The phantom Hardin in the holograph turned and spoke directly to his audience. 'In this experiment,' he explained, 'I propose to demonstrate the temporal anomaly inherent in the tachyon.'
Brock, however, was not impressed. 'Is that what Morix sent you all the way to Terra for?' he demanded. 'What a waste of money!
Unperturbed, the holographic Hardin continued his lecture, while his assistant checked the apparatus: 'As you all know, the tachyon travels faster than the speed of light, thus creating in its path, in whichever direction it may travel, a temporal anomaly. In other words, the structure of Time itself changes as a tachyon passes.
'The theory behind my work, therefore, is simple. By controlling the emission and direction of tachyon particles within a confined space-for example, within the area bounded by these tachyon projectors—' he indicated the projectors '—we should be able to affect the flow of Time itself within that area.'
The holographic Hardin nodded to his assistant who switched on the generators. Soon the projector tubes began to glow with a strange flickering light.
'I can't see anything happening,' grumbled Brock, 'If you ask me, the whole thing's a waste of time. When's it supposed to start?'
'Watch,' said Mena.
Unimpressed, Brock watched. Then suddenly he leaned forward unable to believe his eyes.
The old lady was changing. Her face began to fill out; her white hair gradually darkened; wrinkles vanished; the colour of youth returned to her skin. The woman was growing younger before their eyes. In a matter of minutes she had shed twenty years.
After a while they saw that an attractive young Terran woman now sat where once the old lady had been. They wore the same clothes. They were unmistakably the same person. Yet one was fifty years younger than the other.
'Rejuvenation,' said Mena. 'Complete cellular rejuvenation. That's what Hardin has achieved. He's perfected a technique capable of reversing the flow of Time within a relatively small space-a space large enough to encompass one human being. The result is that person grows younger. Put it another way-Hardin seems to have discovered the Fountain of Youth.'
'I don't believe it,' declared Brock.
'You saw.'
'I don't believe what I saw.' Brock was obviously shaken by what he had just witnessed. 'I mean, if it's true—'
'Can you doubt it?'
—then it's incredible,' he added weakly.
Mena smiled. 'Think of it,' she said. 'It could revolutionize the future of Argolis. Can't you see the publicity? -come to Argolis-and regain your lost youth. Grow young again on Argolts/'
'There has to be a snag,' objected Brock.
'Why?'
'Because there always is.'
As if to make a liar out of him, the holography recording kept repeating the two images-the old woman and the young one: before and after. Those in the boardroom watched again and again as fifty years fell from her shoulders.
It was just at that moment that the three Argolin Security guides ushered the Doctor and Romana into the boardroom.
'Who are they?' asked Mena. I
'The scientist Hardin and his assistant, Madam Chairman,' said the senior guide. 'You told us to look out for them, and Pangol was sure—'
'That isn't Hardin,' cried Mena. 'That man's an impostor!'
'Not exactly,' objected the Doctor, anxious to keep the record straight. 'That is to say, it is true that I am not this Hardin chap. Whoever he may be. On the other hand, I never claimed to be him. Did I?'
The Argolin regarded him stonily. They did not reply.
'No,' said the Doctor. 'I didn't.'
'We can conclude therefore that a very natural mistake has been made which,' he added genially, I am prepared to overlook.'
'He was taking notes at Pangol's lecture on the generator,' insisted the senior Argolin Security guide. 'Everyone was sure he was Mr Hardin.'
'And now he's seen these experiments,' said Brock.
'Experiments?' queried Romana, trying to brazen it out. 'What experiments? We haven't seen any experiments. Have we, Doctor?'
But the hologram continued to cut from the old lady to the young one, from before to after. '
No one spoke.
One of the video screens on the wall of the boardroom flashed into life. Pangol could be seen in the mortuary. Behind him was an Argolin pathologist who was inspecting the mortal remains of Mr Loman.
'There's been sabotage at the generator,' announced Pangol. 'One of the visitors has been killed. Murdered. Someone reversed the image function in the generator.'
'That's all we need,' groaned Brock. 'A murder in the Leisure Hive. You just wait and see the effect it has on the bookings.'
