Travels In Magellania

by ComsatAngel

An entirely out of his depth Captain Walmsley travels to the strangest culture he can imagine: a human one. The Third Doctor meets an old enemy, who has reformed, and the Sontarans. Quite outstandingly brutal Sontarans, too.

3. Chapter 3

Part Three: One Evening On Amalthea

I came to a dead stop after stepping outside.

The Doctor and his regular companions might get used to abrupt transitions like this, but I had trouble adjusting. After the stale, boxy, artificially-lit interior of the Seraphim, this was paradise – wide rolling grasslands, a dusky purple twilight, uncountable bright stars overhead. A nearly-familiar smell of hay or grass hung in the air, and chittering insects flew about. If the sky overhead hadn't blazed with far too many stars, then this might be Earth. I got a few deep lungfuls of proper air and checked for the Doctor. When were we going to get Clara to a terawatt generating whatnot of the forty-second century?

Behind me, Tad and the Doctor marched Salamander out of the TARDIS, the imposter's head wobbling weakly, showing that he was no longer comatose.

'Don't worry, she'll recover eventually, John. We're standing in the electrical field of a planet, after all. Terawatt rejuvenation guaranteed!'

One of those things you have to take on trust. After half an hour Clara was able to undrape herself from me and prop herself upright. The Doctor politely went and obtained a set of dungarees and a denim shirt for her, allowing me to take back my jacket. He also brought a lantern and matches, then sent Tad and I looking for dry wood. We had quite a walk, only able to see our companions thanks to the lantern.

'Does this seem strange to you?' I asked him. 'Ferreting for wood at the far end of the galaxy, in the company of a green alien woman and a madman, after travelling in a starship?'

He shrugged.

'I am taking things as they come. That way, I do not have to anticipate trouble. Look, bushes.'

Using my K-Bar, we chopped off dead wood and picked up enough dried leaves and twigs to make up an armful each.

'I think the Sontarans bring out the worst in me,' I confided on the way back. 'I felt like dancing on the heads of those two the Doctor stunned. Good job we had to leave in a hurry, he might not have liked the condition that other one got left in.'

'You'll work it out,' Tad told me.

Would I? Work out what? We arrived back at the lantern before my tongue ran away with me, asking questions about the exact meaning of what Tad alluded to.

'Jolly good work!' chortled the Doctor, sounding like an overgrown cub scout. 'Plenty there for a fire.'

Within a minute the five of us were seated around a large, bright fire. The wood popped and crackled a lot, giving off the smell of violets.

Five of us?

Yes, Salamander was awake, sitting up and looking at the fire, shuddering in sudden spasms. Later on, the Doctor said he'd used his little laser-mirror mind-bender to prevent an outbreak of the screaming ab-dabs.

'I thought you said five was a bad number for a crew?' I asked.

The Doctor looked at Salamander before replying.

'He's staying here. Aren't you?'

The imposter nodded, still gazing at the fire. No screaming.

'A little late to make recompense for his crimes, but not too late. You can lead a blameless life here in Magellania.'

Salamander writhed his lips and tongue without speaking, contorting his face. It seemed as though he were simply mocking the Doctor before he began to speak. What he was really doing, as I realised later, was trying to use muscles that had been unused for – well, a long time.

'I have served a most frightful sentence in the worst prison imaginable. My own mind.' His accent was rich and Latin, the words slow and stumbling. Holding his hands out to the flames, he carried on. 'For centuries, or millenia, or perhaps no time at all, I was forced to contemplate my own folly and greed and arrogance. I foresaw no respite or rescue. There was no sense or stimulation beyond what I experienced in my mind. Ten thousand times I lived my life over, seeing every turn, every thought, every footstep where I trod the path of evil. I forsook God and God punished me.'

The reflected flames danced in his eyes, and he still held out his hands to the fire. Sudden tears streamed down his face.

'I have been reprieved.' He looked over at the Doctor. 'You, who have most cause to hate me, have risked all to rescue me.'

Hey, me and Tad, too! Would this character also insist on huggy-kissy thank-yous? I'd rather not, ta very much. British reserve and all that. Tad could be the Continental huggy-kissy lightning conductor.

'Feel better,' said Clara. She was managing to speak in a passable human voice now, which she hadn't been able to copy even when in good health. The grammar and vocabulary would come later, perhaps.

Under the twilight, a series of small moons came up over the horizon like a flight of balloons: one, two, three, four, five. Clara leaned against me and watched – except how could she watch when her eyes were only simulated?

'Pretty,' she murmured.

'Moons,' I explained, probably making the Doctor choke silently in laughter at my so-called scientific explanation. 'Natural satellites orbiting this world. Er – do you have to lean against me?'

'Yes. Weak,' she replied. I instantly felt like a complete swine. 'Thank you for rescue,' she added.

'Oh! Oh. The Doctor helped too,' I blustered, my cheeks no doubt a fetching shade of vermillion. In the firelight I caught Tad grinning at my embarassment. Bugger! He was the one who tried a pass at her, not me –

"Her" – that would explain it, then, John, you effing purblind moron. Clara was now a "her" to me, even if she adopted the form of a giant green blob. Especially then. A giant green alien blob only a few weeks old: say, for want of a better word, a child. And what did John do when he caught people abusing children and women? Why, as everyone at Aylesbury knew by now, he flew into a rage and attacked the culprit with cattle-prods, or threatened to beat them to death with a spade.

Tad got a long, informed look at that, the perceptive Polish rascal. He realised what I realised and nodded. Away to one side, the Doctor probably caught my look as well.

'Clara needs the electrical field here to recuperate, and Salamander needed a return to a terrestrial environment, too. I'll get a gazebo from the TARDIS and they can stay out here tonight. John, will you help carry things?'

That was an excuse to get me away from the others. Once in the spaceship, he set about talking to me whilst pottering about in corridors off in the rear of the console room, calling for me to follow, opening and shutting doors and cupboards that in turn led to other cupboards and wardrobes.

'You seem uneasy about Clara, John. Why's that? Oh, where are those skewers?'

'Er – well – I'm not really sure. I – that is, I know she's an alien, a big green blob. That I can handle, easily enough. It's just - '

'Found them! All I need is the mallet. Go on, go on. You find her attractive in her human fascia and can't reconcile that with her native form?' and he passed me a brown canvas bag full of long metal skewers.

'Yes, I suppose so. And I cannot understand why she likes me, the "fat human". Why can't she find a nice Rutan boy to like?'

That led to guffaw of genuine amusement.

'Sorry, sorry! Ah – oh, no, that's a woodwork mallet. Let's see – a tack hammer, a ballpane hammer – got it.'

He passed me back a big rubber mallet, then drew back from the cupboard.

'Rutans are hermaphrodites, John. There are no "boy" Rutans for Clara to like.'

Colour me confused. If Rutan were hermaphrodites, why did Clara dress in human female? And feel positive affection for a human male? Damn it, there was another of Nick Munroe's little witticisms coming home to roost. He must have second sight, the wretch.

We continued down the corridor, coming to another vast cupboard containing a positive midden of sporting equipment. The gazebo was buried under a collection of cricketing gear, enabling the Doctor to lecture me whilst getting the big tent-like structure out.

'Clara is a total stranger to Rutan culture, John. Her life so far began in the TARDIS, in the company of myself – and I look very human – and her parent, Winifred, who has lived amongst humans so long that she practically is one. Remember Laurens Van Der Post.'

On the back foot, I tried a little distracting humour.

'He died so the Royal Mail might live?'

'No! Oh, wait, your discipline is politics, isn't it? Laurens did work on imprinting.'

'He died so William Caxton might live?'

I got the warning look for that one. Okay, naughty, but I was utterly at sea here.

'Imprinting, not printing! The first object that a newly-born sees is taken to be it's parent. Whether that first object is a block of wood, a "Billy Blob" to re-use your repellant slang, or - '

'A human being.'

With a giant heave, the Doctor pulled one leg of the gazebo free. I joined him in the application of brute force to the other three legs.

'Clara thinks she's human?'

The Doctor shrugged.

'This is virgin territory for me, John. I don't know how she thinks and feels. Careful of those wickets. Pull harder. There!' and we got the gazebo freed. He turned to look at me, with that effortlessly penetrating gaze. 'So treat her with respect, John. If she has formed a connection to you, then you have a responsibility to her as well.'

Hey, this wasn't on!

'Marie will kill me if she thinks I'm romancing another woman. Another alien. An alien looking like a woman. A green-skinned woman. Damn it!'

The Doctor swapped the canvas bag and mallet for the gazebo and led me outwards along the corridors, collecting blankets on the way.

'How is your fiance?'

'How - ? We aren't engaged!'

Not that we weren't interested in an engagement. Marie's dad, the frosty, prickly, aloof and disdainful Mssr. Valdupont, didn't want his daughter engaged to a British "adventurer".

'Whoops! Suffer the children - forget I spoke!' and he laughed it off.

Before we left the TARDIS, the Doctor stopped to give me a long hard look.

'Okay,' I squeaked. 'No more cracks about "Billy Blob".'

'Guilty conscience, eh? No. What I meant to say is quite simple: you don't have to be human to be humane.'

"You don't have to be human to be humane." That damn phrase would come back to haunt me. It gave me pause for thought right there and then. The Doctor wasn't human, yet he embodied some of our best human qualities. General Finch was a fully-blown human being, who had still conspired to eliminate the human population of Earth.

