Hunter's Moon

PAUL FINCH

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Published in 2011 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing

A Random House Group Company

Copyright © Paul Finch 2011

Paul Finch has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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Mallik ran as he'd never run before. He was young and

strong, and though he had been running for hours

already he knew that he could keep going for a while yet.

This didn't mean that he wasn't aching all over, that his

throat wasn't raw with gasping and panting. The air was

foul in this place. It tasted bad, it smelled bad - it was

filled with pollutants. But still Mallik ran, sucking it in

in great lungfuls. He was staggering along a corrugated

steel conduit. As if such a surface wasn't difficult enough,

it was streaked with oil and grease, and strewn with a

rubble of broken machine parts. And of course it was

dark. It was always dark here.

Inevitably, he stumbled and fell.

He landed face-first. A jagged edge tore his chin and

lower lip, the pain lancing through him. The metallic

taste of blood filled his mouth. He spat it out as he hauled

himself to his feet. His wheezing for breath was so loud

that he imagined it could be heard for hundreds of metres

along the conduit.

Not that it needed to be, because now, when he

listened, he heard a clank-clank of approaching feet. He

turned sharply. Around the corner, some twenty metres

away, a figure appeared. It was indistinguishable in the

dimness - apart from its eyes, from which two red laser

beams blazed. They swept from one side of the passage to

the next, quickly pin-pointing him. Mallik shrieked and

threw himself to the ground. There was an ear-shattering

CRUMP as an energy bolt struck the conduit wall close to

where he'd been standing, showering him with red-hot

shards.

Though dizzied by pain and concussion, Mallik

wormed his way out through the smoking aperture.

There was a drop on the other side, which for all he knew

might plummet hundreds of metres onto more piles of

scrap or into a corrosive sludge of waste-chemicals. But

in fact he fell no more than a metre, landing on a rickety

steel catwalk, which shuddered as he stumbled along

it. A ladder appeared to his left. He climbed down it,

staring back up towards the punctured conduit. That tall

figure was in the process of clambering out. It wore bulky

coveralls, tiger-striped black and grey, and an open-faced

helmet with a black visor across the eyes. Below that, an

oxygen mask was clamped to its nose and mouth, a rubber

pipe snaking back over the shoulder, joining a tank-type

assembly on its back. Another of the most futuristic rifles

Mallik had ever seen was angled back across the figure's

shoulder as it moved to the edge of the catwalk and gazed

down, that burning laser vision spearing through the

shadows.

Mallik reached the ground, and went full pelt towards

the nearest wall. This was about five metres tall, though a

portion of it had been smashed down when an overhead

girder had rotted from its moorings. Mallik scrambled

through and then was tumbling down a slope of bricks

and smashed masonry. Somewhere to his left there was

a towering skeletal structure. Was it his imagination or

was another figure perched on one of its high parapets,

taking aim at him? A green spark answered the question.

He knew what that weapon was. They'd referred to it as

'the Eradicator'.

Even over this distance - there must have been fifty

metres between the two of them - Mallik heard the rising

hum as the energy pack charged itself, and with a whiplash

CRACK, a great zigzag of electricity sizzled towards him.

His heels shot forward and he landed hard on his back.

The bolt slashed through the air only inches over his head,

striking the impacted rubble. The blast threw Mallik to the

bottom of the slope, where he lay helpless. His exhaustion

now gave way to a terrible despair. He could sense that

his back was damaged. When he tried to get to his feet,

pain chewed through his spine like a buzz-saw.

With a clatter of bricks, the figure in stripes descended

the slope towards him. From the other direction, the man

with the Eradicator was climbing from his perch.

'No...' Mallik said under his breath. No... it wasn't

going to end like this.

He dragged his broken body back up, and tried to run,

though now it was more a comical caper. Blood filled his

mouth, sweat blinded him. Another mountain of rubble

rose directly in front, but there had to be a way round

it. And indeed a path meandered off to his right along a

ravine. He blundered along it, but he'd covered no more

than twenty metres before the slope erupted beneath his

feet in a welter of mud and foulness.

The octopoid horror that engulfed Mallik was not

the worst thing he'd seen since coming here, but he

couldn't imagine anything more terrible than the demise

that suddenly faced him. The monster's thick, rubbery

tentacles wrapped around him with bone-crushing force,

their circular sucker pads oozing a sticky pus, which was

soon slathered all over him, gluing his arms to his sides,

his hair to his scalp, even gluing his wounded lips shut.

With a gargling roar, and a stench like a vomit-filled

dustbin, its maw gaped, revealing teeth that were slivers

of curved, needle-tipped bone.

There was an ear-splitting CRACK as the Eradicator

man spoke again.

Lightning struck the octo-horror clean in the mouth.

There was a searing flash and a hideous stink of melting

flesh.

Mallik was tossed to the ground, as the beast wailed in

nightmarish agony.

Its ruptured bulk, still half-buried in the rubble,

quivered and smoked, black ichor bursting from

numerous orifices. Its limbs writhed and thrashed for

minutes on end. Only when its cries subsided to a dull

mewling, and its movements ceased, did the Eradicator

man and the man in stripes feel it safe to approach.

Eradicator man chuckled. He was a compact fellow,

whose lack of helmet revealed a badly scarred face and

white hair shaven to bristles on top of his broad, flattish

skull. His body was squat and powerful, encased in

fatigues made from jet-black vinyl and hung over the

shoulders with a short cape of greasy, matted fur. He

shouldered his primary weapon, and drew a heavy

pistol. Taking aim from point-blank range, he fired two

deafening rounds into the creature. Gigantic shells tore

holes the size of dinner plates in its blistered hide. There

was no further sound from it. Two of its smouldering

tentacles twitched feebly, and lay still.

Mallik could rise no further than his knees. His body

was mangled, his bones multiply fractured. He was coated

in gore and filth. Through his fading eyes, he saw bulkily

clad figures trudging along the ravine.

Eradicator man glanced at the man in stripes, who had

removed his oxygen mask, to reveal a cruelly grinning

mouth. 'This last one's mine, I think?' Eradicator man

said.

Stripes nodded.

Eradicator man placed the muzzle of his pistol to

Mallik's head. 'Be honest,' he chuckled, 'you wouldn't

want to live in your condition.'

Mallik stuttered: 'I... never thought I'd... I'd die... in a

place like this.'

Eradicator man shrugged. 'We like it. But as you Earth

people say... home is where the heart is.'

He fired.

Harry Mossop was aware that he exercised almost no control

in his own home. But he was aware of a great many

things that now seemed beyond his capability to fix - his

employment situation, for example. After two decades

as a police officer in the Met, earning decent money and

enjoying all the respect and perks such a position had

brought him, to suddenly find himself on the pittance

that was Jobseeker's Allowance and whiling away tedious

hours alternating between the mind-numbing distractions

of daytime TV and the increasingly disheartening process

of trying to find suitable work had been a culture shock

of the first order.

Of course, things might have been easier had he had a

police pension to draw on, and a glowing reference from

his former employers in his pocket. But as he had neither

of these, even two years on he still felt more unprepared

for the rigours of ordinary civilian life than he could ever

have imagined possible. It was his own fault - he was

well aware of that, but a man could only go on berating

himself for so long before self-pity replaced any stoic

acknowledgement that he was getting what he deserved.

It was a dark, cold November evening when Dora

returned from work looking as tired as usual. 'I'm here,'

she said from the hall, in a tone which seemed to imply that

arriving home from the supermarket was only marginally

less depressing than arriving at the supermarket first

thing in the morning.

Harry came down from the spare bedroom, where

their computer was set up. As usual, he'd become so

preoccupied with job-hunting that he hadn't done any

household chores.

Dora sighed, as she dumped her bags. She tried to

ignore the mass of laundry on the sofa, which he'd been

supposed to iron, or the various items of Sophie's make-

up which, as always, were arrayed along the mantelpiece.

Dora ventured into the kitchen, where, with an expression

of abject defeat, she viewed the pile of dirty crockery in

the sink, some of which had been there so long that the

food remnants on it had caked into a hard rind.

'I'll sort this out,' Harry said, coming in behind her.

'Don't worry.'

'It's all right, I'm here now.' She began sliding items

into the dishwasher without even taking her coat off. 'Any

sign of Sophie?'

'Nope,' he replied.

'Where is she?'

'Wouldn't know.'

Sophie - or rather, how to deal with Sophie - was

another bone of contention between them. Their daughter

was now 18, and they saw so little of her that she might

as well be living away. As things were that suited Harry,

even though Sophie would almost certainly be with Baz,

her latest 'lounge lizard' boyfriend, who, like all the

others before him, had no car, no money and no job (not

that Harry could make too much of an issue of the latter

flaw, as Sophie had several times reminded him). She was

a dissatisfying daughter in so many ways, but Harry and

Dora differed radically in their views on how to deal with

her and, as this had led to several fiery confrontations,

Harry was now always glad when the source of the

friction was out of sight and out of mind.

'I wondered if you fancied popping out for a bite to eat

tonight?' he said.

'Why... Something to celebrate?' Dora probably didn't

mean it to sound quite so contemptuous.

'No, but anything to lighten the gloom.'

'That would really lighten the gloom, that would,

Harry. Spending money we haven't got. We can't carry

on like this. I'll just have to put in for more overtime.'

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, and waited a

couple of minutes before saying: 'I was thinking of going

back to see Grant Pangborne.'

Dora turned and faced him. 'Why?'

Harry shrugged. 'As far as I know, he's still got a

vacancy for a security officer.'

'Maybe, but if he isn't prepared to pay...?'

'Well, he's had a couple of months with no one on site.

It's not too far off Christmas - lots of burglaries at this

time of year. Maybe he's starting to realise that he needs

someone after all?'

She shook her head, as always so dismissive of her

husband's latest bright idea that he felt slighted by her

mere presence. 'Pangborne doesn't strike me as the sort .

of bloke who spooks easily,' she said.

'You reckon?'

'Harry, he's a wide boy. You said that yourself, after

he sacked you.'

'It was just a thought.

She continued loading the dishwasher. 'I think you'd

be better applying the grey matter elsewhere. How'd you

feel about what I suggested last night?'

'What... re-training? At my age?'

'You're only 43.'

'I don't suppose there's anything going at your

place?'

'Yes... if you're happy stacking shelves all day. But

that's not going to help us pay the mortgage any more

than you collecting benefits, is it? You've got to get

yourself a new career. Something lucrative.'

Harry stumped up and down the kitchen. He was a

big, burly man - too burly really; he'd allowed himself to

go to seed in the last couple of years. His belly hung over

his jeans waistband. His beard and moustache were grey

and scraggy.

'You'd think there'd be some security work out there in

this day and age, wouldn't you?' he complained.

'There probably is... for ex-coppers who didn't leave

the job under a cloud.'

Harry frowned helplessly. There was no argument

with that.

'Harry... if you want to do something useful, go and

tidy the living room. It looks like a bomb's hit it.'

'I'll just go up and check my emails first. See if anyone's

got back to me.'

'No one will have got back to you,' she called after

him. 'It's past six.'

Harry knew that would be true even before he flopped

down in front of his computer screen, wherein his inbox

still read 'Empty'. It always read 'Empty' unless someone

was spamming him. He hit one of his bookmarks. A

colourful image unfolded onscreen. It was a collage of

different pictures, each one portraying a man or woman,

of varied age and ethnicity, and all in the throes of

happiness as they got on with whatever job they'd been

photographed doing: from laying bricks to inputting

data, from serving food to driving wagons.

Emblazoned across the top was the legend:

PEOPLEFIND

Filling London's job needs

Supplying labour where you need it, when you need it

In the top right-hand comer, one picture depicted an

improbably handsome guy in his early thirties. His crisp

blond locks were crammed under a PVC hardhat, and

he was carrying a clipboard. He was on a building site

somewhere, and was gazing upward, laughing, showing

a row of perfect, pearly white teeth.

'One of these days, Pangborne,' Harry said under his

breath. 'Who knows? Maybe even today.'

'Now that's impressive,' Rory said.

The space platform was about fifteen miles in

diameter. It was an immense floating citadel covered by

a translucent shield-dome. Its myriad buildings were

towering crystalline structures, each one tapering to a

needle point. They'd have looked like natural formations

had it not been for the arrays of glittering, multicoloured

lights running through their interiors: neon blue, Day-

Glo orange, aqua-green. On the platform's surface,

narrow passages wound between the high-rise edifices;

these too were a mass of colours and glaring light, tiny

matchstick figures thronging along them. Gigantic, glyph-

like lettering was everywhere, pulsating with colour: on

hoardings and overarching walkways, on the sides of

buildings, on egg-shaped, aerial craft - dirigibles possibly

- moving lazily back and forth through the dome's high

spaces.

'And that's only one of them,' the Doctor said, joining

Amy and Rory in front of the TARDIS monitor screen.

'There are fifty like that on the Outer Rim.'

'And what did you call it?' Amy said, fascinated. A

"leisure platform" ?'

'That's right. There are forty on the Inner Rim as well.

But out here is where it really gets wild and woolly.'

She glanced at him. 'They throw a good party?'

'They throw nothing but parties.' The Doctor pursed

his lips. 'Of course, when you say "good", it all depends

whether you mean "good" as in morally acceptable, or

as in unrelenting, intense and everyone getting their

money's worth.'

Amy shrugged, as if either would work for her.

'Ninety non-stop parties,' Rory said. 'Sounds like

overkill to me.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know. Work hard,

play hard. That's the Torodon motto. We're all owed our

chill-out time. Chilling out is... cool.'

'So, are we going there?' Amy asked, trying to sound

as if she wasn't excited by the prospect.

'Yes,' the Doctor said. 'But there's a slight proviso. A

condition-ette.'

'Isn't there always?' she grumbled.

'The Torodon are not very modern in their outlook.

The men do all the industrial work, and nearly all the

Torodon females you'll find down there...' and he raised

and wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully, 'will be working

in the entertainment business.'

'Ahhh...'

'In various capacities. Dancing, waitressing, bar-

tending... But it's a man's world, if you know what I

mean. So you,' and he looked at Amy, 'will need to watch

your step.'

'Don't worry about me,' she retorted. 'If some bloke

thinks he's going to treat me like...'

'Pond!' The Doctor pointed a stern but warning finger.

'Let's not go there. We take alien races as we find them.

Well, unless they're invading some poor defenceless

planet. Or developing dangerous time-travel technology.

Or...' He waved his hand as if to dismiss the distraction.

'Anyway, the point is that eventually they'll see the error

of their ways, but it's not our responsibility to make that

change for them.'

The Doctor turned to Rory. 'For the same reason, these

Outer Rim platforms also attract people who are not

involved in honest work. I'm talking smugglers, gamblers

- all kinds of criminals. So you'll need to watch your step

as well.'

Rory sniffed. 'Perhaps this isn't such a good idea?'

The Doctor moved to the console. 'You can stay in the

TARDIS if you want. But this particular platform, LP9,

is policed by an old friend of mine. He won't let things

get too out of hand. If we mind our manners and keep a

low profile, everything should be fine. In fact, it should

be quite an experience. Think of it as being like a galactic

Wild West town.'

'Who is your old friend?' Amy wondered. 'Wyatt Earp?'

The Doctor smiled. 'He makes Wyatt Earp look like a

nursery teacher.'

'Typical,' she said. 'There's always someone who has

to spoil things.'

That night, Harry took pains to disguise himself, using boot

polish to darken his beard and moustache, and pulling

on a woolly black cap, black knitted gloves and a heavy

donkey jacket.

He made these preparations in front of the living

room mirror, because Dora wasn't there. As was her way

midweek, she'd dozed for most of the evening on the

settee, before heading up to bed at around nine o'clock.

Sophie wasn't around either. Earlier that evening,

she'd grudgingly replied to her mother's phone calls to

say that she was 'going with Baz to a gig'. When asked by

Dora how she was paying for it (and presumably for Baz),

Sophie had replied that she'd be using her EMA, despite

its main purpose being to aid with her travel costs to and

from college. This was something she didn't want to do

but had no choice about, she said, her tone implying that

it was all her parents' fault for not giving her an extra

allowance. When Dora had replied that Sophie ought to

get a part-time job like most of her friends, Sophie had

cut the call.

Harry wasn't concerned. He'd long ago given up

trying to impose discipline on his daughter; her scornful

defiance of everything he said had reminded him once

too often of his own inadequacies. Likewise, he'd stopped

being exasperated by the calm manner with which his wife

accepted Sophie's wayward lifestyle. If Dora wanted to

believe that this unprovoked rebelliousness was genuinely

nothing more than 'an assertion of teen independence',

that was up to her. For the moment, he was simply glad

the two them weren't around to interfere.

He picked up his holdall. It contained a rope and

grapple, an electric torch, a pair of bolt-cutters, a

screwdriver, a roll of duct tape and some surgical gloves:

in short, a burglary kit. His spine chilled as the reality of

what he was doing washed over him.

He'd been a police officer for eighteen years; he'd given

law enforcement the best part of his life. It was difficult to

see how he had finally come to this.

Two voices argued inside his head. One said that he

was taking too much of a risk. Regardless of the rights

and wrongs, getting caught tonight would be the last

thing he'd need; it would give him a criminal record at a

time when he was trying to get back on his feet. The other

contested that risks were sometimes necessary. He'd

taken countless as a cop; he'd bent the rules on numerous

occasions during his service, and it had helped him secure

some of his best arrests. And this would be no different.

OK, he'd be forcing entry to someone else's property, and

doing damage; by the letter of the law, yes, he would be

committing burglary. But this was an end to a greater

means. If he could show Grant Pangborne that he needed

a security man on the site - a week before ringing up and

asking for his old job back - it had to be worth it

The longest unbroken stretch of the journey there was

on the Circle Line. At this late hour, Harry rode in his

compartment alone. One deserted platform after another

flickered by, scrap paper blowing in the breeze. He only

saw handfuls of commuters: the odd gang of teenagers;

the occasional dishevelled businessman. Not the sort

he'd expect a problem from, but even so he couldn't help

wondering if they suspected that he was up to no good.

Maybe all villains felt this way when going to do a job.

A job.

Again, he went cold.

He reminded himself what had happened with

Peoplefind. He'd been out of the police a year when

he'd put in his application form to them. They were a

private recruitment agency, who specialised in allocating

unskilled and semi-skilled labour across the capital. Most

of the time they were only able to provide applicants

with short or part-time contracts, but this was better than

earning nothing. Even so, Harry, with his track record,

hadn't expected that they'd be able to help him. But after

only one interview with Grant Pangborne - the MD of

Peoplefind - he'd been startled to be offered work on the

site itself, providing security. It was a surprise they hadn't

already hired someone to fill that role. Presumably they

previously hadn't thought there'd be anything on site to

make it worth a thief's while breaking in, though most

likely insurance issues had finally necessitated that they

appoint someone.

Harry had still worried that Pangborne would be

deterred from employing him by the circumstances of -

his enforced departure from the Met, but far from it.

Apparently, Pangborne had felt that Harry was 'just

the right man' - what exactly that meant when Harry

had such a tainted record was difficult to fathom. But

of course he'd taken the job, and everything had gone

swimmingly for the next three months. He'd worked to

the best of his ability, scrutinising everyone who came on

site, keeping accurate records, even attempting to arrange

the installation of CCTV and a better alarm system.

Maybe it was his imagination, but it was this last thing

that had seemed to tip the balance against him. During

the course of the three months, the more efficient Harry

had been the more frustrated he felt Grant Pangborne had

become with his performance. When his initial contract

had expired, Pangborne had shown no hesitation in

informing Harry that they wouldn't be renewing it.

They'd decided that having a full-time security officer at

such a small depot was an expensive luxury.

Even now, Harry was bewildered. Grant Pangborne,

who wore a Rolex watch and only the most chic Armani

suits, and who arrived at his office each morning in

a Bentley, had never struck him as being financially

strapped. Of course, rich men didn't get rich by spending

money unless they absolutely needed to. Well - and

about this Harry suddenly felt grimly determined - Grant

Pangborne was about to wake up to the reality of need.

The Torodon were basically humanoid, with two legs, two

arms, a head, torso and so on. But they were of larger,

stockier build than the average human, and moved with

leonine grace - even the women's physiques suggested

impressive strength. They had shaggy white hair and a

silvery skin-tone, both of which contrasted sharply with

their piercing blue eyes.

Most Torodon males wore a basic bodysuit of shiny,

elastic material, but over the top of that all kinds of extra,

heavy-duty clothing: capes and bandoliers, hauberks

that were belted and harnessed, clumping, steel-clad

boots and thick woollen leggings. From the scuffs and

stains that streaked these rough-and-ready garments,

they were work uniforms. Evidently, those wearing them

were here taking a break from whatever mine, factory

or space refinery they toiled in. The Torodon females

wore considerably less, in many cases little more than

the figure-hugging bodysuits, but also stiletto heels and

rainbow-coloured facial make-up that would not have

been out of place on Earth during the 1980s. They dripped

with jewellery, and wore their hair dyed and styled with

astonishing extravagance.

That said, three plainly dressed strangers didn't attract

much attention.

'No one's batted an eyelid at us,' Rory said, as they

threaded along a noisy street.

The Doctor shrugged. 'The Torodon Confederation

spans several star systems, and they exploit all their

natural resources. That means they have a colossal

workload, and not enough workers. So they import loads

of immigrant labour.'

It was true that there were different species loitering

around: reptilians, insectoids. There was also a very

diminutive group - hunched, shrewish figures, grey-

skinned and often with distorted features - who limped

about, pushing carts or carrying packages. One blundered

into them, and Amy grimaced when she saw him up close;

his facial features were badly malformed - they'd almost

melted into each other.

'Ex-convict,' the Doctor said, once the pathetic figure

had hurried on his way. 'The Torodon have always used

convict labour. Any planet where they have implemented

heavy industry, there are work camps. These are the

remnants of those who worked the sulphur quarries on

Gorgoror. The neuro-toxins in the air eventually had a

catastrophic effect.'

'Those creatures were once Torodon?' Amy asked,

horrified.

'It's no surprise there were riots,' the Doctor said.

'The Gorgoror prison facility was destroyed more than

once by its inmates. The final uprising was interrupted

by a major earthquake, so the whole complex had to

close permanently. But there were plenty of emergencies

before that. The last convicts were sent to these Outer Rim

leisure platforms to work as menials. They still don't have

much of a life.'

'I'm not sure I like the Torodon,' Amy said.

'Oh, every race has skeletons in its closets. In the case

of the Bone Hoarders of Nebulo Beta, quite literally in

fact. But don't be too quick to judge.'

Every few metres, arched entrances gave through

to spacious interiors filled with lurid lighting and wild

shouting. No doubt these were bars, nightclubs, casinos

and so on. Outside them, flamboyantly clad Torodon girls

catcalled to the men. There were similarly tacky displays

on the street: rickety stalls gaudily coloured and crammed

with curios, displays of impromptu street theatre, in

which jugglers performed alongside acrobats and fire-

eaters. Every so often, Torodon police officers would press

through the crowd in globular, visored helms and body

armour consisting mainly of articulated black plate.

Like everyone else, the cops seemed oblivious to the

rainwater streaming off them. Both Rory and Amy, on

stepping outside the TARDIS, had been stunned to find

themselves in an intense downpour, which was clearly a

regular occurrence given the numerous gutters cut into

the platform's floorways.

'Not rain,' the Doctor had explained. 'Condensation.

From the underside of the dome roof. Like I said, this is

the Outer Rim of the Phrygian system. LP9 only services

workers from the most far-flung planets and asteroids.

It's cold out there.'

They entered what looked like a central plaza. It

was as crowded as everywhere else, but its far end

was dominated by an official-looking building. All its

windows were of opaque glass, and a sweeping flight of

steps, built from shining marble, let to its entrance, which

was located under a portico pillared with stone.

'Government House,' the Doctor said. 'So ostentatious

only a mayor could be found here. Not to mention a law

court. And also, of course, Police Headquarters.'

'And why are we going to the police, again?' Rory

asked.

'Kobal Zalu and I go back some time,' the Doctor

recalled. 'He was a soldier once. We served together.'

Amy looked round at him.' You were a soldier?'

'More a consultant than a squaddie.' The Doctor was

thoughtful. 'Torodon was at war at with the Terileptils.

There was a particularly nasty space battle, and the

TARDIS got caught in the crossfire. I finished up on a

damaged Torodon destroyer, where I had to fix lots of

fiddly stuff before we all got blown to bits. Never managed

to repair the coffee machine, mind you - which some of

them weren't too impressed by. Anyway, Zalu was on

board. He was young then - a lieutenant in the Galactic

Marine Corps. His group were off on a mission on the

comet Zamos. If I hadn't helped out, they wouldn't have

managed it.' He walked towards the official building.

'Since we happened to be in this part of space-time, it

seemed like a chance to call in for a cuppa with an old

mucker. But...' He halted again. 'There's nothing more

boring than reminiscing about old times when they're old

times you didn't share in, is there? Why don't you two

just flutter off? See the sights? There's plenty to do here.'

Amy grabbed Rory's arm. 'Sounds like a plan.'

'Just try to avoid trouble,' the Doctor reminded them.

'That sounds like a plan too,' Rory said. He firmly

linked arms with Amy before they sauntered away.

The Doctor turned back towards Government House.

He'd learned from bitter experience that hooking up with

old pals wasn't always the best policy. But he'd seen

Kobal Zalu many times since the war with the Terileptils,

and, as far as he was aware, he'd left him a contented and

grateful man. Things had been good between them.

At which point he was hailed by a siren-like voice

from above.

Hovering overhead was a long, sleek aircraft, black in

colour and bulbous at one end. It was covered with police

insignia.

'I said don't move!' the voice bellowed.

With a pneumatic hiss, a hatch slid open in the craft's

underside and, before the Doctor could object, he felt

a terrific suction and went rocketing upward. The next

thing, he was tucked inside a narrow, padded capsule.

Another hatch slid open. The featureless visor of a police

officer gazed in at him.

'Hello,' the Doctor said. 'Um, could you tell me what

I'm being arrested for?'

The policeman ignored him. Instead, he addressed

someone else - most likely a partner seated at the flight

controls. 'This is him. I'm certain of it.'

'I'm pretty sure I have a right to know,' the Doctor

protested.

'Keep quiet!' the cop snapped. 'You're lucky you

haven't been shot on sight.'

Harry had never expected that it would be so easy to get into

Peoplefind.

He'd walked up to the front door and, even dressed

as he was, no one had looked twice as he'd tapped in the

key-code and entered. Once inside, all he'd had to do was

deactivate the alarm, and that was it. On first setting out

from home he'd expected that he'd have to climb over the

rear wall, or something, hence the rope and grapple. He'd

been working on the basis that the entry codes would

both have been changed by now, and it astonished him

that neither had been.

The red eyes of the alarm censors watched him

harmlessly as he moved from room to room, but without

CCTV backup what use were they? His basic plan, once

inside, had been to start smashing computer terminals,

though he didn't like the idea of doing that. Besides, he'd

have to think things through a little more carefully now.

If it was apparent to the investigating officers who came

in the morning that the offender had come in through

the front door, they'd know it was an inside job. And it

wouldn't take them long to focus on a former security

guard disgruntled because he'd been sacked. So, before

he did anything else, he'd have to set up a fake point of

entry, probably somewhere at the rear, to make this look

like the work of an opportunistic vandal.

The yard at the rear was about fifty metres by forty,

the encircling wall almost four metres high. That would

take some climbing, even with a rope and grapple -

however, there was also a double-gate by which vehicles

were allowed access. This was only two and a half metres

high and, though there were barbed-wire coils along

its top, Harry could pull some down and make it look

as if he'd gained entry that way. He slid out through the

offices' rear door. There was a motion-sensitive arc-light

high in the southeast corner. He had a vague idea where

its field of vision started and ended. If he first edged his

way along the south wall and after that along the west, he

should reach the gate without activating it.

But then he received a shock. During the time he'd

spent here, he'd never known a vehicle be parked in the

yard at night. Yet now there were two of them. By their

size they were lorries, though it was difficult to tell as they

were covered by tarpaulins.

Harry tried to recompose himself. This wouldn't

make any difference. In fact, maybe it would help. He

could damage the vehicles as well, so it would really look

like wanton vandalism. He was edging along the wall

when he heard the first muffled cry for help. Harry froze,

wondering if he'd imagined it.

When the second cry came, he realised that it was

close - whoever it was, they were on the premises with .

him, though again the voice had been muffled as if it was

indoors. He peered across the yard at the depot garage. It

was closed. The windows in its office were in darkness.

He hardly dared walk out into the centre of the yard to

look, because that would trigger the arc-light. But then he

heard a third cry. Incredulous, Harry regarded the two

shrouded vehicles.

Someone was inside one of the wagons.

A different voice now shouted. Suddenly there

was a hubbub, as if the captives had realised there was

somebody outside.

'No wonder you don't want a security guard,

Pangborne,' Harry said as he ventured forward. 'No

wonder you don't want CCTV.'

He was no longer concerned about the light. He doubted

it was even operational - and he was right. He entered its

field of vision, and it didn't activate. He hurried to the

rear end of the nearest vehicle. Was this what Peoplefind

was really about? The irony of that name! Pangborne was

smuggling in illegal workers, maybe illegal migrants.

Harry dumped his bag and took out his bolt-croppers.

He'd still have to play this cutely. Uncovering a racket

like this would stand him in good stead, but he'd have

to explain why he'd been on private property at the time.

No matter. First he had to release these poor wretches.

Heaven knew what conditions they'd been transported

in. He lifted the tarpaulin. It was no surprise to see a

registration plate originating from eastern Europe. Above

this was a timber door-ramp fastened with chains.

'Hey!' he shouted. 'Can you hear me?'

There was a renewed gabble of voices.

Harry fitted the bolt-cropper blades around a link in

the first chain - only for a hand to grab the back of his

neck with crushing force.

Harry Mossop was a big, heavy man, but now was

lifted bodily into the air.

And then he was flung.

He somersaulted across the yard, landing on the tarmac

with pile-driving force. He lay face down for several

seconds, before looking groggily up. The tarpaulin at the

back of the second vehicle had also been lifted, revealing

another door-ramp - though this was lowered and of very

different design from the first. It was made of smooth

steel and oval in shape. The entrance behind it gave off a

shimmering blue glow.

A massive silhouette stepped in front of it.

Harry tried to wriggle away as the figure came forward

with echoing footfalls. It was a man wearing heavy-duty

clothing - some kind of shiny body-armour, but he was at

least two metres tall.

Once again Harry was grabbed and swung up into the

air. His protests became meaningless blather on sight of

the face that regarded him.

Firstly, it was so oddly angled that it seemed to have

been stretched over an artificial skull. Secondly, it was in

two sections, neither of which looked as if they'd been

their owner's original property. The left side of the face

was that of a younger man who'd suffered illness and

injury; its skin silver-grey in colour, but wrinkled and

pockmarked. The right side might once have belonged

to a woman; it was smoother in tone, its features more

refined, yet it was pallid, in fact dead-white, as if it had

never quite adhered to the tissue below. The two halves

were joined in the centre by a line of lumpy scar-tissue -

the remnant of crude sutures - which ran up across the

chin, through the mouth, bisected the nose and passed

between the eyes, before continuing across the top of the

hairless cranium, where tiny gaps showed glints of metal

beneath.

Two eyes bored into Harry from different shaped

sockets; they were like steel points, swivelling in unison

as if attached to a machine.

'Do you like my face?' a bass, bell-like voice asked.

Harry could only stutter.

'When it was blown off, they didn't have a complete

spare they could replace it with, so they had to cannibalise

dismembered corpses. I could have had it replaced at a

later date, more professionally. But I don't know... I think

battlefield repairs have a kind of romance about them.'

The two-faced horror snickered. 'And they're more than

you'll be getting.'

Harry was flung through the air again, but this time

ripped at his assailant's sleeve as he went, stripping it

loose - revealing a limb composed of what looked like

rods and springs. Harry never really had time to absorb

this. He hit the perimeter wall with sledgehammer

force, the blow to the back of his head jolting him out of

consciousness. The last thing he remembered was a pair

of giant boots stumping forward with enough weight and

power to pulverise his flesh.

Rory and Amy were in the midst of an alien culture, but

they were also in a gaming hall, and the emphasis here

seemed the same as in gaming halls on Earth - in that

everything was glitzy and tasteless. The predominant

colours on the tiled floors, wall-hangings and tubular

handrails were gold and silver. Earthenware pots were

located at regular intervals, and from each one a towering

mass of exotic but painfully imitation foliage reached up

to astonishing height. Waitresses pirouetted everywhere

on preposterously high heels, wielding trays overloaded

with drinks. The noise was deafening, consisting of weird

and, to human ears at least, tuneless music, but it was

also filled with a clangour of bells, whistles and braying

laughter.

Some games were instantly recognisable. A giant

screen hung above a platform, and on it there were

sporting events. Rory was fascinated by what appeared

to be a steeplechase over a sandy plain, in which ape-like

jockeys rode the backs of lumbering sauropods. On the

platform, an obese, bare-chested Torodon was giving the

odds in classic bookie fashion. An excitable horde had

gathered, waving wads of paper money. There were also

Torodon versions of slot machines; players seated in front

of screens on which images spun in kaleidoscopic fashion.

Every so often they would shout a command, and the

images would freeze. Some players would disappointedly

lurch away, but others would laugh and shout as they hit

a switch and received a plastic tab, which registered their

winnings.

Once again, there were advertisements everywhere:

electronic banners running back and forth across

screens hanging from the ceilings, or even appearing as

holographs, three-dimensional figures popping up in the

middle of the floor, offering products or talking about

the latest shows to hit town. One face Amy saw again

and again belonged to a Torodon called Zubedai. She

suspected he was a kind of pop star, as he was the only

male she'd seen wearing facial make-up, and his white

hair was styled; it frizzed out into a wild, 1970s-style afro.

A few seconds later, she saw him for real. He was wrapped

in a heavy fleece and hurrying across the gaming hall,

a Torodon female on each arm. Though a celebrity, he

wasn't drawing too much interest from the punters, which

seemed to be the way of it on LP9, where informality was

the rule. Interspersed with the raucous crowds, both Rory

and Amy had spotted numerous Torodon who, by their

dress and manner, were better heeled than the riff-raff

surrounding them. As the Doctor had said, there was a

big market for entertainment here. No doubt these were

performers, managers, agents - and yet they moved freely

without being harassed (unless you counted the attention

of beautiful Torodon women as harassment, which Rory

didn't think he did).

'Once you've seen one casino, you've seen 'em all,'

Amy said. 'Are we going?'

Rory nodded, but as they headed towards the nearest

exit, he noticed an oval marble table with a raised rim.

A black cloth was laid over its surface, written with odd

lettering and marked with a series of connected gold

boxes. Another bunch of excited Torodon were standing

around it, throwing what looked like dice. At one end

of the table, a non-Torodon - a bipedal reptilian, with

fawn-coloured skin covered in large brown blotches - but

dressed in a bright blue uniform with gold braid, was

acting as dealer.

'Looks like Craps,' Rory said.

'And?' Amy replied.

She'd been the keenest among them to come down

here, but was already bored. She was half-wondering if

there might be a show they could catch. She mentioned

this, but Rory ambled over to the table.

'Told you,' he said. 'I mean superficially it's different,

but it's the same type of game. There's the Pass Line,

there's the Don't Pass Bar.'

The dice were not dissimilar to Earth dice in that they

were small cubes, though they bore glyph-like figures

rather than patterns of dots. The dealer watched calmly,

his green tongue occasionally flickering. One particular

player - a sleek, handsome Torodon, wearing a billowing

silk gown similar to a kimono, and his long, white hair

tied in a topknot almost like a samurai — rolled again and

again. Other players placed their betting chips on different

sections of the table; some were winning, others losing,

but the 'shooter' - as Rory thought of him - was clearing

up every time. Several other Torodon were with him; big,

brutal characters in mismatched garb that looked more

like space armour than work clothing. One by one the

other players drifted away, but the successful shooter

was hardly concerned. He'd now amassed a mountain of

chips.

'That bloke's almost too good to be true,' Rory said

quietly, though it wasn't quietly enough. The shooter

glanced across the table, suddenly noticing there were

humans present.

'You implying something?' he asked, though he

sounded relaxed rather than angry.

