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Bernice pulled the bikini top off her forehead and put it back on. AM!xitsa hovered ten metres above them, spinning rapidly around all three axes – drone hysterics, Bernice guessed. She shook her fist at it. 'And you can stop laughing and all,' she said to Roz. 'Where's Kadiatu?'

'I haven't seen her,' said Roz. 'You don't think she hit her head or something?'

'Not likely,' said Bernice. 'That woman's completely indestructible.'

As if to prove her point strong hands grasped her around the waist and tossed her two metres into the air. At least she managed to come down with a bit of dignity that time. She resurfaced to find Kadiatu grinning at her.

'Where were you?' asked Roz.

'Under the water,' said Kadiatu.

Roz looked stunned. 'Jesus. How long can you hold your breath for?'

'Don't know, never timed myself.'

'I know,' said Bernice, giving Roz a sly look. 'Why don't you duck down under the water and stay there as long as you can while me and Roz time you.'

'OK,' said Kadiatu. 'Ready?'

Bernice looked at her watch and nodded.

Bernice and Roz waited all of thirty seconds before swimming hell for leather for the beach.

He made the mistake of nodding off on the beach and while he was asleep someone buried him in the sand. He woke up to find his world contracted down to the narrow vistavision strip between his hat brim and the top of the mound he was buried under.

He tried wriggling his fingers and arms, testing the consistency. There was some give but the sand had been packed down pretty solidly. He tried moving his legs, aiming to at least kick his feet clear of the sand but, again, while there was some movement he was definitely stuck fast.

He wanted to scratch his nose.

He lay still for a while, thinking about his predicament. He tried a very old trick that he'd picked up at a shao lin monastery during the Song dynasty. Now that was a bunch that knew about self-control. He couldn't remember the proper Mandarin mnemonic so he hummed a snatch of 'My Baby Just Cares for Me' by Nina Simone instead. Then, after taking a deep breath and summoning up his ch'i, or inner self, he attempted to expand his chest by twenty centimetres. After three minutes of straining he started seeing stars against a darkening landscape. After seven minutes everything went black.

He gave up after ten minutes. Beyond a certain point there was no give in his sandy prison at all. It was far too solid to have been packed down by human hands – he grimly suspected some kind of machine involvement.

He really wanted to scratch his nose.

A small remote-drone wearing a parachute drifted serenely across his field of vision and vanished to his right. After a few seconds the remote-drone backed up into sight and slowly turned to face him.

'Good morning,' said the parachute.

'Good morning,' said the Doctor. 'How are the trees coming along?'

'Very well, thank you,' said the parachute. 'Now it's just a question of making the fruit edible.'

'Some kind of removable skin perhaps,' suggested the Doctor.

'What a good idea,' said the parachute. 'Well, I must be off. I'm doing a synchronized free-fall display this afternoon and I want to make sure I get the right jumper.'

'Good luck,' said the Doctor.

The parachute zipped out of sight again.

Damn, thought the Doctor, I forgot to ask him why it had to be an apple tree.

Perhaps if he were to set up a sine wave with his body he could shift the sand. If he could set up some form of harmonic feedback it should erode the structural integrity of the compacted sand. After all, it was only a matter of finding the right frequency.

Roz and Chris wandered into view. They stopped when they saw the Doctor and turned to face him. Each of them had a surfboard under their arm.

'I wonder why he's buried in the sand,' said Chris to Roz.

'I don't know,' said Roz. 'Maybe it's relaxing.'

'We could dig him out,' said Chris.

'What if he's buried himself on purpose?'

'You mean it might be part of a plan?'

'One can never tell with the Doctor,' said Roz, 'but