'Here we are,' the Doctor greeted our stay-behinds, who seemed to be dozing. The dusky twilight had deepened slightly, which was as dark as it got, what with the starlight and moonlight. Tad helped to put the gazebo up very efficiently, the Doctor dropped the drapes over three sides, keeping that facing the fire open.

'Cosy,' murmured Clara, curled up on the ground. Her skin tone remained green, although she seemed much better than earlier. I draped a blanket over her to keep the chill off. By his own preference, Salamander remained outside the gazebo, unwilling to remain in a confined space (which reminded him too much of the Seraphim) and needing to remain in the presence of sensory stimulation (unlike the space-time vortex).

'There was definitely something wrong with those Sontarans,' the Doctor mused.

'They were alive?' drily ventured Tad. He got a tut in reply.

'No! No, I mean they didn't behave they way they should. Sontarans are ruthless and brutal, but they aren't casual sadists. Why send seven crewmen into vacuum without suits, or shoot two medical orderlies dead, when the logical, simpler course is merely to blow up the whole crew and ship?'

Oh yes, so much more rational and logical. Bloody Sontarans!

'Do you need me as an algorithm or paradigm?' I asked. An idea occurred to me immediately. 'Hey – those Sontarans didn't care about the prisoner we had, did they? That kind of behaviour gets you drummed out of the service. Human service, anyway.'

More musing from the Doctor.

'I can't see why they'd be here in the Lesser Magellanic Cloud, either. They don't have any bases near, nor do the Rutans have a presence here that needs countering.'

'Slave labour?' asked Tad, a good guess on his part, I thought.

'Unlikely. The human cultures in Magellania are spread fairly thinly. The time and resources it would take to enslave them would be more efficiently spent elsewhere.'

He snapped his fingers and said "Eureka!".

'Terrulian! That must be it! They're here to mine for it.'

The name had come up in the briefing his computer cube gave us, without any more detailed explanation. Terrulian, "as any exographer knew", was a power-ore unknown on Earth. In fact it was pretty rare stuff anywhere, and since the Sontarans had built their entire energy technology around it, they travelled to where the terrulian was and mined it in situ. Having solved the puzzle, the Doctor then discarded his solution.

'Except that Magellania has no terullian deposits on any of its worlds. One reason the settlers came here.' He sighed. 'It's a pity we couldn't have had a couple of hours to chat with our prisoners.'

'Why didn't you bring several with us?' asked Tad. 'I know John was generous in giving them to the Seraphim crew, but we could have kept one or two for ourselves.'

'Hostages? Hardly a sensible choice, Kapitan Komorowski,' interrupted Salamander. He had sharp hearing, that man. 'The Sontarans would have wanted their people back. Bringest thou not the serpent into thine own garden, young man.'

'Quite right!' agreed the Doctor. Then he hedged a little. 'Well – normally, yes, with normal Sontarans. Besides that, it would have taken a considerable effort to get information out of any Sontaran prisoner. Especially a Sontaran officer. There's as great a difference between the Sontaran officer corps and their common soldiery as between the Ice Warrior aristocrats and their rank and file.'

Tad frowned at me from across the gazebo. "Ice Warriors?" he mouthed, to my entirely uninformed shrug.

'The first one we caught was quite ready to spill the beans,' I said, genuinely off-hand. The Doctor's head whipped round at me and his next question was harsh and direct.

'John! Did you torture him!' and sparks practically shot from his eyes. Taken by surprise, I quailed in front of this display of temper. What did I say?

'No!' said in a tone of injured innocence. 'One jab with the moo-moo motivator and he was positively eager to tell all about Rutans and electric shocks. I did mention my friend Mister Spade in passing.'

Once more the Time Lord stroked his cheek with a finger.

'Hmm. Sorry, I was a bit hasty there. Good grief, none of this makes sense!'

'Spiffing,' I said. 'It's been a long hard day besting the beast-men, and I shall sleep on the problem.'

'Shh,' yawned Clara. 'Tired.'

'It's perfectly safe out here,' whispered the Doctor. 'And she needs to remain outside the TARDIS to recover, for at least the near future.'

'I'll stay,' I whispered back, nodding at Clara, now silent and asleep. Tad and the Doctor went back into the space-time craft, but Salamander remained outside the gazebo – meditating, he said. The air was balmy, the fire smelt pleasant and after the compressed nastiness of the recent battle on Seraphim, I fell asleep propped against one of the gazebo legs.

The smell of porrige awoke me next morning. Clara, warned not to wake me suddenly, waved a bowl of it under my nose, then handed it to me. The sun had risen, allowing us to see properly. Outside the gazebo, the ashy remains of our fire sent a perfumed smoke into the sky.

'Thanks. Wow – with sugar, too! I daren't eat it with anything less than a teaspoon of salt in it back at Aylesbury. Lieutenant Munroe insists only Sassenach jessies eat it with sugar.' She watched with fascination as I spooned the gruel down.

Yes, I was gentleman enough to ask if she wanted any, only for her to throw her head around wildly. It took a few seconds before I realised she was trying to shake her head in a negative.

After that I needed to stretch out the kinks in my back. Salamander was also exercising, doing squats and bends and apparently enjoying the exercise. He must have missed it whilst being lost in space-time.

Our gracious host the Doctor came out to take the morning air, impeccably clad in his velvet jacket and frilly shirt. He sniffed the air, exhaled mightily and nodded.

'Amalthea. I've been here only briefly on a couple of occasions. Mono-Gee, matrilineal and matriarchal, of course.' He tossed me the white computer cube, underhand. 'You need to acquire more background information. I, meanwhile, will be out trying to communicate with the nearest settlers and arrange a contact.'

Suddenly rising from his squatting position, Salamander came over to join us.

'May I have the privilege of joining you?' he asked the Doctor. 'Contact with other cultures broadens the mind.'

He was allowed along, carrying a metal-bound plastic case full of gadgets and gizmos to help the Doctor call up his friends on Amalthea. Salamander seemed pleased at this. In fact he seemed positively chirpy.

Me being me, nasty, suspicious and hard-bitten, I tugged the Doctor aside.

'Watch it with him! He's far too friendly and smarmy. Once a rotter, always a rotter. I don't trust him.'

'I do,' retorted the Doctor, ending our discussion. 'Whilst I'm gone, look after Clara. And don't touch anything!'

The sun had already risen, as proven by the dawn. However, the small red ball didn't get any more yellow when it climbed higher in the skies. Instead, another sun joined it, creeping slowly over the horizon, a sun of particular intensity, yellow-white and too bright to even look near. As it rose, it blanked out the bright twinkle of other stars still visible in the light of the first, dull, sun.

My initial impression, of a similarity to Earth, began to fade. The grasses around us were grassy, green and leafy as all grasses are. Trees now visible in the distance proved to have immensely tall trunks and big umbrella crowns, with unidentified objects dangling from the highest branches. Another series of moons, three in total, one with a ring around it, ascended above the horizon not long after the big brighter sun came up. Tides on this planet must be bloody complicated!

Clara settled down in the gazebo and went to sleep. Tad and I mooched around a bit, looking at endless rolling grasslands in the direction the Doctor had taken.

'I wonder, would it be possible to venture over there?' asked Tad, pointing in the opposite direction.

'Why not!' I agreed, fed up with looking at billiard table green on all sides. 'Clara? Tad and I are off to explore.' I put my blanket over her. It would be wasted otherwise.

'Mmmmph,' she replied. Apparently all dozy females, regardless of species, reply to outside interruption like that.

I hacked an arrow into the turf outside the gazebo, pointing in the direction Tad and I would be taking, and we set off.

'I imagined an alien world would be so different,' offered Tad, setting the pace 'This one seems very like Earth.'

'Well. Think about it. The people here are from Earth. They need a world with similar gravity, atmosphere and environment, or they wouldn't survive. "Mono-Gee" must mean "one gravity", too.'

All my own thoughts and mental work, thank you. Mind you, if future-John could have heard me, he'd have kicked me in the teeth and told me to check the cube out on "mono-gee".

'The Doctor said this world was "matrilineal and matriarchal". What does that mean?'

I had to think quickly about that. Politics did cover it, but not applicably since the fifth century BC.

'A society run by, and governed by, women. Not only that, succession to property is for female members of a family alone. Male members are chattels with no legal standing.'

Tad made a face, more emotional exercise for him than usual.

Remembering the cube, I called up Sontarans again, and asked for information on Sontaran strategy. Perhaps the Doctor had missed a trick with them. If they weren't after the Rutans, or terrulian, or slaves, perhaps they had another motive? Quite what that might be escaped me.

Strategy, the cube informed me, equated to a three-dimensional game of Go. It projected a boxlike lattice, where the intersections gradually sprouted white or black counters. To capture a counter the opposing player needed to surround it at the six cardinal points; once a counter was taken it vanished from play and that empty intersection counted as a point towards the capturing player's final score. Very simple, basic rules, which nevertheless created a very complex game. I'd played the human, two-dimensional version occasionally at university and that was hard enough – a 3D one beggared imagination.

