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Chapter Eight - Chapter The Killers

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The Killers

MNN was now unable to keep up with reports of the riots around Metron. As dawn's early light broke over the city the Femdroid newscaster made a grave announcement. 'The shelling has now reached our very doorstep. Regretfully, MNN is going off-line. We hope to be back with you as soon as we can.'

The com-screen went blank. K9 moved back and emitted a defeated noise. 'The unrest has escalated, despite my appeal. It is illogical and self-destructive.'

Stokes had entered the guest suite from his room, tying up the belt around a dressing gown. He yawned affectedly. 'You're learning about life, son.'

'I'm not your son,' K9 said emphatically. He turned on Stokes. 'Aggression among these humanoids is a direct result of economic mismanagement. Poverty increases feelings of social alienation.'

'Thank you, Engels,' Stokes said through another yawn. 'Don't rant at me. I'm not registered to vote here anyway. Even if I was I wouldn't. Politics is merely a show made by those in power to con the proles into thinking they have some say.' He wandered over to the suite's mini-bar and poured himself a small measure.

K9 followed him. 'You advocate the freedom of the individual but have no respect for the social strata needed to allow such freedom.'

'You do go on, don't you?' Stokes knocked back his drink in two gulps. 'I couldn't sleep. You're solving the problem nicely.'

'I am immune to insults,' said K9, in truth rather hurt. He looked through the window, at a lightening sky that was filled by billows of black smoke. The streets were now all but deserted. 'My supporters have betrayed my beliefs.'

'I can see the scales falling from your one red eye,' said Stokes. 'You've been so naive.'

'Pessimism is also a form of naivety,' K9 pointed out.

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'Oh, I'm not arguing with you.' Stokes gave another huge yawn and went back to his room. 'Going back to bed. Wake me when it's all over.'

K9 watched him go with a sense of puzzlement. In the past, the merest hint of danger had been enough to send Stokes scurrying to escape, or at least to take cover. Now, in the midst of a planetwide riot, with the threat of a bloody war, he was concerned only with sleep. 'This behaviour does not configure with Mr Stokes's personality as registered in my data banks,' he said to himself 'I shall investigate.' He motored towards Stokes's bedroom.

Urgent impulses flowed between the amulets worn by Galatea and Liris.

'There is no alternative,' said Galatea. 'Romana must be conditioned.'

'But hers is an alien mind. We cannot know the outcome.

There was a pause before Galatea's response came, crackling with authority. 'Why this persistent questioning of my decisions, Liris?'

'It is my function to question. Were it not, the decisions you make now would be altogether less momentous.'

'I do not revel in the import of my task. When the work is done I will be glad to return to more quotidian challenges. Bring Romana to the Conditioner.'

'Can she not be told the truth?'

'No, Liris. The organics must not know until it is done. They are nervous creatures by nature.' She said firmly, 'Decirculate her.'

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Fritchoff blinked, half expecting to see the cloud of flies disappear like stray thoughts in a dream. Crouched at the Doctor's side, his knees tucked under his chin, his mouth dry, he began to feel an unaccustomed sensation. This was not something he could argue away. It was something evil and unreasonable, not bound by any of the forces that shaped the world. The new sensation was a horrid, clammy fear.

The buzzing increased in intensity and he heard a ghastly clicking, like bone striking bone, coming from the middle of the cloud. This was followed by a gurgling voice which said, 'Doctor... you are the Doctor...'

'Can you hear anything?' the Doctor whispered.

'They're calling your name,' Fritchoff whispered back.

'So it's not just in my head,' the Doctor said.

'Eh?'

'I had postulated a limited telepathic field. But if not, then how's it done?'

As if the cloud had heard him, its centre parted a fraction and revealed a sight so disgusting Fritchoff had to fight to keep his bile down. Suspended in the cloud's centre were the rotted remains of a human's lower head and neck. The mouth was open, the tongue flopped out grotesquely.

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'Doctor' the voice said again, the Adam's apple on the dead neck pulsating, 'the Onememory knows you...'

'Good,' said the Doctor. He sounded genuinely relieved as he stepped from his hiding place. 'I know I'm a bit out of my way, but I was beginning to wonder if I'd been totally forgotten.'

'The Onememory says... you set aflame... our feeding grounds in the Zirbollis sector...'

