20 - Demontage
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DOCTOR WHO
Demontage
An Eighth Doctor Ebook
By Justin Richards
Contents
Chapter 1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Background
Chapter 2 . . . . .Transparent Intentions
Chapter 3 . . . . . .Contractual Obligation
Chapter 4 . . . . Pictures at an Exhibition
Chapter 5 . . . . . . . .Out of the Darkness
Chapter 6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Details
Chapter 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Art Theft
Chapter 8 . . . . . . . . . . . Target Identified
Chapter 9 . . . .Behind the Scenes at the Gallery
Chapter 10 . . . . . . . . . Visits and Visitors
Chapter 11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Still Life
Chapter 12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Façades
Chapter 13 . . . . . . . . . . Taking a Gamble
Chapter 14 . . . . . . . . . .Out of the Frame
Chapter 15 . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Art Reception
Chapter 16 . . . . . . . . . . . . .Murdering Art
Chapter 17 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Closure
For Alison, Julian and Christian, with love.
Chapter One
Background
A thin line of viscous spittle dripped from the huge figure's massive jutting jaw and the yellow, stained teeth
gleamed in the harsh light.The enormous, hairy creature drew itself up to its full height, towering over the
humanoids seated in the cabin, its wolflike head swaying from side to side as it surveyed the passengers
through rheumy, red eyes. One paw clenched at the beast's side, the claws thrusting through the mass of
tangled, matted brown hair as a low growl rumbled ominously round the ship.
There had already been a thrill of anticipation in the air. In the fourth row, Mrs Antherzon had a tingling in her
stomach as she exchanged glances with her husband. For once in her life she was experiencing an element
of the unknown, the daring - a risk even - in the journey.
The passengers were all Battrulians, and most of them had probably never before ventured away from Battrul.
At least, Mrs Antherzon reflected, she and her husband had travelled widely, had experienced the spa resorts
of Crastis Major, the sunshine and sand of Tamba Bey where you could lie back in the warm evening and
stare up at the distant stars. But somehow those well-organised, package tours seemed tame compared with
the current excitement. Here they were now, out among those distant stars, watching the dreaded Canvine
homework! loom ever closer on the sim-screen in front of them.
She held tight to her ancient husband's arm, her blue-tinted hair falling over his shoulder. Beside the
Antherzons, a honeymoon couple who had ticked the wrong box in the brochure and had expected by now to
be tucked up in a zero-grav bed on Pleasurama huddled together for warmth and comfort.
Only one man, seated directly in front of Mrs Antherzon, seemed less than enthralled by it all. He sat quietly,
as he had for the entire trip, looking round at the other passengers and yawning. There was an empty seat
either side of him, which seemed to emphasise his isolation from the group spirit of the others. Soon after
liftoff, Mrs Antherzon had tried to engage him in conversation. It had been a hopeless task. It seemed as
difficult to get an opinion from the man as it was to prevent her husband from voicing one.
And then there was the clicking. At first she had thought it was his tongue. But, glancing down over the seat
back after the aborted conversation, she had noticed that the quiet clicking sound was made by the two dice
he rolled together in his hand, opening his fist occasionally to see what numbers were uppermost.
But now everyone's eyes were on the front screen, watching as the image of Canvine faded away to reveal the
real stars and systems outside the ship.The buffer zone. Dead space.The end of civilisation as they knew it.
And just as Mrs Antherzon had decided that enough was enough, and now might be a good time to turn back
and head for Vega Station, this large hairy shape hauled itself into view at the front of the passenger deck.
The growl turned into a cough.The clenched paw waved for quiet. And instantly got it. The Canvine's voice was
gruff and hollow, a throaty rumble that echoed round the deck of the tour ship.'Welcome to the buffer-zone
excursion,' the creature said, teeth thrust out in what Mrs Antherzon could only guess was a determined
attempt at a smile.'My name is Caruso, and I shall be your guide for this brief tour of the forbidden area. I
trust you have all enjoyed the comfort and service of the trip so far, and I can assure you that we shall soon
be making our way around the edge of the zone towards Vega Station.'
Like most of the passengers, she had never see a Canvine before this flight, except in newsreel vids of the
war and in history books. Up close, the enormous hairy reality seemed to dwarf her expectations.
