'When the time comes, I'll be ready.'

Tse Hung smiled, relieved. He'd have hated to have to kill a friend. He had relatively few, but those he had he valued highly. Quality was far more important than quantity. As with anything rare, a glut of friends merely lessened their value, and Tse Hung would never want the value of his to diminish.

Barry wrote in his report that, through binoculars from the tree line, the old plantation house looked peaceful enough. Its three storeys were clearly never the cleanest in South-East Asia, but had clearly remained in use. In the jungle, unused buildings didn't stay very recognisable for long; the humidity and the plants saw to that.

It was brick-built, with a wooden verandah along all four walls which were interrupted only by the porticoed front door. Elsewhere, French windows opened on to the verandah. To the right was a small barn whose door was closed, while a vehicle shed had a rusting tractor sitting in the open doorway.

They rushed the house from different directions, Barry constantly expecting something to go wrong and his troop to start dropping. In the end, they reached the house safely. They gathered round the front door and windows. 'On three' Clark tossed in a flash-bang and the troop burst into the house.

The interior was dim with little light penetrating the old faded curtains. The rooms through which Barry passed still retained their old worn furniture, which had sat unused for decades. In a creepy way it reminded him of his grandmother's house when his family settled on it like vultures to divide up her possessions after her death. Of all the things he could have remembered, it was a cruel God that picked that memory for him.

He gestured silently for the troop to spread out through the house in pairs, one soldier always covering the other. The dust of decades made the light from their gun-mounted torches look like cheap laser effects in a sci-fi B movie.

The main staircase leading upwards was creaky and led to rooms with bare floorboards and skeletal bedsteads that hadn't seen mattresses or sheets since Captain Kirk was a brand-new character.

Below stairs, the house's original cellar had been considerably expanded.

Openings had been knocked through the walls of the old scullery, and metal stairwells descended into more recently excavated chambers - all empty.

"The house is clear and secure,' Clark said. In spite of the disappointment that would show in his report, Barry had to agree.

What was the point of all the secrecy? Why blot out an empty house from the satellites? Unless Unless 'They must have been on to us. Tranh must have given them time to pack up and get out.' 'They must have been on to us. Tranh must have given them time to pack up and get out.'

Clark sniffed. 'I dunno about that - there's no sign that this place has been used in years. Air America probably did all this digging in the 1970s. Don't ask me why the UFOs come here, though.'

'I suppose they could be using the house as a navigational aid&' That made sense to Barry. The house could be a reference point to enter and leave orbit.

'We can't just leave here with nothing,' he said. 'Let's gather some forensic samples, photograph the place photograph the place See whether we can make anything of it later.' Maybe they'd find some hokey secret passage or something. Then at least the trip would have been worth it. There was nothing worse than going through hardship for nothing. See whether we can make anything of it later.' Maybe they'd find some hokey secret passage or something. Then at least the trip would have been worth it. There was nothing worse than going through hardship for nothing.

Yue Hwa had left the meeting to refill the coffee-pot, or so he had told the others. Outside in the corridor he turned, watching to see whether anyone was approaching close enough to hear his words as he whispered into something in his hand. 'I can handle him. When the time comes, everything will be taken care of, as planned.'

He looked round, through the glass into the boardroom, listening to the reply. The Doctor was there, going over some kind of report with Tse Hung and a couple of other suits. 'No, he doesn't suspect a thing.'

Mark Sing oversaw the forensics officers and civilian technicians as they combed through Siao's home. The one he really felt sorry for was Cannonball's husband Eddie, who was glaring at him in between trying to comfort his daughters.

Sing hadn't wanted this, but he couldn't let the corruption just go. Not even for the sake of Siao's family. In the long run, this would help Eddie and the kids, but he knew they'd never realise that in a million years. Looking at the children, he knew they were another pair who'd be brought up to hate cops.

They'd probably be brought up to hate him.

'Sir.' One of the searchers was calling to him from the door to the family garage. 'You'd better see this.' Sing followed him through. The man led him to a small locker tucked away in a corner. Inside were a large plastic pack of white powder and some empty Pimms envelopes. Sing groaned inwardly. Siao was finished. There was no way this could be for personal consumption only. She might not be dealing, but at least she was a courier.

Tom flung the newspapers on to the bed, accusing headlines staring up from every corner. 'Look at these! Just look at them! You're not going to tell me that none of this matters to you; that it doesn't crush your guts and make you want to kill the bastard who did it?'

Sarah crushed up one of the newspapers, unsure whether she wanted to scream in anguish, or hurl the paper as a prelude to smashing everything she could.

