BORMANN: Just the Herr Doktor, Fraulein. These are serious affairs of state - men's affairs.

(Ace drew a deep breath)

ACE: Now listen, mate...

DOCTOR: Steady on, Ace. Nazism equals sexism, I'm afraid.

It was a conference call, three separate images appearing in squares on the walls, like portraits without frames. Each image stabilized at a different rate, coming in over different routes, via satellites then through Northern Global’s landlines.

The first caller was an Oriental woman. She was calling from an office. O’Hara could see some of the equipment on her desk at the edge of the image. She said nothing, not even looking up into the phone, continuing to work at something while waiting for the conference circuit to complete.

The second caller was young. Perhaps sixteen. He was dressed in a bathrobe, hair wet from a shower. He greeted O’Hara, combing his hair while he waited for the call to begin.

The third image remained a blank square of mint green. O’Hara couldn’t tell if it was the wall behind the phone or some kind of computer-generated blind. Finally a woman stepped into frame. O’Hara didn’t recognize her.

MR PEGRAM’S PHYSICIAN: Hello, can you hear me?

DONNA: You're kidding. You're not telling me the TARDIS has gone.

DOCTOR: Okay.

DONNA: Where is it then?

DOCTOR: You told me not to tell you.

DONNA: Oi. Don't get clever in Latin.

“Ah, right. A dead body, mysterious strangers. I know how this story goes. We are about to be accused of murder.”

(The Doctor and Rose talk about an asteroid named Gavin that will hit Earth in 900 years)

DOCTOR: 900 years from now Gavin will hit Uppsala. Ever been? A little city in Sweden. They have a nice bookshop there.

RUBY: Might just be me, (staring into the sleek white cup of dark steaming liquid the TARDIS console had just dispensed for her), but this coffee tastes funny.

DOCTOR: Funny? ‘D’you mean normal funny, or temporally wonky funny? You can tell the difference cos a Temporally Wonky Frappuccino leaves half of you frozen in last Tuesday.

RUBY: Normal funny, I think, I asked for a latte, but it tastes … I don’t know. Bit like … I want to say roast potatoes? Try some?

DOCTOR: Hm. Sunday roast in a cup! Classy! Could check the flavour gauges. But it’s a long climb to the sub-engines; we’d have to find a map, the vortex-sluicers haven’t been cleaned, and I like this jacket.

RUBY: You can just say you like the Sunday-Roast coffee flavour, I won’t mind.

DOCTOR: You got me.

DOCTOR: This world is uninhabited. Nobody lives here and – so far – nobody has ever lived here. There’s wildlife, yes, but nobody that could look up and say, “Look at those five stars over there. They remind me of that weird fish I saw in the river the other day.

RUBY: They don’t look anything like a fish. They look like a slipper.

DOCTOR: That’s something else that hasn’t happened before

RUBY: What?

DOCTOR: People arguing about what’s right in front of them. Next one of us will start a religion worshipping the Great Fish of the Stars and the other will declare themselves a follower of the Celestial Bedsock and, before we know it, the world’ll go to hell in a handbag