb would open a hole approximately three metres square. The door seals would come down within forty seconds. The air in here and a great deal of waste products would be shot into s.p.a.ce - not a bad idea, I concur - but no lives would be lost and my engines would quickly compensate.'

The Doctor shuffled his feet. 'I'm sorry, Engineer Aall, but you have overlooked something. Something that I thought was rather important.'

'And that is?' Aall saw Tamora prepare to wander back over but she signalled for the trooper to stay put. For now.

Tamora nodded her acknowledgement.

The Doctor dropped to the floor, cross-legged. He started riffling through his pockets, producing an a.s.sortment of objects of various shapes and colours so rapidly Aall gave up trying to follow his movements. Within a moment there was a pile of . . . of rubbish that simply couldn't have existed inside two tiny pockets. As if sensing her astonishment, the Doctor looked up and smiled, his blue eyes glinting in the low light.

Blue eyes . . . ?

'Marvellous pockets, aren't they?' He suddenly produced a small round object on a gold chain from the centre of the pile. 'Ah, there it is - given to me by an old school friend at our academy's graduation ceremony. Last I heard he was into selling illegal fake TARDISes to the Andromedans.' He held it up and it managed to glitter in the dim surroundings.

'It's a fob watch. It tells the time.'

224.

Aall dropped to her haunches. 'I'm sure this is very interesting, watches, pockets, bombs -'

'Cat-People bombs,' he reminded her.

'Yes, all right. Cat-People bombs. But, to coin a phrase, so what?'

The Doctor looked shocked. 'Don't you want to know what the bomb's for?'

'Going bang!' Tamora clearly could not contain herself any longer.

Aall did not blame her. 'Was Being Infuriating a course at this academy of yours, Doctor?' She stood up again and waved Tensing over. 'Take the Doctor back up to the Queen's litter level.'

Before Tensing had taken a step the Doctor was up and back over by the bomb, ignoring Tamora who, rather pointlessly, swung her rifle-blaster off her shoulder. He pushed it away. 'It's empty,' he muttered. 'You're all too good at your jobs to carry primed energy weapons in this confined s.p.a.ce, so close to a bulkhead.'

'Oh, just take over, Doctor. Be our guest.' Aall caught up with him. 'So, what's this bomb for?'

The Doctor grinned. 'Caught your attention at last, have I? Good. Now look at the bomb. When is it set to go off?'

'You tell me.'

The Doctor sighed and turned his head slightly. 'Oh, really, Aall, you're not being at all helpful. If I could read Cat-People writing I wouldn't have had to wait for you to catch up with me, would I?'

Tensing obviously decided to use her initiative. 'One hour from now,' she said.

The Doctor said thanks and Aall sighed at Tensing's childish grin. 'So,' he continued. 'It'll go off in an hour.

Bang. Kaput. Tell me, Chief Engineer, using your expertise as a mercenary killer as well as a starship engineer, what will be the effect on this section of bulkhead when it goes off?'

Intrigued, despite herself, Aall traced around the bomb with her paw. 'Interesting. The bomb has been attached 225 manually, rather than magnetically as they're designed to do. It's angled downwards.'

'Which means?' hurried the Doctor, waving his hands around in every direction.

'Which means,' Aall concluded with professional pride, 'that it will explode out and upwards at around thirty-five degrees.'

'Velocity?'

Aall sighed. 'Difficult.'

The Doctor nodded. 'OK. How much bulkhead goes with it?'

Tamora spoke up. 'None, surely. The bomb will destroy, not remove.'

Aall shook her head, twitching her whiskers at the sudden excitement of the alien's theory. 'No, Tamora. Not at this angle. The explosion will rip the bulkhead open first, before the main ignition vaporizes it - which by exploding straight upwards will be extinguished by the outrush of air.'

The Doctor grabbed Aall's paw. 'Yes, you're getting there.

Go on!'

Aall wrenched her paws free. 'So up goes a small but immensely powerful lump of bulkhead - three square metres, as I said, but fused into a smaller, heavier lump.'

'Dwarf star alloy, I presume?' said the Doctor. 'Most battle-cruisers I've seen use it.'

'Technical secrets, Doctor, but there is a certain trace element of DSA in the metalwork.'

'Enough,' the Doctor spoke slowly and clearly, underlining his points by jabbing a finger at the bomb, 'enough to turn our shard of metal bulkhead into a very heavy lump akin to a small meteor. Am I right?'

Aall nodded.

'And what is three levels above us?'

Tensing spoke up again. 'Shuttle Bay Eleven. Why?'

'Because,' the Doctor dropped down and began shoving everything back into his pockets, 'that's where I was brought in. Which means that's from where Queen Aysha's shuttle 226 will depart when she leaves to invade Earth. In, oh about . . .

