BBC Cult - Printer Friendly Version Chapter Four - The Reluctant Diplomat

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The Reluctant Diplomat

Cadinot stared in horror as the small speckled arc of yellow pinpricks that signified the missiles fired at the enemy pillboxes started to spread, and larger patches of a similar pattern blossomed in the central area of the zone. At first he took this to be a technical error, and he reached without thinking for the tuning buttons on the side of the screen. But the growing mayhem was confirmed by all kinds of mysterious, never-before-heard whistles, beeps and clicks from the surrounding instrumentation. Something had gone seriously wrong, and a baffled murmur arose above the heads of the Strat Team.

He called over his shoulder to Viddeas, 'Captain! The launchers, all of them, are firing!' He hammered at the emergency switches, which were designed to bring all systems off-line. 'I can't stop them!'

'Continue with the attack,' Viddeas said.

Cadinot turned around. 'It's a broad sweep-patterned bombardment. The satellite's taken over and I can't get an access line.'

Viddeas looked extraordinarily calm. 'No correction is needed.'

Suddenly, Cadinot's screen twinkled with several bursts of golden energy. 'Twelve plasma bursts the length of the Low Valley,' he announced. A sick feeling hit his stomach. 'There are Chelonian active service units there. Dekza and his lot.' Dekza was an especially popular patrolling enemy officer, whose impersonations of key Metralubitan figures had enlivened many a cheese-and-wine evening in the trenches.

'Spare no compassion for the enemy,' said Viddeas.

The tension in the Strat Room was broken by the arrival of Admiral Dolne, who entered panting and evidently angry. 'Viddeas!' he screeched. 'What are you playing at? I could hear the impacts from the far side of the post. I said mildly aggressive.'

All eyes were on Viddeas as he swivelled himself to face the Admiral. His face was set in hard lines. 'No more games, Admiral. This is war.'

Dolne looked flustered, his forehead beaded with sweat. 'What's got into you?'

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'Got into me?' Viddeas shifted uncomfortably. 'What do you mean, 'got... into me'? Nothing's... got into me...'

'Oh, goodness.' Dolne turned from him. 'Cadinot, call this whole thing off, right away.'

'I can't, sir.' He gestured helplessly to his station. 'No response from any manual systems.'

Dolne bustled over and leant over him. 'Let me have a go. Excuse me.' He reached out and his fingers flicked over the emergency switches.

'I've already done all that,' said Cadinot.

'No harm in trying again.' He threw the last switch. Nothing happened. 'Gracious me, the satellite just isn't responding. That can't be right.'

A ghostly greenish aura had sprung up in the last few seconds at the centre of the screen. Cadinot's heart sank further. This was a nightmare. 'Admiral, look.'

'Oh. Er, what's that?'

'Patina of an engine paralyser.'

Dolne pulled a disapproving face. 'That's hardly fair. We've got to lift it.' There was a short silence. 'Er, how do we do that?'

'Through the satellite,' said Cadinot resignedly.

'Oh dear.' Dolne tutted and called, 'Viddeas, come and give us a hand.'

The Captain stood stiffly and walked over. 'Yes, Admiral, I must. . .' His speech was slurring, his fever seeming to pass its crisis point.

But Cadinot's attention was more taken by the activity in the zone. The moment Viddeas had stood up the array of significant lights had started to die away, and the satelite access line beeped its willingness to comply. 'The interference is clearing up,' said Cadinot. 'She's coming back on line.'

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'What a relief,' said Dolne, puffing out his red cheeks. 'Right, shut all these silly rockets and things down.' Cadinot was already pulling all the launchers back under his control and disabling them. 'Let's hope they haven't done too much damage.'

The satellite responded to Cadinot's commands with an ease and politeness unknown for a week and a half. Perhaps, he thought, the interference had finally cleared itself up and things could return to normal.

The Darkness conferred with the Space-Cloud Ones, the part of itself specially created to traverse airless atmospheres. The Space-Cloud Ones could now leave the satellite, it decided. It had done its job and stirred much antagonism.

The interference would now end. Every weapons system would be needed to create more death.'

