Part 20 (1/2)

'The records I have studied indicate this shape was found to increase the attention span and efficiency of the predominantly male and heteros.e.xually orientated work-force in the dome,' said K9.

Romana sniffed and followed Stokes. 'It's one way of dealing with a problem, I suppose.'

Stokes chuckled and pointed a finger at her annoyingly. 'I detect an ideological objection. Or is it jealousy? There aren't often any other girls around to compete with, are there, I'll bet?'

She suppressed an urge to kick him. 'Don't be so pompous. Come on, K9.'

He whistled to get her attention. 'Lift, Mistress.'

Romana noticed the high door jamb of the cabin and bent down to pick him up. 'Sorry, K9, I didn't notice.'

A full a.n.a.lysis of the blood specimen coloured itself in on one side of the Glute-screen. The Onememory flashed up the Darkness's only likely match in its records. It had pored through life-profiles of some of the sixty billion species used by the Darkness to feed upon in its long life and found only one similar.

The specimens correlated almost exactly.

If this is a Time Lord, said the Onemind, said the Onemind, it must be a dissenter. it must be a dissenter.

We have knowledge of such a dissenter, said the Onememory. said the Onememory.

Encountered many, many void-times ago

Romana's sense of satisfaction with the gracious, symmetrical architecture of Metron City was shattered when the door to the reception lounge whirred open and she came face to face with what appeared to be a ma.s.sive bloodstain on the facing wall. 'Urgh. What's that?'

Stokes peered about. The lounge was white and empty apart from the scattering of sofas, lit by the soft orange glow of wall lights and a large window that looked out over the city. 'What?'

Romana pointed. 'That stain. Has somebody been killed?'

'Stain?' Stokes moved forward protectively. 'That is one of my abstracts. I'd have thought you would recognize the fluidity of my brushwork.'

Romana looked more closely and noticed the frame around the stain. She had forgotten Stoke's exuberant style. He was not entirely untalented, she reflected; it was just that what he chose to produce was always so unappealing. 'I'm surprised they let you hang it here.'

'Don't sneer.' He waved an arm over the city. 'Here I am appreciated.

Samples of my work hang in the homes of every true discerning collector.

My canvases have revolutionized the planet's visual arts; my sculptures are positioned in the most prestigious and fas.h.i.+onable greens.p.a.ces of the city.

Look out there? See that?' Romana pretended to see what he was pointing at. 'One of mine. I am regarded as the greatest living artist on the planet.

'I wondered why you liked the place so much.'

She became aware that K9 had slipped away from her side. He was engrossed in the examination of a communications device on the other side of the lounge, and had succeeded in activating the screen. It showed a large picture of a large man, twice as corpulent as Stokes, wearing a tunic that only just held his stomach in place. He was talking, and his voice had a smarmy, patronizing tone. '...which is why I decided we could wait no longer, on either battlefield of Barclow or at the ballot box here. I have done all I could, not only in these distressing times, but throughout the past fourteen years. And I would say to you: feel the improved quality of your life. The sacrifices were worth it. Together, as one planet, we've pulled through. And by keeping and strengthening that unity - that sense of our ident.i.ty - it is within our power to resolve the present conflict on Barclow.'

He frowned for emphasis. 'If the reptiles want blood, we shall not flinch. We shall give them blood. Their own. Our equipment is of the highest calibre.

Our men are trained for all eventualities. Let us give them our support, and rejoice in our strength.'

So, thought Romana, this must be our opponent.

'Generic rot with a twist of patriotism,' was her spoken verdict.

K9 extended his eyestalk and there was a brief chitter of pseudo-frequency communication between him and a faraway source.

The Premier went on. 'There are some who say that we should capitulate.

Some who would, er, how should I phrase this?' He let his tongue flick between his teeth. 'Who would roll over and let the Chelonians tickle their tummies. Is this what we want?'

To Romana's surprise, K9 suddenly appeared on the screen next to the Premier, in tight close-up. 'Premier Harmock,' he said. 'I claim my right of response as codified in the statutes governing electoral broadcasts Para 3(a).'

Harmock grimaced. 'Oh, it's you. Here he is, everybody. A fresh face, a new att.i.tude, but still the same tired old dogma.'

K9's eyescreen flashed an angry red. 'Your witticisms regarding my anthropomorphic modelling are an attempt to divert public attention from the hollowness of your policies. In your fourteen years in office unemployment levels have risen by sixteen per cent. Production is down by twenty-two per cent in the Bensonian settlements. Spending has been cut and revenues raised unfairly.'

Harmock looked a bit thrown by this. 'Listen to his soundbites. But where's the substance behind them, eh? I notice you remain very quiet on the subject of Barclow.'

'It is prudent to explore every opportunity for peace.'

'While bombs and missiles rain down on our boys? I hardly think so.'

'There are no boys on Barclow.'

Harmock puffed himself up. 'The public are demanding action. I am prepared to guarantee it. Are you?'

'The public do not appreciate the complexities of the situation. Intelligence levels among the manual labourers are low because of your policy of decreasing funds for public education.'

The battle had commenced.

Not far away, there was a small, rectangular room, decorated in the uniform bland whiteness of the Parliament Dome. It contained several items that would have been of extreme interest to an outsider, and especially so to informed outsiders like the Doctor and Romana. But no outsiders had ever seen it, nor were they likely to.