‘Check the visual monitors,’ Ace told the computer.
‘Internal and external. Report any faults.’
She sat back in the chair as the station began to test all of its cameras. On the screen in front of her a succession of images blinked on and off, almost faster than she could watch them. An empty corridor; a corridor with two soldiers in it; a view of the dining hall; a small room containing a stack of boxes.
And then something that made Ace sit bolt upright. For a moment she was too shocked to think.
‘Stop,’ she said. ‘Go back to the previous camera. That’s not it. Back again.’
Ace stared at the screen, which was showing her a view of a large, poorly lit space. The floor was entirely taken up with lumpy, cloth-covered shapes, some of which occasionally shifted. One stood up, stretched its arms, and subsided again. Each shape was a person.
‘What part of the station is that?’ Ace asked.
‘The current view is of cargo hold twelve,’ the station replied.
‘Zoom in,’ Ace said. ‘And give me sound, too.’
They were human. Men and women, crowded together in the darkness of the hold so that each had barely enough room to lie down. As far as Ace could make out in the dim light, they were wearing ragged clothing and looked as though they hadn’t washed for days. The men were unshaven.
Most were lying or sitting still; a few were rocking from side to side. When the sound came on Ace heard no raised voices: just a susurration of breathing and snoring, some muttering, and occasional sobs and moans.
‘Close down,’ Ace said. The screen went blank.
Ace sat very still and tried to work exactly how many things she was angry about.
One: there were people on the station who were being held prisoner in terrible conditions.
Two: Kedin and Madok had lied to her, or at least had failed to be completely honest.
Three: perhaps they’d been trying all along just to use her.
Perhaps he doesn’t even like me, Ace thought.
She shivered. She felt suddenly cold, as if her guts had turned to ice.
She couldn’t think about Kedin. Not yet. What should she do? That was the important question.
Play it cool, she advised herself. I know more about them now than they know about me. And I’m in control of the station. Keep a low profile, play along, find out more about what’s going on. That’s what I should do.
Sod that, she decided, and stood up. The heat of her anger dried the tears in her eyes. That long streak of aristocratic effluent has some explaining to do, she said to herself.
Where’s my baseball bat?
For the fifth time in as many days, Kedin was poring over maps of Gonfallon. Every flat surface in the station’s control room was covered with unrolled charts and lists of military units.
This, Madok realised, was the closest activity to relaxation that Kedin allowed himself. When the burden of conscience and anxiety became insupportable, Kedin resorted to planning, yet again, the campaign to dethrone Vethran.
Kedin looked up. ‘What was that?’
Madok had heard it too: a stifled cry, followed by a thump, outside the door. He drew his sword and leapt towards the doorway. He could hear nothing now. He caught Kedin’s eye, put his finger to his lips, and slipped behind the tapestry that hung next to the door.
The door slid open. Ace strode in. She was holding the long, smooth club with which she had been armed when he had first seen her. She was smiling, but Madok perceived the belligerence in her stance.
She didn’t notice Madok. She was interested only in Kedin, who sprawled comfortably in his chair.
‘Kedin,’ she said conversationally, ‘you’re a lying toerag. I think it’s time you told me the truth about what’s going on.’
Kedin sighed. ‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘There are things that I didn’t want to have to tell you. What would you like to know?’
Ace kept her distance from him. ‘Everything,’ she said.
‘But, for starters, who are the prisoners in cargo hold twelve?
And why are they there?’
Kedin spread his hands to indicate the maps all around him. ‘My entire planet has fallen under the control of one man. He used to be my friend. I regret to say that I helped him. I’m still helping him. But the more territory he acquired, the greedier he grew. And less stable. Now I’m planning to oppose him. That’s what I’m doing here.’
‘Yeah, sure,’ Ace said. ‘Very noble. But what about the people in the hold? What are you doing with them?’
Kedin drew his hand across his face. ‘I’m buying time, Ace.
I’m buying Vethran’s confidence. And I’m buying weaponry.’
