'Am I seeing things, or what?'

'It's like an optical illusion, isn't it?' Christine said beside her.

'What is it?'

'It's the Bridge.'

'You're winding me up.'

Ace tried to stop looking for for whatever was catching the light and tried looking at the whole scene instead. For a few moments the vision remained tantalizingly vague, with multicoloured glimmers appearing at random between Belial and Moloch. And then it was there, glittering in all its glory. Ace's brain, provided with enough clues, integrated all the information and filled in the gaps. An impossibly thin, impossibly straight line of light spanned the distance between Moloch and a blister on top of the dome, scintillating with all the colours of the rainbow. To Ace it looked like a strand of cobweb, spangled with dew and seen in sunrise. A cone of bracing threads seemed to rise from the dome to anchor it. whatever was catching the light and tried looking at the whole scene instead. For a few moments the vision remained tantalizingly vague, with multicoloured glimmers appearing at random between Belial and Moloch. And then it was there, glittering in all its glory. Ace's brain, provided with enough clues, integrated all the information and filled in the gaps. An impossibly thin, impossibly straight line of light spanned the distance between Moloch and a blister on top of the dome, scintillating with all the colours of the rainbow. To Ace it looked like a strand of cobweb, spangled with dew and seen in sunrise. A cone of bracing threads seemed to rise from the dome to anchor it.

'Are you impressed?' Christine asked.

'Nah,' Ace said, 'I'm from Perivale.'

'Bifrost,' said the voice beside her. She looked round. A small man stood beside her, barely higher than her shoulder. His hair was blond, his face young but deeply lined.

'I said Perivale, dogbreath.'

He smiled, revealing a set of perfect golden teeth. 'Bifrost. The rainbow bridge of the Aesir. The trembling path.'

'I must admit,' Ace said, 'I was hoping for something more substantial than a trembling path.'

'Speaking metaphorically,' the gnomish man added. 'Norse mythology. Speaking realistically, single trisilicate molecular filament woven into a tube. Lift interacts with it using linear induction motors. We think. Impressive piece of engineering.'

'This is Tiw Heimdall,' Christine said from beside her. 'He's the caretaker of the Bridge terminal. One of Alex Bannen's staff.'

'Engineer by profession. Mythologist by inclination,' Heimdall added in his staccato fashion. 'Spend most of my time down here. Fascinated.'

'He even sleeps down here,' Christine said, shaking her head. 'I worry about him.' When Heimdall smiled and turned to her she rapidly added, 'Professionally speaking, of course.'

'Lift due any moment,' Heimdall said, c.o.c.king his head slightly. 'I can feel it coming.'

Ace followed the line of the Bridge up to where Moloch hung like a balloon on the end of a piece of cotton. She couldn't see any lift. 'How long does the journey take?' she asked.

'Varies,' Heimdall replied. 'Sometimes half an hour. Sometimes two. No rhyme or reason. Sometimes stops half*way and comes back again.'

Ace frowned. 'I thought it just shuttled back and forth,' she said.

'No such luck,' Christine answered. 'It comes and goes when it wants to. The shift on Moloch tell us when it sets off from their terminal, and we just have to wait until it turns up at ours. If it does.'

'Sounds just like British Rail,' Ace muttered. 'You mean we could be waiting hours for it to trundle down the Bridge?'

'Not quite. Tiw here seems to have some sort of sixth sense when it's near.'

'I can hear wool growing on a sheep's back,' Heimdall said with a perfectly straight face. 'I can hear gra.s.s grow. The Lift it comes now.'

'What's a sheep?' Christine asked.

'Extinct animal,' Heimdall replied. 'All died during Ozone Purge of twenty*one*oh*six.'

'If this lift's so unreliable, why not use Bishop's s.p.a.ceship to get down to Moloch?' Ace asked. 'It's a neat little piece of kit. If Bishop won't pilot it for you, I will. I'm good with small ships like that.'

'We tried,' Christine said in a resigned tone. 'Piper worked out that it would save us hours each day if we could use the Adjudicator's ship as a shuttle, just whilst he was here. Miles asked him. "No problem," he said, "so long as you complete an Increase in Crewing Levels of s.p.a.cefaring Vessels (Temporary) Form 3378b Increase in Crewing Levels of s.p.a.cefaring Vessels (Temporary) Form 3378b." "Fine," said Miles, "where are the forms?" "Stored on the neural network in the ship," said the Adjudicator. "Can we come in and access one?" said Miles '

'Don't tell me,' Ace interrupted. '"Not without completing an Increase in Crewing Levels of s.p.a.cefaring Vessels (Temporary) Form 3378b Increase in Crewing Levels of s.p.a.cefaring Vessels (Temporary) Form 3378b."'

'How did you guess?'

'You've obviously never claimed Social Security,' Ace replied.

Heimdall looked up towards Moloch. 'It's here,' he said reverentially.

Ace followed his gaze. A translucent ring filled with glinting metallic highlights slid down the cord of the Bridge like a jellyfish sinking slowly into the depths of the sea. Beneath it the blister on top of the dome parted in welcome and sealed behind the device like some kind of airlock.

'Well,' she muttered, 'they say journeys end in lovers' meetings.'

Bernice was watching the Doctor arrange his collection of pins when they were summoned by Miles Engado. The diminutive Time Lord had them piled up in front of him on the refectory table and seemed to be sorting them by date, previous owner, length, material and sharpness. Around them the morning crowd ebbed and flowed as they collected freshly cooked food from Tanetoa, Project Eden's Samoan cook, or stasis*sealed items from one of the food dispensers. The smell of frying bacon and pimentos was making Bernice feel hungry, despite the remains of two breakfasts already stacked on the table before her.

