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She dragged herself towards the large, leather medical bag.

***

'Stay here, if you like,' said the Doctor, lifting Sam into his arms.

'I like,' said Fitz, instantly.

'I've got to face them. You can watch me on the scanner.'

Fitz looked. It was a colour TV, probably from America. He glanced over at the Doctor, who was looking grim.

'Fitz... If I don't come back...'

He swallowed. 'Yes?'

'There's a metronome in one of the cabinets at the back there. It'll help you keep time.' He tutted, and went through the TARDIS doors. 'Your rhythm was terrible...'

***

Azoth felt the man emerge. It was like a winter breeze blowing into the cave. His biochemistry was alien, a mass of contradictions and secrets.

Like the girl, he didn't belong here in this time and place.

'Hello,' the man said. 'I'm the Doctor, and I believe you know my friend Sam. She's dying and I need you to help her.'

'The program is not functioning in her,' Azoth said. 'I undertook insufficient analysts of her deoxyribonucleic acid for long-term program stability.'

'Then undertake it now.'

***

Fitz saw the anger on the Doctor's face, and wondered what was being said to the full-sized Oscar statuette in the crystalline room. He hunted around the monitor for a volume control.

***

'I can repair her. But there is no need,' Azoth replied. "The program now functions correctly in this unit.' He gestured at Taylor on the couch.

'If you've cured him, cure her!'

'The program requires time before activation. It is neither efficient nor necessary to repair her.'

'Who are you to say what's necessary?' the Doctor raged.

***

Who are you , Doctor? thought Fitz sadly. The Doctor was laying Sam down on the floor, taking off his coat and bundling it under her head as a pillow. Fitz watched him, gloomily, then noticed something in the top corner of the screen. A body, crumpled and discarded. It was Tarr.

'Now, how do I feel about that?' he wondered.

***

'My programming dictates reason, 'Azoth answered.

'This ridiculous crusade against the Beast,' railed the Doctor. 'How long have you been here, "dictating reason", eh?'

'The year 1822 was the first.'

'I'm not surprised the DNA in your test cases is a little overcooked.'

'My functions were impaired,' Azoth drawled, his voice circuits seemingly losing still more power. 'Only recently did I revive.'

'Of course...' The Doctor nodded. 'When Roley obligingly gathered so many of your specimens under one roof. The proximity resonances those dormant programs triggered off must've been quite a wake-up call.'

'Further experiments are unnecessary. When activated, the Taylor unit will be fully functional.'

'Yes, so you say, and not very well, I might add,' the Doctor said, pacing around the cavern. 'But isn't it going to take him rather a long time to pluck the Beast from every living thing on this planet?'

'Subjects cannot visualise the Beast. That would cause panic and disruption. That is unnecessary and against programming.'

The Doctor was bristling with impatience waiting for Azoth to get out his words. 'Sam can see them.'

'Sam's program functions incorrectly.'

'Like Austen's...' whispered the Doctor. 'She can only perceive the Beast -

the interface isn't total.' Being able to see the creatures was obviously only one of many possible side effects of the program's corruption - the others weren't suffering from that particular curse, but there was hardly a shortage of evidence suggesting they were suffering mental damage. The Doctor found himself clenching his fists. 'It's not just her. A man is dead and four others are in danger, thanks to your ham-fisted experimentation.'

'Multiple units are utilised for running the correct program where possible.

The program then spreads exponentially.'

'So it's communicable,' the Doctor said. 'I should've guessed. What is it, a chemical transmitter generated by the leech, spread by contact?'

Azoth said nothing, and