The Doctor flinched from Seskwa's weapon.

'First Pilot!' cried the navigator. 'Sir! The screen is down. We're free!'

Seskwa twisted about in his webbing and barked, 'Then lift! Get us out of here!'

With a mighty effort the saucer started to revolve, straining as it went to dislodge the grey matter that had lodged in its vents. With full power restored to its engines it spun with sudden urgency, sending fountains of soil in all directions. Then, when the markings on its side were no more than a blur it shot upwards and zoomed away, a great plume of black smoke in its trail.

Only a moment later the missiles streaked down, three of them, sleek, white, and pencil-shaped. The plasma burst echoed from rockfaces that gave way under the sustained vibration.

The Doctor found his feet and nodded approvingly at the thankfully remote roar of the blast. 'There we are. One crisis averted. They probably changed their minds.' Keeping his tone casual he nodded to Seskwa. 'Well, if you don't mind I'll just collect my coat and-'

'No, Doctor,' said Seskwa. The gun was still clasped tight in his front foot.

'No? You can have it if you really want it. I've got several others.'

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The saucer had steadied itself by now, and Seskwa climbed from his webbing and shuffled across the space between them. 'I have no interest in your external coverings.'

'Oh,' said the Doctor, looking at the ground. He noted again how much noise Seskwa's internal machinery made.

At times the squeaking was almost painful. And the leathery-old-shoes smell of all Chelonians was particularly pronounced in Seskwa. 'You need some oil in those joints.'

'You will accompany us to the base,' said Seskwa. 'The General will turn your clacking tongue to sense.'

The Doctor pointed to the gun. 'I thought you were going to kill me.'

'That was before.'

'I wish you'd make up your mind. I don't like hanging about wondering if I'm going to be killed or not when I could be doing something more interesting.'

Seskwa made the gurgling noise that was his species' equivalent of a chuckle. 'Soon you will crave the luxury of extinction. You will scream for mercy when you are placed in the Web of Death!'

The Doctor gasped. 'The Web of Death?'

Seskwa nodded. 'You know of the ritual?

'No,' said the Doctor, 'but I thought you might like it if I looked impressed. I can imagine the sort of thing you mean. I'm an old hand with webs.' He grinned. 'And you do paint a very vivid picture.'

Seskwa growled and motioned him against the wall with the gun.

Romana was trying to catch up with K9 and his newly elevated position, and trying to ignore Stokes, who was cowering in a corner of the guest suite with his hands over his ears and protesting regularly - roughly in rhythm with the bomb blasts - that they were all going to die. She had given up telling him that, by her estimate of the resistance of alluvially formed rock to plasma bursts in ratio to the consequent release of atmospheric disturbance, they were in the safest place on the whole planetoid.

The worst of it seemed to be over, and now Stokes was uncurling himself and pinching the bridge of his nose as if this could in some way return his breathing to its normal rate. 'This,' he said, 'has got totally out of hand.'

But Romana was listening to K9, who had reached the end of his dissertation on the history of Metralubit and its political system. 'Constitutional privilege, a precept established in the chivalric past of the Diurnary period of the Helduccian civilization on Metralubit, permits any being in political or military life to take up the position held by the deceased being whose existence they attempted to preserve.'

'You could have said no if you'd wanted,' pointed out Romana.

K9 waited a moment before replying. 'My reasoning circuits extrapolate that a position of authority will allow freer access to resources necessary to locate the Doctor Master. This was the primary motivation for my decision.'

Romana arched an eyebrow. 'The chance to show off never came into it, of course.'

'Charge refuted, Mistress. This unit's awareness of self is non-qualitative.'

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Stokes started shouting again. 'In a full-scale conflict we don't have a hope. The Chelonians are better equipped and better drilled. They haven't let themselves slip.' He shuddered. 'What if they've been planning this from the very start, for over a century? Cunning. Because all they need is to hit this place hard and we're done for. I could be buried alive.' Stokes made a fist and slammed it against the wall, which wobbled. 'This place might as well be made out of cardboard. We're all going to die.'