The cube continued with it's little lecture. The white counters could be considered Sontaran, the black ones Rutan – and the lattice abruptly sprouted thousands of white and black counters, white definitely outnumbering black. Each intersection could be considered a planetary system. Of course, in reality, the lattice which stood in for our galaxy had no boundaries – and the edges promptly shot off in all directions, gradually fading away – and the distribution of planetary systems was not equal or uniform – and the neat, precise repetition of the lattice became a nightmare maze of skewed lines and gaps.

Tad, marching alongside me and currently impaled by the expanded lattice hologram, asked a relevant question.

'Why are the Sontarans here on Amalthea?'

Insufficient data, replied our cubic mentor, making the lattice disappear.

'What is it about the Sontarans and torture?' I asked, remembering that the Doctor had been very unimpressed at me getting info out of the captive toady. I needed to rephrase the question a couple of times before the cube understood me, and then it explained, and how.

Sontarans were highly resistant to torture. The explanation for this wasn't pleasant: they routinely underwent torture themselves, to toughen up and allow them to become able to shrug it off if applied by others. It took a lot to make a Sontaran give up information of any sort, and for "a lot" read "extensive mutilatory torture including limb removal, organ removal and extensive destruction of brain tissue". Their own people probably didn't go quite so far.

The cube sat silent after that.

'I am suddenly not surprised that the Doctor was cross with you,' offered Tad.

No wonder he was surprised when the truth came out. Instead of reducing our prisoner to a collection of butcher's remains, all it took was an electric shock.

Our path had taken us a couple of miles south of the TARDIS, only to see endless vistas of green billowing away on all sides, broken up by those huge trees. Tad and I decided to split up and move off at forty-five degrees from our original route, travelling away for twenty minutes and then returning here if nothing new presented itself. Once again I hacked a marker in the turf for reference.

Walking away, I had peace and quiet to consider things in. Typically, my thoughts drifted back to Clara. Alien, green, and fond of me. How the hell do I end up in situations like this! "She" ought to be pining for the company of other green blobs, and instead here she was, getting friendly with a "fat human". Back home on Planet Earth, I didn't exactly attract the women; Marie and I had originally hated each other. Janine, my ex, had been at Leeds University with me for three years.

Then again, that phrase of the Doctor's came home again: you don't have to be human to be humane. He had got on fantastically with Winifred the Human Rutan, the implication being that he didn't judge a book by it's cover, and that Captain Walmsley shouldn't, either.

Life was so much simpler before UNIT.

It seemed simple out here, too. Nothing except more grasslands, with the twinkle of light far away showing water reflecting the suns. I headed back for the rendezvous, except Tad met me on my side of the turf marker.

'Life and movement! Come and see!'

Double-timing back, and heading over Tad's beaten path, I witnessed a patchwork array of fields come into view, beginning a couple of miles away and heading off to the horizon. The individual fields were big, easily five miles square. In one of the nearer expanses of harrowed mud a tractor towed giant rollers across the field. To be visible at this distance it must be a big vehicle.

'Shall we say hello?' I asked. 'We might save the Doctor time, if he's off trying to hail someone on the other side of the planet.'

Tad calculated the distance.

'Four and a half, maybe five kilometres. Mostly downhill. Reachable in less than an hour.'

Crunch came forty minutes later, when the tractor stopped tractoring. It was a big beast, easily the size of a double-decker bus, in a snazzy blue-and-white dazzle pattern. From moving up and down the field, it suddenly stopped, then slowly turned in our direction. The driver's cab, semi-opaque plastic, appeared to contain three people. The big vehicle slowly moved towards us.

'Show them you're friendly,' I warned Tad. He waved. I waved.

The tractor abruptly detached itself from the massive rollers towed behind, with a series of sounds like pistol shots. Instead of heading towards the two human emissaries waving with obvious benign intent, it twirled around in the field and drove away, picking up speed.

'Must be dinner time,' I quipped. 'That, or your flies are undone.'

Tad scanned the air about us for insects before giving up.

'My father is a farmer,' he said. 'I used to drive his tractors when I was a youngster. If I drove that carelessly he would have taken a belt to my behind.'

The route taken by the giant tractor did cross the main field, cutting across the harrows and roller-tracks in a frantic squiggle.

More mystery! Giving up on exploration, we headed back to the TARDIS, discussing what might make farmers run in panic at the sight of two unarmed people.

Well, not obviously armed. I still had my .45 in it's bum holster, and the K-Bar knife in it's boot pocket. Tad had only the Sontaran pistol dangling around his neck, half-hidden by his jacket. Why run away? A tractor that large could have outrun us and squashed us flat, and without anti-tank guns we couldn't have stopped it.

Clara was still asleep when we got back to the gazebo, curled up under the blankets.

'Recuperating,' I told Tad, as if I knew. Still no sign of the Doctor or Salamander. Not only that, I felt rather peckish. The TARDIS was locked shut, so we'd not get any food that way.

Tad whistled, pointing back the way we'd returned to the campsite. An object travelling over the grasslands was headed towards us at considerable speed. When it got closer I recognised a hovercraft, of sorts. A big, bullet-shaped hull atop big plastic skirts, with directional steering vanes at the rear. It made good time and drew up only thirty yards from us, killing the engines and settling to the ground with a loud hissing, sending up a gust of ashes from our dead fire. Unlike the tractor, this vehicle had camouflage colouration, brown and green and grey patterns that broke up it's outline.

'Clara, time to wake up, we have visitors,' I said, giving her a shake. She was awake and aware instantly, standing behind me to keep a wary eye on the visitors.

"REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE," boomed a giant amplified voice from the hovercraft.

'I had no plans to travel,' muttered Tad.

A door opened in the side of the hull and a telescoping ladder unfolded itself down to ground level. Two of the occupants clambered down. They wore silver-grey jumpsuits and one had a slung weapon over a shoulder. They came over to us in determined fashion, the sort of walk that policemen use, except these were policewomen. Close-cropped hair, humourless expressions, all sorts of electronic gadgets hanging off their silver-grey harness webbing.

They stopped well short of us, looking at each other in alarm. The first one went to unsling her gun, and I made my fastest draw ever from the bum holster.

'Uh-uh! No gunplay, please.'

"THROW DOWN YOUR WEAPON" came the unhelpful voice from the hovercraft. They could threaten all they liked, I hadn't seen any weapons mounted on the vehicle.

'Certainly not!' I replied to the two policewomen in front of me. 'It might get dirty. Also, it's expensive.' I holstered it again. 'Let's talk without any guns, please.' At the back of my mind was the thought or fear that the Doctor would suddenly turn up whilst I had these women at gunpoint, and boy would he not be happy!

'Who are you?' asked policewoman number one. When she moved the webbing parted, allowing me to see her nametag: HEADON. 'And stop staring at my chest!'

'Put your nametag on your collar, then,' I retorted. 'Officer Headon.'

'Oh,' she replied, slightly surprised. 'You haven't said - '

'We are here with Doctor John Smith,' began Tad. He made a big wave to the rear. 'This is TARDIS.'

That would be "the" TARDIS, Tad.

'We're familiar with the TARDIS,' said the second policewoman, nametag MILLINGTON. 'Where is the Doctor?'

'Off looking for someone to communicate with,' I said. 'You can wait here until he returns.'

'How generous,' said Headon, sarcastically. 'In the meantime, perhaps you can explain why you men are here?'

'We're waiting for the Doctor to return, like I said.'

Millington caught sight of Clara and did a double-take.

'Who's that! And - why has she got green skin? Sister, are you alright?'

Something here wasn't clicking. Headon and Millington were instantly hostile for no good reason. What had Tad and I done? - walked on the grass. Major criminal activity here on Amalthea?

'This is Clara. She's a Rutan,' I warily informed the police duo, wondering if they knew what a Rutan was or whether I'd need to fill them in.

No need to worry about ignorance, they looked startled and unhappy.

'A Rutan! What the hell are you playing at, bringing one of those here!' barked Headon. 'Has the Grey Empire done a deal with them?'

'No. She's under our protection,' I warned them, seeing Millington reach for a pouch on her webbing. 'And if you're thinking of harming her, make sure you can reach that pocket before I close the distance.'

Headon muttered something under her breath. Tad was nearer and caught it better than I did.

'They don't like our uniforms, Captain Walmsley.'

Nor us. Thankfully I began to understand what matriarchal and matrilineal meant when applied to police work.

'Officers, may I suggest that you retire to your hovercraft to keep an eye on us? Whilst we remain here. We can't escape, the TARDIS is locked and your machine can run us down in seconds. No conflict, no hostilities. The Doctor will be back, probably soon.'

Hopefully soon!

'We really mean no harm,' added Tad.

'Friends,' said Clara, speaking perfectly.

They still weren't convinced.

'Tad – er, that is, Kapitan Komorowski, chuck me your pistol.'

He took off the lanyard and threw the rheon pistol to me. I picked up the dirty porrige bowl from breakfast and threw it in the air, hitting it squarely first time with the alien weapon. It burst in a cloud of china fragments. I threw the pistol back to Tad.

'If we were up to mischief, you'd already be dead.'

Headon squinted at the weapon, dangling from it's lanyard.

'That's a Sontaran weapon.'

Tad grinned wolfishly.

'It was Sontaran. Now it's human.'

'The Sontarans don't trade weaponry with humans,' commented Millington, getting close to tripping over the truth.

'These Sontarans didn't object, being either unconscious or dead,' I finished. Damn female police, able to chinwag like the civilian version.