'You keep on winning,' Rory pointed out.

'Really... I must've missed that.'

There were chuckles from around the table.

'What I mean is... this is a game of chance,' Rory said.

'We have something like it on Earth. It takes a bit of skill,

but it's mainly about luck. Which makes it strange that

you keep winning.'

Amy tugged at his arm. 'Why don't we just go?'

'You accusing me of cheating?' the shooter said. He

still didn't sound angry, but he now leaned forward, and

Amy saw hard lines of muscle beneath his gown.

'It doesn't matter,' Rory said, backing away, but when

he and Amy turned to leave, others of the shooter's

compatriots had circled behind them.

'How exactly could I cheat?' the shooter asked.

'I didn't say you cheated,' Rory replied.

'It's clear what you meant. So I ask again... how could

I cheat?'

Rory shrugged. 'On Earth, they sometimes use

weighted dice.'

The shooter rolled the dice across the table. 'Do these

feel weighted to you?'

Rory didn't bother to pick them up. 'I wouldn't know.

I'm not an expert.'

'But you talk as if you are.' The shooter now gazed at

Rory with eerie intensity.

'Look, pack it in with the tough-guy gambler act, eh!'

Amy snapped. 'Can't you see, we're not interested?'

The shooter smiled again. 'This one lets his woman

fight his battles for him?'

There was ribald laughter. Rory felt his cheeks flush.

'Come on.' Amy grabbed Rory's arm and led him from

the table, shouldering her way through the heavies half-

blocking their path.

'You had better walk away, friend,' the shooter said

after them. 'You're way past any help we can give you.'

Again, there was laughter. Rory's brow burned, and

before he knew it he'd spun back around. He wasn't

the inexperienced wimp he'd once been, he reminded

himself. He'd seen things that even space rodents like

these couldn't dream of.

The shooter feigned surprise. 'Whoa... so you've got

some fight in you, after all. Enough to take me on?'

Rory licked his lips. He was still aware of Amy tugging

at him.

'No need to look scared,' the shooter said. 'I mean

across the table. And if you doubt my dice...' he indicated

a bowl where some spare dice were kept, 'we can use

different ones.'

Rory was tempted. He was so tempted. But he didn't

know the rules of this game. 'I've nothing to bet with,' he

finally said. 'We're not carrying Torodon money.'

'He doesn't fight his own battles or carry his own

money,' the shooter proclaimed. 'We must be in the

presence of royalty.'

There was more laughter.

'We're just visiting,' Rory said through clenched

teeth.

'You don't have to explain yourself to these people,'

Amy hissed.

'I think he does,' the shooter said. 'Look at him... He

yearns to accept my challenge. He's itching for it. Xurgan,

loan him some credits.'

One of the shooter's lackeys pushed a handful of

plastic chips across the table.

'On which well owe you 600 per cent interest, no

doubt,' Rory said.

The shooter regarded him carefully, maybe realising

that this Earthman wasn't such a dullard after all. 'In that

case... this isn't a loan, it's a gift. You hear that everyone?

This is a gift.' He smiled at Rory again. 'Now you've got

no excuse.'

Rory groped the chips towards him.

'Don't be stupid,' Amy said. 'You can't play this game.'

She indicated the alien symbols. 'You don't even know

what these figures represent.'

'I have a translation device, sir,' the reptilian dealer

said. He produced what looked like a pair of sunglasses,

though they were rimmed with complex instrumentation.

His fingers had soft pads on their tips, but he ran them

nimbly across a row of lights on the device's left arm, and

handed it over.

Tentatively, Rory put the glasses on. Everything he

now saw was slightly shaded - but when he focused on

the table he was looking at recognisable Earth numerals.

On the dice, the glyphs had given way to straightforward

numbers, one through to six.

'This is great,' he said.

'For heaven's sake,' Amy retorted.

'Well?' the shooter asked. 'Do we play?'

Rory glanced at his wife. 'How hard can it be?

'On your head, Rory Williams. And those goggles are

ridiculous. You look like Elton John.'

'You've got yourself a game,' Rory said to his

opponent.

'Excellent,' the shooter replied. 'Dead Man's Duel...

You understand?'

'No, of course we don't!' Amy snapped, not liking the

sound of that at all.

The shooter stared at Rory. 'Only two of us can play.

No one else may bet.'

Rory nodded. 'That's fine.'

Amy wondered if it was her imagination that their

audience was suddenly holding its breath. Surely that

wouldn't be their normal response to a measly game of

Craps? Even one of the grey-skinned menials - a shrivelled

figure wearing a work-belt hung with tools, was leaning

on a broom to watch.

The shooter rubbed his hands together. 'Good. Let's

play.'

'Who are you?' the two-faced giant roared. His voice was

deep and, again, bell-like - as if issuing from a pair of

iron lungs.

Harry was fastened onto an upright rack, his wrists

and ankles held in vice-like rings. He was inside the

second vehicle, though plainly it was no HGV. Powerful

blue lights glared from all sides, preventing him seeing

clearly. His captor wasn't alone - he had a sidekick -

a short, stocky version of himself, without the facial

scars and with a mane of white hair cut square at his

shoulders.

'I've already told you,' Harry wept. 'Harry Mossop. I

used to work here as a security guard.'

'Why are you here now?' the terrible voice demanded.

'I... suspected Pangborne was up to something,' Harry

stammered.

This was a lie of course, but Harry felt he had to tell them

something they'd believe; in the face of this aggression,

his real reasons seemed too pathetic to be true.

' Why did you suspect?' his interrogator bellowed.

T couldn't think of any reason why Pangborne would

have got rid of me and not replaced me.'

'How did you know he hadn't replaced you?'

'Look... please, what is this?'

:'Answer the question!'

'I've been observing his operation.'

There was a brief silence as his captors exchanged

glances.

'Observing?' the shorter one queried. 'How long for?'

'What does it matter?'

The giant leaned down until his mutilated nose was

less than an inch from Harry's. 'It matters because we

need to know if you've passed information to anyone

else!'

'I haven't.'

'I'd like to believe you, Earthman... I really would.'

'I promise you I haven't!'

'Tell us the truth!' the shorter one shouted, producing a

loose wire, the end of which was glowing hot.

'I am telling the truth!' Harry wailed.

The short one gestured with the wire, and, for a hellish

second, Harry imagined it was about to be plunged into

his right eye. But this never happened. The would-be

torturer contemplated this act, but at length turned to his

giant companion. 'We've no time for this, Zarbotan. Any

security breach is a breach too many.'

'I agree.'

'So we leave straightaway, yes?'

'No.' The giant tapped out digits on a hanging screen.

'Zarbotan!' the other objected.

'Don't be a fool!' Zarbotan replied. 'Krauzzen would

want us to be thorough.'

On the screen, swirling static coalesced into an image.

Harry blinked at the sight of Grant Pangborne - now, for

some reason, wearing silver face make-up. He was dressed

in a fluffy gown and reclining on a couch, probably in his

penthouse in Docklands.

'What is it?' Pangborne asked tiredly.

'Xorax!' Zarbotan said. 'What do you know of this

fellow?'

Pangborne sat up. Harry realised that he was looking

back through the screen at them. 'That's Mossop. I had

him at my depot as a security officer.'

'We now have him at your depot as an intruder,'

Zarbotan said.

'An intruder?'

'It seems you've been getting sloppy, Xorax. We caught

him snooping.'

'I should have known better than to employ an ex-

policeman.'

'A policeman!' the smaller captor exclaimed.

Pangborne tried to play this down. 'It's nothing to worry

about, Zalizta. Mossop was the worst kind of policeman.

Lazy, incompetent. I inquired into his background, and

when they terminated his employment they were glad to

see the back of him.'

'Nevertheless,' Zarbotan said, 'if he's spoken to other

policemen...?'

'He won't have. He has no contact with them any

more.'

'He claims to have been investigating you,' Zalizta

said.

Pangborne laughed. T sincerely doubt that. Knowing

Mossop, this will have been some ham-fisted attempt to

get his old job back. I wouldn't worry.'

'It's you who should be worried, Xorax,' Zarbotan

replied.

Harry struggled to comprehend what he was hearing;

none of it boded well.

'Now, wait.' Pangborne said, looking alarmed. 'I've

kept my end of the bargain. There were always going to

be risks on a planet like Earth. I've told you before. It isn't

easy to make humans disappear without questions being

asked.'

'Save it for Lord Krauzzen,' Zarbotan said.

'This is absurd!' Pangborne protested.

'No more absurd than it would be if we ignored this

security breach.'

'Zarbotan!' Pangborne shouted. 'Xorg needs me.'

'Like he needs a crack in the hull of the Ellipsis!'

'Let me prove it. That fellow there, Mossop. You can't

just take him. He has a family who'll miss him.'

Zarbotan glanced at Harry, who felt a new depth of

chill.

'See for yourself,' Pangborne said, lifting a keyboard

to his knee.

Rows of digits flowed across the screen. Zarbotan and

Zalizta perused them.

'Zarbotan, please!' Harry begged. 'Not my family!'

'I've never been inclined to separate loved ones,'

Zarbotan said at length. 'Put him with the rest of the

product.

'You leave my family alone, do you hear!'

'I hear,' Zarbotan said dismissively. A hatch-like

door slid open in front of him, revealing an antechamber

packed with incomprehensible, neon-lit gadgetry.

As Zalizta did something to the rear of the rack, and

his manacles sprang loose, Harry leapt to his feet. 'I'll

show you how incompetent I am!'

He aimed a punch at Zalizta, who was struck on the

shoulder and knocked backwards. Harry swung around,

looking for an exit, only for Zarbotan's mechanical hand

to clamp round his throat. Harry choked and gargled as

again he was lifted from his feet. Zarbotan glared up at

him, odd-shaped eyes gleaming with unnatural light.

'Earthman... if you have no concern for yourself, think

about your family. You have already condemned them.

But every action you take from here on will dictate how

much, or how little, they suffer.'

Things went well for Rory at first.

It was, as he'd surmised, similar to the Earth game of

Craps. All he had to do was wager on the outcome of the

roll of a dice. He shot carefully, sticking to the etiquette

he remembered from the movies: shaking in one hand,

rolling cleanly down the table, ensuring the dice hit the

back wall. It seemed to pay off. He won the first four

rounds, choosing to bet with the dice, and each time

doubling his money. His opponent was unconcerned by

this. He was even complimentary.

'You're a natural,' he said.

Rory was acutely aware of Amy's disapproving

presence, though she was watching with increased

interest. More Torodon had gathered around the table,

and were equally engrossed. Having amassed quite a

pile of chips, Rory opted to press his bets, rolling past the

point and doubling his money again.

And then, suddenly, his luck seemed to change.

He threw under the point and, for the first time, lost. •

'That's unfortunate,' his opponent said, reclaiming all

the bets for himself and taking charge of the dice.

Slowly but steadily, Rory watched his pile of chips

dwindle, until, perhaps inevitably, he was placing his

final bet. The gathered crowd were still rapt. He found

this confusing. It was hardly a big deal; this had never

been his money to lose in the first place.

'Reparation throw?' his opponent asked.

'What's a "reparation throw"?' Amy asked

suspiciously. She glanced towards the menial with the

broom; he might only have been a janitor, but he clearly

understood the way things worked here, because he was

shaking his head.

'Just do it,' Rory said tensely, having placed his final

bet. Surely this guy couldn't win again - he'd just won

nine times on the trot.

His opponent did win. He was throwing for an eight

and that was how it came up - with two fours. Rory had

heard stories that some high rollers were so skilled they

could increase their chances of rolling certain numbers by

the manner with which they threw. This was one reason,

supposedly, why certain casinos would not allow players

to bet only on their own throws. He'd thought it nonsense,

but now he wasn't sure.

'This is my day, after all,' his opponent said, sweeping

the table clean.

'Well played,' Rory said. He turned to Amy, nodding

that it was time to leave.

'Wait!' his opponent said. 'You owe me a reparation

throw.'

Rory glanced back. 'What?'

'We're playing Dead Man's Duel.'

'I don't understand.'

'The rules of the table, sir,' the dealer explained in his

sibilant tone. 'In Dead Man's Duel, the loser, regardless

of his financial position, must give his opponent the

opportunity to claim a reparation. You must bet again.'

Rory showed empty hands. 'I haven't anything to

stake.'

The dealer regarded him blankly. The watching crowd

were silent, including the heavies gathered at Rory and

Amy's back. All of a sudden the interest in this particular

game was explained.

'How can we bet with something we don't have?' Amy

protested.

'The normal form would be to produce an IOU,' the

dealer explained. 'But it's the winner's call.'

'And I don't accept,' his opponent said. 'You're not

natives of the Outer Rim. You could be anywhere in the

galaxy in a month.'

'OK,' Rory said. He threw a grubby string on the table.

'I'll stake the spare bootlace I carry in my back pocket.'

His opponent laughed. 'Nice try, but not good enough.

A reparation must be something of significant value. That

is also in the rules. But allow me to assist. How did you

come here? You must have a spacecraft.'

'Of course we have a spacecraft.'

'Rory!' Amy warned him.

Rory rounded on her. 'It's time we put this guy on his

backside!'

'That's the stuff,' his opponent said. 'But you've no

choice anyway. If you fail to make this bet, I can take you

into servitude.'

'That'll be the day,' Rory snarled.

His opponent laughed again. One of his henchmen

lumbered up with a portable monitor, on which there was

an image of the LP9 landing-pads. The TARDIS occupied

the foreground.

'According to the Port-Master, this is the only non-

Torodon vessel in dock, Xaaael,' the henchman said. 'This

must be it.'

Rory's opponent, Xaaael, glanced across the table.

'Well?'

'That's it,' Rory confirmed.

'Doesn't look like much,' the henchman said.

'She's fifty times the ship you came here in,' Rory

replied.

Xaaael shrugged. 'I'll take your word for it.' He pushed

his entire pile of chips forward. 'I stake everything I have

against your strange-looking spacecraft.'

Rory went rigid, uncertain what to do.

'Rory, don't you dare!' Amy shouted.

Xaaael sneered at what he perceived to be Rory's

henpecked status. There was something smooth and

dangerous about him, but there was also something

boyish and immature - as if his entire life was about

winning petty victories like this.

'You're on!' Rory said.

Xaaael smiled, and shook his dice. 'Winner's privilege.

This is a reparation bet, so I'm shooting on the point, and

I can name my own... seven.'

Rory's heart sank. Lucky seven - though it wasn't

really luck, it was just that seven had more combination

possibilities from a two-dice throw than any other number

between one and twelve. 'Eight,' he replied, thinking

that eight and six were the next most common numbers

thrown.

But the dice landed on five and two.

Xaaael laughed aloud. Rory felt faint. His 'Elton John'

glasses had already ridden down his sweat-slicked nose.

Now they dropped off altogether. He could still hear Amy

shouting abuse in his ear, saying something about going

and getting the Doctor. He stared helplessly at the two

dice, willing one of them to flip over.

Xaaael came around the table, his henchmen in tow.

'Perhaps you'd like to deliver my property to me in

person?'

Still dazed, Rory found himself being manhandled out

of the casino in the vague direction of the LP9 landing-

pads.

The Doctor was alone in a pitch-black room. His sonic

screwdriver had been removed, so he couldn't use it for

a light. He knew that he was somewhere inside the LP9

police headquarters, but whether in a holding cell or

an interrogation centre, he didn't like to speculate. He

reached out with his fingers, exploring his immediate

surroundings - when there was a bass, gloating chuckle.

The Doctor was dazzled as an electric blind retracted

on a panoramic window, and the glitz and glamour of the

leisure platform flowed in. He had to shield his eyes, so it

took him a second to twig that he wasn't in a cell but in a

plush office, which, as well as the usual high-tech fixtures

- plasma screens streaming with data, intercom devices

and so forth - was also filled with old-fashioned luxuries

like leather-bound chairs and shelves lined with books.

Behind a wide desk sat a middle-aged Torodon,

broad-shouldered but rather paunchy, an effect enhanced

by the tight silver-blue suit he was wearing - the under-

uniform normally sported by offices who weren't on

outdoor duty. His head was shaven and he had a huge,

walrus-like moustache, but his genial grin gave him an

avuncular appearance; he could have been someone's

long-lost uncle.

'Kobal Zalu,' the Doctor said. 'Well, thanks for scaring

the heck out of me.'

'A Time Lord alarmed by a darkened room? Things

have certainly changed. Speaking of which, I see you've

changed bodies again?'

'Oh, several times since we last met.'

'Several times? Not been looking after yourself. Mind,

you appear younger, which is one thing. But your dress

sense hasn't improved. Sorry... preferred it when you had

white hair and a pallor so ashen you could have passed

for one of us.'

The Doctor pulled up a swivel chair and sat. 'My pallor

was ashen because I'd just been shot out of the sky.'

'I said I was sorry for that.' Zalu smiled, though it didn't

quite reach his eyes. 'Still righting wrongs wherever you

go?' 'They don't tend to right themselves.' The Doctor's

smile was equally wintry. 'Let me get this straight, Zalu...

Your goons arrested me as a joke?'

Zalu rubbed his moustache with his left forefinger, a

gesture familiar from his younger days - it had usually

signalled that he was under pressure. 'Doctor, we need to

talk. Care for a drink first?' He hit a button, and a tray slid

from a wall compartment, containing a stone bottle and

two crystal goblets.

'No thank you. And I'm surprised you're having one

on duty.'

Zalu was pouring a generous measure of smoky fluid,

into his glass when he heard this. He whipped around.

'Don't presume to tell me my duty!' Almost immediately

he became placating again. 'Not now I'm Chief of Police.

It wouldn't be seemly.'

'Zalu, why do I get the impression you're not glad to

see me?'

'I'm always glad to see you, Doctor. You know that.'

Zalu looked sheepish. 'And for your information, this is

Abadonian lemonade. But if you won't have a shot of the

"hard stuff", what do you fancy?'

'I've always been partial to Torodon tea.'

'Zylva!' Zalu said into his desktop intercom. 'Tea, if

you would.'

'What's the problem?' the Doctor asked.

'Problem? There's no problem.'

'You seem on edge.'

'It's been a busy day.'

The Doctor glanced around the comfortable office.

'Can't have been as busy as the average day you had

when you were a colonial marshal. Those were the days,

eh? Weren't they?'

'I was younger then, wilder. The Outer Rim platforms

were lawless hellholes. You needed a different kind of

police officer in those days.'

'Doesn't really answer my question. What's the

problem?'

Zalu's strained smile faltered, as if his charade of

bonhomie was becoming too much for him. 'Do you still

insist on interfering everywhere you go?'

'Only where it's needed. So, OK, yes.'

'It isn't needed here.' Zalu's expression hardened.

'Look... I'm in charge on LP9, Doctor, and you know me

well enough to understand what that means. Nothing

happens here without my say-so. Whatever the rumours

on the street.'

'What rumours?'

'Why have you come here?'

'To see an old friend.'

'I know you, Doctor. If you don't go looking to solve

problems, you bring problems with you.'

'I've no idea what you're talking about.'

A door slid open and a Torodon female - very slim

and pretty, again with rainbow-coloured hair - sashayed

in, carrying a tall beaker filled with a creamily frothing

brew. She placed it down.

Zalu waved her out. The door slid closed, and he

rounded again on the Doctor. 'If this is genuinely a

passing visit, you can drink your tea and go!'

'So nice to be made welcome.'

'Because you're not welcome,' Zalu asserted, though

again, almost immediately, he seemed to regret it. 'I'm

sorry, but what more can I say?' He produced the Doctor's

sonic screwdriver and pushed it over the desktop.

The Doctor pocketed it. 'Well... I appreciate your

candour.' He sipped his tea. 'And your tea. Reinvigorating

as always, but there's no point in staying if I'm causing

you grief.' He stood. 'And there are no biscuits. So I'll say

goodbye.'

The door slid open again.

'Doctor!' Zalu said.

The Doctor turned.

'We're still friends, I hope. I'll always hold you in high

regard. But I don't want you here at the present time.'

'Fair enough,' the Doctor said. 'But you didn't need tot

have your men rough me up and then refuse me biscuits

to get that message home.'

'If they were overzealous I'll have them

reprimanded.'

'I see. So... being rude to an old friend, and now

punishing your underlings for carrying out your orders.

Doesn't sound like the Kobal Zalu I once knew.'

'I told you, those days are over.' Zalu turned gruffly

to one of his screens. 'Wherever it is you're going, safe

journey.'

None the wiser, the Doctor left.

When Amy left the casino, it was raining hard again, and the

kaleidoscopic colours of the towering structures refracted

through the downpour in an incandescent blur. Torodon

folk blundered past under waterproof canopies, laughing

and enjoying themselves. When she tried to speak to

them, none seemed interested. Now that she needed one,

there was no sign of a police officer.

'Excuse me, miss?' came a voice from behind.

She turned and saw the little, grey-skinned janitor

who had watched the game. His mouth was out of shape,

his eyes on different levels. The few hairs on his withered

scalp were lank and lifeless. She had to resist backing

away.

'Miss... you need to go with your friend.'

'Why?' she said.

'He may be in more trouble than you think.'

'Hell be in more trouble than he's ever been in in

his life when I get hold of him. First, I've got to find a

policeman.'

'A policeman?' The janitor looked sceptical.

'Yes. I know you have them. I've seen them.'

'There's a police help-point over there.'

He indicated a cylindrical steel tower at the junction

of several thoroughfares. Amy hurried over to it. There

was an arched recess at the bottom, but when she stepped

inside there were no internal doors.

'Yes?' a brusque voice boomed from an intercom.

'We've just been cheated in one of the casinos.'

'You'll need to give me a little more detail.'

'My husband has got on the wrong side of some bad

people. Please help us.'

With a whooshing rush of air, the small chamber Amy

was standing in - clearly some kind of elevator - rocketed

up to the top of the tower, and she found herself stepping

into a small office cluttered with visual display units

and complex circuitry. It looked state-of-the-art, but was

stuffy and scruffy, and felt rather lived in. A Torodon

police officer, clad as if for outdoor duty, spun around

in a swivel chair. On seeing a non-Torodon, he removed

his helmet - to reveal that he was actually a she. She had

handsome but refined features. Her lustrous white hair

was bound in tight coils.

'Who are you?' the officer asked.

'My name's Amy Pond, but I'm sure that... Look!'

Amy's eyes had alighted on something over the officer's

shoulder. 'There!'

One of the screens depicted a grainy image of the

landing-pads. The TARDIS sat on the nearest, and several

figures were gathered around it. One of these was Rory;

another was the man called Xaaael, though he'd now

dispensed with his silken gown for an exoskeleton of

heavy space armour. The rest of the group, his sidekicks,

were equally ironclad. All now carried weapons.

'Look at their body language,' Amy said. 'You can't

tell me Rory's with that lot because he wants to be.'

The officer adjusted a switch and raised the volume

on that particular screen. Amy watched and listened

with growing dread as one of Xaaael's larger henchmen

attempted to force the TARDIS door with a crow-bar, but

failed. Xaaael turned to Rory. 'Do you think us fools?'

Rory shrugged. He still looked dazed. 'I told you, I

don't have a key.'

'You can't access your own spaceship?' Xaaael scoffed.

'Search him again!'

They did, slapping Rory down, turning his pockets

inside out.

'Nothing,' one of them said.

Xaaael looked furious but remained calm. 'Earthman,

if this is a ruse to make us leave your craft on LP9, it's

backfired. All this means is that you come as well!'

The officer watched her screen intently.

Onscreen, Rory seemed to wake to his predicament.

He tried to dart away from his captors, only for one to

draw a pistol and hit him across the head.

Amy cried out as Rory slumped down unconscious.

The officer leaned forward and flicked the screen off.

'There!' Amy said. 'And you've got it all on film.'

The officer resumed on her keyboard. 'I'm sorry,

there's nothing I can do.'

'What?'

'No law has been broken.'

'Are you mad?'

'If you've nothing else, you need to vacate this office. .

We can only deal with one complainant at a time, and

someone else who needs us may be waiting below.'

'You...!' Amy said, pointing with shaking finger.

'You... I'll not forget you!'

Outside, she fought her way back through the crowd

to the casino. To her relief, the grey-skinned janitor was

still sweeping in the entrance.

'Excuse me,' she said, breathless. 'Can you tell me

which way my friend went?'

The janitor glanced around, making sure no one was

watching, and beckoned to her. Once inside, he led her

down a side passage, at the end of which they descended

a clanking steel stair into the basement area, where

a conveyor belt, loaded with what looked like cargo,

mostly light but sturdy aluminium crates, trundled along

an arched passage of corrugated metal.

'This leads to the port,' he said. 'These supplies are

bound for the Ellipsis.'

'Ellipsis?'

'The mothership to which your friend will be taken.'

'You knew they were going to abduct Rory?'

The janitor lowered his eyes. 'I've seen this happen

before with visitors to LP9.'

Amy wanted to rebuke him for not speaking up at

the time. But she remembered what the Doctor had said

about these people being subservient, an underclass with

no voice in this society.

The janitor humped one of the crates over onto the

sidewalk. He took a long tool from his belt, and applied

it to the lock, which sprang open. Inside the crate there

were bottles containing different coloured fluids, and

what looked like sealed packets of foodstuff. 'You're not

a large person,' he said. 'You should be able to conceal

yourself.'

Amy was incredulous. 'You want me to get inside this

crate?'

'It's the only way you can help your friend.'

'I'll suffocate.'

'These cartons are not airtight. However, to make you

more comfortable.

He extricated another tool from his belt - a nail-gun

of some sort - placed it against the underside of the crate

and plunged the trigger. A hole was punched, about the

size of a one-penny coin.

Amy backed away. 'Look, I have another friend. I'll try

to find him.'

The janitor placed a hand on her harm. 'Lord Xaaael's

Raptor-Bird will be leaving imminently. Whatever help

you think you'll find on LP9 - and there's precious little -

it will need to arrive very quickly.'

Amy glanced into the now half-empty crate, and

then along the tunnel. This would be the craziest thing

she'd ever done, but Rory was somewhere at the other

end, hapless and insensible - and that should be reason

enough. Ordinarily, she would go and find the Doctor,

and they could follow in the TARDIS - but the TARDIS

was down there as well. There was nothing else for it.

She stepped into the crate. The janitor assisted her.

'Listen,' Amy said, as she lay down and curled up.

'This other friend of mine. He's called the Doctor, and hell

come looking for me. Please tell him what's happened.'

'I will speak to him,' the janitor said, cramming

packages around her.

'Hey, there's not much room in here as it is.'

'This is for ballast. So you are not injured when they

throw you into the hold.'

'Great,' she said as he closed the lid. 'I'm in the

ballast.'

Despite her frequent annoyance with Harry, there were times

when Dora Mossop fully understood the frustrations he

felt about their daughter.

Such as now.

It was the early hours of the morning, and Dora had

been sound asleep when her mobile had begun chirping

on the bedside cabinet. She'd known it was going to be

Sophie before she'd even answered the call, but perhaps

it would have been less irksome if the girl had sounded

distraught that Baz had dumped her for one of her friends

and marooned her in Hammersmith with no money and

no way to get home, rather than imparting this info in

surly fashion and, instead of asking nicely if her mother

could come to pick her up in the car, had emotionally

blackmailed her by saying that if she couldn't get a lift

she'd have no option but to walk home alone through the

middle of London at this late hour.

Unable to find Harry, Dora had got dressed and driven

the ten miles to Hammersmith herself.

They were now on the way back. Sophie, who looked a

mess - Dora thought she was way too old for spiked hair,

Goth beads and black lace - made a sullen, unsympathetic

figure, despite the eyeliner streaking her cheeks.

'So what happened?' Dora asked.

Sophie shrugged. 'Don't want to talk about it.'

Dora bit her lip. Thus far, her daughter's unwillingness

to talk had also extended to an unwillingness to apologise

for the inconvenience or to express gratitude.

'I've no idea where your father is,' Dora eventually

said.

Sophie didn't respond to this either, as if his

unexpected absence at this late hour was of no interest,

which suddenly annoyed Dora no end. OK, she'd taken

issue with Harry in the early days when he'd tried to put

Sophie on the straight and narrow, but this was the kind

of cold indifference he routinely faced from his daughter,

whereas she only had to put up with it now and then

because most of the time she preferred a quiet life and

wouldn't voice disapproval even if she felt it.

It wasn't as if Harry had been totally unreasonable

with Sophie. The main thing that bothered him about

her was that, though she was now studying A levels, she

wasn't showing much interest in them. Life seemed to be

a non-stop party, and Sophie was enjoying it by spending

money that she couldn't really afford. Perhaps he was just

being a concerned father, Dora thought. But then again -

where was Harry now when she needed him? It was all

very well him lecturing people, but what exactly did he

bring to the family these days? It was so typical that he,

who had nothing to do all day, wasn't around to make

this late-night journey, whereas she had to be up in the

morning for work.

Frustrated, she fiddled with the heating. It was

unresponsive and, in her rush to get out, Dora had

neglected to put a coat on. Being late autumn, the air was

frigid.

'Don't put the heating on,' Sophie said. 'I'm getting a

headache, you'll just make it worse.'

'As a matter of fact,' Dora retorted. 'I—'

'MUM!' Sophie screamed, grabbing at the wheel.

They'd been cruising through Kensington, which

at three in the morning was all but deserted, but now a

glaring light filled the windscreen.

Dora grabbed the wheel back and tried to spin it. The

car went into a sideways skid. It careered across the road,

jolting to a halt on the opposite kerb. Intense light was

still shining into the vehicle, but now from all sides.

'W-what is this?' Dora stammered.

When someone attempted to open her driver's door

she clung on to it, but the strength on the other side was

irresistible - in fact, the door was literally torn out of the

frame of the car. A hand appeared, on the end of an arm

made from articulated steel rods. As it grabbed the collar

of her cardigan, Dora and her daughter shrieked.

'Zalu!' the Doctor bellowed, barging back into the Police

Chief's office. 'Fancy sharing what's happening on this

space platform of yours?'

Zalu looked uncomfortable as he sat behind his desk.

He'd been expecting this for the last few minutes - ever

since he'd read a report from one of the point-sergeants

on the day-shift, and had then spotted the Doctor on a

surveillance monitor, speaking animatedly with one of.

the service personnel.

'Doctor,!...'

'Cowering under your desks may be the new style of

policing on LP9, but now my friends have gone missing,

that's not going to cut it!'

Zalu's hackles rose. 'No one is cowering under their

desk, Doctor.'

'Tell that to Point-Sergeant 8379 Xelos. She watched on

television while my property was stolen and one of my

friends got kidnapped.'

'I've already received Xelos's report. She's inquired

into the incident. It seems your property was won fairly

and squarely in a game of Dead Man's Duel.'

The Doctor leaned forward, and stared into Zalu's

deep blue eyes. 'How can that possibly be true? I've never

played Dead Man's Duel, so I can't have lost, can I? That

doesn't excuse what happened next. Rory - abducted.

Amy - forced to stow away on the ship where he was

taken, so she's gone too.'

'You need to understand... This is a complex issue.'

'Zalu, you need to understand that these are my

friends, and I want them back!'

'I have friends too, Doctor! And family!' Zalu stood

up. 'You and your people can just disappear, but mine

have to live here... do you see what I'm saying?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Are you really the man I

once knew?'

'Of course I'm not.' Zalu thumped his desk. 'How can

I be? I'm not like you. I can't stay young and brave for

ever.'

'You're the Chief of Police here!'

'Haven't you realised what we're dealing with,

Doctor? This is organised crime. Of the most dangerous

sort. You've seen where we are. Teh billion clicks outside

the Inner Rim, and another twenty billion from Torodon

itself. You know how it is with these Outer Rim platforms.

They're infested with gangsters and racketeers. Half the

casinos and nightclubs here are owned by them. Those

they don't own, they skim. Their claws are sunk so deeply

into local commerce that we couldn't eject them even if

we had the authority to.'

'You don't have the authority?'

Zalu made a helpless gesture. 'They're everywhere.

All around us. Involved at every level. If the various

syndicates combined their powers, they'd outnumber my

frontier police force a hundred to one.'

'So get reinforcements.'

'That would be expensive.'

'And the rule of crime isn't?'

'No!' Zalu seemed embarrassed by what he was

now admitting. He strode around his office like a caged

tiger, though a tiger minus teeth and claws. Beyond his

window, the usual hordes of pleasure seekers thronged

the colourful, rain-soaked streets. 'Look at this place. It's

rough and ready, but, in relative terms it's pretty law-

abiding.'

'I see,' the Doctor said. 'The mob polices it too. Is that

what you're saying?'

'The mob - as you call them, are first and foremost

businessmen. It's not in their interest for there to be

serious trouble here.'

The Doctor pondered this, before smiling coldly.

'Then they made a big mistake taking one of my friends.'

He stormed out into the next office, only to find several

younger police officers already waiting for him, pistols

drawn.

'It's all right,' Zalu said, appearing behind him.

'Doctor, come with me.'

'Where to now?' the Doctor said suspiciously.

'The Intelligence Room.'

'Sounds like my sort of place.'

Zalu nodded. 'There are things you need to know.'

When Dora and Sophie were dropped into the hold alongside

Harry, they were numbed with shock.

It was a padded chamber, lit by a faint reddish

glow. There were several people in there already,

mostly foreigners, and they were just as frightened and

disoriented as the Mossops. Only one of them seemed to

speak English well. His name was Andrei, and he said he

was from Romania.

'I'm afraid we've all been kidnapped,' he told them.

Dora and Sophie eyed Andrei uncertainly. He was tall

and black-haired, and though tired and haggard, he was

dark-eyed and rather handsome. He'd been wearing a

fur-lined jacket, but had now taken it off because it was

intensely warm. He wore a thin T-shirt beneath, which

revealed a strong physique and muscular arms.

Dora turned to Harry, who'd been so relieved that

his wife and daughter, though abducted, were safe, that

he'd been unable to say anything and had wept as he'd

cuddled them.

'Harry!' Dora said, extricating herself from his grasp.

'What's happening?'

Harry struggled to explain. 'Like this chap says...

we've been kidnapped.'

'Who by?'

'I don't know.'

'But why have they taken us?' Sophie demanded

shrilly.

'Sophie, you've got to calm down, OK?'

'Who are these people? What do they want with us?'

Harry shook his head.

Dora stared him in the eye. She could always tell when

people were being evasive with her. In the early days of

their marriage, her husband had often said that she'd

make a better cop than him. 'Harry Mossop... what are

you not telling us?'

He shrugged. 'I think it's some kind of people-

trafficking operation.'

'So you do know what's going on?'

'I had no idea it would be like this.'

'Please don't tell me you were investigating these

people.'

'No... Well, not really.'

'Harry Mossop! You are not a policeman any more! I

appreciate you want to show your old colleagues that

they made a mistake, but please don't tell me that you've

got us involved with gangsters!'

Andrei butted in again. 'I think it may be worse than

that.'

Dora and Sophie gazed at him, bewildered.

'How did these people abduct you?' he asked.

Dora shook her head. 'It's hard to be sure.'

'Powerful lights? Men with mechanical limbs? These

are no ordinary criminals.'

'Well this is just great!' Sophie screamed at her father.

'You've really gone and done it this time, haven't you? You've

got us all killed!'

'Now listen,' Harry said, trying to sound firm. 'We

have to stick together if we want to get through this.'

'Yeah, because sticking together has solved all our

problems in the past.'

'Sophie, calm down!' Dora said.

Before more words could be exchanged, there was a

thunderous vibration through the floor. It sounded like a

rocket-booster had ignited beneath their feet.

The prisoners wailed and huddled together.

There was a further explosion of energy, and a

tremendous g-force battered them to the floor. Their

cries were lost in a storm of propulsion. Sophie sought

comfort in the arms of her mother, but Dora was equally

frightened. When Harry crawled towards them, Dora

reluctantly let him take hold of her, but Sophie pushed

him away, and, more by luck than instinct, finished up

with Andrei, who wrapped her in a brawny bear-hug.

Harry knew at that moment that he'd made the worst

mistake of his life. It had long been the case that almost

everything he did backfired; that whenever he tried to

resolve problems, he made things worse. But heaven

knew what awaited them now.

'This is the offender in question,' Zalu said.

