Part 22 (2/2)

'But on Menaxus, surely.'

Aronholt went to the banqueting table. He stood for a while leaning forward on it, palms resting flat on the wooden surface, his back turned to the Doctor. 'No, Doctor, I am sorry.' He straightened up and turned to face the Doctor again. 'You must return now to your world. And let destiny run its course.' He pointed across the room to the door in the corner behind the Doctor the door he had abandoned in favour of the one opposite which had led to the void.

The Doctor walked in silence to the door. His hand rested on the handle for a second, then he pulled the door open. Through the red haze beyond it he could see the converted theatre box where the machine was installed, the stairs leading down from it directly in front of him. 'Thank you,' he said, turning back to Aronholt, 'for what help you have given me so far. But I'm afraid it's not enough.' He closed the door.

Aronholt spread his arms, palms outwards. 'I can do no more, Doctor. Everything to do with these worlds, everything involving the machine, is almost by definition an act. I do not exist have never existed. I too am a fiction, I can offer only the words and actions that have been devised and defined for me.'

'But your programming is somewhat more sophisticated than that of the other characters. You have powers of thought and reason.'.

Aronholt shook his head. 'No, not really. I can operate within the slightly broader parameters of a programmed existence, as you say. But I am still limited, can still only perform what has been scripted for me. Only my author can alter my lines or change my mind.'

The Doctor smiled widely. 'But that's the nature of a performance. As good old Wanlek used to say ' He stopped suddenly, his smile resolving into a more thoughtful expression.

'Doctor?'

The Doctor's face brightened again. 'Aronholt,' he said, marching across the room and slapping his friend on the back, 'I've got the most terrific idea.'

Bernice had managed to push her way almost to the front of the crowd when it started to disperse. Typical, she thought as the lines of people before her started to drift away.

Across the square Benny could see a line of soldiers. As she watched, the officer shouted an order that could have been in any language for all the guttural sense it seemed to make, and the troops wheeled round in unison. They shouldered their ceremonial disruptors and marched out of the square.

Above the departing soldiers, on a balcony jutting out from the tallest of the monstrous concrete buildings in the square, stood another group of people. This was a smaller group, mostly military but in the middle stood several civilians. There was something familiar about a couple of them. Bernice pushed closer through the few people who were still waiting around or dithering. She tried to get a better view up at the people on the balcony, but it was difficult as they were s.h.i.+elded by a transparent screen which caught the sun as she craned to see.

Bernice had just found the ideal place to stand so she could see in clearly when the group began to file off the balcony and back into the building. But she had seen enough she had recognized the old man as Klasvik.

Benny watched the last of the party disappear from sight, then she started to walk round the huge building If Klasvik was inside then it seemed a fair bet that the Doctor and Ace were not far away. At any rate, it was a good place to start looking.

Marlock had not been intending to bother with the inspection but he needed time to consider. His options were fast dwindling as the Rippeareans closed on their sector. If the final lines of defence looked threatened, he might have to consider leaving Heletia and establis.h.i.+ng a base of operations elsewhere. But there was no immediate worry. The Rippeareans had to take the long way to Heletia they would never manage to negotiate the satellite mines in the Alterberg Gap.

As he left the balcony and made his way back to the green room, Marlock reflected that the inspection had not afforded him the thinking time he had hoped. He had been distracted by the Exec and Lannic. They had spent the whole time in hushed conversation. Klasvik shuffled uncomfortably nearby, loathed to miss anything but biting back his repugnance. The whole thing really was quite pathetic.

But it kept the Exec busy and occupied. He had not asked for more news about the progress of the war since meeting the woman and Marlock doubted if he had even read through the anodyne reports which were his daily source of information.

In the green room the Exec climbed the step onto his dais and sat behind his desk, surveying his subjects. The scene brought a smile to Marlock's twisted mouth.

'Continue, my dear.' The Exec's voice was husky as he beckoned Lannic up to the stage, waved for her to sit at his feet, pretended that he had not heard Klasvik's snort of revulsion as she did.

Lannic smiled and in a honeyed voice said, 'That was when I first realized that the statues were not stone at all.'

'Really?' The Exec was enraptured, immediately drawn back to the story. As Lannic went on, Marlock shook his head at the even more improbable direction Lannic's narrative was taking. In a way it was a shame she was soabsorbed with the Exec. She was sitting on the dais beside the Exec's chair, her legs pulled back and tucked under her body, her bare knees and a hint of thigh visible from under her dress. The dress itself was white belted at the waist and slit up the side. It opened in a wide Vat the neck and was pulled tight across her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Marlock didn't know where she had got it, but he could see immediately why she had chosen it.

