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  Not, reflected Steg, that he had any right to be critical. He was lucky to be here himself – after Jekkar.

  After years of glorious and successful service, Commander Steg had been placed in command of the force sent to take over a primitive agricultural planet on the far edge of Sontaran space. The planet, it was felt, might make a useful advanced command post, one of the wide ring of disposable buffer planets surrounding the Sontaran home world.

  It had begun as a model operation. Steg’s main force had captured the spaceport and its adjoining town, while smaller forces took over the handful of scattered human colonies.

  The conquest of the planet had gone according to plan.

  Nothing else had.

  The human colonists presented no problem. A few exemplary executions had soon ensured their co-operation. Trouble came from a totally unexpected source.

  According to the information provided by Intelligence, the planet’s nearest approach to an intelligent life-form was a primitive species of giant anthropoids called Jekkari. They were timid, non-technological and presented no danger whatsoever.

  As Steg had pointed out in a series of increasingly acrimonious complaints to Intelligence, he had been seriously misinformed about the Jekkari.

  Far from being timid, they were cunning and ruthless guerrilla fighters. They raided Sontaran bases, ambushed land convoys and brought the occupation of the planet to a grinding halt.

  Their attack methods, if primitive, were ruthlessly effective. Falling trees and hidden mud-pits disposed of Sontaran ground-cars and their occupants. And if the Jekkari had no technology of their own, they proved appallingly capable of handling stolen Sontaran weapons. It was an uncomfortable experience, Steg discovered, being bombarded in your besieged base by your own stolen field-cannon.

  After every raid, the Jekkari disappeared into their endless forests. The Sontaran patrols that went in after them never came out again. As soldiers do, Steg began to get the feel of the mind that opposed him. He was convinced that the Jekkari were being led – by a guerrilla general of genius.

  He assumed at first that the Jekkari themselves had thrown up this unknown leader. But rumours filtered back of someone human, or humanoid, fighting with the Jekkari guerrillas. Interrogated colonists came up with the matching description of an eccentric wandering scholar called Smith who had been studying the indigenous life-forms.

  Steg remembered a couple of insignificant fugitives, captured on the first night of the invasion. He checked up on the details of their execution, and discovered that it had never taken place. They had escaped. He had held the enemy in his grip – and lost him.

  The guerrilla attacks went on. Steg fought back with savage efficiency, but his resources were limited and he was overstretched. His invasion force decimated, he sent for reinforcements.

  Reinforcements were refused.

  Instead it was decided that perhaps, after all, the planet was too far from the home world to make an effective advance base. Another would be found. The High Command ordered not a retreat – the word did not exist in Sontaran military vocabulary – but a strategic redeployment of resources.

  In practice, this meant that Steg blasted off with his few surviving troopers in his few still-unsabotaged spaceships. It was the smallest of incidents in the unending Sontaran-Rutan war, but it was a blemish on his record all the same.

  For this reason Steg had fought desperately to be included on this expedition. He owed his place to the fact that Admiral Sarg still had faith in him. They had served together when Steg was a young lieutenant, and Sarg still a commander.

  Something of a link, almost a friendship, had grown up between the future admiral and his lieutenant. Perhaps it was because they shared, unlike most Sontarans, a dangerously individual cast of mind.

  Commander Steg’s reflections were interrupted by the arrival of Admiral Sarg. The ranks of Sontaran officers rose as one, arms across their chests in salute.

  Admiral Sarg waved them to be seated and sank, a little stiffly, into his command chair. Steg studied his old commander keenly. Sarg’s skull-wrinkles had deepened with age, and his eyebrow-bristles and vestigial Sontaran beard were now pure white. But the fierce red eyes that swept round the group of high-ranking officers were alive as ever.

  The admiral’s deep, rasping voice rolled around the conference chamber. ‘This expedition, as you know, has been a long time in preparation. Some of you at least may be surprised by the suddenness with which it was actually mounted.’