'Do you think they'll notice if I go and get another breakfast?' she asked.

'No, but your metabolism would.'

'What's wrong with my body?' she asked defensively.

'Ah,' the Doctor replied. 'The answer to that particular question rests entirely upon a number of culturally dependent a.s.sumptions concerning the philosophy of aesthetics and its relationship to physiology.'

'Sorry?'

'Do you know, for instance, that the inhabitants of the planet Delphon regard the surgical removal of limbs to be highly s.e.xually alluring?'

'Well,' said Bernice, 'that should raise a few eyebrows.' The Doctor wasn't listening.

'And that in the Axorc Sector it is considered to be the height of good manners to serve yourself up for dinner on special occasions?'

'Does that mean you don't have to do the washing up?'

The Doctor was warming to his theme. 'And that the Rills of Galaxy Four have developed a political system in which the uglier they are the more power they are given?'

'Ah, the unacceptable face of politics.'

'And even your own culture fails to agree on what is and isn't attractive. Take the craze for duelling scars that ran through Imperial Germany some centuries ago.'

Bernice sighed. 'I guess it made them a cut above the rest.'

'Well, there you are.'

'I appreciate the sociology lesson, Doctor, but I'm still hungry.'

'You're always hungry.' He held up a filigree silver pin whose head was carved into the shape of a skull. 'Machiavelli or Medici?'

'Haven't a clue.'

'Medici, I think. You should take more exercise.'

'I went walking last night.'

'Or was it Lucretia Borgia? I know you went walking.'

'You've been spying on me!'

'The TARDIS was concerned.'

'What is she, my mother?'

'Only if you want her to be,' the Doctor replied enigmatically, and licked the end of the pin. 'Certainly not Borgia.'

'The Doctor to the Base Coordinator's office please. The Doctor to the Base Coordinator's office. Thank you.'

The disembodied voice echoing through the refectory was so bland that Bernice couldn't tell whether it was real or synthesized. Across the table, the Doctor sighed and swept the pins off the table and into a pocket.

'No peace for the wicked,' he said as he offered a gentlemanly arm to Bernice. 'Would madam care to accompany me?'

Adjudicator Bishop was sitting at Miles's desk when they arrived. Miles was standing uncomfortably to one side. He looked tired and haggard, as if he hadn't slept very well.

'Doctor, come in,' Bishop said, beating Miles to the punch. Miles just stood there, his mouth half open.

Bishop frowned when Bernice followed the Doctor into the office.

'I don't recall inviting you, Krau Summerfield,' he said.

'You didn't,' she said coolly, and sat down.

The Doctor perched on a corner of the desk, positioning himself so that he could see Bernice and Miles but not Bishop.

'Well,' he said, smiling like a loon, 'no doubt you're wondering why I've called you all here.'

Whilst Bishop was searching for a rejoinder, Miles recovered the conversational initiative. 'There's been another death,' he said.

'I was expecting it,' the Doctor replied.

Bishop leant forward. 'What do you mean by that?'

'Deaths are like policemen: they always travel in pairs.'

'And there's never one around when you want one,' Bernice added. Bishop shot her a venomous glance.

'Who died?' she continued, unapologetically.

Miles sighed and pa.s.sed a hand across his thinning hair.

'Moshe*Rabaan. She was the representative of the Energy Police on the base. She was also a seyyed seyyed, you know.'

'A what?' Bernice and Bishop chorused, and cast dark glances at one another.

'A descendant of the Prophet,' the Doctor said. 'Very important in the current Islam*dominated Earth Central hierarchy, I imagine.'

'Not a popular person here, by any means,' Miles continued. 'She put on airs. Oddly enough, we have few practising Muslims on the Project Eden team. She felt better than the rest of us.'

'Trau Bishop's not a very popular person,' Bernice said, nodding towards the Adjudicator, 'but that's not a good enough reason to b.u.mp him him off.' off.'

Before Bishop could interject, the Doctor spoke. 'I presume that Trau Engado is suggesting that Krau Moshe*Rabaan committed suicide.'

'Indeed,' Miles said. 'She left a note explaining everything. She killed my daughter... She admits that.' He paused for a moment, his face betraying the pain he still felt. 'She doesn't say why. She just says sorry.' He turned away and leant against the wall for support.

'Well,' Bernice drawled, slumping deeper in her chair, 'that's your job over with, Trau Bishop. Taking the murderer into custody shouldn't tax your skills too much, should it?'

'I don't think I '

'Who found the body, Miles?' the Doctor interrupted softly.

Miles spoke without turning. 'Shmuel Zehavi. He came and told me a few hours ago. He sleepwalks, you see. Discovered her about five o'clock this morning. Funny thing is, he thinks n.o.body else knows about his somnambulism. He woke up in her room. Terrible shock for the man. All that blood. Terrible...'

He trailed off into silence.

The Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

'How was it done?' Bernice asked.

'Vibroknife,' Bishop snapped without looking at her. 'A very precise incision.'

'Would she have had that sort of medical knowledge?' Bernice pressed.

It was Miles who answered. 'We all would. Earth Central couldn't afford to send a qualified medic out here with us; the company rates are far too expensive. We all took hypnocourses in basic medicine and anatomy. Even the courses ate up a significant fraction of our budget, but the health and safety regulations demanded it.'

'I believe that to be irrelevant,' Bishop interjected. 'The knife made a very thorough job of her heart. Any ribs which got in the way would have been purely incidental.'

'I take it,' the Doctor said softly, not looking at anybody in particular, 'that your little security drones were elsewhere when it happened.'

A heavy silence followed his words, broken by a slight vibration that made the items on Miles's desk tremble.

'What was that?' the Doctor said, perking up.

'Something being dropped?' Bernice suggested.