High Lord Savaar strode towards her, his small booted feet markedly slimmer and more obviously regal than Sskeet's clumsy, heavy s...o...b..x-like soles. Savaar casually waved his arm towards the drink dispenser.

'Refreshment?' he asked.

Bernice just nodded her throat suddenly drier than ever.

The Ice Lord looked at her impa.s.sively and then pressed a few b.u.t.tons with his stubby fingers. Fingers! She was right! Bernice realized that this was the first time she had seen Savaar, indeed any Martian, without their armoured uniform or helmet on.

She remembered her first sight of Savaar, a few hours earlier, before luncheon. Having finally got used to Sskeet hovering around, she had been further surprised when shortly after Damakort's arrival, High Lord Savaar had entered the lounge, his body encased in a much sleeker and smoother body armour, a flowing green cape flecked with silver, a smooth domed helmet and less bulky gloveclamps.

Aha,' the Doctor had whispered. An Ice Lord.'

Now, as he stood in the VIP lounge of the DSIC Bruk, she could see the man behind the mask, to coin a phrase. She luckily stopped an involuntary shudder at Savaar's green reptilian features, heavily k.n.o.bbled and lined, his black serpentine eyes staring directly at her, two eyelids nict.i.tating sideways over each eye with alarming frequency.

He still wore his long flowing cape, but the armour had been replaced by black leathery trousers and a tight-fitting cotton-looking jerkin, a red sash from shoulder to waist down his left side which denoted his very high rank.

One thing that had not changed was his imposing stature - he towered above Bernice, almost bending at the knees as he offered her a tall gla.s.s of brown liquid. Condensation had gathered around the rim of it, a faint wisp of steam flickering upwards.

I believe this is a particular delicacy of your excellent planet,' he rasped, taking a sip of a similar drink he had ordered for himself.

Bernice remembered what the Doctor had said on Io. She was, after all, the Martian expert and mentally shook herself. She bowed slightly. 'Da.s.s hunnur, ssli hoos-urr Savaar.'

Savaar c.o.c.ked his head slightly, his tongue moistening his lips. 'Ssperr hunnur urr ta.s.s, Shsurr.' He stood up straight. I am frankly honoured by your greeting, Professor. I had not realized that our most ancient customs were that well known outside Martian inner society.'

Oh, I get around, my Lord. Besides, I am deeply flattered by your reply. I understood that I would have to have been married into your family for such an honourable statement.'

Savaar waved his hand theatrically. I have not been home for many years, Professor. The opportunity to . . . to demonstrate my familial greetings is most welcome.'

Bernice grinned. I hope we shall have more such opportunities, my Lord.

Now, here's one of my familial greetings.' She raised her gla.s.s in a toast.

'Chin-chin!' She took the gla.s.s to her lips, then drank. Her throat nearly exploded and she managed to turn a yelp into a slight cough. 'What . . .

what exactly is it?' she gasped.

Savaar looked concerned, inquiring whether he had chosen the wrong drink. Bernice shook her head, saying it was very nice, just far stronger than she had expected.

Irish cream, I believe it is called. I thought it best to warm it for you. I am aware how much of a discomfort the temperature aboard the Bruk must be for you. Unfortunately, to raise it further would impair the function of the marshal and his crew.'

Ignoring the fact that the drink was nothing like any Irish cream she'd ever tasted, she nodded again, finally finding her voice and mettle again.

Anyway, Nice ship you've got, my Lord,' she said.

Savaar regarded his Tellurian guest with quiet interest, keeping his attention on her eyes which seemed to burn with an almost obsessive curiosity. Her body was slightly taller than her humanoid companion, the Doctor. She wore her dark hair short, one strand drooping uselessly towards her left eye. Savaar was no expert on Tellurian fashion, but he suspected that this was a deliberate affectation to enhance whatever attraction she had to the male Tellurians. She was slender, but not thin - her tight-fitting red top showed her feminine curves and a degree of muscle unusual in a female. She had clearly worked hard - her academic appellation was probably earned rather than just bestowed. Savaar admired that: Martian hierarchy was built upon achievement rather than linear privilege. Her trousers, chinos he had heard her refer to them, were loose-fitting, a complete contrast to her top garment. He could see the pockets contained many items, but Sskeet's subtle scans as she had boarded the Bruk revealed no hidden weapons.

He noticed that she had a satchel slung over her shoulder and attached to her belt was a flask - clearly containing liquid refreshment of some sort. He wondered if the dispenser on board the Bruk was not to her satisfaction. He was quite surprised when she touched it.

