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"But you're not starving, are you?" emphasized Reogus. "Far from it, you little rat." He put a massive hand on Vael's shoulder and pulled at the gold cord.

"Guards," whispered Chesperl.

Three guards were placed in a line halfway across the Dial. No closer yet, because the threat would be enough. Their eyes, like bunches of red berries on their armoured heads, twitched as they watched.

"You can let me go now," said Vael.

Reogus glanced at Pekkary for instruction.

One of the guards slowly unwound a segmented whip.

Pekkary looked determined. "Tell the Process that we will work in the section . . ."

"What?" interrupted Amnoni Distuyssor.

Vael was beginning to grin, but Pekkary raised a hand. "We will work in the section when we get more food . . . and if you come with us!"

Reogus laughed out loud. He shoved Vael towards the guards, ripping away the gold shoulder cord as he did so.

"Whoops," he said.

The collaborator turned and faced them. His head ticked nervously again as he pushed a hand through his long red hair. "Tell Shonnzi that we want him. And the little one too. Soon."

He walked hurriedly from the square, the guards following and chittering as they went.

There was no more to be said. They were thought-blind and alone. Each of them alone in their thoughts. Speech was not always enough to communicate frustration or love. They had been Chronauts. Now they were Phazels. But they were still a crew. Truly Individuals, but still together.

They returned to their places by the fire, Pekkary settling down on the ground away from the rest, his head resting on a mound of dried lichen as he tried to sleep.

Chesperl and Reogus huddled together, wrapped in their coats and staring into the depths of the fire.

From a ragged pocket, Amnoni pulled a scrap of paper.

I believe I was born Amnoni Distuyssor Lorizhon, daughter of the House of Blyledge. My Family is an old and ancient one, but I cannot remember it any more. I believe that I was the oldest daughter. I was born to be a mother and kithriarch. When will I ever gain my birthright?

Somewhere there was the fractured chime of a cracked bell.

Ace's eyes were stinging. She had opened them and they were full of dust. It was pitch dark and she had to keep rubbing them with her fists until they watered away the burning.

She coughed, nearly choked. Her throat was raw and she was full up with dust. She froze, not knowing where she was. And no way of knowing. The dust was clinging all over her, coarse and itchy. She reached into the dark with her hands. The floor where she had been lying was rough and stony. You've fallen on stony ground, Ace.

Of course. That was her name. Ace. She'd been trying to remember.

She pushed upwards and was showered with loose stones and sand from some sort of roof just over her head. The instinct to panic shuddered through her, but she forced it back down again. She sat, unable to move in the darkness, her breath coming in short bursts, trying to keep up with her racing brain. Why would anyone want to bury her alive? She couldn't be tombed up, there was air in here. It was prickly with dry dust. But if she'd been dead she wouldn't have needed air till now, would she? So maybe . . .

She was ravenously hungry too. She could murder a bag of chips. Not so much a bag, more a rucksack. Then she remembered the TARDIS and events came jumbling back uninvited into her head. She shivered and sat praying that it was more than just a memory. Even if it was over now. It had been like this when she first got to Iceworld. Blasted out of existence on Earth by a freak chronometeorological event that turned out to be no freak at all. Left stranded on a distant planet, where, by Machiavellian design, she would accidentally run into the Doctor.

She was aching all over, just as she had ached then. Was it another time storm? Perhaps time storms followed her about? Or maybe she caused them. It had ripped apart the Doctor's ship. The TARDIS had disintegrated around her and so everything in it had been hurled out of one existence, spilling