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By Root 728 0

made a soft landing on the kitchen table; it was followed in by a squadron of plates and a small flotilla of cutlery. The slices of just baked bread lined themselves up neatly and steamed gently. A butter jug waddled over on three stumpy legs and plumped itself down by the breadboard.

The Doctor nudged Bernice in the ribs. 'Disney would have loved this.'

'Just as long as the cutlery doesn't burst into song,' said Bernice. She looked at saRa!qava. 'I assume that House moves everything about?'

'Well, Mr Butter Jug is an old toy of Dep's,' said saRa!qava, 'but House does just about everything else. It's not too smart though.'

'Smart enough to lay the table correctly,' said Roz.

'Well, of course,' said saRa!qava. 'Otherwise what use would it be?'

'But not sentient?' asked Bernice.

For some reason this made saRa!qava laugh. 'Don't be silly. You wouldn't want a sentient machine running a house.'

'Why not?'

'Because it would get bored,' said the Doctor.

'Exactly,' said saRa!qava. 'It wouldn't be fair.'

Roz snorted and reached for a slice of bread. Mr Butter Jug waddled over towards her and tipped its lid expectantly. Roz glowered at the jug for a moment and then started spreading butter on her bread with small meticulous strokes of her knife. When she'd finished she handed the slice to the Doctor.

' Enkosi, Rozi,' said the Doctor. Thank you, Roz.

Bernice blinked. In that simple exchange, something shared and intimate had passed between the Doctor and Roz. Bernice wasn't sure quite what she thought about that.

SaRa!qava asked her some intelligent questions about archaeology; she seemed surprised at the idea of anyone actually digging anything up. 'Doesn't that rather disrupt the actual setting of the artefacts?' she asked. When Bernice explained that digging was the only sure way to find what was under the ground, saRa!qava laughed. Bernice, her professional pride stung, reeled off a list of alternative non-invasive techniques – resistance measurement, ground sonar, gravito-magnetic resonance imaging – but this just seemed to increase saRa!qava's humour.

A small baby girl floated over at head height suspended in a forcefield. SaRa!qava snatched the child out of the air and into her lap. There was a yell of triumph from the lounge area. Dep came over to tell them that Chris was proving to be an ace at Starmaster; where had he learnt to fly like that? Roz explained about his training as a pilot. Dep acted suitably impressed. SaRa!qava got up to fetch some more food for the children. She handed the baby to Roz who handled it as if she expected it to explode at any moment. Roz surreptitiously tried to pass it to the Doctor who quickly slipped his hands out of sight.

'Oh, give it here,' said Bernice, and relieved Roz of her small burden. 'Is this one of yours?' she asked saRa!qava.

'Is it screaming?' asked saRa!qava. An aerial convoy of food trays left their holding pattern and shot off towards the lounge. When Bernice said no, saRa!qava said that in that case she probably belonged to one of her neighbours. Bernice looked down at the baby in her arms; large violet eyes looked curiously back.

'What's her name?'

'She's much too young to have a name,' said saRa!qava.

'Oh,' said Bernice. 'How old does she have to be?'

'Old enough to think of one for herself.'

The baby girl grabbed at Bernice's finger and tugged at it. 'What about the machines – do they choose their own names as well?'

'Of course.'

'I don't suppose you use organic comp–'

There was a crash as the Doctor knocked his mug off the table; he made a desperate snatch for it but only succeeded in batting the mug into the air where it collided with a floating loaf of bread. The loaf spun off and hit another loaf which bounced off a wall and dive-bombed the table.

It took House a couple of seconds to bring it all under control. In that moment of confusion the Doctor caught Bernice's eye and frowned.

'So,' said Bernice, 'where does a girl go to have a good time round here?'

'Well, you must come to my party,' said saRa!qava.

'What kind of party?'

'Fancy