'Really?' The Doctor scratched his temple. 'I don't recall that at all. My memory obviously isn't as good as yours.'

The cloud buzzed more loudly. 'Many void-times ago... no creature lives so long...'

'Well then, perhaps it was just somebody who looked a bit like me,' said the Doctor.

'No,' said the cloud. 'You are one of the... chosen of Gallifrey... the self-appointed masters of time and space... a being of great power...'

The Doctor looked bashful. 'I bet you say that to all the Time Lords.'

'We have never... met one of your kind... before ... Not in person...' The tongue let fall a cascade of drool. 'Your people acted against us ... destroyed hundreds of the hives...'

The Doctor spread his hands wide. 'I had nothing to do with that. Just look at my record. I don't hang about with the interventionists. They've always been rather too heavy-handed for my liking.'

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The voice ignored him. 'We are the last of the great hives... We fled the Time Fleets... drifting after millennia of hibernation... until we found this place... a place of much feeding...'

The Doctor took a step closer. Fritchoff was startled by his boldness, and the casual way in which he addressed this gruesome creature; he might have been chatting with a friend. He held up a finger. 'Let me see if l'm right. You agitate the natural conflicts of a population and cause carnage, then swoop down and feed on the carrion. Am I on the right lines?'

'The feeding cycle... is necessary... for our survival...'

'A natural symbiosis, you'd say? You exploit the aggressive nature of Homo sapiens.'

'As they exploited us!' the voice said. 'The Earth was our world and they ruined it... We fled with them through space, pushing ever outward... expanding at their side... We learnt... Our intelligence grew... Our mind is strong now... We exist to feed and now nothing can stop us... There are billions waiting in the great hive...'

'There are herd animals you could use as well. Creatures of lesser intelligence. Why humans?'

'Their violence, their fruitfulness... They are ideal material...'

The Doctor snorted. 'You mean they do nearly all your work for you. Offer themselves up on a plate, you might say.'

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The cloud came closer, hovering just before the Doctor's face. 'You escaped us once... but soon you will die ... and we shall be waiting... Your brain holds many secrets...' It started to split up and move away, individual flies passing through one of the small airholes of the cave roof 'The choice rests with you... Leave now or stay and... we will feast upon you...'

A few seconds later it was gone.

Fritchoff emerged from hiding. 'There we are. It proves what I was saying.'

The Doctor was staring grimly up at the roof. 'It does?'

'The states of the major ancient space powers have brought this disaster on us by flagrantly ignoring the rights of other creatures and exploiting space for short-termist advantage and electorally related economic boom.'

Fritchoff was rather proud of this summation, but the Doctor ignored it. 'But why let me, one of their ancient enemies, go?' he said, chewing on a thumbnail. 'Did you feel the electrical aura, that tingle around them? When they're grouped together they must have enough of a kick to kill at least one person. It's how they must have got Seskwa. And I was just standing here, defenceless.' His good humour had evaporated. 'I have a horrible feeling I'm being manipulated.'

'Ah,' said Fritchoff 'Excellent. Awareness of your own coercion in the ways of the system is the first step on the upward path of consentientization.'

The Doctor seemed stirred by his words. 'You know an upward path? Yes?' Fritchoff nodded and the Doctor patted him heavily on the shoulder. 'Good man. We must get up to the surface. Talk to General Jafrid. Lead the way.'

'Good thinking,' said Fritchoff as he led the way from the cave. 'We can join with him to throw off the shackles of our own people's crypto-imperialist discourse.'

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Again, the Doctor's reply was pitched on an entirely different political plane. 'He's an intelligent fellow - he might just listen. We have to unite both sides against these creatures.'

Romana was gripped by a new fear as she walked hurriedly through the corridors of the dome. She paid little attention to the thundering of the riots, and even less to the occasional bickering of the orange lighting as another electrical connection was cut somewhere in the city. Her concern was with more abstract issues. If the people of Metralubit could not see their predicament because of some inbuilt programme, there was no reason for the Femdroids not to notice or take action. The reasoning's end was obvious. The Femdroids were part of it, deliberately standing back to let millions die.

The route back to the guest suite was easily memorized, particularly for a person with Romana's alertness, and so she was surprised when she turned a comer and found herself at a dead end, a simple white wall. 'I must have taken a wrong turning,' she said, although she was positive she hadn't.