'You must hate him,' Tom said softly. He was close enough for her to feel the words brush her ear. 'I can barely imagine how this must feel to you.

Your best friend. Your closest friend. Your Your How much you must hate him.' How much you must hate him.'

Sarah pulled away from him, dropping the crushed story. "That's the worst thing,' Sarah said. 'I can't. I know I should, and I try to, but all that happens is that I feel hurt and dismay dismay And I miss the friend I used to have. And I miss the friend I used to have.

I suppose that makes me some kind of idiot.'

Tom sighed and stepped over to her. 'I would say,' he corrected gently, 'that it makes you a good person. Better than me: I would hate him.' He sat on the end of the bed. 'You say the Doctor was your friend. Well, it looks like someone changed his mind. Now, he's not the only one with good connections in the media.'

'Are you trying to offer me some kind of bribe?'

'It would be more accurately called an inducement. Think about it: you clear your name, get a top-line contract with a global group of your choice&'

'Get revenge?' That was what people did in these circumstances, wasn't it?

They hit back and hoped that if it didn't make them feel better, it at least made their victim feel as bad as they did.

'I wouldn't necessarily want to be the one to say it, but if you feel that way - and I know I sure as hell would - then, yes.'

Sarah wasn't sure whether she felt that way. Revenge sounded too much like the sort of thing people talked about on Oprah, where jilted lovers cut up each others' suits. More than anything else, she just wanted today to go away and leave her in peace. She had been looking forward to exploring the city like any other tourist, and now there was no hope of enjoying that.

If the Doctor was willing to go that far, he must really have changed. She knew that when he regenerated it meant the death of the person he had been; a sense of loss was only natural. But the Doctor's replacement personae had always been on a similar base, not some sort of evil pod-person.

On the other hand, regenerations did go wrong and perhaps his latest one had too. His brain must have been scrambled. Maybe he still needed help - protection from himself and his own actions.

If nothing else, this was a sign that UNIT and the DEA were right. Someone with the Doctor's knowledge and abilities could be an exceptional danger.

One she didn't want to face, but had to. One she would face.

She had to do something, take a positive step of some kind and here was one being offered on a plate. The reward didn't matter, but if it meant setting things right, then it'd be worth it.

'All right,' she said slowly. 'I'll do it.'

The TARDIS crunched into solidity a few yards from the plantation house's vehicle shed. The Doctor, looking grimmer than usual, emerged and went into the house.

The interior was dim, with little light penetrating the faded curtains. The rooms through which the Doctor passed still retained their old, worn furniture, which had sat unused for decades. In spite of that, the rooms were pristine, with not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere.

The main staircase leading upwards was blocked off by a plastic and chrome door, which had a clear airtight seal around it. The upstairs rooms were where the pharmacology labs operated 24/7, and they had to be kept scrupulously clean so as not to contaminate the mixtures being prepared.

The whole of the upper floor in the plantation house had been turned into a makeshift chemical lab. In one section, resin bubbled in large pans over gas burners, while another contained complex arrays of tubes and beakers, all tended by blonde men and women.

Below stairs, the house's original cellar had been considerably expanded.

Openings had been knocked through the walls of the old scullery, and metal stairwells descended into more recently excavated chambers.

Dim but unfriendly blue lights showed through the grillwork floors. In each metallic burrow, glowing spheres - some displaying images -hovered at chest height. Consoles of black metal stood like open petals, while crystal and metal edges of unknown apparatus sat coldly at the limit of vision. This was Chiu's office; a work-place he had no emotional attachment to, but a practical need to occupy.

'It's done,' the Doctor said darkly. 'Don't worry about Miss Smith any more.'

'Good.' Chiu led the Doctor deeper. 'We have a problem.'

'You assured me there wouldn't be any. You gave your word -'

'It's not of our doing.' They went past a small room, where diminutive, half-seen figures were disassembling the machine guns and feeding the parts into furnaces. Ingots of metal were coming out the other end.

At the heart of the web of tunnels was a mostly empty room with a seal set into the floor. Flowing script spiralled into infinity on the seal. Cloaking the ceiling was a huge holographic projection of the Earth's continents.

Beads of light moved all over it, tracking objects sensed in orbit.

In the midst of it all was a small grey creature in military-style coveralls, eyes closed in rapture as it listened to the music of the spheres. It was the Astrographer. Who would have thought he would be so necessary on a planet's surface?

