‘Owwwwww,’ he breathed.

‘Don’t you move, or I’ll hit you again,’ said the voice.

‘Please don’t do that,’ said Rory.

‘I didn’t want to the first time,’ said the voice. There was a waver of concern. ‘I thought you were… it. ‘

‘Really? Well, I’m not.’

‘I see that now.’

‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up,’ said Rory, ‘but my head still really hurts. What did you hit me with?’

‘This,’ said the voice.

The mill shed was still dark, and the turbines were humming under the boarded floor, but the gloom was softened by a small metal lamp that had been turned down very low. By its little, amber glow, Rory could see the shapes of dusty machinery around him, and a figure crouching opposite. The figure was holding a wooden mallet.

‘Great,’ said Rory. Even talking hurt. ‘That looks like a really solid thing to hit someone on the head with.

I’ve probably got concussion.’

‘I’ll hit you with it once more if you don’t hush.’

‘Don’t do that! Why would you do that?’

‘Because I think it may still be outside.’

‘It, you mean?’

‘Yes. You must’ve seen it too.’

Rory nodded, and then added nodding to his list of Things To Avoid Doing.

‘I did,’ he said.

‘Those red eyes…’

‘Exactly,’ said Rory. He felt his scalp gingerly, and found a lump the size of a quail’s egg over his left ear that was so badly bruised just touching it made him want to say things that were not good out-loud words.

‘It chased me,’ he said instead.

‘And me,’ said the figure.

Rory shifted a little to prop himself up against the wooden base of some machine.

‘Don’t move or I will hit you!’ the voice ordered.

‘I thought we’d established I wasn’t it,’ said Rory.

‘I don’t know what you are,’ said the figure with the mallet.

‘Do I look like it?’ asked Rory.

‘No, but it is an unguidely thing, most terribly unguidely, so it may alter its looks with conjury. It may take on a disguise of deceit.’

‘Does this look like a disguise someone would choose?’ asked Rory, gesturing to himself. He squinted into the gloom. The lamp was turned down so far, all he could make out was a hooded and robed shape. And the mallet.

‘It doesn’t seem likely,’ the figure admitted.

‘So could you put the mallet down?’ he suggested.

‘Or at least go to Defcon five with it?’

‘You talk funny. What is your name?’

‘Rory. I’m Rory.’

‘Raw-ree? That’s… that’s an unguidely name, that is.’

‘I’m sure it’s not, but OK.’

‘You’re not from Beside, for I would know you.

What plantnation are you from?’

‘Leadworth. I’m from Leadworth.’

‘There is no plantnation called that!’ the figure declared.

‘Do you know what? I think it’s quite likely that there are some plant-nation- things that you haven’t heard the names of.’

‘That’s not possible!’

‘Well, you can hit me on the head with a mallet as many times as you like, but it won’t change the fact that it is.’

There was a pause of indecision.

‘So, wh-where is this plantnation on Hereafter?’

Rory looked at the hooded figure. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve answered your question, I’ve told you my name, and I think I’ve been pretty good about you hitting me on the head with a mallet, all things considered. Quite apart from anything else, I haven’t had a particularly brilliant day. So I think you can answer a question for me next.

Who are you?’

The figure hesitated, and then pulled down the hood. The lamplight picked out a face that was small and pale, and streaked with the tracks of tears that Rory was sure were the product of frustrated anger rather than weakness.

‘I’m Vesta Flurrish,’ she said.

‘Ah,’ Rory replied, recalling the words of the men who had accosted him. ‘People are looking for you,’

The snowfall eased back enough to reveal that a winter’s night was setting in. Thick banks of grey snow cloud, as coarse and dense as wire wool, slumped low across the sky, interspersed with clear, cold bands of evening. The occasional early star twinkled in the clear stretches, like fairy lights behind glass.

In the twilight of the late afternoon, the snowscape had turned violet and the trees mauve. The snow was like white noise, as though reality wasn’t quite tuned in. The Doctor, Amy, Arabel and Samewell trudged through the edges of Would Be, hearing only the crunch of their footsteps on the fresh snow and the puff of their breaths. Vapour trailed behind them with each exhalation. The Doctor knew they’d been out too long and had pushed too hard. They needed heat and shelter quickly. It was all very well for his Gallifreyan constitution, but human metabolisms were going to shut down very soon, with catastrophic consequences.

‘You keep looking behind you,’ said Amy.

‘I do, don’t I?’ replied the Doctor.

‘Why?’

‘Just checking to see if it’s snowing as badly there as it is in front of us.’

‘Why really?’

‘No reason.’

‘What are you doing with the sonic?’ she asked.

‘Just re-setting it,’ he replied.

‘To what?’

‘A different setting.’

‘Why?’

‘Just in case,’ he said.

‘In case of what?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, I’m going to stupid well thump you if—’

‘Look!’ Bel cried.

They looked. She was pointing up at the sky, at a patch of clear night between cliffs of snow-bruised cloud. The stars were gleaming.

One of them was moving.

It made no sound. It was just a white light, no bigger than the other stars, but it was moving across the sky from east to west.

‘I told you,’ said Bel. ‘Just like I saw before.’

‘It’s an aircraft,’ Amy whispered to the Doctor.

‘Too high up,’ the Doctor replied. ‘And besides, the good people of Beside do not possess aircraft.’

‘What then?’

‘Something in orbit,’ said the Doctor.

‘Like a spaceship?’ asked Amy.

‘Certainly something spaceship-esque,’ he agreed.

She frowned at him.

‘All right,’ he said, ‘something so much like a spaceship you may as well use the word “spaceship”.

My guess is, that’s an interstellar craft in a distant parking orbit, but it could be some kind of lander or shuttle making a slow, shallow descent.’

‘Doctor,’ said Amy carefully, ‘is this planet being invaded by something?’

‘It’s already been invaded,’ the Doctor replied,

‘twenty-seven generations ago, by the Morphans from Earth before. I think someone else has arrived to dispute that claim.’

Amy ignored the clever-clever nature of his answer.

‘Seriously, this planet,’ she said, choosing her words firmly so there could be no wiggle room in the answer,

‘is about to get invaded?’

‘No,’ said the Doctor. ‘The invasion started months ago. We’re only just noticing it.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Bel, overhearing the last bit.

The Doctor stopped and held a finger to his lips.

The others stopped too, looking at him. The crunching of their footsteps stopped. They caught their breath for a moment as they tried to pick up what he was hearing.

They could still hear crunching footsteps and they could still hear rasping breath. It just wasn’t them. Bel’s eyes widened. Samewell’s jaw dropped. Amy looked at the Doctor sharply, silently demanding an explanation.

The Doctor looked around, checking every direction.

He was the first one to see the figures emerging through the snow.

There were half a dozen of them at least, closing from behind, and from the left and right. Grey-green shadows, they looked as tall and robust as tree trunks, except they were walking. Shambling. Trudging. There had to be a word for what they were doing, Amy was sure, but none of the ones she could dredge up seemed threatening enough.