They betook themselves off with bad grace, sitting on the steps of their hovercraft and glaring at us. Headon unslung what looked like a double-barrelled shotgun and rested it across her knees. This stand-off lasted for at least ten minutes, long and uncomfortable minutes.

'Doubtless some hideous laser weapon able to kill us all and take the gazebo with it, too,' I muttered.

'Completely wrong!' boomed the Doctor's voice, sounding very pleased with himself. He came round the TARDIS and strode commandingly over the grass, stopping and looking in annoyance at the ground. 'Whose been using my second-best Delft for target practice?'

'We thought "mono-gee" meant one gravity,' I confessed after the eight of us sat down to drink tea.

'And we asked the cube about Sontaran military strategy,' added Tad, not quite meeting the Doctor's bemused stare.

'I apologise for being so hostile,' apologised Officer Headon over a cup of tea. She did seem genuinely sorry, after actually seeing the Doctor in the flesh. Both police greeted him with big friendly smiles and put the gun away. His annoyance at having his crockery shot to bits was only eclipsed by his dismay that Tad and I didn't quiz the cube about Amalthea.

'Apology gratefully accepted,' I said, trying to bow whilst sitting down.

'If Mono-Gee means Mono-Gender, then there are no men on Amalthea?' asked Tad. Millington took up the explanation.

Amalthea was mono-gender, as was Philandros. Amalthea's population of two and a half million had a literal handful of males present, in the diplomatic compound of Hollandia, where they kept very much to themselves. A reciprocal situation existed on Philandros.

Nor was that all. Crime of any sort was rare on Amalthea, and violent crime almost unheard of. The police force of Law Officers numbered a few hundred part-timers, with a permanent core of several dozen, and dealt as much with literal matters of law as of policing. Military forces didn't exist, so the presence of two unescorted men in uniform came as a hideous surprise to the crew of that giant tractor. We were suspected of being Sontaran "progs" – conditioned slaves – or soldiers from the Grey Empire.

Officer Millington pointed at her weapon.

'That's the planet's strategic deterrent, Captain Walmsley. We have two dozen shotguns in total. Originally made to deal with beserk cattle.'

Naturally a whole host of bad jokes came to mind, which I hastily stamped upon. The Doctor took the whole situation in with perfect equanimity, so I'd better do the same.

'Please, call me John. And that po-faced rascal over there answers to "Tadeusz", if you can manage the subtle tongue-twisting involved. First names, please - UNIT and the British Army are long gone.'

Maybe not. Both officers looked up when they heard "UNIT", but I didn't get a chance to quiz them further.

'Two and a half million people with only a few dozen police?' queried Tad. 'Remarkable.'

When considered objectively, it certainly was. Imagine the populations of Manchester and Birmingham with only a village police station in each city, for comparison.

Headon spoke up, proudly.

'That's what the lesbian elective lifestyle has wrought here. Of course, the Grey Empire can quote crime figures like that, but it takes an enormous army of police to manage it.'

'Quite besides it's stifling of free speech, free assembly, free worship and freedom of expression,' interrupted the Doctor.

'A dictatorship, then,' commented Salamander. 'Well, their time will come. I cannot blame you for fleeing their clutches.'

'Wait a minute – you mean those crew on the Seraphim were all ben – ahem! That they were all homosexuals?' I asked, finally understanding that comment from Aarhuis about his "partner", and the touchy-feely huggy stuff, too. Silent nods from the Amaltheans and the Doctor.

Okay, not only the abrupt transition from spaceship to planet took a bit of getting used to, so did this. Homosexuality is frowned upon most severely in the armed forces, and jokes about "benders" are rife. It's not illegal any more in Britain, but to see a whole planet composed of lesbians, or a spaceship full of homos –

The Doctor laughed quietly.

'Another prejudice getting a jolt, John?'

'You're not kidding,' I muttered, wondering what would happen next. 'How can they find other men attractive? Men are all boney and lumpy and hairy. Women, on the other hand, are nicely-padded and curvy and smooth-skinned.'

The Amalthean police officers were nodding and grinning at my comments.

The Doctor stood up and drained his cup, before pointing alternately at Tad and myself.

'Whatever these people's sexual orientation, they have chosen it themselves, in free decisions taken without coercion. It doesn't detract from their pacific, democratic, liberal and progressive cultures, which stand in stark contrast to the Grey Empire. Both of you need to adjust to that.'

'Bravo! Well said,' said Headon. Millington clapped.

'How come you didn't shrink from the Doctor?' I complained.

'He's not human,' replied the third police officer, the hovercraft driver, Dunbavin.

'Don't worry, John,' said Clara, slipping her arm behind me. 'I will still be your girlfriend.'

The gazebo was being taken down, which meant strong muscles were needed to pull up the skewers Tad had knocked deep into the soil. Of course, this meant the Doctor could lecture me again.

'More properly, she meant "friend-who-is-female", John. Her vocabulary isn't large or sophisticated enough yet to have got that across unambiguously. Make sure you wipe the mud off before putting them back in the bag.'

He passed me a cotton rag. I rolled my eyes, wiped the skewer and put it back in the bag.

'She took me by surprise, that's all.'

A few more skewers left the soil and the gazebo sagged.

'A good job you weren't eating anything. My recall of the Heimlich manouevre is a tad rusty.'

'Hey,' I retorted, a bit more emphatically. 'I am flattered that Clara likes a big, grim-looking "fat human". It was just a surprise, coming on top of ten minutes that challenged just about every sexual assumption I've ever made.' Time for a counter-attack. 'What took you so long, anyway. Tad and I were off for hours before you got back.'

With a push and rustle of linen, the gazebo collapsed on it's side.

'What I feared, has happened: the Sontarans have landed on Amalthea. I was in communication with Hollandia about our rescue of Salamander, when they revealed that a Sontaran encampment has set up in the northern hemisphere.'

This news struck me stationary. The toadies were here? If the most that this whole planet could muster in defence was twelve shotguns, they were doomed already. And that explained how they knew about "progs".

'That's bad, right? Nothing but a handful of weapons straight out of the nineteenth century to keep the toadies at bay. Poor sods.'

Following a shout, Tad and Salamander came out to help wrestle the gazebo inside the TARDIS. Once we had stowed all the gear, the Doctor indicated the golf bag full of weapons.

'That collection, gentlemen, constitutes the largest arsenal this planet has ever seen.'

Great. That little arsenal would equip four men, or women.

'From your language and behaviour, I judge we are not leaving Amalthea yet?' asked Tad.

The Time Lord nodded.

'I still don't know what the Sontarans are doing here, nor why they are behaving so strangely. Firstly, I intend to find out, and secondly, I intend to force them to leave.'

'Does that involve killing lots of them?' I asked, brightening.

'No!' darted the Doctor back, hotly. 'Not by strength, by guile.'

'The Special Boat Service motto,' deadpanned Tad, to a roll of the eyes from the Doctor.

Another recollection struck me, from back aboard the Seraphim.

'Oh – I remember. Those Sontarans, one of them mentioned "bargaining" with Clara as the bargain. Is that any use to you?'

Once again he looked astonished. Sontarans were not big on bargaining. If they wanted something, they took it. You had to be bigger and stronger than them to stop them taking

Officer Headon rapped politely on the TARDIS doors, waiting to be asked inside. She was visibly impressed and uncomfortable with the spaceship interior, whilst trying not to show it.

'Doctor. The Archate at Hollandia have requested that we escort you and your travelling companions there for a formal interview.'

To me this sounded rather forbidding, but the Doctor nodded with pursed lips and liked the sound of it.

'Good idea. It'll save time if we all travel in the TARDIS, Officer Headon. Will Officer Millington be joining us?'

'Oh. Yes,' replied Headon, walking back to the doors and waving Millington inside. Neither of them looked very happy at travelling via a space-time machine.

'I'll aim for the Grand Piazza,' said the Doctor to thin air. 'Near the Archate's Session House.' He flicked switches and the doors closed, the time rotor started up and that characteristically wheezy sound began.

'Is it alright?' gasped Officer Headon in sudden fear, staring at the time rotor and clutching at her colleague's shoulder reflexively. Painfully, too, from Millington's expression.

Trying to oil the waters a little, I spread my arms. Either the two women would annoy the Doctor by criticising the "old Girl" or they'd wet themselves with worry.

'Welcome to the TARDIS, officers. "Time And Relative Dimension In Space-time",' I extolled, managing to get it wrong.

' "Space",' corrected Tad, blandly, watching the two worried women officers with folded arms and the merest hint of a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

'Space, and time, indeed. The Doctor's machine can travel equally well through both. That noise you heard – and which you now hear again – informs the crew that the TARDIS is materialing or dematerialising. Deliberately chosen to make even the least attentive crew-member pay attention.'

The Doctor slapped my shoulder in passing on his way to open the doors.

'Nonsense, John, but entertaining nonsense.'

We all departed the TARDIS, emerging into mingled light from the two suns. An open flagged area, with inlaid mosaics, surrounded us for at least an acre. On three sides were buildings, ranging from worn, battered-looking plastic bubbles to large, elegant stone constructions reminiscent of Greece. Travellers across the Grand Piazza carried on about their business, with only a few bothering to stop and stare. One or two waved to the Doctor.