Caruso's teeth jutted out further to accompany his observation: 'I trust you all have enough credit to enjoy the
casino, the art galleries and exhibitions, the opera and any other -' he paused, as if searching for the right
word in the Battrulian language - 'entertainment that takes your fancy.'
There was some polite, if slightly nervous, laughter, though Mrs Antherzon could not for the life of her see the
joke. She nudged her husband, embarrassed by his dry cackle.
***
Caruso, by contrast, was enjoying himself immensely.This was the part he enjoyed most, scaring them half
to death just by standing up and telling them what they already knew. What they feared. 'We were looking
just now at Canvine itself,' he said, keeping his voice low, with a hint of danger in it. "The homeworld of my
race - my home, although I have lived on Vega for many years now. hi fact, Canvine is seventeen light years
from here, and barely visible. The buffer zone between our worlds is two light years in diameter, and officially
no ships have entered it since the treaty was agreed.' He paused, surveying the room, playing to the eager,
nervous faces arranged in front of him. 'Officially,' he stressed.The woman in the fourth row, the one with the
light-blue hair clutching her husband's arm, was really going for it. 'But Caruso Excursions has never played
by the book, and so today we - you - will enter the buffer zone.'
Gasps from everyone. Except for the tall man sitting alone in the third row - right in front of his star passenger
- who seemed rather bored with the whole thing. Caruso had watched him yawn twice and read through the
safety card three times since he started his spiel. He frowned at the man, but to no avail.
Caruso went on with his standard patter: 'Yes, despite the treaty, despite the Battrulian and Canvine patrol
ships, despite the minefields and smart detectors, we will today venture across the border and into the buffer
zone. He held up his paw again for silence, despite the fact that there was not a sound from his clients.
Blue-rinse was now tugging her husband towards her, she was holding on so tightly. 'Dangerous, yes,'
Caruso admitted. 'But a calculated risk, and a very minor incursion. However, I do urge you to read through
the safety-instruction card again to familiarise yourselves in particular with the emergency procedures in the
event of a missile strike.'
There was a general rummaging and fumbling for the cards. Except from the man in the third row. He was
looking at Caruso with a slight, almost mocking, smile. Caruso grinned back. If the man guessed that they
would actually be going nowhere near the buffer zone, then that was fine.The others were a picture -already
sweating with fear, already working out how to describe their death-defying trip to friends, children,
grandchildren... If they ever saw them again.
While most of the passengers studied the safety card with renewed interest, Caruso pointed out various stars
and systems on the screen. 'We have lived in peace - Battrul and Canvine - for fifty years now,' he said at
last. 'And, while we have kept each other at arm's length, there have been many changes on both our worlds.
We have each suffered massive hardships and devastated economies. You know better than I the disastrous
effects of the massive interest rates you have endured during the rebuilding of your planetary economy. Now,
with the democratic elections on your world and the induction of President Drexler replacing the military
leadership that has been in charge on Battrul since the war, there are many on my world who hope for a more
solid peace treaty than the uneasy armistice currently in place.'
Behind Caruso, exactly on cue, a warning message flashed up on the screen:
.. .NOW ENTERING BUFFER ZONE...
.. .FASTEN SEAT BELTS. ..
.. .PREPARE FOR UNEXPECTED IMPACT. ..
'Let us hope,' Caruso growled quietly'that it is not we who will be the ones to jeopardise that hope for lasting
peace.' He looked round the pale faces turned towards him, doing his best to make it look as if he were trying
to hide his own worry and fear. Blue-rinse's husband was holding one of the specially provided paper bags in
a strategic position, Caruso noticed as he returned to his seat. He made a show of strapping himself in
tightly.
***
Despite the number of people crowded into the room, the noise was subdued, muted by the high ceiling and
panelled walls. The sounds of clinking glasses, of gaming chips being slapped down on the tables, of hushed
- and not so hushed -conversations, and of the croupiers calling for final bets and announcing winners and
losers were drained through the vaulted doorways and absorbed by the plush upholstery.
Samantha Jones was feeling undepressed and unappreciated. She sat at a small, round, wooden table in a
dimly lit corner of the casino, alone apart from a tall, slim cocktail.The barman had assured her that it was
nonalcoholic, which removed one possible cause for her encroaching headache .There were two other
possible causes close at hand, however. One was sitting at a card table across the room. The other was
lounging nonchalantly against the bar thoroughly failing to engage any of the many attractive women in any
form of conversation.