He and the Doctor were in the Intelligence Room, on

a raised steel catwalk surrounded by three-dimensional

screens on which visual imagery was flickering past. On

the screen in front, they viewed an excerpt from police

surveillance footage. It had been taken in an eatery, and

it showed a lean, handsome Torodon, wearing his white

hair in a topknot, seated among other diners whose faces

had been blurred out.

'His name's Zagardoz Xaaael,' Zalu said. 'He's a senior

lieutenant in the Xorg Krauzzen cartel.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Never heard of them.'

'That doesn't surprise me. The code of silence between

these fellows is so strict they'd kill their own mothers

rather than breach a confidence. The Krauzzen outfit is

the most dangerous in Torodon space. It's controlled by

this man...'

Another image appeared, displaying a clutch of

Torodon emerging from what looked like a conference

chamber. All wore lengthy Japanese-type robes, and again

had their long white hair tied in topknots. The central

figure had a broad, solid physique and an aristocratic

bearing. His face was handsome, if rather cruel.

'Xorg Krauzzen,' Zalu said. 'He's ex-military. He may

look normal, but much of his body was destroyed in

combat. Most of what you see here is synthetic.'

'Go on.'

'That was years ago. Afterwards, Krauzzen became

a mercenary soldier and finally a gun-for-hire in the

underworld. With his experience, and his right-hand

man - a former fellow commando called Zarbotan, who

boasted the highest kill-rate in the entire Special Assault

Brigade - it wasn't long before he'd taken over the

operation and projected it into the premier league. His

outfit became synonymous with extreme ruthlessness.

Now he rules the roost He's almost untouchable, despite

regular involvement in murder, extortion, smuggling...'

'No one's untouchable,' the Doctor said. 'You ought to

know that.'

'Just to give you an idea what Krauzzen is like,

Doctor... One of his most lucrative income streams comes

from organising "fun hunts".'

'Why do I get the impression it's going to be more

"hunt" and less "fun"?'

'You know Gorgoror, the moon of Zigriz?'

'Of course. Wouldn't recommend it for a holiday

though.'

Another image appeared: it showed a tiny, green

planetoid suspended against the much larger, eggshell-

patterned surface of Zigriz, a gas giant on the farthest

point of the Torodon star system. The sight of the menials

working the streets of LP9 had already reminded the

Doctor about Gorgoror's one-time role as a work camp

for convicts; he tried to recall what else he knew about

it. It had a breathable atmosphere, and, warmed by its

proximity to Zigriz, it had been extensively excavated.

But that was in the past. Centuries of heavy industry had

ruined the moon's environment, and it was now swept

by cataclysmic storms and intensely corrosive acid rain.

As far as the Doctor knew, since Gorgoror had been

abandoned, about thirty years earlier, it had become a

hellish wasteland littered with toxic ruins.

'The old installations that cover Gorgoror are derelict

but they're still accessible,' Zalu said. 'They're connected

to each other by miles of tunnels.'

'Why are you telling me this?' the Doctor asked.

'Gorgoror is Krauzzen's new playground. He takes

captives and releases them into these ruins. He then lets

loose parties of big-game hunters - bored rich men who

have paid for the privilege.'

'Privilege?' Despite everything he'd seen and done in

his many lives, the Doctor's hair was suddenly prickling.

'Ah, you mean the privilege of stalking human prey?'

'Any prey that's rational, able to run. Anything that

makes a good moving target. It seems mainly to be

humans.'

'So, hang on, Zalu...' Fleetingly, the Doctor had trouble

keeping his temper. 'You know all about this. And yet you

sit in your office, doing nothing?'

'Krauzzen is beyond our reach.'

'Gorgoror is less than half a day's flight from here!'

'It's not a matter of distance. It's a matter of legalities.'

'Legalities?'

'Look... Central Government considers that these crime

syndicates have a role to play. To start with they provide

recreational activities for our Outer Rim workforce.'

'And I guess, while these gangs are occupied on the

Outer Rim, they aren't bothering anyone on the Inner

Rim or, heaven forbid, on Torodon itself?'

'That too. Several years ago, Central Government

issued a directive that as long as Torodon nationals are

not being victimised by these racketeers, law enforcement

must leave them be.'

'And does that work for you when you go home in

the evening, Zalu?' the Doctor wondered, backing away.

'Because it wouldn't work for me.'

'Doctor, listen...'

'Tell you what. You continue clock-watching, Zalu...

Round up the odd drunk, arrest the occasional pickpocket.

I'll go after the real criminals.'

'Doctor...'

The Doctor turned to leave, but found his path blocked

by a female police officer carrying a curious-looking rifle;

blue pulses of light passed up and down its transparent

barrel.

'Meet Point-Sergeant Xelos,' Zalu said.

'Ah yes...' The Doctor gave a wry smile. 'The one who

watches a lot of telly.'

Sergeant Xelos responded by pushing the rifle into the

Doctor's hands.

'I don't use guns,' he said, pushing it back.

'You're going to have to if you want to help your

friends,' Zalu said, taking the gun himself, and forcing it

into the Doctor's possession. 'There's only one way you're

going to get the better of Xorg Krauzzen's organisation.'

'And how's that?' the Doctor asked.

'You've got to join it.'

Amy was very grateful that she didn't suffer from

claustrophobia.

It only occurred to her once she was inside the

aluminium crate that she might be in there for some time.

At first she was thrown around wildly, then everything

went still and she realised that she was on board the

transport craft. She tried to push off the lid, only to find

that it was held in place by another crate placed on top

of it. At this realisation, it was a struggle to fight down

panic. But she held her nerve, waiting tensely and quietly,

listening to the hum of a high-powered engine. Several

hours passed before she heard a clunk and felt a vibration.

She was a seasoned enough space traveller to recognise

when the craft she was riding on had made contact with

another. After a short time, there were voices, and more

rough handling.

She realised that she was being brought aboard the

aforementioned Ellipsis, almost certainly to be placed

inside a much larger cargo hold. If they pinned the lid

down here, it could be days, weeks, maybe months before

they opened it again. The first instant they set her down,

she knew she'd have to move. The crate then went still,

as though left in a corner. Amy pushed against the lid.

It lifted a crack and she peered out. As she'd envisioned,

she seemed to be on a cargo deck - its metal floor was

stacked with boxes, barrels and other metal containers. A

spiral stair rose to a catwalk overhead. There was nobody

moving. She couldn't hear anyone speaking.

She lifted the lid, and tried to clamber out, but her

limbs were cramped and numb. She dropped the lid onto

the floor, where it clattered. She fell to a crouch, her gaze

darting in all directions. There was still no sign of anybody

else. The hold was a tall, vaulted chamber, but long and

narrow. She risked standing up and looked down to its

far end, where a forklift was scuttling around and several

figures were humping items off a conveyor belt. All their

backs were to her.

She turned to run.

And found Xaaael standing behind her.

'Well, well,' he said, 'if it isn't the one who wears the

trousers in her relationships.'

'Where's Rory?' Amy snapped. 'If you've hurt him.

'What?' Xaaael chuckled. 'If we've hurt him... what?'

Amy had the urge to blurt out that maybe she couldn't

do anything, but that she had a friend who would be on

his way right now - but it didn't seem like a good idea to

warn them in advance about the Doctor. Not that there

was any guarantee the Doctor was coming. After all, he

didn't have the TARDIS.

She eyed the nearest pile of crates. A passage led

behind it, probably connecting with more passages

weaving through the stacks of cargo. It was only a metre

or so away. If she could just elude this character long

enough to...

'Uh-uh!' Xaaael said, producing a handgun from his

hip. 'You've noticed that we're not on LP9 any more.

The rules regarding ordnance don't apply here. This, for

example... This is a photon-pistol. It discharges a mass of

minuscule but energised particles, which travel at such

velocity that all matter in their path is annihilated.'

Amy knew that he was trying to frighten her. He had

her down as a tough cookie, and he was seeking to cow

her, to which there was only one response.

'So is this it?' she asked, planting hands on hips. T was

told you were a top-class criminal. But all I'm seeing is

someone who cheats in the gambling hall and points guns

at women.'

He aimed the weapon directly at her face. 'It doesn't

have to end with pointing.'

'Xaaael! ' came a voice from overhead.

They glanced up and saw a figure leaning over the

catwalk barrier.

'What's happening there?'

'We have a stowaway, my lord,' Xaaael replied.

The other man descended the spiral stair, and

approached. He moved lithely, Amy thought - with the

grace of a panther. He was wearing black vinyl boots and

trousers, but also a shirt of billowing orange silk, fixed

around his waist with a crimson sash - it was a vaguely

piratical look. His white hair was long, but hung in a

neat ponytail. Despite his cobalt eyes and silver skin, he

was startlingly handsome. His face was so smooth, so

chiselled, so finely featured that it might have been fake.

'A stowaway?' His voice was deep, resonant.

'She slipped aboard my Raptor-Bird on LP9,' Xaaael

explained.

'And you let her?'

'I've caught her now, haven't I?' Xaaael spoke defiantly,

but in the presence of this other man there was noticeably

less swagger about him.

'Let's hope she hasn't got twenty more friends you've

missed.'

'She's only got one: the human we brought from

LP9.'

'I happen to be his wife,' Amy stated.

The newcomer regarded her with interest. 'You should

have brought her originally, Xaaael. It would have made

a novel twist, a man protecting his wife.'

'I'm right in front of you!' Amy said. 'You can speak to

me, if you want to.'

But the newcomer continued to speak about her, and

what he said next chilled her to the marrow. 'Shame to

waste her on a routine hunt. We should put her in the one

after next. We can advertise more widely, and charge a

special rate for a kill of this quality.'

'What are you talking about?' she demanded. 'Why

have you brought us here?'

'Save this one till later, Xaaael. But don't put her in the

holding cells. I don't want her spoiling. Give her a job.'

'A job, my lord?'

'In the Salon. We can always use another cocktail

waitress.'

Xaaael took Amy by the wrist. 'You don't know how

lucky you are. But don't get too comfortable. Luck has a

habit of running out on the Ellipsis.'

'This is one of the old CIO Interceptors,' Zalu said, almost

proudly.

He and the Doctor were inside a hangar to the rear of

the Police HQ. In front of them sat a large, bat-winged

spacecraft. Its sleek shape and the black heatproof tile-

work with which several police engineers were carefully

covering it, reminded him of the stealth fighters used on

Earth.

'They were employed for pursuing gunrunners

operating between the Outer Rim and the Inner Rim,'

Zalu explained. 'The series was decommissioned half a

century ago. But this one's in good condition.'

'Just what I need,' the Doctor said. 'An antique.'

'I'm loaning you this vehicle because Krauzzen

probably won't recognise it.'

'Probably?'

Zalu shrugged. 'You can never be totally sure. That's

why I'm disguising it.'

Originally, the Interceptor had been white in colour

and covered with official markings. The black tiles weren't

just to resist the heat of interplanetary travel.

The basic plan was for the Doctor to pilot himself to the

Ellipsis, and, on arrival, pretend to be a wealthy playboy

looking to buy his way into the next 'fun hunt'. The Doctor

had no money of course - something which never ceased

to amaze Zalu ('How you can get around the average

supermarket, never mind the cosmos, without needing

to spend cash, is beyond me!'). So a steel briefcase sat at

his feet, containing Torodon tender to the tune of three

million par-creds, which Zalu's officers had recently

confiscated from a gang of conmen working the casinos.

The money would, in due course, need to be exhibited for

evidence, so it was imperative that the Doctor returned it

safely. There was no doubt that so much money would

be enough to persuade Krauzzen to make room for him

on the next hunt - the going rate was 500,000 par-creds

(partly refundable if you brought down sufficient 'game'

to impress Krauzzen himself). However, like all criminal

gangs, the syndicate were wary of being infiltrated by

government agents, and would demand that he prove

his credentials. This was where the transmat-rifle - the

weapon given to him by Sergeant Xelos - came in.

'This is advanced stuff,' Zalu warned the Doctor,

showing him how to prime the surprisingly light weapon.

'In fact, we're still trialling it. This one's a prototype.'

'I've already said, I don't use guns.'

'But Krauzzen and his people do, and if you want

them to trust you, you've got to at least be carrying one.'

'I don't like guns.'

'There's nothing in the transmat-rifle to dislike. It was

specifically developed to apply non-lethal force.'

Zalu put it to his shoulder, taking aim at one of the

techs working on the Interceptor. The tech noticed, but

was unconcerned. Zalu indicated the sights, which

contained a tiny frame in which a green image of the

target was emblazoned.

'Use this electroscopic sight, Doctor, and you can't

miss. But any target you hit, though it will look as if it's

been disintegrated, will actually have been teleported to

a secure police cell here on LP9.' He handed the weapon

over. 'Of course, Krauzzen won't know that.'

'Portable transmat technology,' the Doctor replied,

impressed. 'Is the transmat range good for Gorgoror?'

'It's good for the entire Outer Rim,' Zalu said. 'I'd let

you test it now, but as I say, it's still in development. It's

only capable of delivering three payloads before needing

a safety diagnostic. Discharge it after that and it may

really disintegrate its targets.'

The Doctor inspected the weapon. It had a folding

barrel, and a vinyl strap, by which it could be carried.

He slung it over his shoulder then picked up the case of

money. 'Well... a-hunting we will go.'

In the cockpit, there were arrays of complex controls.

One of Zalu's techs leaned through the open canopy and

explained some of the more difficult manoeuvres, only to

be surprised at how much the Doctor already knew.

'It's all a bit rushed,' came Zalu's voice through the

com-link. 'But I'm afraid time isn't on your side. You're

cleared for take-off, so whenever you're ready.'

'I don't often admit this,' the Doctor said, 'but I could

still use some help.'

'I'm going out on a limb doing this much for you.'

'That's another reason you were disguising the ship,

wasn't it? Deniability?'

Zalu paused, before saying: 'Let's hope it doesn't come

to that.'

The Doctor hit various switches, powering up the

hyperdrive.

'Remember, Doctor, the transmat-rifle can only be

used three times. After that, who knows what'll happen.'

'Like you said,' the Doctor replied, 'let's hope it doesn't

come to that.'

'Where are we?' Sophie whimpered, clinging to Andrei.

Their captors had herded them into a group, wielding

rods with glowing orbs at the end, which Harry had come

to think of as 'punch-sticks', given that mere contact with

one of those orbs inflicted a severe body blow. A circular

hatch slid back, and they were driven along a cylindrical

passage made from glowing fabric. As they proceeded,

they experienced suction and even weight loss. Soon

they were tumbling, unable to stop themselves. At the far

end, they crammed into a sealed chamber, before another

circular door opened and they were admitted into a

spacious area constructed from bare, pewter-coloured

metal. The atmosphere and gravity in here were normal,

though various tables and chairs had been bolted to the

floor. Further doors stood open on small, cubicle-like

compartments.

The entry slid closed behind them, and they were

alone.

'What is this?' Sophie said again, small-voiced with .

fear.

'This is the Ellipsis,' someone replied. A figure emerged

from one of the cubicles. 'A Torodon star-cruiser adapted

into a fortified residence.'

The newcomer was youngish with spiky, red hair

and a hatchet-nose. He looked pale and drawn, and was

wearing a bloodstained bandage around his brow.

Harry looked at him askance. 'Are you saying

we're...'

'Don't ask idiot questions like are we in space or have

we been abducted by aliens,' the newcomer replied. 'It's

surely obvious that's what's happened?'

'Star-cruiser?' Harry's tone suggested the mere idea

was ridiculous.

Rory eyed the burly, bearded man in front of him,

wondering if he was pretending to be stupid or if this was

his natural state.

'Who are you?' Andrei asked.

'The name's Rory Williams. I'm a prisoner. Just like

you.'

'Why've they taken us?' Dora demanded.

Rory shrugged, focusing on Andrei, and noting that he

and several others had rucksacks with them. 'You people

look like you were expecting to travel?'

'We were expecting to travel to the UK,' Andrei

explained. 'To find work.'

Rory rubbed his chin. 'So that's how they've been

doing it.'

'Doing what?' Harry asked.

Before Rory could answer, there was a pneumatic

hisss, and a section of ceiling lowered itself. Three

Torodon, including the semi-mechanical giant, Zarbotan,

were standing on it. He carried a massive Perspex trough

filled with a sludgy grey paste. The other two Torodon

were carrying punch-sticks. The elevator-pad touched

down and everyone flocked towards it, demanding

explanations.

'Silence!' Zarbotan boomed in his bell-like voice.

'Your questions will be answered in due course. In the

meantime, eat!'

He dumped the trough on a central table. Up close, the

grey sludge looked even more revolting.

'What is this stuff?' Harry asked.

'Synthetic protein,' Zarbotan replied.

'Synthetic!' Sophie said, backing away. 'I only eat

organic.'

Zarbotan was indifferent. 'It's your choice. But it will

give you energy, and energy is something you'll soon

need.' He turned back to the elevator-pad.

'Hey!' Harry said. 'You don't need my wife and

daughter. I'm the one who messed up. Take me. Surely

that'll solve this problem?' Zarbotan ignored him. Harry

ran after him, clamping a hand to his shoulder. 'Damn it,

listen to me!'

Zarbotan spun around with a speed that belied his

massive bulk, and jabbed Harry in the belly with a punch-

stick. There was a flash and crackle, and Harry was hurled

backwards, landing on the rugged metal floor as if he'd

been kicked by a horse.

'I also advise that you take no action necessitating

reprisals,' Zarbotan said. 'You will soon require the full

integrity of your bodies. Eat! You have five minutes.'

'Until what?' Dora demanded, kneeling beside her

groaning husband.

Zarbotan didn't reply. He and his sidekicks stepped

onto the elevator-pad, and it re-ascended.

'H-hey!' Harry stammered groggily. 'You... can't leave

us...' He struggled back to his feet, but their captors were

already out of reach.

Rory watched as the pad vanished through the ceiling,

slotting so perfectly into the oval aperture that a join was

scarcely visible. He turned to the table. 'We should do as

he said and try to eat something.'

'I'm not eating that slop,' Harry replied.

'Up to you, mate,' Rory said, sticking a fingertip in to

test the temperature, and, finding it lukewarm, raising

a globule to his probing tongue. It didn't just look like

mulched paper, it tasted like it. Grimacing, he selected

one of several plastic drinking-tubes which had been

inserted into the porridge around the edges of the trough.

'But think of it this way... if they were planning to kill us,

they'd hardly be feeding us.'

This made sense to Andrei, who beckoned his friends

forward. Even Sophie forgot her principled stand against

non-organic sustenance when the strong, handsome

stranger who'd become her latest rock indicated that it

might be a good idea.

Soon only Harry stood away from the trough. 'I said

I'm not eating that slop.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake, Harry!' Dora snapped, cringing

as she swallowed the vile muck. 'Why should these people

want to poison us? Come and have some - you don't

know when you'll get a chance to eat again. If nothing

else, we should play along. You know that's always best

in hostage/captor situations.'

'If we're hostages,' Harry said, 'and they think they're

going to get some kind of ransom for us, good luck to

them.'

He eyed the sorry bunch Andrei had with him: there

were five in total, ranging from the teenaged to the middle-

aged. They looked tired, frightened and bedraggled. Their

clothes were stained and dirty, their cheeks streaked with

tears.

'Even all of us together, I don't think we're worth very

much,' he added.

'That depends on who's paying,' Rory replied. 'They

didn't go to this trouble for nothing. I reckon we're worth

a tidy sum to somebody.'

Amy was surprised to find most of the interior of the Ellipsis plush and comfortable, more like an ocean liner than a

battle-scarred spacecraft manned by desperadoes. Its

galleries, companionways and stairwells were richly

carpeted and wood-panelled, and decorated at regular

intervals by large, exotic plants, which sprouted from

loam-filled stone pots, the vines of which were allowed to

grow all across the walls and ceilings; at the end of these,

curled flowers gave off changing patterns of luminous

colour. For this reason no artificial light was needed, at

least not in the communal areas.

Every so often she encountered gangs of Torodon

ruffians lounging on its balconies, or draped across the

divans in its lounges. Some were wearing maintenance

clothing, but the majority were in that voluminous silken

comfort-garb - the Japanese style apparel that she'd seen

Xaaael sporting on LP9. It appeared to be the fashion

among these mobsters to fasten their white hair tightly

- either in a ponytail or topknot, but here, on their home

base, they let it loose. Many manes were extremely long

and lustrous. Shimmering white locks hung almost to the

smalls of their backs. Amy was reminded of the samurai

culture on Earth.

There were plenty of Torodon females on board too,

but virtually all were in a servant capacity, either cleaning

or scurrying about as waitresses.

This was to be Amy's future, Xaaael said, as he led her

into what he called 'the Salon', a spacious lounge, filled

with sofas and divans, and hanging screens onto which

popular entertainments from Torodon - everything from

bizarre sports to what looked like movies - were being

beamed. At one side, there was a raised area, possibly

for live entertainment, while the other was occupied

by an extensive bar counter, which curved around one

edge of the Salon for maybe a hundred metres, and was

operated exclusively by female barkeeps. Close beside

this was a panoramic viewing port, though it didn't show

the vastness of space; rather, it was filled by the curved

outline of a planet whose surface appeared to be hidden

beneath streamers of drifting cloud - most of them yellow

or greenish grey; they looked more like scummy suds on

the surface of a pond polluted with filth. To complete the

illusion, occasional dollops of blackness were submerged

below the outer layers of atmosphere like nightmare life

forms lurking in a poisoned sea. Amy couldn't imagine

what these were, but from the Ellipsis's proximity to the

planet, she suspected it was in low orbit, and so wondered

if they might be colossal storms - tornados or hurricanes,

which had sucked up vast quantities of rubble and debris

from the planet surface.

More Torodon males littered the room. However, one.

smaller group were slightly different. Firstly, they wore

very distinctive clothing - a kind of paramilitary battle

garb, but in newish, near-pristine condition, rather than

worn and patched like the armour worn by the gangsters.

Secondly, they were keeping themselves to themselves.

There were five of them, and they were holding court in

one corner of the Salon, where they drank and laughed

together, and moved pointers around a chequerboard

marble surface, which Amy suspected was another

Torodon way of placing bets. One of them happened

to glance in her direction, and she was surprised to

recognise him. He was tall and lean, and his outfit was

patterned with black and grey tiger stripes, but his face

was definitely familiar. It was the Torodon entertainer,

Zubedai, who she'd seen down on LP9, though his

outrageous afro was absent. Presumably that was a wig,

because now he sported a cranium shaved bare except for

a small Mohawk strip.

'Those guests are no interest to you,' Xaaael said,

tightening his grip on Amy's wrist and hauling her across

the room. 'Time to meet to Madam Xagra.'

Another of the guests now saw her, however, and

crossed the Salon to intercept them. 'What's this?' he said

with interest.

He had a squat, muscular frame and wore a suit of

jet-black vinyl. His head was large and squarish, and

perched on a powerful neck. His white Torodon locks

were sheared down to bristles, and his face covered in

scars.

'A new domestic, Colonel,' Xaaael replied. 'Nothing to

get excited about.'

The 'Colonel' regarded Amy the way he would a

hearty meal. 'Seems a shame to waste an Earthling on

domestic chores. We'd get great sport chasing a handsome

specimen like this across the surface of Gorgoror.'

'Perhaps,' Xaaael said, leading Amy on. 'But not yet.'

'I'll pay extra for the opportunity.'

'That's the idea,' Xaaael said over his shoulder, to

roars of laughter.

Amy was taken behind the bar counter and along

a narrow passage into a small room cluttered with

computer terminals. In here, her hands bouncing from

one keyboard to the next, her eyes flicking from screen

to screen, was the aforementioned Madam Xagra. When

they entered, she stood up - and was without doubt the

largest female Amy had ever seen. She was almost two

metres tall, with broad shoulders and a stocky, manlike

physique. She wore a long, shapeless garment cinched

at the waist, with its sleeves rolled back to the elbows,

revealing fat forearms covered with bangles, and podgy,

silver fingers decked with jewel-encrusted rings. Her

voluminous white hair was piled on top of her head like a

Restoration-era wig, and fixed in place with steel pins. She

wore as much vivid make-up as any of the other Torodon

women, but she was neither handsome nor attractive. She

had a broad, flat nose, eyes that were too far apart, an

apelike mouth and a protruding lower jaw.

'Well,' she said, after Xaaael had explained things. Her

tone implied deep dissatisfaction, as she appraised Amy.

'You' 're pretty enough in an ordinary, unappealing sort of

way. But the first thing well have to do is get you dressed

appropriately, and have your hair coiffed so that it's the

way our men like it.'

Amy was stung, but sufficiently intimidated to keep.

a lid on it.

'My name is Xagra,' Xagra said, once Xaaael had left

them. 'I'm head housekeeper here on the Ellipsis. I have

two rules. One, my female staff will serve this ship to the

fullest extent possible, with both their minds and their

bodies. Two, they will obey my every single command as

though their life depended on it, which it probably will.

Now, my dear... I'm guessing you're here because your

family either owes money or some kind of service to Lord

Krauzzen?'

'I'm—' Amy began, but Xagra interrupted her.

'I'm not interested. We all have sad pasts here. Yours

won't make a jot of difference to me. Until such time as

your debts are paid, you are Lord Krauzzen's property

and he may do with you as he wishes. Don't be taken in

by the polite face he showed you when you arrived. And

don't be taken in by mine either.'

If these were their polite faces, Amy wondered how

they would respond if she gave them something to

complain about.

'Remember, we have life and death control over you,'

Xagra added. 'And if the situation requires, we will have

no hesitation in imposing the ultimate penalty. Do you

understand me, girl?'

Amy nodded, doing her best to maintain the frightened

rabbit act - though it wasn't too difficult.

'Good,' Xagra said. She leaned across the room, and

hit a button. 'I shall summon one of the other girls, to

show you the basics. However, I expect all my staff to be

fully conversant with their role here within half a day of

their recruitment—'

'May I ask one question?' Amy said.

Xagra looked at her askance. 'Excuse me?'

'Ma'am!' Amy hastily added. 'May I ask one question,

ma'am.'

Xagra still looked dazed by such unexpected

impudence. 'If you must.'

'What is that dreadful-looking planet we're orbiting?'

Amy nodded through the room's single porthole.

'Ah,' Xagra's brutish features formed a rictus grin

beneath her garish, pancaked make-up. 'That is the moon

of the planet Zigriz. We call it Gorgoror. It is worth you

knowing about that place, actually, if for no other reason

than to inform you that there are far worse fates than a

lifetime's servitude on the Ellipsis.'

The descent was terrifying.

With plasma rockets blazing behind them, they were

moving faster than freefall, arrowing downward in a near-

vertical trajectory. Each of the prisoners was manacled

hand and foot to his or her own upright pillar in the

rear section of the drop-ship. Rory was positioned so as

to be facing through the hatchway connecting with the

pilot's compartment, inside of which Zarbotan and two

other Torodon gangsters lazed on benches, checking and

priming pistols and rifles. A fourth sat at the controls.

'You'll feel a little gravity sickness when we first touch

down,' Zarbotan had said while they were being chained.

'It will pass shortly.'

Harry had tugged futilely at his shackles. 'Damn it,

where are you taking us?'

Zarbotan had looked him in the eye long and hard

before replying: 'Gorgoror.'

Gorgoror.

That was the name of the moon they were now

hurtling towards. Even before they punched through

its atmosphere, it had a hellish aspect: layer upon layer

of cloud and toxic vapour, which spattered the craft's

outside lenses with greasy, grainy fluid - as though filled

with char or ash. But once this smog rolled back, a true

Stygian realm was revealed. Rory craned his neck, to see

past the pilot's head. A barren wasteland met his eyes: a

ruined, blighted landscape, striated with ridges of crags

so sharp were they like rows of serrated teeth - and all

lashed by rain and howling wind. In fact, the winds were

of phenomenal strength; even at high altitude, the drop-

ship was buffeted as it descended, setting the prisoners

gasping and groaning in their chains.

Without warning, they pulled straight out of their

headlong dive and hit the horizontal. Suddenly Rory

had a better view of what awaited them. A series of

transparent domes passed by below. They were similar

in shape and size to the dome that covered LP9, yet these

were stained and filthy, and in many places broken. The

craft skimmed closely over the top of them - so close that

he could see cluttered buildings underneath, begrimed

with smoke or soot. Many were shattered, just gutted

shells, the wastelands between them strewn with rubble

and wreckage.

Harry was chained with his back to the pilot's

compartment, so he saw none of this, but he had a dear

view of Rory's face, which had paled.

'What is it?' Harry shouted.

Rory shook his head. He couldn't give voice to the fear

gnawing at his guts.

A split second later, those guts almost spilled when

the craft flipped itself over and made another precipitous

downward plunge. The rest of the prisoners shrieked.

Rory screwed his eyes shut as they descended in a

tailspin. Then - again with no warning - the craft inverted

itself. The next thing Rory knew, they were hovering.

There was an ear-punishing throb from the retro-rockets.

He glanced again into the pilot's compartment. The

view-screen had turned itself off, and the pilot was no

longer at the controls. Clearly, they were being guided in

by a computer. When they landed, it was almost gentle.

Zarbotan and his associates barged through into the

rear section. They were all wearing similar clothing: all-

in-one hooded coveralls, harnessed tightly and made from

some rubbery, two-tone material. They pulled on gauntlet

gloves stained with oil and other dark substances, before

unfastening the prisoners' manacles. There was a ghastly

prolonged squeal - the sound of hydraulics so arthritic

that they surely needed replacing - as the drop-ship's rear

ramp swung downward. A numbing cold seeped in, and

there was a stomach-churning stench: sulphur, chlorine

and other foul chemicals. Just breathing it made the nose

and throat raw.

'Outside!' Zarbotan bellowed. 'All of you!'

They complied wearily, too nauseated to argue - and

too aware of the rifles trained on them. At the foot of the

ramp, they saw that they were enclosed in a vast but

empty building. Black brick walls, running with moisture,

rose into infinite darkness. A shockingly bright arc-light

sprang to life on their left, but it only illuminated the area

where they were standing: a circular steel landing-pad,

its surface badly charred. They blinked and shivered,

huddled together amid plumes of their own smoky

breath.

Zarbotan strode to a vertical ladder, which dropped

into darkness. 'Follow me.'

They complied, his men bringing up the rear. Halfway

down, they could have stepped off onto a separate catwalk,

which led away into shadow, but Zarbotan ignored this

and proceeded to the very bottom, where he switched on

a flashlight embedded in his harness. The glow revealed

a floor of impacted mud.

'This way,' he said, striding off.

Nervously, struggling to keep their footing, the

prisoners followed. Sophie cried out as she tripped,

landing in a pool of liquid muck, which plastered the

front of her dress, and coated her hands and face. Dora

tried to help, but Sophie shrugged her off, leaving the

honour to Andrei.

'What is this place, do you think?' Harry wondered

quietly.

Rory shook his head. All around them were junked

industrial relics: ancient machinery, fallen girders. 'I don't

think it's anything any more,' he said.

'Hurry up!' Zarbotan shouted back. 'We're not here at

your convenience.'

'Let's take them?' Harry suggested.

Rory shook his head. 'I think we should play along.'

'It's dark in here. They probably can't see any better

than us.'

'They're armed.'

'Yes, but there are more of us than them. We'd have the

advantage.'

Rory grabbed him by the collar. 'You're going to get us

all killed. Why don't you stop playing the big man, and

let's see how this pans out!'

Harry pulled free, muttering something hostile, but he

continued forward, and made no attempt to do anything

else.

Zarbotan led them through a pair of large, folding

metal doors now jammed on their corroded tracks, beyond

which lay open ground. At least here they had better

vision, thanks to weak daylight filtering through the roof

of the dome. Several metres to their right, fluid trickled

downward in a glinting shaft. The pool into which it was

falling bubbled and steamed. The ground was covered

by a crust of ash and cinders, which crunched and gave

when they trod on it. The colossal heap of brick and

rotted steel from which they had just emerged looked like

the exhaust tower to some gigantic and now abandoned

underground facility. In every other direction the gaunt

ruins of similar buildings lowered.

'Go ahead!' Zarbotan said.

Sophie was halfway towards the pool of water.

'Go ahead,' he said again, but something in the way

he said it stopped her in her tracks. Filthy and humiliated

though she was, she regarded him uncertainly. 'Wash

yourself in that,' he added, 'and see what happens.'

With his half-dead face and semi-mechanical voice, it

was impossible to tell whether or not he was being serious.

The other captors looked amused. Sophie retreated

towards Andrei, who put a protective arm around her.

Zarbotan scooped up a discarded tool, a combination

of spade and pickaxe, walked towards the pool and threw

it in. The prisoners watched agog as the steel implement

dissolved like butter, melting away in thick twists of

pungent smoke.

He turned to face them. 'You're advised, during your

stay here, not to go outside these domes. There are seven

in total - they cover a petrochemical plant, a nuclear

power station, a munitions factory, a sulphur mine with

an attached labour camp, a toxic waste refinery and a

spaceport. All are derelict and lie miles apart from each

other across the exposed surface of this moon. But it's

possible to move between them underground, where

there are connecting tunnels and galleries—'

'Wait!' Harry interrupted. 'What do you mean "during

our stay here"?'

Zarbotan regarded him blankly. 'What do you think?

We've brought you here for a vacation.'

The other criminals sniggered.

'You can't just maroon us here!'

'It won't be for long,' Zarbotan replied.

'How long? Tell us, please.'

'In most cases no more than a couple of days.'

Harry almost looked relieved. 'I... don't suppose

that's too bad.'

The other criminals openly laughed. Even Zarbotan

cracked a half-smile.

'At least tell us how we can get food and water,' Andrei

said.

'You must scavenge. That's what everything else down

here does.'

'Everything else?'

Zarbotan smiled - again it only affected half of his

mouth. 'My friend, you'll be so busy trying to avoid

becoming food yourself that you won't have time to

worry about eating.'

More laughter broke from the rest of the gang.

Suddenly Rory couldn't stand it any longer. 'Why

don't you just quit this stupid game!' he said. 'These

brainless hyenas may laugh at your every word because

they're scared to death of you. But that's as far as it goes.

So let's stop pretending, eh? You're going to tell us why

we're here at some point. Why not get on with it?'

Zarbotan fixed his soulless eyes on Rory. 'As I told

you, there are seven areas in this Chase.'

'Chase?' Such a simple word, yet Rory felt as if it

realised all his worst fears.

'Use them well, and live,' Zarbotan added. 'For a

time.'

The criminals now shouldered their firearms, and

trooped back towards the exhaust-tower. The prisoners

watched in frozen silence. None of the gang looked back.

Not even Zarbotan.

'Well done!' Harry said under his breath. He rounded

on Rory. 'Well done, pal! Let's play along, you said! Let's

see how it pans out! Are you happy now?'

'At least you're alive,' Rory retorted.

'Yeah, but for how long?'

There was a grinding roar as, one by one, the drop-

ship's propulsion jets were fired, each amplified by the

interior of the vast, hollow building.

Rory shook his head. 'Looks like that'll be up to us.'

'My lord, we have a late entrant for tomorrow's hunt.'

The electronic voice issued from the Bridge computer.

It echoed across the Salon via intercom. Amy glanced up

- she was in the process of clearing empty beakers from

a table top. As Xagra had threatened, they'd changed her

appearance to suit the Torodon style. They'd spiked her

hair and filled it with rainbow colours, and had given

her a skintight cat-suit to wear, which she thought rather

fetching. Not that anybody in the Salon appeared to be

noticing her now - not even the one called Colonel, who'd

shown such unhealthy interest in her earlier.

He and the other group she'd seen gambling were

now being entertained by Krauzzen personally. He too

was placing counters on the chequerboard marble. By the

sounds of the conversation, he was discussing the odds

for the following day's big event - whatever that was

going to be.

'My lord...?' the computer voice said again.

'Yes, yes,' Krauzzen replied without interest. 'A late

entrant. How unfortunate. All the slots are filled.'

'I've told him that, lord. But he says he will pay a tidy

sum.'

'They all pay a tidy sum.'

Krauzzen's guests laughed.

'This one is quite keen. He's outside now.'

Krauzzen looked up. 'Outside?'

'He's made his own way here.'

Amy managed to suppress a surge of hope and

continued to gather the empties.