Mena took charge. She ordered Pangol to have the body prepared for immediate repatriation to Mr Loman's home planet. Which in this case was Earth.
'And tell our mortician,' she went on, 'that I want his best cosmetic job. The dead visitor must return looking as if he died peacefully in his sleep.'
While Mena was thus engaged, the Doctor and Romana began to edge towards the door. By the time she was ready to continue her questioning of them, they had slipped away. 'Go after them!' she commanded. 'I want them brought back here.'
In the corridor the Doctor and Romana met a Security guide.
'Can I help you?' he asked.
'No, thank you,' replied the Doctor. 'We're just leaving. But you had better be on the look-out for two unidentified aliens. Stand by for a description from your leader.'
Like a good Argolin, the Security guide came to attention, alert for any instructions which might come over his communicator. Right on cue Mena's voice could be heard saying: 'Attention. Attention. Attention. All Security guides to be on the look-out for two visitors. Description - one tall curly-haired humanoid (male) in the company of one smaller blonde humanoid (female).'
The Doctor and Romana took to their heels before the Argolin could match the description to them.
That experiment was faked,' gasped Romana when they paused for breath by one of the pillars in the Great Recreation Hall.
'I know,' wheezed the Doctor, leaning against the crystal statue of Lismar the Champion. The ancient Argolin hero had been caught by the sculptor in an agressive pose, his sword at the ready. 'Two discontinuous holographs had been edited together. I noticed very faint interference patterns.'
'I noticed the necklace.'
'What necklace?'
'The one she wore. Look,' explained Romana, 'both the old woman and the young one wore the same clothes. But they forgot to match their jewellery. Different necklaces.'
The Doctor thought about it. 'Odd when you think about it,' he said at last. 'On the one hand you have something going very wrong inside their tachyon generator. At the same time someone on Earth has been faking experiments in tachyonics. Are the two events connected? If so, how and why?'
Romana could see the danger signals. The Doctor was beginning to become interested in Argolis and its problems. 'Let's get back to the TARDIS before we land in real trouble,' she declared, painfully aware that she had said that frequently in the past - all to no avail.
Nothing daunted, she seized the ends of the Doctor's scarf and proceeded to drag him in the direction of the police box. Unfortunately it was not until she got to the door of the TARDIS that she realized she was towing in her wake, not the Doctor as she had thought, but the crystal statue of Lismar the Champion. The Doctor's scarf was wound round the Champion's neck. Meanwhile the Doctor himself was over the other side of the Great Recreation Hall, examining the generator.
'Doctor!' cried Romana. 'Doctor! Come on!'
But she was too late. The Doctor was already opening the door of the generator.
'Won't be a jiff!' he called. 'Back in a second!'
And with a cheery wave he popped inside the generator and closed the door behind him.
Romana ran over and tried to force open the door. But it wouldn't budge; the Doctor must have tripped the catch from the inside. Romana pounded desperately on the door.
'Come out!' she yelled. 'Come out of there! We're in enough trouble as it is.'
But the door was soundproof.
Inside the generator the Doctor could hear nothing, except for the gentle humming of the generator itself. The Doctor was standing inside a black dodecahedron.
The interior of the image chamber was lit by a subdued light which seemed to emanate from the black glass panels lining the walls. Curious, the Doctor inspected the panels. They fitted neatly into each other, revealing no sign of join or crack. With the aid of his sonic screwdriver, he managed to prise off one of the panels. It came away easily once the magnetic seal had been broken. Behind it lay no labyrinth of wires and tubes and micro-circuits. Instead there was a kind of infinitude. An emptiness. A nothingness, cold as Space itself, in which drifted slow wraiths of what looked like smoke which crackled periodically with tachyon emissions.
'Fascinating,' said the Doctor.
While Romana was busy trying to force the door of the generator, the diagnostic panel by the control console suddenly flickered into life. On it appeared the words: SENTIENT LIFE FORM INSIDE THE GENERATOR. FAIL SAFE MECHANISM IN OPERATION.
Finding the door immovable, Romana called to a group of passing holidaymakers for help. They came running over at once and shoved and pushed at her command. But even their united strength could not move the door. It was locked fast.
