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‘Something like that.’

‘Roz has been watching the news,’ said Chris. ‘You won’t believe the job offer she’s got.’

‘Is she still in the newsroom?’

‘I think so.’ Chris put the magazine over his face. ‘I am not moving for at least twenty-four hours.’

The Doctor found his way to the newsroom. Roz was still there, watching a vast bank of screens. The Doctor counted thirty-eight of them, all set to news channels, from TopTenPercent to the Jovian Intranets.

‘Hey,’ said Roz. ‘Pull up a chair.’ She was sitting with her feet on a cleaning robot, which was humming to itself with annoyance, flakes of ash just out of its reach. She was smoking, the packet of Yemayan Strikes propped up on a keyboard.

The Doctor sat down. Half the screens were showing footage of the coronation ceremony. One or two were showing the previous coronation, almost a century and a half ago. Helen Kristiansen, grey-haired and dignified and relatively sane, making the only career move up from President of Earth.

‘How is Leabie taking it?’ the Doctor said.

Roz glanced at him. ‘She’s in a marvellous position. Close business ties and a real personal friendship with the Emperor. It’s a good time for the House Forrester.’

Walid’s ceremony had been on a considerably smaller scale than his predecessor’s. There hadn’t even been any executions.

Just endless processions through the gardens of Callisto, special G roadways laid down to prevent the participants from floating 248

away. The plants stretched high and delicate in the tiny gravity, trees like clouds and roses like needles.

Every noble had been there. The Doctor had lost count of the counts. There had been marquesses and viscounts. There had been barons who reigned over just ten storeys of an overcity block and dukes who owned planets. There had been alien dignitaries, invited as guests this time, not the beaten and frightened leaders and warriors dragged along behind Helen I.

Walid had even made a point of speaking to them personally.

Even the Lord High Sheriff of Earth had been there, managing to look simultaneously sorry for himself and relieved that his head hadn’t been lopped off. They could do Armand for conspiracy, supposed the Doctor, but the truth was he’d got nothing out of the Brotherhood but promises. It might be better for the Empire’s stability to pretend it hadn’t happened.

What were they up to? Why had they withdrawn their allegiance? They were patient. Appallingly patient, patient the way a tiny crack in a glacier is patient. They would let a plan brew for a century.

‘Where are they?’ he said aloud. ‘What are they doing now?’

‘The Brotherhood?’ said Roz. ‘They saw which way the wind was blowing, dropped Armand like a hot rock, and went back underground waiting for their next big chance.’

‘Or is that just what we’re supposed to think?’ wondered the Doctor.

Roz looked at him. ‘You never can tell with these devious bastards.’

The Doctor turned his attention back to the screens. One showed Leabie in a cheerful interview. There were rumours of concubinage, which she laughed off. ‘We’re just good friends.

I’m delighted to be in a position to support the House Walid. The coronation is the best possible news for the Empire.’

‘She’s right, you know,’ said Roz, turning the volume down again. ‘Peace has broken out everywhere. Everyone’s certain again.’

‘That, and a massive ISN redeployment to a dozen colony worlds. Walid making a show of strength. No more monsters?

N-forms or altered humans?’

249

‘Nope. The Empire’s calm. Even the resistance are quiet: they’re probably trying to decide what they think of the new boy.’

‘So the crisis is past. Everything’s settling into place.’

‘Looks like it.’

‘And what about you?’

Roz lit up another cigarette. The Doctor waved the smoke away. ‘The Emperor’s personal secretary has offered me the position of Pontifex Saecularis. Head of the Order of Adjudicators.’

The Doctor looked at her, one of his slow, considering looks.

‘Are you going to accept?’ he said at last.

‘I already have,’ she said.

He reached out and shook her hand, solemnly.