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‘Frequencies,’ she answered firmly without hesitation.

‘Definitely frequencies, harmonics, Fourier transforms. I might have found out more if Ace hadn’t woken me up.’ She realised that there was an edge to her voice that she hadn’t intended.

‘I don’t think we can blame Ace for that,’ the Doctor said. ‘I just hope that she managed to get out without being caught.

That’s another reason I really should be going.’ He reached for his hat. ‘But before I go,’ he said, popping it on his head, ‘let me see if I can remove that implant for you. It might-give me some clues to the technology and the people behind all this.’

Joyce leaned forward again and pulled her hair out of the way. She felt the Doctor’s fingers – surprisingly cool and light in their touch – pressing and probing at the device. With a triumphant ‘Aha!’, he stood up, and she felt a sudden hot wetness at the back of her neck. The Doctor produced a handkerchief.

‘If you don’t want to get blood on that smart new jacket of yours:,’ he said, ‘I’d suggest holding this over it firmly for a few minutes.’

Joyce pressed it to her neck as the Doctor showed her the device – much bigger than she’d imagined: an acorn-shaped piece of greenish metal trailing a few inches of hairlike metallic fibres. She gave another shudder, realising that this had been embedded in her, the fibres working their way into her brain.

The Doctor pulled another handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped the device up in it, and put it away inside his jacket. As he did so, he pulled out a sheaf of postcards and envelopes and quickly flicked through them.

‘I think this is yours,’ he said, handing her the very same card that she’d posted not two days. For a moment, she was about to tell him that it couldn’t be; that it was too old, too dry, too yellowed. And then she saw the writing, turned it over and recognised the picture. How could it have aged so much in just a couple of days? She looked up to see him smiling.

‘Trust the post office to smudge the postmark so that I couldn’t read it,’ he said, like a teacher admonishing a pupil for their bad handwriting. ‘Next time, don’t forget to write the date and time you posted it. You’ve no idea of the trouble I had to go through to find out when and where you were.’

And with that and a wink he was out of the front door and gone.

She hadn’t had much of a choice, Ace thought ruefully as she watched Sooal skulking around the door to the corridor like some pallid elf. Once she’d realised that the airlocks and spacesuits were still functional, and that the external sensors showed the ship was under forty yards of water and there was a land mass half a mile away, it all clicked into place. She could leave via the airlock, float to the surface, then swim ashore. A bit of a bind, but at least then she could race back to Graystairs, find the Doctor, and wrap this whole thing up.

She checked the seal on the helmet and nudged her rucksack, pushed down into the front of the suit like some fake pregnancy padding, into a more comfortable position. Then she pressed the buttons that would slowly let in water from the outside. As the cold, icy torrent began to foam at her feet, Sooal saw her. She couldn’t resist a cheery wave. And as the water swirled around her waist, she took a few deep breaths. This is becoming a habit, she thought. I wonder if I’m now qualified for my ‘exiting an alien spaceship underwater’ Girl Guide badge...

She was still smiling as she plunged into the darkness and made for the surface.

Chapter Eight

Megan was closing the kitchen windows as Sooal came storming in. His temper was a black cloud, hovering above his head, waiting to spit thunder and lightning.

‘She’s escaped,’ Sooal said. ‘That Ace girl’s escaped.’

‘How?’

‘The airlock on the ship. She just put on a suit and out she went.’

Megan gave a half smile. ‘Well, we can forget about her for a while, then.’

‘No we can’t!’ he rounded on her and she flinched. ‘You know what’s out there. What if she finds it – or, worse, damages it?’ ‘But she doesn’t even know it exists. Does she?’