'Information, Mistress,' said K9.

'What is it, K9?'

He motored himself around a half-circle. 'My visual apparatus perceives an anomaly in this environment. Certain technological developments do not tally.'

This interested Romana far more than Stokes's witterings. 'Yes. I noticed a few things. Plasma missiles alongside primitive radio communicators. Attrition of war?'

'More, Mistress.' K9 nodded upwards. 'The Metralubitans possess a Fastspace link between this planetoid and their homeworld, yet they have no transmat technology.'

This did shock Romana. 'That goes against all recognized rungs of development theory. Short-range transmats should come first. The leap to warp engineering is a natural progression from the discovery of vecificated disassemblers. You can't really come at it any other way.'

Stokes snorted. 'You've not changed, either of you. In the midst of certain doom you sit there calmly and talk drivel.'

'Our conversation's been quite productive,' said Romana.

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'Productive? You just don't understand do you?' He jabbed a fmger at the ceiling. 'All it's going to take is one well-aimed strontium shot and we'll be pulverized, blown to atoms.' He shook himself and made for the door. 'Oh, what's the point? I must see Dolne. My contract didn't cover this. I'll demand immediate passage.' The last few words echoed back down the corridor after he flounced out.

K9 waited until he was out of earshot and said, 'Mr Stokes is non-contemporaneous, Mistress. Inference time travel.'

'It's a very long story. Ignore him, anyway. This place should stand up to quite a battering.' She stood up and examined the wall Stokes had struck. 'This looks like megalanium. Is it?'

K9's head fell and his tail drooped. 'Regret cannot reply, Mistress. My sensors. . .'

Romana felt guilty. She had the feeling K9 was trying to compensate for his incapacity by being extra helpful, and this touched her. 'Sorry. I was forgetting.' She patted her lap. 'Come here.' He crossed the room and she bent down and stroked his sides.

'Misunderstanding of the functional nature of this unit,' said K9. 'Petting unnecessary.' But he didn't pull away.

With the launchers disabled and the satellite ticking over as per normal, Dolne had called a small conference - just himself, Viddeas and Cadinot - in a corner of the Strat Room. 'Now, I don't like this one bit. Did everyone take leave of their senses? Viddeas, what happened then?' Viddeas was staring blankly at the floor. 'Report,' hissed Dolne. 'I'm coming very close to losing my rag.'

Viddeas snapped to life. 'Seemed to be a technical failure, sir. A temporary confusion. Probably an offshoot of the Chelonians' own jamming signals.' He jerked like a puppet and became more animated. 'I suggest we send out armed patrols with instructions to-'

Dolne raised a hand to silence him. 'I'm looking for sensible input, not militaristic nonsense. Now. Do we think anyone was hurt in that business?'

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'There are at least five active enemy units in the strike range,' said Cadinot, 'including Dekza's.'

'Oh, no.' Dolne had done lunch with Dekza only a fortnight before. 'I'll prepare an official apology.'

Viddeas flared up. 'Admiral, I must protest.'

Dolne chose to ignore him. 'And start a full check on all our gadgets and instruments and things,' he ordered Cadinot. 'I wouldn't be surprised if this whole affair was down to a mix-up with the computers or something.' He reached up and loosened his collar. Something about Viddeas's stare unnerved him.

'Are you all right, sir?' asked Cadinot.

'Yes, it's...' Viddeas was staring at his neck, he realized with a jolt. 'It's all I can do to breathe. So very stuffy in here. Right, well, keep a sharp eye out, Cadinot, and keep trying to raise Jafrid.'

There was a murmur behind them as somebody entered the Strat Room. Dolne turned to see Stokes, who looked his normal ebullient self, if a little flushed and more reddened. 'Ah, the wonderful Strategy Room. What an admirable scene of military dedication you present.'

'No,' said Dolne.

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Stokes pounded across, his heavy shoes clattering on the metal flooring. 'Now listen, Admiral. As you seem to have curtailed your madness for the moment would you please see to arranging my immediate departure from this theatre of devastation as, unlike you and your officers, I have no desire to exchange my present state as a living organism for the dubious condition of being a scattering of molecular dust on the wind. And don't even think of confining me. Your clodhopping deputy has already broken the martial code by doing so.'