'Indeed,' Krauzzen said. 'Tell him that if he wishes

to join the next hunt, he may, but only by approaching

through correct channels. Remind him we have booking

agents on all the main leisure platforms. Remind him as

well that we don't take kindly to direct approaches of this

nature. If he doesn't vacate Ellipsis space forthwith, we'll

be forced to defend ourselves - and blow him and his

craft to atoms.'

'My lord, he insists on joining the hunt.'

'Insists?'

Amy's heart was thudding. She placed her tray down

and began to rearrange it - anything to delay having to

vacate the Salon.

'He says he will pay double the normal entry fee,' the

computer explained.

'Who is he?'

'He calls himself "the Doctor".'

Amy had to bite her lip.

Krauzzen glanced around at his guests, none of whom

seemed any the wiser. 'Patch him through.' He turned to

one of the hanging screens.

The previous image was scrambled and a new one

appeared. Amy almost laughed aloud at the grinning face

and floppy mass of unruly hair.

'Lord Krauzzen?' the Doctor said. By the gadgetry

crammed around him, he was in a spacecraft command

chair, though his boots were up on the control block,

and he held a crystal flute filled with what looked like

champagne.

'Who are you?' Krauzzen asked.

The Doctor gave this some thought, before replying:

'I'm the deadliest hunter on the Outer Rim.'

'Are you? How impressive.'

'Very impressive, I think. Or was that not a question?

Sorry.'

Krauzzen's guests exchanged amused glances. Amy

saw Xaaael enter the Salon. He'd clearly overheard the

conversation on the intercom. He approached, intrigued.

'Whoever you really are, Doctor, you're clearly a

fool,' Krauzzen said. 'That much is obvious, merely from

looking at you. But to call yourself the deadliest hunter

on the Outer Rim... I have some of our highest-scoring

clients with me now. And none of them have ever heard

of you.'

'Well, you can hardly hold me responsible for their

shortcomings, can you?'

'But I can for your own. Might I advise that you now

clear the vicinity of this vessel! Before I order my starboard

batteries to do it for me.'

Krauzzen turned from the screen.

'So it's true what they say about you, then,' the Doctor

shouted. 'That your hunts are fixed.'

'Fixed?' Krauzzen twirled back to face him.

'Fixed. Engineered. That your select band of shooters

is actually a clique of bumbling amateurs, who come to

you to have their egos massaged.'

Krauzzen's guests leaped to their feet, spluttering. The

marble board crashed to the Salon floor.

The Doctor laughed. 'Afraid of a little real competition?

Well, I guess that's understandable.'

'You're quite a speaker,' Krauzzen said, remaining

calm despite his obvious fury.

'I'm quite a marksman too.' The Doctor leaned towards

the screen. 'I bet that I can finish this hunt with a scorecard

three times higher than anyone else.'

There was an amazed silence in the Salon.

'And how much are you prepared to wager?' Krauzzen

wondered.

'Well... let's see. Your normal rule is that the winner

of each hunt, as well as claiming the prize, which is a

quarter of each player's entry fee, will also be refunded

half his own fee. So, when I win, as well as awarding me

the winning pot, you can refund my entire fee.'

'And if you don't win?'

'I'll pay you the same amount again, and a similar

amount to the actual winner.'

'Let him come aboard, my lord!' one of the other

hunters cried. 'This boy needs a lesson in humility!'

'We'll take him for every penny he has!' another

shouted.

'You must be carrying an awful lot of cash,' Krauzzen

said.

The Doctor lifted the steel briefcase into view, and

opened it, revealing wads of crisp new Torodon par-

creds, bound with metallic ribbons.

Amy watched Krauzzen's face. He remained cool,

superficially unruffled, but she could tell straightaway

that he was hooked. It was ironic, of course. The Doctor

was never motivated by money, but there were some for

whom there was no other motivation - even to the point

where it led them to risk everything they had.

The hunters also fell silent. They stared glassy-eyed at

the screen.

'What's to stop us simply taking it from you?' Krauzzen

asked.

The Doctor snapped the case closed. 'Oh, credit me

with some intelligence. I haven't come here on spec. I've

got friends on LP9 and other leisure platforms, including

legal advisers. They're all well aware of my plans, and

if I simply disappear, it won't take long for the story to

get around that you can't be trusted and that your "fun

hunts" are a farce.'

Amy waited nervously, wondering if the Doctor was

taking his brinkmanship a little too far. Men like Krauzzen

did not rule their worlds unless they were totally merciless

to their opponents. And yet could the crime boss afford to

have his reputation tarnished?

'So?' the Doctor persisted. 'Can I come aboard?'

'Do you have a written reference for me, Doctor? No

one may join the hunt without a written reference from a

former client.'

The Doctor held a leather wallet to the camera and

opened it. Krauzzen gazed at the document, puzzled.

'Xandor Konzalar? He was champion of the hunt

many times. But he died several years ago. How has it

taken you so long to come to us?'

'I've been busy, making money.' The Doctor pocketed

his psychic paper. 'I'm as much a predator in the

boardroom as I am on safari.' He gave a little snarl. 'OK,

still working on that. But you get the idea.'

Xaaael leaned towards his master's ear. 'If Konzalar

vouched for this fellow...'

Krauzzen waved him to silence, before turning to

the rest of his clients. 'It's your call, gentlemen. If this

contestant is as good as he says he is, you will have to up

your game to have a chance of winning tomorrow.'

'Let him come aboard,' Colonel Krelbin replied. 'I

always relish a challenge.'

One by one, the others grunted their acknowledgement.

They might not have liked it, but with prize money of this

sort at stake, it was not an opportunity to miss.

'Permission granted, Doctor,' Krauzzen said. 'There

are empty docking bays on the port side of the vessel.'

The Doctor smiled, and cut the communication.

Krauzzen took Xaaael to one side. 'LP9 is your

responsibility. Did you see this fellow when you were last

down there?'

'Humanoids are not too common out here,' Xaaael

said. 'I'd have noticed him.'

'He wasn't with these other Earthlings you brought

here?'

'Definitely not.'

Krauzzen paused to think. 'Then we extend him the

usual courtesy. Whoever he is, he's clearly a rich bird.

We don't want to frighten him away before we pluck his

plumage.'

Unnerved by the blighted landscape around them, Rory and

the other prisoners' initial response was to camp close to

the spot where they had been dumped, right alongside

the exhaust tower, though the drop-ship had long flown

from the top of this, drawing a green plasma flare behind

it. Once the ship had departed, the aura of their new

desolate environment seemed even bleaker. The cold

felt colder. The stench of chemical decay intensified. It

wasn't even possible to say that their eyes had adjusted

to the feeble daylight, because it was actually more like

twilight, a deep 'undersea' gloom to which human eyes

could never adjust.

Harry was still trying to take charge, but the others

were increasingly unresponsive to him, and it was plain

to Rory that Harry himself didn't realise just how out of

his depth he was. Everyone had accepted that they'd been

abducted by aliens, but Harry was under the impression

that, at the worst, this was a short-term deal and that in

two days their captors would return for them, as they had

supposedly promised.

'They never promised any such thing,' Rory said,

exasperated.

'Look,' Harry retorted, 'what would be the point in

abandoning us here? They must have something else in

mind.'

Rory had no doubt about that, but didn't see grounds

for optimism in it.

'The other thing is,' Harry said, 'they're obviously

more technologically advanced than we are.'

'So?'

'So the more advanced you are, the more civilised you

are.'

'You're an ex-cop, did you say?'

'That's right.'

'Forgive me for saying this, but you seem a bit naive.'

'Hey!' Harry's smile faded. 'Maybe I can just see the

good in people?'

Rory almost gave up talking to him at that point, but

resisted the temptation to walk away. If nothing else, they

had to stick together for safety and work as a team.

The first thing they did was cast around for pieces of

rubbish with which to make a fire. They finally got a small

blaze going, which wouldn't last long. Rory surveyed the

scene as the small group huddled around the flames. It

was like the worst kind of squatter camp: wasteland on

all sides, everyone ragged and hungry. He'd now got to

know the rest of his companions. Harry was here with

his wife and daughter, Dora and Sophie, though in some

ways he was estranged from them, particularly Sophie,

who was currently clinging to this other guy, Andrei.

Andrei appeared to be the spokesman for the other half

of the group. This included two Albanian brothers called

Miklos and Grigor; neither of them was more than 20 years

old, and neither of them could speak English. The other

members comprised an older Iraqi man named Yasin,

who was clearly ill, and his younger sister, Rukia, who

was university educated and spoke reasonable English,

but who was using all her energy and intellect trying to

assist and placate her older sibling.

'What are we going to do for food?' Harry asked

Rory.

'Has anyone got any food with them?'

Harry shrugged. 'These foreigners apparently

brought some, but they've been prisoners for days now

and there's nothing left. Zarbotan mentioned there was

wildlife, didn't he? Maybe we should set some traps, get

some spears together?'

Rory couldn't put into words what he felt about

this suggestion. Even on Earth, in the middle of a game

reserve, he doubted this worn-out ragbag of humanity

could successfully hunt. Here, they didn't even know if

the fauna was edible. Glancing at the cindery plain, at the

piles of scorched metal, and tors of twisted, tormented

rock, it seemed impossible that a fruitful ecosystem could

exist. Anything roaming this dreary vista had most likely

been imported, and Rory didn't like to imagine why.

Before he could give voice to this doubt, there was a long,

eerie call from somewhere across the wasteland.

'Look,' Sophie said, standing up and pointing.

Perhaps a hundred metres away, a figure was

approaching. Rory squinted, trying to see properly in the

gloom. The figure was bipedal, but of heavy build and

covered with a shaggy pelt. It cried out again - a ghostly, ,

ululating howl. It was coming towards them, and with

increasing speed. What was more, the closer it drew the

larger it looked - soon it was the size of a bear. Rory saw

clouds of breath issuing from its tusk-filled snout. He saw

gleaming green jewels where its eyes should be, a great,

curved horn in the middle of its forehead.

'I think we should get out of here,' he said, backing

away.

The creature gave another ear-shattering howl.

'Quickly!' Rory shouted. 'Run!'

'Back inside the landing base!' Harry cried.

'No!' Rory argued. 'Those doors are jammed open -

it'll comer us in there. Just run!'

I thought I knew every piece of artillery in the galaxy,'

Krauzzen said. 'But this is something new.'

The Doctor was standing in the Salon, surrounded by

mobsters. 'Lord' Xorg Krauzzen had introduced himself,

and was now examining the transmat-rifle.

'It's my own design,' the Doctor explained modestly.

Krauzzen handed the rifle back. His eyes looked real

enough, even if they did glint like blades, but his silver

face, though superficially smooth and handsome, was so

evidently synthetic that no emotion could easily be read

from it.

'So you're an inventor as well as a businessman?'

Krauzzen posed it as a question, but scepticism was

implicit.

'I'm all sorts of things.'

'Well, so long as your money checks out, you can be

anything you wish.'

At a table nearby, Xaaael and two others had opened

the briefcase and were counting the Torodon tender into

neat piles.

'Of course,' Krauzzen added, 'having an impressive

gun is one thing. The question is, can you use it?'

The Doctor tensed; he'd been expecting something like

this.

'Xalva!' Krauzzen called, looking to the far side of

the Salon, where another of his lackeys - a big, powerful

gangster, whose comfortable robes did little to conceal his

muscle-packed frame - was standing with arms folded.

'Xalva, you've carried out more hits for me than most this

last year. Kill this fellow.'

Xalva looked puzzled. 'My lord?'

'Kill him. He's come here to destroy us, so I want him

dead!'

There was a clattering of chairs and tables as those

gathered around the Doctor scattered in various directions.

Xalva thrust a hand into a holster and pulled out a pistol,

priming it and taking aim in one fluid movement. But the

Doctor had already put the transmat-rifle to his shoulder,

and hit the trigger. A pulse of blue energy crossed the

room in a clean, straight line, and struck Xalva dead on.

There was a glaring flash, and he vanished.

One of Krauzzen's other henchmen scuttled over.

When he returned, all he held in his hand was a pile of

charred dust. The Doctor deactivated the rifle, and slung

it over his shoulder. The gangsters wouldn't know it, but

that dust represented the air molecules in the target's

immediate vicinity, carbonised by the transmat flash.

There were awed murmurs.

Krauzzen said nothing as he gazed down at the

handful of ash.

The Doctor ran a finger around the inside of his collar.

'Sorry about that. But at least I saved you the cost of the

crematorium.'

Krauzzen appraised him coolly. Still he said nothing.

Amy now entered, carrying a tray of drinks. She

approached Krauzzen's group. The Doctor regarded her

as if she was no one, though her skintight cat-suit and

multicoloured hair was a bit of a shock. Likewise, she

gave no indication that she knew him. Krauzzen watched

their interaction carefully.

The Doctor took a drink from the tray. As Amy

moved away, he sipped delicately. That was another test

hopefully passed. However, a more difficult one was yet

to come. On cue, Xaaael rose to his feet.

'My lord, only a quarter of the money is here.'

Krauzzen turned to the Doctor, who merely

shrugged.

'The rest is on my spacecraft, and only I have the

combination code to reach it.'

Xaaael approached, looking angry. 'Your lack of trust

insults us!'

'No insult is intended, honest,' the Doctor told

Krauzzen calmly. 'Trust is great, but it must be earned.

I'm sure you understand that better than anyone?'

'You're telling us our own business?' Xaaael said,

enraged. He drew a weapon from his hip - the Doctor

noticed that, like Xalva's, it was a photon-pistol. Others

of Krauzzen's crew carried photon-rifles, which must

have been obtained originally from the Torodon military.

There were few more powerful small arms in this galaxy,

and suddenly several were aimed in his direction.

'I hate to say this, Lord Krauzzen,' the Doctor said,

'but if anything happens to me, you'll never be able to

force entry to my spacecraft. Its access port has a titanium

lock primed with a black-light micro-circuitor.'

There were intakes of breath all around the Salon.

Krauzzen held his tongue, but his eyes glinted eerily.

'Black-light?' Xaaael said, sounding stunned.

'That's right,' the Doctor replied. 'Attempt to enter my

craft, attempt to destroy it, even attempt to detach it, and

you'll blow a hole in your fuselage the size of eighty city

blocks. Which, from your docking bays, would doubtless

envelop the lower bows where your fuel cells are located.

And they contain, at a conservative estimate, a hundred

million gallons of liquid hydrogen? I doubt even a ship

the size of the Ellipsis could repair itself before everyone

on board was sucked to oblivion.'

'And if we don't believe you?' Xaaael whispered.

'Why take that chance when all you have to do is play

the game?'

'This is how you seek to make friends with us? By

blackmail?'

The Doctor turned back to Krauzzen. His tone became

harder, bleaker. 'I'm not in the business of making friends,

my lord. And neither are you. I mean no disrespect with

these precautions. We are all gamblers. Risk is part of our

profession. But we can't be blamed for attempting to stack

the odds in our favour.'

Krauzzen regarded the Doctor for silent, ice-cold

moments. His face was inscrutable, but his body rigid.

Only slowly did it relax again.

'Bravo, Doctor,' he finally said. 'It seems you are a

man after my own heart. Your impertinence knows no

bounds, but I feel we have more to gain from making

your acquaintance than we have to lose. Come, meet your

competitors.'

With more than a little relief, the Doctor was led across

the Salon. However, the first of the other hunters he was

introduced to came as a surprise.

'Xalagon Zubedai,' he said. 'Aren't you an entertainer

by trade?'

'That's my public face,' the entertainer replied.

'Privately, I'm a different person.'

'So I see.'

There were four other members of the hunting party,

and they were exactly the sort he'd expected to find

here: middle-aged Torodon males, rich men jaded by

the expensive pleasures they'd lavished on themselves.

But for all that, they weren't laggardly or unfit; they

looked hungry for action. On their home world, they'd be

powerbrokers: tycoons, politicians, captains of industry;

men whose day-to-day activities required them to be

alpha-dogs, yet who in their leisure time took this quest

for dominance to an even higher level. They carried an

assortment of weapons: everything from pulse destroyers

to pneumatic crossbows loaded with exploding arrows.

The most fearsome weapon of all looked, at first glance,

like a pump-action shotgun - it was short and blocky,

though closer inspection would reveal a high-voltage

power pack built into the underside of its gleaming black

barrel. Its owner, whose name was Xon Krelbin, though

the others referred to him as the Colonel, explained that

its function was to strike a target with an ion stream so

intensely hot that 'blood will boil, bones shatter and

internal organs rupture'.

'I call it "the Eradicator",' he said, his toothy grin

giving his scarred face a demonic countenance.

The Doctor eyed Krelbin carefully. Of them all, he

looked by far the most virile. He had a squat, compact

physique, a bull-neck and wore his white hair shaved

to flat bristles. Everything about him indicated combat

experience.

'What do you call your own weapon?' Krelbin asked,

eyeing the transmat-rifle with a strange mixture of

contempt and jealousy.

'Erm... "the Obliterator",' the Doctor said, unable to

think of anything more original.

'The problem with it, of course, is that you can't keep

trophies if you disintegrate every target.'

'Oh... I don't bother with trophies.'

Krelbin looked scornful. He rummaged in a kitbag and

brought out a garment which looked to be made entirely

from ratty, greasy hair. 'This is my hunting cape,' he said

proudly. 'It brings me luck. That's why I add to it each

time. It's comprised entirely of scalps.'

The Doctor tried to feign indifference to this vile

revelation.

'I'm just good with the knowledge of my kills,' Zubedai

put in. 'I work a tedious schedule, touring the platforms.

There are times when I simply have to get away and service

my own needs. I don't take trophies either, Doctor, but

when I'm too old to do this, I'll have a packet of memories

that no-one can ever steal from me.'

'I'm in eminent company,' the Doctor replied.

'It's good you feel that way,' Krauzzen said. 'But

remember, these are your rivals and will crush your

dreams, if you allow them. You evidently understand our

purpose, Doctor, so I won't waste time elaborating, except

to say this: there are eight targets in total.'

On the nearest screen, eight head-shots appeared. All

portrayed ordinary Earth people, though Rory was among

them. Evidently, the pictures had been taken while their

subjects were in pain.

'You tortured them?' the Doctor asked, teeth gritted.

'Indirectly,' Krauzzen said. 'These pictures were taken

during their descent to Gorgoror. It wasn't comfortable

for them. The drop-ship we use for product is an old

prison-transporter. There are one or two gravity issues,

which is what you're seeing here. Would it bother you if

I had tortured them?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'It won't be much sport if they're

in no fit state to run.'

"The stronger ones will be. But we can't be too picky

about our subjects. Earth is a good source for this kind

of material, but we can't always get top-of-the-range

product.'

'And this product is on Gorgoror now?'

'We give them a day before we pursue.'

'So they can acclimatise?'

There were chuckles from the other hunters.

'You might call it that,' Krauzzen said, 'but it's actually

more a battle to survive. We've captured predatory beasts

from various planets and released them down there.'

'Predatory beasts?'

'Inconsequential species,' Zubedai explained. 'Mere

obstacles as far as we're concerned, but a problem for the

targets.'

'And if, as a result of these inconsequential species,

the targets are dead by the time we get there?' the Doctor

wondered.

'It's amazing how often that doesn't happen,' Krauzzen

said.

'But Lord Krauzzen, if I've paid to hunt, and there's

nothing left alive...'

'That's a risk you take,' Krauzzen interrupted. 'But to

put your mind at rest... Bridge, anything happening on

Gorgoror?'

'Pursuit in progress, my lord,' the robotic intercom

replied.

'A pursuit!' Krauzzen eyed his group with interest.

'And we have ringside seats.'

On Gorgoror, the fleeing fugitives had found reserves of strength they hadn't previously known. Unfortunately, the raging,

bloodthirsty beast in pursuit wasn't tiring either. It was

about fifty metres behind them, bounding on all fours to

increase its speed, when they reached the next cluster of

gutted buildings. They scrambled, gasping, through the

first entrance they came to, only to find themselves in

a chaotic mesh of fallen girders and blackened timbers.

Desperate and breathless, they fought their way through.

When the creature entered behind them, it gave a mighty

roar and, with Herculean strength, began smashing the

impediments aside.

Harry took one glance over his shoulder and he knew

they weren't going to make it if they just kept running.

Close by, a narrow ramp led upward. 'Dora!' He grabbed

her wrist. 'This way!'

She peered up in disbelief. Whatever this ramp was,

it looked rickety, unsupported by scaffolding of any sort,

and was terrifyingly steep.

'We know this thing can outrun us,' Harry stammered.

'But can it out-climb us?'

'You can't be serious!'

'I'm perfectly serious.' He spun around. 'Sophie,

where are you?'

There were too many bodies trying to scramble

through and over the beams and rubble, for him to get

an immediate fix on his daughter. When she suddenly

appeared in front of him: she was white-faced, her hair in

disarray, her cheeks still smeared with mud.

'We're going up,' he said, trying to grab her.

'What?'

With another howl, the pursuing beast hurled a girder

out of its way. It was so close they could feel the heat from

it, could smell its rancid breath.

'I'm not going up there,' Sophie said, yanking her

hand free.

'Sophie, you'll do as I tell you!'

She shook her head dumbly. 'You don't know what

you're talking about.'

'Sophie!' he pleaded.

'No!' she screamed. 'You're wrong! You're always

wrong!'

She turned and fled with the others, tripping over a

cable protruding from the concrete floor. Harry wanted

to lurch after her, to help her. But Andrei did that for him,

hauling the girl to her feet and running, both of them

vanishing through the fallen wreckage. Fleetingly, Harry

wondered if maybe he had made another mistake. But it

was too late to change his strategy now. The others had

gone and only he and Dora were left.

He pushed her towards the foot of the ramp - she

objected wildly, struggling with him, crying out her

daughter's name. He knew there was no time to argue,

and propelled her upward. The ramp was of trellised

steel, and rusty and greasy with moisture. They fell

constantly, barking their elbows, knees and shins. Dora

was still shouting and weeping, even when they were

about nine metres up. But now the monster had halted

at the foot of the ramp, breathing hoarsely. Clearly it was

torn between targets. In the end it opted for the one it felt

would be easier - Harry and Dora.

When they realised this, they climbed desperately,

Dora as eager as her husband. But the ascent was

steepening, and they were already exhausted. When the

monster started up, there was a clattering and groaning as

metal joints warped and tore.

'We're going to die!' Dora wailed.

'No we're not!'

At twenty-four metres up, they reached a platform

with a catwalk leading away, bridging the cavernous

interior. Harry tried to drag his wife forward, but again

she resisted.

'No!' she squawked. 'That thing will collapse. Well

fall to our deaths!'

The monster clambered up behind them, grunting and

groaning from its own efforts. The entire structure now

shook.

'This whole thing is going to collapse!' Harry said.

'Look what you've brought us to!' his wife wept.

And then another voice intruded. 'Harry, over here!'

On the far side of the catwalk, Harry saw another

ramp ascending and connecting with an aperture in the

building's wall. A figure was standing in that aperture,

waving frantically. It was Rory.

'Over here!' Rory shouted. 'That bridge will hold! I've

just crossed it.'

Harry took Dora by the hand, and they proceeded

across. Behind them, the monster reached the platform,

and bounded in pursuit.

The flickering screen showed two people struggling up

the steep metal ramp, and a third, Rory, scrambling down

it to try and assist them. The ramp was so flimsy that it

swayed beneath their weight.

'The entertainment in this place never ends,' the Doctor

said, biting his lip.

'We have audio and visual censors installed in

most sections of the Chase,' Krauzzen replied. 'For the

protection of our clients, obviously.'

'Obviously.'

On screen, a fourth figure appeared, a hulking brute

covered in coarse black hair, lumbering up the ramp.

Briefly, a jutting snout and curved horn were visible. The

Doctor recognised it immediately.

'Things aren't looking good for these three,' Krelbin

said dispassionately. 'That's a moon-buck from the planet

Peladon. They're placid if treated properly, but this one is

probably starving.'

'Save yourself,' came a panting voice from the screen.

It was the older man, addressing Rory. 'You didn't need

to come back for us... Go, run!'

'And this is what we do?' the Doctor said. 'Watch them

die? Even though we've paid for the privilege of hunting

them ourselves.'

'Sometimes, Doctor, yes.' Krauzzen took a drink from

a tray; thankfully, this waitress was not Amy. 'Hopefully

their colleagues watch them die as well, and it serves as

a salutary lesson that, if nothing else, on Gorgoror they

must keep running. Always running. Never stopping.'

Rory had now detached himself from the other two,

and climbed back up the last couple of metres of ramp

on his own. He vanished into a tunnel mouth, only to

reappear pushing a huge wooden crate. The other two

humans slid past it, and he pushed it down the ramp.

It hadn't gained much speed before it crashed into the

moon-buck.

The monster was big enough to ride out the blow,

though it had to rear up on two legs and almost

overbalanced. As the crate spun down into the dimness, it

continued up, only for Rory to send a second crate down

towards it, and the bearded man to send a third. The

monster reared again, but the second crate was turning

end-over-end, and struck it full in the chest. It tottered

backwards, its clawed hind-feet struggling to grip the

slippery metal. The third crate slammed into its legs and

swept them from beneath it. The moon-buck fell heavily

down the ramp, before sliding over the side and dropping

into the wreckage far below, where a spear of jagged

metal pierced its torso, leaving it hanging like a fish on a

skewer. Rory and his friends stared down wearily, before

hurrying out of sight into the tunnel.

'Poor Aggedor,' the Doctor said under his breath.

'What's that?' Krelbin wondered.

'Just thinking aloud.'

'I take it you're impressed?' Krauzzen said. 'You

should be. These scrag-ends of human society, these

nobodies who their own civilisation has forgotten, can

fight for their lives if they're frightened enough. It won't

be easy when you get down there.'

Amy now appeared at the Doctor's shoulder. She

ignored him when he glanced at her, and collected the

latest round of empties. He handed the last one to her

purposely. She didn't acknowledge this. Nor did she

acknowledge the tiny fold of paper he'd slipped into the

palm of her hand. Only when she was back in the kitchen

area, and able to steal away from her fellow waitresses

for a second, did she open it up. Inside it was the TARDIS

key. There was also a message written in scruffy pencil.

It read:

Off to Gorgoror. Find TARDIS. Hugs.

Amy's quarters could have been worse. She shared a bare metal

cabin with four other girls, but all had separate bunks

and lockers, and the room was air-conditioned. To her

surprise, the other girls were friendly and welcoming,

adopting the attitude that they were all in this together

and had to make the best of things. By the same token,

Madam Xagra's bark turned out to be worse than her bite.

She had a fondness for making speeches, but most of the

rest of the time she was content to delegate duties while

she slouched in the swivel chair in her control capsule,

though she maintained a presence in other sections of the

ship by use of a 'travelling-eye' - a small golden globe,

the size of a tennis ball, which whipped through the

air at great speed, and through which she could deliver

instructions and reprimands.

The work itself was arduous in that it was repetitive.

When they weren't serving in the Salon, they were

cleaning. They would move in groups around the endless

galleries and companionways, going over the same

ground again and again. Amy was teamed with a young

Torodon called Xendra, who was as extravagantly made

up as all the other girls, but carried it off well. Her hair

was an immense spray of green and purple, her lips

bright pink, and she wore vivid slashes of vermillion

eye-shadow. Her clingy dress was an off-the-shoulder

number which ended at mid-thigh, but suited her petite

figure. It seemed ludicrous that they were both dressed as

if going nightclubbing, and yet spent their time mopping

and polishing until their joints ached. But that was the

way of life on board the Ellipsis.

'Why has an Earthling like you been favoured?' Xendra

asked, as they worked.

'Favoured?' Amy replied.

'Normally you'd be on Gorgoror by now.'

'I suspect I will be at some point.'

'How do you come to be on the Outer Rim?'

'A gambling debt, would you believe.'

'There's a familiar story,' Xendra said. 'My father's a

gambling man too. He's a rigger on one of the refineries,

but anything he earns he gambles. He was on LP6. We

all were - it was a family holiday. But father couldn't

resist the gaming tables. When he'd lost everything, he

borrowed money from one of Lord Krauzzen's loan

sharks. Needless to say, there was massive interest

attached. I'm now working off what he owes. I think I'll

be here for a long time yet.'

'You don't sound very upset,' Amy said.

'It's a woman's place to serve. At least here we get bed

and board. There are many worse duties we could have

been put to.'

'Xendra, there must be a way to get off this ship.'

'What would be the point? They know who my family

are. Even if it was possible for me to run away, they'd re-

impose the debt on father. They have all kinds of ways to

get what they're owed, trust me.'

Xendra suddenly sensed a presence and got vigorously

back to her work. Amy glanced over her shoulder as Xaaael

passed them by. He gave her an unpleasant lopsided grin,

but he didn't stop to make conversation.

'Watch what you say when he's around,' Xendra

hissed.

'It's because of him that I'm here.'

'He's one of the worst of them. He's Lord Krauzzen's

underling, but he hates being subservient to anyone. Hell

never rise while Krauzzen runs the syndicate, but he isn't

respected enough to stage a revolt on his own. The real

downside is that he takes all his frustrations out on us.

He's in a good mood at present, but believe me, there

are times when he can be a nightmare. You need to be

particularly careful because you're not Torodon. There

are no laws protecting you.'

An hour later, they were despatched to the spaceship's

Engineering section, on one of the lower decks. This was

the most functional area that Amy had seen. Catwalks

passed through web-works of steel ducts and thick rubber

cables, or between banks of exposed circuitry, with only

mesh grilles to prevent accidental contact. Here and

there were command points, where Torodon engineers

stood on raised platforms operating freestanding control

terminals. The area smelled strongly of oil and engine

grease, though again it had to be spotlessly clean.

They worked the catwalks, using a vacuum cylinder

to suck up dust, but if any fragments proved stubborn,

employing a simple dustpan and brush.

'How close are we here to the cargo store?' Amy

asked.

Xendra eyed her warily. 'You're not still thinking of

escaping?'

'I have some property I'd like to retrieve.'

'We menials have no access to the cargo store. Ever.'

'Why not?'

'Why do you think? It's full of contraband and stolen

goods. Personally, I'm glad it's locked. If one of us

was caught pilfering, I don't like to think what might

happen.'

'Xendra, this is nonsense. I saw the cargo store when

I arrived here. There were no locked doors. There was no

security, nothing.'

'You saw the storage section of the loading bay. Your

goods will have been moved to the Secure Hold by now.'

'How do I reach the Secure Hold?'

'It's not too far from here. It's close to the repair shops,

down a long green passage. But you'll never get into it. It

has a single door so strong that an army couldn't break

through. Most of Lord Krauzzen's men have no access

either. He trusts them even less than us.'

'Someone must be able to get in there?'

'His senior officers can. Xaaael, for one.

'I see.'

Xendra suddenly looked scared. 'What are you

planning now?'

'Lord Xaaael likes me. He smiles whenever he passes

me.' 'Don't be foolish. He smiles because he knows he can

do anything he wants to you. And some day he might.'

'I'll take that chance.'

'No property could be worth such a risk.'

'This property is.' Amy took Xendra's hand in hers - it

was trembling, so she gripped it tightly. 'If I can retrieve

this item, Xendra, it will solve all our problems.'

There was an air of excitement as the hunters, now fully kitted out, gathered in the boarding area. Attached to Colonel

Krelbin's belt was the deadliest-looking knife the Doctor

had ever seen - the length and breadth of a machete, but

razor-edged and tapered at its tip to a vicious point. No

doubt this was the tool with which he'd assembled the

components of the hunting-cape he was now wearing.

'May the best man win!' Zubedai said, offering sips

from his hipflask.

His tiger-striped fatigues had been complemented by

an open-faced helmet with a black visor, and a breathing

mask attached to an oxygen cylinder on his back.

Before anyone could respond to this toast, Krauzzen

arrived with eight of his henchmen. All wore hooded

coveralls, tightly harnessed and made from greenish,

rubbery material.

'Zarbotan, you're in charge here,' Krauzzen said to

someone the Doctor hadn't seen until now, though he

remembered the name. The newcomer stood more than

two metres tall, and his hard, angular shape implied that

he was at least partly mechanical. But his face was his most

macabre feature. It looked to have been patched together

from the fragments of two other faces. ' I'll be operating

the Observation Booth,' Krauzzen told him. 'Maintain full

communications. But if anyone gives you a problem, you

have my permission to deal with them as you see fit.'

The disfigured giant nodded.

Krauzzen turned to the rest of them. 'After you,

gentlemen.'

Compared to the drop-ship reserved for 'product',

the drop-ship for the hunting party was the last word

in comfort. It was spacious and airy, and contained

restful, reclining seats. There was even a bar area, and

two waitresses on hand to provide a stewardess service.

Through one of several viewing ports, the Doctor was

able to assess the Ellipsis as they tilted away from it. It was huge of course, and in shape was curved like a crescent

moon lying flat. But it was burned and scarred all over,

as if it had seen many battles. Plenty of exterior weaponry

was visible, while numerous shuttle, transport and fighter

craft, minute in comparison, were clustered along its

many docking ports. The Ellipsis itself was dwarfed by

Zigriz, the eggshell-coloured gas giant lowering behind

it, blotting out most of space.

'Enjoying the view?' Krauzzen asked.

'The Outer Rim has many wonders,' the Doctor replied.

'It's no surprise you make this your home.'

'Temporary home,' Krauzzen corrected him. 'The

Ellipsis has been in orbit around Gorgoror for several

years, but our interstellar thrust is in perfect order. There

may come a time when I feel the urge to move on.'

'Not too soon though, eh?' one of the others shouted.

'The Colonel may dominate the scoring at present, but

I've a mind to wrest that title from him in due course.'

You'll have plenty opportunities yet, Krillig,' Krauzzen

replied.

Descending through Gorgoror's turbulent atmosphere,

a furious storm buffeted the craft, and each passenger was

forced to belt himself in. At last, however, they slipped

through a crevice in the roof of one of the planetoid's

vast domes, and entered a massive black-brick structure.

They disembarked onto a landing pad scarred by retro-

rocket bursts. By the glare of a powerful arc-light, they

climbed down a vertical ladder, stepping onto a separate

catwalk, which led to a closed slide-door. Krauzzen

tapped in a combination, and the door slid open revealing

a snug interior, crammed with monitors and other

instrumentation, but warm and lit by a dull, reddish light.

Once inside, Krauzzen's men relaxed, pulling up chairs

and commencing work on various control panels. The

hunting party primed their weapons.

'The last word from the Bridge, gentlemen, is that all

eight targets are alive,' Krauzzen said. 'Though they have

split into two groups, one of which has been sighted near

the prison. The other is headed for the power plant.'

'Hardly seems sporting,' the Doctor said. 'A heads-up

like this.'

'The Gorgoror Chase covers hundreds of square-

miles,' Krauzzen replied. 'I haven't an infinite amount of

spare time on my hands, even if you have. Speaking of

which, as this is your first time here -' He took something

from a locker; it looked like a space helmet - 'I'd advise

you to wear this vision-helm. You can call a variety of

charts and maps onto the inside of the visor.'

The Doctor waved the item away. 'I studied the

schematics on board the Ellipsis last night. I won't need

this.'

'Are you mad?' Zubedai asked him.

'No one else is wearing one.'

'Because they don't need to,' Krauzzen said. 'They've

been here many times.'

'That gives them an advantage,' the Doctor admitted.

'But my superior skills give me one. It all balances out in

the end.'

'You're possessed of soaring confidence, Doctor,'

Krelbin sneered. 'I'll say that for you. I see you're not even

wearing protective clothing.'

'That would slow me down, and I prize my agility. Mr

Agile - that's me.'

'If you do find you run into trouble,' Krauzzen said,

'remember that we have eyes and ears all over the

complex. You need only shout. In truth, you may not

even need to do that. You'll never know when we might

be watching you.'

The creature was composed entirely of viscous, translucent

ooze.

Its body reared up in front of them - if it could really

be called a body - so that it filled the entire subterranean

passage. It was little more in truth than a shapeless,

malleable blob, but it had a revolting, fish-like stench

and it gave off a shimmering, green light, which revealed

innards cluttered with half-dissolved human bones. It

rolled towards them along the passage like a slow-motion

wave, liquid-light patterns playing across the roof and

walls as it drew closer.

Dora had shrieked as soon as she'd seen it. She was

still shrieking now, instead of turning to run. Harry didn't

react much more sensibly, wrapping his arms around her

in a futile attempt at protection.