This, then, was Hollandia. Small towers, tall metal chimneys, aerials and pylons rose into the sky behind the buildings I could see, evidence of more buildings beyond.

Two blonde women, chattering and not paying much attention to either the TARDIS or it's passengers, passed quite closely. Suddenly one caught my eye and stopped dead in her tracks. Her companion carried on two more steps before stopping too, and turning to check out the distraction.

Remaining silent, I gave them a cheery wave and a big grin.

They both screamed aloud and raced away, waving arms and shouting panicked warnings.

Bloody women!

'Can you not cause panic like that?' asked Headon, acidly.

'Panic? I only smiled at them!' This all had the air of a bad farce about it.

'Your face is not built for smiling, John,' said Tad, shaking his head. He could talk, Mister Stoney-face.

'Big scarey man!' smiled Clara, not helping one iota.

The two policewomen led the way across the flags and up the steps of an impressive classical building that wouldn't have been out of place in Rome. Passing women stopped to stare or point at us.

Once inside, the curiosity of passers-by increased. They nodded or smiled at the Doctor, glanced at Salamander, but gave Tad and I long, cool stares.

'Really. Don't they know what a great big softy I am?' I complained. Salamander caught the words and whispered them to the Doctor, who laughed briefly.

'It's what's inside that counts, eh? Well, you're learning your lesson, John.'

Our procession was brought to a halt in front of an entrance with enormous wood-panelled doors, covered with a livery of sylised roses. Two policewomen, wearing blue-grey jumpsuits, stopped us and argued with Headon and Millington. In between arguing, they let occasional women into the hall.

'No weapons in the atrium,' explained Headon. I handed over my .45 in it's holster, my K-Bar, Tad passed over the rheon pistol – handled as if it would bite by the doorguards – and the guards frisked us for good measure.

'Are you in possession of any hidden weapons?' asked a doorguard. I'm afraid my tongue developed a mind of it's own and spoke without my brain intervening.

'Yes. Sarcasm.'

Before they could get annoyed, the Doctor indicated Clara.

'Our companion is a friendly, recuperating Rutan. She can, if provoked, project enough electrical energy to stun or kill.'

Ooh they didn't like that. Clara looked female, which went down well with them, but she was a Rutan, which didn't go down well.

'Is my presence within really required?' asked Salamander. 'I will be happy to remain with Clara to offer her succour,' the Latino playboy smoothy.

The offer was accepted, and they took up temporary residence on a bench opposite the big atrium entrance doorway. Officers Headon and Millington surrendered their shotgun and came in with us.

After the exterior, I expected an imitation of the House of Commons, or a temple interior. Instead a big semi-circular dais stood in a hall clad in dark blue drapes, facing rows of chairs that arced inwards in sharp curves from the rear of the hall. The east side of the hall had lights inlaid in the floor, blinking from the door where we stood, and leading away to the front of the dais – which, I saw, had two levels. Not all the seats in the hall were occupied, which still meant a good couple of hundred plus women turned to watch.

Our police escort stood off to one side, allowing us to mount the first tier of the dais. Five seats faced into the hall; no allowance made for the absence of Clara - nor Salamander. I suspected he wasn't the problem here, not being young, armed or in uniform.

For a sketchy plastic chair, the seat was comfortable, or it was until a restraining band slipped out of the left arm and around my forearm. With a loud "hey!" I danced upwards in surprise and alarm, tugging the chair, which was welded or bolted to the floor and reluctant to move. The restraint tore and one chair leg snapped half-way up the leg. A surge of sound went up from the audience, a combination of amusement and worry.

The Doctor intervened before I could make a bigger fool of myself, tapping his restraint, which obediently retracted into the chair. He came over to me and tapped my restraint, which fell limply from my arm, leaving a red welt.

'It's a body-monitoring band, John. So they can tell if you're lying or not.'

Oh. Ah. Not a concealed hand-cuff, then. Of course I had to use one of the spare chairs after that, sitting down in a huff.

'Could have said so, the plonkers.'

"COULD HAVE SAID SO THE PLONKERS" boomed an amplified version of my voice, echoing around the hall.

'And the chair has built-in microphones,' added the Doctor, sardonically. I put my face in my hands. This trip so far constituted equal parts horror and farce. This – this was the farcial part. Finally the amused tittering in the audience died out.

On the higher dais above and behind our lower version, the sound of footsteps could be heard. A lot of them, judging by the scuffling and tapping. Shortly after that, a loud clunking sound came from the entrance doors, and one of the higher-dais people tapped a gavel.

'The Archate is now sitting,' she said. 'The door is locked. None may now enter or leave until this sitting has finished. Although neither the full Panel or Assembly have been convened, we are still quorate. The sitting will now begin.'

For the record, another person recited what date it was, and what month, and what time it was, and what number the sitting was. Dull stuff. My attention wandered, and I cast an eye over the audience. All women, of course. Bar some odd clothes, which I presumed were haute couture of the forty-second century, they looked exactly like a collection of women from planet Earth, which was pretty dull as well.

The Archate began to list an agenda, which abruptly got me interested. First up was Us.

'Item the first: The recently-arrived off-world strangers. Item the second: our uninvited guests in the Northern hemisphere. Item the third: altered trans-shipments from Rainbow, Philandros and Andromache. Item four: balance of payment deficit for each of the cantons over the past financial quarter.'

They appeared to grade items in order of boring.

The Archate's prime windbag then began on the "off-world strangers". Tad and I were the prime suspects, being – as I mentioned – male, young, uniformed and armed. The Doctor and Salamander got an honourable mention, the Doctor especially. Clara didn't even register.

There began a short question and answer session, one of the Archate asking questions in a stilted and formal manner, addressing either Tad or myself with formal titles.

'Did either of you come here to Amalthea with hostile intent?'

No, from both of us.

'Duly noted. Did you carry arms onto the surface of Amalthea?'

Tad replied yes; I hemmed and hawed, trying to get across that the K-Bar was a tool as much as a weapon, witness the bushes I'd cut and the directional arrows dug in the turf –

'Your abuse of the ecology is duly noted,' replied the interrogator. 'Your Kay-Bar is granted dual status as a weapon and a tool.'

The Doctor caught my eye before my tongue took over with a cutting reply, and he frowned and shook his head. I literally bit my tongue; avoid being smart at the expense of your freedom, Johnny boy.

'Did you, with malice aforethought, seek to inculcate a sense of distress amongst the population?'

Were we deliberately scarey. Typical politicoe, use ten words when one will do!

No, from Tad. No, from me, which caused lights to flash over the lower dais. Caught lying – except I wasn't aware of which population I'd deliberately scared.

Officer Headon put her arm up.

'Captain Walmsley drew his weapon when confronted with an armed Law Officer. He did not use the weapon, voluntarily replaced it and did not make reference to it again.'

'Duly noted,' said the Archate speaker, sounding put out that the inaccuracy had been resolved.

Officer Headon also left out the bit about me firing that rheon pistol, and threatening her partner. That was big of her. Her testimony seemed pretty fair, in fact, bless her.

In our favour, mentioned by another speaker on the dais, was an omission: we hadn't actually killed or injured anyone. We had managed to scare dozens of women, however, during our transit across the Piazza, added a third jobsworth.

So, what was to be done with us? Ought we to be punished for transgressing on Amalthea's legal procedures? Did ignorance excuse us? Would a character reference from other parties help? If punishment were to be meted out, who would apply it? Would the punishment be actual, notional or corporal?

Tad lowered his head and shook it in annoyance. I looked across at him and gave a bitter grin. Clearly our lesbian liberal politicians were as capable of making an absolute pigs-ear of things as were the twentieth century equivalent. More boring normality!

'If I may make a representation?' asked the Doctor, which was less a question than a statement. Him being him, he got his representation. He strode up and down the platform, extolling the virtues of common humanity, the bond that human beings possessed, that Tad and I were young and foolish ("thank you so much," mouthed Tad, not daring to speak out loud), how they ought to deliver justice, not vengeance.

To give the lanky white-haired charmer his due, he got us a conditional acquittal; Officer Headon would escort me, whilst Officer Millington would escort Tad. Our behaviour needed to be exemplary, or punisment would ensue.

'Half a loaf,' I muttered, which, of course, instantly became "HALF A LOAF" booming around the hall. Nobody laughed. Either humour had changed or nobody understood quaint aphorisms any longer.

The next item was the Sontarans. Yes, you would be excused not realising who the Archate meant by "uninvited guests". Whereas Tad and I were treated with the utmost suspicion, the Sontarans were treated almost as a joke. They were mining, apparently, yet there was no terrulian anywhere on Amalthea for them to extract, as the Archate speakers pointed out to sardonic laughter. The last raid they mounted on a garth yielded only a handful of hostages, thanks to the successful warning system established. There was an approving murmur at that, yet not as loud as the earlier laughter.

'Can I ask a question?' I blurted, not fully comprehending what "pacifist" meant when applied to a whole society.

The Archate speakers whispered amongt themselves.

'Any information imparted from or to you, Captain Jonathan Richard Walmsley, will have no legal standing and is for advisement only,' prolixed one of them. 'If you are satisfied with speaking on that basis, you may proceed.'

I could feel the Doctor's eyes boring into my temple, plainly curious but not worried enough to stop me.

'Why don't you try to defend yourselves? Instead of running away from the Sontarans, stand up to them.'

