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"Ace. Suppose you're at the front door of your house and there's something blocking the hallway. What do you do?"

"Go round the back."

"Exactly."

They both heard it. A scrabbling noise just at the other side of the door. A cold, chitinous scraping like claws against metal. They slowly backed away.

"Can it get in?" said Ace.

"It's working on it," he said.

"I thought it had gone."

"No."

She was startled by the look that crossed the Doctor's face. A fierce rage that was unlike him. He crossed the room and started to fumble through his jacket, eventually producing a rod of tubular steel.

"My TARDIS," he said.

He drew the device out like a telescopic aerial and, holding it at arm's length, lowered it towards the console panel opposite the doors. Electricity cracked up in a blue surge and knocked him backwards.

Ace caught him and hugged him protectively. He was shaking. "Not something you should try at home," he muttered, flailing out his fingers.

"But the controls are live."

He pulled free of her grip. "I doubt that. Not all of them."

Before she could stop him, he put his hand on another section of the console.

Nothing happened.

"You see? Only the door-handle panel has been electrified."

"To stop us opening the doors," she said. "The TARDIS is protecting us."

Once again, the scrabbling behind the door began in earnest.

"Or protecting itself," he snapped. His look of anger had become grimly determined. Avoiding the electrified panel, he began to adjust instruments around the console, snapping up switches, keying in instructions.

"What are you doing, Professor?" said Ace.

"I don't want that thing in here. Whatever it is."

"But where's it going to go?"

"Anywhere. It's not staying in my ship."

She listened to the persistent scrabbling for a second. "But you don't know what it is. You can't just flush it out here. It's Perivale."

The Doctor looked at her with a cold detachment. "Afraid of what your mother might say?"

She couldn't believe he had said that. Couldn't believe he could be that cruel. How could he have seen? "What do you know about it?" she demanded.

He carried on checking the instruments regardless. "Look at these readings," he complained. "Baloney, all of it. Nothing tallies. You stupid machine, there are records of flights here we haven't even been on."

"It's your ship," she accused. "Don't you know how to work it?"

For a moment his eyes were so fierce that she thought he might throw her out too. Then his look melted. "You're right, Ace. Of course you're right," he said, his voice full of reason. "As long as whatever it is stays trapped between the inside and the outside, we can find a way to get rid of it somewhere else."

He began to flick through the sequence of levers and switches that made up the TARDIS dematerialization program. The ship gave an unexpected judder and the scrabbling came to an abrupt stop. The underlying note of the engines moved up a semitone. At the centre of the console, the clear glass column began to rise and fall gently, the lattice of lights and crystals at its heart flickering with the compulsion of the ship's flight. Ace took a deep breath. They were away from Perivale and Earth, but they still carried the threat with them.

The Doctor did not allow himself a single moment of relief or relaxation. In a corner of the console room sat a small mahogany travelling chest which he had never bothered with before. He unlocked the chest with a small brass key and threw open the lid. It was packed with large antique books. He faltered and stared down at the contents. Imprints of slime traced over the morocco bindings. He lowered in his hand and reached for the heavy tome marked TARDIS Manual. It squelched as the covers gave under his grip. Inside, the tough parchment paper had been chewed and devoured. The remains of its pages were turning to a stinking yellow slush around the edges.

The Doctor stood up with slime dripping between his fingers. "Ace. It's