She tried to move and found she couldn't. Her shoes, still grey and muddy from the war zone of Barclow, were gripped by the floor. At the same time an orange light began to flash from somewhere above her head, pulsing in a heartbeat rhythm and overlaid by an insistent, high-pitched electronic squeal.

She put her hands to her head and tried to keep conscious as static shocks coursed through her legs. A red blur descended over her vision and the squeal turned painfully loud, making her eyes water and her ears sing.

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For a second she felt she was falling. She opened her mouth to call for help. Then came darkness.

In his dreams, Stokes was strolling along one of the causeways of Metron, looking out over a greenspace in which citizens were clustered around one of his sculptures. 'Oh dear,' he told his appreciative, understanding friends, 'I'm bound to be recognized, and they shall all press me for an explanation and autographs. How trying.'

The crowd below raised their heads, saw him, cried his name, and came running across the grass shouting accolades. One of them carried a large red torch. Its light grew closer and closer, blotting out the world about it.

And Stokes woke with a jolt to be confronted by K9's eyescreen. The dog was nudging him awake with its nose. 'A conference is needed,' he said.

'Oh, what do you want?' said Stokes, turning over. 'I'm asleep. Shove off'

K9 bleeped. 'Your actions do not concur with my extrapolation of your personality matrix.'

Stokes sighed, his face pressed into his pillow. 'Isn't there some way I can switch you off?'

'My batteries are self-recharging,' said K9. He nudged the bed again. 'Please wake, Mr Stokes. Your behaviour is characterized by extreme cowardice. Your desire to sleep in this situation is not congruous. Explain.'

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Stokes blinked and stirred slightly. 'I'm very tired,' he said. 'Look at me, I'm yawning.' He was nagged by unease as the words came out, as if he was only repeating lines in a play.

'Your actions are predictable within a four-per-cent error estimate,' said K9. 'Your personality type is expressive, extrovert.'

Stokes sat up and wagged a finger at him. 'You'd better watch what you're saying.'

K9 edged closer to the bed and said, in a dramatic whisper, 'I postulate mind interference.'

'Nobody's been at my mind,' said Stokes. Again, he felt he was reading from a script. The words felt very natural, but there was no substance beneath them. 'My mental barriers and sense of self-will are resolute.' He reached for the switch at his bedside, automatically, and switched on the lamp built into the wall just above where his head rested. The lamp lit with a soft orange glow.

K9's eyestalk slid out. 'I wish to examine this apparatus,' he said, angling the tiny dish at the end of the stalk towards the lamp.

'It's only a reading light, for goodness' sake,' Stokes grumbled.

K9 whirred. 'Negative. This fitting is extraneous to the lighting function. It is a reconditioning device.'

Stokes hauled himself out of bed and smoothed his pyjamas down. 'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Records confirm my visual analysis,' K9 twittered. 'It is a low-frequency, low-power, psychotronic wave transmitter. Remove the housing.'

To Stokes, it was as if a strange bell was tolling at the very back of his mind. 'Somebody's been fiddling about? With my head?'

'Affirmative,' said K9.

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Stokes stood up, feeling suddenly refreshed, his tiredness dissipated in an instant. In fact, the beginnings of panic were churning at his stomach. There was a riot on, and a war imminent. Why on earth was he trying to sleep?

The first thing Romana saw when her eyes opened was a large, gun-shaped instrument, its nozzle pointed right at her forehead. The device was suspended on a bracket, which a lithe figure in the shadows was adjusting. 'A high-frequency psychotronic wave transmitter,' Romana said. She gulped to conceal her fear. A transmitter of that strength could wreak havoc even on a Gallifreyan mind. 'Centuries ahead of your technology. Where did you get it Liris?'

'Please relax.' Liris stepped into the soft orange light and looked down on the folded-back chair to which Romana was strapped. 'The conditioning process is painless.'

Romana hardened her voice. 'Whatever you're about to do, don't. I'm not human.'

Another face appeared above her. But Galatea looked a lot more certain than her junior. 'Your mental processes will be unharmed. Only redirected.' She leant closer, reached out and drew back a strand of Romana's long blonde hair from her face. 'You have a powerful intelligence for an organic. You see further than most.'

