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hanging at his hip.
    â€˜We’ve got a work order to install this Lisp box,’ Bob explained. ‘Can you just sign at the bottom here? Thanks.’ He showed her the invoice the Keyworth Computers woman had given them, now attached to a plastic clipboard. ‘OK, where do you want it?’
    â€˜The compute centre is on the first floor,’ said the receptionist. Peri coughed behind her hand, checking that her moustache was still in place.
    She helped Bob lug the box to the computer room, both of them following the receptionist, who seemed perfectly comfortable with the whole thing. Thieves were hardly going to roll up and give the company free machines, were they? Peri wondered if they could have left out a step and just arrived with a cardboard box full of bricks But then, they wouldn’t have had the paperwork or the official company logo on the carton.
    And then he and Peri were alone in the ‘compute centre’.
    It was quiet and noisy at the same time, full of the hum of air conditioning, and cold enough to make the tiny hairs on Peri’s arms prickle. The room was white, spotless, filled with neatrows of big grey boxes.
    â€˜I’d better get working,’ said Bob. They wheeled the wobbling trolley down a row of machines, until he found one he liked.
    â€˜What’s gonna happen when someone comes along and discovers this brand-new machine they didn’t order?’ said Peri.
    â€˜We’re doing them a favour,’ said Bob, extracting an artist’s knife from the pocket of his overalls. ‘This baby is top of the range. Hi-res graphics display. Stereo sound. A mouse! Who’s gonna complain?’
    Peri sighed. It was all annoyingly familiar: being dragged into unlikely and hazardous situations by someone with too much confidence and not enough interest in explanations. It must be some Freudian thing she had. Or maybe all the Doctor’s friends were like this.
    While Bob worked, Peri paced the perimeter of the computer centre, hoping to find a locked door, a NO ENTRY sign, something suggesting secrecy. There was a closet full of big computer tapes in metal canisters, but it wasn’t even locked. As she walked along the rows of boxes, Bob appeared and disappeared from her line of sight. From time to time she heard him banging and thumping, or muttering to himself.
    The constant noise of the room whited out most sounds: Peri saw, but she didn’t hear, the sliding doors swish open. She ducked behind one of the computers.
    â€˜What are you doing here?’ said the woman’s voice crisply. It wasn’t the receptionist. Peri had a sinking feeling she knew exactly who it was. She heard a bang and crash as though Bob had dropped something.
    â€˜I understood this was an urgent order, ma’am.’
    Peri peeked out from her hiding place for a moment. Swan was examining the invoice on the clipboard. This is it, Peri thought, there was never any way we could have got away withthis, I’m wearing a fake moustache, for God’s sake. She was tempted to rip the thing off right away so at least she wouldn’t be arrested in drag.
    But Swan didn’t seem to find anything wrong with the invoice. She put the clipboard back down on top of the box where Bob had perched it.
    And then she watched him set up the Lisp Machine. For the next forty minutes.
    Peri thought of hiding behind the nearest door – a closet filled with huge plastic bottles that reeked of noxious chemicals. She decided to stay where she was, crouched behind the tall grey box.
    Her mind flashed forward to the consequences: kicked out of college, shot by the security guard, having to tell her parents. Having to keep running forever, never being able to go home. Somehow it was more frightening than ravening carnivores or rivers of lava. It was more real.
    She could make a break for it. After so long in the Doctor’s company, she was an expert at the mad sprint to safety. She