It had been a difficult, wearisome day. People's problems, all of them her responsibility, just kept on coming. Mrs Stiggs' son was getting his headaches more and more often, and needed better medical attention than the local drunken, knife-wielding potion merchant could offer. Mr Barnaby had spent all his money for the month on a new shotgun and now wanted to know what he was going to do about paying the rent. Young Jenny Fisk, just turned fifteen, cried all the time and was unable to say what it was she had come to ask for help with. Poor, lonely old Mr Goddard was almost blind now, but couldn't afford to lose his job as watchman at the mill. She had poured out her fortune to help the less fortunate, and so the lives of these people and a thousand others had somehow come into her care. If she failed to solve their problems, they muttered and cast resentful hidden looks at her, for the smiles and thanks and astonishment at her early acts of generosity had quickly given way to an assumption that her charity was no more than their due. Plus, in the cripplingly expensive model village constructed for the workers on the estate, the newfangled sewerage system was playing up again, and people were talking about the old days, when they just used to fill in the old holes and dig new ones as they needed them.

Far too late to be home. It must be ten o'clock, for the summer evening was growing cool, and the sky was a sparkling blanket of stars. She trailed home up the path, kicking in annoyance at the heavy skirts of her stiff, confining dress, towards the simple modern brick house she had had built on the ruins of the old mansion. Before opening the front door, she couldn't help looking up, up above her head.

So many stars.

Her eyes, which had once been so wide and bright and full of life, were those of a tired woman now, and seemed smaller and duller. The tangled mass of her dark curls was tamed, cropped and packed into an efficient bun at the back of her head. That dazzling smile which would light up her face was rarely seen, and had been replaced by a stretched, mechanical replica, manufactured for the benefit of others. She was still only twenty-two.

"Oh, Doctor," she murmured to the empty sky, "Are you up there, somewhere?"

"Jasmine!"

She turned, and stitched a look of friendly welcome across her face at the approach of Ralph Spriggs, the indolent, dull-witted, but genuinely well meaning son of the neighbouring landowner.

"Hello, Ralph." She stepped forward, away from the door. "It's very late. I hope you're not going to be all alone on your way back to your own house."

"Oh, no. My coach is waiting for me down on the road. I just thought I'd stop by and tell you I'm going to try again to persuade my father to build a model village for his workers, just like yours."

Jasmine had known Mr Spriggs for years and knew for a fact this was never going to happen.

"I'm pleased to hear it," she said. "Perhaps you'll have more luck this time. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight." He seemed perfectly happy with the way the conversation had gone, and turned to go. "Oh, I saw a funny thing while I was walking up here. There was a man fishing in the canal."

"Really?" Jasmine managed a weary smile. "Did you tell him there are no fish in there?"

"Yes, I did."

"And what did he say?"

"He said..." Ralph frowned in puzzlement. "'What would I want with a fish?'"

With a smile and a shrug the young man was on his way, off down the path. Jasmine stood still for a moment, staring after him, then found her gaze swinging inexorably towards the canal which snaked its way along beside the London road, between the hills. Now, keep calm, she told herself. Think. It could be anyone. Just some oddball with nothing better to do than mess about on the canalside. So why was this tingle of suppressed excitement rolling its way around her insides and creeping softly up her spine? Before she knew what she was doing she was lifting up her skirts and, for the first time in years, mustering a run down the slope towards the water's edge. There was a man here in a sharply tailored black coat, sitting on the towpath with his back against an iron post, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. He was disinterestedly dangling a fishing rod into the still, murky water.

Jasmine's heart pounded as his narrow face and dark blue eyes turned towards her. He smiled a thin and crooked smile.

"Hello, Jasmine."

"Doctor!"

She felt light headed with a kind of overwhelming relief, as if growing up under the weight of all her responsibilities had been a bad dream and she was waking to find she was still a fresh, bright teenage girl. It was the new Doctor of course, the one who had helped her against the Klavites that night before vanishing in his strange blue box, but as he set aside his fishing rod and rose to his feet she knew it was him; she could see the beloved old man, her childhood friend, gazing down at her.

The Doctor inspected her closely, leaning forward to peer into her eyes. His brow crinkled in an expression of mild dissatisfaction with what he saw.

"You look terrible."

It was supposed to be a laugh, but it came out a sob, and she ducked her head down defensively. She felt his arm about her shoulders.

"It's all right now. Come on."

They walked in silence along the path a little way, while Jasmine's head spun dazedly with heavy, clashing thoughts. Four years since everything had changed, her guardian had died and her friend the Doctor had left her. Four years of trying to act the part of a grown up. Four years of work. Four years of responsibility. Now his arm was around her and her head was on his shoulder and she felt safe. She felt she could fall asleep right there and dream something beautiful for once. She closed her eyes.

"Things have certainly changed around here," he was saying. "You've done good work, Jasmine. The people have enough to eat, clean water, decent houses, they're happy."

"They never seem happy," she sighed tiredly.

"Oh." He gave a rueful chuckle. "I know how that feels. Daleks, Cybermen, Sontarans... I spend my time dealing with the nastier side of life. Sometimes you just have to stop, take a deep breath, and remind yourself that's not all there is. Remember, no one's every going to come to you and tell you what a nice day they've had. Doesn't mean they haven't."

"I suppose." Leaning against him, Jasmine seemed to feel her mind afloat in a haze. "But sometimes... sometimes I just wish they'd stop. Leave me in peace. Just for a little while."

"What you need," the Doctor confided, "Is a holiday."

"A holiday." She smiled, mournfully. "And while I'm playing quoits at Bognor Regis, who's going to make sure Mr Prenswick doesn't evict the Kellers from their home?"

He accepted this with a moment's silence, then asked quietly:

"Tell me something. That morning, after the Klavites, when I asked you to come with me and explore the universe. Do you ever wish you'd said yes?"

No, I have a life here. I belong. I'm needed. I have work to do. People depend on me. I could never have... I could never... All empty bluster. Like a whispered confession, she said:

"Every day."

"Well, then."

He halted, and she opened her eyes to find herself staring at the eight foot high bulk of that strange blue box with the mysterious writing on the front. The Doctor stepped away from her to unlock the door and push it open invitingly. He looked at her with a teasing flick of an eyebrow.

"Come on."

Jasmine froze, hesitated, took a wary step back as if he would drag her in.

"No. No, it's... it's too late."

"Never too late."

"I have responsibilities."

"They'll still be here when you get back." He patted the box's side. "Time machine. I can have you back five minutes ago. What have you got to lose?"

She stood there, not knowing whether to go forward or back, and he grinned at her indecision.

"Oh, come on, Jasmine. Don't you want to see the Crystal Sea of Kiperia? The famous Blue Stone of Galveston?"

She could feel something inside her, an old, forgotten joy rising in her breast, and unexercised facial muscles twitching and sparking in a smile which suffused her face, and neck, and shivered through her whole body. Next moment, she was darting past the triumphant Doctor before she could change her mind, into a flaring white light that dazzled and blinded, and gave way to gleaming steel machines that loomed over her like feeding vultures, and a voice was saying:

"Disengage successful. Remove the subject."

Flat on her back on a cold, hard plastic table, Jasmine looked around wildly at the lab, the white-coated scientists, the hulking, monstrous thing coming for her, and remembered.