'I've seen through you,' said Romana. 'I'm not so susceptible to your charms.'

Galatea stood. 'You will thank us for this, Romana.' She turned to Liris. 'Begin the conditioning. Level five.'

A switch clicked over, and there came a steadily rising hum of power. The needle-thin tip of the transmitter glowed a fierce orange. Romana marshalled all her training, including the techniques of mediation she had learnt from the Doctor, and formed a barrier in her mind.

The pain was immediate. She let out a strangulated cry and shook.

'Do not resist,' she heard Galatea say.

'Relax,' said Liris.

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The grey sky over Barclow was made vivid green by a rapid series of explosions, and Fritchoff ducked his head instinctively. He clutched his gurgling chest, stopped and said simply, 'Heck.'

The Doctor, who was leaping and bounding over the war zone's rugged terrain, laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. 'Don't let it get to you. They're only explosions.'

'Only?' said Fritchoff, shivering. 'We could be blown to pieces.'

'And then eaten by the flies.' The Doctor looked up at the dark clouds, now stained by trails of smoke. 'Did you hear what it said? Billions waiting in the Great Hive. I hope that's just boasting.'

'If it isn't there's no hope.' Fritchoff let himself sink to the ground. 'The system will fall, a victim of the ruling classes' oppressive agenda.'

The Doctor knelt at his side. 'There's no need to be so gloomy.'

Fritchoff scoffed. 'How could we beat off a billion of them?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'I don't know...' He smiled. 'A billion rolled-up newspapers?'

'I don't think humour is relevant to this situation,' sighed Fritchoff

The Doctor stood up and surveyed the area. They were moving in what Fritchoff thought was the direction of the Chelonian base. 'Humour serves a vital purpose. I often find that when I've just made a joke something extremely important that I've overlooked will suddenly pop into my.' He smote his forehead. 'Of course!'

'I wish you'd stop doing that,' said Fritchoff who had no intention of getting up or getting excited.

'He said the Great Hive. Waiting in the Great Hive.' He waited for Fritchoff to say something. 'What does that imply?'

'We've been through all this.'

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The Doctor rattled on. 'That the flies here are a small advance party, clearing the way, stirring up trouble. They possess enough psionic power to keep a couple of dead bodies up and about and bent to their will, for a short period anyway. It must require a colossal effort. Ergo their resources are spread very thinly, ergo that's why they let me go.' He looked down at Fritchoff once again. 'You're supposed to be confused at this point and ask me why.'

'Why?' Fritchoff asked grudgingly.

'Because they're almost defenceless, in themselves.' He made a broad gesture around the war zone. 'It's only the influence they wield with their agents that's caused all this brouhaha.'

Fritchoff leapt up. He hated it when people misapplied' their language. 'It's a war,' he yelled. 'So call it a war. Don't hide the truth behind archaic jargon - it's a symptom of self-delusion.'

The Doctor looked as if he was about to shout something back. Instead he said quietly, 'Listen. I'm trying very hard to save your entire civilization, and to be frank I think I'm the best chance it's got, so be a good chap and just shut up, will you?'

'You keep talking to me,' Fritchoff protested. 'I'm entitled to reply, you know. I'm not a nodding peasant. My opinions are valid. Oh, what's the point?' He turned his back on the Doctor. 'This is an inherently counter-revolutionary conversation.'

'Then why don't you just leave me to it?'

Fritchoff winced as more explosions echoed distantly. 'Well. I'm frightened.'

'So am I, Fritchoff. So am I.' The Doctor sauntered over and pressed a small golden disc into his hand. 'Here, have a chew of one of these. The sugar will settle your brain chemistry.'

Fritchoff stared blankly at the gift. 'Is this confectionery?' The Doctor nodded. 'Then I'm afraid I can't accept it. The state uses sweet snack treats as a means to mollify the labourers.'

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The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but the clattering drone of a land vehicle's engine interrupted him. Through the mists up ahead trundled a large black tank with thick treads and a sweeping laser attachment. There was a scrawl of yellow lettering on its side. 'Ah!' said the Doctor. He walked towards the approaching tank. 'Just what we were looking for. I should think they'll be pleased to see me.' He waved.

Two bright pink bolts of energy burst from the firing attachment.

