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Human Nature - Chapter Three

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Boudiccan Destruction Layer

The next morning, Smith walked into the classroom, dressed in the mortarboard and gown in which he always looked so awkward. Silence fell, as it always did. The Captains sat at the back, and the boys at the front, and all of them stood to attention as he entered. He caught a paper dart happily, glanced at it, tweaked the wing a notch and threw it back, straight into the hands of the boy who threw it.

'Good morning, class.'

'Good morning, Dr Smith,' they chorused.

'Sit down.' As they did so, Smith opened his briefcase. 'I put a notice up on the board in the corridor. The cricket team.'

Hutchinson held up his hand. 'Excuse me, sir, but weren't we going to talk about that?'

'Were we? I thought we had. Sorry. Oh well, it's only a game. Now, destruction, murder, people impaled on posts - '

'Sir?' Captain Merryweather put his hand up. 'Aren't you going to take the register, sir?'

'Abbot, Andrew?' Smith muttered, flipping open the register. Each boy answered his name, until:

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'Alton, Clive Ian?'

\x91Sir.\x92

'Dean?'

Timothy was staring out of the window at the terrible greenness of the cricket pitch. Anand nudged him in the ribs. He looked up. 'Sorry, what?'

'Timothy Dean?' Smith grinned at him. 'I don't know why I'm asking, I can see you're there.'

Hutchinson glanced at the stern looks on his comrades' faces, nodded and stood up. 'Sir, that's not right.'

'What?' Smith peered myopically between Dean and Hutchinson. 'Can't you see him?'

'Missing one's name in a roll call is a disciplinary offence, sir, under the rules of the school. Aren't you going to do anything about it?'

'Why, what do you think I should do?'

'The standard punishment is ten strokes of the slipper, sir. Perhaps you weren't aware of it.'

'Aware?' Smith looked uneasily round the class. 'Yes, I knew that. But this is my form room. Can't I change the rules?'

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'None of us can change the rules, sir. Even if we'd like to. If you'd prefer it, I could administer the punishment myself.'

Smith fiddled with the air, thinking. 'Yes,' he decided. Timothy opened his mouth in horror. Last time Hutchinson had punished him, he hadn't been able to sit down for three days, and couldn't get to sleep for the pain of the bruises.

Hutchinson stood up. 'May I have the slipper, sir?'

Smith was fumbling inside his briefcase. 'I wondered why I had to bring one of these to every lesson. I nearly wore it, but I'd have ended up walking in circles. Ah!' With a flourish, he pulled a fluffy pink slipper from the bag, and experimentally slapped it across the back of his hand. 'Yes... that shouldn't hurt.' He looked up at Hutchinson. 'Ready?'

Hutchinson had walked up to the desk. Now he stopped, stiffly turned and headed back to his place. 'I think we can defer the punishment, sir.'

'Oh good.' Smith looked puzzled, dropped the slipper back into his bag, and smiled at the class. Many secret smiles were directed back at him, except from the Captains, who were staring at him with a mixture of incredulity and distaste. 'Now. Destruction, murder, people impaled on posts. All of these are a feature of Boudicca's rebellion against the Romans, circa AD 62.'

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Atkins put his hand up. 'Please, sir, do you mean Boadicea?'

'Yes. Boudicca was her real name. She was a Celtic queen, the Queen of the Iceni, who lived around here. She was the widow of Prasutagas. He was the old king. When he died, he left his land to his daughters and the Roman empire jointly. This is when the Romans ruled Britain. He thought that would work. But Roman agents came and tried to take over the place. Why?'

'Because girls couldn't rule a kingdom?' suggested Merryweather.

'That might be what they thought. We don't know if they were acting officially. Paulinus, the Governor, was away fighting in Wales. That might have been the idea. If they'd failed, nobody could blame him. A lot of governments work like that.'

'Not European ones, surely?' Alton murmured, a sly smile on his face.

'Perhaps. In Bosnia - but never mind that. The agents raped the daughters and molested Boudicca herself. So she - what? What's the matter?'

