Oh, speak ancient Martian do you? Know how to address a High Lord correctly, without insulting him? I might not know Ogri and Lurmans, Doctor, but Martians are my speciality, remember?'

The Doctor gave a little bow. 'You are right of course,' he said and Bernice desperately tried to hear a trace of sarcasm, but failed.

As she reached the steps, she felt her heart begin to beat fast. She had indeed studied Martian history. Back in the twenty-sixth century, the Martians were known as a warrior race, mostly extinct. She knew that there had been an attempted invasion of Earth back in the late twenty-first century. That had been repelled, and had led to a new era for the Ice Warriors. Realizing that to survive they needed friends, not enemies, they had resettled themselves on a new planet which, naturally, they named New Mars. It had taken many decades, but it was known that gradually a less aggressive Martian hierarchy had succeeded the militaristic one and New Mars ceased being a threat to other worlds. For a second the derogatory term 'Greenies' flashed through her mind. A memory she couldn't place. She'd never actually been to the original Mars, but suddenly she had a vision of skimming across its plains and hills, chased by . . . the Doctor? No, not exactly her memory, someone else's . . . Fred . . .? Who was Fred? She'd have to ask the Doctor about that one.

Bernice had studied the Martians because it was this regression from warring that fascinated her. In such a short s.p.a.ce of time a proud, quite vicious race of warriors had become a reclusive species who rarely allowed visitors to New Mars. Much of what was known, by her time at least, was based on supposition and archaeology on the real Mars, a planet easily colonized by mankind.

The chance to solve some of those mysteries herself well, that was a challenge worth putting up with the Doctor for!

She dashed up the stairs as quickly as possible and ran straight into the green something she had seen earlier.

'Please. Take care.'

The creature in front of her was at least eight feet tall, humanoid and, from what she could see of its skin, came in varying shades of green. A hard material, however, covered most of the creature, like some kind of armour.

Only its arms and legs seemed bare; sparkling, obviously reptilian skin rippled as it moved to stop her. As her eyes went up the k.n.o.bbly body she managed to stop an involuntary shudder as she looked up at the face. Most of the creature's head was encased in some kind of k.n.o.bbled helmet, its eyes concealed behind two protective red gla.s.s coverings. Only the mouth and chin were visible, thin green lips hissing the warning at her. Bernice had seen many pictures and drawings of a Martian ranking warrior, but none of those had quite prepared her for the real thing. She looked down at the hands - encased in ma.s.sive clamplike gloves, made of the same material as the armour. Tufts of fur poked out of the wrist ends, as they did at various other joints in the armour. Nestled on the right wrist was a slender white tube which came to a solid bulbous head just below the fur.

From her studies, she knew this was a Martian sonic disrupter. One of the most lethal weapons ever.

The Martian moved its head as it looked down at her in a vaguely snake-like way, but slower, almost comical, as if it was going to fall off at any moment.

If Bernice had any thoughts about laughing, however, they vanished again as it spoke. The voice hissed at her, as if coming from deep within the huge frame, and yet it was quiet but clear, like air escaping from a punctured tyre.

I said, please take care.'

'Don't worry, I can take care of myself, thank you: The Martian's voice hissed again, barely audible over the sound of its breath.

I apologize. I was concerned that you had not seen the slight drop behind me.'

Bernice looked into the corridor of the Bruk. There was indeed quite a drop to the first inner step, clearly no problem to someone as tall as the Martian, but for her . . . She looked up again at the figure.

'Thank you. The Professor here can be a little enthusiastic!' The Doctor had caught up with her and was also noting the drop.

I am Sskeet. I am High Lord Savaar's adjutant. He is currently in discussion with Marshal Hissel, the Bruk's commander. He says he will join you in the hospitality suite as soon as we are ready for take-off. If you will follow me.' Sskeet breathed in, and Bernice listened to the strange sucking sound - Sskeet was clearly not used to making such long speeches, but seemed pleasant enough.