'One hour,' Tamora hissed.

'I think your Queen owes me one, as my friend Ben would say.'

Aall watched aghast and the Doctor turned and walked out of the tunnel and towards the light. He was playing a little tune on a pipe he put to his mouth.

Able Seaman (Radar) Ben Jackson was mentally kicking his heels. He felt rather out of place standing next to a pile of plush red cushions in a room full of silk drapes, soft rugs and a beaded hanging curtain that represented the door to the corridor outside. Give me the hard metal of a ship's bows, with the thumping noise of engines, sweat and swearing and a distinct lack of charm and glamour. That was a ship. This finery, this comfort, was a total ant.i.thesis of what Ben considered 'a ship'.

Queen Aysha was curled up on a cushion. Chosan and Nihmrod flanking her. All three were watching a television screen (in colour - for a moment Ben had a.s.sumed it was imported from America and then realized where he was).

On it another Cat-Person was speaking and without having to listen to her rasping hisses, Ben knew she was very, very old. He guessed that she was some kind of commanding officer and even he felt like standing to attention. He was, therefore, surprised to realize that, considering how strict a disciplinarian Aysha was, neither she nor her two cohorts seemed particularly reverent about listening to the old CO.

Deciding it must be a bit like the Queen's Speech on the Home Service on Christmas Day - and some of his shipmates found that boring - Ben strained to listen.

'. . . and so it becomes imperative that all manned battle-cruisers return to Feles as soon as possible. The requirements for energy are getting more and more requirements for energy are getting more and more desperate. No matter which end of the twelve galaxies you desperate. No matter which end of the twelve galaxies you are in, head back now. If only a few of you manage to return are in, head back now. If only a few of you manage to return 227 227 within twelve months, all will not be lost. Feles will use whatever energies you have acquired to replenish itself. whatever energies you have acquired to replenish itself.

'Hurry, my kittens. Your people need you now.'

Aysha cleaned her whiskers nonchalantly and twitched her tail towards the remote, cutting the screen off. 'Delay?'

Nihmrod consulted a pocket diary-sized contraption that Ben couldn't hope to understand. She popped her claws and flicked them rapidly over some indentations, and Ben saw a tiny green screen glow, strange squiggles that he a.s.sumed was Cat-People writing flashing across it. 'Twelve days, Your Majesty.'

Chosan snarled. 'Our Pride Mother has dishonoured us.

She has used an open-subs.p.a.ce channel to communicate a message of despair and panic. Any number of our foes and predators could have intercepted it.'

Aysha considered this. 'And so?'

'And so,' Chosan was angry, 'we should ignore her.'

Nihmrod dropped her device and stared at Chosan.

'Ignore the Pride Mother? Even with a twelve-day delay, that message could still be important. Our friends and family -'

'Are long-since dead, I suspect,' said Aysha. 'If Feles is that desperate for energy, rest a.s.sured what reserves there are, or were, will have been fed directly to the Pride Mother and her retinue. I see little point in returning to a dead world before our mission is accomplished.'

'And what exactly is your mission?' Ben had not seen the Doctor enter but was very glad he had, despite the rather rude tone of his voice. Cat-Person or not, Aysha was Queen and clearly preferred to be treated as such.

The Queen unfurled herself and stretched upright, preening the fur around her mouth as she did so. 'Ah, Doctor. So good of you to join us. Did you have a nice exploration?'

'Oh yes.' The Doctor was all smiles and expansive gestures. 'It was very rewarding. Wouldn't you agree, Chief Engineer Aall?'

228.

Ben had not seen the tall, long-haired grey cat hovering in the doorway. She looked a little fl.u.s.tered, her whiskers twitching in a manner Ben had come to a.s.sociate with worry. 'The Doctor has made some disturbing . . .

discoveries, Your Majesty.'

'Go on, Doctor.'

Ben listened in astonishment as his fellow traveller explained about the bomb, its priming and the trajectory of its ultimate explosion. Queen Aysha seemed to take it all very matter-of-factly. Ben was reminded of the very first captain he had served under who, on discovering Ben's lack of years, instead of keelhauling him (or whatever they did in the merchant navy), just sat and listened to his explanations about his stepfather, his mother, his late father and other angst that most fourteen-year-olds consider the worst things in the world. The captain had merely nodded at the relevant pauses and in the end offered Ben a proper job on his fifteenth birthday.

'But, sir, that's four months away!' he had complained.

The captain had just shrugged. 'And we're in the Far East now, Jackson. How long d'you think it takes a cargo ship to return to Tilbury?'

'Four months?' Ben ventured.

The captain had smiled. 'I'm sure we can keep you occupied in the galley or engine-room, earning your keep until then. Unless you'd rather be put off at the next port of call?'