A murmur had rippled round the classroom: 'Sir, what did they do to the daughters again?' asked Phipps.

'Raped them. Had sex with them against their will. Isn't that in the dictionary? Now...' He ignored the murmurings and turned to the map. 'Boudicca's immediate reaction was to do - what to the agents? Hadleigh-Scott?'

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Hadleigh-Scott looked up from nudging his deskmate and giggling. 'To make them marry the girls, sir?'

'What? No. Strange. No, she had the agents skinned alive and impaled on posts with their intestines - most texts say intestines - in their mouths. Very nasty. Then, because they'd given the impression they were working on Imperial orders, she called the Iceni to war, and declared that they were free. They didn't have to do what the Governor said any more. The tribe attacked Colchester, St Albans and London, and burnt them all flat. There was so much destruction that archaeologists know when they've got down to AD 62 in those towns, because there's a layer of broken things and ash. Finally, Paulinus returned, got his troops together and defeated the Iceni. Boudicca killed herself. The question is: was this great British heroine, a favourite of Queen Victoria, right to rebel? Hutchinson?'

'Of course. She was fighting foreign tyranny.'

'No she wasn't. Paulinus was the mildest of governors. If she'd have reported the agents to him, he'd have dealt with them himself.'

'But Britain was occupied by the Romans.'

'The people she killed were Britons. Even the legions were mostly local recruits.'

Hutchinson laughed. 'What are you trying to say about Queen Boadicea? That she was some sort of mass murderer?'

'Yes. Of course.' Smith had advanced up the room, staring manically at Hutchinson. 'But was the murder justified?'

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Hutchinson squared his jaw. 'Murder is never justified.'

'What about in the Boer War?'

'That was different. That's war.'

'So was this. The Britons she killed were from other tribes. Tribes who had invited the Romans to Britain.'

'Collaborators. They deserve all they get.'

'Years before. They now lived in peace with everybody.' Smith was level with his desk now, glaring down at him.

'Then, no,' the boy blurted, meeting his stare.

'But it was rape. Her daughters. Royalty. Mauled by rabble. Who's right?' Smith lowered his head until it was level with Hutchinson's.

'How can I possibly - ?' Hutchinson glanced away.

'Who's right?' bellowed Smith.

'I don't know!' shouted Hutchinson.

'No!' Smith slapped the slipper across the edge of his desk with a sound like a whiplash.

The boy jumped up out of his seat and stood there, glaring at Smith and panting.

For a moment, the class thought that Hutchinson was going to hit him.

Then Smith turned away, and wandered back towards the blackboard. The slipper had vanished once more.

'No,' he murmured, like he'd lost his place again. 'No, you don't...' He turned and looked at the boys. 'Now, where were we?'

With a mighty effort, Hutchinson sat down. He stabbed the nib of his fountain pen into the paper in front of him, and half wrote, half ripped, a single word:

Later.

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The bell rang at eleven, and the class filed out, many of the boys clustering around the notice-board outside as they left. Hutchinson didn't even look at Smith as he marched swiftly by.

Timothy stopped at the desk, and looked nervously up at his form master. Smith was quickly packing his briefcase, ready to get on to his next class. 'Excuse me, sir. Thank you, sir.'

'Oh? What for?'

'You didn't let Hutchinson at me, sir. I wanted you to have this.' There was a quiet intensity, a desperation, to the boy's voice. He pulled a bright red apple from his pocket, and held it out, his hand shaking slightly.

Smith took the apple, buffed it on his sleeve, and grinned at his reflection in it. 'Why an apple?'

'I had a dream. I have strange dreams. I had to give it to you. So you'd remember.'

Smith took a bite and munched thoughtfully. 'An apple a day... saves nine. No, that's not right. What was it that I was supposed to remember?'

'A stitch in time? Keeps the doctor away?' Timothy suggested smiling.

'Probably. Dreams are like that. You never remember the interesting bits.'

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Tim took a deep breath. 'I'm... I'm being... It's the rules, I know, and I should just put up with it, but... the Captains, they beat me every day. I only wanted to ask, is it ever going to stop? Does it stop when I'm in the second year?'