  Most of the Sontaran officers present stared blankly at him. It would not have occurred to them to question their orders. They simply obeyed. Up to a certain point this is an excellent attitude in a soldier. But in the highest ranks, where independent thought is not only desirable but necessary, it can be a positive disadvantage. Even the Sontarans were slowly coming to realize this. It accounted for the unofficial tolerance towards such mavericks as Admiral Sarg.

  Steg had noticed the discrepancy to which the admiral referred. It had long been rumoured that the High Command were preparing some devastating stroke against the Rutan enemy, some hammer-blow that would end the war altogether.

  Yet the expedition itself had been mounted in a kind of scrambling haste. The War Wheel had been assembled, its crew of troopers and officers recruited at top speed, as if some last-minute crisis had occurred.

  ‘For security reasons, what I can tell you is limited,’ Sarg continued. ‘But you must know this. For some time we have suspected the existence of a secret weakness in the Rutan defences. Our task has been to find it and exploit it. That task is almost complete. However, there is one other important factor. It is vital that we know the Rutan secret – but it is equally vital that they do not know that we know.’

  Admiral Sarg surveyed the largely blank faces of his officers and sighed. ‘Let me put it another way. You are attacking a heavily defended enemy base. Word reaches you that a door has been left open. You plan to find that door and press home your attack. But what happens if, before you find the door, your enemy discovers that you are looking for it?’

  No one answered, and Sarg snapped, ‘Commander Steg?’

  ‘The enemy find the door themselves and shut it.’

  ‘Precisely. They shut the door!’ Sarg slammed a three-digited hand on the arm of his chair. ‘Now listen carefully – this data will not be repeated. As you all know, amongst the many disgusting characteristics of our Rutan enemy is the ability to mimic the appearance of other life-forms. They can even take on the form of Sontarans. One particularly skilful Rutan spy assumed the identity of a Sontaran officer called Karne, and maintained it for a considerable period of time.’

  A shocked murmur spread through the conference chamber, and one or two officers began glaring suspiciously around them.

  ‘Do not concern yourselves,’ said Sarg drily. ‘You will recall that you were subjected to an extensive scanning process before boarding. I can assure you that no Sontaran officer in this chamber is really a Rutan.’

  Admiral Sarg’s thin lipless mouth twitched at the corner. He glanced at Steg and saw an answering twitch. Everyone else looked appalled at the very idea.

  ‘Until recently we believed this false Karne to be dead,’ Sarg went on. ‘Reports have now reached us that he lives. Worse still, it seems possible that he has learned that we suspect the Rutan secret, and is returning to his home planet to warn them. If he succeeds, our mission will fail before it has begun.’

  He glared around the room. ‘Priority One – Karne must be found and killed before he can deliver his warning. Our agents are on his track. As soon as he can be located, we shall destroy him.’

  An angry growl of agreement filled the conference chamber.

  Sarg held up his hand for silence. ‘Since troubles never come singly, we have another old enemy to contend with. There is a renegade Time Lord known as the Doctor.’

  There was another fierce, angry mutter. The Doctor’s name had long been hated amongst the So
ntarans.

  ‘The Doctor’s people claim that he is a rebel and an outcast,’ Sarg went on. ‘We suspect that this may be a cover for the fact that he sometimes acts as their agent. The Doctor has frustrated our plans in the past. It seems likely that he is meddling in our affairs again. He has been in contact with the Rutans, and there is evidence that he too is seeking Karne, both personally and through agents of his own. His intentions are unknown but they are unlikely to be of benefit to us. Priority Two! The Doctor and his agents must be found and destroyed.’

  Sarg paused. ‘Until both priorities are dealt with, we dare not strike. The search for all our enemies is in the hands of our security service and their agents.’ He glanced at a silver-collared officer in the front row. ‘I am assured that successful results are imminent.’ There was an edge of irony in Sarg’s voice.

  ‘Meanwhile,’ he continued, ‘the War Wheel will proceed as if on routine patrol, moving steadily but circuitously towards Rutan territory. As yet we do not wish to alarm the enemy.’ He rose abruptly. ‘That is all. You may go. Commander Steg, you will remain.’

  The Sontaran officers rose, saluted and marched from the room. Steg remained, standing stiffly to attention.

