"That's me," she confirms, smiling. "It's nice to see you, as well. These things can be nice"—she flexes the wrist that the comm is fixed to—"but they're no real substitute for face-to-face conversations."

Fortescue supposes that she should be used to it by now. After all, her lot in life was to be cooped up in an old house for a week and then unleashed for the same amount of time. But now that she's here, and can talk to others, she's finding that she vastly prefers being in the same room with her conversation holder.

"Anyway, we'd probably all expire without refreshments, even if the weather isn't so bad."