Marlock was just drifting into reverie when Klasvik's outburst echoed round the concrete room.

The old man had been fidgeting and getting more and more disgruntled since they had returned to the green room. Now it seemed he could contain himself no longer. 'S'blood!' he shouted.

The effect was startling. The Exec sat bolt upright, his indescreet examination of Lannic's cleavage forgotten. The Exec s guards were almost as fast as Marlock's own as they spun round, disruptors already aimed at the source of the noise. They could all blast a knife out of the air as it hurtled towards them without prior warning it was a test they had to pa.s.s every week in training, and effectively removed any whose reactions had become too slow.

Klasvik ignored the effect his exclamation had had. 'Exec sir. I cannot allow this to continue.' The Exec gaped, but made no sound of protest as Klasvik went on. 'I have listened to Lannic's account of our expedition in your service, and apart from the basic outline it bears no more than a pa.s.sing resemblance to the actual events. She has totally exaggerated her own part in the story, claimed to be responsible for every major discovery or theory.'

'You wish to make some point, Klasvik?' Marlock's voice was cold and hard.

But Klasvik ignored the warning. 'I do,' he continued, the adrenalin keeping hold. 'I have listened for long enough to this woman whose intentions here are as obvious as they are demeaning. I can tolerate just a common harlot trying desperately to ingratiate herself with her betters, but this a distinguished archaeologist taking credit where it is not due, failing to acknowledge the contributions of others, putting ego and reputation above tthe facts this is too much.'

He pointed at Lannic. She shrank away, her arm encircling the Exec's legs for protection and support.

'You go too far, Lannic,' Klasvik shouted at her.

'And so do you.' Marlock's words cut across the room like a disruptor.

There was sudden silence. Klasvik still stood, arm extended towards Lannic. Then he seemed to comprehend Marlock's words and his arm dropped lifeless to his side and the colour drained from his face. His shoulders slumped and he turned towards the Manact, his features sagging. For a while he had seemed dynamic, vivacious. But now he looked old and tired. Drained.

'You had your chance.' Marlock clicked his fingers and the two guards beside the door snapped to attention. 'Take him away.'

'Please,' Klasvik whimpered as the guards took his arms. 'Manact, I'm sorry. Forgive the outburst of an old man.' He strained to turn his head towards the dais as the guards led him out. 'Exec forgive me, I meant no harm.'

The Exec had not moved. But now he reached down and ran his hand through Lannic's hair, shaking his head. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly as his head moved, then suddenly he shouted, 'Take him away.' It was almost a squeal, high*pitched and emotional. The scream of a child.

Marlock nodded to the guards. 'No harm?' he spat in Klasvik's face as they dragged him past. 'You raise your voice in anger in this room; call into question the competence of our ruler to distinguish between truth and fiction and you insult the Exec s friend... And you have the gall to say you mean no harm?'

Klasvik sagged and the guards took his weight, dragging him from the room.

'My apologies, Exec, for this unfortunate incident, Marlock said quietly. 'And to you, madam. He bowed to both the Exec and Lannic, The Exec looked relieved. But Marlock was not sure quite how to read the emotion he saw deep within Lannic's eyes. 'You may rest a.s.sured that this geriatric fool will not bother you or anyone else again.

The small courtyard seemed to be a sort of dumping area for the rubbish and waste of the palace. The smell was enough to put Bernice off investigating further, but as she looked round and wrinkled her nose, a pair of double doors opened.

She ducked behind a stinking skip, slipping alarmingly on something she decided not to examine too closely. Two men struggled into the doorway, carrying a large and obviously heavy plastic box. A third man appeared in the doorway behind them supervising the operation. When she saw who it was Benny broke from her cover and went over to join him.

'Am I glad to find you,' she said standing clear of the doorway so the other two men could bring their load through.

'Professor Summerfield.' Fortalexa seemed neither surprised nor interested.

'So you made it back all right then,' she observed needlessly.

He ignored her, watching as the two men with him deposited the crate in a corner. One of the men dropped his end down too quickly and the top of the crate jumped up, landing at an angle. Some of the contents of the crate were also unsettled and stuck out of the gap at the top. The other man lowered his end of the crate more carefully, then pushed the contents back inside and resealed the lid.

'What are you doing? Dumping something?'

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