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Heavy rain splattered on the roof and windows. According to the general domestic weather bulletin issued by God, the rain would continue in the iSanti Jeni area for twenty-four hours or until someone gave it a good reason to turn off. The villa took the opportunity to change the water in the roof pool.

Butterflies had nothing to do with it.

'It has to rain sometimes,' said the Doctor, 'or all the vegetation would die.'

Chris said nothing and went back to trying to untangle his line from the bait box. The sea, the colour of old steel, washed lethargically at the base of the iSanti Jeni breakwater, a darkened reflection of the clouds above. The earlier downpours had given over to an irritating drizzle but the clouds looked heavy with the promise of more to come. The Doctor sat in an experienced slouch on a canvas camp stool, his fishing rod held loosely between his hands. The nylon line was almost invisible against the grey sea; the bright red float bobbing on the surface was the only splash of real colour in sight.

Water dripped from the edges of the big black umbrella and dribbled down Chris's back. He considered asking the Doctor whether they couldn't come back and do this another day but he had a sneaking suspicion that the Doctor would just tell him that being damp and miserable was all part of the fishing experience. He sighed, opened the bait box and selected a lure from the small trays that unfolded from the bottom. The lure was constructed from a couple of beads and two bedraggled feathers, one green, the other bright blue. A fish, thought Chris, would have to be pretty stupid to think of it as food. He managed to prick his finger on the sharp end of the hook while attaching it.

'Some anglers prefer to use live bait,' said the Doctor. 'Worms and maggots. Others use hormonal lures that are keyed to a particular species of fish. Personally I think they're missing the point.'

Somewhere, thought Chris, probably very near by, the sun is shining.

'On Scorbiski Major the fish go angling for the people,' said the Doctor. 'They throw floating lines on to the shore and bait them with mooncalves. That's why it's very important to carry a vibroknife on Scorbiski Major. Are you ready to try again?'

Chris held up his rod for inspection. The Doctor nodded his approval. 'That's an interesting choice of lure,' he said. 'You might just catch something worthwhile with that.'

Chris stood up and let the Doctor talk him through the cast. This time the line flew straight and true and not, as it had on previous attempts, straight into a bollard, a mooring hook or a low-flying seabird. Chris felt a little thrill of triumph when he saw the float bobbing just where it was meant to. Perhaps there was something to this fishing business after all. He sat back down out of the rain and waited for something to happen.

'So what else did you find out?' asked the Doctor after a soggy minute or two.

'The spaceport is a bit more lively than this place,' said Chris. 'Plenty of ships' crews and people who are . . . um, honorary people, rather than people people. Roz felt that our best tactical option would be to approach members of the S-Lioness's crew and see if they could help us clarify some points of ambiguity in the ship's statement.'

'Roz said that?'

'Not exactly like that, she was more . . . more . . .'

'Colourful in the use of demotic jargon?' suggested the Doctor.

'I think S-Lioness put her in a bad mood,' said Chris. 'Worse mood,' he added after a moment.

'Nobody we talked to was very clear about the incident vi!Cari was involved in but I'm certain a crew member died and that S-Lioness held vi!Cari responsible.'

'So we have a possible motive,' said the Doctor. 'Did you find out who the crew member was?'

'I was just getting around to that when Roz started hitting people.'

'Ah,' said the Doctor.

'I know she's done it before but usually she has to be provoked a little bit first,' said Chris.

'You're worried,' said the Doctor. A statement not a