Smith put down the apple, and looked around the room, lost for words. Finally, he answered. 'I don't know. Does it? Is there anything I can do? I'll tell them to stop - '

'No! Don't!'

'No, no, then I won't, no...' Smith held up his hands in pacification. 'Does it happen to everybody?'

'No. They do a few things to the others, and they call Anand and Alton names. But it's only me that they give a beating to every day.'

Smith wandered into the middle of the room, biting his lip in concentration. There seemed to be nothing inside him to answer the boy. He'd never been bullied - or had he? If he had, he didn't remember. What would Rocastle I say?

'It's part of growing up.' He gazed into the corner of the room. 'It's everyday. Cat eat dog. Survival of the fittest. A place like this - it's full of rules. Full of customs. And they have to be obeyed. It's just the way things are. Discipline. The making of a man. One day, you'll be a captain, and then you can beat who you want. You've got that to look forward to.' He turned back to Timothy and managed to meet his pained eyes. 'Does that help?'

Timothy didn't answer for a moment, looking at Smith almost accusingly. 'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.' He almost ran out of the room.

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Smith stared after him. 'Or you could always burn their houses down,' he whispered to himself.

The door opened and Rocastle entered, beaming. He glanced behind him at the departing Timothy. 'John, I do believe I've misjudged you!'

'Sorry?' Smith went back to his case and finished packing up.

'Well, I was on the way here to give you a bit of a lecture, something mad and racy about Boadicea, I heard. But I stopped to have a glance at the cricket team selection and heard you giving that strange Dean boy a wonderful talking-to. That's just the spirit! Tell me, would you be interested in helping out with the OTC?'

'The OTC?'

'Officer Training Corps; probably don't have them in Scotland. There's a session tomorrow afternoon. We do it every Saturday. Can't ask you to come along on your time off, but...'

'I'll pop my head around the parade ground.'

'Good... good! Well, keep it up!' Rocastle slapped Smith on the shoulder, and left, rubbing his hands together. He stopped at the door.

'Oh, and interesting team selection, by the way, putting Hutchinson in at five and making Dean captain. I was going to mention it, but, no, no, I think I shall trust your judgement. Good day, Dr Smith.' And he left.

Smith closed his case, picked it up and slowly walked to the door.

All of a sudden, he found himself wishing for evening.

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Benny glanced at her watch. Smith was late again. Every Friday lunchtime, they had a regular date outside the Farmers' Arms, and every Friday lunchtime, he was late. The little cluster of tables outside the pub was filling up with customers, and she was sitting there marooned, unable to pop in and order a pint alone. Or a half, rather, or if she was being particularly civilized and non-threatening, a flipping sherry.

She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. The day felt parched and distant, the result of only getting an hour or so's sleep near dawn. The darkness under her eyes was so great that she'd given in to temptation and applied some strategic foundation. Better that than look like a panda. Oh well, only another three Fridays to go, then they could go. Being somewhere else would be good, but being in the future, her personal future, would be better. A year on, and she'd feel a bit more together, and she just wanted to get to that.

For one thing, she wanted to ask the Doctor why on earth he'd done anything as insane as this. If it was some sort of reaction to what she was experiencing, then it wasn't the most useful response in the world.

Benny closed her eyes, wishing that the day wasn't so bright. When she opened them again, Dr Smith was sitting opposite her, a big grin on his face. 'Hello,' he said. 'How are you? And how's your father?'

'I'm fine. He's fine,' Benny replied ritualistically, feeling a great urge to grind her teeth together. 'And how are you, Uncle John?'

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'Confused. Happy. Both. I'll tell you in a minute. What would you like to drink? Sherry?'

'Three pints of ESB and a straw.'

'Sorry?'

'Sherry, yes, that'd be lovely.' By the time he'd returned with the drinks, in his case a lemonade, she'd quietened herself a bit. It was just that she would have liked to have had somebody to talk to. It wasn't his fault if he couldn't be that person right now. She made herself sip the sherry instead of throwing it back and banging the glass on the table. 'So, what's confusing you?'