Without seeing Ace’s face Madok could tell that she wasn’t impressed with Kedin s explanation. ‘So you’re still doing this guy Vethran’s dirty work, whatever it is, and you’re hiding out up here, off the planet, making lots of plans to save your planet. One day, when you can be bothered.’
He can’t tell her, Madok realised. She thinks he’s a coward, but he can’t explain why he has to be so careful. After the love they have so recently shared, how can he tell her about Tevana Roslod?
Kedin uttered a short, bitter laugh. ‘Not much of a freedom fighter, am I, Ace?’ he said. ‘I imagine that you’d adopt a more direct approach. Quite right, too.’
Ace hefted her long club. Kedin made no move to draw his sword. ‘Don’t try to get round me, Kedin,’ she said. Her voice was unsteady. ‘What about those people in the hold?’
Kedin took a deep breath. ‘Vethran has an inexhaustible appetite not just for power, but also for land. Once he had made himself king of our world, he began to turn against his own subjects. I thought to divert him by directing his attention to worlds beyond our own. I built a rocket which, more by luck than engineering, enabled me to reach this space station. Here there were other, better ships. Craft with which we could take a small army to our sister planet.’
‘You helped him invade Mendeb Two?’ Ace’s voice shook with disgust.
‘I had no choice,’ Kedin said quietly, but Ace was speaking again, quietly, to herself.
‘Oh my god,’ she said. Madok could make no sense of her next words. ‘The Doctor’s landed in a war zone.’
Kedin shook his head. ‘There’s no war,’ he said. ‘The people there don’t even try to defend themselves. They run away, and we collect them. We bring them here, and we ship them to our own planet. Vethran has the monopoly in the trade, of course. His agents pay me ten marks for each person I land.
They’re slaves, Ace.’
‘Oh, right,’ Ace said. To Madok’s ears she sounded strangely calm. ‘I get it. You’re funding your war of liberation with the money you make from being a slave trader. That’s good business sense, I suppose.’
‘I don’t like it, Ace,’ Kedin said. His eyes were bright with hope. Perhaps, Madok thought, he really believes he can make her understand. ‘As I said, at the moment I have no choice.’
‘And I expect you’d like me to tell you how to operate the weapons on the station? Because, of course, I’m so grateful that you’ve lowered yourself to take an interest in me.’
Madok stepped cautiously from behind the tapestry.
Something in the tone of Ace’s voice worried him. He couldn’t stand her to be upset. He thought she might be about to swoon or to burst into tears.
‘Yes,’ Kedin said. He was smiling now. He clearly thought that Ace could be won round. ‘Yes, I’d like you to help us, Ace.’
‘I’ll bet you would,’ Ace said. ‘And do you know what?
There’s not a chance, mate. As far as I can see you’re a nasty piece of work, and I’m going to put a stop to your filthy slave business. Starting now.’
She brought her club down on the map-strewn console in front of Kedin, and then lifted it so that the rounded end was pressed against his chest.
‘Now then,’ she began.
Forgive me, Ace, Madok
prayed, and brought the hilt of his sword down on the back of her head.
She said, ‘Ow,’ half turned, and then fell to the floor.
‘Thank you, Madok,’ Kedin said.
The two men looked down at Ace’s prone body. Madok realised for the first time that she was younger than her confident manner had suggested.
She’s not much more than a girl, Madok thought; she looks about as dangerous as a puppy.
Kedin’s feelings were clearly similar. ‘Madok, I hate this,’ he said, his voice choked with emotion. He barked an abrupt laugh. ‘Add this to the list of crimes that Vethran will be made to pay for.’
‘What are you going to do with her?’ Madok said. He knew that Kedin could be ruthless when he deemed it necessary.
But Kedin was unusually indecisive. ‘I have no idea, old friend. I’ve already treated this poor girl more cruelly than she deserves. And now that she hates me and has pledged herself to oppose my plans, I fear that instead of making amends I’ll have to aggravate the wrongs I’ve already done to her.’
‘We could lock her away,’ Madok suggested. ‘In her cabin.’
He knew that it was an insufficient solution.