Meanwhile something with green, scaly, clawlike hands took advantage of the uproar to issue fresh instructions to the computer. The instructions, which appeared on the diagnostic panel of the console, consisted of only five words —but they spelt death to any occupant of the image chamber: OVER-RIDE FAIL SAFE MECHANISM.
The faint humming of the generator changed key. A different note could now be heard. The machine was running. Its operations were random and lethal.
Someone in the crowd screamed and pointed at the bubble screen.
Romana looked up. In the bubble she saw the Doctor, his face contorted with agony. He was gradually being torn apart.
As Pangol and Brock entered the Great Recreation Hall, the latter pointed: 'There he is!'
Pangol stared in horror at the figure of the Doctor trapped in the bubble screen. Both arms had been torn from their sockets and a leg was floating beside him.
'Help me get him out!' screamed Romana.
Pangol ran across to the control console and pressed the door release button, while Brock lent his considerable weight to forcing the door. But nothing happened. The door remained jammed.
'Switch off the power,' suggested Romana.
'I can't,' replied Pangol.
'Why not?'
'I don't know. The computer must be malfunctioning,'
But there must be something we can do.'
'You could try shorting the servo-lock mechanism,' said a familiar voice. 'I did. It worked in my case.'
Romana and Pangol turned round to find the Doctor standing behind them.
'How did you get out?' they demanded.
But the Doctor was admiring himself in the bubble screen above the generator. There he could be seen to be in no fewer than six separate pieces. 'Handsome chap,' he remarked smugly.
lf you're out here,' demanded Romana, 'who's that up there?'
'One of those famous tachyon images. It'll fade soon. Look.'
They saw the figure of the dismembered Doctor gradually begin to fade.
'How did you get out?' asked Pangol.
'Through a hole in the back.'
'But there isn't one.'
'There is now,' replied the Doctor.
When Hardin arrived on Argolis with his assistant, Stimson, he was surprised to find they were not expected. Not that he had hoped to be met by a welcoming committee, but some acknowledgement of his existence would have done wonders for his confidence. Instead they stepped off the shuttle to find that no one even knew their names. Obviously Mena had failed to warn any of the staff. Why?
Hardin, who was a compulsive worrier, began to worry. He left Stimson to enjoy the colours of Argolis in the First Observation Hall, while he made his way to the boardroom.
There he found Mena alone, sitting in the Heresiarch's chair, and watching the antics in progress around the tachyon generator. The bank of video screens facing her showed the scene from several different angles.
My dear,' he said, pleased to see her again.
Mena corrected him gently. 'Madam Chairman.'
'Madam Chairman?'
'Morix, my consort, is dead. I am now the ruler of Argolis.'
Hardin nodded. He had heard the news from the telecast aboard the hyperspace liner. 'Does it make any difference to our - relationship?' he asked.
'I am no longer a free agent,' explained Mena. 'I am now responsible for this planet. The past is past.'
'For the time being at any rate,' she added. 'I understand,' said Hardin. 'I shall not embarrass!, you.'
Abruptly Mena changed the subject. Anything to distance herself from those few mad days she had spent on Terra with this man. She pointed to the video screen, where two Security guides could be seen dragging the indignant Doctor away from a strange blue box. 'Do you know this man?' she asked. Hardin shook his head.
'He seems to be some kind of scientist. A Doctor no less. He claims to know something about tachyonics.' She looked directly at Hardin. 'He mentioned temporal instability,' she went on. 'How much does he know?'
That, thought Hardin, was precisely the question.
'Anyway it would do no harm to keep him out of circulation for a while,' Mena said. 'At least until we're ready.'
'Ready for what?'
'For a full scale experiment.' She smiled at him. 'You told me yourself on Terra that all the work had been done: you had solved all the problems.'
'Yes,' replied Hardin uneasily. 'Most of the problems.'
Much to his relief their , conversation was interrupted by the Security guides, who entered with the Doctor and Romana. Brock brought up the rear. Mena lost no time in getting down to business. 'You are the Doctor?' she enquired. The Doctor acknowledged the fact. 'Where do you come from?'