'There's a woman. She's called Joan. She teaches science. I think that she doesn't like me.'

'Doesn't like you? Why?'

'Because she keeps laughing at me. Every time we walk back from school she laughs at me. And she keeps beating me at cards; she enjoys winning. She's going to cook for me, just to show off.'

'This woman who doesn't like you... is cooking for you?'

'Tonight. She disturbs me. Sometimes I can't think about anything else.'

'She'll be stealing your blazer next. Wait a sec.' Benny fumbled in her bag and pulled out the list, which she took a quick peep at beneath table level.

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Things Not To Let Me Do

1: Commit suicide, if for some reason I want to.

2: Do physical harm to anyone, if you're aware of it.

3: Eat meat, if you can.

4: Eat pears. I hate pears, I don't want to wake up and taste that.

5: Leave the area, or you, behind.

6: Get involved in big sociopolitical events.

7: Hurt animals, especially owls.

8: Develop an addiction.

9: Anything impossible.

Benny looked up from the document, shaking her head. 'Well, all I can say is, if you're going to do that sort of thing, be careful.'

'Careful? What do you mean?'

'You ought to, erm, make sure you're safe,' Benny whispered, glancing around at the other tables.

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'Safe? Oh, I see what you mean. There's no need.'

'Isn't there?'

'No, we never bet much at whist. A wine gum here, a shilling there...'

'I'm not talking about whist!' Benny lowered her voice. 'Listen, don't you think this behaviour, on both your parts, is a bit odd?\x92

'Oh yes, that's why I mentioned it. I wish she'd stop.'

'Do you?'

'Well...' Smith's face clouded. 'No, not really. I think I'd miss it if she stopped now.'

'Oh my God...' Benny rubbed her eyes tiredly. 'Are you sure this is a good idea?'

'What?'

Benny sighed and glanced up at the sky. Well, perhaps it wouldn't do any harm. In this era, they'd need to be married a year and have a signed note from both parents before they could even snog, and they only had three weeks. She ought to just let him enjoy the attention. 'Nothing. You're obviously just very good friends and colleagues, and should cook, play whist and disturb each other's emotions as much as you think fit.'

'Oh. Do you really think so?'

He looked so downcast that Benny had to smile. 'Still confused?'

'More so.'

'Your round, isn't it?'

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They talked about the cricket team, Smith quickly exhausting Benny's knowledge of this peculiar game in his quest to clarify the rules. He briefly alluded to the Boudicca incident, and Tim's subsequent appeal, but made them sound so everyday that Benny could only mutter about not liking school that much herself. There followed a few questions about her return to Newnham, which she dodged, and about the current health and activities of her father, Smith's brother Jonathan. These she answered with whopping fibs.

'He's gone off to Gallifrey.'

'Gallifrey? Where have I heard that before?'

'It's in Ireland.'

'Rather risky at the moment, surely?'

'Oh, he's in no danger. They're a backward lot, the natives of Gallifrey. Idiots with no dress sense.'

'Yes...' Smith nodded thoughtfully. He glanced at his watch.

'Well, I'd better be getting back to \x85\x92

'Joan?'

'School.'

'Same thing. Try not to learn too much.'

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He got up, making that gesture he always did with his hand, a strange flutter that Benny took to be a perplexed search for a non-existent hat. That alone was worth a thesis. She'd have so many questions for him in three weeks. 'See you next Friday.'

'Of course.' Benny saluted him with her remaining sherry, and watched him depart. He waved as he mounted his bicycle and peddled off down the road, swerving close enough to the local omnibus to scare the horses.

Benny laughed and drained her glass. 'What the hell. Good luck to her.'

She noticed that, from a table a few feet away, somebody was staring at her, apparently amazed.

It was a tall and handsome young man, with fair hair, dressed in blazer and whites. A boater was perched atop his head. He had halted in the act of eating one of the pub's corned-beef rolls. He broke into a smile as she caught his eye, so she quickly looked away. No thank you. Not wanted on voyage. She put down her glass and reached for her bag, intending to head off for an afternoon's painting and possibly a little sleep.