'This way,' Rory cried, yanking them both backwards

They stumbled away. The hellish thing pursued, but

it moved ponderously. Rory glanced back once, seeing

its immense, jellified bulk filling the passage for several

dozen metres.

On venturing down to the lower levels via an escalated

staircase, they'd entered a warren of tunnels and culverts,

all half-buried in rubble. Progress was agonisingly slow.

Initially they hadn't worried too much about that, because

they had no idea where they were supposed to be going

anyway, but now with a predator on their trail, it was

easy to panic.

'We have to get out of here,' Dora wept, as they turned

corner after corner, but always found more stretches of

derelict conduit ahead.

'I'll fix this,' Harry tried to reassure her, at which she

thumped his chest angrily.

'How are you going to fix it, Harry? I bet you don't

even know how you got us into this, do you? And where's

Sophie? What kind of danger is our daughter in at this

moment? Are you going to fix it for her?'

'This way!' Rory shouted. He'd scouted a few metres

ahead, and now came running back. 'There's an old shaft

leading up.'

The entrance to the shaft was littered with broken

bricks, though steel cables were dangling down it, and

on one side there was a set of rungs embedded into the

concrete. Arm over aching arm, they ascended, their wet,

ragged clothes clinging like second skins. The next level

was a tiled passage with steel doors down either side.

Some of these stood open on tiny cement cells.

'Looks like a prison,' Harry said.

'I think you're right,' Rory replied. 'I heard something

about the Torodon using convict labour.'

Harry mopped sweat from his grimy brow. 'Could be

useful. Where there's a prison, there are weapons.'

Dora gazed at him with weary disbelief. 'What are you

talking about?'

'Prisoners are always stockpiling weapons. It's a gang

culture thing.'

Rory was thoughtful. 'The Doctor mentioned there

was rioting here.'

'Who's the Doctor?' Harry asked.

'Just a friend.'

'For heaven's sake!' Dora interjected. 'If there are any

weapons, they'll be sticks and stones. What good is that

going to do?'

'It's better than nothing,' Rory said. 'There might even

be a protected area where we can hold out. Come on!'

'How fascinating,' the Doctor said, gazing at the blob of

vitreous material unfolding along the passage towards

them. 'That's an oggle. From Gigantia's sea of dust.'

'How fascinating,' Krelbin agreed, lifting his Eradicator

to his shoulder.

'I thought these imported life forms were just

obstacles,' the Doctor said. 'I wasn't aware we got points

for shooting them.'

'We don't.' Krelbin took aim. 'But it's in our way.'

'Hadn't thought of that.' The Doctor raised his

transmat-rifle and fired first. The electric-blue beam

rocketed along the dingy passage, engulfing the glutinous

monstrosity in a glaring flash. A second later, the passage

was clear.

Krelbin lowered his weapon, his lips taut with

annoyance. The Doctor hadn't cost him points, but he'd

cost him a kill, and where Colonel Krelbin was concerned

that was much the same thing.

The Doctor, meanwhile, was wondering if it had been a

rash act, saving the oggle's life. It was a simple, amoeboid

creature, with no real awareness. He hadn't wanted to see

it eradicated, but the net result was that he'd used up his

second charge. He could now only fire the rifle one more

time.

'Krauzzen was right,' Zubedai said from behind, he

and a couple of the other hunters catching up with them.

He lifted his laser-sighted visor. 'The targets have divided

into two groups. The larger group is headed for the power

plant.'

'In which case we should divide our forces,' the Doctor

said. 'I'm going to stick with this smaller group. Good

luck to the rest of you.'

Zubedai looked surprised. 'You'll blow any chance for

high scoring.'

'You can keep it.' The Doctor took aim at an imaginary

quarry. 'For me, it's all about the hunter and his prey.

Skill and cunning, tracking and hunting, ducking and

weaving. Whatever. A one-on-one contest suits me just

as well.'

'I'm sure it does,' Krelbin said. 'Except that the tracks

suggest there are three in this smaller group. I wouldn't

want even a braggart like you to be overwhelmed.' His

sweaty, scarred face gleamed with malice. 'So I'll stay

with you.'

Zubedai and his party retreated into the darkness, and

the Doctor and Krelbin proceeded alone. Krelbin did most

of the tracking, his practised eye detecting minute clues:

a footprint on the edge of a mouldy brick, a fragment of

rust knocked from a jutting pipe. That made him useful,

though he was also, of course, a big problem. The Doctor

had no idea which party Rory was now with. He'd opted

to follow the smaller group because he'd been hoping to

shake off the rest of the hunters. He hadn't counted on

Krelbin accompanying him.

'In case you were wondering,' Krelbin said as they

scrambled up a derelict shaft. 'Zubedai and the others

are no loss. I'm sure you've realised they're nothing more

than bored billionaires, weekend warriors who've no idea

what constitutes a fine kill.' He clambered out onto the

next level, a dim passage that looked like part of a prison.

'Zubedai is the most pathetic. He actually believes that

his life is stressful.'

'Actually, Colonel,' the Doctor replied, 'I'm more

interested in you. It's surprising that a real soldier draws any satisfaction from facing unarmed opponents.'

Krelbin advanced, scanning the floor. 'We're between

wars, Doctor, or hadn't you noticed? My regiment has

been in garrison for several years, and it's mindlessly

frustrating.'

'Did you know Lord Krauzzen in the military?'

'Lord Krauzzen?' Krelbin scoffed. 'I love the way these

gangland figures adopt aristocratic titles.'

'But did you?'

'Never had dealings with him before this venture. I

was in the Galactic Marine Corps. He and that maniac

sidekick of his, Zarbotan, were SAB - elite commandos,

constantly in action. They must be proud of the career

paths they're following now.'

'If you dislike them so much, why are you cooperating

with them?'

'They're a necessary evil. I need to keep in trim. But at

some point Torodon will be fighting a real enemy again,

and we should wipe out these space vermin at the same

time.'

You aren't afraid they'll overhear you?'

'This is the Prison of Gorgoror, Doctor. These lower

sections are vaulted with lead and reinforced concrete.

There are no cameras down here, and no audio censors

can penetrate.'

The Doctor wasn't sure about that, and neither, he

suspected, was Colonel Krelbin, though clearly he didn't

care. Krelbin had huge confidence in his own ability to

wreak destruction, and probably with good reason.

They ascended another two levels, occasionally

delaying to check for tracks, but eventually found

themselves back among surface buildings. Much caging

was in evidence: bars on windows, bars across doors.

Some rooms were blackened shells.

'There was trouble here,' the Doctor said.

'There was always trouble in these off-world prisons.

Criminal scum thought they had a right to an easy life.

And the authorities' response, eventually, was to let

them.'

'You'd have had a different solution, I imagine?'

'Show trials for the ringleaders, followed by public

executions. Even harder labour for all the others. I'd teach

them the price of transgressing Torodon law.'

Colonel Krelbin's inability to apply this 'moral' sense

to his own behaviour might have amused the Doctor had

it not frightened him. If he hadn't realised before that he

was stuck here with a madman, he certainly did now.

Before he could ponder this predicament further, he

saw something that brought him to a halt. They'd reached

an intersection, but the left-hand passage had been marked

on its facing wall with what looked, at first glance, like a

smiling mouth drawn in charcoal. The Doctor recognised

it as representing a crack in reality - which meant that

Rory was the artist.

'Something interesting?' Krelbin asked.

'No, not really.' The Doctor pointed left. 'I suggest this

way.'

'That only leads to the quarries and the work camp.'

'You can go another way, if you want.'

'No, well stick together. But this symbol on the wall -

does it mean something?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Prison graffiti, I imagine.'

Krelbin regarded him coolly. 'I'll stick with you,

Doctor, but I hope you aren't holding out on me. I'd hate

to think you're not the friend you claim to be.'

'Well, Colonel,' the Doctor winked, 'having heard your

true feelings about our fellow hunters, I guess you know

all there is about false friends.' He set off walking.

Krelbin followed, his mouth curved in a silent snarl.

Rory aid Harry were staggered by what lay in front of them.

They'd emerged from a series of gutted rooms, only

to find themselves teetering on the edge of a titanic gorge

criss-crossed at various levels by metal skywalks. Some

of these looked to be bearing railway lines - like 'mineral

lines' on Earth - though many of their supports had

rotted away, and they were sagging or, in some cases,

had collapsed completely. The floor of the gorge was

dotted with the rusted relics of digging machinery and

the shells of bumed-out works buildings; the walls were

pockmarked with what looked like manmade tunnel

entrances.

They stood in respectful silence. Only Dora seemed

unimpressed. She was pale as milk and shaking, as she

leaned against a stone buttress. Harry finally noticed.

'You all right?' he asked.

She mumbled inaudibly.

'Rory... Something's wrong with Dora!'

Rory looked her over. 'Delayed shock,' he said. 'She

needs rest. But not here.' He pointed to the far side of the

gorge, where, perched on a parapet, there was something

that looked like a medieval castle, though it had been

made from plates of riveted steel. 'If that's where the

inmates were billeted. We might be able to make it secure.

Just till help arrives.'

'You're sure help will arrive?'

'I'm certain,' Rory said. He turned to the door behind

them, took the lump of charcoal from his pocket and again

inscribed a jagged mouth.

'What is that sign?' Harry asked. 'You've made it

several times now.'

'It might just be our salvation. Let's find a way over

there.'

They'd emerged onto a narrow ledge. It had a safety

barrier, though in parts this had broken away, so they

stayed well clear of the parapet, beyond which there

was a drop of several hundred metres. They moved in

single file, Dora stumbling between the two men. Every

so often they came to a doorway. Glancing through, they

saw the interiors of old machine houses or storage areas -

bare and damp, with broken hinges hanging from walls,

struts of metal jutting up where appliances had once been

connected. In one, there was a line of hooks with what

looked like biohazard suits hanging from them, alongside

a row of upright steel containers.

'Lockers,' Harry said, entering and opening a couple,

only to find them empty. 'Damn! Thought there might be

something we could use.'

They went back outside - and stopped dead.

Down on the canyon floor, there was a scurrying

motion. Neither man said a word as he focused on a fast-

moving, insect-like object. It had six jointed legs, which

moved in a blur. Even from this distance, they could

see light glinting from its shiny, red and black striped

carapace.

'What on earth...?' Harry said slowly.

'Nothing on Earth,' Rory replied. 'But it must be the

size of a tank.'

'It moves like one, too. Only faster.'

Whatever the insect was - and it WAS an insect, for they could now see its antennae twitching - it raced along the

gorge at astonishing speed, scampering over obstacles

with no difficulty.

'Is it my imagination or is it coming this way?' Harry

said.

'I wish it was your imagination,' Rory said, spinning

around. Maybe fifty metres ahead, the ledge projected

further out via a manmade concrete lip, which was braced

underneath with colossal girders. There looked to be a

line of vehicles on top of it. It was possibly a terminus for

one of the mineral lines.

"This way!' he shouted.

'Rory!'

Dora had suddenly collapsed into Harry's arms - she

seemed catatonic. White-faced with fright, he peered into

the gorge; the insect horror had reached the foot of the

cliff wall, and was now ascending.

'If we try and carry her, we're done for,' Rory said,

darting into the room where the lockers were contained

and opening one. 'In here.'

'We're leaving her behind?' Harry said, incredulous.

'Concealing her. We'll distract it, try to lure it away.'

Harry might have objected further, but he knew there

was no time. They manhandled the unconscious woman

into the container, closed its door and rushed back outside.

A quick glance over the parapet revealed that the insect

was less than thirty metres below, and climbing swiftly.

They raced along the ledge to the concrete lip, which

they saw was indeed a kind of siding where wheeled

tubs, presumably designed to carry ore and raw minerals,

were stored. One was seated at the head of a track, which

dipped down across the gorge like a roller-coaster ride.

The insect had now reached the ledge, almost exactly

at the point where the door gave through to the locker

room. It surmounted the safety barrier, but then halted. Its

head lolled from side to side, as its antennae twitched.

'It's going to find her,' Harry moaned.

Rory assessed the truck sitting on the railway track. It

was a simple affair, designed to be pushed or pulled. The

only thing preventing it rolling down the steep track was

a brake at its rear, which was currently locked.

'Harry, get into this!'

'What?'

'Just do it!' Rory grabbed a lump of shale and bowled

it, cricket-ball style, at the insect, striking it on the eye. It

swung towards them, and advanced.

Rory spun back to the truck, climbing onto its rear

section and kicking at the brake. Harry jumped up

alongside him, scrambling into the tub, finding it half-

filled with rubble and water.

The truck remained stationary.

Rory leaped down again, looking beneath the vehicle

to see if something was obstructing it. There was nothing

there, but the undercarriage was eaten with rust.

Behind him, a demonic chittering sound grew steadily

louder.

'Rory!' Harry bellowed.

Rory braced himself against the truck's rugged

bodywork, and gave it a massive shove. It moved

slightly.

'We've got to run!' Harry said, half climbing out

again.

Rory's shout was a gunshot. 'Stay there! Heee.. .aaave!'

The truck shifted forward again, with a squeal of

corroded metal. The chittering sound now rang in their

ears.

'Rory, it's too late!'

'One more!' Rory spat through gritted teeth.

He threw himself against the truck, his grimacing

face a mask of sweat. The chains of rust gave, and the

truck moved properly. Rory felt the ground slip from

beneath his feet, but dragged himself up and charged at

the vehicle again, bending his back as he slammed into it,

arms outspread. The truck picked up momentum, rolling

freely along the lines. Gravity started to lend a hand.

Harry shouted hysterically as he fixed on what was close

behind them. Rory now had to run just to keep up, but

when he felt the tracks vibrate beneath him as six giant

feet came pounding in pursuit, it was all the impetus he

needed.

He flung himself forward, hooking his elbows over

the truck's rim - just as it began to barrel downhill. Harry

leaned over and, grabbing him by the belt, pulled him

in. They now sped over a vast chasm, but the pursuing

monster was still in touch. Rory, lying in the bilge at the

bottom of the tub, looked up and saw a grotesque shape

land on the back of the truck. Harry shouted madly.

This close, the insect-thing was almost too much to

comprehend. A pair of bulbous, multifaceted eyes burned

crimson. Mandibles large enough to masticate human

bone snapped open, strands of sticky digestive fluid

dangling between them. Rory was half-paralysed with

fright as the thing reached a tapering, bony feeler over

the rim towards him.

Then something heavy and metallic swept down

and dealt it a terrific blow in the face. It was Harry. He

was standing up in the truck with what looked like an

old shovel. He struck it in the face again, a massive two-

handed blow, but the monster clung on. Harry hit it a

third time and a fourth, making savage impact on each

occasion - but to no avail. It drew itself further over the

rim, but now Rory joined the attack, grabbing hunks of

rubble from the bottom of the tub and smashing them on

its skull. Still it clambered in, its burning eyes hypnotic.

'Hack it!' Rory shouted hoarsely. 'Cut it! Like with an

axe!'

Harry understood and swung the blade edge-on.

Rough and blunt as it was, the first blow alone split the

thing's carapace, black humours spurting out.

Suddenly the thing's grip was precarious. The second

chop followed the first into the same wound, opening up

a hideous breach. A flood of corruption burst out, and,

with its antennae twitching madly, the monster fell back

from the vehicle, tumbling along the track and vanishing

into the gulf below.

The wagon jolted over some fault in the line, and

Harry crashed down on top of Rory, squashing the breath

from him. The truck careered downhill, working its way

along the network of tracks, turning sharply as it racketed

through points systems, banking around curves, steadily

gaining speed. All the way, Rory and Harry lay senseless,

completely oblivious to the danger.

It's kill or be killed on Gorgoror,' a gangster commented.

Two of them were watching a screen in the Salon on the

Ellipsis. They'd been channel-hopping through a variety

of images from the surface, finally settling on the labour

camp. The drama unfolding there now seemed to have

ended, and the mineral truck on which the two humans

had narrowly evaded death was negotiating its way to the

bottom of the gorge.

'Turn that off!' Xaaael said irritably. He was seated

at a nearby table, playing himself at a game of Knight &

Sword.

The other two exchanged knowing grins. They knew

what irked him. Lord Krauzzen had taken personal charge

of the Observation Booth on the surface but, instead of

trusting the Ellipsis to his nominal second-in-command,

had given it to his bodyguard and chief enforcer, Zarbotan

- someone Xaaael regarded as a brute thug with no finesse.

They sauntered away, leaving him brooding.

'What's the matter, Lord Xaaael?' someone else asked.

'Will no one will play you because they know what a

cheat you are?'

Xaaael glared up. Amy was collecting empties from

the surrounding tables.

'Hold your tongue, girl! You speak if you're spoken to

on the Ellipsis.'

'You know, my husband only made that mistake

because he fell for your goading. It's a pity you didn't

pick on me. I'm not so easily intimidated.'

'Indeed?'

Amy glanced at the table in front of him. Again,

it was laid with black cloth and marked with gold

squares. Xaaael was moving plastic counters around it.

Some lay face down, but others were face up and bore

different coloured designs. It looked like a combination of

backgammon and solitaire. She didn't know how to play

either, but at this moment was prepared to busk it.

'We have games like this on Earth,' she said. 'And I'm

regarded as an expert.'

'I'd be more impressed if you were an expert deckhand.

These tables need a touch more polish. Not to mention

the floor.'

'Afraid to take me on?'

Xaaael sneered. 'Your servitude here will not last for

ever. You should mind your manners, lest the decision

how to end it ever rests with me. Now get out of my

sight.'

Knowing better than to push her luck too hard, Amy

turned away.

'Besides,' he added, 'I only play competitively when

there's a prize worth winning.'

She turned back. 'And if I told you I had such a

prize?'

'You have nothing I couldn't take from you right now

if I so wished.'

'The knowledge of how to open our spacecraft,

perhaps?'

He glanced up again.

'I know you've tried to get in and failed,' she went on. 'I

also know you're thinking that anything so well protected

must be very valuable. And you're right. Though you've

no idea how valuable.'

He almost looked amused. 'And you'll give me the

opportunity to win this intelligence?'

'Just think how much credit you'd have with Lord

Krauzzen.'

Xaaael's cobalt eyes gleamed. Possibly he was thinking

beyond winning credit with Lord Krauzzen. 'And if you

win?' he asked.

She shrugged. 'Longer rest periods. A private berth so

I don't have to share with the other girls. Your guarantee

that I won't be sent to Gorgoror.'

'You ask a lot.'

'Sorry.' Now it was Amy's turn to sneer. 'I mistook

you for someone who often plays for high stakes.' She

made to walk away.

'Wait a minute.' He indicated the black cloth. 'You

know this game, you say?'

'Sure.'

Xaaael glanced around. It wouldn't do for him to be

seen pitting himself against a mere slave girl. 'On the

next deck down, we have cabins reserved for private

entertainment. One of them belongs exclusively to me.'

'I'm aware of that.'

'Meet me there.' He stood up. 'And bring your secret

knowledge. You'll soon be sharing it.'

'You're familiar with this creature?' Krelbin asked.

'Aren't you?' the Doctor said. 'I mean, having hunted

on Gorgoror so often.'

'Krauzzen restocks the wildlife before each hunt. I've

never seen this species before, but it wouldn't be here

unless it was highly dangerous.'

The Doctor made a show of lowering his transmat-

rifle. 'On this occasion, Lord Krauzzen made a mistake.

This is a shologgi from the planet Pyrites. It's a herbivore,

and inclined to be docile.'

They'd been making their way through the section

of the prison connected to the labour camp, advancing

along a concrete gantry, at the end of which a stairway

led down to another barred-off security area, when they'd

suddenly found this creature blocking their path. It was a

great ape, covered with shaggy red hair. It was also huge;

on its hind legs, it would probably tower to two and a

half metres or more. Its broad, sloping shoulders implied

phenomenal strength. Its arms were heavy, knotted with

muscle. But at this moment, it was sitting at the foot of the

staircase, its eyes half-closed.

Krelbin raised his Eradicator. 'We should dispense

with it anyway.'

'And alert our real prey? Good plan,' the Doctor said.

'How much further ahead can they be? They must be

exhausted by now, but if they hear gunfire they'll simply

run again.'

Krelbin paused. 'What do you propose?'

'We edge past.'

'Are you serious?'

'Absolutely. You see the hatch on the other side of it?'

The shologgi was slumped to the left, which allowed

a narrow passage between itself and the right-hand wall.

A few metres beyond it, there was a heavy steel bulkhead

through which a circular hatch connected with the next

section.

'The shologgi could never fit through that tiny

aperture,' the Doctor said. 'Once we're through there, we

can just walk away with no danger it may follow. Here -

let me show you.'

As the Doctor descended towards the beast, it

watched his approach, but with an uninterested, dull-

witted expression. He halted a couple of steps above it,

and glanced back. 'The whole of life is one big gamble,

wouldn't you say, Colonel?'

'Not for you, I don't think, Doctor. I imagine there

are few occasions when you don't stack the odds in your

favour.'

The Doctor continued down, treading softly when he

reached the bottom and sidling past the animal. Its head

turned as it tracked his progress, but still its gaze was

lidded. 'Easy does it, old fella,' the Doctor said soothingly.

'I'm not your enemy.'

It made no move, except to lazily scrape a hand across

its hairy belly. Once he was clear, the Doctor walked to

the hatch, where he stopped and turned back.

'You see?' he shouted. 'The solution is not always to

pack overwhelming ordnance. Understanding alien life

forms can be just as effective.'

'Spare me the lecture.' Krelbin slung his Eradicator

over his shoulder, and commenced a wary descent.

'Of course, out in the wild, appearances can be

deceptive.'

Krelbin reached the foot of the stair, and began to

negotiate the narrow path leading past the shologgi. It was

only a few metres in length, but once again, though the

animal watched him, it appeared groggy, uninterested.

'Especially when a creature has been so abused

that its true nature is lost,' the Doctor added. 'Take the

shologgi. On Pyrites, they were trained for gladiatorial

combat. Needless to say, the training methods had to be

extraordinarily brutal, barbarising them into something

that nature never intended.'

Krelbin was still edging past the beast, but now,

sensing a change in tone, glanced towards the Doctor and

saw that he'd produced something from under his jacket.

He didn't recognise the sonic screwdriver.

'The signal for them to fight is always the same,' the

Doctor said. 'A high-pitched whistle.' He briefly activated

the screwdriver, which gave off a short, intense bleep.

With a savage grunt, the shologgi sat upright, the eyes

under its bony, furrowed brow suddenly fixed on Krelbin

with a feral gleam.

Krelbin froze. His Eradicator hung on his back, his

pistol at his hip, but the brute was less than a metre away;

he'd reach neither in time.

'And that was only a millisecond,' the Doctor said

cheerfully. 'Imagine what would happen if I gave it a

real blast. Now... this is going to be so simple that even a

bone-headed militarist like you will get it, Colonel. You're

going to draw your two firearms and slide them across

the floor to me. Understand?'

'Doctor, I'll kill you for-'

'Do you understand? Because believe me, the shologgi

will fully understand the signal I'll be sending it if you

don't.' He brandished the sonic screwdriver. 'Beep-

beep!'

Krelbin hardly dared glance at him. The shologgi

leaned even closer, a low growl rumbling inside it. Drool

hung in strands from its maw.

Swallowing hard, Krelbin did as he was asked - first

drawing his pistol and lowering it to the floor. Then

unslinging the Eradicator from his back.

'Very slowly,' the Doctor advised him. 'I only have to

press this button...'

Eyes locked on the predator leaning over him, Krelbin

placed the Eradicator down. With a nudge of his boot, he

kicked both guns across the floor, to where the Doctor

collected them.

'Good soldier,' the Doctor said, retreating towards the

circular hatch. 'I'm off now. Oh, but once I'm through

here I still intend to trigger this device. That means the

shologgi will jump on you with everything it's got. Unless,

of course you're a very fast runner.'

Krelbin now did glance at him, as baffled as he was

angry.

'That's right,' the Doctor said, grinning as he clambered

backwards through the opening. 'I'm going to give you

what so many other poor wretches down here have never

had - a chance. Shall we say ten seconds? One - two -

three...'

Krelbin braced his back against the wall as he slid

towards the foot of the stair, though the shologgi eyed

him with cold hatred every inch of the way. Once he

reached the first step, he galloped upward as fast as he

could, sprinting off along the high gantry.

The Doctor gave him more than ten seconds - closer

to forty, as he was distracted by the two new weapons

he'd acquired. Eventually he located a shaft that looked

like a well, and dropped them down it. Almost as an

afterthought, he triggered the sonic screwdriver, which

this time emitted a whistle so high-pitched that even he

couldn't hear it. The shologgi responded with an ear-

shattering roar, and, leaping to its feet, went charging up

the stairway in pursuit of the fleeing Krelbin.

In the Observation Booth, one of Krauzzen's henchmen

stood up from his chair, regarding his monitor with

astonishment.

'No wonder this Doctor calls himself "the deadliest

hunter",' he exclaimed. 'Looks like he's started eliminating

the opposition!'

Krauzzen was at the other end of the chamber, relaxed

in his command chair. He jumped up and came over.

'What's that?'

The gangster who'd spoken was called Zalizta. He it

was who'd provided some of the captives after a recent

trip to Earth with Zarbotan. He was small by Torodon

standards and inclined to panic in a crisis. But Krauzzen

held him to be loyal. Zalizta pointed with a shaking

finger at the grainy screen, on which a vast, hairy shape

lumbered at speed along a stone gantry, before vanishing

from view.

'What happened?' Krauzzen demanded.

'The Doctor deliberately put Krelbin out of the hunt.'

The other gangsters looked at each other, amazed -

not least because the thought of anyone getting the better

of a one-man army like Krelbin was quite a shock.

'Isn't that outside our rules?' someone asked.

'How can it be?' Krauzzen said, half to himself. 'We

don't have any rules.

'You keep putting off the inevitable, girl, but at some point we must play this game for real,' Xaaael snapped.

'Would you consider it fair if we played for a prize like

this, and I was hindered because I didn't know the rules

properly?' Amy asked indignantly.

Xaaael reorganised the counters on the black cloth. 'A

couple more rounds, and then we play for real. Madam

Xagra will have noted your absence by now.'

'I'm sure this isn't the first time a girl has disappeared

into your quarters.'

'You're sure of a lot of things for someone who has no

status here.'

'I don't need status when I have the TARDIS.'

He eyed her again. 'That's what it's called, this box -

the TARDIS?'

'If you win, I'll even tell you what "TARDIS" means.'

'Just don't disappoint me. You won't like me when I'm

disappointed.'

'Have another drink,' she suggested.

'I will. But don't think this will win you any favours.'

Amy had already spent enough time in Torodon

male society to know they enjoyed two main alcoholic

beverages. Disdamil was a fruit-based, low-percentage

drink, which could be taken in relatively large quantities

without it having a noticeable effect. But ballomol was a

spirit, and much stronger - Torodon men only indulged

in this towards the end of a working day, when they could

sleep off its effects. The interesting thing about ballomol

was that it was a clear fluid with no scent. It could be

added to a jug of disdamil, and a drinker would not notice

the difference. This was exactly what Amy had done -

dosed four jugs of disdamil with ballomol, before carrying them to Xaaael's private apartment - a seedy-looking

cabin filled with cushions and lurid orange light. She'd

placed the jugs on his gaming table as a peace offering.

'Careful,' he'd growled. 'Don't spill anything on the

black cloth. No gamer allows his cloth to be sullied.'

'I'm sorry,' she'd said, sitting at the opposite end of

the table.

He had now drained two of the jugs and was starting

on the third. She watched him carefully as he rather

laboriously attempted to explain the rules of Knight &

Sword yet again. The spiked drink was taking effect.

'Are you feeling all right?' she asked tentatively.

'Of course. We have to get on with this game if I'm to

acquire your TARDIS before Krauzzen returns.' His gaze

was foggy as he regarded her. 'You understand now?'

'I think so. Oh, but I'm not sure about the Royal.' She

pointed to a pink counter.

'You stupid young fool!' he slurred. 'That isn't the

Royal, that's the Imp. These are the Royals.' He indicated

a pair of blue and green counters. 'Now... these can only

be played when... when...' Xaaael's eyes were suddenly

rolling. He lifted the fourth jug and quaffed its contents in

two great gulps, after which he smacked his lips. 'That's...

better. Needed to clear my... my...'

He fell sideways from the table.

Amy crouched alongside him, where he now lay

snoring. He was wearing his usual kimono, but she'd

been watching her captors carefully. Inside it, where

a breast pocket would normally be, she found a pouch

containing a plastic wallet. When she opened this, it was

packed with slide-cards. She counted thirty in total. None

of their insignia mean anything to her, but if necessary

she would try them all. She pocketed them and moved

to the cabin door, opening it slightly and peering into a

deserted companionway.

'Harry!' Rory shouted, brushing the dust and ash from

Harry's lifeless face.

'Go away,' Harry groaned. 'I'm unconscious.'

Rory laughed with relief.

'What happened?' Harry asked.

'We made it.'

Harry sat up painfully, and glanced around. Alongside

them, the mineral truck was half-buried in a great mound

of cinders. About five metres overhead, the mineral line

simply ended; the twisted, rusty stumps of its rails jutted

into empty air. Glancing further afield, he saw that they

were at the bottom of the gorge; on all sides lay the burnt

skeletons of earth movers, the empty shells of buildings.

'And where have we made it to?' he said. 'Hell's car

park?'

'At least we're alive.' Rory helped him to his feet.

Memories now rushed back to Harry. He focused on

the cutting high in the opposite cliff face. 'Dora's still up

there...'

'Shell be safer where she is than with us.'

'Yeah, but for how long?'

Rory put a hand on his shoulder. 'Well go back for

her. But first why don't we check out the barrack block,

while we're here?'

Harry glanced behind them. A footway snaked its way

up a rugged slope, at the top of which towered the riveted

steel fortress.

They trudged towards it, dusting themselves down.

'You saved our bacon back there,' Rory said.

'First thing I've got right since we arrived,' Harry

muttered.

'How'd you and your family end up in this mess? You

obviously weren't nabbed for being economic migrants.'

Harry recounted the events that had led to his family's

capture, paying particular attention to his own bungling

efforts. When he'd finished they walked on in silence.

They were now tramping uphill, dirt adhering to their

sweat.

'Why'd you leave the police, anyway?' Rory asked.

'Early retirement?'

'Hah, I wish.' Harry said nothing else for a few

moments, but then admitted: 'I was fed up with uniform

duties. Walking a beat, driving a panda car. I'd passed

my sergeant's exam, but there was no sign of promotion.

I'd applied to CID dozens of times. They didn't want to

know. I was good at my job, but I wasn't an academic. A

"woodentop", was the phrase. And I got bored with it.

Felt I'd accomplished nothing, was going nowhere - all

that stuff you imagine has been invented just to torture

you when you've got a job, and miss so much when you

haven't. Anyway, I'd just started a week of nights and I

really wasn't up for it. I parked a few times and had a kip.

Got caught by the inspector and rollocked. Later in the

week, a motorist stopped me and asked for directions to

a road called Ravenbrook Avenue, and I told him. What I

didn't realise, because my head wasn't in the game, was

that this fella was about three times over the drink-drive

limit. Not only that, he was on his way to assault his sister's

ex. He crashed his car en route, caused a load of damage

and still went and committed the crime. When he finally

got nicked, it came out that I'd spoken to him beforehand

and let him go. That was seen as a major abrogation of

duty. One black mark too many.'

They'd now reached the top of the slope and the main

barrack building. The mud in front of it was criss-crossed

by caterpillar tracks. The remnant of a heavy steel gate

lay to one side. It was covered in bums and dents, as if

small arms had been discharged at it. At first, Rory was

too distracted by all this to speak.

'No comment?' Harry asked.

'What... oh, don't beat yourself up. It's not like any of

us are perfect. I'm only here because I made one hell of a

mistake too.'

Harry looked surprised.' You did? I had you tagged as

some kind of space ranger.'

'You ever heard of a space ranger called Rory?'

They ventured through the gate, passing beneath an

arch and along an entry tunnel, the end of which had

been blocked by a barricade assembled from beams,

planks and sheets of metal welded clumsily together. A

central portion of this had been driven back, and again

the ground was deeply rutted. Rory sidled his way past,

at which point he halted.

'You brought us here to find something to fight back

with, didn't you?' he said.

'It was a chance,' Harry replied, following. 'Probably

not much of one.'

'You reckon?'

Beyond the barricade lay a courtyard littered with

all kinds of improvised weapons: bats, cleavers, spears,

shields. They were old and rusty of course, but many still

looked serviceable.

'We may be pair of losers, Harry,' Rory said. 'But at

least we're starting to even the odds.'

Amy beaded to the Engineering section without interference,

which was one advantage a slave caste had here. As long

as they looked like they were working, they tended to be

fly specks beneath everyone else's notice. She'd equipped

herself with cleaning materials, and hurried down to the

lower decks, stopping here and there to polish balustrades

or sweep stretches of already immaculate carpet.

In Engineering itself, the occasional crewman

sauntered by, but again she pretended to be working

and they ignored her. When she reached the door to the

Secure Hold, there was nobody around. She filched the

pile of entry cards from under her tunic, hugging the door

in an effort to keep them hidden. The infrastructure on

this level was bare and utilitarian: not just catwalks and

caged machinery, but lagged piping, vaulted archways

formed from unpainted steel. No camera that she could

see was filming her, but she didn't know that for sure.

One card after another went through the slide-lock, to no

effect. It occurred to her that these failed attempts might

be activating alarms elsewhere - maybe on the Bridge -

but it was too late to worry about that now. Speed was

suddenly everything.

'Amy Pond!' a voice shrilled behind her.

Amy twirled around.

Madam Xagra's travelling-eye was hovering there. Its

cat-green viewing portal, which was about the size of a

normal eye, seemed to blink as it regarded her.

'Report to Housekeeping at once, where you will

explain your behaviour!'

'Can't I explain now... ma'am?' Amy said, shoving the

entry-cards behind her back.

'What exactly are you doing?'

Amy shrugged awkwardly. 'You see, well... when I

was cleaning down here earlier, I thought the door to the

Secure Hold could do with a bit of spit and polish. So

when the opportunity arose, I just, well, I sort of...'

The travelling-eye blinked again, as if waiting for a

part of the excuse it could actually believe.

'I'm only being diligent, ma'am,' Amy said.

'You are an insolent girl and will be punished

regardless of this explanation! No menial may deviate

from their daily patterns of duty unless at my express

command. Return to Housekeeping at once!'

'You know, ma'am, I don't think I'll bother.'

There was a long silence, and then: 'Well, miss, I

suspected this on our first day together. The instant I saw

you, I thought, "Here is a wilful girl. She must broken;

she must be tamed. This is one who will learn the value

of humility—"'

Amy interrupted: 'Sorry, ma'am, but I've only got

one more thing to say to you. And that is...' She swung

her dustpan. There was a deafening clang as impact was

made. 'She shoots, she scores!'

Amy watched, delighted, as the travelling-eye rocketed

away into the far distance. That was when she heard gruff

male voices and heavy feet approaching.

'Oh heck!' She spun back to the door and tried more

entry-cards.

She'd gone through eight, and voices were echoing

around her, when there came a bleeping from the

mechanism, and the door slid open. She scurried through

and it slammed behind her just as quickly.

The Secure Hold was not what she'd anticipated. She'd

half-expected to find the place heaped with glittering

treasure, like some futuristic dragon's cave. Instead,

she was at the top of a ramp, which rolled down into a

warehouse-type environment arrayed with tall steel racks

on which crates and boxes of every description were

stacked. The place was dim - lit only by low-key, greenish

light.

Amy sat down and took the TARDIS key from her left

boot. She hurried to the bottom of the ramp and along

several aisles - before hearing a muffled thumping from

somewhere close by. Along one bulkhead, there was a

row of slide-doors, all closed. The noise was coming from

the second one along. Someone was on the other side of

it, shouting and pounding.

On the basis that her enemy's enemy was likely to be

her friend, and therefore someone who might help - she

tried more entry-cards. The tenth was accepted. The door

hissed open, revealing a tiny, egg-shaped room.

A Torodon male all but fell out of it.

'Thank... thank you,' he gasped. 'Thought... I was

going to die in there...'