  Sarg scowled at him for a moment and then growled, ‘Sit, Commander, sit!’

  He waved towards a chair beside the command desk. Steg sat, though he still sat to attention. Sarg opened a drawer in the desk and produced two silver goblets and a stone bottle of the fiery liquor called vragg. Filling both goblets, he passed one of them to Steg. Steg took a cautious sip, gasped and put the goblet carefully down on the desk. You had to be careful not to spill vragg. It was reputed to be able to eat through a battle-cruiser’s hull.

  Admiral Sarg drained his goblet and poured himself another.

  ‘Do you know what the High Council of Admiralty think of this operation, Commander Steg?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘They think it is the last mad scheme of a senile old fool.

  When it fails, as they are sure it will, it will give them the excuse they need to replace me.’

  Steg said nothing. He knew that no answer was called for.

  ‘Do you know the main strength of our Rutan enemies?’ Sarg went on. ‘They are single-minded. Indeed, they are a single mind. They think, they move, they strike as one. And how do we counter them? We become like them. We too become single-minded, monolithic. Right, Commander?’

  Again Steg made no reply. It seemed safer.

  ‘Wrong!’ roared Sarg. ‘As long as we think like the Rutans, we can never defeat them. Look at the history of this war. A battle won, a battle lost, another fought to a draw. A planet conquered, a planet lost. The battle line wavers to and fro and nothing changes. Nothing! I tell you it needs original thinking to win this war. A single bold stroke – like this one! That is why I chose you to help me, Steg. If we succeed we shall be immortal. If we fail, we may well be executed – by our own side!’

  Sarg poured them both more vragg.

  ‘You had a certain amount of trouble on Jekkar, Commander, with a guerrilla leader called Smith?’

  ‘Yes, Admiral.’

  ‘You actually had him in your hands, but he escaped?’

  ‘That is so, Admiral,’ said Steg woodenly.

  Sarg smiled. ‘I thought it might interest you to know that the name “Smith” is a frequent alias of our enemy the Doctor.’

  Steg thought of the scruffy little man with his querulous protests. The man who had fooled and defeated him.

  ‘So that was the Doctor.’

  ‘Since the Doctor is known to be concerned in this operation, it may be that your paths will cross once more.’

  Steg’s eyes burned red. ‘I hope so, Admiral. I should very much enjoy meeting the Doctor again.’

  6

  Trackdown

  Roz Forrester glanced impatiently down the long road. ‘So where is he?’

  Chris shaded his eyes with his hand. ‘He’s coming. Isn’t that a dust-cloud in the distance?’

  ‘No,’ said Roz bluntly. ‘Let’s go back to Garshak and insist on a ride in a police wagon – I gave him a big enough bribe to buy one! The Ogrons brought us here, they can take us back.’

  Chris grinned down at her – and saw the white spot poised just over her heart.

  Chris’s thought processes were sometimes a bit slow, but there was nothing wrong with his reflexes. He swept Roz out of the way with one arm, drawing his blaster at the same time. A chunk of stonework exploded into dust, just where she’d been standing. Chris fired at the cloaked figure on the parapet and missed.

  Another chunk of stonework exploded inches from his ear.

  ‘Back inside!’ yelled Roz, her own blaster in her hand. ‘He’s out of our range but we’re not out of his!’ Despite her words, she couldn’t resist snapping off a quick blast herself. A window several feet below the parapet exploded in a shower of plasti-glass.

  A massive hand closed over her arm. ‘Do be careful, that building is police property,’ said Garshak protestingly.

  ‘Someone up there’s trying to kill us,’ yelled Roz.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s all being taken care of.’

  Garshak pointed upwards, and they saw a number of massive figures closing in on their attacker.

  ‘I spotted him from my window and sent a message across to the barracks,’ said Garshak. ‘They’ll take care of him.’

  Roz started to say, ‘Tell them we want him –’

  Even as she spoke, the figure on the roof scuttled along the parapet – straight into the arms of an Ogron policeman, who swung it high in the air, and hurled it straight over the edge.

  ‘– alive,’ concluded Roz as the body plummeted down towards them. ‘Ah well!’

