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"Professor, just how big is the TARDIS?"

He grimaced. "Depends."

The engine sound reached a final throaty groan and expired entirely. Only a sickly glimmer of light remained.

The TARDIS was unnaturally silent.

The Doctor's fist beat once against the wall. It was a decision. He turned towards Ace and she saw that his face was drawn with a tight mask to hide his feelings.

"Ace, we rely on each other, don't we?"

"Of course we do, Professor."

"Good. From now on, we rely on you."

"We?"

He fumbled in his trouser packet and produced the key to his ship. "Look after this for us," he said.

"Why? I'm not going outside."

"Neither am I . . . we. Just don't lose it."

"Haven't you got a spare of this either? Anyway, I'm coming with you."

He shook his head. "You're much more use to us here, Ace. And it'll be safer. The safest place of all. Don't leave home, Ace." He dabbed her nose with his finger. "Trust us."

"Us being you and the TARDIS," she said angrily.

He was already disappearing down the dark corridor.

"Professor!"

For a moment, she saw the pale glow of a bicycle lamp and heard the ring of his bell. Then his voice echoed up out of the gloom.

"Remember, Ace. Don't leave home."

5: There's No Place Like Home

No past. No future.

The vortex streaming wildly. The silhouette shapes of the crew, arms outstretched, seeking each other and calling aloud because their minds are dark. Blundering as their vessel lurches unpiloted in the tumult of time's maelstrom.

There is only now.

"Chesperl!"

"Reogus. I'm here!"

"Where are your thoughts? I cannot find you."

Specimen tanks and equipment slide loose like dried beans on the Pilot's drum.

"Amnoni. I cannot hear you."

"Lost. We're lost."

Clinging to the hub of the Scaphe, Vael watches them. They cluster in a huddle, arms around each other, searching for their lost thoughts, pushing him out of their clique. Trained in the disciplines of logic and the irrefutable sciences, they are praying aloud to the Gods for salvation.

In their terror there is only now.

The lights of the vortex reeled in Vael's head like scattered moments of the siren past, willing him out of reality into the safety of his memories.

It was too easy and he knew it. A path had been cut through his studies to lead him inexorably to his current placement on the Scaphe. He scoffed as sacrifices of propitiation on secret altars were made on his behalf. But doors opened. Opportunity, never a lengthy visitor, called often. A hidden guiding hand slapped away all opposition.

Even now, as the primal energies of creation tore at the ship, he was not afraid. It was always with him. The eye that watched in his head. Sometimes the Sphinx, sometimes the wise woman, sometimes the copper moon Pazithi Gallifreya. And sometimes, when he best knew despair, the wild eye of an innocent girl wreathed in scorching smoke.

He had a power in him. A power to manipulate and inflict, to scorch and wither. They might call it a crime — those who thought themselves powerful. But she, the most venerable of all, sought this power, even came into his head after it. She imagined she used him for her own purpose — whatever that might be. Perhaps, but he used her also. He was the Individual among Individuals. The power was his. And even he — until he understood the nature of his crime and could control it — even he was afraid of it.

Where would it lead? When would he fulfil a legend and have his own victory parades through the City?

He watched the helpless crew of the Scaphe and began to laugh as they grovelled in their superstitious misery.

A sharp pain shot through his hand. He spun and saw the Pilot, eyes burning with hate, sinking his milk teeth into the flesh.

Vael gave a yell and pulled back his bleeding hand in agony. He stared up at the reeling spheric pool overhead. Out of the chaos tumbled a shape he knew. Hard blue planes and angles. A light flashing like a beacon on its crown.

"Look," said the Pilot, his voice full of a sudden wonder that washed