Dolne was not in the mood to indulge Stokes. 'Get him out of here,' he said. 'I don't care who does it or how.'

Immediately a couple of men stepped forward and took hold of Stokes. 'I'm not without powerful friends back on Metra, Admiral, he cried as he was thrown out. 'I'll let them know how you treated me and then you'll...' His voice trailed off.

'Right,' said Dolne. Saying 'right', he had found, covered all sorts of situations. 'Constant scan, all of you.'

He nodded to Viddeas and indicated the annexe. 'A word. Now.'

The Doctor felt the saucer level out, and watched the Chelonian base come into view on the large curved forward screen. The base was about a mile in width, and consisted of a random assortment of yellow blocks scattered on a high mountainside. This explained the need for flying craft, as it would have taken a strong man a mighty effort to climb so far. Wisps of dirty cloud clung to the sides of the highest buildings, which had jagged, almost crystalline facets, staining their sides with iron deposits.

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'I'm impressed,' said the Doctor. 'Your people have lost none of their skill for construction and camouflage.' During previous encounters with Chelonians, the Doctor had witnessed their architectural skills, which relied on small blocks that could be used for many purposes. Once, he had seen a small city made of sections of a spacecraft.

His praise was not appreciated. The Environments Officer, who had put on a large pair of earphones that gave him a comical air, turned from his position and told Seskwa, 'I have contact with base, sir. I've told the General that we're bringing in a prisoner.' His eyes flicked over to the Doctor. 'The Web of Death is being prepared.'

'I'm flattered,' said the Doctor. 'You really shouldn't be going to all this trouble just for me.'

At the heart of his sanctum, which was contained in one of the smaller blocks at the base's edges to confuse the enemy, General Jafrid was putting the last touches to a letter of protest, his stylus hovering over the parchment screen as he selected the last few words. Despite all that had happened in the last few hours, including that beastly missile attack (miraculously, nobody had been seriously hurt), he felt only puzzlement, not anger. Dolne had probably been pushed into these rather pitiful displays of power by Harmock, he reasoned. As long as it stopped now, then no harm was done.

He read out the last lines to the assembled company, which was made up for the most part of technicians and other advisors. '"... and so we protest our surprise and outrage at your continued flouting of the Bechet Treaty, and warn you that further transgressions will be met with equal, if not greater, force." There, that should do it.' He signed the document with a flourish and pressed the transmit button. The enemy post would receive it instantaneously, so long as communications over the zone stayed clear. As Jafrid watched the letter vanish from the screen his olfactors twitched involuntarily. There was suddenly an awful smell, like a plate of boiled smasti nuts left uncovered in the sun. He turned to the base's head technician. 'By miff, hasn't that valve been fixed yet?'

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'It should come clear very soon, General,' came the reply. 'The team are working hard to locate the blocked inlet.'

'I should hope so.' Jafrid swiped at a small flying creature. 'These infernal insects flourish in this atmosphere.' He had returned to the base to find the atmospheric recycling system out of order, and the air-conditioning had failed soon after, making the place almost unbearably dry and hot. As a ranked officer he possessed internal sprinklers, but even they had little effect, and Faf knew how the juniors could stand it.

The smell seemed to get even worse when the door of the sanctum opened with a low hum to admit his First Pilot, who tramped in, his joints clanking, with a look of near-manic pride. He saluted. 'General.'

'Ah, Seskwa returns,' said Jafrid. 'I've read your report. Very amusing. Plague war, indeed.'

'I speak truth,' Seskwa said. 'The enemy has turned against us. And here is my proof.' He tugged at a length of chain wrapped around his front foot, and a human was pulled in, nearly losing his balance in the process. 'My prisoner. It calls itself the Doctor.'