To say that Sam had been less than enthusiastic about the idea of visiting the Vega Station would be
something of an understatement.And that had been before the Doctor and Fitz had decided that it would be
the ideal place to indulge in a small competition. She had been here for almost two days now, and couldn't
wait to leave. Boys!
That was what they were. Big boys, true.'Old' even. But still boys. Playing games. Literally. Despite having
known the Doctor for so long, she had still been surprised at the childlike grin and innocent pleasure he had
displayed at Fitz's suggestion that they see who could win the most at the casino in a week.
A week.
Sam took a deep gulp of the burning pink liquid and wondered not for the first time in the hour what antifreeze
might taste like.
So, rather than use the winnings from his previous visit ('Oh that was ages ago, years, soon after the place
opened, in fact - er, about when I thought we'd be arriving this time, actually'), the Doctor and Fitz were each
starting with a float of a hundred plaudits. Or, rather, the Doctor was starting. Fitz was propping up the bar.
'Psychology,' he had confided to Sam when she suggested he might do better by actually trying to win
something at backgammon, roulette, baccarat or poker.
The Doctor, as ever, seemed in his element.A small crowd of various life forms, though mainly local
Battrulians, had gathered round the table where he was playing. Sam watched the ebb and flow as people
arrived, became interested, then discovered the ludicrously low stakes of the game and wandered off. Sam's
initial enthusiasm for the Doctor's winnings the previous day had tailed off somewhat when she worked out
that it was about enough to buy a packet of crisps from the bar.
'Best to keep things low-key,' the Doctor had confided to her. 'Don't want to seem to be encouraging
gambling, now do we?'
'Don't we?' Sam asked, lacing her response with the sarcasm she reckoned it deserved.
But the Doctor seemed not to notice.'Good gracious me, no. No, no, no. Besides,' he added, 'you can get
carried away, you know. Look what happened last time .'And with that he had returned to the roulette table.
Had she been more enthusiastic about the place, Sam might have been tempted to explore, to venture
outside the hotel/casino and see what other joys Vega held in store for her. But she was quite settled now in
her self-indulgent ennui. From where she sat she could watch Fitz at the bar -ridiculously out of place in his
dark dinner suit complete with tuxedo. She could see the Doctor trivially enjoying himself at the gaming table.
She could watch the comings and goings through the main doors of the casino. And she could see the
magnificent view out of the windows.
The hotel took up a whole section of Vega, and the casino occupied an entire floor of the hotel. It was on the
outer rim of the station, and the huge curved windows gave out directly into space .The starscape was
awesome, a huge nebula gave an uneven splash of colour across the middle, around which bright pinpoint
stars seemed to cluster. At the extreme edges, the view was slightly distorted by the curvature of the thick
glass, so that two planetary systems in particular - one at each side - seemed magnified, emphasised.
A day ago, Sam had decided she would never tire of such a view. Now she had decided she was wrong. In
fact, the only real excitement since they checked into their rooms at the only hotel two days ago had been
that morning...
***
The hotel joined the casino. A large double doorway opened from the hotel foyer into the entrance hall of the
casino, allowing guests to pass immediately from one to the other. This was obviously convenient for the
guests, and, since both establishments were apparently run by the same staff, made obvious commercial
sense.
But, the Doctor had discovered while snooping round in his usual can't-leave-anything-alone way that
morning, that there was also a narrow corridor that ran between the two. One end was practically hidden
close to the toilets in the hotel foyer, and the other emerged behind a large potted plant in the casino. He had
spent a pointless few minutes leading Fitz and Sam back and forth along the corridor, admiring the wooden
panelling on the walls and the objets d'art in the alcoves.And commenting on how useless the corridor itself
was.
'Maybe it was here before they put the doors in?' Fitz suggested.
The Doctor glared, as if this were the most outlandish suggestion imaginable. Perhaps, Sam reflected, given
that they were on a space station, it was.
Her own offer had been, 'Art.'
'What?'The Doctor leaned forward and screwed his eyes up as if to see better who had made such a lunatic
comment.
'It's here because it's artistically and architecturally correct,' Sam said. 'It looks nice, that's all there is to it.'
'Then why not make something of it?' the Doctor asked.'No no, no, no, no,' he decided. "That's not it at all.'
"The purpose of art is to disturb,' Sam said. 'And it's got you going.'
But the Doctor wasn't listening. "Then there's this wall,' he said as if they had satisfactorily concluded the
previous conversation.
