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'I'm easy,' said the parachute.

The biplane buzzed past. The Doctor waved at Chris to show that everything was fine.

Interesting set of priorities, thought the Doctor. The biplane is thicker than two short planks but the parachute is practically sentient.

'Would you like some music?' asked the parachute.

'Do you have anything by Duke Ellington?'

'I'm afraid not.'

'Play me something soothing and appropriate.'

The music when it started sounded like a chamber piece scored for woodwinds, strings and drum kit. There was an echo in the melody line that was hauntingly familiar. The Doctor found himself thinking of lyrics but they belonged to a rougher age and an alien planet a long way away.

That he's all right in the city/he's just hanging around. One of Ace's bands, he thought, the Garrotters or something like that. A lot of strange noises used to blare out of Ace's room in the early days.

I should fall out of the sky more often, he decided. It was very peaceful and it gave him a chance to think.

The parachute informed him when he got below eight hundred metres. At that height he could easily make out Benny sitting outside a bistro with saRa!qava. People on the esplanade were looking up and pointing.

'I've changed my mind,' said the Doctor. 'I want to land on the beach.'

'The one currently covered in half a metre of water?'

'That's the one.'

'You do know that there are a number of aquatic surface craft in the vicinity?'

'Well, land me in one of the gaps.'

'You're not making this very easy.'

'I can do it on manual if you like.'

'No, no,' said the parachute. 'Getting the bloodstains off the spidersilk is such a pain. I'll do it.'

'Thank you.'

'Your feet will get wet.'

'I'll live.'

'I'll get wet.'

'You'll . . . continue to function at optimum levels.'

'Oh well, that's a relief.'

'Can I ask you a personal question?'

'If you must.'

'Aren't you a bit smart to be operating a parachute?'

'It's a hobby.'

'Oh.'

'I'm with the Esoteric and Useless Genetic Manipulation Interest Group. I spend most of my time designing totally redundant types of tree. I have a remote-drone available for when I want to get about.'

'Why not get a drone body full time?'

'Well,' said the parachute, 'people expect you to do stuff when you've got a full-time body. I'm only rated a one point three so they try to take advantage.'

'So you're happy being a parachute then?'

'It feels good to be needed,' said the parachute. 'Watch out, ground coming up.'

The Doctor went in up to his knees. There was a boat on either side of him and he could touch both the keels without straightening his arms. 'Good shot,' he said.

'Give us a moment to repack.' The straps tugged at the Doctor's shoulders as the parachute folded itself back into the pack. 'You can take me off now.'

'Can I drop you somewhere?' asked the Doctor.

'Ha ha,' said the parachute. ' Drop me somewhere. That's very funny. Up on the esplanade will be fine. I'll call in my remote from there.'

'It might take a while. There's somebody I want to talk to first.'

'Doesn't bother me. I can work on my trees anywhere.'

The Doctor waded towards the harbour wall. 'What kind of trees?'

'I'm designing one that will grow on an asteroid.'

'Sounds simple enough,' said the Doctor. 'An atavistic silicon outer shell, gallium arsenic solar cell leaves driving a pico-electric systolic pumping system.'

'That bit's easy enough,' said the parachute. 'It's getting it to look like an apple tree that's a bugger.'

The Doctor reached the point on the harbour wall where the artist was working and looked over his shoulder. 'I don't know much about art,' he said, 'but I know a mural when I see one.'

'Go away,' said the artist, without looking away from his work.

'My name's the Doctor and this is my friend – Parachute. We're conducting a survey on behalf of the Worldsphere Society for the Promotion of Interesting and Slightly Expressionistic Wet Mural Interest Group – thingy.' The Doctor paused for a moment to get his thoughts back on track.

'We're interested in finding out whether artistic types