Jafrid enhanced his ocular range to study the new-comer. The human was adorned distinctively, with a long, soil-coloured main covering and an odd, purpose-less length of twine draped many times around its upper half. Some sort of ceremonial regalia, perhaps? 'Doctor, eh?' He was intrigued by the human's large eyes, which shone with intelligence and alertness, and by its mouth, which was curled upward in the way Dolne's did when he was being amiable. 'Bring him forward.'

Seskwa tugged the chain and the human came crashing in. He was flung before Jafrid with unnecessary force. 'Greetings, General.' He raised an upper appendage and said gruffiy, 'Kyaz rat jarrii guya-chell.'

The General's jaw dropped in amazement.

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Seskwa, feeling left out, tugged roughly on the chain. 'What's that you say? Do not mock us or you will face certain death.'

'I thought I was facing it anyway.' He addressed Jafrid again. 'Paz corlik vench.'

'Be silent!' said Seskwa, pulling a blaster from his shell with his free front foot. 'Or your next word shall be your last!'

Jafrid came forward and studied this Doctor more closely. 'You speak in the ancient dialect of the imperial warriors. How do you know it?'

The Doctor indicated the chain, which was digging tightly into his neck. 'Erm...?' He made a breathless sound.

'Release him,' Jafrid ordered.

With very bad grace, Seskwa brought the Doctor to his knees and whipped the chain from around his neck in a swift movement.

The Doctor rubbed his neck, stood up, and cast his eyes about the place. 'Thank you. Well, General, you might say I've made a study of your warrior class. A very close study at times.' He seemed oddly distracted by the surroundings.

'As part of your plan to destroy us!' shouted Seskwa.

'I haven't got a plan,' said the Doctor wearily. 'I nearly never have a plan. But yes, I'm familiar with your history. I'm not from these parts, you see.'

'Not from Metralubit?' Jafrid blinked, astonished.

'Not really from anywhere,' said the Doctor. He wandered over to one of the work stations and studied its instrumentation. 'What surprises me is how similar you lot are to your forebears. I thought you'd left your expansionist period behind long ago.'

Jafrid waved a foot graciously. He liked this person.

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'The seed of old Chelonia is spread far and wide through the galaxies, Doctor. In the times of which you speak, hatcheries were founded from the Great Ann of Quique to the crystal quasars of Menolot. As our paths diverged so did our cultures. My men and I claim descent from the lines of Nazmir and Talifar.' He broke off and lowered his voice. 'Do you really find this interesting?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Very. Do go on, please.'

'That's good.' Jafrid gestured around. 'Most of this lot have switched off by this point. Yes, Doctor, our ancestors' legends speak of their abandonment on a barren, hostile, ruined world. There's some mythical story behind it that I won't go into. What we know for certain is that they made a rough sort of living there for themselves for a few thousand years, founded a hatchery and force-cultured a range of soils. When they finally got back in touch with the homeworld they found the empire had fallen. But by then their culture was pretty much independent, although still bound by some of the old codes. Of course, without the technology for space travel the tendency to aggression had been lost.' He cast a rueful glance at Seskwa. 'Mostly.'

'That must have been millennia ago.'

'As a species we're slow to change;' said Jafrid. 'We are an experimental, exploratory team, out of the homeworld known as Sarmia. We came to this Fostrix galaxy as part of a research initiative. It was not our wish to indulge in battle. The Metralubitans started it.'

'Really?'

'They had no interest in the place until we claimed it as our study base. It is of no value to them.'

The Doctor bit his knuckle, as if not sure how to ask the next question. 'Pardon me for asking,' he said at last, 'but what value is it to you?'

Indeed, Jafrid resented this. 'You are here to answer questions, Doctor, not to ask them,' he said.

'I wondered when you were going to say that.' The Doctor pulled himself upright and began to talk very quickly, each word following close on the heels of the last. 'Look, I'm as anxious as you are to see this affair settled amicably and I couldn't help noticing your spectro-analyser.'

Jafrid had no idea what he meant. 'My what?'

'That gadget.' The Doctor indicated one of the devices arranged on a podium in the comer. 'It's for examining the structure of things.'

'Is it?' Jafrid sighed. 'We never use it. Must have been one of the study team's gizmos. What do you want it for?'

