Part 17 (2/2)

Senator Tibis spoke. His voice was deep, growling and sonorous. 'So what you're saying, Doctor, is that s.h.i.+t happens?'

The Doctor let out a long breath, smiled, shook his head wearily. 'Succinctly put, but yes. That's how the universe works. And we have to make sense of it. We ' he spun round, arms wheeling 'were made made to make sense of it. It's our purpose!' to make sense of it. It's our purpose!'

'So how can we make sense of what happened to Yquatine?' asked the President in a hollow voice.

The Doctor whirled round. 'The great thing about an indifferent universe is free will. We're free agents ' he nodded to Juvingeld ' though we don't all realise it. We could choose to let it beat us, let the push and pull of the process tear us apart. Or we could choose to face things positively.'

President Vargeld cut in. 'All this philosophising is very cute but what are we going to do?'

'Well, I'm just coming to that,' said the Doctor brightly. 'I know how to stop them!'

'Destroy them?' said the President.

The look in Vargeld's eyes was beginning to worry the Doctor. 'Let's just say, render them safe. The Omnethoth are a gestalt creature, made up of tiny gaseous particles, tiny spores if you like. They can exist in three states: the gaseous form, which is what is now surrounding Yquatine, and which is lethal to organic life; a liquid form rather like acid; and a solid form, which they use for their s.h.i.+ps and probes and whatnot. Only the gaseous form is sentient. Well, it likes to think it is but all it's doing is obeying its programming spread out, destroy, colonise. But I can change all that. I can reach into the Omnethoth DNA, reprogram them. I'd only have to do it to one attack unit and tell it to reprogram the others. They would then be totally peaceful, and be on their way out of the System to dwell in the emptiness of s.p.a.ce quite happily. A unique species of gaseous intelligence... What is it?'

President Vargeld had stepped forward until he was only a metre away from the Doctor. His face was white with anger. His voice was shaking. 'Are you suggesting that we allow this filth, this pollution, to go free?'

The Doctor nodded, slowly. 'It's the only way. Otherwise it'll spread out and take over the whole System. We've got hours at most.'

Ignoring him, the President turned and addressed the Senate. 'Let's take a vote on it, shall we? Shall we do what the Doctor says, or shall we destroy these abominations?'

Every arm and forelimb shot up towards the ceiling. Rhombus-Alpha glowed its a.s.sent.

President Vargeld whirled round to the Doctor. 'Pretty unanimous, I would say.'

The Doctor folded his arms. He had expected this. 'So how are you going to do it? Destroy the Omnethoth?'

President Vargeld swept his arm around the room. 'I propose that we reconvene the Minerva s.p.a.ce Alliance. Pool our resources. Bombard Yquatine the thing that was Yquatine. Blast the Omnethoth into oblivion!'

The entire Senate rose to its feet and cheered, hooted, roared and chirruped raucous a.s.sent.

The Doctor put his head in his hands and groaned.

After the Senate meeting, there was a council of war. But before that, Senator Zendaak found time to slip back to his cabin, sit before the desk that was covered with the cloaks of his fathers. and pa.s.s his hand over the small globe that rested on a pile of smooth pebbles in the centre of the desk.

The image of the Grand Gynarch appeared almost immediately. 'Developments, Zendaak! It has been long since your last report.'

Zendaak didn't know where to begin. 'I have discovered the nature of the takers of Yquatine, O Gynarch!'

The Grand Gynarch's eyes narrowed. 'Not not the Daleks?'

Zendaak knew of his leader's obsession with those creatures. He waved a gloved hand and shook his head. 'No, Grand Gynarch, nothing so crude as the Daleks. They are called Omnethoth.'

The Grand Gynarch repeated the word. 'Om-nethoth. Thoth is one of the G.o.ds! The G.o.d of... learning and art?' She shook her head. 'How can such a venerable deity be connected with such destruction?'

'He is not, Grand Gynarch. It's an invented name its makers were probably ignorant of the wise and holy Thoth. The Omnethoth are a manufactured thing. A weapon.'

'How do you know all this?'

Zendaak hissed. 'A human called the Doctor communed with an Omnethoth he had captured.'

The Grand Gynarch glowered. 'A single human captured one of these creatures? And six Anthaurk s.h.i.+ps could not?'

Zendaak shook his head. 'Gynarch, this Doctor is not like other humans. He has a secondary respiratory system. He can put himself in a coma at will, to protect his life. He argues against destiny and a.s.serts all have free will.'

The Grand Gynarch snorted. 'I have heard of such theories. Nonsense for was I not born to be Grand Gynarch? And are the Anthaurk not destined to rule?'

Zendaak saluted. 'Yes, O Gynarch!'

The Grand Gynarch nodded, satisfied and justified. 'Any word from the s.h.i.+ps you sent to Yquatine?'

Zendaak shook his head. 'The Omnethoth must have destroyed them.'

'They will be remembered with full honour and glory.'

The two Anthaurk bowed their heads in silence for a while.

Then the Grand Gynarch spoke. 'The Omnethoth are a weapon, you say?' Zendaak nodded. 'Then we must act with stealth, Zendaak. All is not lost. You must co-operate with this Doctor, gain his confidence. Seem to agree with his views, if necessary. You must try to obtain this trapped Omnethoth and bring it back to New Anthaur. We will divine its secrets, and use the power of the Omnethoth to rule the galaxy!'

Pride swelled in Zendaak's chest. So it was to be. After all this time, the Anthaurk were returning at last to their rightful position as rulers and conquerors.

Chapter Seventeen.

'This is just what I've been waiting for!'

Fitz woke up on the morning of the 12th of Lannasirn, after almost a month of imprisonment, with a strange new feeling banging against the inside of his ribcage.

Hope.

He stared at the ceiling with its tracery of cracks and its swirls of paintbrush marks for an unknowable time, letting the feeling swell his heart and send his head floating off into fantasies of freedom he'd never previously dared to entertain.

Then, just before he actually burst into tears of mixed joy and apprehension, he swung out of bed, bare feet slapping on the icy tiled floor, and made himself bend over the tiny sink, splas.h.i.+ng water on his face. Cold shock at either end of his body brought him down a little.

He dried his face and beard, got up on the chair and looked out through the window at the inner perimeter fence, the outer perimeter fence and the fields beyond. It was still early, not full light yet, and the sky was deep blue, sprinkled with stars. He pressed his face to the window, trying to see yes, there it was. He grinned.

s.h.i.+vering in the cold morning air, which seemed to seep into the stone and tile and brick of the Centre, he slipped on his prison garb shapeless pale-green trousers and top and, just as suddenly as it had come, the elation slipped away and he slumped on the bed, head in hands.

After all, his hope might be misplaced. It all depended on whether his number came up. Life was now a lottery. His existence depended entirely on the turn of a friendly card. He tried not to think about it, but it was no good. He got up and paced around the room to stall his rising panic and work out his frustration. What time was it? An hour till breakfast. Then he'd know either way. And then it was either elation or he stopped pacing death.

An hour to go.

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