'Marvellous vessel you have here, Lieutenant Sskeet. The pride of the Federation, I suspect.' The Doctor indicated for Sskeet to lead on.

Sskeet nodded slowly as he plodded ahead of them, leading them along a plush corridor that, Bernice decided, made the Federation headquarters building look dowdy in comparison. It has an honourable history. We are proud that it has been selected for such an important Federation duty.'

And an even more honourable cla.s.s name. Izlyr. I met him once.' The Doctor ran his fingers along one of the picture frames that dotted the walls.

Is there a picture of him aboard?'

Sskeet nodded again. It is in the command area. Perhaps you would like to see it sometime?'

It would be an honour. Is he alive still? It was over a hundred years ago that we met.'

'Supreme Lord lzlyr retired to the planet Bennion about twenty years ago. I believe he is still there.' Sskeet suddenly stopped and indicated a plate on the wall. On it something was written on a plaque in Martian scripture.

Bernice scrutinized it and realized that it said 'Hospitality' or something similar.

Open,' hissed Sskeet. Bernice allowed an eyebrow to raise as part of the wall in front of her, along with the plate, momentarily shimmered. A rectangular s.p.a.ce appeared and she could see into a room, although minuscule flickers of white dotted her vision now and again. The Doctor nodded at Sskeet and wandered through the s.p.a.ce, so Bernice followed.

As he came through, Sskeet again spoke into the air with a firm command of 'Close,' and the wall solidified behind them. 'The computer has evidently not been serviced adequately. I apologize. The engineer for this section will be admonished,' the Martian hissed.

'Not on our behalf, please,' said the Doctor. A few stray molecules never hurt anyone.' He brushed some imaginary door particles off his white jacket. 'There,' he smiled. 'No problems at all.'

Bernice turned three hundred and sixty degrees, looking around the walls of the room and up. It was ma.s.sive, a high ceiling beautifully decorated in pastel greens and quiet reds. Around the warm-looking walls were various decorations and artefacts and directly opposite was a smoked-gla.s.s-lined square recess with touch-sensitive controls above it.

Sskeet pointed towards the controls. 'The servicer will dispense any refreshment you require. It is programmed for Tellurian cuisine as well as one hundred and seventy other Federation delicacies.'

The Doctor sat heavily in one of the lounge chairs, soft cushions billowing slightly beneath him. 'Sskeet. You have been charming. We will sit here and await High Lord Savaar's presence in comfort. Thank you.'

With a nod Sskeet shuffled out, the door appearing and disappearing around him.

The Doctor pointed to a nearby chaise longue and Bernice sat herself down. 'Nice doors.'

'Holograms?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, just a computer controlled refractive molecular arranger. Touch it and you'll find it solid. Keeps the warmth in and others out.' He looked across at it. Open,' he called softly. Sure enough, the s.p.a.ce shimmered into existence and they could see the corridor outside. 'Close,' he said and it vanished. He turned back to Bernice. 'Just checking.'

'So, Doctor,' said Bernice, nodding her head at the wall where the door wasn't any more. 'So that's a Martian is it? Seems perfectly harmless to me.'

Indeed, Benny. But I've had experience of the Ice Warriors before. I know what they're capable of.'

Ice Warriors?'

A name coined about, oh six hundred years ago - after your time. At one point, human archaeologists discovered a long-lost Martian warship buried deep within a glacier in England.'

A glacier? In England? You're joking! Aren't you?'

'I did say it was after your time. A result of some nasty solar flares.' The Doctor smiled at Bernice's bewilderment. Anyway,' he continued, 'they dug it up and named it an Ice Warrior. Looked just like Sskeet, in fact. Of course, most Martians of that era were like this lot - peaceful, but not Varga's ones.'

'Varga?'

'Leader of this crew. They had crashed on Earth millions of years ago, in the height of their death or glory days. Naturally, he wanted to claim Earth as part of the Martian empire. He never believed us that Mars was an Earth colony and little trace existed there of his people.'

