As they pa.s.sed the second landing up, a shower of meteors seared across the sky and vanished somewhere over the mountains. They must have posed no threat to the city because the defences did not react, but for a few seconds they lit up the darkness around the building like lightning bolts.

Semanov gasped: 'There's something out there!'

They froze. 'I told you to keep your head down!' Gelvert said.

'I couldn't help it.'

'Well, what was it?'

'A shadow moving along one of the back roads. It was big.'

'A vehicle?'

'I'm not sure I only got a glimpse.'

'It's the Watch. They're coming for us,' Tressel muttered wretchedly.

'Shut up and keep going,' said Gelvert.

Above the last office level, the head of the stairs ended in a single stout door. Gelvert quickly sprung the lock and they pa.s.sed through. Slats and louvres in the walls of the enclosure beyond outlined the bulky forms of tanks and air-conditioning equipment.

'Find somewhere to hide yourselves,' Gelvert told Tressel and Semanov as he closed the door behind them. 'And whatever happens, keep quiet!'

They vanished into the darkness. Using the angle of a pipe as a step, Gelvert hauled himself up into the narrow s.p.a.ce between the top of a large covered tank and the underside of the roof. He pulled his thermal blanket over himself and lay still, trying to calm his breathing. He was alert but confident.

If the Watch was out there targeting this particular building, they'd have made themselves known with lights and loudspeaker demands as soon as they had the place surrounded. If that was going to happen it would have happened by now. Therefore, at the most, they were making a low-key sweep of the whole block and wouldn't have the time or manpower to make a thorough search of every building. All he and his companions had to do was keep their nerve.

Then his straining ears caught a noise from beyond the door. But it was not the sound of service boots.

Something was moving up the stairs with a rustling whisper, getting louder by the second. He concentrated but couldn't make any sense of the sound. The rustling became a rasp and faint staccato patter, then came a soft sc.r.a.pe as something brushed against the door.

Maybe whoever it was would give up when they found the door locked.

They didn't. Instead the door creaked as though force was being slowly but steadily applied to it. That wasn't how you broke down a door, Gelvert thought. What the h.e.l.l was out there?

With a crack and squeal of torn hinges the door burst open.

A moment later a faint red glow suffused the room. Gelvert jammed his knuckles into his mouth to prevent any involuntary sound. His only hope was absolute silence.

From below came a rapid scrabble and clicking, together with a prolonged slither as though a large body was being dragged across the floor. Gelvert's imagination began to race.

Improbably, it sounded almost as though the noise was made by some sort of animal. But that was absurd... wasn't it?

A terrible temptation to raise his head over the side of the tank and look down rose within him, yet he knew he dare not move an inch.

The slithering and clicking continued past him but did not diminish. How big could the thing be?

Then the hissing began. It was soft at first but steadily grew louder. Gelvert's tortured mind could make only one a.s.sociation. It was the sound he imagined a giant snake might make.

There came the smack of boots striking concrete at the same moment as Tressel's voice rang out: 'Oh, G.o.d no...!'

The hiss became a howling roar as though air was being drawn into monstrous lungs, merging with Tressel's horrified scream.

Then there came a snap, as of huge jaws closing, and Tressel was silenced in mid-cry.

The thing sc.r.a.ped and clicked as it shifted its position. It was hunting them out. The hissing began to grow louder again.

Could it smell them?

With a shout of defiance mingled with barely suppressed fear. Semanov burst out from her hiding place. There came the thud of a blow landing heavily. The hiss became a roar.

Semanov screamed. There was a metallic clang as a stanchion bar or tool hit the ground. The terrible snap came again, the hissing stopped, and Gelvert knew she was gone.

Now there was only him left.

The thing shuffled and scrabbled, brushing against the fittings in the narrow service s.p.a.ce. Gelvert imagined he could hear scales sc.r.a.ping across concrete and metal. The hissing began again.

Two red eyes set half a metre apart rose over the side of the tank.

With a cry of terror Gelvert scrabbled away from them and dropped down the back of the tank. He landed badly, cracking his knee, but he did not notice the pain. His only thought was to get away from the terrible thing that was pursuing him. He scrabbled on all fours through a maze of pipes. For a moment he glimpsed a long body at least a metre across rippling behind the tanks. It was huge. It must still fill the doorway.

There was no escape that way.

Then his hand fell on the familiar shape of a bolt set in the wall panelling. Another door!

Gelvert drew the bolt, reached up for the handle that had to be there, twisted and pushed. The stiff hinges resisted for a moment then gave way, causing him to fall through on to the flat roof beyond.

He scrambled to his feet and ran to the edge nearest to him, looking over the low parapet for any sign of an emergency ladder. There had to be some way off the roof.

But there was nothing of the kind visible.

Behind him the thing slithered on to the roof, with a splintering crack as it burst apart the frame of the narrow door.

For the first time Gelvert saw it illuminated by the distant city lights. A black, rippling, tube body supported by many short-clawed legs, baleful red eyes, a long snout. He heard the hissing begin even as an arm-thick tongue extended towards him, flickering with dreadful sensuality, questing to embrace him.

He recoiled from it, choking in horror.