But the young man had got up from his seat, and intercepted her as she headed for the steps that led down from the raised area of the tables to the street below. 'Excuse me - but it's Bernice, isn't it? Bernice Summerfield?'

'Yes...' Benny stared at the man, trying to place him. She was sure that she'd never met him before. Perhaps he was one of Alexander's friends. 'I'm sorry, have we met before?'

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'Hah! Goodness, Professor, the answer's both yes and no. Let me see, this would be the time when, ah, you've just seen me off on my bicycle, haven't you! Oh dear, I'm afraid I did make you worry.'

Benny stared at him, her mouth open. 'Doctor?'

'Tenth, actually. I pop back here quite often now. I say, you're drinking sherry! Wouldn't you prefer a... pint of bitter, wasn't it?'

Benny unsteadily sat back down, and the man settled opposite her.

'My God,' she laughed, 'this is a bit of a shock. I'm surprised that this sort of thing doesn't happen more often, really, with time travel and all that. Well, hey, now that you're here, maybe you could explain why you did this to yourself?'

'Made myself into a human, you mean? It was a long time ago, Benny, I'm not really sure that there was a particular reason. I purchased the equipment off of a lovely old chap called Laylock on the planet Crex, a bodysmith by trade. But you were there, weren't you?'

'Not quite. I just got to see the before and after comparison. What exactly did you do?'

'You'll have seen the red sphere, the biodatapod? Interesting thing. A near-infinite memory capacity in such a small pod. It uses the fractal technology of the Matrix, I suspect. Well, I went to Laylock carrying a memory module, which contained a fictional persona I'd developed using information from the TARDIS databanks.'

'You'd used the telepathic circuits beforehand, I saw that in the console log.

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'Did I?' The young man pondered, rubbing his chin. 'Now why was that? Oh yes, of course - the telepathic circuits sop up the memories of passengers like a sponge in water. I was using the recollections of previous occupants to create Smith.'

'What, companions like me?'

'Exactly. Including you, actually.'

'Oh dear. I wonder what?'

'Nothing appalling, if I recall rightly.' He reached out and tapped Benny's nose gently. Benny smiled. It hadn't occurred to her, but she rather missed all that hugging that the Doctor went in for. It used to irritate her, but it was typical of him that just when she needed a bit of physical contact, he turned into a chap who felt uncomfortable about shaking her hand.

Well, obviously the tenth Doctor was pretty tactile. Risking the disapproval of the townsfolk, she tapped his nose back.

He grinned. 'Laylock used the character I'd written to program the biodatapod. He stuck it to my forehead, and it sucked all the Doctorish memories and abilities out of me, and replaced them with the fictional ones. It also wooshed thousands of nanites into my bloodstream, and, in about a nanosecond, they transformed my physical being into that of a human, just as I'd wanted. The nanites rushed off with all of the Time Lord cellular information, back into the Pod, leaving me as - '

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'Doctor John Smith of Aberdeen, the schoolteacher. I see. And you recovered, just as promised, after three months?'

'Well, Benny, you know that is future information, but...' He glanced conspiratorially upwards, as if to check that the Time Lords weren't watching. 'Of course I did, or I wouldn't be here now, talking to you like this. I put the sphere back to my forehead, or, as I recall, you did it for me, and the process was reversed. I woke up rather shocked, but quite happy.'

Benny nodded, reflecting on her conversation with Smith earlier on. 'I'll bet.' She bit her lip, wondering if she should ask the question that had been nagging at her mind for the last few minutes. She reached out and took the Doctor's hand between hers. 'Listen, you know I've been going through it a bit in the last few weeks. Do I... does everything... turn out all right for me? I'd like to know. Can you tell me?'

The fair-haired man took a deep breath, and the look in his eyes scared her terribly. 'Benny - '

'No! Actually, I don't want to know, I've changed my mind. Don't tell me. Please.' Benny raised her arms in a pacifying gesture. 'I think I could do with that pint now.'