It's all right. I actually prefer the stuff you've got here, my Lord. I only carry this out of habit.'

He nodded, intrigued. There was more to this Professor Summerfield than he had a.s.sumed. Apart from a quite astounding knowledge of protocol, she was clearly capable of reading physical language. Something rare in Tellurians, towards Martians at least. In many ways an advantage for a warrior, but in this case, a distinct disadvantage for him. He would keep a careful eye on this development. He was not entirely sure of her motivations. Was she there simply because she was the Doctor's a.s.sociate? As an archaeologist, what exactly would her role on Peladon be? Something to ponder later, perhaps. He smiled and waved the t.i.tle away, 'Please, in this room, all Federation representatives are equal in rank and status.'

Bernice thanked him politely and then, desperate for something else to say, pointed at the Perspex piping and asked what they were.

Savaar strode over, and she noted how well he carried himself, his eight-foot, slender but muscular body held with shoulders back, military-style.

'These are wind chimes from the planet designated S14.' He ran his hand along them very delicately, much to Bernice's surprise. The most beautiful and soothing musical notes floated out of the chimes and she found herself smiling at the sound.

'Beautiful. From Deva Loka, eh?'

I am glad that you appreciate the music. And the planet's own heritage rather than its Federation installed cla.s.sification,' Savaar said.

Bernice grinned, warming to the imposing warrior. I wonder what Danny Pain would have made of those,' she quipped.

Although the reference was totally lost on Savaar, he graciously smiled at what he rightly a.s.sumed was her humour. He sipped his own drink and bowed his head slightly in her direction. I regret I must take my leave of you now, Shsurr. My work absorbs a great deal of my time.'

Bernice paused and looked Savaar straight in the eye.

He had twice used the phrase Shsurr, a phrase from the High Martian dialect. 'May I ask one last question?'

'With pleasure.' He bowed slightly again.

Bernice pointed to the sword above the door. Is that what I think it is? The sacred sword of Tuburr? Here, on this ship?'

'You have studied our history?'

'Well, a little. I'm an archaeologist by trade. High Martian history is a favourite subject of mine.'

'Mine as well, Shsurr.' Again, that word. Savaar indicated the sword and nodded. '1t is a replica. The original is, alas, no more. Like all great objects from history, one day it is there, the next the books make no further references to it.'

It's a very good replica. Do you think the original was stolen?' Bernice was convinced that a look of consternation crossed Savaar's leathery face, and his black eyes flicked from side to side a little too quickly. If he was put out, however, his voice betrayed nothing.

It has been suggested that when my people . . . changed their att.i.tudes many centuries ago, the sacred sword was deliberately lost, hidden on Olympus Mons, as it represented a darker time. As an explorer of the past, you must be aware that while the people of one era consider an item of custom a worthless embarra.s.sment, future generations regret its loss.'

And recreate it?'

Savaar smiled. 'The image or the ideals?'

Bernice wondered if this was all a game to him. 'Maybe both?' They were interrupted by the far door reappearing, revealing the Doctor and a still very bored-looking Damakort.

Without taking his eyes off Bernice, Savaar lowered his head again.

As you say, Shsurr, maybe both.' A brief polite nod in Damakort's direction and he created a doorway in the same place that he had entered through.

Bernice finished her drink and looked over at the Doctor and his charge.

Kort immediately began discovering the joys of the wind chimes, but clearly had no grasp of harmony or melody. Bernice metaphorically gritted her teeth.

I'm so glad you're enjoying yourself, Benny. I thought you might get bored as well. So, how's your new friend?'

'Charming. Very charming. Which is more than I can say for some around here.' That last remark was clearly aimed at Kort who, having given up proving that tone deafness was not just a peculiarity of humans, was now making the polo-playing people in the picture move at an alarming rate.

The Doctor sat on a huge padded seat, so large that his feet came off the ground, and rested his chin on the crook of his umbrella, one of his favourite positions when pondering a puzzle. 'What did he want?'

'We talked about this room. And the sacred sword. He was pleased that I knew my Martian history.' Bernice flopped into a cross-legged position on the floor in front of him. It occurred to her that she probably looked like a puppy trying to please its master. Oh well.

'Yes. I'm sure he was.' The Doctor nodded to himself. 'Showed a lot of interest, did you?'

'Well, I know enough about Martian culture to know when to be polite.'

The Doctor heaved himself out of the chair and wandered over to the Deva Lokan wind chimes. Indeed, you do. That's why I wanted you here, not Ace. That and the fact that you're not likely to start chucking bon-bon bombs at courtiers.' He picked up a nearby mask from some apparently primitive culture and placed it over his face. As he spoke through it, his voice became distorted, changing octaves regularly. 'What a nice Ice Lord.

