'What do you want?' she said.

Dashiel ran forward and suddenly grabbed her throat. His claws were sharp, grazing her skin. His breath stank of something like cat food. The stench brought tears to her eyes.

'You, girlie,' leered Dashiel. 'We wan' you to shut yer mouth.'

Martha nodded, eyes open wide. OK, now she was scared.

'Dash,' said the other pirate; the gruff-sounding woman, Jocelyn. 'We gotta ask 'em questions.'

Dashiel considered and, for a moment, Martha thought he might just kill her anyway. Slowly he released his grip on her throat. She could still feel the pattern of his claws on her skin and wondered how badly she'd bruise.

'Right,' said Dashiel, addressing the whole room. The tentacled aliens squawked with fear, like so many terrified chickens. Martha could remember a time when she too might have been cowed by the sight of strange gun-toting aliens. Now it was just any other day. 'We wanna know where your captain is!' demanded Dashiel. 'We wanna know where your engines is! And we wanna know why none of you tried to fight us!'

The alien passengers cowered, too terrified to respond.

Martha could see Dashiel would think nothing of killing a few of them, if only to prompt an answer. 'We're all just passengers,' she said, trying to keep the terror from her voice. 'We're civilians. We don't know any of that stuff.'

Dashiel considered this. 'Hurr,' he sighed.

'What we gonna do, Dash?' asked Archibald.

'Don't bower 'im,' Jocelyn warned him. 'You 'ave to show respect.'

Dashiel brooded. 'We gotta wait for the others. Captain Florence will 'ave orders.'

'Will she let us kill 'em?' asked Archibald eagerly.

Dashiel smiled at him, fondly. 'Maybe. If you be'ave.'

They waited. Martha counted to ten, trying to keep her cool. Any minute now the Doctor would stroll in and everything would get sorted. She kept counting – to twenty, to thirty... There was still no Doctor by the time she got to sixty, and she'd been counting more and more slowly. Oh well, she thought. It looked like she'd have to do the sorting.

'So,' she asked Dashiel amiably, 'how many of you are there?'

'A hundred,' said Dashiel.

'More like a thousand!' said Jocelyn. 'We're like a swarm or an army.'

'Yeah,' agreed Archibald. 'A thousand's bigger than a hundred, is'nit?'

A bit bigger, yes,' said Martha. 'So where are the other nine-hundred-and-ninety-seven of you?'

'They should be here, Dash,' said Jocelyn. Martha realised Jocelyn had pink lipstick around her hairy mouth. It was one of those pastel shades that Martha didn't suit. It looked quite good on the badger.

'They should be here,' admitted Dashiel. His shiny black nose twitched with irritation.

'Did they get lost?' asked Archibald.

'How'd they get lost, Archie?' said Jocelyn, not unkindly.

'Dunno,' said Archie. He shrugged. 'I get lost sometimes.'

Dashiel raised one arm and spoke into the computer set into his wrist. 'Captain Florence,' he said. 'We need orders.' The response was a hiss of static. Dashiel tried again, sending the same message over and over and getting no reply. Martha could see him getting more and more worried. And she didn't like what that might mean for the prisoners.

'They ain't there,' he said eventually, with terrifying calm.

'So what we gonna do?' asked Archibald, almost on his tip-toes with excitement.

'We're gonna do what the captain told us,' said Dashiel. 'We're gonna find what we came for. We're gonna nick it and then we're gonna wreck the whole ship.'

'Yeah!' agreed Archibald.

'You're gonna stay here, Archie,' Dashiel told him. 'Me and Joss are gonna go take a look-see.'

'Awww!' said Archibald.

'Now, now,' Joss told him gently. 'This way you guard the prisoners. And kill 'em if they make trouble.'

'I s'pose,' said Archibald sulkily.

'Good lad.'

Archibald took Dashiel's position, guarding the only door into the cocktail lounge. Martha noticed how he stood up straighter, looked more mature, given this responsibility. He gave the impression that he wanted the prisoners to try something, so he could teach them a lesson.

'Won't be long,' said Dashiel as he and Jocelyn set off. 'Have fun.'

The alien passengers kept quiet, huddled together in front of the bay window. Martha heard them gasp as she made her way slowly to the bar. It was all she could think of to help them. The serving robot stepped neatly up to serve her – he must have been programmed to fetch drinks whatever the circumstances. Martha rather liked that.

'Hydrogen hydroxide on the rocks,' she told him loudly. And don't be stingy with it.' The robot quickly fetched her the glass of water and ice cubes while she perched herself on a barstool. In the long mirror behind the bar, she could see Archibald watching her closely. He didn't know quite what to do. She raised an eyebrow at him, like she'd do with any staring bloke in a pub. And just like any staring bloke, Archibald looked quickly away.

Gotcha, thought Martha.

She didn't turn round; she addressed his reflection, left him talking to her back. 'So,' she said in her best sexy voice. 'You're learning to be a pirate.'

She saw him screw up his hairy face. 'I'm not learnin' nuffin',' he said. 'I am a pirate.'

'Course you are,' she said. 'Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'

She watched him seething. 'Captain Florence,' he said at last, 'says we're not pirates anyhow. Says we're venture capitalists.'

'Well fancy,' said Martha. She took a slow sip of water, making him wait. Her sister had taught her the knack of it – Tish lived to torture boys. 'So, venture capitalist like you,' she went on. 'Must spend a lot of time in places like this. Sipping cocktails. Doing deals.'

'Yeah,' said Archibald. He was, she knew, lying through his prominent teeth. 'All'a time.'

'Thought so,' she said. 'You'll have a drink, then?'

Archibald bristled. 'What?' he said.

'Just a drink. Nothing heavy.' As she looked down at her glass of water again she winked at him. Just at the last minute, so he might think he'd imagined it. When she glanced up again, she could see him blushing underneath his coarse fur.

'I, uh, yeah,' he said. 'But Dash wouldn't like it.'

'Dashiel can have a drink when he gets back,' she said. 'It's not like he's missing out. The bar's free anyway. And guarding prisoners . . . That's thirsty work.'

Archibald coughed, clearing the dryness in his throat. He leant back to look through the door into the ballroom, to see if his colleagues were anywhere nearby. Then he waved his gun at the alien prisoners cowering in front of the bay window. The aliens squealed in terror – exactly the response he wanted. As Archibald made his way slowly to the bar, shoulders back, walking tall, Martha could see him playing it cool. He leant against the bar beside her, the perfect position to talk to her and at the same time watch the prisoners. She smiled demurely at him and he grinned back. His breath was hot and stinky, his fur bristly like an old toothbrush.

'Yes, sir?' said the robot barman. Archibald's eyes showed a moment of panic.

'What should I 'ave?' he asked Martha.

She looked him up and down, appraising him. 'Big strong bloke like you?' she said. 'I bet you can handle anything.'

'Yeah,' he agreed. 'I bet that too.'

Martha nodded at the robot. 'Do your worst,' she told it. The robot began to mix various brightly coloured liquids into a glass. Archibald watched in horror as the final concoction was presented to him. The amber liquid let off a haze of steam.

Martha raised her glass of water, chinked it against his drink. 'Down the hatch,' she said, and knocked back her water in one go.

'Yeah,' said Archibald, 'OK.' And he knocked the amber liquid back –