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'This.' The Doctor took a small glass tube from a pouch on his covering. Jafrid could see an off-white, glutinous substance inside. 'I found it on the bodies of some human soldiers. It's the mark of the third force that's aggravating this conflict. And it's the same substance that did for his troopers.' He indicated Seskwa.

Jafrid reeled from the news. 'Your report was true, then, Seskwa? No prank?'

'In all details, General,' said Seskwa. 'The patrol I was sent to search out was killed by that substance.' He pointed to the Doctor. 'A substance it created! Do not be fooled by its charmed tongue, General. It lulled us earlier to divert us from the attack planned by its comrades.'

'No I didn't, and you know I didn't.' The Doctor gave Seskwa a disparaging look. 'Not very bright for a First Pilot, are you?'

Jafrid had long found Seskwa's jumpiness tiring, and so he relished the remark. 'You amuse me, Doctor. I may yet find a use for you.'

'What?' said the Doctor. 'You mean I've been spared the Web of Death?'

Jafrid chuckled. 'He threatened you with the Web? Stupid boy.' He gestured to the gadget mentioned by the Doctor. 'You may use the machine while I think on matters. Watch him, Seskwa.'

The Doctor nodded his thanks graciously and out-stretched a hand before Seskwa. 'After you.'

Admiral Dolne's red, breathless face filled the Glute-screen. He was leaning very close to the remote host, and his whispered words were amplified and carried through the many miles of the Darkness's interior. 'I know I'm not especially well up on giving commands,' he was saying. 'To be frank I never imagined I'd have to be. But I do know that your argy-bargying isn't going to get us anywhere. It'll lead to people getting inflamed. There's a difference, Viddeas, between parade-ground exercises and...'

The Darkness almost lost its concentration. A vein was pumping on Dolne's flabby neck, and this served as a symbol for the Onemind, which was not without a certain degree of imagination. It pictured many such veins, all of them turning from healthy, pumping wells of red to clot-blocked cavities of pyaemic sludge, channels of disease.

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This picture must have overwhelmed the host's mind, because Dolne was saying, 'Eh? Captain? I don't believe you've listened to a word I've said. Viddeas!'

The Onemind relaxed its grip slightly. 'Sorry. Sir?'

'You're looking rather off-colour.'

'I feel fine.'

'I could order you to rest in your cabin until I get this affair settled.'

The Onemind knew how much the source desired its soul to be untethered. And it was not without mercy. But they were not finished with Viddeas just yet. 'Please, Admiral. I'm fit for duty. Really. And I'm sorry about what happened.'

Dolne grinned. 'Oh, all right, then.' He tutted. 'Listen to me. Soft touch.'

It is difficult to convey the language of the Darkness, such is the complexity of its composition. The Onemind's telepathic impulses are qualified by the emphases of the Greatbody's clattering wings, and further enhanced by vibrations from the feasting stocks annexed to the hibernation chambers. Workers, seekers and thinkers all have a part to play in its expression. But roughly, this is what the Darkness said as it looked on Dolne:

This beast's meat is toughened. The meat droops and sags from the bones. But we have waited so long in the Great Void.

Another face appeared before the host's eyes, and the Darkness quivered with delight. Young Cadinot, fuIly grown but still young, a fine source of meat. 'Admiral. We've received a letter, sir, from the Chelonian camp.'

'Ah, good. Apologizing, no doubt.' Dolne led Cadinot away from the source.

Another attack is needed, said the Darkness. This way, trust will be broken down totally, and the death can begin.

It was time to consult the primary remote host.

The Doctor had discovered a set of slides in the housing of the spectro-analyser, together with some rudimentary handling tools, and was preparing to smear on some of the substance. He held a slide in one hand, a test tube in the other. 'I don't suppose you have any...' he began, addressing Seskwa, then stopped himself 'No, you wouldn't.'

'What do you require?' asked Seskwa.

'Gloves.' At Seskwa's blank look he performed a mime to demonstrate his need. 'I don't want any of this stuff to come into contact with my skin.'

'Then I will place it on the slide.' He held out a front foot and flexed the clawed digits. 'Give them here.'