‘She’ll escape, Madok.’ Kedin ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. ‘You know she has the determination and the ability. I can’t keep her here. She has the knowledge to turn the station against us.’
‘Don’t kill her, my lord. I beg you.’
‘Do you have an alternative suggestion, Madok?’
Madok grimaced. ‘Yes, Kedin. I have. The consignment in hold twelve will soon be ready for despatch. Let’s process Ace and send her down to the planet.’
Kedin was aghast. ‘Madok!’
‘At least she’ll be alive.’ A sudden idea bloomed in his mind.
He was so excited he could hardly speak. ‘Kedin! Didn’t you tell me -? Neroda - the new formula!’
Kedin nodded, and a wide smile spread slowly across his face. ‘Yes, of course. Neroda has synthesised a substitute for SS10. It mimics the effects exactly. But the tests aren’t finished. She doesn’t know how long it lasts. That’s why we haven’t started using it.’
‘What would one dose matter, Kedin? Vethran won’t get to hear about one slave acting strangely. At least it’s better than giving her SS10.’
‘It’s ironic,’ Kedin said. ‘Neroda and her team have worked like slaves themselves to create and test the new formula.
And now we’ll have virtually no time to use it.’
Madok stared at Kedin. ‘My lord?’
‘It’s almost time, Madok. I won’t skulk up here in this tin box any longer. Ace was right.’
They looked down in silence at the girl.
‘Goodbye, Ace,’ Kedin said at last. ‘I hope one day you’ll think better of me. But I suppose that’s not likely. Not after what’s going to happen to you.’
Chapter Three
While the Doctor argued with the soldiers, Bep-Wor stayed silent at his side. The Doctor seemed to be digging himself ever more deeply into trouble, but there was nothing Bep-Wor could do to help.
He kept his head lowered at first, and saw little apart from the soldiers’ boots. Under the dust and dried mud they still shone like polished jet. He could see the muzzles of the soldiers’ long guns.
When it became clear that the Doctor wasn’t going to stop talking or be shot dead, which were the only two alternatives the soldiers had offered him, Bep-Wor dared to lift his eyes.
No one was paying any attention to him.
This was the first time he had been close to the invaders: close enough to talk to them, or to strike them with his fists.
He wanted to do both. He wanted to know why they had come; he wanted to express his anger and despair. He stood silently and watched.
They were just men, after all. Their uniforms were dashing and gilded when seen from a distance; Bep-Wor saw now that their trousers were splashed with mud, tunics had lost buttons and were stained with sweat, caps were torn. The men had sunken eyes and stubbly jaws.
Behind and between the raised voices of the Doctor and the officer with whom he was arguing, Bep-Wor heard the listless conversation and grim jokes that the soldiers exchanged.
There was an altercation at the head of the line of prisoners.
‘Oi, kid. How old are you?’
The boy, clutching a blanket around himself despite the heat, looked to Bep-Wor’s eyes to be no more than ten.
‘Fourteen,’ the boy muttered. He didn’t look up at the soldier.
‘Yeah, and I’m the king of the ice apes. Get out of line.
Clear off. We don’t want you.’
The boy looked angry rather than relieved. ‘You’ve taken my mum and my dad,’ he said. ‘I want to go too.’
The soldier turned away, cursed and spat. ‘You don’t, kid,’
he said. His voice was urgent and, Bep-Wor realised, almost breaking with emotion. ‘You really don’t want to come. Look, I’m giving you a chance. Take it, for heavens’ sake. Go. Get out of the line. Before an officer sees what’s going on. That’s it. Run. If anyone stops you, say you’re only nine. Run!’
The soldier thrust out his gun, and at that the boy raced away. The soldier stood cursing and shaking his head. ‘I hate this job,’ he yelled at the line of captives. ‘And I hate you lot.
Keep moving along. Come on, don’t hang about.’
The Doctor was having the same problem as the boy. The officer was becoming irate.
