Half an hour later, Ian and the Doctor stood on the balcony of their comfortable guest apartment in the mayoral residency.

They were wearing borrowed dressing gowns while their clothes were undergoing a much needed cleaning by an automated valeting service. The rainstorm had blown itself out, leaving the towering Ship sparkling against a clear sky.

'I feel a bit guilty for having spoken to the mayor like that,' Ian admitted. 'I didn't think what they were up against.'

'Indeed, it's a desperate situation which has brought out both the best and worst in them,' the Doctor proclaimed solemnly. 'Out of the horror of war rises an example of outstanding technical ingenuity, driven by the indomitable will to survive.'

He gestured at the Ship, then lowered his voice: 'Except there was one detail of their story that was inconsistent.'

'What?'

'Think back, Chesterton, and you'll note it. Perhaps it was simply an oversight in the telling, or perhaps... Well, we shall just have to wait and see. But be on your guard!'

Chapter Thirteen.

Nightmare Susan emerged from her self-induced healing trance into what she took to be a very bad dream.

She was in complete darkness and an unpleasant stench of decay a.s.sailed her nostrils. Although she was lying flat on her side the surface beneath her seemed to be rippling very slightly. She began to imagine cold damp things pressing against her, clinging to her skin and leaving slimy trails. After some muddled consideration she decided it was probably a side-effect of the hospital drugs, and wished she could wake up.

Then her fingers closed on what felt very much like a ragged strip of cold meat and a rotten apple core.

With a squeal of surprise and revulsion she forced her numbed and stiffened limbs to move, and scrabbled frantically out of the pile of refuse she had been lying in.

She sat upright, swaying slightly. It took determination to breathe the fetid air in deeply, but she needed to force oxygen into her sluggish system. Gradually she felt sensation returning to her limbs and the higher levels of her mind began to function once more. Stay calm, she told herself. This is not a dream, it's real. I must observe and reason before I act.

There is no light, so I must use my hands to find out where I am.

She was resting on what felt like a sheet of thick rubber. It was level in front and behind but curved up at the sides. Her fingers reached its edge and were suddenly brushing against a smooth, curving metal wall that seemed to be sliding past her.

She followed it up and over her head. It was a closed tube. But why was it moving?

Suddenly the faint ripples pa.s.sing under her made sense.

The tube was not moving, she was. She was on some sort of conveyor belt that fitted seamlessly into a tray in the bottom of the tube, perhaps riding on a thin film of polarised oil.

Her hands, still brushing the tube above her head, slipped momentarily into a void, slapped against a funnel-like metal rim and then continued sliding along the tube wall as before. It had been an opening of some sort in the roof of the tube. Were there others?

She kept her hands in place. A minute later she felt another similar opening, its rim encrusted with slime and caked with shreds of organic matter. The brief contact enabled her to judge that the belt was moving at about walking pace. The openings seemed to be set at regular intervals in the ceiling of the tube. Rubbish chutes perhaps? Was that where the ma.s.s of waste she had been lying in had come from? Yes, that was it.

She was in an organic waste-handling system that probably ran under the city.

But why? What was she doing here? Where were Grandfather and the others? Her last memories had been of entering a hospital.

For the first time Susan felt herself all over. Her sole garment was a thin disposable gown, now badly stained and beginning to disintegrate in patches. She also discovered several smooth plastic pads, which could only be protective bandaging, adhering to her skin. She shivered involuntarily, suddenly realising how cold and hungry she felt. Well, there was nothing she could do to alleviate either condition at this moment, except to hug her arms about her, so she simply had to ignore them. The chutes were too small for her to climb up even if she could get a grip on their smooth walls. She might as well conserve her strength and let the conveyor carry her along to its destination, presumably some sort of tip or recycling plant. There had to be a way out of there, and hopefully somebody to give her an explanation for her situation. At the moment it seemed as though she was being thrown out with the rest of the rubbish.

A macabre thought suddenly came to her.

She had put herself into a healing trance a state very close to death. With her metabolism so suppressed perhaps the hospital thought she actually was dead. Perhaps this was how they disposed of bodies in the city. But Grandfather would never have let them do such a thing unless something had happened to him as well. She clutched her head in despair.

This was a nightmare.

Only then did she notice the faint glow beginning to illuminate her surroundings. A pinpoint of light shone out ahead of her, getting brighter by the second. As it did so she became aware of the growing hum of machinery.

The pinpoint became a circle of stark, blue-tinted light and suddenly the tube opened on to a large chamber.