His white hair, unusually short for a Torodon, had been

dyed blond, and now hung in a stringy, sweaty mop. The

silvery pallor of his face was smeared with what looked

like flesh-toned make-up. Stranger still were his clothes;

they consisted of socks, a pair of undershorts and a rather

grubby bathrobe.

'Who are you?' Amy asked, baffled.

'They... they had no choice. They had to keep me

locked up.'

'Who are you?'

'The name's Kalik Xorax. You may know me by another

name - Pangborne. Grant Pangborne.'

When Dora came round, she found herself in an upright

metal box, which smelled of oil and dust, and admitted

no light. Immediately she panicked, throwing her body

from side to side, crying aloud.

This hullaballoo lasted several seconds before she

heard the clunk of a turning handle, and the lid - or door,

as it transpired - was opened. She staggered forward,

grabbing what felt like the lapels of a tweed jacket, before

sinking to her knees, panting.

'Hello?' the Doctor said. 'You're making an awful lot

of noise.'

Dora gawked up at him. 'Oh... I... Who are you?'

'I'm the Doctor.' He gently disentangled himself from

the clutching hands.

'You're a doctor?' At first she tittered, but then began

to laugh hysterically. 'Are you sure... are you sure you're

not an architect' ?'

'Architect? Why would I be an architect. "The Architect"

- no, doesn't have the same ring to it, somehow.'

Dora nodded to a section of concrete wall, where, with

a chunk of charcoal, he'd been in the process of sketching

out what looked like the detailed anatomy of a massive

industrial complex.

'Oh, that.' The Doctor tossed the charcoal and stuck

his hands into his trouser pockets. 'Just recollecting what

I can about the floor-plan on this moon. Not a bad effort,

if I say so myself.'

'Moon?' Dora stopped laughing and rose to her feet.

'We're on the Moon?'

'Not your moon, of course.'

She looked at him askance, wondering if any of this

could be real. He said he was a doctor. And he certainly

looked like one, with his dickie-bow, patched tweed jacket

and ridiculous, unmanageable hair. But a doctor? Here?

And where was here?

Who are you?' she asked again, querulously. 'I mean,

really?'

'I've already told you. Now, this is very interesting.'

He pointed to a crudely drawn box in the sketch's top

right-hand comer. 'At the north end of this industrial site,

there's an abandoned rocket base, complete with its own

control tower. Who are you, by the way?'

'Erm...' Initially Dora wasn't quite sure. 'Dora... Dora

Mossop.'

He turned back to the floor-plan. 'What do you know

about electromagnetic radiation, Dora Mossop?'

'Come again?'

'Wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum. In

other words, radio.'

'Radio?'

'Yes, radio.' He glanced sidelong at her. 'I'm going to

save your life. And the lives of your friends. But you'll

need to do exactly as you're told, understand?'

She nodded dumbly.

'Now, if we can get to the top of that control tower, it's

highly possible there'll still be a functioning radio link. It'll

have been deactivated, obviously, but if I can't reactivate

it, nobody can. Why were you in that cupboard, by the

way?'

'I think I was hiding.'

'Really. What from?'

'I don't know.' Dora looked shamefaced. 'I was in a

faint.'

'So somebody put you in there?'

'Harry and Rory.'

'I see. And this thing you were hiding from - did Harry

and Rory get away?'

'I don't know.'

'And what was it?'

'I don't know that either.'

'You don't know much, do you, Dora Mossop?'

Again her cheeks reddened. Memories of recent events

were flooding back to her, but the most painful one was

her attitude to Harry in the last couple of days. She'd been

horribly selfish, she realised; so determined to punish

him for his failures that she'd deliberately turned a blind

eye to his attempts to put things right.

'Well, if you're going to come with me, that won't do,'

the Doctor said. 'I need someone I can rely on.'

He seemed very young to be speaking with such

authority, and yet there was an aura of calm control about

him that Dora felt she could trust.

'Just tell me what you want me to do,' she said.

'Well, to start with, you can take your clothes off.'

'What?'

He indicated her laddered tights, knee-length skirt

and muddied cardigan. 'They're not very practical. Those,

however, would be.' He pointed at the row of anti-toxin

suits in the corner.

'You want me to get changed?'

'Ah, good point. Don't worry, I'll wait outside.'

Before she could respond, the Doctor had left the

locker room, moving out onto the ledge. His mind was

already working through the possibles and probables.

If Rory and this Harry person had hidden Dora, that

was almost certainly because they'd concluded they had

a chance to outrun their foe without the burden of a

casualty - which was encouraging. He glanced down into

the gorge and across to its far side. Nothing moved, which

was also a positive sign. On Gorgoror, no news was good

news. He switched his thoughts to the rocket base and its

potential for offering them a way out. Of course, it would

all depend on Amy regaining possession and control of

the TARDIS, and his being able to contact her so that he

could assist her in piloting it down here. First he had to

find his way to the base in the quickest time possible. If

he remembered rightly, he needed to veer away from the

prison, and pass through the atomic power plant. They

still had to locate Rory, but retrieving the TARDIS had

become the imperative.

Dora reappeared, dressed as he'd instructed, in one

of the anti-toxin outfits. It was actually rather fetching.

Tight-fitting, and made of shiny black vinyl, it accentuated

her female form, and suited her long dark hair and pretty

face.

'Much better,' the Doctor said.

She shrugged. 'Don't I look a bit silly? I feel like one of

those TV action girls.'

'A snivelling housewife is no good to me,' he said. 'But

an action girl I can use.'

'Curiosity,' Krauzzen said. He was still inside the

Observation Booth. The screen in front of him depicted

the dim shapes of the Doctor and Dora making their

way together along a narrow shelf of rock. 'Curiosity has

always been a weakness of mine. The moment the Doctor

threatened us with black-light, I ought to have known we

weren't dealing with some ordinary adventurer. I should

have killed him on the spot.'

'Shall I inform the Ellipsis?' Zalizta asked.

'Not yet. If that craft of his really is rigged to blow, it

will panic them to know he's an enemy. They might try

something stupid, like attempting to detach it.'

'But if that's a deception too... ?'

'We can deal with that later. Everyone, get your

weapons!'

Xaaael woke up on his cabin floor, after being doused with a

pail of ice-cold water.

'What the devil...!' he spluttered, staggering to his

feet.

'Spare me your synthetic rage, Xaaael,' Zarbotan said,

hurling the pail aside. 'What duty are you supposed to

be on?'

'None... since our lord and master saw fit to put

command of this ship in the hands of a hulking, two-

faced ape like you!'

Zarbotan leaned forward dangerously. 'Xaaael, if

you have no duties at present, I will happily give you

a very important one - make sure nothing else goes

wrong. Nothing! You understand? Or you'll be held

personally responsible.' And he stormed out into the

companionway.

Xaaael followed him. 'What's going on?'

'It's the Earth girl, you drink-addled buffoon!'

Xaaael's fogged memory was now clearing. He felt

at his breast-pouch, which was empty. 'Damn, I've been

robbed! Zarbotan, that little minx has... I'll kill her!'

He dashed past Zarbotan, only to be grabbed and

hurled against the bulkhead.

'You've done enough damage, Xaaael,' Zarbotan

snarled. 'Get yourself in a fit state for duty and report to

the Bridge.'

'But where the devil is she?'

'Where do you think? In the Secure Hold, which she's

gained entry to with your access-card!'

Xaaael was visibly shaken. 'Well... she can't do any

harm, surely? There's nothing of use to her in there.'

'Except the property you confiscated on LP9. Do you

even know what that is?'

Xaaael remained blank-faced.

'Exactly,' Zarbotan said. 'For all we're aware, it could

be another black-light explosive, and it's now deep in the

belly of this ship.'

'I'll come with you!'

But Zarbotan threw him against the bulkhead again.

'Do as you're told, Xaaael! Go to the Bridge and take

charge there!'

'But you're going down there alone!'

'And who else do I need?'

Xaaael didn't argue further. Resourceful as the

Earth girl was, Zarbotan was the most dangerous living

creature he knew - if you could honestly describe that

semi-necrotic, semi-mechanical abomination as 'living'.

He'd killed more men during his life than the leprous

atmosphere in the mines of Gorgoror had in a hundred

years.

'Zarbotan!' Xaaael shouted as the giant figure clumped

away.

Zarbotan glanced back.

'Does Krauzzen know about my... indiscretion?'

'No. And pray to your gods we can keep it that way.'

In the Observation Booth, Krauzzen and his soldiers were

ready to go out onto the surface.

Krauzzen had donned a special harness, in the back

section of which his hover-plate was inserted. This

was a small, lightweight assault craft, a simple oval-

shaped board, moulded from a silver-titanium alloy and

designed to carry a single infantryman to attack targets in

open space. Developing full telekinetic control over these

swift but silent devices was a prerequisite to enlisting in

the Special Assault commandos, which was why so few

Torodon, including experienced combat soldiers from

other units, were ever deemed eligible.

Krauzzen slung his photon-rifle alongside his hover-

plate, and holstered a pistol at his hip. His men, though

unequipped with hover-plates - with the exception of

Zarbotan, his outfit had never been anything but grunts -

were also heavily armed.

'We've been infiltrated,' he said. 'But is this a privateer

who fancies his luck, or something more sinister? I'm

not sure. But we're not taking the chance. We never

take chances like this. The entire operation has been

compromised, and we've no choice but to respond with

extreme action.'

They knew exactly what he meant.

'The important thing,' the Doctor said, 'is that, though your

husband's made mistakes, he's not the one who abducted

you. He's as much a victim as you are.'

'I know,' Dora said. 'I've been hard on Harry. It's almost

like I've been too obsessed with my own problems.'

'Well, any problems you may have had before will

have paled into insignificance by the time we get out of

this. Assuming we do get out of it.'

This stranger who called himself the Doctor, and

who for some reason Dora had felt it safe to open up to

as they'd walked and climbed and struggled through the

wreckage and rubble cramming the endless underground

caverns of this netherworld, had a disconcertingly frank

way of speaking.

'You think we might not make it?' she asked.

'I think the odds are against us.' He stood up from the

overturned bucket on which he'd been resting. 'But that

doesn't mean we sit down and cry, does it?'

'No,' she agreed.

'Good.' He lowered his voice. 'You'll need to remember

that, because we're being hunted. And I don't just mean by

Lord Krauzzen's weekend warriors. I mean by something

significantly more proficient.'

Dora stiffened where she sat. 'Another of these

creatures they've put down here?'

'Don't look round! It's about sixty metres behind us,

and it's been following for the last five minutes.'

'Oh my God...'

'Relax, Dora. Remember what we've just said.'

'What is it?'

'I'm not sure yet.'

The Doctor surveyed the tunnel. As far as he could tell,

this was one of the connecting lines between the prison

complex and the power station. It had a flat, concrete

floor and a tiled arched ceiling. Parts of it had caved in

and all sorts of other junk had been thrown down here, so

they'd already had to negotiate heaps of shifting, razor-

edged detritus. He threw another furtive glance behind

them. The pursuing figure had dropped to a crouch, and

was little more than a shadowy blob. From what he'd

glimpsed, it was humanoid and bipedal, but covered with

excessive leathery skin, which, when it moved, trailed

behind it like a heavy cloak.

'Come on.' He took Dora by the arm and hauled her

to her feet.

She now walked stiffly, sensing the nameless

presence close behind. 'Why don't you just shoot it?' she

whispered.

'I can't, and it's as simple as that.'

The Doctor didn't want to send another alien monster

back to the police holding cells on LP9 - it was anyone's

guess how much trouble the last one had caused. More

importantly, he was increasingly thinking that the only

way out of this mess for Dora might be to use his last

transmat charge on her - to save her life if no one else's.

They passed under a heavy gate, before clambering

upward through a mass of fallen, broken machinery

festooned with loose cables. At the top of this was an

entrance to a vast, complex structure, something like

a three-dimensional maze of steel-mesh passages. The

Doctor hesitated.

'What's the matter?' Dora asked, sweat dripping from

her face.

He didn't bother explaining that from here on the

way forward would be little more than a 'single file'

crawlspace, and that he didn't want to be at the rear

because he felt she would be too slow at the front, and yet

didn't want to put Dora at the rear because he suspected

that whatever was following them would have marked

her as the weaker prey and might then attack. A clanking

from below, as something climbed in pursuit, decided it

for them.

'Go ahead,' the Doctor said.

She climbed up the narrow mesh chute first.

'Hurry!' he shouted, scrambling after her. Initially it

was a vertical shaft, but soon they found themselves on

the horizontal. 'More speed!' the Doctor urged.

Dora crawled along as best she could, but the grilled

floor and riveted joints between its sections were hard on

her hands and knees.

'Which way?' she panted when they reached a

junction.

'It doesn't matter,' he replied, trying to keep the panic

from his voice.

Dora opted for the right-hand path. At the next

junction she took the left one, and at the one after that she

went right again. There was no rhyme or reason to it, but

she could sense the Doctor's urgency and her own fear

was rising.

'Go up!' the Doctor now shouted. 'Take the next

upward shaft. We have to get to the surface.'

She did as he said, and this was slightly easier. Climbing

the steel mesh wasn't as uncomfortable as sliding across it

on all fours. But by the time she reached the top, Dora was

exhausted. Only adrenalin-charged desperation allowed

her to manhandle a circular steel slab out of her way and

climb through the hatch above. The Doctor followed, and

found himself in a low-roofed cement chamber with a slot

aperture, which, though it was at eye-level for them, gave

out at ground level on the moon's surface. It was a blast

shelter, the Doctor realised. They were inside the dome

containing the power plant. He grabbed Dora's hand, and

they tottered up some steps to the surface.

'Open ground,' the Doctor said. 'Now we really run

for it.'

Dora nodded wearily, and they stumbled forward.

Ahead of them, across the black plain, there towered

another immense, ghostly structure: a row of colossal

cones, like industrial cooling towers. Again, it was far

from simple reaching them. The ground was burned and

barren, and crumbled beneath their feet. The litter of refuse

- everything from demolition rubble, to fallen pylons, to

the smoke-blackened relics of diggers, lifters and other

corroded mechanical leviathans - sent them scurrying in

every direction as they tried to make progress.

Halfway across, the Doctor glanced over his shoulder.

Their stalker, which had given up attempting to conceal

its presence, was closing the gap between them with

a series of prodigious leaps, aided by a black, leathery,

parachute-like canopy. Recognising what it was, he now

drove Dora mercilessly. Even when they entered the main

power plant buildings, and ran down a broad concourse,

he urged her on, telling her not to look back.

'What... what is that thing?' she stammered.

'An Air-Walker.'

'Air-Walker?'

'It walks on air. Well, sort of. But never mind that

now!'

The next thing, they were descending to the plant's

sublevels, taking a spiral stair which dropped between

more layers of corroded apparatus, and running along a

catwalk hemmed in by rows of vertical plastic tubes down

which a glowing, yellowish glop was streaked.

'Where are we going?' Dora wailed.

The Doctor was about to reply, but just ahead one of

the tubes had collapsed across the catwalk and broken.

Whatever the substance in the tube was, it had melted the

metal, leaving a gap of maybe two and a half metres.

'OK,' the Doctor said. 'OK, we have to jump.'

'Jump?' Dora looked at him, incredulous.

'Whatever you do, don't touch that yellow muck - it'll

turn your flesh to slurry.'

Dora shook her head as she backed away. 'I can't jump

that far. Well go back.'

The Doctor took her wrist with a hand like a talon.

'Dora, we can't go back! The Air-Walker is already focused

on sucking the marrow from our bones.'

Dora glanced over her shoulder. The catwalk led into

pitch darkness. She hated herself for the weakness she

was again showing, but she was so tired, and so terrified.

Her next words were distraught, thickened by tears.

'There's no end to the horror in this place - it's like Hell,

and there are devils round every corner.'

'What happened to the action girl I was promised?'

'That's not me.'

'Sure it is. Look... let's hold hands. So if you go, I go

too. OK?'

Before she could argue, they ran forward. Dora

screeched as they leapt out over what looked like a

bottomless chasm. Rather to her surprise, they landed

cleanly and continued running. There was an aperture

ahead; they had the impression of open space, but when

they scrambled through it, they found themselves on the

brink of another terrifying drop.

They'd emerged into a huge chamber, which seemed

to have collapsed in on itself. It was impossible to see

where the roof should be. All manner of crushed, tangled

wreckage had deluged down into it from overhead, and

had become lodged at various levels, though the chamber's

floor was actually a vast, crater-like hole, maybe eighty

metres in diameter, which seemed to plummet into

infinite blackness. Further avalanches, mainly consisting

of concrete and shattered masonry, had spilled down the

sides of it, but looked perilously steep and unstable. Other

items - mainly sections from the floors above, wooden

beams, warped panelling and so on - lay across one side

of the hole, forming a flimsy bridge.

The Doctor started across this before Dora even had a

chance to protest.

She followed, arms outstretched for balance, trying not

to think how narrow and creaky the makeshift causeway

was beneath her feet. Halfway across, there were stinging

pains in both earlobes as her studs were snatched out.

She yelped in pain. The Doctor, who had reached

a central point, glanced back. He was in the process of

adjusting the transmat-rifle at his shoulder, only to see

it catapult out of his hands and go twirling downward

for several metres, until its strap caught on a twisted

fragment of metal jutting from the crater's side. It hung

there, but turned and rotated, as if actively seeking a way

to descend.

'Ahhh,' he said. 'I wondered why that thing was

tugging my shoulder off.'

Dora had now reached him. She clung to him hard,

unwilling to look down.

'My earrings,' she sniffled.

'Yes. We're under the point where the reactor was once

located. Its magnetic core must have come loose from its

housing, probably during the seismic disturbances. No

wonder they evacuated this place. Anyway, in the time

since it's burrowed its way down towards Gorgoror's

gravitational heart. This crater must be thousands of

metres deep by now. You've nothing metallic on you of

any value?'

She shook her head.

'Well, I have.' He could feel his sonic screwdriver

trying to dig its way through the material of his jacket

pocket, as if this too was suddenly many times heavier

than before. 'Time to go.'

'What about your rifle?'

The Doctor stared at her. 'Good point yes. Valuable

prototype. I'll climb down there and get it back shall IT

Dora shook her head again.

Thought not.'

They stumbled across the remaining section of bridge,

and reached the far side - a jagged concrete podium,

jutting out over the gulf. The only way to move beyond

this was via a closed steel door.

'Can't be too far to go now,' the Doctor said.

'Doctor - look!'

Dora was gazing back across the crater. Their pursuer

had emerged into full view on the other side, and was

regarding them with a smooth, featureless face. It was

humanoid in outline, but taller than either of them by

at least thirty centimetres, and jet black all over. Its flesh

had a shiny, oily texture and was hung with a fin-like

canopy.

The Doctor gave it only a sparing glance, before turning

back to the steel door - to find that it wouldn't budge

when he pushed against it. Dora joined him, shoving with

all her might. There was no response.

'Buckled in its frame,' the Doctor said. 'Probably due

to the magnetic forces in the crater.'

'OK, I'm the action girl' Dora said, snatching up a

lump of stone. 'We attack that thing as it tries to cross...

oh my word!'

The oil-black monstrosity was now six metres up a

sheer concrete pillar, climbing with the flats of its hands

and feet as if they bore sucker pads.

'It's trying to find a perch,' the Doctor said. 'From

which it can leap.'

'Leap?'

'Walk on air, remember? It's not called an Air-Walker

for nothing. Two or three big jumps and it'll be over here

with us.'

The creature was soon twelve metres up. Not far over

its head, various ganglia of shredded cables and entwined

fragments of hanging rubble offered the aforementioned

perch.

'What do we do?' Dora said, panic rising in her voice.

'That outfit you're wearing. Are there any tools in its

pockets?'

'Tools?'

'It's protective gear, Dora, for hazardous work. There

may be something.'

She slapped down her sides and thighs, finding a

single pouch containing a sausage-shaped packet filled

with a squidgy white material.

The Doctor grinned and snatched it from her. 'Dora

Mossop, you're a genius.'

'For finding wall filler? We going to be doing some

DIY, Doctor? Fix the place up?'

'No, just the opposite. This is plastic explosive. Used

in quarrying.'

'Oh...'

On top of everything else, while she'd been running,

jumping, climbing and generally bouncing around,

Dora now realised that she'd been carrying something

with the potential to blow her to smithereens. In normal

circumstances she might have been sick, but it was

amazing how quickly you got used to intense, high-end

terror.

'Stand back,' the Doctor said.

'Stand back where?'

'Just stand back.' He'd squeezed out some of the

material and was now thumbing it into place around the

edges of the buckled door.

'There's nowhere we can stand back.'

'Get as far as you can, and crouch low.'

Dora did as instructed, but glanced up again. The Air-

Walker was at least twenty metres up the opposite wall,

and crouching on the end of a broken ventilation valve. It

had coiled up like a spring.

'Doctor!' she cried.

'Lie flat!' he shouted, retreating and drawing his sonic

screwdriver from his pocket, though it was such an effort

to hold it steady that he had to use both hands. It bucked

and twisted as if eager to flit out of his grasp.

Dora could sense their dark stalker making its first

leap, the membranes of skin extending between its limbs

as it launched itself through the air. The Doctor looked up,

and saw the creature alight on another piece of dangling

wreckage. Immediately, it re-coiled itself. Two more such

leaps and it would be upon them. He turned back to the

door, wrestling with his screwdriver as he lay down and

hit the button.

There was an ear-piercing squeal, and a thunderous

BOOM as the blast almost swept them from the podium.

When they opened their eyes, there was a dusty, smoke-

filled hole where the door had stood. The Doctor jumped

up, hauling Dora by her collar. They followed a passage

cluttered with smouldering brick rubble. Ahead of them

stood another door - but this one was open, and there

was a big space beyond it.

'We're through,' the Doctor shouted.

He dragged Dora out into another vast, hangar-type

building. Its nearest exit was maybe fifty metres away,

but they'd only made twenty when there was an ululating

shriek overhead. As they looked up, the Air-Walker

exploded out through a high vent. It briefly caught hold

of another loose perch - a sagging section of roof, huge

concrete cakes strung limply together by rusting wires,

which now groaned alarmingly - and then sprang again,

this time right at them.

The Doctor looked wildly around - there was nowhere

to run, nowhere to hide.

Dora didn't even have time to scream. The horror

descended like a dark angel, its membranes spread and

billowing, its previously featureless head gaping to reveal

row after row of knife-blade teeth.

The Doctor wrapped his arms around Dora, forcing

her to the ground to shield her with his own body. But

then there was a searing flash, a massive CRACKLE of

energy - and when the Air-Walker landed beside them,

it was a corpse: smoking and contorted, and giving off a

foul stench of burning.

The Doctor and Dora rose back to their feet,

bewildered.

'Air-Walkers live on the planet Cha-Bala,' the Doctor

said sadly. 'The natives of the neighbouring Ka-Bala

worship them as gods of music.'

'Gods of music?' Dora replied, barely understanding

what he was saying.

He walked slowly around the charred carcass.

'They would abandon sacrificial victims on the surface

of Cha-Bala, where Air-Walkers would eat them. They'd

do a really thorough job, leaving nothing but hollow

bones, which the Ka-Balans would recover and make

into wind instruments. Apparently the sound is quite

beautiful.'

Dora stared at him, perplexed.

'Ironic, eh?' He looked across the hangar, to where a

tall but familiar figure in tiger-striped hunting fatigues

was approaching. 'That one god of music should be

brought down by another.'

Kalik Xorax had tried to explain who he was and why he was

being held captive, but he interspersed this so regularly

with asthmatic gasps, and it was so long-winded anyway

as he was clearly in a state of shock, that Amy soon got

bored and recommenced her search for the TARDIS.

Xorax followed her around, still panting and jabbering.

She noted a few things he said - about having betrayed

Krauzzen's trust, and about how his fate would be ghastly

though no one would ever know about it because he was a

Torodon - but most of the rest seemed like self-justifying

gibberish.

'A man has to make a living, doesn't he?' he said, as

she prowled the stacks of cargo. 'I never set out intending

to buy and sell people. I was an ordinary businessman.

When I was exiled to Earth for malpractice, I had to put

food on the table somehow. So when Lord Krauzzen

contacted me, it was an offer I couldn't refuse. I mean,

what are humans to me? I suppose that sounds terrible.

But I'm Torodon, a different species from you. And

when you're a different species, well... it's hard to have

empathy, if you know what I mean. But I'm endlessly

grateful for what you've done. I can't—'

'All right!' Amy snapped. 'If you want to thank me,

look for the TARDIS.'

'The TARDIS?'

'It's a tall blue box.'

'You mean like that?'

Amy glanced up to where he was pointing, and saw

the TARDIS perched on a shelf about five and a half

metres overhead, sandwiched between two piles of

bulging plastic sacks.

'Oh,' she said. 'Erm... right. Can you help me get up

there?'

'I don't think I could get myself up there.' He adopted

an expression of pained frailty. 'I haven't slept or eaten

for days.'

She was about to point out that his 'endless gratitude'

wasn't up to very much, when she heard the slide-hiss

of the entry door. Xorax glanced at her, his hollow eyes

suddenly wide with fear. She motioned him to keep

quiet.

From where they were, the door was out of sight, but

they listened intently. It hissed closed again. She pricked

her ears for the slightest sound - a whisper of voices, the

creak of a boot on the polished metal floor.

But none of that came.

'We must hide,' Xorax breathed into her ear.

'I don't think anyone's come in,' she replied quietly.

'Someone has. And he'll be searching for us right

now.'

'In that case I have to get up to the TARDIS.'

Xorax glanced to the top shelf again, only to shake his

head and back away from her. Flattening himself on the

floor, he slid his body beneath a pallet on which various

machine parts glittered. Amy again listened out, but still

heard no sound of approach. Xorax was peeking up at her

from his place of concealment. She stuck her tongue out

at him, before attempting to clamber up the great stack

of shelving on her own. She was perhaps halfway up

when she glanced over her shoulder, and, having a clear,

unobstructed view through several other racks of goods,

saw something that made her blood run cold.

It was the giant, Zarbotan.

He was now searching for her, but, to her astonishment,

not by plodding around on foot - by apparently floating

through mid air. She was so unable to believe the

evidence of her own eyes that she remained in full view

for several, near-disastrous seconds. When she suddenly

realised how exposed she was, she clambered onto one

of the midway shelves, and lay down. She had restricted

vision from there, but could still see him. He was standing

upright on some kind of silver hover-board, which could

apparently move in any direction he wished. He was

two aisles away, elevated to three metres in the air, and

pivoting cautiously around as he scanned every level of

shelving. His movements were graceful, but also rather

ghostly - an effect enhanced by the dim greenish light of

the hold.

Amy lay frozen as he swished past her at a lower level

and disappeared round a corner. Briefly he was gone,

though evidently he would soon make another pass,

probably checking out the higher ledges. She glanced

ruefully up at the TARDIS: so close and yet so far.

With no other choice, she hung by her fingertips before

dropping into the aisle and scampering away, looking for

somewhere - anywhere - to hide properly.

'Well, Doctor,' Zubedai said, approaching with pulse-

rifle levelled. 'It seems you've changed sides. I'm not sure

that's completely a surprise.'

'What is a surprise is that you're the one who's caught

me,' the Doctor replied.

'Ahhh!' Zubedai lifted his laser-sighted visor. 'You

think a soft-living celebrity like me shouldn't have the

instinct for this sort of thing?'

'I've no doubt you've got the instinct. But the ability is

something else.'

'Well...' Zubedai chuckled. The parts of his face that

hadn't been covered by his oxygen mask and visor were

smudged with dust, suggesting that his hunt, so far, had

been a lively one. 'Maybe in overhearing your explosion, I

got lucky. But we all need a bit of luck.' He raised his rifle

to his shoulder. 'I don't know what points I'll get for you,

if any... but that's no matter. I'm content to take a share

of your money.'

But before Zubedai could fire, he gave a strangled

gasp of pain. The blackened carcass of the Air-Walker lay

alongside him, though apparently there was still a spark

of life in it; without warning, it had turned its head, and

clamped its serrated teeth onto his left ankle. Zubedai's

gasp became a shriek as it applied crushing pressure.

Desperately, he began kicking out, raining down blows

with the butt of his rifle.

It was all the distraction Dora needed.

'Doctor!' she cried, throwing something. 'The wall

filler!'

The packet of plastic explosive was still half full. By the

time it landed at Zubedai's feet, the Doctor had already

drawn his screwdriver and activated it.

This second explosion was much bigger than the first,

throwing both fugitives to the ground, pummelling their

ears. After the echoes died away, it took almost a minute

for the dense cloud of smoke to clear. Cautiously, the

Doctor wafted his way through. When he reached the

edges of the small crater and saw the ragged remnants

strewn across and around it, he could only shake his

head.

'I make that Hunting Party - nil. Inconsequential

Species - two.'

There was a sudden CRACKLE of electronic gunfire -

it sounded as if it was just outside the hangar. The Doctor

hurried towards the exit.

Dora stumbled after him and, when she caught up

with him, peered down onto another flat wasteland dotted

with ruins and the wrecks of abandoned vehicles.

A small group of figures were staggering across

it - matchstick shapes from this distance, but Dora

recognised the tattered black clothes and black mop-hair

of Sophie, who was only covering the rugged ground at

the speed she was because a tall young man, presumably

Andrei, was propping her up. The group was clearly in

the last stage of exhaustion; instead of using the cover of

the ruins, they were tottering along in the open. About

fifty metres behind them, three more figures - clad in

body-armour and hunting fatigues - capered in pursuit.

However, these surviving members of the hunting party

only discharged the occasional bolt, and seemed to be

deliberately missing their targets, striking the ground

or flattening nearby buildings, as if herding the terrified

humans. They laughed excitedly.

'They're enjoying themselves, aren't they?' the Doctor

said grimly.

'Do something, please!'

The Doctor was thinking quickly, but no obvious

solution presented itself. At the far side of the wasteland

was the upward curved perimeter of the dome wall,

though at this point it adjoined with a different dome: an

immense arched entranceway giving through to another

set of towering, rusted structures - almost certainly the

rocket base. It was difficult to see clearly through the

stained and misted partition, but one particular tower

over there, a huge flimsy edifice, soared above all the

others. That had to be the base control tower, which was

a reassuring sight, though it was at least a couple of miles

away from here, and not only did he have to get himself

and Dora over there in one piece, but he had to get the

other fugitives there as well.

A change in tone from the hunters caught his attention.

He peered down. They had halted, and seemed to be

milling around in a minor panic. Finally, they took cover

behind the skeleton of an earth-mover.

Very slowly, the Doctor smiled.

'What's happening?' Dora asked.

'They're getting a dose of their own medicine,' he said.

'They're taking fire.'

Rory and Harry bawled with laughter as the hunters went to

ground.

Rory loaded another hunk of rock onto his catapult

and let fly. The missile winged its way across the ruins,

and struck the caterpillar track behind which the crown

of a hunter's helmet had just ducked. He and Harry were

perched inside the scoop of a derelict crane. Its jib was

partly lowered, so they'd been able to scramble up it,

and had found it an excellent vantage point from which

to assail the enemy with the array of primitive weapons

they'd brought from the labour camp. As well as Rory's

catapult, for which he had a stockpile of ammunition,

Harry had a homemade crossbow, and a quiver full of

flint-tipped arrows. They also had a spear and a sling.

Harry discharged another arrow. Rory let fly with

another lump of rock. The hunters had only been about

fifty metres away when they'd come under attack, so the

first few shots had struck cleanly. Now they'd taken cover

and were all but invisible, but Rory and Harry kept up

their bombardment, determined to buy as much time for

the fleeing fugitives as they could.

'Having a good time up there?' someone called from

below.

Rory glanced down, and saw the Doctor and Dora

standing on the ground beneath them. The Doctor's arms

were folded. He was smiling, but sternly - like a lecturer

just about tolerating amusing but wayward behaviour

from his students.

'Doctor!' Rory laughed delightedly. 'I knew you'd get

here! Look - we've got them pinned down!'

'So I see,' the Doctor replied. From ground level, it

was impossible to pinpoint where the hunting party had

hidden themselves, but he knew they wouldn't lie low

indefinitely. 'I take it you're not alone?'

'He certainly is not,' Harry said, poking his head out

of the jib. 'I'll have you know this was my idea - Dora!'

'Harry!' she screamed.

Harry made to scramble back down the jib, but Rory

stopped him. 'We need to maintain this assault. The

longer we keep them — '

'The longer you maintain this assault, Rory,' the

Doctor shouted, 'the more likely they are to locate your

exact position. And remember, each one of those men has

a weapon that can turn this machine into a pile of tooth

fillings.'

Rory and Harry hurriedly clambered down. Harry

and Dora embraced for several seconds, before he stepped

backwards and regarded her outfit.

'I like the new look,' he said.

'Well... it's practical,' she replied.

'You remind me of Lara Croft.'

'Don't be daft.'

Harry glanced towards the Doctor, wondering who he

was. It might have been his imagination, but Rory, who'd

been a life-saver so far, suddenly seemed less authoritative

in this young stranger's presence.

'I'm... well, you know... sorry,' Rory was in the middle

of saying.

'The deep and lasting recriminations can come later,'

the Doctor replied. 'At the moment, I suspect we're about

to have company.'

They peered through the ruins, and saw three figures

bobbing up and down as they moved from one hiding

place to the next, steadily encroaching.

The Doctor spun into action. 'Rory, you and Harry

hold them off. Dora, come with me.'

The two men brandished their makeshift weapons as

they took up firing positions behind a pile of empty oil

drums.

'Where are we going?' Dora said, following the Doctor

to the rear of the crane.

'Fancy a drive?'

'What?'

Behind the massive machine, there was yet another

heap of junk: more oil drums, more layers of broken

panelling.

'Where are we going to get a car?' she asked.

'How about... here!' He stripped debris from the

mound, and revealed the skeletal chassis of a squat,

squarish vehicle, the interior of which had been completely

burned out. It had no doors, no windows. Its wheels were

circles of bare metal. But the Doctor looked pleased.

'An Outskirter Buggy. Ideal. These are the workhorses

of Torodon heavy industry. Designed for personnel

transport, haulage, you name it.'

'But it's got no tyres.'

'I only said we were going for a drive. I didn't say it

would be smooth.'

'It's got no seats in it, either.'

'Or comfortable.' He moved around to the front. 'All

we really need is an engine.'

When he tried to lift the bonnet, it came away in his

hands. This didn't stop him poking around underneath,

though he was briefly distracted when an energy bolt

impacted close by. 'That isn't good. We can probably

outrun those bored businessmen, but not their gunfire.

Got to get this thing working.'

Dora gazed in at the engine, if that was what it was - it

was more a confusion of conduits, valves and cables, all

jammed in around a central block-like structure, which

was covered with a fine, plasticky resin.

'The solenoids appear to be intact,' the Doctor muttered.

'Excellent. The heads and terminals undamaged. Even

better. The cabling and relays are still connected to the

ignition switch.' He tapped a forefinger on the central

block. 'Battery looks almost as good as new.'

'That's a battery?' Dora said.

'Outskirter Buggies are always electrical. Unusually

far-sighted of the Torodon - their industries are generally

filthy.'

There was another explosive impact. Dora rushed to

the corner of the crane, and saw that Rory and Harry had

had to change position, though they were still returning

fire. The barrier of oil drums had been blown apart, and

there was smoke everywhere.

'Doctor, hurry!' she cried, running back.

'Almost done,' he replied.

He'd taken out his sonic screwdriver, unscrewed its

base and extracted a long, silvery core with a crystal

bauble attached to either end. He now loosened the two

baubles, swapped them around and carefully reinserted

the core, before snapping the tool back together. 'Now...

we've no insulation material, so there'll be sparks.'

Dora stepped back as he held the screwdriver within

touching distance of a copper wire coiled tightly into a

helix. There was, as he'd forecast, a flash, followed by a

jarring CRUNCH of gears - and the engine rumbled to

life.

'You did it!' Dora cried. 'That device is incredible.'

The Doctor shoved the screwdriver back into his

pocket. 'I've said it before and I'll say it again - no one

must ever dis the sonic.' He dashed round to the driver's

door. 'But this won't last long. Perhaps give us a mile

before the power cells burn out. Come on.'

When the battered, burned-out wreck pulled up

behind Rory and Harry, they could only rise from their

concealed positions agog.

'Someone order a taxi?' the Doctor asked.