I mean, here he is, in charge of a diplomatic mission to Peladon, and yet he still finds time to come and chat to you.' The Doctor put down the mask and continued: And he even used the phrase Shsurr on you. The Martians equivalent to M'Lady, and a very complimentary phrase in Martian society.'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Ah, but he expected you to know it. You've been showing off your Martian diplomacy. But I also knew it. And he knew I did. And I knew he knew I did.

And . . . and I also let slip to Sskeet that I'd known lzlyr.'

'So?'

'So, if they named an entire cla.s.s of s.p.a.ceship after him, lzlyr must have gone on to be pretty high-ranking after I met him. Supreme Lord lzlyr!

Either they are genuinely impressed with my meandering through Martian hierarchy, or Savaar is bluffing me, trying to take me down a peg or two.'

I know how he feels sometimes,' said Bernice.

'But why? What are the Ice Warriors up to that I have to be put in my place? My connections and your knowledge of Martian history and culture mixed with your inquisitiveness seem to upset them somehow. I wonder why?'

High Lord Savaar, now redressed in his full military clothing, strode angrily into the command area. Hissel, his own similarly domed helmet glittering with the jewels that designated his rank, turned to greet him, but only managed to half-raise his arm in salute before Savaar angrily waved the gesture away.

'The Doctor suspects me of treachery.'

Hissel looked up in surprise. 'How can you tell, Excellency?' Savaar produced a tiny black box from within his robe. 'Run: previous four.' A recording of the Doctor's reasoning played.

'He is clever,' stated Hissel, 'but not clever enough. Everything he says now, we will hear.'

Savaar looked at Hissel in resigned annoyance, thinking not for the first time that Hissel must have more cla.s.s on his side than brains. There was no other way he could have become a marshal. Of course the Doctor suspects we're listening to him, why else go to such an elaborate charade?

He's testing me as much as I'm testing him: Stung by the reprimand, Hissel returned to his controls and merely commented that they were approaching Peladon.

For the first time Savaar smiled, and then hissed gleefully. A worthy opponent, this Doctor. Or an indispensable a.s.sociate. I wonder which he will prove to be?'

On the planet below, preparations were being made.

In the Citadel, decorations were being set up, Pel guards doing their best to make King Tarrol's restatement day as auspicious and spectacular as possible. Lianna, the lady-of-the-court, oversaw everything, just as she had when she had been lady-in-waiting to Queen Thalira.

In his royal quarters, King Tarrol and Chancellor Geban were discussing how to receive the Federation visitors. Atissa stood quietly by the doorway, listening but aware that her input would be unwise and unwelcome at this stage.

In the Federation Representatives' quarters, Nic Reece and Alpha Centauri, the two inc.u.mbent Federation representatives, were examining recently transmitted details of Savaar and his crew, and were somewhat surprised to discover that three non-Martians were among them.

'Surely, it cannot be . . . the Doctor?' squeaked one of them in delight.

The holocrews bustled around, getting in everyone's way, but Keri didn't care. As far as she was concerned, the Pels were in her way. Yeah!

Below, deep within the catacombs of Mount Megeshra, in what had once been the Federation refinery but what was now a forgotten area, dark, foreboding shapes moved around in the gloom. They monitored everything that occurred in the castle hundreds of feet above them, listening in to innocent conversations with hidden surveillance equipment, illegal under Pel law but well concealed from all prying eyes.

And amongst all that, one person out of the thousands that populated Peladon plotted and schemed. Stealthily integrated into Pel society, he waited. Waiting for his chance to strike out and claim his prize, regardless of the cost to life and tradition, to culture and to peace. Patiently he observed everything. Before too long, Peladon would witness turmoil of the variety it had never known before and, like a spider at the heart of its web, he would be there to ensnare his prize, and laugh at his victims. The same way he had laughed as Jina died in front of him. The same way he laughed as he had casually shot O'Brien in the back after feigning a job for him.

However, the man who had once been known as Alec on the planet Pakha had not foreseen everything. He had not predicted the arrival of the Doctor.

3: Machine and Soul

The hanger had been carved out of rock nearly one hundred years previously. Once Peladon had been accepted into the Federation upon the recommendation of Delegate lzlyr and Senior Delegate Amazonia, the first change that the planet's new benefactors insisted upon was the creation of an area where Federation shuttles could land and be protected. As Peladon didn't possess the right atmospheric conditions to enable the temperamental matter transporters to be installed, a vast cavern was hewn near the top of Mount Megeshra, although on the far side of the Citadel's placement, once known as the dark side. A network of tunnels was mined by Geban's forefathers to enable swift and secure transit between the hanger and the delegates' conference rooms.