The Doctor looked between Seskwa and his sample. 'It will require a certain delicacy not to fracture the glass.'

'You consider me hotheaded? Unthinking?' Seskwa snatched the items from him and very neatly tipped a little of the fluid on to the slide, then placed a transparent adhesive strip over the latter and handed it back to the Doctor. 'There.'

The Doctor reproved himself 'Thank you. Now, then.' He put the slide into position beneath the main viewer on the analyser and peered into the viewfinder. As the machine had been devised for Chelonian use he had to crouch rather uncomfortably forward to see. 'Ah,' he said.

'Ah? What?' asked Seskwa.

The Doctor lifted his head, puzzled. 'It's totally blank. As if the substance had drained the energy from the machine.'

'I suggest you switch on the light,' said Seskwa.

The Doctor stared at him for a second, then snapped his fingers, realizing his mistake. 'Good idea.' He reached across the machine and pressed a button. When he put his eyes back to the viewfinder he found a very changed image. 'Ah. Yes, really, ah.'

'What have you found there, Doctor?' asked a gruffer Chelonian voice. Jafrid had completed his deliberations and come over for a look.

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The Doctor rose, and his fingers worked on a panel built into the machine's top. A small screen lit up with a section of the image seen on the slide. 'See for yourself. That's an inch-wide section of the gloop magnified two hundred and fifty thousand times.' The picture was a stark monochrome image of a honeycombed pattern. Each section of comb was triangular in shape and contained a blob of tissue with a black nodule at its centre.

Jafrid shook his head. 'I lack the learning needed to draw a conclusion. Environments?'

Another Chelonian shuffled over and peered at the image. 'The arrangement of the component cells is strangely regular.'

'Exactly.' The Doctor found himself raking a hand through his thick curls, an unconscious sign that he was worried. 'I had postulated a roving predator. An unthinking beast feeding on carrion. But this suggests an advanced understanding of gene manipulation.'

'I don't follow,' said Jafrid.

'Like this fellow says, the organelles are too neatly arranged to be entirely natural.' He pointed to several of the triangular cells in turn. 'Nature can be precise, but you'd expect some small variation.'

'I still don't follow,' said Jafrid. 'History is my strong point.'

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'Somebody has tampered with this stuff to make it a more efficient preservative.' The analyser beeped and printed out its estimation of the substance. The Doctor tore off the strip, ran his eyes down the list of constituents, and whistled. 'It's strong stuff, very tightly bonded, and adaptable to almost any environment. It would keep flesh fresh for a good month or two, in any place from lunar wastes to tropical jungle. An incredible feat.' He passed the strip to the Environments Officer. 'And extremely bad news for all of us.'

'Explain,' said Seskwa.

The Doctor tapped the screen. 'Whatever made this is out there, questing for food. And it's already shown us that it's a rather eclectic diner. It'd gobble up me, you or a Metralubitan, equally happily.' He struck his forehead. 'Of course!'

'What?'

'The war,' said the Doctor. 'It aggravates the conflict, sets you lot against the others, and then swoops down to take the pickings.'

There was silence for a few seconds, with all heads in the control room turned to the Doctor. Then Seskwa spluttered. 'I have never heard such nonsense. How can this predator jam our signal devices, disrupt our satellites, fire missiles?'

The Doctor shrugged. 'Perhaps it's influence is more insidious than we can imagine.'

Seskwa turned to Jafrid. 'General. This human is lying. His presence here is a deliberate ploy, an attempt to distract and confuse us. The humans mean to take us off our guard.'

The Doctor grimaced. 'For the hundredth time I'm not human. Not even remotely. In fact, biologically speaking I probably have more in common with you than with them.'

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'General,' urged Seskwa. 'You must not listen to his lies.'

The silence dragged on, Jafrid looking the Doctor up and down. Then he said, 'Step closer.' The Doctor obeyed. 'I do not know if I should believe your wild theory. But you strike me as a man of courage and integrity.'

The Doctor shrugged. 'I don't know where to look. I think I'll just stare at my shoes.'