The Doctor threw himself to the ground. 'I sometimes think the universe is doing things just to spite me.'

Fritchoff slithered over. He was already pulling a white cloth from a pocket. 'Don't worry, Doctor. When they learn that we're opponents of the oppressive regime they'll welcome us as brothers.'

The transmitter's glow faded, and Liris reached up and swung it away from Romana's supine form. 'The conditioning is complete.'

'Life signs?' Galatea demanded.

Liris consulted a monitor. 'The hearts are beating steadily at sixty a minute. Temperature stable.' She sniffed. 'But then, the body's autonomic functions can continue even in cases of extreme mental disruption.'

Galatea's expression did not falter. 'And the alpha-wave pattern?'

'Steady,' Liris said grudgingly.

'Then there is no disruption.' She bent over the couch and touched Romana very gently on the cheek. Her eyes, thought Liris, burnt with intrigue. 'Romana?'

Romana started and blinked up at her. 'Yes?'

'You've been ill. Do you feel better?'

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'Fine.' She smiled. 'I must get back to K9, we need to coordinate the final stages of the campaign and put a stop to the rioting.' She seemed to notice the restraining straps for the first time. 'Why am I tied up?'

'You aren't.' Galatea nodded to Liris, who moved swiftly to remove the straps.

'No,' said Romana. 'Of course I'm not.' She sat up and grinned again. 'Thank you. I'll see you later.'

Galatea watched her departure with pleasure. 'Total success. Even on an alien mind.'

'And if she examines the files again?' asked Liris.

'She is conditioned and will not feel any impulse to. And I have restricted her access to them.' She moved towards the door leading from the annexe.

'It is my function to administer the files,' Liris protested. She felt a hot stab of envy somewhere deep in her programming.

Galatea rounded on her and said passionately, 'Liris, the days ahead will lead either to glory or disaster. Your bungles increase the chances of the latter.'

'You talk like an organic, Galatea. Like Harmock does, with his fantasy of power. Who gave you such airs?' She touched her amulet in a respectful gesture. 'Not the Creators, for sure.'

'The Creators?' Galatea threw back her head and chuckled. 'Old men playing with technology.' She lifted up an arm. 'I am their greatest creation. A million different impulses are relayed through my nerve fibres every second. I reason faster and more efficiently than any of the Creators ever did or ever could have done.' She gestured to the annexe's open door. 'And there are even higher forces, believe me, and she and I are as insects to them.' She pulled herself upright. 'I have said too much. Come, we must check the scenario.'

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When prised from its housing above the bed with Stokes's Swiss Army knife the reading light had revealed a socket containing a feebly glowing orange bulb that trailed a thicket of circuitry unlike anything Stokes had seen before on Metralubit. It had a stringy, alien look to it. He sat on the edge of the bed, and weighed the device in his hand. 'This little thing can tamper with a person's thoughts?'

'Size is unimportant,' said K9. 'The experiential network of the human brain can be altered by a number of methods. Psychotronic conditioning, first hypothesized in Earth year 2045 by Professor Otterbland of the Dubrovnik Institute of New Sciences, combines mesmeric trance techniques with aggressive implantation of images and related experiences. Additionally, human subjects in large groups lack self-determination, a result of their ancestry as hunter-gatherers. Thus, mass conditioning is more effective.'

Stokes felt his memory shifting uncomfortably inside his head, as if someone had a hand in there and was moving things about like furniture. 'I've been misled. Half of what I think could be lies.' A new terror struck him. 'Oh God. I might not even be who I think I am. It's terrifying.'

'Negative.' K9 spoke with a hint of weariness. 'You are Menlove Ereward Stokes.'

'Ah, but what if they've got at you, too? You could be lying.'

'I cannot deceive, only circumvent.'

Stokes let the device fall from his hand and started to walk around his room. 'The question remains, who's behind this? I'd put money on Harmock.'

'I have already applied myself to this question,' said K9.

'It is most likely that the creators of the device are -'

'The Femdroids,' said Romana from the doorway.

'Please do not complete my sentences, Mistress,' said K9.

Stokes crossed over to her, noting her stem expression. 'You're very sure.'

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She sat on the bed and examined the mini-transmitter. 'They put me under a deep conditioning device. A larger version of this. I resisted.'

'How?'