'You told him, I suppose, about New Mars, and the changes?' Bernice realized she didn't need an answer to that. Okay, so you didn't. What happened?'

'Well, there was little reasoning with him, and eventually the humans destroyed him and his ship.'

'You of course, had no part in this murder.'

'Bernice, when you're stuck in a dangerous situation, the decisions you and others around you make don't always bear up under scrutiny, but at the time they seem logical and acceptable.'

Bernice nodded, not entirely convinced. And this one encounter turned you off all of them?'

'Oh no, no. I met them on Peladon the first time I went there and, you'll be pleased to know, had my nose, put severely out of joint. Lord lzlyr -'

Oh, the one you name-dropped earlier?'

'Yes, that's right, stop interrupting, thank you. Anyway, he was a good sort and we teamed up. The next time I went to Peladon - '

'So how many times have you been there?'

'Two. Anyway,' he said pointedly, 'the next time, a group of them were up to their old tricks. And I've seen a couple of other groups who bend the rules a little to favour a military solution. I mean, on Magnus -' Bernice realized the Doctor could go on forever if she didn't interrupt him again.

Okay Doctor, history lesson over, I think. Now, tell me about this place, Peladon. Why are we going, the commissioner's plea aside?'

The Doctor delved deep into a jacket pocket. Bernice had long suspected that, like the TARDIS's interior, the Doctor's clothes also existed in different dimensions. Most of them, she mentally added a little unkindly, dimensions where fashion was not a word that had ever been used. He always produced the most unlikely things from within them, and this time looked like being no exception.

'Ah ha!' The Doctor showed her a tiny sculpture. It was an animal of some sort, carved out of stone. It stood upright with clawed paws raised, as if ready to strike. Ma.s.sive canine teeth jutted out of the snout, and a lethal-looking horn protruded from the top of its head. s.h.a.ggy fur was carved into the image and, all in all, Bernice decided it wasn't something she was in a hurry to meet. She said so.

'Not a problem,' the Doctor said, rather sadly. 'Aggedor is long dead. The planet Peladon is steeped in, to use your terms, a kind of medieval co-existence with technology. When I first visited, the planet was just entering the Federation, although the Pel traditionalists were against it, as were certain Federation members. lzlyr and I helped sort that out and the planet eventually became part of the Federation. I next went back around fifty years later, when Queen Thalira was enthroned. Pels don't have particularly long life spans, and their turn-over of monarchs is quite high.

Thalira had to cope with an attack from an organization, helped by Ice Warriors, who wanted to overthrow the Federation. Peladon is a planet rich in trisilicate and the Federation mined it there. The terrorists set out to scupper the mining but again the evil was overthrown and I left. I haven't been back since. I gather this new King, Tarrol, has been ruler for two years, hence this prestigious occasion. Next question?'

Bernice shook her head. The Doctor wandered over to the servicer.

'Drink?'

'Just water please.'

'Coming up'. There was a short buzz and two large handleless crystal mugs materialized, a transparent liquid fizzing slightly inside. As the Doctor returned, he pa.s.sed one to Bernice.

'Not exactly easy to hold, are they?' She indicated the mugs. The Doctor made a motion with his hands, imitating an Ice Warrior's clamplike hands.

Bernice nodded in understanding and sipped quietly on her drink.

It looked as if it was going to be an interesting voyage.

At around the same time that the Doctor and Bernice were boarding the Bruk, another, smaller ship was gaining a VIP pa.s.senger as well. The freighter Arrow was headed for the Rho system. There, it would deposit the majority of its cargo. Unknown to most of its crew apart from the captain and her first mate, the Arrow would then detour via Pakha where its VIP would disembark secretly. The captain was being well paid to do this irregular drop-off and keep her mouth firmly closed.