The mouths of a dozen other tubes similar to hers were ringed about its perimeter, their conveyor belts protruding like tongues to hang over the side wall of a great vat that filled the centre of the chamber. From within it came a shrill whirring sound.

Susan leapt over the side of the conveyor belt even as the pile of garbage ahead of her vanished over the edge of the structure.

She climbed unsteadily to her feet and cautiously peered into the vat. Below her an array of whirling blades was reducing the waste to a sludgy pulp that was being sucked noisily out at the bottom, presumably to be taken on to the next stage of the process.

She looked about her. There was no one to be seen.

Perhaps the whole plant was automatic and only needed occasional maintenance inspections. But there must still be a door somewhere, she reasoned. She saw a flight of metal stairs running up to a gantry that ringed the chamber wall. That looked promising.

She had to drag herself up the steps with the handrail, realising just how weak her legs were. Healing her injuries had sapped her strength more than she had thought. But her effort was rewarded by the sight of a heavy riveted door. Staggering over to it she grasped its st.u.r.dy handle.

It wouldn't move.

She twisted it both ways but it remained absolutely immobile. She kicked and banged on the door, then pressed her ear to it and listened intently for any response. She thought she heard more machine sounds from the other side, but no sign of life. Eventually, exhausted by her struggles, she sank her head against the cold metal of the door panel and slid down on to her knees. The door was either rusted and jammed, or else locked. Either way, unless there was some other way out, she was effectively trapped in the chamber.

An appalling thought struck her. If this world was doomed, as the announcements on the roadside screens had suggested, would anybody ever bother to come down here again?

She felt like giving in to her fear and crying aloud at that point, but knew that she could afford neither the time nor the effort that such a display would cost. Shivering, she feebly wiped a filthy hand across her face and looked about her.

Concentrate, she told herself. Perhaps she could find some sort of tool to break the door down.

For the first time she noticed an alcove set a little way round the gantry. Bracing herself against the wall she pulled herself upright and tottered over to it.

On one side of it hung three suits of one-piece plasticised orange coveralls, complete with hoods, overboots and gauntlets. Opposite these was something that resembled an open shower. A mesh drain was set in the floor and a ring of sprinkler heads and control handles was mounted on the wall.

For a moment Susan's sluggish mind could not make sense of the arrangement. Then she realised the coveralls were protective oversuits for maintenance workers who had some particularly dirty task to perform. The shower was there to wash the workers down afterwards.

Did it still work?

Hesitantly she twisted the first handle. Rusty water spluttered from the shower heads, gradually running cleaner and faster as the pipes cleared. Susan cupped her hands under the spray and cautiously sipped. The water had an inky tang but at that moment she could not have cared less. She filled her hands again and found the water was growing warm.

Somewhere a heating element had cut in.

Twisting the handle further made the water steaming hot.

The second handle added liquid soap, which smelled strongly of disinfectant, to the spray. The third handle cut the water and replaced it with a blast of warm air.

Susan looked thoughtfully at the shower and the coveralls, then at the remains of her filthy gown.

Ten minutes later, washed and dried, Susan was pulling on a bright orange coverall. It was far too big for her so she pulled all the fastening strips as tight as she could, folding in excess material. The suit had a lining to make it more comfortable to wear, but because it was designed as an overgarment it was too thin to keep out the damp chill of the recycling chamber.

She put a second suit on over the first and fastened it in turn.

After a little wriggling and adjusting she began to feel warm for the first time since she had woken up. She was still hungry, but at least she had slaked her thirst and was adequately dressed. Now she could look for some tool to help her break down the door, or some other way out of the chamber...

Her plans were interrupted by a prodigious yawn.

Perhaps she was being too hasty. Even though she felt better she was far from recovered. She simply had to rest before her strength gave out, or she did something foolish because she wasn't thinking clearly.

Wearily she threw the remaining coverall on the floor and curled up on top of it. Worries about her grandfather and Barbara and Ian briefly clouded her thoughts before she felt herself slipping away. How she wished she could wake up in the TARDIS and find it really was all a bad dream.

Chapter Fourteen.

Cla.s.s Barriers That evening, Ian and the Doctor visited Susan in the City Hospital. She was in a side room of her own in the recovery ward and had not yet gained consciousness. However, the attendant a.s.sured them this was quite normal in cases of intense regenerative treatment. To Ian's amazement they apparently expected her to be fully recovered in a few days.

Medicine in Arkhaven was clearly highly advanced.