One by one, the three hunters emerged through the smog of

dust left behind the Outskirter. One by one, they lowered

their weapons.

Their names were Zargoz, Krillig and Klyber, and

they were respectively a stockbroker, a banker and the

managing director of a successful sports and retail giant.

All of them were dustier and more bedraggled than they

would normally be at this stage on a 'fun hunt'. One of

the lenses in Klyber's goggles had been knocked out by

a catapulted rock, rendering his long-range visualiser

defunct. A crossbow bolt was buried between two of

Zargoz's shoulder-plates. Its flint tip had drawn blood

from the flesh beneath.

They watched the rapidly dwindling buggy for several

seconds. Only then did Krillig notice the figure on the

ridge behind them. It was Xorg Krauzzen, elevated to a

metre in the air on his hover-plate and carrying a photon-

rifle across his shoulder. His attention was also fixed on

the escaping vehicle, which was now little more than a

dot. More of Krauzzen's men appeared, slogging on foot,

but all carrying photon-weapons. Krauzzen glided slowly

down from the ridge.

'Pity you weren't here a few minutes ago,' Klyber said

petulantly. 'We were under attack. In danger.'

Krauzzen gazed towards the horizon, his wax-smooth

face unmarked by emotion.

'They only had primitive weapons,' Zargoz said.

'But they were effective at short range. It gave them an

opportunity to elude us. I've been hurt, by the way. It's

only a nick, but I hope your medical bay has a suitable

antibiotic. I don't want to come down with some ghastly

blood infection.'

Krauzzen focused on the skeletal structures of the

rocket base, which were just visible in the next dome.

'None of us called you, Krauzzen,' Krillig said. 'I hope

you don't think this means the hunt is over?'

Krauzzen responded by turning his hover-plate around

and cruising several metres to one side. He nodded to his

men.

Their photon-rifles rose in unison.

'Wait!' Zargoz shouted. ' What is this?'

The gangsters opened fire, blowing the three hunters

to the ground, where they blasted them over and over

until they were nothing but embers and smoking ash.

About a mile and a half away, the Doctor's ramshackle

transport ground to a halt alongside a crater, where Sophie,

Andrei and the other exhausted fugitives had been lying

low, gasping for breath. Dora was now too busy hugging

the weeping Sophie to notice the distant cacophony of

gunfire. Harry was too busy pumping Andrei's hand

and clapping his shoulder in gratitude for keeping their

daughter alive. The other fugitives were preoccupied by

the mobile heap of junk their rescuers had arrived in; they

watched in awe as its one remaining section of bodywork

dropped off.

Of them all, only Rory glanced back through the

ruins.

'For some reason, I don't like the sound of that,' he

said.

'Me neither,' the Doctor agreed, though he declined to

voice what he suspected it meant. 'All aboard everyone.

You can promise never to hurt each other again later.'

The fugitives crammed into the buggy, which jolted

and creaked as it struggled on across the broken ground.

The Doctor wasn't particularly enjoying driving it. The

gears jammed constantly, and the sponge that had once

upholstered the steering wheel only remained in sticky,

charred stubs. However, the Outskirter was still capable

of movement, which was more than he'd expected.

The dome containing the rocket base was more severely

damaged than the others. A large section of its roof was

retractable, to allow for the arrival and departure of

spacecraft, but this was now frozen open, so the acid rain

poured through in torrents. Where certain of the launch

buildings and pads had once been located, there were

nothing but blistered ruins, still smoking and hissing as

the caustic fluid continued to eat its way through them.

Thick billows of corrosive steam blew across the site.

'Just breathing this air is making my throat sore,' Dora

said, as the Doctor wove the rickety vehicle amid the

rotting structures.

'There's sufficient wind from the outside to prevent

these emissions building to a fatal level,' the Doctor

replied. 'But the atmosphere's severely tainted. You'd get

better quality of life on a landfill.'

Ahead of them loomed the control tower. It was

a monumental edifice, at least sixty metres high,

constructed from steel girders and with a discus-shaped

superstructure at its apex.

'You want us to climb that?' Rory said.

'We haven't got any choice,' the Doctor replied. 'The

most powerful radio transmitter on Gorgoror may still be

at the top.'

'May still be?'

'Let's not worry ourselves with semantics.'

A few metres further on, the Outskirter sputtered to

an undignified halt, one of its wheels rolling away as it

clattered down onto its shocks.

The Doctor climbed out and observed the tower. A

stairway spiralled up its central core, but was likely to

be rusted to the bone. Briefly, he had second thoughts. It

might have been safer to leave everyone else down here,

and go up there alone - but in truth there was nowhere

here for them to hide.

'And if we're all up there, what's to stop Krauzzen

blowing it up?' Harry asked.

'Curiosity,' the Doctor said, hands thrust in his

pockets.

'How do you mean?'

'Well, if I were him, I'd want to know who it was who

scuppered his plans, who managed to start the engine of

a car that's been dead for thirty years—'

'You think he might be impressed?'

'Krauzzen exists outside Torodon law. Just to survive,

he needs to make the best of every situation. After this,

I doubt hell be holding any more fun hunts here, so he

has to walk away with some kind of prize.' The Doctor

turned, and saw the rest of the fugitives gathered around

him. They were a little fresher, having driven the last

few miles, but they still looked strained and haggard. 'A

quick climb and everything will be hunky dory,' he said

cheerfully.

'I thought you didn't believe in lying to people?' Ron'

mumbled.

'Did I say that? Maybe I was fibbing. Don't worn'.

We're not finished yet,' the Doctor replied.

Climbing the control tower was every bit as nerve-

wracking as they'd expected. The buildings around

its base were hollowed shells, but the stair, which they

accessed single file from a central courtyard, was intact -

at least at its lower section. However, the higher they rose

the more the structure felt as if it was swaying. There were

endless groans and creaks. They encountered segments

of stair where the hand-rail had broken or corroded, and

where even the risers were loose. Rory glanced down

across the rocket base, but the billows of steam only

afforded him brief glimpses of the arched entrance from

the neighbouring dome, and as yet there was no sign of

anyone coming through it.

About thirty metres up, there was a viewing deck: a

narrow, railed catwalk which circled the tower's exterior.

Sixty metres away on a level with this was the roof of the

next nearest building. They'd noticed this before - from

ground level it was nothing more than an immense,

square concrete box, with almost no windows or other

distinguishing features. But from this vantage point, they

saw that its upper surface was bristling with antennae

and parabolic reflector dishes. The Doctor moved to the

edge of the viewing deck, to stare more closely at it.

'Now,' he said. 'Big windowless thingy with everything

happening on top. Couldn't be a Solar Transduction

Centre by any chance? Yes, of course it could.'

'What's a Solar Transduction Centre?' Rory asked.

'Hopefully something we won't need. In a nutshell,

that's a giant transducer. Would've been used as back-up in

the event of Gorgoror's nuclear reactor being deactivated.

It would literally have run this entire complex on stored

solar energy.' The Doctor rubbed his chin. 'There could be

decades' worth of power still latent in there. The trouble

is we're over here!

'You mean we've got to go back down?'

'Nope. No time for that.'

'I've just looked and I didn't see anyone following

us.'

'You won't see them until it's too late.'

'But if there's no power...?'

The Doctor glanced back down the stairway. The

others were clattering wearily up, but trailing below to a

distance of twelve metres. It would be impossible to pass

them all until they'd reached this viewing deck, and that

would take even more minutes that couldn't be spared.

'Never mind.' He started up the next flight. 'The

control deck may have a battery reserve in case of power

failure.'

'That's a heck of a gamble,' Rory said, following.

'They've all paid off so far.'

The control deck - the discus-shaped capsule they'd

seen from below - was about twenty metres in diameter

and, in appearance, resembled a flying saucer, with

viewing ports around its outer bulkhead. It was perched

on the very top of the tower, with another viewing deck

directly below it from which a single set of step-ladders

led up through a hatch into its interior - which had quite

literally been trashed.

Rory viewed the mess with dismay.

There were control boards everywhere, bashed in or

torn loose. Cables, circuitry and other computer innards

strewed the floor in a spaghetti-like muddle. What looked

like a radio console, though it was more complex than any

Rory had ever seen, had been beaten as though with blunt

instruments. Again, its delicate contents had disgorged in

a chaotic deluge.

'Well,' Rory said. 'That's that.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Not quite. I'd say there

were enough spare parts lying around in here for us to

lash something together.'

The rest of the fugitives filed up one by one. They

weren't sure what they'd been expecting to find in here.

Something in the Doctor's air of authority had encouraged

them that, once they'd made it to this eagle's nest, all

their problems would be solved. They stood, breathing

heavily, mopping sweat, watching the Doctor scamper

about, grabbing up odds and ends.

'What's happening now?' Harry whispered to Rory.

'He's lashing something together.'

'Like what - a magic wand?'

Dora elbowed her husband in the side. 'He got that car

going, didn't he?'

The Doctor suddenly noticed that he had an audience.

He smiled. 'I don't always operate well under scrutiny.

Why don't you all go below and keep a lookout?'

Obediently, they descended to the viewing deck.

Soon only Rory was left, gazing bemused as the Doctor

quickly and systematically cannibalised the wreckage in

the room, assembling entirely new mechanisms from the

broken fragments littering the floor, weaving the ends of

shredded cables together, stripping insulation material

away with his teeth, and looping the metal threads around

his fingers and thumbs to create entirely new lines of

circuits and contacts.

When Rory finally went below, the rest of them

were spread around the viewing deck, peering into the

encircling gulf.

'What's the next step?' Harry asked.

Rory shrugged. 'We wait.'

'If it comes to a fight, you can rely on me,' someone

said.

Andrei had stepped forward, Sophie still clinging to

his arm.

'That's good to know,' Rory said, trying his best to

look upbeat.

This guy Andrei would be a useful bloke to have

around in most situations, but he probably had no idea

what they were up against here. They'd so far survived

by the skin of their teeth, and even the Doctor seemed to

be making things up as he went along. Whatever he was

trying to do at present seemed utterly futile.

'This is an urgent message from Gorgoror Moon,'

came the Doctor's voice from overhead. 'We are in grave

peril, and require immediate assistance. Over.'

Rory rushed back upstairs, to find the Doctor sitting

in the midst of reconstructed clutter, attempting to speak

into a microphone, which looked as if he'd patched it

together with sticky tape.

'I repeat, we require urgent assistance...'

There was no response. Not even the hiss of dead air.

By the look on the Doctor's face, Rory felt his newly

rekindled hopes diminish.

'No power,' the Doctor finally said. 'None left in any

of these circuits, and no reserve supply... at least not up

here.' He glanced at Rory. 'I'm afraid this gamble has

failed.'

'You should know, there's no way out of here!' Zarbotan said

loudly, as he roved from aisle to aisle. 'I've jammed the

lock on the door, so the access-card you stole is no longer

viable.' His hover-plate made no sound as he glided

past one row of stacked shelves after another. T see you

sprang that fool Xorax from confinement. That's another

black mark against you. Siding with Lord Krauzzen's

enemies makes no sense, and will avail you nothing. This

is your last chance, girl. Show yourself voluntarily, save

me further trouble, and I'll simply return you to duty. But

keep me busy in here, and when I finally find you - and

I will - I'll give you first to Xaaael, and what's left of you

after that to Madam Xagra. Neither are your friends at

this moment.'

Amy listened in growing terror. She'd scurried from

one hiding place to the next, but none had proved

adequate. Any tarpaulins covering items of cargo were

bound or stapled into place. None of the boxes or crates

she'd so far tried had lids that she could prise off. A couple

of times she tried to double back on herself by climbing

back through one of the stacks - yet Zarbotan seemed

to possess an unerring sense of where she was. He was

slowly but surely herding her across the Secure Hold

into an open comer where, beyond a hexagonal-shaped

aperture, a passage ramped downward into dimness.

The last thing Amy wanted to do was bolt down a rabbit

hole and find herself trapped, but nothing else suggested

itself.

When she finally descended the ramp, it ended, as

she'd feared, in a low, vault-like chamber. She pivoted

around, trying to work out her next move. The place was

jammed with discarded rubbish - the splintered shells

of jemmied-open crates, empty metal containers, torn

sacking, bundles of paper packaging. There were control

panels everywhere, giving off a low hum and dull lighting,

but it was anyone's guess what their purpose was. At the

far end of the room, set into a central portion of the floor,

was a circular hatch, a little over a metre in diameter. It

was made from some shiny, ceramic material, and fixed

in place with a steel collar. There was no obvious way to

open it. It had no handle or buttons. When Amy stamped

on it, it didn't give.

Zarbotan's voice drifted down the ramp towards her.

'You've had your chance, girl. My patience has run out.'

With heavy clanks of his semi-mechanical feet, he

descended.

Frantic, Amy dug her way through the refuse, drawing

sheets of bubble-wrap over her head. She caught a last

glimpse of Zarbotan as he strode into view. He'd inserted

the hover-plate into a harness buckled to his back, and

had drawn his photon-pistol. With practised malevolence,

he raised it until his arm was ramrod-straight and moved

slowly from one pile of rubbish to the next. His aim came

to rest on a torpedo-shaped container, the open door to

which revealed an empty interior. He fired, and a pulse of

blinding light shot into the container, blasting it apart and

then folding it up into a smouldering, semi-liquid knot.

'Just imagine the effect of that on your soft human

flesh,' he laughed.

He now took pot-shots around the vault. There were

thunderous impacts. Fountains of scorched and shattered

rubbish exploded into the air. Amy scuttled beneath the

debris like a rat, but finally she was cornered. A thin cork

hoarding was all she could shelter beneath, and Zarbotan

ripped it away.

Amy cowered as he stood over her. There was no

mercy in his bisected face. The 'living' section scowled;

the 'dead' section was blank.

She saw his grip tighten on the pistol's hilt, and

screwed her eyes shut.

The next sound she heard, however, was not the

squeal of discharged energy, but a deep CLUNK of metal,

followed by Zarbotan's brief, angry shout.

When Amy's eyes snapped open again, he was no

longer there.

But she wasn't alone.

Xorax had reappeared, and was standing by the

entrance. One of his hands was clamped on a polished

brass instrument, which looked distinctly like a lever.

Confused, she glanced further around the room - and her

eyes came to rest on the point where Zarbotan had just

been standing - on the circular ceramic hatchway, which

was now irising closed.

Amy climbed to her feet. 'What... how?'

'Joining forces with Krauzzen's enemies will avail you

something,' Xorax said with grim satisfaction. 'Survival.'

'But where is he?'

Xorax beckoned her. When she joined him, he stepped

aside and tapped a crystal scope. She gazed into it, and

it was as though she was staring down a narrow tube.

At the far end, very distant, she could see the streaming

turmoil of Gorgoror's upper atmosphere. A tiny figure

was plummeting through it, pin-wheeling.

'Down the garbage chute,' Xorax replied. 'Where he

belongs!'

'Andrei has an idea,' Rory said.

The Doctor was preoccupied with the heap of

disordered cable and circuitry which he was still trying

to breathe life into. He surveyed it distractedly, his mind

racing through one possible solution after another.

'Doctor... ?'

The Doctor turned to find Rory, Harry and Andrei on

the control deck with him.

'You say the building opposite is some kind of energy

store?' Andrei said. 'Is it a simple matter of reactivating

the power source in that building?'

'Well, it's not that simple,' the Doctor replied. 'The

Solar Transduction Centre would re-energise the entire

complex. It would give us all the power we need, but

Krauzzen and his cronies are still lurking around down

there somewhere. Probably the only thing holding them

at bay is fear of my transmat-rifle.'

'Transmat-rifle?' Rory said.

'It doesn't matter. I've lost it anyway. The point is that

whoever tries to climb back down this tower will never be

climbing up it again.'

'What if we were to slide over there?' Andrei said.

The Doctor appraised him. 'How do you mean.'

Andrei raised Harry's crossbow. 'I can fire a zip-line

across to the roof of the Transduction Centre. Someone

could slide down it.'

The Doctor pondered this, before hurrying down

the ladder to the platform beneath. The rest of the

fugitives moved aside as he stood by the barrier facing

the Transduction Centre. The distance to the ground

was immense, and, aside from a great mound of ash and

cinders mid-way across, mostly it was cluttered with piles

of razor-edged scrap. Not only that, the angle of descent

would be perilous. Whoever slid down the line would be

travelling at terrific speed.

'No one's attempted to scale the tower yet?' he asked

over his shoulder.

'Not yet,' Dora replied.

'It might work. Just.' He hurried back up to the control

deck, reappearing seconds later with several bits and

pieces, and a coil of flexible, high-tensile twine. 'This stuff

was part of an escape kit, in case the tower ever became

unstable. The twine looks thin, but don't be fooled. It's

designed to bear extreme loads.'

'Well, that's the zip-line taken care of,' Rory said, 'but

how are we going to anchor it on the Transduction Centre

roof?'

'Nothing simpler,' the Doctor replied. 'What missiles

have we got?'

Harry handed over a small bundle of makeshift

arrows. None was especially aerodynamic, but so long as

they flew and could at least hit a large target they would

suffice. Even better, one had a brass eyelet set into its

base.

The Doctor fingered it. 'Well use this one. But first

we loop the twine through it, so well have a double line.

We then haul this over there.' He produced a small but

sturdy grappling hook. 'This should find a secure grip.

All we need do then is fasten the line at this end, and I'll

be ready.'

'You'll be ready?' Rory said.

The Doctor shrugged. 'I think I deserve some of the

fun, don't you? Anyway, does anyone else here know

how to reactivate a Solar Transduction Centre?'

'No one else knows how to operate a homemade

Torodon radio set either,' Rory said. 'If you get killed

doing this, the rest of us are trapped up here.'

The Doctor glanced from Rory to Harry to Andrei,

unable to deny this logic. 'OK, good point there.'

'Can't you just tell one of us what to do?' Andrei said.

'Write it down, maybe?'

The Doctor scrubbed a hand through his mop of hair.

'It may not be too complicated. There could even be a

breaker-switch in the Emergency Maintenance Shed,

which will be that domed structure in the very middle of

the roof.'

'What would this breaker-switch look like?' Harry

asked.

The Doctor shrugged. 'Just that - a switch or lever.

Probably behind a sheet of tempered glass, to protect it.

But a device simple enough for a low-grade maintenance

tech to operate.' He moved back to the parapet. 'Whatever,

well have to move fast. I imagine Krauzzen's men are

pretty good shots - they've had enough practice.'

With the twine fitted to the arrow, Andrei took aim.

He struck the roof easily, but the arrow ricocheted off

a reflector dish and slid across its bitumen-like surface,

finally coming to a standstill. Andrei lugged it back, only

for the shaft to wedge itself across two horizontal struts.

The line went taut.

Rory hooked the grapple to the line, and released it. It

slid down across the gulf, hitting the rooftop barrier with

a dull clank.

'Easy does it,' the Doctor said.

With gentle tugs and manipulations, they worked the

grapple over the barrier, and yanked on it hard, snapping

it into place. The zip-line felt secure.

'First class!' the Doctor shouted. 'Well done

everyone!'

They tied the line to one of the steel bars overarching

the viewing deck, and the only thing then was to decide

who would be making the one-way trip.

'You're needed here, Doctor,' Rory argued. 'That's

why I should go.'

'I can't allow that,' Andrei put in. 'It was my idea. I

should go.'

'You understand just how dangerous this is going to

be?' the Doctor said.

'But it's our only chance,' Rory replied.

'Perhaps we should draw lots for it,' Andrei said. 'But

not you, Doctor.'

Rory agreed. 'Definitely not you.'

'Daddy! ' Sophie shrieked.

They spun around, and saw that Harry had removed

his jacket, looped it over the zip-line, and was standing

on top of the barrier. 'Age and ugliness before beauty and

usefulness!' he said with a grin.

'Harry, wait!' the Doctor shouted.

But Harry had leapt from the platform and was already

sailing down across the gulf.

Krauzzen tracked Harry's progress through the super-

powered electroscope on his photon-rifle. He was

still at ground level, but concealed in one of the base's

ruined outbuildings. His minions were gathered around

him, wondering why he didn't fire. Harry had almost

completed his crossing when Krauzzen lowered his rifle.

'Let's see what they come up with,' he said.

'Shouldn't we at least advance on the tower?' someone

asked.

'He'd pick us all off before we'd crossed the open

ground.' Krauzzen shouldered his weapon. 'Be patient.

I'm interested to see just how deep this Doctor's ingenuity

goes.'

Hary struck the barrier on the edge of the Transduction Centre roof with bone-rattling force, but managed to hang on and

got his legs over the parapet. When he stood up, he looked

shaken by the impact, but staggered away towards the

Emergency Maintenance Shed. Dora and Sophie hugged

each other with relief, and then cheered loudly, urging

him on. Harry glanced back and waved, before struggling

to slide his bulk through the dome's narrow aperture.

Once inside, he was gone for several minutes. They

watched from the tower in silence. There was a shrill but

muffled clattering - as of something being struck.

'The glass case over the breaker-switch,' the Doctor

said. 'He's trying to smash his way in. That won't be

easy.'

Clearly it wasn't, because several more, painfully

long minutes passed, before there was a sudden silence.

Everyone held their breath, not sure what to expect

And then the Doctor smiled and pointed.

Half a mile away, a set of runway lights were gleaming

through the drifting murk. Other lights began flickering

to life. There was a sudden hum of electricity, and the

hiss of a valve being released. A puff of flame appeared

from a nearby stack of pipes. From the distance, came the

repeated echoing of a klaxon.

That was when they heard the voice of Amy Pond.

'Doctor, this is Amy... are you receiving me? I repeat, are

you receiving me?'

The Doctor dashed for the ladder. On the control

deck, he found his lashed-together radio set aglow with

power.

'Hello, Amy,' he shouted into its transmitter. 'This is

the Doctor, receiving.'

'Where have you been?' Her voice turned cross. 'I've

been trying you for ages.'

'Sorry about that. We've had a few ups and downs.'

'Fine, whatever... now can you please just get us out

of this?'

'I'm afraid you're going to have to get yourself out of

this one, Amy. And us.'

There was a brief, static-filled silence.

'What?' Amy said finally.

'There's nothing I can do for you without the TARDIS.

So you'll need to pilot it down here.'

'This is a joke, yeah?'

'And as we're about sixty metres above the ground,

and your target area is roughly twenty metres by twenty,

a precision landing will be nine points of the law. Though

that shouldn't be too difficult because you can home

in on my sonic screwdriver. Oh... always assuming

the frequency isn't being scrambled by Torodon

interplanetary satellites. In which case, you'll need to

bypass the electromagnetic spectrum, and feed the—'

'Doctor, just stop! You know I've never flown the

TARDIS.'

'Now's not the time for nit-picking, Amelia.'

'This is madness.'

'Or a touch of genius. Well know one way or the other

very soon. Now pay attention, because I'll be giving you

precise instructions.'

'I hope you know what you're doing.'

'Have you ever known anyone more in control of

himself in times of crisis?'

'You don't really want me to answer that question, do

you?'

'Possibly not. Now...' He was about to issue directives,

when he heard Amy talking to someone else, apparently

trying to reassure whoever it was that they were safe inside

the TARDIS - despite a furious banging and crashing on

its door.

'Amy, who is that with you?'

'What? Oh, some bloke called Xorax.'

'Xorax? A Torodon?'

'He's a prisoner I released.'

'Krauzzen was holding a fellow Torodon prisoner?'

the Doctor asked.

'Does it matter? I'll make sure he doesn't touch

anything...'

'Listen! ' Suddenly, the Doctor had to struggle to keep

the excitement from his voice. 'Keep this Xorax with you.

At all costs, don't lose him.'

'And where am I going to lose him to?'

'Don't be flippant, Pond. And listen carefully. It's

not every day I give a crash course in trans-dimensional

navigation.'

Rory listened tensely, hoping Amy understood more

of what the Doctor said next than he did. He vaguely

recognised some of the terms - 'in-flight stabiliser', 'time-

flow regulator', 'space-directional modulator' - because

he'd heard the Doctor mention them while busying

around the TARDIS console, but in reality they might have

been a foreign language. He was distracted by sounds of

cheering from below.

He scrambled down the ladder and joined the others.

Lights were now visible all over the spaceport and even

beyond, in the neighbouring domes. Steam vented from

outflow pipes on the Transduction Centre roof. A reflector

dish was rotating on its axis. However, the cheers were

for Harry, who was limping back towards the parapet.

When he reached it, he placed one hand on his belly, and

bowed solemnly.

He never saw the other figure rise into view a few

metres away from him.

Even if he had, he wouldn't have recognised the short,

squat figure of Colonel Xon Krelbin. The Colonel's black

vinyl fatigues were rent and torn, and glistened with

blood; his face was so beaten and clawed that it was a

miracle he was on his feet at all. But he was, and he was

now levelling a rifle at Harry's back. Rory shouted a

hoarse warning. The others shouted too. It all came too

late. A searing beam of energy struck Harry full on. He

froze, before vanishing in a blaze of blue light.

*

On the control deck, the Doctor only half-heard the

consternation below. He'd given Amy sufficient data to

programme the TARDIS, and had now made a much

longer-range transmission, contacting the Main Police

Despatch Centre on LP9. From that point on it had become

really difficult.

'Look,' he said, infuriated. 'I wouldn't be using this

channel if I was a prank caller. I need to speak to Police

Chief Zalu, and I need to speak to him right now.'

The despatch officer replied again that his commander

did not take personal calls.

'Does this sound like a personal call?' the Doctor

snapped. 'Do I sound like I'm trying to arrange a boys'

night out?'

Rory clambered up into view. He gestured at the

Doctor, who tried to wave him away.

'Harry's just been killed!' Rory blurted.

The Doctor went cold. 'What... how?'

'One of the hunters climbed up to the roof and shot

him. Disintegrated him.'

The Doctor could still hear the despatch officer

spouting negatives into his ear, and now responded

angrily. 'Listen, I may be cut off any moment now. In fact

we may be about to lose all power here, so please think

about this very carefully: would I have patched myself

through to the heart of your classified network if I didn't

(a) have astonishing abilities which are surely worthy of

investigation, and (b) have information for Chief Zalu of

quite staggering importance?'

There was a brief silence, before the officer asked:

'What is this information?'

'Tell him that Krauzzen...' The Doctor paused on

hearing an intake of breath. 'That's right... tell him that

Xorg Krauzzen is holding a Torodon national against his

will, and threatening to having him executed. Did you

g e t - '

The radio went dead. All over the complex, lights

faded and died. Klaxons fell silent. Steam ceased to pour

from vents.

With no other option, the Doctor followed Rory down

to the viewing deck.

Andrei, rather awkwardly, was attempting to comfort

Dora and Sophie, who clutched each other and wept. The

rest of the fugitives regarded them with woe-stricken

faces. A jeering voice drew the Doctor's attention to the

Transduction Centre roof, where the battered shape of

Colonel Krelbin had re-emerged from the Emergency

Maintenance Shed and now stood on the parapet, holding

his knife aloft in one hand and, in the other, what looked

like a shock of blood-streaked hair. At first, the Doctor

had the horrible notion this might be Harry's scalp,

but then remembered Rory saying that Harry had been

disintegrated.

In some ways it was even more disconcerting to

realise that this scalp had once belonged to the monstrous

shologgi.

Down in the ruins, Krauzzen and his men watched with

fascination.

'That's Krelbin?' one of them said.

Krauzzen nodded. 'And that weapon he just used is

not his own. Damn it, it's the Doctor's Obliterator! Which

means we're clear to attack. All of you, now!'

Doctor!' Andrei said. 'Our enemy are dosing.'

The Doctor saw hunched figures, photon-rifles levelled

as they scuttled across the waste ground.

'That's not our only problem,' Rory said, pointing

along the zip-line.

Krelbin had sheathed his knife, shouldered his rifle,

and was hanging by his hands and knees as he worked

his way across.

'Not to worry,' the Doctor said. 'Amy's on her way.'

Hopefully none of them noticed that he had his fingers

crossed behind his back. She'd listened to his instructions

attentively, but learning to fly a TARDIS, even along a

pre-programmed route, was not something you generally

picked up in two minutes.

After immersion in the blue flare, Harry went spinning through a glittering vortex, during the course of which he became

unconscious. When he opened his eyes again, he was

lying on the floor in a bare ten-by-ten room, with a foil

blanket laid over him.

That had been a quarter of an hour ago. Now he was

sitting up, groggy. A tall, severe looking and yet rather

handsome Torodon woman watched from the doorway.

She was dressed in a tight-fitting uniform made from

shiny, silvery-blue material.

Harry tried to smile at her, but still felt queasy. She

didn't return the smile, and he noticed that she was

holding a punch-stick.

He was about to speak, when an older Torodon male

entered. He was bald and thickly moustached. He too

wore a tight, silver-blue uniform, but didn't fill it as well.

He folded his arms as he appraised Harry. 'I apologise

that there's no bed for you to recover on,' he finally said,

'but the last creature the Doctor sent here dissolved it.'

Harry felt a jolt of hope. 'You know the Doctor?'

'If only I didn't.'

'Who are you people?'

The twosome glanced at each other, puzzled.

'Has he been given a full medical?' the male asked.

'The FMO looked him over,' the female replied. 'He's

in reasonable shape.'

The male turned back to Harry. 'Can you stand up?'

Harry levered himself to his feet. He still felt weak and

disoriented, but his strength was returning. He didn't

notice how torn and filthy his clothes were, or how many

deep gashes had dribbled blood onto them.

But Kobal Zalu did. He bit his lip as the reality of what

these people were going through struck him. 'How is it

up there?' he asked.

'Up there?'

'On Gorgoror.'

Harry ran fingers through his damp, dirty hair. 'Chaos.

We're being hunted, murdered. The Doctor was trying to

help us.'

Zalu looked even more discomforted. He turned and

left the room. The female followed

'Wait!' Harry lurched dizzily after them. 'Are you

some kind of police force? Hey, you can at least answer

my questions.'

The small room opened not into a cell corridor as

Harry had expected, but into a large, octagonal chamber.

The room was in fact a tank on a raised dais, with various

pipes and insulated cables feeding into it. Another

Torodon, a younger male, operated a freestanding bank

of controls.

Zalu turned to face Harry. 'You're in the LP9 Police

HQ. You're safe here. You can rest, bathe, eat. But you've

got to keep out of our way, especially mine. I'm too busy

to talk to civilians.'

'I'm not a civilian,' Harry said. 'I'm a cop. Like you.'

Again, the police chief glanced at his female colleague.

This time there was clear surprise on their faces - along

with something else: uncertainty, concern.

'You're here on duty?' the female asked.

'Well... no. But I was carrying out an investigation

when I was abducted.'

There was a long silence. The woman looked

questioningly at her superior. He stiffened, before

shaking his head. 'I'm sorry about that,' he said. 'But

you've no jurisdiction here. And I couldn't help you, even

if I wanted to.'

'Which means you don't want to?' Harry said. 'Look,

what kind of people are you? You call yourselves police,

yet there are folk being murdered and you're just hanging

around here in your office?'

The officers again exchanged discomforted looks,

before Zalu spun around and strode for a slide-door,

which shot open to admit him.

'We respect that you're police officer,' the woman said.

'But you're from Earth. You can't understand the political

dimensions we have to cope with here.'

'Politics!' Harry laughed. 'Are you kidding? I know all

about politics. It's turned the job upside down. On Earth,

we had to fight crime with one hand tied behind our back.

We still fought it, though. What's your chief's name?'

'That was Chief Officer of Police Zalu, and he's very

busy.'

Before she could stop him, Harry ran for the same

slide-door. It shot open, and beyond it there was a small

compartment.

'Top floor!' he shouted, more by instinct than logic

The door slid closed before the woman could step in

with him, and he ascended, coming to a halt again in a

high-tech office filled with plasma screens on which

images and data played rapidly. Numerous Torodon

police officers moved around. Harry pressed through

them, until he saw his target in mid-discussion with

someone.

'Chief Zalu!' Harry shouted.

Heads switched towards him, astonished. Zalu raised

a bushy white eyebrow.

'Whatever evidence you need, you've got it,' Harry

said, approaching. 'I'm a walking, talking witness

statement I'm not scared of this guy Krauzzen. I'll stand

up in court, testify against him. I won't crack under the

interrogation of some mob lawyer.'

'If only it was that simple,' Zalu said gruffly.

'Hey, we have a phrase on Earth. Not everyone likes it,

but it was pretty universal when I joined the job. It goes:

"We're the cops; we can do anything."'

'Congratulations,' Zalu replied. 'When you finally

return to this police state you call home, give mv

condolences to the law-abiding citizens who have to

suffer under it' And he strode away, vanishing through

another slide-door.

Harry noticed that the tall female officer had joined

them.

'Is he a law officer or not?' he asked.

Of course he's a law officer,' she retorted. 'He's one

of the best.'

'Did he not understand what I just said?'

'He understood. But while you have to fight crime with

one hand tied behind your back, there are times when we

have both tied behind ours.'

'Even when it comes to murder, kidnapping?'

'I'm afraid so.'

'You Torodon have got some pretty strange ideas.'

'You 're telling me that?' she said. 'I'm a woman.'

Harry bustled on through the room, entered a narrow

passage, which gave through to various other offices. He

heard the female calling for him to stop, but for some

reason she didn't follow him. At the end of the passage,

he found a smaller office in which three male officers were

seated behind consoles. Zalu was disappearing through a

door on the other side.

'Yo!' Harry shouted, again dashing through before

anyone could stop him.

Zalu had just slumped behind his desk. He looked

thoroughly exasperated by the ongoing intrusion.

'Listen,' Harry said, 'there was a time when I was a

lazy cop, too.'

Zalu's eyebrows arched. 'What's that?'

'I admit I made a hash of my police career. I got bored,

I got silly. I was taking the perks and not delivering the

service, you know what I mean?'

'I've tried to tell you that I'm too busy-'

'Look, if you've been posted to this...' Harry's words

faltered as he glanced through the panoramic window at

the crowded, rain-soaked streets of LP9, and the dingy,

garish palaces providing its buildings. 'If you've been

posted here as some kind of punishment gig, I understand.

I don't know, maybe you fouled up for good reasons.

Maybe you were once an honest cop—'

Zalu jumped to his feet, shouting. 'Sergeant Xelos, get

this alien out of here!'

'All I'm saying is that, if there was ever a time when

you were a real cop - you know, someone who didn't

neglect his duty - now's your chance to resurrect him.'

'Sergeant Xelos!'

'You won't regret it.'

'Anybody!' Zalu bellowed. ' Get this lunatic out of my

office!'

Two of the male officers appeared with punch-sticks,

and began to hustle Harry.

'Once a cop, always a cop,' Harry said. 'Don't let

anyone tell you different.'

The female officer now appeared.

'Xelos!' Zalu said. 'Where have you been?'

'You two, wait,' she said, stopping the arresting

officers.

'Xelos, I asked you a question!' Zalu barked.

Unruffled, she turned to face him. 'Message for you,

sir. From Central Despatch.'

'Put it through the appropriate channels.'

'It's for you personally, sir. From the Doctor.'

Zalu remained blank-faced, but Harry grinned as he

looked from one to the other.

'Apparently,' she said, 'Xorg Krauzzen is holding

a Torodon national against his will, with a view to

liquidating him.' She clamped her mouth shut and

waited.

'That's all there is?' Zalu asked.

'With all respect, sir, do we need any more?'

Zalu turned stiffly to the window, his hands knotted

behind his back. Xelos nodded to the two other officers

that Harry could be released.

They did as she said and backed from the room.

'Look...' Harry said, breaking the uncomfortable

silence. T don't really know what's going on here. But I

can tell good cops when I see them. And I reckon I'm in

the presence of two right now.'

'Sergeant Xelos,' Zalu said slowly, 'are you A-listed

for Operation Response?'

'I am, sir.'

'Be so good as to call one.'

'Yes, sir.' She clicked her heels before leaving.

Zalu glanced around at Harry. 'Am I to understand

that you too are hoping to someday resurrect the good

officer you once were?'

Harry straightened up. 'Very much so.'

'Then this is your chance too.'

The TARDIS arrived on the viewing deck with its familiar

fanfare of trumpet calls. And Amy bounced out of it with

a fanfare of her own.

T did it,' she shouted excitedly. T did it.'