'It's just a wall, for God's sake,' Fitz said. He rapped on a wooden panel with his knuckles to make the point.
And winced.
'Is it?"The Doctor was off again, back towards the casino. He poked his head round the potted plant and
stared for a while at the wall that ran along the back of the corridor.
Then he strode to the other end of the corridor, and repeated the process. This time he leaned into the
entrance of the women's toilets to get a good view of the wall he was interested in.Which in turn led to some
interest in himself. He ignored it.
Back in the middle of the corridor, the Doctor tapped on the wall, drumming his fingers on the wooden panel.
Then he suddenly stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket and set off towards the casino.'I think it's just an
architectural feature,' he said airily. "Though you could get another room in behind there if you'd a mind to.'
Told you,' said Sam.
'Is he getting worse?' Fitz asked her. 'Or am I imagining it?'
***
That had been this morning's excitement. Hardly earth-shattering.
'May I?'
The voice startled Sam out of her reverie. It was slightly husky, controlled and soft. Unmistakably female.
'You look bored,' the woman continued as she sat down.
'You like bored people?' Sam asked.'You seek them out with a passion, hoping to cheer them up perhaps? A
mission is it? A calling?'
The woman paused. Her hands were folded under her chin, her elbows about to touch down on the table top.
'I'm sorry,' she said quietly as she stood up again.'I won't bother you.'
'No, no,' Sam said at once. She had reacted without looking, had spoken into space - spoken to herself
rather than reply to a person. A human being. The woman was probably as bored as she was, as in need of
company. 'I'm sorry. That was rude. Please sit down.'
'You're sure?'
Sam nodded.
The woman sat down. 'In a sense, perhaps I do seek out bored people. Only they usually don't realise that
they're bored. Or that they are sought out.'
She was about Sam's age. Perhaps slightly older. Her face was a symmetrical oval that Sam envied almost
as much as her cascading mass of red hair. It tumbled loosely over her shoulders in a haphazard manner that
must have taken forever to orchestrate. Her green velvet dress was cut very low and very tight. Everything
about the woman, her appearance, her voice, the smell of her perfume, was designed to make an impression,
to be memorable. And Sam could certainly remember having seen her around the casino several times in the
last couple of days. Usually drinking champagne. Always with a different man.
'I'm Sam. And you're right, I'm bored.'
'With so much to do?' The woman raised a perfectly pencilled eyebrow. At the same time she glanced briefly
over her shoulder towards a barman. It was enough to bring him scurrying over.
'Vermilion,' she said as the barman arrived. 'Vermilion Kenyan.' It took Sam a moment to realise that this was
her name and not a drink.
'Champagne for two?' the barman asked.
Vermilion shook her head.'Get us a beer, will you.Trew?' She looked at Sam.
'Nothing for me, thanks. I'm fine with whatever this is.'
'Beer?'Trew asked nervously.'Wouldn't you rather -'
'No I wouldn't,'Vermilion told him sharply.'I'm off duty.This is a friend. Pleasure, not business.'
Trew gulped.'Stabilo will go spare.'
'Let him. He's always going spare. Once more won't hurt.' Vermilion smiled at the man, her whole face
transforming into a vision of beauty as she patted his hand. 'Get us a beer,Trew. There's a love. I'll owe you.'
Trew said nothing for a moment. Then he smiled back weakly, and nodded. 'OK. Beer. Right.'
'Prat,' Vermilion muttered as soon as he was gone. 'You get sick of champagne,' she added to Sam.
'You work here?'
Vermilion nodded.'You noticed. Yes. Sometimes I work the tables, deal the cards. But usually...' Her voice
tailed off as she looked over her shoulder again.'Where's that beer?'
'Usually you let people buy you champagne,' Sam finished for her. 'At a hugely marked-up price.'
'And help them lose their money at the tables.'
'Well,' Sam said, 'you're on to a loser with me. I don't drink champagne, and I haven't a clue how to play any
of the games. No interest either.'
'Then why are you here?'
Sam shrugged. 'To look at the view.'
Vermilion's beer arrived, in what looked like a pint glass. It looked incongruous, held carefully in Vermilion's
slender hand as she took a sip.
'I'm surprised they allow beer in a place like this,' Sam said.
'It's really for the Canvines. Not that we get very many any more.They mainly drink beer and eat crisps.