Currently squatting in the cargo hold was the VIP Clad in a figure-hugging midnight black one-piece combat suit, she was a small but slender young woman. Her dark, creaseless clothing was only illuminated by the word ACE' emblazoned across the back in silver glitter. At her side, a wrist computer, a throat mike and a customized helmet made from the remains of a Dalek dome. She was clipping the computer onto her wrist when the cargo hold door opened far slower than it was designed to. She stroked a nearby blaster until she heard an already familiar curse and the door was given a swift kick. Although it didn't hurry the door up particularly, it evidently satisfied the aggressor's temper.

'Crukkin' doors! Never work.' As the door crawled the final few inches Ace smiled up at First Mate Bill Cook. 'Why can't we have RMAs I'll never know. Anyway, Captain Riddler asked me to check on you.' He smiled through grease-stained face. His unfashionable stubble only endeared him to Ace; he was as much a rebel as she.

'Yeah, I'll bet she did.' Ace stood up, tucking the blaster into its slim holster down her right thigh.

'Didn't know we had a trained commando aboard,' muttered Cook.

Ace shook her head. 'Long time ago. Bit like riding a bike though, you never forget.'

'You want to eat with us, the crew or by yourself?'

I ought to stay away from the crew but I could use some company.' Ace checked her chronometer.

I'll come for you in about an hour, okay?' Cook turned to go.

'Cheers, Bill. And thanks to both you and the captain. I know you weren't given much choice, but both I and the Doctor appreciate this anyway.'

Bill Cook smiled again and nodded. 'Yeah. Well, we both owe him something and it adds a bit of spice to life. See you later.' The door slid closed far behind him far quicker than it had opened. Ace looked at her wrist computer into which the Doctor had programmed his instructions. She checked them for the fourth time. He was relying on her to get this done.

'Pakha, here I come,' she muttered.

I'm bored.' Two words guaranteed to turn the Doctor's familiar hangdog expression further towards an imitation of a bloodhound. I'm bored, because I can't see anything.' Kort sulkily wrapped his arms around his small body, knees hugged up tight to chin, determinedly not catching the Doctor's eye. I'm also cold.'

'They're Martians, they need the cold.' Bernice had quite liked Kort back on Io. He was playful and innocent and clever. He was also on Io. Now, on board the Bruk, he was miserable, spoilt and incapable of doing anything except moaning. The initial play-acting on Io had developed into the real thing. It reminded Bernice of Ace in one of her moods. 'You get shot of one, only to get another,' she muttered to herself, hoping the Doctor hadn't heard.

Kort had joined them a few moments before the Bruk took off from Io. He had waltzed in, head held high, dressed in full Cantryan regalia, claiming that 'Father' had given him what amounted to, in Bernice's eyes, carte blanche to be rude, snooty and demanding to everyone and everything.

Even Sskeet, normally hidden so well under his armour, was clearly fl.u.s.tered by the young orange humanoid. Bernice decided it didn't take an expert in human body posture and behaviour to know how close Sskeet had come to clumping Damakort round the back of the head when he'd complained the first time about the temperature. Bernice wasn't convinced she had the Martian's resolve and could foresee an occasion, probably within thirty seconds, when she would put the boy over her knee and smack some manners into him.

The Doctor, however, took the pa.s.sive approach. He attempted to divert Kort's attention from the cold and bring a smile to his new young companion's normally cherubic features by 'discovering' a large coin in his left ear.

Kort looked at him as if he'd just been sick all over the floor and yelled far too loudly, 'Window! I want to see outside!' Bernice groaned. She wanted to point out that the computer could hear him at normal volume, and it didn't need a Plasticine-level sound-check. Instead she sighed and watched as the Doctor patiently pointed out through the newly formed window.

'What exactly do you want to see?' he asked.

's.p.a.ce. Stars. Something better than this room,' Kort over-dramatically gestured around them.

The Doctor unfurled himself and jauntily swung his umbrella around his wrist like a bad imitation of Charlie Chaplin. All right. Let's go and ask the marshal if he'll let you up onto his bridge. From there you'll see all the stars you'll ever want, twinkling, flashing and shooting past. You can be the Luke Skywalker of the Martian Fleet.'