Rory barely had a chance to compliment her on her

'retro Eighties' style, before she grabbed him and kissed

him triumphantly.

'Sorry, no time for that,' the Doctor shouted, ushering

forward a bunch of people she didn't know. They were

bedraggled and sallow-faced. Two of them - a woman and

teenage girl - hugged each other, weeping inconsolably.

But the Doctor was impervious to such emotion. 'Into the

TARDIS everyone, chop, chop!'

'But Doctor, I did it—' Amy began.

'Yes, well done. We can celebrate later. Who's this, by

the way?'

Xorax had stepped out from the TARDIS and was

staring around as if he couldn't quite believe that he

wasn't still on board the Ellipsis.

'The prisoner I was telling you about,' she said.

'Good, good... Mr Xorax, you're extremely valuable

to us.'

'I am?' Xorax replied, dazed.

'You are, and you'd be equally valuable dead, though

I'm sure you wouldn't see it that way. So just step back

inside the TARDIS.'

'How did... how did we get here?'

'Just do as I say.'

'I've got an even better idea!' came an echoing

voice. 'Everyone do as I say, and you might live a few

milliseconds longer!'

They whirled around.

About twenty metres from the tower, hovering silently,

was a craft the Doctor knew could only be Zagardoz

Xaaael's Raptor-Bird. It was built from gleaming black

metal, and shaped like a falcon with its wings spread.

The voice, clearly that of Xaaael himself, spoke again:

'Nobody move, or I shall reduce this tower and everything

on it to burning scrap, and that includes you, Doctor, and

your precious machine.'

The Doctor glanced around. Only Xorax was near to

the TARDIS, but he'd stepped outside and allowed its

door to close, which meant it would need to be unlocked.

The Doctor looked back at the Raptor-Bird. The double-

barrels of two rapid-fire howitzers had emerged on the

ridges of its wings. Even making a dash for it, no one

would get into the TARDIS in time.

The other fugitives were frozen in place. Sophie and

Dora had stopped sniffling, fear having overcome their

sorrow.

A panel now slid open in the craft's hull, and a figure

perambulated onto the starboard wing. It was Xaaael,

clad in his exoskeleton of body armour. Two lesser

gangsters followed him. All were armed with photon-

rifles. An aluminium walkway extruded, pushing across

the gulf between the craft and the tower. Xaaael sauntered

across it almost casually. At the same time another figure

swept up into view. It was no surprise to the Doctor to

see Krauzzen himself, balanced expertly on his hover-

plate. He too stepped onto the viewing deck, photon-

rifle levelled. From the stairway below came grunts and

clattering feet as his henchmen ascended by the tougher

route.

A few seconds later, the viewing deck was crammed

with personnel. The fugitives huddled together in the

middle, hemmed in from all sides.

'Well, Doctor,' Krauzzen said. 'Run to ground at

last. Though you've provided us with better sport than

usual.'

'Don't kill that turncoat, Krauzzen!' someone

shouted.

Krauzzen's men shifted aside to reveal Colonel

Krelbin, flushed and sweating as he clambered over the

safety barrier, his weapon slung on his broad back. He

was soaked with sweat and his shoulders heaved, but

his ice-blue stare was fixed on the Doctor with malign

intensity.

The Doctor pursed his lips. 'Congratulations on

surviving the shologgi, Colonel.'

'I didn't just survive it,' Krelbin snarled. 'I waited for it

and ambushed it. Killed it bare-handed.'

'You're quite a man.'

'You won't talk your way out of this one.'

'Nor you, I fear,' the Doctor said. 'Wondering where

your friends are yet?'

Krelbin looked puzzled, suddenly seeming to realise

that no other members of the hunting party were

present.

'Oh... try using your head,' the Doctor said. 'Krauzzen's

finished on the Outer Rim. He's cleaning house before he

leaves.'

Krelbin glanced distractedly from face to face, but

perhaps it was Krauzzen and his men's chilling silence

that made him snatch the weapon from his back and level

it on the encircling crowd. 'Back off!' he shouted. 'All of

you! You saw what this did to that Earthling on the roof

over there!'

The Doctor gazed in fascination at the transmat-rifle

that he'd thought lost.

'That's right, Doctor,' Krelbin sneered, retreating to

the barrier. 'It's your own weapon. I found it while I was

tracking you. It was hanging by its strap - too much of a

risk for you to retrieve it, clearly, but no trouble for me.

Now back off! That goes for you too, my lord! Are you so

sure you want to side against me?'

'Well...' Krauzzen shrugged. 'Your tirades when

you thought no one could hear were becoming a tad

tiresome.'

'Hah! You want to hear me when I'm really angry. You

know I'm not some playboy adventurer, Krauzzen! There

isn't one of you here I'm not a match for...'

Krelbin choked on his final words.

He hadn't seen the figure glide up behind him on

a hover-plate, pull the scalping-knife from its sheath,

and jam it into his lower spine. He tottered forward,

eyes goggling, blood frothing from his mouth. With his

nervous system severed, his legs gave at the knees and he

slumped down, falling hard onto his face.

His killer, Zarbotan, stepped awkwardly over the

safety barrier.

He was in a gruesome condition. His clothes were

charred tatters and much of his ectoderm, both real

and synthetic, had melted away, revealing a cybernetic

rib-work beneath, and a web of flexible plastic tubing,

through which pumped his bodily fluids. Gelatinous

organs pulsed inside plastic containers held by tensioned

springs. Rotating sprockets and high tensile cord provided

musculature.

Krauzzen raised an eyebrow. 'Better late than never, I

suppose.'

'Forgive me, my lord,' Zarbotan replied. 'I got caught

in the rain.'

Now that he no longer had a fleshy throat, his vocal

cords, no more than a row of taut wires running vertically

down into his chest cavity, visibly vibrated, creating

an eerie, fluting echo. More than half his face was also

missing, and a skullish steel mask was exposed. There

was a low hum as his eyes irised to knife-points; he had

focused through the crowd on Amy, who shrank back in

horror.

'Well, isn't the party complete!' the Doctor said,

clapping his hands. 'The hunters finally hook up with the

hunted. Only this time it's the predators who've suffered

the greater losses. Whatever happens next, I call that a

result.'

Krauzzen pivoted to face him. 'You fascinate me,

Doctor. You've deceived me, betrayed me, humiliated

me, you've cost me a significant income stream. And yet

here you are, unafraid of my retaliation.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Perhaps because I suspect

you're the sort of materialistic rogue who usually looks to

more lucrative solutions than mere vengeance.'

'You're right, of course. But that doesn't mean I don't

take it. One good thing. Seeing as you're more interested

in preserving life than ending it, I'm guessing the black-

light explosive you've supposedly clamped to my vessel

is... shall we say, pure imagination?'

'Do you want to take that chance?'

'There's no chance involved. Kill so many to save so

few? That doesn't compute. Xaaael! ' Krauzzen turned to

his surly underling. 'I commend you for recapturing these

creatures.' He pointed at Amy. 'Particularly this one.'

'It was nothing, my lord.'

'And was it also nothing to lose her in the first place?'

'My lord, I...'

'We'll talk about that later... but be assured, we will

talk about it. In the meantime...' Krauzzen pointed at the

TARDIS, 'how did that get down here when it was locked

in my Secure Hold?'

'Teleportation,' Xaaael said. 'We tried to get a homing

fix when it left the Ellipsis, but we lost the trace. I only

looked down here because it seemed the obvious place.'

'Teleportation?' Krauzzen ran a gloved hand across the

TARDIS's smooth panels. 'This must be a special device

indeed?' He tried the door. 'Still locked, I see.'

'The girl has a key,' Zarbotan said.

Krauzzen turned to Amy, but the Doctor stepped

between them.

'Even if Amy gives you her key, Krauzzen, it'll be no

use to you. The secrets of the TARDIS are beyond your

understanding. A lot of them are beyond mine, and I've

flown her for centuries.'

'Why should we believe anything you say?' Zarbotan

said, but Krauzzen held up a hand for silence.

'Tell me, Doctor... what exactly is this TARDIS?'

'A travel machine. The product of technology far, far

in advance of your own. What you have here, my lord, is

potentially the greatest asset in the galaxy.'

'Why do I sense you're about to try and make another

deal with me?'

'Not a deal. A bet. You're a betting man, aren't you?'

'And this TARDIS is the prize?'

'The TARDIS and everything inside it.'

Krauzzen walked around the tall, blue box. 'Everything

inside it isn't likely to be very much.'

'That's where you're wrong,' someone else said. It was

Xorax, finally finding the courage to speak up.

'Kalik Xorax!' Krauzzen almost laughed. 'I thought I

saw you skulking around.'

'I've been inside this TARDIS, my lord. It isn't just a

spacecraft, it's a laboratory, an observatory, a repository

of alien knowledge—'

'Shut up, Xorax!' Zarbotan growled. 'You have every

reason to lie to us.'

'Would I lie about this, when you can so easily discover

the truth?'

'Well, that's the trick, isn't it?' Krauzzen said, turning

back to the Doctor. 'You want me to compete with you for

this prize. Is that it?'

'And for the instruction manual,' the Doctor said. 'As I

say, you don't know how to operate the TARDIS.'

Krauzzen pondered. 'Why don't I just force you to

show me?'

'Well, I suppose you could. I'd imagine you're very

good at that sort of thing. But how will you ever be sure

I'm giving you the full truth? For instance, you won't

know if the first set of directional coordinates I calculate

for you will lead to the innermost vault of the Central

Bank of Torodon, or to the heart of a supernova.'

Krauzzen looked amused. 'And let me guess... if you

win the bet, you will take the TARDIS, and everyone else

is free to go?'

'It seems a small sacrifice on your part,' the Doctor

said. 'You could gain an awful lot, and don't stand to lose

much more than you've already lost.'

Krauzzen gave a crooked half-smile. 'You're obviously

a man used to dictating terms, Doctor. Well... no longer.

I'm not going to wager for property I already own.' He

turned to his men. 'Take these prisoners to the Ellipsis.

We can still make use of them. And this machine - we'll

open it somehow. Doctor, much as I've enjoyed our

acquaintanceship, I'm afraid you're too dangerous to be

allowed to live.'

'Scared?' the Doctor asked.

'Kill him,' Krauzzen said, and half a dozen photon-

rifles were raised.

The Doctor backed towards the safety barrier. 'Kill me

if you want, but you men should remember this - Xorg

Krauzzen is happy to watch others gamble, and to profit

by it, but he doesn't have the nerve himself. Is a man like

that fit to control your syndicate?'

'What do you think, Lord Xaaael?' Amy shouted.

'You've gambled countless times, yet the man who gives

you orders hasn't got the guts!'

Xaaael said nothing, but regarded Krauzzen with open

disdain. Several other gangsters noticed this, including

Krauzzen.

'You have something to add, Xaaael?' Krauzzen

asked.

'Not at all, my lord,' Xaaael replied, but his tone was

contemptuous.

There was a long silence as the crime-lord glanced at

his other followers' faces. Those with ambition or those

he'd recently chastised returned his gaze boldly. Others

found it difficult to look at him. Only Zarbotan made a

point of standing by his side.

'It seems you're playing for more than just the TARDIS,'

the Doctor said.

It perhaps wasn't unusual in the world of organised

crime for syndicate leaders to be subtly challenged in this

way. Doubtless it was common practice for the alpha-

males in this society to occasionally need to enforce

their leadership by proving themselves individually. But

Krauzzen looked more than a little irritated.

'No one's asking the impossible, my lord,' the Doctor

said. 'Just that you take my bet. And show your men your

personal steel, no pun intended.'

Krauzzen rounded sharply on him. 'An astute move,

Doctor. But understand - for this inconvenience, things

may go all the harder for your friends.'

'I'm prepared to take that chance.'

'You didn't say what the bet was?'

The Doctor straightened the lapels of his jacket. 'I bet...

I bet, Lord Krauzzen, that with a head start of just five

minutes, I can make it all the way from this control tower,

back across the industrial wastes of Gorgoror, to your

Observation Booth. And that two of you - you yourself,

and one other you nominate - will fail to prevent me.'

There was a brief silence, and then snickers from the

watching gangsters.

'You realise those odds are ridiculously in my favour?'

Krauzzen said.

'All the more reason for you to accept.'

'Doctor, this is suicide!' Rory shouted, but the Doctor

put a finger to his lips.

Rory tried to shout again, but Amy clamped a hand to

his mouth. She wore a grim smile, and kissed her husband

on the cheek as if to reassure him that this was exactly the

sort of ploy she'd expected the Doctor to try.

'You're quite serious about this?' Krauzzen said.

The Doctor offered his hand.

Krauzzen held back from shaking it. He knew it

would make him appear nervous and unsporting, but

all of a sudden there was something about this thin,

oddly dressed individual, with his unruly hair and his

pale, boyish face, that Krauzzen found menacing. The

Doctor was articulate and intelligent; he had charm and

wit - yet the very lack of threat he seemed to pose was in

itself threatening. He hadn't just made it to the far end

of the Gorgoror industrial complex, something never

before achieved in the history of the fun hunts, but he'd

also managed to bring most of the others with him. And

he was unfazed by that achievement. He'd still had the

energy and confidence to barter his way out of being

executed.

The Doctor's bright eyes bored into Krauzzen as if

he'd expected nothing less than to create this doubt in his

enemy. Still he offered his hand, but Krauzzen ignored it,

pushing the Doctor aside and summoning Zarbotan to be

his right-hand man.

'Weapons?' Zarbotan asked, slotting his hover-plate

into the harness on his back.

'Only what we're carrying,' the Doctor said.

'You're carrying nothing.'

'And you're carrying a photonic arsenal. Even less

reason for you to back out.'

'You can stop playing mind games,' Krauzzen retorted.

'There'll be no backing out. In fact, I'll even the odds. I'll

give you more than five minutes. I'll give you ten.'

'You're too kind.'

'But know this.' Krauzzen now spoke in a low, intense

monotone. 'When I've won, I'll be holding your friends

as surety against you attempting to deceive me again.

Even at the best of times it will be a living death for them,

but it gets worse. You will give me full command of your

TARDIS. You will tell me everything I need to know.

Everything! You understand? If you fail to do that - on

purpose, by accident, for any reason at all - these people

will suffer unimaginable consequences! Am I clear?'

'Quite. Crystal. As mud.'

'Then we have our bet. The clock is ticking.'

The Doctor sprinted across the viewing deck, stripping

his jacket en route. On reaching the barrier, he looped the

garment over the zip-line, and leapt from the platform.

'Geronimo!' he shouted, rocketing over the chasm.

They flooded to the barrier to watch. When the

Doctor was above the mountain of cinders, he dropped

like a stone. Amy's heart was briefly in her mouth, as he

plummeted a dozen metres - but landed relatively softly

in the mass of yielding rubble, and rolled down its slope

amid clouds of dust. Reaching the ground, he jumped to

his feet, pulled his jacket back on, threw a salute towards

the tower, and dashed off.

'Bet you didn't expect that?' Amy said to Krauzzen.

'That extra five minutes seems like a mistake now, eh?'

'Still smiling, I see,' Krauzzen replied. 'It suits you. I'll

see to it that your mouth is surgically fixed that way.' He

stalked off. 'Xaaael, take the TARDIS and these prisoners

to the Ellipsis. And prep the ship to break orbit.'

The first thing the Doctor did was try to get underground.

Krauzzen and Zarbotan would be coming after him on

their hover-plates, which were capable of terrific speed.

In the depthless maze of tunnels and conduits that was

Gorgoror's underworld, this advantage would be reduced.

But it was easier said than done. His nonchalant salute to

the control tower might have implied that his fall into the

cinders was all in a day's work, but it had knocked the

wind from him. He stumbled groggily through several

rows of derelict buildings, before hearing the distant

throb of the Raptor-Bird's engine.

He didn't pause to wonder what this meant, but

clambered down a ladder into a manhole. Once a

significant distance below the surface, he took a catwalk

in the vague direction of the power plant. It was pitch-

dark, so he used the light of his sonic screwdriver. Even

so, he almost stepped over a precipice when he reached a

point where the catwalk had simply rotted away. Sweat

was soaking through his clothes as he doubled back. He

was sure his ten-minute start was almost up already, and

he hadn't put anything like enough distance between

himself and his pursuers.

He took turns at random, running hard, though his

feet were hammering on the old, rusty metal, and echoes

rang throughout the subterranean grottos - something he

couldn't afford for too long. He descended another ladder

- only to find himself ankle-deep in cold, slopping water.

He waded through this for fifty metres, stumbling on

slimy sediment, until reaching a stone wall from which a

culvert protruded. This was not much more than a metre

in diameter, so he would only be able to move along it

at a crouch. He heaved himself up into it and scrambled

forward on hands and knees, now thinking he could hear

voices behind him. No doubt he'd left a trail that a skilled

tracker could follow, but it wasn't impossible that they'd

have additional devices to hand - a heat-seeker or bio-

tracer. A few metres later, the culvert sloped upward -

and then began to spiral.

Even with two hearts pumping blood through a

physiology superior in so many ways to a human's, the

Doctor was now gasping for breath, barking his knees and

elbows on rugged metal as he wormed his way around

the twists and turns. The only consolation was that it

would be equally difficult for Krauzzen and Zarbotan,

though they, being at least semi-cybernetic, would tire

even less quickly than he would. At the top of the spiral,

he clambered over a concrete lip into a vast machine hall,

though its towering stacks of equipment were little more

now than oxidised frameworks of cogs and chains, and

all of them sheathed with dust-webs.

He dashed across it towards another doorway, but

almost halted when he glanced through one rusted

mechanism, and saw floor space covered with what

looked distinctly like human bones.

Even after everything he'd seen already, this was a

gut-punching shock. There were many of them - far too

many to have come from a mere handful of skeletons. Of

course, whether the marrow had been sucked from these

sad relics or they'd been incinerated by blaster fire was

irrelevant. It all boiled down to the same thing now.

His anger gave him new energy. He ran on

determinedly.

The next door led into a warehouse the size of a

cathedral, and filled with steel barrels hoarded in great

pyramids. The Doctor paused, panting. The barrels had

been here untouched for so long that the green paint

with which they'd been covered was flaking away, as

were several bizarre markings stencilled on them in vivid

red and resembling the upper portions of skulls. Almost

certainly this was a warning regarding the contents of the

barrels - they were toxic or flammable, or maybe both.

The Doctor again heard shouting voices. With nowhere

else to go, he began to climb the nearest pyramid, but

soon realised this was a mistake. It was tedious, agonising

work, and as the barrels weren't fastened together, several

slipped away beneath his feet, clattering to the floor. About

twelve metres overhead, he saw what looked like the end

of a conveyor system - steel struts with wheels along their

sides - projecting from a hatchway. Only twelve metres,

but the Doctor was so racked with fatigue it might as well

have been a thousand. There came a shrill bleep behind

him, and a photon blast hit the barrels below.

They exploded in a cloud of flame and glowing steel

fragments.

The Doctor climbed as hard as he could. As the blazing

barrels cascaded beneath him, others ignited. Balls of

white-hot flame erupted into the air, and Xorg Krauzzen,

riding his hover-plate with the honed skill of the Special

Assault commando, swerved up between them. It was he

who had fired the shot, and his photon-rifle was at his

shoulder again.

The Doctor turned to face him. Krauzzen came to a halt

a few metres away. His hair hung in a wild, unravelled

mop. Despite his prosthetic features, he was grinning

maniacally. 'The game's up, Doctor. I'd prefer you alive,

but I'm sure your machine isn't so vital to me that dead

won't be just as good.'

The Doctor didn't bother arguing, he just dived

forward, catching hold of the hover-plate with his

fingertips, his body swinging beneath it.

'You damn fool!' Krauzzen bellowed, as the plate

tilted.

Desperately, he tried to rebalance himself, and set the

vehicle in motion - swerving it up at ninety degrees to

avoid the face of the pyramid. The Doctor clung on with

both hands, but was whipped around like a piece of rag

as the vehicle veered like a fighter plane, banking and

hurtling across the massive chamber. Krauzzen was still

struggling to regain control, and unintentionally crossed

paths with Zarbotan, riding his own plate. Zarbotan

jerked aside at so acute an angle that he was dismounted

and went tumbling thirty metres to the warehouse floor,

which he struck with a colossal impact. His hover-plate

catapulted upward and vanished through the entrance

to the conveyor, crashing and splintering as it caromed

through the system's mechanical innards.

Krauzzen swore brutally, turned his rifle around and

smashed down at the Doctor's fingers with its butt. First

he aimed at the left hand, so the Doctor hung by the right.

When Krauzzen aimed at the right, the Doctor swapped

over.

'Damn you!' Krauzzen roared. 'You'll die for this!

There's no bet, no deal... you'll just die!'

They'd now sailed out of the warehouse and were

bulleting along a wide gangway bridged by numerous

cross-girders. The first missed Krauzzen's head so closely

that he was forced to duck. But now his rage turned to

glee. He shifted position so that his plate rode downward.

The Doctor saw the next cross-beam approach, realising

that it would strike him full on. At the last second, he

released his grip. He fell about four metres, bouncing and

rolling on the straw-covered floor.

Bruised all over, he climbed to his feet and hobbled

in the opposite direction - but only made it thirty metres

before a nightmarish figure blocked his path.

It was Zarbotan, or what remained of him.

The hulking shape was not just mutilated by the acid,

but was now broken as well: the steely mask of his face

was crushed beyond recognition; one arm hung from

its shoulder joint by a sparking wire; dark, oily fluids

streamed from the rents where shattered mechanisms had

pierced his plastic-coated organs; torn tubes and severed

cables dangled between his legs. Despite this, Zarbotan

lurched forward, whirring and clicking like a wind-up

toy. The Doctor diverted sideways through an aperture

and ran towards another vast, industrial building, though

this was one he'd expected to see.

He glanced back. Zarbotan was still in pursuit, albeit far

behind. However, high overhead, there was a shattering

explosion as a streamlined shape burst from a crystal

turret. It was Krauzzen, emerging like a bat from a belfry.

With breathtaking skill, the diabolic figure performed a

massive loop-the-loop, and came rocketing downward, his

white mane streaming behind him. As he plummeted, he

fired. The ground erupted in fury, but the Doctor ducked

away from it, entering the next building and threading

through a mass of fallen timbers and masonry. Beyond

this, he attempted to descend a switchback stair, the well

of which was equally crammed with wreckage. Tripping,

he fell full-length down a perilous gradient, which only

terminated when he crashed through a glass partition,

and found himself on the lip of a gargantuan crater.

He peered down. As he'd hoped - a concrete podium

was visible about three metres below, overhanging the

abyss. He lowered himself towards it, only for a shape

to whistle past, narrowly missing his head. Dropping the

rest of the way, the Doctor landed awkwardly, twisting

his ankle and knocking the wind from himself for the

second time in the last few minutes.

He could only lie there, sobbing for breath. The gaping

aperture where he and Dora had blown the door down

earlier was still open, but suddenly he was too wearied to

move. He tried to get up, but slumped down again onto

his side.

Krauzzen arced around in the vast space above the

crater, before racing back down until he was on the same

level as his prey, whereupon he slowed to a hover.

'A good chase, Doctor. But your success has been your

undoing.' He levelled his photon-rifle. T now know for a

fact that I could never relax if you were still alive.'

Before he could trigger the weapon, it flipped from his

hands and vanished into the gulf below. He looked baffled

rather than angry - a bafflement which turned swiftly to

panic as he slowly began to descend. His feet slipped as

he struggled to maintain balance on a hover-plate which,

despite his best efforts, was turning upright.

'Problem, my lord?' the Doctor wondered. 'Feeling the

weight of your sins?'

With a strangled cry, Krauzzen dived from his steel

plate, which nose-dived into the darkness below. He

caught a jutting fragment of timber, and hung there.

After contorting into a fiendish grin a few seconds

earlier, his normally expressionless face now contorted

with agony. Of course, he wasn't just hanging on for

his life; suddenly he was having to resist an irresistible

force.

The Doctor got up and dusted himself, though the

sonic screwdriver in his jacket pocket was tugging so hard

that he had to brace his legs apart to keep his stability.

'You'll notice, how every bit of metal round here is

warping downward into this crater,' the Doctor said.

'That's what's happening to the metal components filling

your body. This wasn't what I wanted, but in the end you

gave me no choice.'

'Blast you!' Krauzzen hissed, glutinous yellow sludge

foaming from his mouth.

'It's a kind of solace, Krauzzen, to know that there's at

least one power out here - even if it's only the magnetic

core of a nuclear reactor - to which you are answerable.'

Krauzzen could no longer speak. His body had

noticeably elongated.

As the Doctor watched, his clothing ripping asunder,

and then, beneath that, the flesh parted as his joints

cracked and a rain of blood burst forth. There was a series

of sickening crunches as gears and sprockets tore loose

from moorings, as circuitry was rent from its boarding

and sliced through organ and artery. Krauzzen mouthed

a final silent scream, before dropping into the blackness,

a distorted, dismembered relic.

All that remained was his left hand - completely

organic, but with only a torn stump where its wrist should

be, clutching a knot of timber. A testimony, the Doctor

supposed, to the physical strength of the flesh and blood

creature Krauzzen once had been. He kicked out, and the

hand fell from sight.

Wearily, he backed across the platform and moved

through the blown-open doorway, where he was thankful

to be free of the magnetic field. His sonic screwdriver

relented in its efforts to escape, and he was able to

straighten himself, and mop back his sweaty hair. He set

off walking - only to find Zarbotan in his path.

The Doctor froze. For an absurd moment he raised his

fists, a pint-sized pugilist.

But Zarbotan didn't respond. In fact, he didn't move

at all.

He'd loomed out of the gloom like some great chunk

of industrial sculpture. The last vestige of his flesh had

been sloughed away, and those few fleshy organs inside

him had ceased to function. He was no longer a living

thing; just the shell of one.

There was no life in his metallic eyes.

Cautiously, the Doctor stepped to one side of him and

around to the back. He circled the giant several times,

before pushing him, and watching him topple forward

and strike the ground with a hollow clang.

The Raptor-Bird was in the process of docking with the Ellipsis, but on board it every eye, those of captives and captors

alike, were fixed on its main screen. They'd just watched

Krauzzen meet his fate, and were now staring wide-eyed

at a grainy picture of the inert junk that had once been

known as Zarbotan.

From his command chair, Xaaael regarded the image

with amazed fascination.

'There!' Amy said triumphantly. She and the other

prisoners stood behind him, still under the rifles of his

henchmen. 'You have to release us. That was the deal.'

Xaaael rose slowly to his feet. 'Any deal the Doctor

made with Lord Krauzzen died with Lord Krauzzen. The

Ellipsis is now mine. Along with everything and everyone

on board.'

'You're a liar and a cheat!' Amy shouted.

'Finally she understands how we make our living,' he

said.

'The Doctor will come after us again.'

'Not without his TARDIS.' A vibration passed through

the craft as they connected with the Ellipsis. 'Get them

aboard. Put them back in the holding cells.'

With much growling and pushing, the prisoners were

herded into an airlock. Beyond this lay another passage

made from billowing fabric. They tumbled down it,

prisoners and gangsters together. Amy was last, and

hung back. One of the gangsters hung back as well. It was

Zalizta. He regarded Xaaael with deep scepticism.

'You have a problem with me, Zalizta?' Xaaael asked.

'This takeover should be put to the syndicate,' Zalizta

replied. 'It should be voted on.'

Xaaael's lips tightened until they were livid white

lines, but he nodded. 'I understand that. And we will vote.

But later. For now I'm assuming emergency command.

Agreed?'

Zalizta still seemed unsure.

'Now do as I say, and put her aboard.'

Reluctantly, Zalizta turned to Amy and grabbed her

by the scuff of the neck - and was promptly shot in the

back by Xaaael's photon-pistol. The blast hurled him

clean across the airlock, fusing him into its far bulkhead.

Amy gazed at Xaaael, stunned.

He levelled his pistol at her. 'And I thought you people

were slow on the uptake.'

With no choice, she allowed him to usher her along the

gravity-free gangway.

'I'll tell your men what you've just done,' she said over

her shoulder.

'You think they'll care once they get their hands on the

plunder I'll secure with your teleportation machine?'

'You are evil.'

Xaaael laughed. 'There's no such thing as evil on the

Outer Rim. Just "winner takes all".'

They alighted together in the Ellipsis airlock, which

slammed behind them.

'That means I take everything,' Xaaael said. 'This

mothership, its crew, full control, full power, full

responsibility for what was once called "the Krauzzen

Syndicate".'

'Excellent news, Xaaael,' a bass voice declared, as

the muzzle of a photon-pistol was pressed into his right

temple. 'On the basis of which confession, I am arresting

you for kidnapping and conspiring to murder Kalik

Xorax.'

Xaaael was too stunned to respond. He watched dully

as his own weapon was wrested from his grasp.

His captives now stood to one side, rubbing at their

hurts, while all across the boarding area police officers in

combat armour had their guns drawn. Most of his own

men were already handcuffed and lying on the floor.

Others were in the process of being cuffed. Xaaael glanced

sideways - into a face that criminals of his ilk had once

feared, and perhaps would learn to do so again: Kobal

Zalu.

'We can do this the easy way,' Zalu said, digging the

muzzle of his weapon into the back of Xaaael's neck and

forcing him across the deck to join his comrades. 'Or we

can do it the hard way. Something inside me hopes you

opt for the latter.'

Xaaael still couldn't quite believe what had happened.

Through a viewing port he was astounded to see dozens of

police cruisers in position around the Ellipsis. He and his

men had been so busy watching the events on Gorgoror,

they hadn't noticed them as they'd approached.

'Are you mad?' he stuttered. 'You know you can't do

this!'

'Can't I?' Zalu holstered his weapon, and clapped one

hand on the shoulder of Kalik Xorax, who treated Xaaael

to a reptilian smile. 'We have all the evidence we need

right here. And before you say anything else, Xorax is

about to disappear into a witness protection programme.

So you and all your powerful political friends - assuming

you have any left now Krauzzen has gone - will never

hear from him again until he's testifying against you in

court.'

'Xorax, you traitor!' Xaaael spat, as his hands were

twisted behind his back. 'You were one of us! You swore

an oath to Lord Krauzzen!'

Xorax shrugged. 'Any oath I swore to Lord Krauzzen...

died with Lord Krauzzen.'

Xaaael choked to hear his own weasel words used

against him.

'Take him away!' Zalu roared. 'Take them all!'

With much shouting, the mobsters were removed

from the boarding area. Zalu turned towards the human

prisoners, who still huddled together uncertainly.

'You people must have put up quite a battle to have

survived,' he said. 'I'm sorry we didn't get here sooner.

Did you incur many losses?'

Amy glanced at Sophie and Dora. Their eyes were still

red-rimmed, still downcast.

'Just one,' Rory said stepping forward. 'This is his

family.'

Zalu regarded the women sympathetically.

'I'll miss him too,' Rory added. 'Harry was one of the

best.'

Zalu's expression changed. 'Harry... Mossop?'

Rory was surprised. 'You knew him?'

'An ex-policeman,' Zalu said, 'who, even if he

wasn't armed, could probably talk a criminal gang

into submission? In fact, he could talk anyone into

submission?'

Rory and the Mossop girls glanced at each other,

mystified.

'Wouldn't you say that was true?' Zalu asked them.

'It's very true,' Dora replied, 'but I don't

understand...'

Zalu pointed along a connecting companionway.

Rory wasn't sure whether he or the two women were

the most stunned to see who was now coming along it,

dressed in Torodon police armour and in company with

a tall female officer.

'Bridge secured, Chief,' Harry said, throwing up a

salute.

Dora and Sophie screamed in unison.

They hared across the boarding area together and

leapt onto Harry, who almost collapsed beneath their

combined weight and his own bellowing laughter.

Only with difficulty did he manage to explain about

the transportation device the Doctor had disguised as a

deadly weapon.

Amy gave Rory a knowing wink.

'Hello on the Ellipsis!' came a familiar voice. 'More to

the point, I suspect... hello Kobal Zalu!'

They moved into an adjoining security cell, where

a bank of monitors gave various views of the Gorgoror

surface. One of these portrayed the viewing deck at the

top of the control tower, where the Doctor stood looking

up at them.

'Can anyone hear me?' he called.

Sergeant Xelos made contact with the Bridge, and the

ship's computer patched them through to the surface.

'Hello Doctor,' Zalu replied. 'Good to see you've

survived. Again.'

'Ah, Zalu. I was hoping you'd get around to doing

your job at some point.'

'I've only half done it. Obtaining convictions on this

space rabble will be a sight more difficult than arresting

them.'

'If anyone can do it, Zalu, you're the man. Is everybody

else safe and sound?'

'We are, Doctor,' Dora shouted. 'Thank you so much.

We owe you everything.'

'Well...' The Doctor shrugged. 'Actually you owe it to

your husband. I provided Zalu with the necessary legality

to intercede on your behalf. But I suspect it was Harry

who applied most of the pressure.'

Dora hugged her husband all the harder.

Harry smiled at Zalu. 'I didn't have to apply too

much.'

'I'll send a shuttle down to pick you up,' Zalu said.

'No need. Amy flew the TARDIS before. I'm sure she

can do it again. You all right with that, Amy? Same as last

time?'

'After what we've been through, it'll be a doddle,' Amy

replied.

'Just don't forget your passengers. We've a few people

to take home.'

When the TARDIS materialised on the control tower, the Doctor

was standing by the safety barrier. Amy went out to him

first.

'Well!' she said, striking a pose made all the more

dramatic by her snazzy retro outfit. 'We did it!'

'Yes, we did,' he replied, though for some reason he

wasn't quite as euphoric as she'd expected.

The others now spilled from the TARDIS. Rory, who

looked worn out by his exertions, stood back while the

one-time prisoners flocked to their saviour, so glad they'd

been rescued that they barely mentioned the anomaly

of having travelled in a craft that was bigger inside than

outside. One by one, they pumped the Doctor's hand. In

Dora and Sophie's case, they hugged him and kissed him

on the cheeks.

Harry came last; he looked as tired as Rory, but

seemed a little more relaxed. He was still wearing the

police armour.

'Suits you,' the Doctor commented.

'Chief Zalu offered me a job,' Harry said.

'Wow!'

'As a fully fledged LP9 cop.' Harry shrugged. 'I was

tempted. Very. But Earth is our home... Things are pretty

rough down there at present, but now the Mossops are

back together, I reckon we can tackle anything.' He spoke

with strength and confidence. His wife and daughter

stood one to either side, their arms around him. 'When

we're solid like this, we fear nothing.'

'Excellent,' the Doctor replied. 'That's how it should

be.' 'The first thing we're doing is going on holiday,'

Dora said. 'Just a cheap package deal. So we can get

reacquainted.'

The family laughed together as she led them back to

the TARDIS.

'I wouldn't mind going on holiday,' the Doctor

murmured. 'Holidays are cool.'

The other passengers now filed into the TARDIS

as well. Eventually, only the Doctor, Amy and Rory

remained on the deck.

The Doctor smiled, though again it lacked

triumphalism. 'Rory, we've got plenty of room. Do you

want to get them all settled? So they're not fiddling with

things they shouldn't.'

For once too tired to be worried about leaving the

Doctor and Amy alone, Rory nodded and stepped back

inside. When he'd gone, the Doctor turned to the barrier.

The ruined landscape below was silent and empty.

Sensing what the problem was, Amy went and stood

beside him.

'I wonder how many have died here?' she said. 'In

total.'

'Oh... too many.'

'We could go back and save more of them.'

The Doctor sighed. 'Same old conundrum, Amy.'

'But we could?'

'Yes, we could.' He glanced round at her. 'But I'll be

honest with you. I'm not sure I want to go back to a time

when Xorg Krauzzen is still alive. Meeting him once

was quite enough for me. Now, why don't you go and

get changed, eh? That punk rock thing... seems a bit old

hat.'

She nodded and smiled - and went back into the

TARDIS.

The Doctor peered again at the surface of Gorgoror,

and remembered the scattered bones he'd seen in its old

machine hall.

He never liked thinking about the endless possibilities

his ability to travel in time created. So mostly, he didn't.

But sometimes - as now - it wasn't easy. In a minute,

he'd go back inside the TARDIS, hit the dematerialisation

control and watch through the console monitor as this

hellish wasteland faded into static.

If only he could do that with the thoughts inside his

head.