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[image]

The picture changed again, returning to its animated display of voters'

intentions. Harmock's orange block had streaked ahead by several points.

'... his words seem to have gone unheeded, and unrest is spreading rapidly. There are reports that disturbances have spread as far as the outer rapidly. There are reports that disturbances have spread as far as the outer regions of the city, with deaths reported in all western districts...' regions of the city, with deaths reported in all western districts...'

The Darkness shook with antic.i.p.ation. Death!

The Doctor was beginning to get cramp in his legs from standing rooted to the spot. He stifled a yawn and pointed to the pistol that was still aimed straight at him. 'Your hand's shaking.'

'No it isn't,' said the little man. Sweat was collecting in his eyebrows, giving him a feverish air.

'It is,' said the Doctor.

'Shut up,' said the little man, taking a firmer grip of the weapon.

The Doctor was getting tired of this waiting. 'Tell me,' he said suddenly, and loudly, 'what's your position on the dissociation of welfare provision from principles of wealth redistribution?'

The little man looked edgy. 'Is this a trick?'

'No. Well?'

'It's another damaging symptom of increased market orientation in welfare mechanisms and as such is further oppressing the workers,' said the little man.

The Doctor gave him his broadest grin and clapped him on the shoulders.

'You took the words right out of my mouth.'

'Really?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes.' He extended his hand.

'Comrade,' said the little man. He looked enormously relieved, and reached out and shook the Doctor's hand.

'Comrade,' replied the Doctor. As he did, he slipped the pistol from the little man's hand. 'Ah. Thank you.' He undid the barrel and threw away the charge-strip inside. 'There we go. No violence necessary.'

The little man backed away again. 'I should have seen it. You're an infiltrator.'

The Doctor reached out and plucked the newspaper from the little man's rucksack. 'Can I have a look at this?'

'I suppose so,' said the man. 'I shall choose to look away as you mock my beliefs from your position of false consciousness as an unwitting tool of your capitalist masters.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'I'm not going to mock you. It must take a great amount of courage to stick it out down here on your own. I'm impressed.'

He flicked through the Rebel Labourer Rebel Labourer, noting that its content was as constantly oppressive as the chant announcing its sale.

'Oh, I'm not on my own,' said the man. 'There's a whole army of rebels down here.'

Without looking up from the paper the Doctor said, 'There's only enough food here for one. You get visits from the catering lady, am I right?'

'She is free to sell her wares to anyone,' he said. 'And the rebel stronghold is far below the surface.'

'You're a very bad liar.' The Doctor looked up. 'Who do you sell this to?'

'It is enough that the paper exists. It is a mark of an unconsentientized mind to place value on tokens of exchange.'

'You remind me of a friend of mine.' The Doctor delved into his pocket.

'How much?'

'Sorry?'

'How much?' repeated the Doctor. 'For this?' He rattled the paper.

'Well, I...' The little man shrugged. 'Thirty units.'

'I don't have any units on me,' said the Doctor, 'apart from chocolate ones.'

He held out a neatly tied drawstring purse. 'Would this do?'

'What is it?'

The Doctor weighed it in his hand. 'Gold dust. No?' He started to put it away. 'Just another token of exchange, I suppose...'

The man put out a hand to stop him. 'No! Well, I mean, yes - yes, it is a most welcome gift. And fitting, to use such a token of greed in the furtherance of the system's overthrow.' He took the bag and stuffed it hurriedly away in his overalls. 'My name's Fritchoff'

'Good, good,' said the Doctor. He put the paper in his pocket. 'I'll read this later. Now, do you think you could tell me what you're doing down here?'

Romana heard the door of the guest suite swish open, and a moment later Stokes's voice called pleasantly, 'Good evening, my dear.'

'I was wondering where you'd got to.' She beckoned him over to the data-screen. 'You know more about this planet than I do. Perhaps you can help me out on a few things.'

'I'll do my best.' His manner was exceedingly polite and inoffensive. 'This planet's a beautiful place.' He looked about. 'Where's K9?'

Romana pointed to the comer. 'Over there shouting the odds. Now, look at this.' She punched up her latest findings, which she had organized in the front of a coloured chart.

'It's pretty,' said Stokes. 'Another poll, is it?'