'I have a mission for you. Will you accept it?'

'Is it a small mission or a big mission? I don't do big missions.'

Jafrid leant in close. 'Will you go to Dolne? And tell him what you have told me?'

The Doctor hesitated a second. Then he said, 'That's a reasonably sized mission. Yes, of course I'll do it. Just point me in the right direction.'

'You must not let him escape, General,' grumbled Seskwa, but nobody was listening.

'You shall be a neutral envoy,' Jafrid went on. 'We must face the future together. I cannot believe our friends among the enemy would want to destroy us.'

The Doctor felt a rush of admiration for old Jafrid. 'That's very charitable of you.'

But the General smirked back. 'Hardly. They wouldn't dare pick a scrap, Doctor. Dolne knows he could not possibly win, and he is without guile. Now, we must prepare a vehicle.'

'General,' called a technician. 'The enemy is trying to hail us.'

'How convenient,' said Seskwa. 'At the very moment their spy gains our confidence.'

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Jafrid hurried to his position at the centre of the room and clambered into the golden strands of his webbing. 'Link us up, right away.'

The Darkness was perturbed by the Doctor. His unusual face puzzled them. It possessed a quality they had not seen before in a human, and the distortion of the Glute-screen lent it an especially unpleasant quality. His large blue eyes stared hard, as if he could see through the eyes of the source and into the Darkness itself.

The Darkness reasoned with itself All is well. The next battle will destroy all trust between them.

But what of this Doctor? it asked itself He is cleverer than the others. He sees too much.

It answered itself quickly. No matter. He will be dead very soon. Nourishment for the first Great Hatching.

The command post was silent, all activity brought to a halt as Jafrid's fearsome face appeared on the big screen of the Strat Room. Dolne felt the relief of his team, a reaction that matched his own. Surely, if they were still talking, they could sort out their situation? 'Jaffers,' he said. 'Thanks for the letter. I'm as perplexed as you are. I really did wonder if you'd gone barmy.'

Jafrid looked uncomfortable. 'I cannot speak to you informally over this channel, Admiral. The envoy will now speak.'

Dolne frowned, 'Envoy? What envoy?' Abruptly, the image from the Chelonian base changed, and a humanoid face appeared. A wild-looking fellow with a shock of curly hair. For a moment Dolne was puzzled, then he clicked. 'Ah, hello. You'll be the Doctor, won't you?'

'You've met my friends?' he said eagerly. 'How are they?'

'Safe and well,' said Dolne. He felt an intuitive empathy wiili the newcomer, as he had with Romana. Logically, he should have been wary of strangers, but they just seemed so agreeable. 'Romana's a splendid young girl, I must say.' He giggled. 'How do you chaps do it? I wonder sometimes.'

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'Do what?' The Doctor held up a finger. 'Now, listen, Dolne, I've no time to gossip. The Chelonians are prepared to disconnect their battle computers as a gesture of goodwill. That way nobody can tamper with them. Will you do the same?'

Viddeas sprang up from his desk as if activated by the pressing of a button. 'Sir, no! Who is this man? A traitor, by the look of him!'

'Shut up, Viddeas,' said Dolne wearily. He turned back to the screen. 'Doctor, hold on. This isn't worth its salt really, is it, unless we all switch off at the same time? Which, incidentally, I'm prepared to do. It sounds a jolly sensible idea.'

'That's the spirit. So I'll be coming over with an escort to agree the fine details. 'I should reach you in about an hour. Now, could I snatch a quick chat with Romana and K9?'

'Certainly.' Dolne signalled to Cadinot. 'Patch him through.' He waved to the Doctor. 'See you soon.'

Then the picture faded. Dolne clapped his hands together and turned to address his team. 'At last. What a day. I knew it would blow over. Shall we all get back to doing, er, whatever it is we do here?'

There was a ripple of good humour from the Strat Team, and somebody started clapping. Before long, everyone had joined in, leaving Dolne feeling both exhilarated and embarrassed. Because, truth be told, he hadn't actually done anything to put things back on keel. The applause was nice, though.

Only Viddeas didn't join in.