Geban stood just outside the suite of rooms, trying not to feel impatient.

The alien delegate from Alpha Centauri was a pleasant if visually alarming person but had a tendency to take three hours to do something that would take Geban three minutes. Preparing to meet the Bruk's shuttle had been in Centauri's schedule of events for some days now but the news that it was almost landed had sent the fussy hexapod into hysterics.

I must make sure everything is all right for such dignitaries,' he had trilled in his ridiculously high-pitched voice. At least, Geban always thought of Centauri as ahe' although strictly speaking 'he' was neither he nor she but an t'. A hermaphrodite-hexapod, all of Centauri's people apparently looked identical. A green helmet-shaped head with one cyclopean watery eye dead centre, looking out and blinking at an alarming rate. Six arms waved around over-dramatically every time Centauri gesticulated to underline whatever exaggerated point he was making, and whenever he walked (Geban had never seen whatever pa.s.sed for feet under Centauri's yellow wrap-around robe), his whole figure bobbed up and down as if in perpetual deferential respect. Quite a useful attribute in such a hierarchical society, but nevertheless an attribute that quickly induced dizziness if you tried to count how many times Centauri bobbed per minute.

Despite those potentially aggravating characteristics, Alpha Centauri was immensely popular with both the Federation and the Pels. He had lived on the planet ever since King Peladon of Peladon oversaw his planet's enrolment, Centauri claiming that he never really missed his home planet because Peladon offered a rich vein of intelligent and diverse people and personalities. This suited the Federation, who needed a permanent representative situated there, and suited Peladon because Centauri was about as inoffensive as it was possible to imagine without being nauseating.

Geban smiled as Centauri finally wobbled towards him. 'My apologies, Chancellor, for keeping you waiting. Mister Reece and I wanted to ensure that the Cantryan would feel comfortable with the temperature of his quarters. Although Peladon is such a frightfully cold planet he may -' Geban held up a hand in understanding. Of course, Amba.s.sador. But I really think we ought to be on our way.'

Centauri's normally olive-green head and arms glowed a peculiar jaundiced yellow for a second. 'You don't think they will be angered at waiting, do you? Only, I respect your thoughts on this for as a chancellor you have to be such a diplomat and you must feel free to chastise me if I am causing -'

Again, Geban waved his protestations aside. Amba.s.sador, really, there are no problems. Let us go, now.'

Geban emphasized the last work, thus brooking no further delays from the small monocranial figure beside him.

For a second Centauri stared up at Geban, and slowly blinked his one very watery eye. 'You are correct, Chancellor. I am just a silly -' Geban could see where this was leading and started walking, knowing Centauri would keep up. He decided to lead the conversation. 'Mister Reece is not joining us, I a.s.sume?' Centauri coughed lightly - which reminded Geban of the pitch necessary to shatter gla.s.s goblets - and waved three or four arms aimlessly. I did try to persuade him but as you know he's not really a man of-' Centauri paused, searching for a polite word.

'Protocol?' ventured Geban.

Indeed,' confirmed Centauri, much to Geban's relief. Ploughing through Centauri's mental thesaurus to find the right word to describe Nic Reece wasn't something he relished. However, Geban had to admit that words to describe Reece weren't the easiest and most traditional to come up with.

Tall, muscular, with boyish looks that belied his age, he could pa.s.s for a human in his mid-twenties but, although his contact with humans was reasonably limited, Geban guessed he was nearer his mid thirties. A good age for Pels but still young for a human. How lucky humans were to live to such spans as one hundred and twenty plus. Medical science had not really enabled the average Pel to live much over sixty-five, although that was a direct benefit from the Federation. Prior to their arrival, the average Pel only lived until their early fifties. For miners it was usually ten less, due to the thin atmosphere in the mines.

Reece had been on Peladon for about two years now, baring the odd extended vacation on Earth with his family. He was a happy man who apparently enjoyed his work, but never let it dominate. The moment he had arrived on the planet, he had gone out of his way to meet everyone and be friendly. He had a pa.s.sionate interest in the planet's heritage which, Geban suspected, accounted for his notion of opening the planet up as a museum and gallery. However, Geban also suspected that it pained him almost as much as it pained the Pels to suggest this.

Geban liked Reece and knew that the feeling was mutual. He hadn't spoken to him much recently - since returning from his last break Reece had hidden himself away or been dodging Atissa. Geban didn't blame him.