  The assassin landed with an unpleasant crunching sound, twitched briefly and lay still.

  ‘Soriy,’ said Garshak apologetically. ‘They tend to get carried away.’ He walked over to the shattered body and turned it over with his foot. They saw a long-muzzled, fur-covered face with needle-sharp teeth bared in a death snarl.

  ‘Wolverine,’ said Garshak briefly. ‘One of Megacity’s more vicious street gangs. Robbery and extortion mostly, but they do the odd contract killing if the price is right. They don’t work cheap though.’ He smiled at them, revealing his own yellow fangs. ‘Looks as if someone very rich and powerful wants you dead.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have any idea who?’ asked Chris.

  ‘This Ripper you’re trying to catch?’

  ‘No,’ said Roz. ‘Not his style, he’s too much of a loner. He does his own killing. What about these worried fat cats of yours?’

  Garshak shrugged. ‘It’s possible. I was offered a handsome bribe to make sure you died in police custody. People do.’

  ‘Why didn’t you take the bribe?’

  ‘I did – but it wasn’t as big as yours. I’ll pass the word that you’re harmless – to the Megacity élite anyway. That may help take some heat off. But I’d advise you to watch your backs all the same.’

  ‘We’ll be watching all around us,’ said Roz.

  A hovercab came speeding down the road and slammed to the ground in a cloud of dust. A rat-like face appeared out of the front window. ‘Downtown? Less go!’ The driver noticed the shattered body in the road. Bright black eyes looked up at Garshak, and a long muzzle twitched. “Nother suicide, Chief?’ He turned to Roz and Chris. ‘Don’ worry, happens all the time. Prisoners in here seem to get very depressed. Any time you drive past Police HQ, you gotta zig-zag to dodge falling bodies.’

  Garshak reached out for him with a massive hairy arm, but Chris stepped in the way.

  ‘Let him live, Chief, we need the ride.’

  Roz and Chris climbed into the battered hovercab.

  ‘Good luck with your enquiries,’ said Garshak. ‘Do let me know if I can be of any more help.’

  ‘I don’t think I can afford it,’ said Roz.

  The hovercab’s motors roared, it rose a
few feet in the air and sped away in a cloud of dust.

  Thoughtfully Garshak watched it go. An unusual pair, and they’d told him a fascinating story. He didn’t believe a word of it. He wondered what they were really up to. It might be very interesting, and very profitable, to find out.

  In a part of town so disreputable that the Ogron police avoided it, and even the muggers worked in pairs, Lieutenant Gorsk of Sontaran Intelligence had set up his base in the cellar of a ruined building. With a com-unit and a field generator he could be self-sufficient for a very long time.

  The cellar was in the basement of a burnt-out bar whose owner hadn’t kept up his protection payments. It was dank and gloomy, with green mould growing on the walls. Gorsk felt quite at home there.

  The Sontarans had come to realize that once seen they were seldom forgotten – a natural consequence, no doubt, of their striking and distinguished appearance. However, it was something of a disadvantage in intelligence work. Wherever possible they preferred to remain undercover, working through local intermediaries.

  Gorsk’s hand moved towards his blaster as he heard scuttling sounds in the rubble outside his cellar. He relaxed as a sinuous fur-covered shape, wrapped in a dark cloak and hood, appeared in the cellar doorway.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘We failed. We attempted to kill them outside Police HQ but the Ogrons intervened.’

  ‘It was not, perhaps, the wisest place to choose.’

  ‘Your orders were to lose no time,’ snarled the Wolverine. ‘We shall kill them at their hotel; it will be easy there. I shall bribe the hotel staff and set up an ambush in their rooms.’

  ‘No,’ said Gorsk. ‘There is a change of plan.’

  ‘You no longer wish their deaths?’

  ‘Not yet. We both hunt the same quarry – and they are trained investigators. I shall let them lead me to the one I seek – then we shall kill them all. Until then, I want them followed at all times. See to it.’

  ‘As you wish. But they have caused the death of one of my pack-brothers. When the time comes, we shall rip out their throats and drink their blood.’