A restless but unnaturally mild wind blew out of the night, tearing the overcast sky into racing tatters of cloud and revealing fleeting glipses of the stars.  There was no rain yet but Ian sensed it was building to a storm.

his mood darkened with the weather.  Surely they should have heard some news from the rescuers at the tower by now.  Always assuming the mayor's instructions had been passed along properly.  He clenched his fists.  He couldn't stand much more waiting.  Another hour and he would go to the camp office and demand they find out how the work was progressing.

He glanced across at the Doctor, who was sitting on his bed staring at the city through the half-open door of their shelter.  There was little else to do in the camp.  Gelvert had been the most garrulous person they'd met.  Others had responded to their inquiries in monosyllables or else ignored them completely, as though they had already given up on life and were merely marking time before the inevitable end.  A few had hurled abuse in their faces.  There had been a wild look in their eyes which showed how close they were to breaking point.

Ian understood now why the mayor had humoured the Doctor and himself.  And he also knew that he would find it difficult to maintain an equilibrium if he had to live under effective sentence of death for months.

Yet he could not take in the full implications of the situation.  The city around him, the very land on which it rested, was going to be destroyed by a cataclysmic event of such magnitude that it was beyond his comprehension.  The death of an individual he could understand, but not the death of a world.  He accepted the concept intellectually but not in his heart.  Perhaps that was for the best.  Otherwise he might end up like those poor wretches around them.

He thought of the handful of young children they had seen playing about the shelters and briefly his thoughts turned from Barbara.  The children had seemed unaware of their fate and their play had brought forth the few smiles they had seen in the camp.  It was heart-wrenching - whatever their parents might have done, they were innocents.  Surely the city rulers could find room for them, at least, inside the vast escape ship, the illuminated spire of which was clearly visible from the camp.

The Doctor suddenly spoke up, intruding on Ian's reverie.  He was pointing at the city across the waste ground.  'Chesterton.  Tell me what you see.'

Ian couldn't understand the point of the question, but he gave a straight enough response.

'Lights... Windows and street lights, illuminated tube trains, a few moving cars.  That's what you expect in a city at night.'

'Exactly,' said the Doctor.  'But can you see any people?'

'No, of course not.'

'Then how do you know they're there?'

'Well, we know they are.'

'Really.  How many people have we seen so far, outside camp?  A dozen, twenty perhaps?'

'About that.'

'Then why do you presume there are any more of them?'

'Look, a city this size must hold millions of people.'

'Wrong, Chesterton.  A city this size might hold millions of people.  But all we see are lights.  For instance, observe the windows of those buildings closest to us, as I have been doing for the past hour.  Wouldn't you expect to see them turned off or on, or twinkle occasionally as curtains or blinds were drawn?'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Well, I have seen nothing of the sort.  And recall the lights strung up inside the hollow shell of the building we landed on.  They were designed to illuminate the windows to make the building appear inhabited.  And what about the dummy driver we found in the car?  What if all the cars we had seen were similarly arranged?'