Not being able to see the people above us meant no non-verbal feedback.

'We must not take up arms against the Sontarans,' replied once Archate speaker. From the corner of my eye I saw the Doctor's position subtley change; from being an interested observer, he abruptly became actively involved. As a change it was slight, but most significant. He listened more intently than ever.

'As a pacifist society, weapons are taboo,' carried on another speaker. 'We cannot take up arms against the Sontarans.'

'There are no sources of arms on this planet. We cannot take up arms against the Sontarans,' concluded another.

The instant they finished speaking, the Doctor began.

'You cannot take up arms against the Sontarans,' he repeated, adding a little upward inflection at the end of the sentence to make it a question.

"YOU CANNOT TAKE UP ARMS AGAINST THE SONTARANS" declared his amplified voice

'We cannot take up arms against the Sontarans,' agreed a chorus of voices.

'You must not take up arms against the Sontarans,' carried on the Doctor, placing emphasis on the second word, again with that booming copy.

'We must not take up arms against the Sontarans,' agreed that chorus from the Archate, plus a good few of the Assembly.

'And you will not take up arms against the Sontarans,' concluded the Doctor, to be greeted by a repetition from the Archate when his own voice's amplified echoes died down.

He sat down again, whilst I nearly choked with rage, wondering what the hell he was playing at. Two and a half million people at the mercy of the toadish killers, and he was about to let them all go hang!

Thanks to this blind rage, I missed the boring latter portions of the agenda, and it was a good job our interrogation had finished, since any replies I gave would have been at least fifty per cent Anglo-Saxon invective. Tad, cooler of temper than I, merely looked at our travelling companion with a calculating expression and a steely gaze that would have unmanned a lesser being. The Doctor merely leaned back, looking interested in the jabber session underway, tapping his fingers.

On the other side of the Doctor's chair, Tad suddenly blinked, looking as if he'd been poked with a pin. He began to stare at the Doctor's fingers, then spared me a glance.

'Morse code,' he mouthed silently.

Of course it was. My Morse was very rusty, and what I heard was "R-E-M-I-N S-I-E-N-T". Tad got it in full, then arched his back, rubbed both hands over his ears, and then over his mouth.

Oh - REMAIN SILENT.

Okay, Doctor, whatever strange game you're playing is go for the moment –

Simmering in silence until getting out into the wide open spaces of the Grand Piazza, where the Doctor deemed it safe to talk, was a tribulation for me.

'You are looking red in the face, John. Are you all right?' asked Clara.

Casting a look around, the Doctor decided we could talk. Since both Millington and Headon were along as official witnesses and escorts, I wondered why he'd waited to get out into the open air. People passed by our little group, yet not close enough to overhear us.

'No!' I hissed, seething. 'These colonists are human beings, Doctor, my own species, and they need defending from the toad-men as you very well know!'

'Of course - which is exactly what I intend to do, John,' he replied, mildly. This took the wind out of my sails completely, which was no doubt the intention. I was left with my mouth hanging open, all my stored temper abruptly gone.

'Then why all that agreeing with the Archate about not defending themselves?' asked Tad. 'You encourage the Amaltheans to be victims.'

Shooing us over to a collection of stone chairs arranged around stone tables, the Doctor asked all to sit. The reason for that was obvious in a short while.

'I am not impressed with your analysis of my behaviour, gentlemen! Do you really think I would leave these colonists at the mercy of that Sontaran rabble?'

'It sounded like it,' I grumbled.

'It was your naïve question that sparked my very, very close attention, John. "Why don't you defend yourselves?" Well, that response from the Archate came back far too pat and rehearsed for my liking. When I repeated back those phrases about not taking up weapons and so forth, I was testing the Archate's antiphonal responses.'

Blank looks all round.

'It was sheer luck that I had access to that amplifier system. My repetitions must have sounded very similar to the commands that have been conditioned into the Archate, and to which they responded in thought and word as they have been forced to.'

Oho. Now, there was a theory.

'But – you're saying – that the entire Archate are "progs"!' gasped Headon. Millington merely looked dumbstruck. Having hurled this wildcat amongst the pigeons, the Doctor nodded.

'And some of that Assembly audience, too,' added Tad for good measure.

'What is a "plonker"?' asked Clara. I felt my eyebrows rise. How had she heard my little faux pas, since she was outside whilst I was inside?

'Ah – I was able to hear what was being said, for the most part,' explained Salamander.

'Your theory would explain a few things, Doctor,' said Millington, finally finding her voice.

He nodded.

'I noticed neither of you leapt to defend the Archate after my supposition. Nor did the audience seem quite enamoured of news about the Sontarans, however self-satisfied the Archate are.'

Between the two officers, a sorry tale emerged of how the Amaltheans tried to cope with the Sontaran "incursion" the previous year. A detachment of the full-time police, armed with their shotguns, and hundreds of volunteer part-time police, armed with anything they could carry, had been taken by helicopters to the canton where the Sontarans had landed, and where the rumoured hostages were being held. The plan, such as it was, had been to surprise the Sontarans, overwhelm them, destroy their site and rescue the hostages.

It had been a massacre. The Sontarans killed nearly everyone, cutting them down with beam weapons. Headon and Millington were amongst some of the last to arrive in a malfunctioning helicopter, and got away with the few survivors.

'The Sontarans knew exactly where and when and how many would be attacking,' finished Headon. 'The survivors told us they were waiting, with trenches dug and pits for their weapons.' Only one hostage had been rescued, and even then she had already escaped from the Sontaran encampment and been found wandering dozens of kilometres distant.

'Quite insane after being held prisoner. Being kept in the Mercy House,' added Millington.

'How many Sontarans are there?' I asked, to shrugs. Nobody knew. Possibly a hundred, possibly several thousand. Archate-mandated policy was not to attack them, in order not to have the "hostages" harmed. The Doctor twitched when he heard the word "hostage" used.

'How many hostages have been taken?' he asked, pausing a little before that third word.

Once again, nobody knew, not exactly. Eight thousand – or that was the official figure given. Since total figures of people taken were no longer given out, that number must have increased. Ten thousand, at a guess, maybe even as many as fifteen thousand. No wonder that audience in the Session House didn't appreciate the filleted facts of abductions.

My eyes must have expressed surprise and shock and not a little disgust. Two and a half million people willing to let two thousand Sontarans exploit, degrade and murder them, without raising a finger to stop it!

'A pacifist society, John,' cautioned the Doctor, wagging a finger at me. 'Not a culture you can change overnight, not after generations of avoiding violence. Besides, they don't have any industrial plant capable of making contemporary weapons.'

Both police officers nodded.

'We don't have a high technical base,' added Headon. 'By deliberate intent, Amalthea is primarily an agricultural society. Advanced technology like hovercraft or helicopters we get by trading. With Andromache, mostly.'

Across from me, fidgeting uncomfortably on the warm stone seating, Tad stared at his shoes, wrapped up in his own thoughts.

'Those hostages you mentioned are nothing of the sort. You had suspected that already, I take it?' began the Doctor. He got silent nods from both policewomen.

'Over eight thousand gone and only one returned? Of course there are all sorts of rumours flying about,' added Headon.

The Doctor stroked a cheek with his forefinger.

'There really is no way to put this easily. Your fellow Amaltheans who were abducted are now dead, bar a few hundred of the most recent abductees. The Sontarans will be using them as expendable slave labour, to be literally worked to death.'

With these slaves, there was no need to retain any individuality or rationality. All they would be doing was manual work, not crewing an interstellar starship. No rest, no sleep, no food, no water, merely worked until they dropped dead.

'A combination of slave labour and extermination camp,' declared the Doctor, in a tone that brooked no argument, and that meant he was going to sort this squalid business out. 'Which I absolutely will not tolerate, not at all. Despite your Archate's dismissal of the whole affair.'

Tad paid closer attention after the "extermination camp", and I don't wonder. Most of his mother's elder relatives, being educated, had been sent to various Nazi camps; none returned. Our Tadeusz gave me a look, one that plainly said "I'm in". He didn't have the ferocious temper that I did, instead he brought a cool intellect to the situation and revealed his previous thoughts developed whilst squinting at the table. The Doctor out-IQ'd both of us put together, but we had a perspective he didn't – a military one.

'You were thinking why the Sontarans here on Amalthea behave so appallingly. Perhaps it might be more fruitful to wonder why Sontarans not on Amalthea behave in a different manner.'

That put our mentor on his mettle.

'Quite a fascinating inversion, Kapitan. Do you have any suggestions to go with your logic?'

'I do,' I interrupted. 'Formal military discipline. Esprit de corps. Elan, morale, tradition.'

All correct, too. You can't create and sustain a military force simply by brow-beating a collection of squaddies, be they human or Sontaran. They need more than self-preservation to make them more than a mob of killers with weapons.

'Implying that the Sontarans here are without, which is to say beyond, the sphere of normal Sontaran military forces. Hmm. I think you have something there, Kapitan.'

He steepled his fingers and placed them against his lips. In all probability the Doctor plotted out nearly everything of what followed afterwards in our plans and efforts in the next few seconds, before he spoke again.

'We need a Sontaran prisoner or two. Not only that, I'd really like to speak to that sole escapee from Sontaran captivity. Could it be arranged?' he asked officer Headon.