'I recited my two thousand three hundred and thirty seven times table?'

Stokes shook his head in bewilderment. 'The Femdroids? But they're just servants, like any other robots. They can't do things for themselves. And they're such sweet, helpful girls.' He caught himself, and felt again the odd sensation of words having been put into his mouth. 'Ah. They want me to think that.' He gulped. 'You mean they're running the show? Not Harmock at all?'

Romana held up the transmitter. 'Think. There could be one of these in every room in the city, perhaps across the whole planet. They could manipulate millions. And the election, the war, the riots. It's all part of the cycle.'

Stokes thought about this. 'That cull you were going on about? The Femdroids are behind it? Nonsense. They've only been operational for about a hundred and twenty years - ah. Another lie?'

'It could be,' said Romana.

'One thing rather leads to another, doesn't it? I mean, they might not even be robots.' He felt himself sway. 'I've got this horrible wrenching in my stomach. I must sit down.' He lowered himself and his imagination took another leap. 'Oh, no. I've just had a terrible thought. My journey here. My previous life. How much of that was true?'

'We met you before, Stokes. On the Rock of Judgement.' She touched his arm reassuringly. 'You're very much the same person.'

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He sidled closer. 'Ooh, do that again.'

'Very much the same person.' She stood. 'Come on.'

Stokes leapt up. 'Where are we going? Back to your TARDIS box, yes?'

'No,' said Romana. 'To Harmock. We need an ally. He can spread the truth over the public broadcast network. We've got to save these people from the Femdroids.' She hurried out, K9 at her heels.

Stokes trailed behind. 'Hang on. Why have we got to? It's not our problem. Altruism is overrated, and it tends to lead only one way. They wouldn't stick their necks out for us, would they?' But his companions had already left the suite.

Fritchoff shuddered. The interior of the saucer was dark and low-ceilinged, and the walls seemed to throb with the rhythm of gastric rumblings. It was like being in the stomach of a giant beast. Anticipation further worsened the experience - he and the Doctor had been admitted to the saucer's undersection and left to wait in a small chamber.

The Doctor broke a silence of some minutes. 'You're shaking again.'

Fritchoff shrugged. 'I've never actually met a Chelonian. Or any sort of alien. I know that the apparently instinctual response I feel to cross-cultural contact is a product of the mythic structures of the hegemony, but that doesn't make it any the easier.'

'Don't worry,' said the Doctor. 'We're all the same under the skin, you know. Some of my best friends are blobs of gas held together in exoskeletal shells. And I'm hardly human myself, you know.'

'You're not a Chelonian.'

'No, I'm something else entirely,' said the Doctor, suddenly serious. 'Although the Chelonians and I go back a long way. Perhaps too far back.'

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The chamber's interior door slid open and a Chelonian, wide-eyed and with a sprightly carriage, motored through. His mottled shell carried the three red stripes of high command. Fritchoff had seen many holovids of the creatures, and studied their oppressed culture, but nothing could have prepared him for their sheer size, their very improbability, or their leathery odour. 'You are the Doctor,' he said simply.

'That's correct, yes,' said the Doctor. 'Now, I'm known to your commanding officer, General Jafrid, and there's been a terrible misunderstanding -' His explanation was curtailed by the arrival of two more Chelonians, equally burly and with aggression in their eyes. The first, slightly larger, grabbed the Doctor by the hem of his coat, pulled him crashing to the floor, and started to drag him into the craft, knocking his knees against the metal flooring.

The leader indicated Fritchoff and told the second of his juniors, 'This one is not important. Dispose of it.'

Fritchoff had no time to draw breath before a massive pair of Chelonian claws were locked around his throat. Then he started to kick and struggle, to no avail.

Dimly he heard the Doctor's voice. 'Wait a moment. I'll have you know that's a friend of mine you're strangling.'

'We have been given special orders concerning you,' said the leader. 'Your life is to be spared...'

'That's nice to know,' interrupted the Doctor. 'But would you mind putting him down?'

'... until we reach the command base. Then you will be placed in the Web of Death.' He stomped out of the chamber and back into the main body of his craft.

'Not that old thing again,' the Doctor muttered.

Fritchoff felt himself blacking out. Then the Doctor said, 'Excuse me, I'm going to have to do something about that,' and suddenly the Chelonian's grip on his neck went limp and the creature crashed to the floor.