'It's a schema of societal upheavals on this planet since the colony records began.' Romana explained. She indicated the axes of the graph. 'The y y axis represents the growth of major civilization, the axis represents the growth of major civilization, the x x axis the pa.s.sage of time, measured in hundreds of local years.' axis the pa.s.sage of time, measured in hundreds of local years.'

Stokes giggled. 'Forgive me. I haven't seen a graph since I was at school. I haven't got the mathematical mind, you see. Which axis is which?'

' X X is horizontal, is horizontal, y y vertical,' said Romana with a sigh. She pointed to the bottom left-hand corner of the graph. 'The first settlers arrived about ten thousand years ago.' vertical,' said Romana with a sigh. She pointed to the bottom left-hand corner of the graph. 'The first settlers arrived about ten thousand years ago.'

'Yes,' said Stokes. 'And they found Metralubit a verdant and most suitable planet.'

She turned to look at him. His moonlike face was split by a smile she had rarely seen there. 'Have you been drinking? '

'Probably. Do go on. You've caught my attention.' He reached out and stroked her hair.

She slapped his hand and went on. 'After about two thousand years the colonists had set themselves up as a decent level-three agricultural society.

And then this.' She pointed to the line representing social development, which streaked downwards suddenly.

'War?' Stokes suggested.

She nodded. 'Two-thirds of the population killed in the fighting.'

Stokes tutted and shook his head. 'What a terrible universe we live in. We must learn to cope with its distressing qualities. And to compensate by enjoying to the full its opposing range of pleasures.' His arm slunk around her shoulder.

Romana indicated the diagram. 'Look here. The same thing happens roughly two thousand years later. And again here, and again here. A killing frenzy. Don't you see the pattern?'

Stokes winked fatuously. 'Don't tell me. The last binge was two thousand years ago.'

'The Helducc civilization. Its destruction threw the planet back into superst.i.tion and chaos. It's taken that long to reach this degree of advancement.' She nodded to the big window, through which the noise of the riots echoed. 'This could be the start of the cycle all over again.'

'A few silly riots? I wouldn't have thought so. This affair is bound to blow over fairly soon.' He stood up and stretched. 'I am tired.'

Romana frowned. 'You wanted to leave.'

'Leave? Why? This is a beautiful place. No, I'm off to bed.' He walked to the door of his room. 'I say, you don't fancy, er, turning in yourself, by any chance?'

'No,' said Romana severely. She turned back to the screen and made a copy of her diagram on one of the tiny disks stacked on its side. It was time to confer with somebody more useful than Stokes.

Fritchoff had opened a tin of beans and, between spoonfuls, was telling the Doctor of his life's work. 'It's coming up to seven years since I first came down here. It started off as a protest.'

'Most things do,' the Doctor said.

'I worked in the Parliament Dome. An administrator in accounts. Just another fool in a tabard, walking up and down those white corridors all day, rushing about doing this and that and not very much. None of the others seemed to notice what was going on.'

'And what was going on?' asked the Doctor.

'A sickening waste of money,' Fritchoff said bitterly. 'Harmock and his breed lining the nests of their own kind, and pouring what was left over into this pointless war. A huge distraction, a lie to hold the public's attention while the poor rotted away out of sight.' He took a particularly large spoonful of beans and paused. 'But there were rumours in the dome, that the rebel militants had a base on Barclow. So I stowed away on a troop carrier and came up here to join them. Trouble was they'd packed off years before, as it turned out. Capitulated to the hegemony.'

'You mean they went back home?'

'Back to their jobs in the dome, yeah. Sickening. No resolve.' He squared his jaw. 'But I'm staying, right to the bitter end.'

'n.o.body seems to mind you being here.'

Fritchoff smirked. 'The industrialists and the militarists let me stay so they can tell the public, "Look, you have a right to free speech." It's all a part of their cultural domination.'

'But don't you get lonely?'

'Why should I? I've plenty to do. Making up the paper, selling it.' He sat upright and put the empty tin down. 'Loneliness is a tool of the state, exploited by its mechanisms to create frivolous and non-revolutionary social activity.'

'I see.' The Doctor tugged at his collar. 'It's awfully hot down here.'