Kort wrinkled his orange b.u.t.ton nose. 'Luke who?' With a little sigh the Doctor took him by the arm and headed for where the door ought to be, telling Bernice that they'd be back shortly. As Bernice watched them disappear, she looked up above the a.s.signed s.p.a.ce and shook her head.

She stared in awe. Above the door area was something that simply couldn't be there. Surely it wasn't . . .

She walked over to get a better look. It was a sword. But not just any sword, if she knew her Martian history. It was slightly curved, not quite as much as an eighteenth century cutla.s.s, but enough of a curve to make it a formidable slicing weapon. Down one side it was lethally thin and sharp, but on the underside it was peppered with ferocious barbs, with tiny and almost imperceptible twists on each point. Just one look told Bernice that she could never carry it, it clearly weighed too much. Indeed, she doubted many humans could carry it. It was a Martian weapon from their very ancient past.

It was the legendary sacred sword of Tuburr. The stories went that in their warrior past, the young Martians would take an endurance test of survival.

It had often crossed Bernice's mind that before the Earth terraformers arrived, just living for five seconds on the surface of Mars would have been a sufficient endurance test. Mars was nowhere near as cold as, say, Pluto but even so, Earth's harshest arctic ice storms would be a doddle compared to a Martian storm. That's why she admired the race so much - they 'weathered' things so well. Maybe the name Ice Warrior wasn't such a bad one after all.

The young Martians, if they survived their time outside on the tundra, armourless and weaponless (some reports said it was a week, others put it at a far more unreasonable month), then took the oath of Tuburr - apparently the first great warrior, who had made the Martians what they are. Or rather, were. This oath involved them plucking the shaft of Tuburr's sword from the heart of a red-hot brazier with their bare hands. Many archaeologists theorized that this was the reason Martians wore huge clamplike gloves, because originally the young warriors' fingers would have been fused together permanently. Personally, Bernice had always doubted that. It seemed more likely that it was merely a convenient glove shape.

One day she'd ask to see a Martian's bare hand and count the fingers.

Bernice pulled herself away from this fascinating aspect of history and wandered over to the drinks dispenser. She was really quite intrigued by the splendour of the ship they were on; a Deep s.p.a.ce lzlyr-cla.s.s cruiser, normally used for carrying parties of diplomats to and from different parts of Federation s.p.a.ce for crucial meetings or highly regarded social functions.

Sometimes, the Doctor had told her, the ship itself hosted conferences, especially where delegations demanded neutral ground for discussion.

All around her were trappings of varying cultures; token reflections of the various races and delegations that frequented the lounge. She ran her hand over an ornate tapestry which showed a picture of women drinking by a stream. As her hand glided over the surface, the picture shimmered and changed, the women had moved, the drink was gone and someone was playing what Bernice a.s.sumed was a musical instrument. Intrigued, she touched it a second time and the picture changed once more now displaying the same women riding horse-like animals, playing a polo-like game. The musician was still there, but he'd been joined by two fellows.

On the furthest wall, hanging next to the refreshments servicer, were a collection of differing lengths of solid Perspex-looking piping. Near to the drink dispenser the Doctor had used were an array of objects in a gla.s.s case. Bernice recognized an ancient stethoscope and a scalpel but the rest appeared totally alien to her. She wandered over and looked at a tiny placard, written in four languages, one of which was Earth Standard, another High Martian. She opted for the latter, deciding to test her knowledge of the language. It stated that the items were medical implements from through the ages, donated to the ship by the famous Calfedorian hospital and science base, Cal-Med One. As Bernice approached the drink servicer, another door in the suite appeared behind her with the tiniest of air-hisses and she turned slightly.

'They were donated by our previous Federation Chair after his final tour of duty as a Draconian amba.s.sador. His last major investigation took place in the Calfedorian system and he was given the cabinet as a parting gift. On succession to the leadership, he generously allowed this craft to display them.'

Bernice swallowed. No matter how many times she had met the person who had just spoken, she could never stop being in total awe and - if she were honest - complete fear of him.