‘I keep telling you, you irritating little man, that we won’t take you. You’re too old and frail. We’re going to take your friend here,’ the officer said, indicating Bep-Wor with a casual wave. ‘He looks fit and sturdy. But you’re staying here.’
‘You must take me,’ the Doctor said. He struggled in the grip of the two soldiers who were restraining him. He suddenly went limp, and exhaled a great sigh of exasperation. ‘Appearances can be deceptive, lieutenant.
Allow me to demonstrate.’
The Doctor suddenly jerked and wriggled and, moving faster that Bep-Wor’s eyes could follow, he was suddenly free
- and holding the long, metal gun that had been slung across the back of one of the soldiers.
All around Bep-Wor and the Doctor, soldiers shouted in surprise and swung their own guns to point at the Doctor.
The Doctor looked annoyed rather than fearful. He turned slowly in a circle, like a conjuror about to perform a trick, making a show of the fact that he was holding the gun by its barrel. The surrounding soldiers relaxed slightly. Then the Doctor’s hands moved very quickly, in a complex pattern. He held up the gun, as if expecting applause. Its barrel now had two right-angled bends.
There was a stunned silence. The line of prisoners had stopped moving forwards; the guards and their captives were staring at the Doctor.
Only the officer seemed unimpressed. ‘Very clever,’ he said.
‘All right. There’s obviously something unusual about you.
And there’s always a demand for novelties. Get in the line.’
The soldiers behind the Doctor pushed him forward. Bep-Wor extended his arm to stop the Doctor falling. He glared at the soldiers, daring them to touch the Doctor again.
The officer had turned on his booted heel and had begun to stride away. ‘Just a minute, lieutenant,’ the Doctor said. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’
A murmur ran along the line of prisoners. Even some of the guards were grinning broadly.
The officer stopped. Very slowly he turned again. His face was set in an expression of barely restrained rage, but Bep-Wor noticed that his body was not at all tense. Perhaps, he thought, even the officer finds it diverting to bandy words with the Doctor. He’s pretending to be angry because he knows it’s part of the role he’s expected to play.
‘What?’ the officer demanded. ‘Do you have more tricks with which to entertain us?’
‘Of course not,’ the Doctor spluttered. ‘This is a serious matter
. Are you intending to transport these people in that vessel?’ The Doctor pointed at the line of prisoners and then at the metal container with the vast curved roof.
The officer nodded, as if dealing with a simpleton.
‘It’s a cargo pod,’ the Doctor shouted. ‘It’s not meant for ferrying people. It’s unheated and, most importantly, it isn’t pressurised. You’ll kill everyone.’ Another murmur, this time of fear, rose from the line of prisoners.
The officer scowled irritatedly. ‘Keep them quiet!’ he called to the guards. He looked at the Doctor as if seeing him for the first time. ‘You’re beginning to interest me,’ he said. ‘I’ve not heard a single one of these Twos refer to our ships by their correct designations. Still less know anything about the need for pressurization. I don’t believe you’re a native. You’re not from Mendeb Two.’
‘You’re quite right,’ the Doctor said. ‘I’m from Gallifrey. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment. I assume you’re taking us to the space station? Then we’ll need air.’
The officer beckoned to the Doctor and then set off towards the front of the line, where the prisoners were trudging, single file, into the cavernous interior of the metal container.
The Doctor hurried to follow him, and Bep-Wor trailed after the Doctor. Two soldiers marched behind Bep-Wor.
‘I suppose I should be surprised that you know about the space station,’ the lieutenant said, as if chatting with a fellow officer. ‘But it seems you know about everything. This is how you’ll be transported.’
He stood at one side of the gaping doorway and gestured into the interior. He kept his other hand fastidiously across his nose.
There was indeed a stench. As Bep-Wor peered over the Doctor’s shoulder into the container he almost choked as a particularly strong odour wafted past him. The smell was that of human beings: sweat and excrement.
It was coming from the hundreds of bodies already packed inside what the Doctor called the cargo pod. People were sitting and lying on the floor, their attempts to preserve their own personal spaces continually being undermined by the inexorable arrival of more prisoners.
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