Though he'd already seen her that afternoon, the Doctor's face still showed the depth of his concern. As Ian looked on he bent over Susan and kissed her forehead a small gesture that revealed more about the gentler side of his nature than the old man usually permitted.

Ian's relief that Susan was making good progress was, however, tempered by his desperate concern for Barbara.

Earlier he had visited Carlson Tower while the Doctor was seeing Susan. Only a quarter of the original building remained standing, rapidly diminishing under the attentions of a swarm of demolition machines. He was properly introduced to Supervisor Curton, who estimated it would take at least another day to finish the job since the nibble in the lowest levels would have to be excavated with additional care. They had scanned the building with various devices but without any positive result. This was not unexpected if, as they suspected, Barbara was in the very heart of the remains.

Ian recalled stories of people being pulled out of buildings destroyed by earthquakes days after they had been given up for dead. In the circ.u.mstances he knew it was a slim possibility that the same miracle would be played out here, yet some instinct, however irrational, told him Barbara was alive.

He had to act as though that was so because the alternative was too awful to contemplate. Not that this conviction gave him much ease. He knew that it would be at least twenty-four more long hours before he would know for certain one way or the other.

Meanwhile he wished he had something to occupy himself with. There was nothing he could do on the site itself the machines did not need his aid to work any faster and he could only get in the way. Helping the Doctor check the plans of the Ship was, of course, a task completely beyond his talents. It seemed there was nothing else to do but wait. Visiting Susan that evening at least helped the time pa.s.s.

With Susan still sleeping peacefully, they left the ward. In the corridor outside they hesitated, momentarily unsure of the way out.

'Where's Lant?' asked the Doctor impatiently. 'He's meant to be escorting us.'

'He slipped away a while ago,' Ian said. 'There was somebody he wanted to see, I think. I suppose he has a friend or relative in here.'

At that moment Lant appeared round the corner in the company of an attractive young woman in a staff uniform.

They were both laughing at something and clearly had eyes only for each other.

At the sight of the couple the Doctor's impatience seemed to melt away, to be replaced by a look of benevolent amus.e.m.e.nt.

'Observe, Chesterton, the resilience of the human spirit.

Even in such times as these, love is not to be denied.'

'I never suspected you were such a romantic at heart, Doctor.'

'I never deny the power or significance of such an emotion in its proper place, my boy.'

Lant looked up, realised that he and his companion were being watched, made a quick excuse to her and hurriedly joined them looking slightly embarra.s.sed.

'Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen.'

'A friend of yours?' Ian inquired mildly.

'Er, Nyra Shardri, intensive care clinician. She monitored Susan's treatment when she was first admitted and advised me on her case this morning. I was just... thanking her for her work.'

'Then you must introduce us so that I can do the same,'

the Doctor said, a twinkle in his eye.

Lant flushed slightly. 'Yes, of course, next time we're here, perhaps. This way.'

The s.p.a.cious mayoral limousine was in front of the hospital. Inside Draad was waiting for them in what was evidently Arkavian evening dress.

'Today was a social day and this is traditionally a night for celebration in Arkhaven,' he explained. 'Everybody, including the mayor and his guests, is expected to appear in public and enjoy themselves for a few hours.'

'Even under these conditions?' Ian wondered.

'Especially under these conditions, Mr Chesterton. We aim to maintain a normal routine in the city until the last minute. That's how we have survived this far without major social disorder. So I hope you will allow me to take you to the Polkatoon. It's our most popular nightspot and serves excellent food.'

'That's very kind,' Ian said, 'but I'm not exactly in a party mood.'

The Doctor gave him a thoughtful glance. 'On the other hand, perhaps this is just what you need to take your mind off things, Chesterton. Worrying yourself into the ground won't help Barbara, you know.'

'Any news of her will be relayed to me the moment it comes in,' Draad a.s.sured him. 'Meanwhile, let this serve as a gentle introduction to our society before the more tedious functions you will no doubt be invited to in the coming days.'

Ian was going to protest further, then realised that they might be right. An evening out would help pa.s.s the time. He shrugged.

'All right, let's go. But it'll have to be in these clothes. We haven't anything smarter,' he glanced meaningfully at the Doctor. 'Unless we can get the TARDIS open again.'

'I a.s.sure you n.o.body will take offence at your style of dress,' said Draad.

As the car pulled away, Monitor's voice came from a speaker set in a small console behind the driver's seat.

'The item is about to be broadcast on the evening news, Mayor.'