Stabilo draws the line at raw meat - he says crisps and dramm scratchings are as far as he'll go. If they want
to indulge their filthy habits on Vega, they can do it at the opera.' She smiled.'He says.'
Sam had no idea what a Can vine was. But she was not about to admit it. Instead she pointed to a nearby
table where four men sat playing cards. 'I've been watching them,' she said, 'trying to work out the rules. But
it seems very confusing.'
'It is.'Vermilion took another delicate sip of beer, then wiped the back of her hand across her mouth to remove
the froth. 'I don't know the other two,' she said, 'but the two sitting sideways to us are Newark Rappare and
Ambrose Forster.'
'Regulars?'
'They run an antique and curio business on Level Two. Not a good team to watch if you want to learn how to
play properly, though.'
Sam looked at the men Vermilion had pointed out. One, Rappare, was a short broad man dressed in an short
cape and tall felt hat. He held a black, silver-topped cane in one hand, leaning it against his leg when he
played a card. The other man, Forster, sat in a motorised wheelchair, but Sam could tell he was tall and
willowy. He wore a single one-piece outfit in light grey that made him look even thinner.
Even his hair was thin and grey. 'You mean they're no good at cards?'
Vermilion laughed. 'I mean they cheat.'
'Really?' Sam looked back at them. Rappare was just collecting the pile of winnings from the middle of the
table. 'They don't look like cheats.'
'If they did, they couldn't cheat. But you're on Vega, and here nothing looks like what it is. Nothing is what it
seems.' Vermilion pointed across the room at the huge windows and the starscape beyond.'That view, for
example.'
'What about it?'
'You think it's coincidence that Battrul and Canvine are so prominent?' She was pointing at the planetary
systems magnified at each extreme of the view. "That the two opposing power blocs just happen to be visible
from here? I know that Vega is an embarrassing blip on the edge of Battrulian space, that it is an
embarrassment precisely because it is so remote -because it can indulge its visitors in gambling, tax-free
shopping, and a dozen other vices forbidden back home. And being so close to the buffer zone we get a few
Canvines who come here for the opera or the galleries and exhibitions. But even so...'
'Even so what?' Sam was confused.
'Even so, neither system is really close enough to be visible to the naked eye.'
Sam frowned. 'Are you saying the view's magnified in some way? Like through a telescope?'
Vermilion shook her head. "There is no view,' she said.'It's an image. A holographic fake.' She took another
sip of beer and leaned forward.'So why are you here?'
Sam sighed. 'My friends,' she said, 'are having a competition to see who can win the most money. I'm
supposed to be the judge. Make sure they stay in line. Don't cheat. Whatever.'
'Your friends being the weirdo,' Vermilion said, nodding towards where the Doctor was seated,'and the other
weirdo.'
She pointed to the bar.
Fitz waved back, and raised his martini in an extravagant toast. Some of the drink slopped over the edge and
on to the man next to him. Sam looked away. 'You noticed,' she said.
Vermilion shrugged.'You came in together. And you booked into the hotel together.'
'How did you know that?'
'It's my job to know that.'Vermilion's eyes widened slightly as she was speaking. 'Heck, there's Stabilo. I'd
better get back to work.'
Sam turned to see who Vermilion was talking about. She saw a big man, perhaps in his forties, immaculately
dressed in a pink suit. Bright pink. The cuffs and collar were trimmed with white lace, and he wore a pair of
white gloves. His hair was slicked back and oiled so that it glistened. He was walking across the casino,
taking short careful steps and nodding greetings to people as he went. His hands were constantly in motion,
clutched in front of him or pulling at his lapels, or adjusting his lemon-yellow tie.
Vermilion had drained her glass and stood up. 'Nice talking to you,' she said. 'But do yourself a favour - get
out and see some of the sights. The real sights. There's an exhibition of Martinique's work opening soon on
Level Five, you know. Kind of weird, I'm told, but at least it's art.'
'Thanks,' Sam said as the woman stood up.'But I was always taught that art was just an imitation of life.'
Vermilion turned back, her red hair swinging round in perfect harmony.'So is this place,' she said.'Believe me.'
***
There is something about the offices of bank managers the cosmos over. Somehow they all look and smell
the same. A clinical mixture of wood panelling and soft carpet. The faint whiff of banknotes and warm
coinage. Which was odd, reflected Oona Klapton, since the only currencies that the Vega Central Bank dealt
in were the encoded gaming chip and the electronic transfer of funds across space. If you used cash on
Vega, you were on your own.