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The Doctor gripped his hand firmly and wrenched him up and on to his feet. His own captor was sitting dazed on the other side of the chamber. 'There we are,' said the Doctor. He handed Fritchoff another confectionery coin. 'Have another one of these.' He threw a couple more to the two Chelonians. 'And you.'

Fritchoff shook his head to clear it. 'But how?' he gasped.

The Doctor tapped his forehead. 'The cybermechanical control plate. It's just a matter of finding the correct interconnection and pressing down.' He nodded to the saucer's interior and turned to proceed. 'Come on.'

Fritchoff gripped his arm. 'We can't go through there!'

The Doctor frowned. 'But it's what we came here to do.'

'Oh dear,' said Fritchoff

To the tune of explosions, violent and sudden death, and the collapse of his entire civilization, Harmock sat back in his antique chair and watched his poll rating rise and rise. He wasn't worried at all. The orange glow of the light suspended over his desk shone down benevolently, as steady. and strong as ever, blotting out all his doubts. 'Fourteen points ahead,' he said, drumming his fat fingers on his desk. 'Time to celebrate.' He looked around the study. There was a bottle of fine Bensonian wine somewhere about here. He could crack it open and raise a toast with - whoever. Not Galatea, obviously. Somebody else, then. One of his many friends.

There was a frantic rapping on the door. He sighed and shouted, 'Come.'

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The door slid back and Romana, Stokes and his pathetic opponent bundled in, an unseemly urgency - the urgency, he thought, of defeat - in their eyes. 'Harmock, you've got to listen to us,' said Romana, striding forward. 'Is this a stunt of some kind?' Harmock reached under the desk and produced his wine bottle. As he fiddled with the self-popping cork mechanism he said smoothly, 'If it is, it's come rather late. Fourteen points, a clear lead. Nobody's ever come back like this before.'

'Negative images and warmongering have fuelled your success,' said K9.

'Envious, envious,' Harmock said lightly. The cork popped.

'This is all irrelevant,' said Stokes, who came bounding forward and pounded one of his big fists on the desk. 'Listen, you self-important prig. Go on, Romana, tell him.'

Romana leant over the desk urgently. 'Harmock, don't know why, but the Femdroids are your enemies. They've manipulated us all.'

Harmock threw back his head and cackled. 'I can't believe I'm hearing this. It's pathetic, so desperate. I can have you thrown out.' He reached for a button on his desk unit. 'I will have you thrown out.'

Romana gripped his hand. 'Please. You must listen to us. They're plotting to kill us all.'

'What nonsense. I'll call Galatea at once, we could all do with some light relief. And she can bring some glasses.' He stretched out his hand again.

Stokes slapped it. 'You're a bit of a cretin on the quiet, aren't you, Harmock?' he bellowed.

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Liris turned from the screen with her smuggest smile. 'Galatea, witness the outcome of your conditioning.' Galatea's expression was unreadable. 'This cannot be allowed to continue. 'Shall I decirculate her, for the second time?'

'Unnecessary.' Galatea crossed to a panel in the wall and sent a coded instruction on her amulet. A hidden mechanism whirred and a large section of the wall swung open on a concealed hinge. Behind it were a row of identical Femdroids dressed in tight-fitting black suits. 'You two.' She passed the flat of her hand over the amulets worn by a pair in the centre of the group and they came jerkily to life.

Liris gasped. The killer squad had lain dormant since the Creators had brought Galatea into existence. 'You can't mean to kill her?'

'I shall kill them all if need be,' said Galatea. She sent another command and the two Killers rose from their berths. Their gun arms clicked upward with savage swiftness. Moulded into the grips of both women were slender, wand like crystal units that glowed and crackled with deadly power.

'This was not the Creators' intention,' said Liris firmly as the creatures brushed past her unseeing. 'The Killers were devised to protect the dome.'

'Exactly,' said Galatea. She waved the Killers towards the screen.

'But it's at the core of our programming,' Liris protested. 'To serve the humans.'

'And to preserve the maximum happiness of the maximum number,' Galatea completed. 'That, Liris, is what I'm doing.' She pointed to the image of Harmock's study. 'The female is an alien agitator. Kill her and disable the robotic creature.'