'Benny, relax, nothing terrible happens to you. The last time I saw you, you had, oh, six husbands and three children, and were enjoying being first lady of the court of Cartufel, at the galactic core.'

Benny laughed in relief. 'Six husbands? Really? Goodness, at least I get Sundays off.'

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The man laughed with her. He had a pleasant chuckle. 'Would you like to meet my new companion?'

'Of course. Are they here?'

'She's round the back, in the beer garden, playing on the climbing frame.'

Benny raised an eyebrow. 'I think this is going to make me feel very old.'

Aphasia had indeed been playing on the climbing frame in the otherwise deserted beer garden, her balloon tied to her wrist, but then she'd noticed something: a little wooden table on a pole, with bread laid out on it. A sparrow fluttered down, took a bit of the bread in its beak and flew away.

So Aphasia had taken the bread, put it on the other end of the wooden table where she was sitting, and stared at it, ready. The sparrow had bravely returned for more bread. A few minutes later, Benny came round the comer of the pub, clutching the pint that her new friend had bought her. He walked with her, having refilled his glass of wine. 'Aphasia, say hello to an old companion of mine, Bernice Summerfield.'

Aphasia made a face, and Benny laughed, sitting down at the table beside her. 'You've got a mouthful of crisps, haven't you? Just like me. I was always told not to eat so-'

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A feather sneaked out from Aphasia's lips. She licked it quickly back in.

'Fast...' Benny stared at the semi-dissected bird that lay on the seat beside the little girl.

'Aphasia! How many times have I told you not to do that!' The man in white shielded the bird from Benny's gaze with his boater. 'I'm terribly sorry. She's a little hunter, from one of the lost colonies. Her parents are dead. She survived in the wild until I found her. I'm gradually teaching her the ways of civilization.'

'Yes, well, don't worry, that's, erm, fine...' said Benny, concentrating on her pint. 'We can say hello when she's finished her lunch. Tell me more about this experiment of yours that I'm taking part in.'

The young man sat down. 'Well, I realize that us meeting now explains a joke you made to me when I recovered. You said that I looked like myself again.'

'Mm-hmm. Sounds like me. I must remember to do that.'

'I've been trying to remember more about the whole situation, but I'm understandably hazy. We hid the datapod with my real persona in it somewhere rather artful, didn't we?'

Benny nodded, smiling ruefully. She put down her glass and took his hand gently between hers again. 'Remember where?'

'Can't say I do.'

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Benny let go of his hand and shook her head. 'Well, see if you can before tonight. Bring little Aphasia with the apt name and we'll have dinner. No game, I'm afraid, but I do make a nice vegetarian quiche.'

The tenth Doctor frowned. 'We'd be delighted, but I can't seem to remember where you're staying.'

Benny was getting to her feet, smoothing her skirt! 'Then that'll be another challenge, won't it?'

The man exchanged glances with the little girl, who was finishing up her bird quickly. 'All right. Do you have to rush off?'

'Oh yes. I've just remembered, I left something on the stove.'

'Before you go, please tell me, erm, how do you think I compare with your Doctor?'

Benny glanced at Aphasia. 'Compared to him I think you're rather heartless. See you later.' She reached for her handbag.

Something slashed past the tips of her fingers, and the, handle came away from the bag, which went flying.

The man was on his feet, miming holding a sword.

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No, not miming. Benny felt, rather than saw, something incredibly sharp cutting the air into ozone in front of her throat. 'Your sense of humour lets you down, Professor. I gather that you checked my pulse and found only one beat. Is that all that gave me away?'

'Hardly. The Doctor's a vegetarian, you see. Add that to the bird-eating companion and the three children, and I was getting rather suspicious. You want the Biodatapod, I suppose?'

'That's right. Aphasia - ' The little girl was tipping the contents of the handbag over the table. The man glanced at her for a second.

Benny slapped the pint into his face.

The glass spun away in two as it hit the sword.

But Benny was already sprinting for the stile that led into the next field.

The man dived after her, pulling a gun from his belt one-handed. 'Stop!' he shouted.

