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surrender.
    As though making up for the thousands of years the eggs had lain unnourished in the ground, the gastropods had embarked on a feast so gargantuan that it all but destroyed most of the planet's vegetation. What had been a beautiful, living, green paradise was reduced to a scorched lifeless rock. It was now a matter of time before everyone, including the gastropods, died of starvation!
    Azmael turned away from the computer lights - they no longer pleased him. Neither did the fact that he was the slave of Mestor.
     
    The expediency of bowing to his will was one thing, but the thought of spending the rest of his days satisfying the needs of a psychotic wind-bag was more than he could bear.
    Azmael's thoughts were interrupted by the scuff of a boot against the metal deck of the ship. It was Noma. The twins have been secured,' he said.
    The Time Lord nodded, then watched as the Jacondan made his way to the ship's galley. Azmael had never trusted Noma, not even before the Sectoms had arrived. He was too sly and often wore a smile that verged on a leer. Now that he was a captain in Mestor's special squad, he couldn't be trusted at all.
    On the other hand, Drak, his lieutenant, was quite different. On a security monitor Azmael could see him tucking the twins into their bunks. The domesticity of the scene was almost incongruous aboard a warship, especially as Drak was taking such an obvious fatherly pleasure from his task.
    Azmael flicked a switch and the screen went blank. He was too tough and too old to be unduly affected by sentiment, but the feelings he had experienced on Gallifrey, just prior to 'executing'
    the High Council, were beginning to stir again.
    Mestor must die, he thought. Whatever the cost!
    What's more, Azmael knew he would have to kill him soon.
    As soon as Drak had left the room, Romulus and Remus climbed out of bed. The drug they had been given to restore parts of their memory had worked rapidly. They were still confused and a little disorientated, but one thing was clear - they were prisoners aboard a space ship and they weren't at all pleased about it.
    The twins speculated as to how soon their absence from Earth would be noticed and what their drunken father and academically spaced-out mother would do about it.
    Romulus cursed the fecklessness of his parents, while Remus was a little more practical. Quickly, his nimble fingers undipped a wall panel to reveal a mass of wires and printed circuits. Desperately trying to remember the intergalactic colour code, he started to disconnect several of the cables from a junction box.
    'What are you doing?' asked Romulus.
    'Trying to rig some sort of distress call.'
    Romulus scoffed, highly suspicious as to whether anyone would hear, even if his brother proved successful.
    Undeterred, though, Remus worked on.
    It had taken the Intergalactic Task Force thirty seconds to scramble a squadron of star fighters. It had taken them even less time to locate Azmael's freighter. Whether through tiredness, or a subconscious desire to be followed, Azmael had inadvertently switched off the deflector shield and his ship had become visible to the tracking stations on Earth.
    At the head of the 'V formation of star fighters was Lieutenant Hugo Lang. He was a tall, slim, good-looking man in his mid-twenties. He had graduated top of his year from Star Fighter pilot school and it was believed he was destined for great things. In fact, Hugo was every inch a hero in the making, and all it now required was combat experience to confirm it, which his present mission would provide. Although his assignment was fairly routine, and therefore quite safe, the kidnapping of the Sylvest twins would generate a lot of publicity. All Hugo had to do was bring them safely back to be declared a hero. At least, that is what those who were stage-managing his career thought. Unfortunately they didn't know they were sending an inexperienced pilot up against one of the most ruthless leaders in the