Cy Slavich, the meticulously manicured manager of the bank, glanced up at Oona, peering at her myopically
over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles. So archetypal. So predictably old-fashioned. Oona smiled at him.
She had spent enough time with bank managers not to be intimidated. She was the customer, after all. He
worked for her, whatever he might think.
'Yes,' Slavich said at length. His voice was a high-pitched nasal whine ideally suited to his short, plump form.
"That appears to be in order.' He leaned forward across the desk, a layer of fat spreading across the top as
his stomach met the mahogany. 'If you could just authenticate the transfer, we'll have your funds sent direct
to your bank back on Bartrul.'
Oona took the chip from him. She held the small, mock-wooden oval in her palm and pressed her thumb into
the recess on the top. Of course, she could have done this at any of the cashiers' desks on the main banking
floor, but she preferred to deal only with the top people. She held her thumb in place long enough for the chip
to register her pulse rate and amount of perspiration. She felt the tiny jab as it scraped away a few cells of
skin for DNA analysis, checking who she was as well as ensuring that she was not under undue stress. It
was checking that she was making the transfer of her own free will. She twisted her thumb anticlockwise a
quarter turn, the gesture required to sign the chip over to another party, then handed it back to Slavich.
'Thank you, Miss Klapton.' He slotted the chip into a small reader set into the surface of the desk in front of
him. A discreet display showed the number of plaudits credited to the chip, and Slavich raised an eyebrow.
Oona smiled, unaware that he always did this.
'Interest rates are still favourable,' she said. "Though nothing like the boom those of us with savings
experienced after the war.' She liked to show she knew a little about finance.
'I'll have that amount transferred to your bank immediately,' Slavich reassured her. 'It will be there this
afternoon.' He leaned back and somehow managed to pull open the centre drawer of his desk over his
stomach. From inside he retrieved a receipt book and a fountain pen.
Oona took the receipt, inspected it, folded it and put it in her clutch bag. She was about to speak, to thank
Slavich for his time and trouble, when there was a knock at the door behind her. She frowned. How dare
someone interrupt her time with the bank manager? From the expression on Slavich's face, he was as
surprised and annoyed as she was.
She heard the door open, even before Slavich could acknowledge the knock. He blinked, nodded to whoever
was at the door, and then smiled uneasily to Oona.'I'm afraid I must go, Miss Klapton,' he oozed.
Oona turned, but the door was closed again. And suddenly Slavich was beside her, helping her to her feet
and shaking her hand in a single motion. Guiding her towards the door. She was too surprised, too annoyed,
to say anything. What, no sherry? was the single thought that seemed to occupy her mind as she found
herself back in the bank foyer. She looked round, slightly bewildered, barely registering the fact that her
clutch bag had dropped to the polished marble floor.
'Madam.'The woman was holding her bag, handing it back to her. Oona Klapton took it without a word and
made her way with as much dignity as she could muster towards the main exit. Her high heels cracked
loudly on the floor and people turned to watch as she passed. She was almost at the door when the woman
who had retrieved her bag called across the foyer.
'Don't mention it.'
Oona Klapton froze, for an instant, in mid-step. Had she turned, she might have registered that the woman
was in uniform, might have realised that she was Cassey Cage, Vega's head of security. She might even
have wondered what she was doing in the Vega Central Bank, standing outside the manager's office on a
Monday afternoon. But she did not. She gritted her teeth, felt her face redden, and left without looking back
-without seeing Cage smile as she let herself - this time without knocking - into the manager's office.
***
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DOCTORWHODemontageAnEighthDoctorEbookByJustinRichardsContentsChapter1.................BackgroundChapter2.....TransparentIntentionsChapter3......ContractualObligationChapter4....PicturesatanExhibitionChapter5........OutoftheDarknessChapter6......................DetailsChapter7...................ArtTh...
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Discourse Context Predictability Effects in Hindi Word Order Sidharth Ranjan IIT Delhi
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Discharge of elongated grains in silos under rotational shear Tivadar Pong o12Tam as B orzs onyi2and Ra ul Cruz Hidalgo1 1F sica y Matem atica Aplicada Facultad de Ciencias Universidad de Navarra Pamplona Spain
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时间：2024-12-24
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