Benny hurdled the stile, splinters of it exploding up around her knees as a warning burst of silent scarlet energy bolts ripped the wood apart.

Beyond the stile was a ploughed field. She stared at it in horror and dived for the hedgerow.

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By the time that Greeneye had scrambled over the burning remains of the stile, his quarry was nowhere to be seen. 'You haven't vanished, Professor!' he called, turning slowly to examine the trees and hedges around him, invisible sword in one hand and gun in the other. 'We only want the Pod. Tell us where it is and we won't harm you.'

Benny didn't reply. She was curled up in the ditch by the hedge, a mass of ferns wrapped around her. She was busy undoing her skirt as quietly as possible. The damn thing had nearly sent her sprawling head first into the stile.

'Very well. Aphasia, it's time for your balloon.'

Greeneye gestured to the little girl.

'Should have done it right away,' Aphasia sulked, untying the balloon from her wrist. 'Balloon, find the lady and snuggle her.' She let go of the string, and the red balloon floated up into the air. It stopped, just above head height and moved in the direction of the stile, until it stopped above Greeneye's shoulder.

Benny had slid out of the skirt, and was trying to remain as still as possible. It wouldn't be long, she reasoned, before somebody from the pub ventured into the garden and saw the burning stile. That might be fatal, since these two, whoever they were, didn't seem to care if they were seen or not. But them being scared off seemed to be her only chance right now.

The balloon had floated down to the level of the ploughed soil, and was making gentle, circular motions.

Suddenly, it halted, and then sped off across the ground, straight towards the hedgerow where Benny sheltered. Greeneye dashed after it, his sword raised above his head.

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The balloon dipped down into the ditch. Benny was amazed to see a red sphere pushing quickly through the ferns above her face, as if shoved by a hand. The thing paused a minute, and then rushed at her.

The surface engulfed her face.

She hadn't had time to take a breath. The skin of the thing tasted warm and organic, not like rubber at all. She started to gag, but forced the reflex down, her hands scrabbling frantically at the balloon. Her fingers couldn't seem to hold on to it, slipping off as they tried to grab it or burst it or something. The red material was trying to force itself down her throat and into her nostrils. She couldn't breathe.

In a minute, she'd pass out, and they'd have her.

A shadow appeared over the ditch, and in a red haze, Benny realized that her attacker was standing over her, the ozone-stripping blade slicing vegetation with mere gentle movements a few inches from her face.

If she fell now, then the Doctor would be absolutely vulnerable.

So she wasn't going to let that happen.

With an audible yell, she pushed her head straight at the blade.

The balloon hit it. And exploded.

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In the garden, Aphasia started screaming, shrill child screams that didn't stop.

Greeneye snarled, slammed his gun into some invisible holster and reached down with his free hand to grab Benny. He hauled her up to his eye-level by her hair, and shook her until the scraps of balloon, now turning an ugly brown, fell from her face. 'You hurt her!' he bellowed.

'You started it,' Benny told him.

He yanked her head roughly to one side.

Her hair-extensions came away in his hand. He stared at them for a second.

She butted him across the bridge of the nose.

Greeneye fell back and slashed wildly with his sword.

The blade cut a fine line across the blouse material over Benny's stomach.

She turned and sprinted away along the ditch in her bloomers, glancing over her shoulder to see him scramble to his feet, clutching his nose. A little crowd of townsfolk were kicking the stile away. One pointed at her, and suddenly Greeneye was at the centre of a mass of hearty and drunken young men, determined to avenge her honour. She ignored gallant shouts to return and jumped up on to a gate, then over it.

She landed in a side-road, right in front of Mr Hodges' greengrocer's wagon.

'Whoa!' Hodges shouted, pulling up the horses as they whinnied and bucked. He opened his mouth at the sight of Benny's muddied and disrobed state, blushed and started frantically to clamber out of his apron. 'What in - ? I mean, by God, girl-'

Benny jumped up beside him and swiftly covered herself up with the apron. 'Home, Mr Hodges,' she told him grimly. 'And don't spare the horses.'