The edge of the parapet caught him in the small of the back.

For a few brief seconds land and sky blurred as the sparkling arc of city lights spun about him. He screamed.

Then came the ground and a final release.

Chapter Sixteen.

Questions Without Answers The morning was still young when Ben Lant rang the bell on the Vendam mansion's imposing front door.

'Captain Lant of the City Watch to see Plaxander Vendam,' he told the servant who answered. 'Official business.'

'Master Plaxander is still sleeping,' he was informed stiffly.

'Well, wake him up,' he replied. 'Tell him he has five minutes before I turn him out of bed myself.'

The mayor's resolute behaviour of the previous night was obviously catching, Ben thought, as he was ushered coldly through to a reception room. They were going to be leaving for a new world soon and taking only what was essential.

Meaningless deference to outmoded privilege was something that would be left behind.

Three minutes later the reception room door opened to admit not Plaxander Vendam but his father, still wearing a dressing gown.

Ben gave him the most cursory nod. 'It's your son I want to talk to, Lord Vendam.'

'I know that,' Vendam replied sharply. 'Has this got anything to do with the business in the Polkatoon last night?'

'Only incidentally.'

'Apart from the mayor's incredible behaviour, my son says you threatened him and his companions with your side-arm.'

Ben's eyes widened slightly. 'I can't think where he got that idea from. My gun never left its holster at any time last evening. Your energy might be better spent teaching him how to behave in public. He came close to being arrested for disturbing the peace.'

Vendam flushed. 'How dare you tell me how to raise my son!'

'How dare you let a spoilt brat like that loose in a civilised society?' Ben replied, hardly believing the words that came so easily to his lips but enjoying every syllable.

At that moment Plaxander Vendam entered. He was unshaven and red-eyed. He blinked at the unexpected sight of his father, his face contorted with anger, standing almost nose to nose with Ben.

'I say, what's wrong, Father?'

Vendam senior glanced at him and then back to Ben again.

'I shall be speaking to Commander Pardek about your insolent behaviour at this morning's council,' he warned the captain.

'That is your privilege, sir,' Ben said as he turned away.

'And I will be pleased to repeat everything I have said before any tribunal or court you choose.'

Vendam hesitated at the door, then pa.s.sed through and slammed it behind him.

Plaxander was gaping at Ben in amazement as though he had never seen anybody talk back to his father before. Perhaps he hadn't. Ben did not allow him to recover his composure.

'Sit down,' he said crisply, and the young man dropped automatically into a chair. Ben seated himself opposite.

'As you can tell, I'm in no mood to take any nonsense, particularly from the likes of you,' he said bluntly. 'Apart from last night there are several outstanding charges I might raise; traffic offences, unruly behaviour, disturbing the peace...

I could go on. And you must realise your father won't be able to get you off this time. I don't think rank or t.i.tle are going to count so much when we get to Mirath, so you might as well start getting used to it.' Plaxander paled a little more. Ben realised he'd pushed him far enough. In slightly easier tones he added: 'But if you answer my questions fully and accurately, perhaps I'll let the rest drop.'

'What do you want to know?' the young man said quickly.

'Last night you boasted about hunting down some escaped NC2s. I want to know everything about it.'

'Why? Your people have never cared in the past... as long as they get them back in fair shape.'

'As the mayor said last night, it's the season for firsts. Just tell me.'

Plaxander told him, recounting the details with growing enthusiasm as he relived the experience. He wouldn't reveal who had tipped him off as to the NC2s' hiding place and Ben did not press the matter, having a fairly good idea already. But otherwise Plaxander gave what seemed to be an accurate account of the chase and captures.

'And you'd caught fourteen NC2s by the time the Watch arrived?'

'Yes.'

'You're sure of the number?'

'Look, we always count them carefully it's part of the game,' Plaxander said. 'Anyway, your people also counted them into their transporter. It was a full load with all of them inside. Then I heard them say there were three still unaccounted for.'

'Did they search for them?'

'Just around the old warehouse they'd been hiding in.

They seemed to think they'd pick them up soon enough.'

There was little more Plaxander could tell him. Finally Ben picked up his cap and rose to leave. Seeing the look of relief on the young man's face, he shook his head.

'I'll give you one piece of advice for free,' he said. 'Never make threats when you're drunk you may have to justify them when you're sober. I'll see myself out.'

The Doctor sat in a corner of the almost deserted city hall planning department, hunched over a metre-wide panel of white plastic angled like a draughtsman's drawing board. On its surface intricate blueprints sprang into being, which the Doctor then manipulated with an electronic pen. Exploded views of components, circuit diagrams, lists of specifications, chemical, metallurgical and atomic formulae all flashed before his eyes.

On the wall in front of him was one of Monitor's terminals and beside it a screen showing Professor Jarrasen's head and shoulders as he bent over a duplicate imaging h.o.a.rd.

'Do you see here?' said the Doctor, tapping his pen and causing a point of light to flash on Jarrasen's board, 'If you alter the timing sequence you will improve the pumping efficiency by, oh, perhaps 11 or 12 per cent.'

'Yes, of course,' said Jarrasen, rapidly sketching in notes and adjustments. 'It's obvious when you point it out.'