Events, as they always did, played out to her advantage. Several discreet conversations with Commander Hay had left them both pleased with each other, and even the problem of leaving St Mary’s short-staffed had been overcome by the fortuitous wish of a former St Mary’s colleague, Officer Van Owen, to return to her own time and place at St Mary’s. Dr Bairstow had raised no difficulties and she and Miss Van Owen had simply exchanged places.

The results of her transfer had been beneficial to all. St Mary’s, released from her steady stream of constructive criticism, had heaved a massive sigh of relief – ‘Rather similar to taking your corsets off,’ Miss Sykes had remarked – and the Time Police had acquired a new member who was destined to be valued as she had always felt she should be.

Whether being among so many kindred spirits had softened her edges a little or whether it was relief of at last being part of an organisation that did things properly, both Officer North and the Time Police had benefitted from the arrangements. Frequent and well-deserved promotions had settled her. She no longer had the feeling of not only being a square peg in a round hole, but also of facing the daunting task of converting all the other pegs, too. Here, everyone was a square peg. She relaxed into her job and, slightly to her surprise, found she was enjoying herself.

She stood at the console, arms folded, disapproval radiating from every pore and turned a frosty glare on them as they entered. Nothing personal – an ancestor of Officer North’s had once resigned from the court of Queen Victoria citing its frivolity and reckless informality – frosty disapproval was her family’s default state.

‘Right, first thing on entering a pod – always check your weapons are in safe mode. You can shoot yourselves and each other outside the pod, but I don’t want any accidents in here.’

‘We don’t have any real weapons,’ said Parrish, resentfully.

‘You have sonics, I presume?’

Awkwardly, they drew and checked their sonic guns.

‘Safe,’ said Parrish.

‘Safe,’ said Farrell.

‘Um . . . yes, safe.’

‘Try to sound more confident, Lockland.’

‘Um . . . yes, all right.’

‘Um, yes, all right, what?’

‘All right, ma’am.’

‘Better. All of you go and stand over there. Do not touch anything.’

Since Lockland appeared to be paralysed with anxiety, Farrell took her arm and the three of them shuffled into a corner out of the way.

Major Ellis entered the pod and nodded at North. ‘All set?’

‘All systems green, sir.’

‘Coordinates?’

‘Not yet, sir.’

‘Right – who wants to lay in the coordinates? Don’t all rush at once.’ He eyed the trainees. Lockland closed her eyes. Don’t let it be me. Don’t let it be me.

‘Lockland, what about you?’