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By Root 645 0

to the telephone. It was perched on a table in the corner of the hall, a fake‐leather‐bound book by the side of it. Well, so much for the student‐accommodation theory. This place was too neat. Too suburban. There was a newspaper resting on the edge of the table, one of the ‘serious’ ones, and Sarah couldn’t help scanning the lead story. Just in case something important had been happening while she’d been running around after alien arms dealers. A big cheesy photo of Bill Gates leered up at her from the front page, as the Microsoft court case went into what felt like its nine thousandth week. Dead news, thought Sarah. Gates was still apologising for ‘that’ little incident at the Festival of Ghana, despite insisting that it wasn’t his fault the stupid robots had started killing people, even if it was his company that had supplied the software.

The company wasn’t ever going to recover. Sarah somehow managed not to smirk at that.

And it was while she wasn’t smirking that she heard someone turning the handle of the door. Whoever had been watching TV in the other room was coming this way.

* * *

17 June (Research Notes)

SUCCESS!!!!! Double underline, double capitals. Invitation to COPEX in my pocket. Came through contacts in ICL. Don’t suspect a thing. Too busy looking down my front to ask questions. Dirty, sweaty old men.

But SUCCESS!!!!!

Haven’t told anyone yet. Paul been here all week. Starting to get itchy for home? Wants to know what I’m doing. Won’t tell him. Maybe not a good idea, but can’t have him getting involved. Can do the worrying for both of us.

DON’T MENTION BIG FIGHT. NOT IN RESEARCH NOTEBOOK. Not professional.

COPEX = dodgy setup. Buyers want security and anonymity, so can get away with calling myself whatever I like, as long as I wear big black overcoat. (Humour.) Visit to contact’s office interesting. Electroshock baton in storeroom; contact enjoyed playing with it. Says licensing them not a problem. Police connections. Believe him.

ICL contacts claim shock baton factory in Scotland, with police knowledge, so check out facts. Possible story title: ‘MADE IN GREAT BRITAIN’, next to photo of shock baton victim (ask Amnesty, again). Shock weapons illegal without licence, but police know about factory (says contact). Who supplies licences? Scottish Office? Who’s in charge there?

Starting to get adrenaline rush. Better than running from Daleks. Don’t know how aliens involved yet (not all a big hoax by Coldicott?), but hope to make contact at COPEX. Rumours in security underworld say ‘Guest’ asking questions, sounds like same man Coldicott described. Haven’t told UN yet. Take me to your dealer, ha ha.

Aliens changing Earth history, maybe? Possible alien motivation? Might be bigger picture. Have to call in UNIT old guard, save the world again, hooray. Been nearly a year since I did that. Calling Interdimensional Rescue!!!!!

(With Doctor, not a problem. Without? How do I know what history’s supposed to be like to stop aliens messing around with it? Do you notice, or do memories change too? Arrrrgh! How do you tell if history’s been changed? Watch The Rock ‘n’ Roll Years and spot the mistakes.)

STILL DON’T MENTION FIGHT. Get it out of system before next week. Starting to get sloppy. Don’t lose the buzz!!!

Could be love?

[Last word scribbled out.]

* * *

19 August (5:48 p.m.)

Sarah experienced a slight surge of anxiety as she threw herself at the stairs. Running away from the Remote was one thing, but this was, if anything, even worse. Aliens could capture you, torture you, threaten you… but they couldn’t really embarrass you. When you grew up in a nice polite middle‐class household in Croydon, you were taught that there was nothing worse than embarrassment, not even pain, not even terminal disease. Caught sneaking around someone else’s house? Ugh. Terrible.

As she padded her way up the staircase, she heard the door open on the ground floor. Someone moved along the hall below her. There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps on hard tiles. They were in the kitchen, whoever ‘they’ were. Getting