She called up the Mercy House on her walkie-talkie, and was told "No!" very promptly and unequivocally.

'Oh dear – I think I feel a relapse coming on,' sighed Salamander, passing the back of his hand over his brow in exaggerated style. He fell off his stone seat, contorting and thrashing, frothing at the mouth and gibbering, attracting attention from passers-by.

Mercy House might be staffed by jobsworths, but they were efficient jobsworths, and Salamander was on a stretcher, then in an ambulance, then off to the Mercy House within minutes. His febrile convulsions were interrupted for a split-second, when he ostentatiously winked at the Doctor.

All an act! Not bad. Real method stuff.

I still didn't trust him.

'Next move. John, I would like you and Tad to act as lighting conductors.'

Oh did he.

'Oh do you. That sounds unpleasant and prejudicial to me seeing my next birthday.'

He tutted sharply.

'Not literally! You need to attract the Archate's attention to keep them away from myself and Clara.'

Not un-naturally, our two police escorts were all ears.

'You two officers, if you wish to help end this alien occupation and enslavement, not to mention mass murder, would be well advised to play along.'

'I'll bite,' agreed Headon. 'What do we do?'

Being a lightning-conductor on Amalthea wasn't too bad. Thanks to the Doctor's extensive wardrobe I found civvy clothes that fit me, and Officer Headon took me to sample Hollandian nightlife. Firstly she stopped off at her barracks-like apartment complex, and changed into civilian clothes, retaining a silver band on her left arm. This indicated she was a Law Officer, except that she was off-duty. People could approach her, if it was important. Law Officers, literally, were there to deliver judgement on the law, being a combination of police officer and magistrate in one.

'You can call me Julie,' she informed me, as we caught a self-driving narrow-gauge electric train from outside her apartment. I was, inevitably, the only male on the train, and drew lots of stares. No longer so hostile, now that the uniform was neatly folded on a chair in the TARDIS.

'Julie. Nice name. Very twentieth century.'

'A name is a name. Just because this is the forty-second century doesn't mean we all have names like "Zarquon" or "Blargrilla".'

That made me laugh.

'Oh, so it does have a sense of humour,' she drily commented.

'Of course I do!' I replied, offended, trying not to fall over as the tram wheeled left. 'It goes with the temper, which I get from my mum.'

She seemed surprised at that, her eyebrows disturbing her short haircut.

'Honestly,' I carried on. 'My dad is as big as me, but he's as tough as a soft-boiled egg. My mum is very small and dainty, but if she lost her temper, my dad and I hid.' I indicated how tall my mum was – five two. That was feet, whilst these people of the future used that hideous metric system.

That made her laugh out loud, genuinely amused. The other passengers seemed to think that on off-duty Law Officer guffawing meant I was Okay, and ceased to pay quite as much attention.

'You're not trying to romance me with humour, are you?' she suddenly asked, recalling where and who she was. 'Because I am not going to "try it out" with a man from curiosity. I'm happy in my relationship.'

I felt flattered that my attempt at humour went down so well, and got a touch of the devil in me.

'You sure?' I asked, waggling my hips Elvis-style. 'I won't be around for ever,' then burst into laughter at her scandalised face. 'Only joking! Really, your face - '

That was me being the lightning-conductor, you see. Scandalised female faces on the tram turned away in horror. Some turned-to in horror and nosiness.

'You're happy in your relationship, and I'm happy in mine. Marie would intuitively know if I'd got it on with another woman in her absence.'

'Your wife?'

'Not yet. No, we're not engaged yet. There is the matter of her divorce. Left her a bit jaundiced about men.'

Not without reason. Her ex-husband, Henri, slept his way across Northern Europe whilst they were married. Besides slapping her about, threatening her with knives, scalding her on one occasion, and keeping her prisoner in the house for weeks at a time.

'How horrible! What a vile man!'

I shrugged.

'Our paths will cross one day. When they do, he will need the services of Europe's best dentists.'

The little self-driving train, which I termed a tram, drew up alongside a raised platform that formed one side of a street composed of bright, neon-fronted buildings. Looking closer I realised that the windows of these buildings were actually displays – not neon, more subtle and with constant gradual changes.

'We get off here,' announced Julie. She indicated the multitude of slowly-evolving displays. 'These are all hostelries, the kind of place Doctor Smith wanted you to be seen in.' We headed for the nearest, one with a giant pastel pink-and-white swirl on the window display.

'The Velvet Apple,' she announced, pointing to a stylised logo over the door. 'Please don't get into trouble in here. My career is on the line if you do.'

Perhaps my expression of angelic innocence didn't convince her.

The hostelry resembled a giant geodesic dome inside, with concealed purple lighting around the roof and at floor level. Quiet music came tinkling tunelessly out of concealed speakers, and a ten-level water feature in the corner splashed gently. The few women present were sat at plastic tables you could have bought from Marks and Spencers, and looked me over with interest.

'Tasteful,' was my comment. 'Nice and quiet.'

Julie ordered drinks from our table via the built-in speaker. A good way to avoid queuing at the bar.

'It is quiet. Most of our hostelries are. They can get rowdy on Market Day, once a quarter.'

A waitress in pink pant-suit delivered the glasses of Perry Crush, hung around staring at me for a second and left.

"Perry Crush" tasted like brandy-flavoured cider.

'Quite refreshing. See how I lift my little finger whilst drinking it?'

'Oh, pack it in! Don't swill it all down at once.'

Having a look around the floor space, most of the drinkers avoided my gaze, apart from two big, stocky women sat together, who stared back in a fashion I recognised from pubs and clubs – "Yeah what think you're tough do you?" While most women can talk the hind legs off a donkey, this pair looked able to wrench the animal's legs off with brute strength alone.

Oh deary me. Causing a ruck here was probably not what the Doctor wanted. One of the staring women went over to the bar, spoke to the bar staff and sat back down again, still staring.

'Julie,' I began, speaking sweetly. 'In the interests of not starting a fight, you might want to pay attention to those female dockers sitting ten tables over, whose body language expresses a violent dislike of all men named John.'

She turned and gave the women a stern glance, then an expression of amused malice stole over her face and she went over to speak softly to them, pointing back at me, then making karate moves and firing an invisible pistol. The female dockers gradually looked less aggressive and more alarmed. When Julie left them they finished their drinks and walked out, casting glances at me when they passed.

'Ooh, yes, look at those eyes,' whispered one. 'Plain evil!'

'Born killer,' agreed her friend.

Julie sat and sniggered. Further to the Doctor's wish about lightning conductors, she told the two women that I was an off-world assassin, specially contracted by the Archate to terminate any threat to them, able to kill with a single blow, expert with firearms, cold-blooded as a lizard.

'That's egging the pudding,' I warned her. 'My temper is my worst problem, I am a miserable shot with a pistol and, believe me, killing a person with your bare hands is far from easy.'

She eyed me cautiously at that.

'I can see you might well think our lifestyle is quiet. You'd probably enjoy being on Philandros. Half our population but ten times the police. They're always fighting, the dreadful macho showoffs.'

'The Seraphim crew were all well-behaved.'

'They have learnt good manners through contact with other cultures.' Strong implication here being that the best lessons were taught by Amaltheans.

After a few more rounds of Perry Crush, other women began to sit nearby, waving or nodding to Julie, and once more looking curiously at big John, the Fat Human. Since I didn't turn into a colossal raving perv, or start fighting and swearing, they seemed to lose their fear and got chatting. I learnt a lot about Amalthea from them.

How did the planet's population thrive and survive without men? Partly due to the arrival of lesbians from other planets in Magellania, and also thanks to the wonders of imported sperm from the commercial donor companies. Male offspring were not common, thanks to genetic tinkering. Those that were born would be sent off to one of the foster institutions on Andromache or Rainbow, where they would gain status as a citizen of those worlds. (Much to my relief – I had visions of male babies being left outside to die of exposure). Females growing up on Amalthea, at Elective were able to choose where to live. Most stayed on Amalthea.

Principal industry – agriculture. Thanks to the long days and a summer season that lasted for nine months of the nominal twelve, growing food crops was easy, without needing to bother about fertilisers. There were no large native life-forms to attack crops, and none of the insects liked imported terrestrial plants like potato or wheat. End results were huge harvests accrued with minimal effort and no artificial intervention. Sounded like hippy heaven to me.

Hollandia constituted a planetary capital, for want of a better word. Those sad, battered plastic bubbles to be seen off the Grand Piazza dated back to the original refugee settlers ten generations ago. Nowadays, with mining plant and cutting mills, buildings could be made of the plentiful local stone. The planet's continents were divided into vast cantons, which had scatterings of small, self-sufficient communities called "garths". Each of these would have farms, a school, a recreation centre, a Mercy House, helicopter pads, stables, pens, sties, and so on.

Not everything here was idyllic. Different factions wanted either to slow down progress, not wanting to become an approximation of Earth, or to speed it up, the better to supplant Earth culture. And, tellingly, people were becoming wary of the Archate. Since that body only got elected tri-annually, and wasn't up for election for another year, Amalthea was stuck with the incumbent version

By the time Julie and I left, feeling rather mellow thanks to much Perry Crush, the crowd of women had been discussing and arguing about everything under their suns. Julie thanked me for being well-behaved before she left the tram, trusting me to return back to our quarters.