'We're sensing what may be gravitational wavefronts, blue-shifted,' the Astrographer told the Doctor, opening his glistening black eyes.

'Show him,' Chiu said.

The Astrographer moved a hand and the indoor heavens spun dizzyingly. A flattened electric-blue oval was pulsing gently. 'We must complete operations as quickly as possible,' Chiu said. The blue oval grew, resolving itself into three separate signals.

The Doctor looked worried, though it was hard for Chiu to tell. Human facial expressions were hard enough to judge. 'Are those what I think they are?'

"They're too far out to be certain, but I think so. Battleships, on their way here.'

Chapter Sixteen.

Dining on fishes

Under a groundsheet in the Cambodian humidity, Palmer's back was searingly hot against Barry's when he woke. In spite of that he had broken out in a cold sweat, and shook slightly. The feeling faded once he remembered where he was. The logging camp had never been too hospitable, but he hadn't thought of it as being so disturbing before.

He pulled on trousers and boots, and went out into the pre-dawn half-light for a cigar. Fiona Clark was already out there, scanning the treetops and cleaning her shotgun. 'Looking for something?'

'I dunno,' she admitted. 'I just felt like like Well, I couldn't sleep anyway. You neither?' Well, I couldn't sleep anyway. You neither?'

"Think I had a nightmare. It's nothing, just the release of tension from the mission.' He lit his cigar, and looked at the reddening sky. 'Shepherd's hut's on fire.'

'Well, I didn't do it.' They both grinned.

Mark Sing was in the lab within mere seconds of the call, saying the test results on the powder found in Siao's house were ready. A lab technician was waiting with a file folder and the bag of powder. 'Here you go. Full results on this shit.'

'This is, what? Heroin? Cocaine?'

'No, this is real shit.'

Sing was impressed, in the way drivers might be impressed by a bad accident they pass. 'Pure, then?'

'No, I mean this shit is shit shit, not good shit. It's some kind of opiate-derived heroin substitute, with its narcotic abilities severely curtailed. The effects would be very mild and not addictive. In fact, this shit would probably wean you off off' The technician's voice trailed off and he blinked.

"That's a new one on me.'

'Doesn't surprise me,' Sing said.

'It doesn't?'

"Think about it. The Triads want to create addiction to boost their profits, but if your customers die on you, they stop giving you money. If you can control their addiction to the point of curing it, you can trap them in longer cycles of addiction and cure over and over again.'

'Ingenious.'

'Obscene,' Sing corrected him.

'Yeah, but but'

But?'

"This isn't actually a narcotic, and technically it isn't illegal.'

Sing felt as if the lab technician had started speaking some foreign language he didn't understand, but at the same time a small weight was lifted from him. It soon settled back; the inevitable for Siao was only delayed. 'It's not?'

'Nobody's seen anything like this, so there's no law to cover it. It wouldn't be addictive and wouldn't -'

'So she's a courier of a harmless placebo for the Tao Te Lung?'

'Yes.'

Sing closed his eyes. What was he supposed to do now? He'd blown his cover as an ICAC investigator for nothing. Maybe that was the idea: the whole thing was a plot to flush him out.

He didn't really believe that. He wondered if Siao knew what she was really ferrying. Not that it would matter to the board of inquiry. Intent was all that counted there. She was a criminal by intent and choice, and the forensics couldn't change that.

The Doctor's desk was covered with newspapers, all featuring Sarah's face, while he himself had his eyes closed to all of them. 'They won't go away, no matter how hard I concentrate,' he grumbled.

'I suppose not, 'Yue Hwa agreed. At times like this, he wished he had followed his father's wishes and been a herbalist. Perhaps then he might know how to help his partner in crime.

Yue Hwa had many skills and abilities, honed by years of training and experience, but there was nothing in him that made it easier to bear the times when none of those skills and abilities could help someone. He had chosen his path to help people, yet so often it didn't work out that way.

'Sometimes we have to do things that are contrary to the way we see ourselves. Either we're hypocrites, or those things take effort to live with,'

he said.

'I didn't want to do it this way.'

'You can still set it right.'

'Can I?'

"That's up to her. When the person you hurt is a friend, the damage done can be worse than when you hurt an enemy. An enemy expects it, but a friend friend Perhaps you should sleep on it.' Perhaps you should sleep on it.'

The Doctor opened his eyes, and Yue Hwa thought he almost saw distant stars in them. 'I see the faces of every death I'm responsible for every time I sleep. Every enemy, every friend I've lost, every innocent I've failed to save. So I stopped sleeping. I imagine you know what I'm talking about.'