'I had to escort an Andromachean diplomat once. Yuck! Wanted to cruise strip clubs and pick-up bars. As if! Anyway, goodnight.'

Rather than being placed in the official diplomatic compound, we new arrivals had a dusty yet hale twin-level plastic pre-fab of our own, bedrooms on the upper level, lounge and kitchen on the lower. No going forth without escort for Tad and I was the rule. Everyone else was free to wander where they felt like.

Tad came in much later than I did, heading straight upstairs for his bedroom, while the Doctor and Clara didn't show up before I fell asleep on a well-padded plastic chair in the lounge area.

'Good time had by all, eh?' asked the Doctor, as I snapped awake. Clara, still clad in her green-skinned fascia, yawned.

'I am going to sleep in a minute,' she announced. 'Good night.'

'Hang on, Doctor, I did learn a couple of interesting things tonight. Philandros – their police force is ten times larger than that on Amalthea, and armed, too. Also, people are not happy with the Archate and how it's behaving. Not to the point of suggesting they impeach, yet.'

I got a thank you from the Doctor.

'Er – and Julie has also been playing me up as a cold-blooded killer brought in by the Archate. No doubt that gossip will be all over Hollandia by tomorrow.'

Clara stopped on the bottom step of the stairs to her bedroom.

' "Julie"? Who is Julie?'

'Officer Headon, without her official head on,' I joked, which seemed very funny, filtered via several pints of Perry Crush. Clara tossed her hair and went up to bed, followed by an amused look from the Doctor.

'Her language skills seem to have come on by leaps and bounds,' I commented.

'So has her jealousy gland,' drily remarked the Doctor. 'Just be careful, hmm?'

He left me flabbergasted on the chair. "Jealousy gland" – surely he was joking! Careful of whom? And why! Clara was an alien and I didn't remotely fancy Officer Headon. Really -

Luckily that Perry Crush helped me to fall asleep, instead of worrying, even if it was in the chair not in bed.

Cherish that sense of whimsy, I ought to have told me, because the farcial would be replaced by the tragic in short order.

In the small hours of the morning, which was actually still a dusky twilight, full night only happening rarely on this planet, I got woken abruptly by the phone. Not a phone, really, more a house radio system. Groping my way there and colliding noisily with several articles en route, I picked up the handset and pressed what seemed to be the "on" button.

'Hello. Salamander here,' said a rolling voice, enunciating very clearly. 'I need the Doctor, quickly.'

Within seconds the Doctor was speaking urgently to Salamander, looking increasingly serious in the light given by a desk lamp. When the caller ended his emergency message, the Time Lord turned to look at me with a frown, cradling one elbow and stroking his chin.

'We need to move quickly. Go and wake Clara and Tad, please.'

In two minutes flat a bleary-eyed Tad and bubbly Clara were in the lounge, looking at the Doctor for direction.

'John, you must stay here. You stand out too much. We'll be back in half an hour, and by then you'll need to have created a hiding-place in here for a single person.'

A what for a who?

The thirty minutes became forty. When the front door opened, the Doctor and Tad came in with a woman walking between them, followed by Clara, who looked extremely pleased with herself. Feeling conspiratorial, I leaned out of the door to check on passers-by. No-one near.

'You just sit down here,' asked the Doctor of the stranger. 'John – can you make Isobella a hot drink of some description?'

The kitchen here lacked food, but it did have a kettle and cups and glass jars full of loose leaves. Making informed guesses, I made a cup of proper sergeant-major's tea, the kind where the spoon can stand upright. Isobella, haggard and gaunt, drank it down in one great long swallow and asked for more.

Tad filled me in on the details, which he'd been given on the run. Salamander, his convincing pretence at mental breakdown putting him in the Mercy House, had been careful to get close to Isobella. The next ward room, in fact, with a connecting door, which enabled him to get in and chat to her when the staff were busy elsewhere. In the small hours his preternaturally acute hearing brought him awake at the sound of a person creeping into Isobella's room. When he boldly opened the connecting door, switched on the light and called loudly "What are you doing!", he found a member of the Archate standing by Isobella's bed, a spray-hypodermic in hand. This interloper then injected themselves, and promptly died on the spot. Salamander, realising how problematic this was, called us. The Doctor and friends arrived and Clara imitated another member of the Archate, stalking into the Mercy House to demand the removal of Isobella for safety reasons – the body of a dead fellow-Archate member lending urgency of unprecedented degree. Tad had helped to carry Isobella, also aided by Clara, who had altered fascia again to resemble Officer Headon the instant medical staff turned their backs. Salamander brought the Doctor up to speed on what Isobella told him, then retired to his own bed again.

What you might call a pretty pickle!

'I'm not mad,' said Isobella, casting a look between us all.

'I know,' replied the Doctor. 'But the Archate behaved as if you were. You can tell us all about the Sontarans, and I guarantee we'll believe you.'

Her tale was grim in the extreme. The "Toadies" had appeared in the middle of the night in early summer, amid horrendous explosions and flaring lights. A whole semi-circle of small, squat semi-circular flying craft landed around the outer edge of Sittangville garth, to disgorge Sontarans. Any woman who attempted to resist was killed on the spot, and the garth's entire population of children, shepherded into their small school for safety, were killed when one of the Sontaran craft blew it up. Isobella's voice cracked at that point; one of her daughters, Imogen, aged six, died in the school.

My mouth went dry at this, and Tad chewed his lip, visibly agitated. For a man with the habitual expression of the Sphinx, he must have been enduring torment. Probably re-living the torments of his never-met aunts and uncles in various Nazi death camps.

The surviving members of the garth, almost five hundred, were processed by their captors once aboard the big multi-copter; having a bright red light shone into their eyes, according to Isobella. Physiological conditioning, according to the Doctor. Isobella, rendered almost catatonic by the loss of her younger daughter, merely went along with everyone else, following them. She hadn't realised that the conditioning didn't work on her until the multi-copter started to empty on landing. Her friends from Sittangville were drooling, barely-conscious zombies, ordered to carry out manual labouring tasks in a large open-cast mine without stopping for anything, unless work stopped due to a problem. Isobella found opportunities to avoid work, find shelter, get food, drink water and survive. Unlike the other women from Sittangville, who died off gradually. Including her older daughter, whose body Isobella came across in a midden of corpses about to be set alight. Risking discovery and death, she'd dragged the body free and buried it in a rock cleft.

Nor was that all. When the handful of Sontaran guards at the mine got bored, they would order two slaves to fight to the death, often armed with crowbars or picks. The winner would be shot dead. Or a slave would be ordered to hold a lit stick of fused explosive and run, to see how far they got before being blown apart. One or two of the guards, rotated periodically, were known for testing their strength on the slaves by practicing lethal punches or blows. There weren't many guards present, about a dozen. No need for more, not with their pathetic work-force.

The poor woman broke down at this point and burst into tears, both for her dead daughters, and for failing to save them. Clara showed unexpected compassion, sitting next to Isobella and hugging her.

'Madam,' said Tad, pale-faced and looking ill. 'If we can stop this monstrous behaviour, we will. Or die trying.'

'A whole lot of Sontarans are going to die first,' I declared, flatly, cracking my knuckles. I tried to carry on but my throat didn't feel like working properly.

'Monstrous is correct,' mused the Doctor. 'Such deliberate sadism smacks of mental illness. I quite agree with Tadeusz, Isobella. If anything can be done to stop this, we will do it.'

To allow my throat a respite, I showed the Doctor my hiding-place. Two chest-of-drawers had been placed next to each other in the largest bedroom. They had a set of five drawers about two feet high, three feet deep and three feet wide, obviously not big enough for a person to hide in, even if curled up. Except I'd smashed through the end of each bottom drawer against the inner side of each cabinet, also breaking the cabinet wall. In effect this created a single giant drawer six feet wide, big enough for a woman to hide in, especially if covered in bed linen.

'Thank you, John,' said the Doctor, slapping me on the back. 'Don't say anything, old chap. I think I know how you feel. Let's get back downstairs.'

Blowing up a school full of children! Back downstairs again, I took Tad aside when the Doctor and Clara escorted Isobella upstairs, and we came to an agreement.

Clara remained in the master bedroom, to make sure Isobella didn't feel alone any more. The Doctor threw himself into a well-padded chair when he returned, crossing one long leg over the other, making a steeple of his hands and looking into the middle distance.

'Obviously , the Sontarans felt that Isobella had become a potential threat,' he said to the room at large. 'Why else try to eliminate her. Now, despite their proxy attempt at murder, we know more about them than they would like.'

He looked with a measured caution at both Tad and I.

'Gentlemen. I can guess what you both intend to do when you meet Sontarans. Well, I want you to refrain from vengeful and bloody slaughter, because I want a prisoner to interrogate.'

Tad cocked his head to one side.

'Oh? From where?'

That meant obtaining a map from the TARDIS. The Doctor then indicated Sittangville, a farming village off in the middle of nowhere. He worked out that we had an area of three hundred and twenty square miles to cover, extrapolating from the time it took the Sontarans to "process" Isobella's townsfolk aboard the multi-copter, how many townsfolk there were, how fast a multi-copter flew and the terrain flown over.

'And how?' I asked. 'The Archate aren't going to let us swan about in Amalthean transport.'

Simple, according to our mentor. We'd find a helicopter. Then steal it.