CHAPTER 2

ACE HAS A BAD DAY

A warm breeze blew through the trees and into the sun-drenched clearing. The occasional white puff-ball cloud drifted lazily across the azure sky.

At first the noise was very faint, hardly distinguishable from the chirruping of the birds. Then it grew louder - electronic whorls and oscillations. Becoming louder still, it changed into a fearsome rumble blended with a rhythmic grating, sounding a bit like somebody trying repeatedly to force a gear change in a car without using the clutch. Becoming louder still, the grating became like the mournful bellowing of some imaginary primeval beast of burden. As the birds fled the trees, so a greyish-blue box-like apparition began to form in the clearing. After a final bellow and a noise like a clap of thunder, the glade fell silent and an old and somewhat battered police box stood as a new arrival on that sunny afternoon.

The stained and dirty roof-lamp flashed with a sombre light, almost overpowered by the radiant sunlight washing over the police box's faded and peeling paintwork. As if in submission the roof-lamp ceased to flash. A moment later a door opened and out stepped a young lady. She was moon-faced and slightly overweight but nonetheless attractive. A ruck-sack slung untidily over one shoulder of her black bomber jacket, she crossed to a fallen tree near the middle of the small clearing. Stepping up onto its reclining trunk, she surveyed her surroundings with rapidly fading interest.

She cut an odd figure. Her black jacket was crammed with badges and a black pleated skirt covered the upper portions of her black jeans and her hair was platted over the top of her scalp into a single bobtail. She looked every bit the aggressive tomboy.

"Don't tell me you've already started to knock the scenery over," quipped the strange little man who now stood, leaning on a rolled-up umbrella, in the doorway of the police box.

"Bog off!" came the sharp reply. The girl remained with her back to the police box. The funny little man stared sombrely at the girl for a long moment. He looked for all the world like a clown waiting to have a custard pie thrown in his face or, perhaps, a ferret stuffed down his trousers.

"Sorry Professor," began the girl in a softer tone. Then, after a further pause, "Why have you brought us to this naff place?"

The words seemed to unfreeze the statue-like figure in the police box doorway. He stepped out into the warm sunshine. "Because you so obviously need a holiday," he said in a business-like way, a slight Scottish twang just apparent in his mature voice.

"Rubbish. Just 'cos I threw my spoon into that slime this morning when that naffing stupid food machine dished me up with the wrong stuff."

"It provided you with what you asked for - Arcolein rice pudding - J2 6 L6. Bacon and eggs is J6 2 L6."

"I don't need a holiday," maintained the girl with growing tension in her voice.

"Well I do! It took me ages to clean that rice pudding off my face. It sets like toffee, don't y'know."

The girl turned round, caught sight of the exaggerated look of mock misery on the man's face, then broke into giggles.

Half an hour later saw the odd couple strolling along the grassy bank of a meandering river. The man, rather short and apparently in his mid-forties, wore a Panama style of hat over his longish, swept back, untidy mane of dark brown hair. A red handkerchief dangled precariously from the left pocket of his dark brown jacket, under which he sported a multicoloured woollen tank-top emblazoned with rows of red question marks. Around the collar of his white shirt a paisley patterned tie was loosely tied. The scarf hanging round his neck matched the pattern on his tie. As he walked, the man swung the rolled up umbrella in the manner of a walking stick. Brown patterned trousers and small brown brogue shoes, each with a white chevron across the instep, completed the eccentric appearance.

The girl now looked more relaxed than she had on their arrival. She strolled alongside the 'Professor', as she called him, looking down at the path worn in the grassy river bank and occasionally grinning at the various humorous quips he threw in to his rambling monologue about the many strange worlds and the peoples he had visited.

"Oh, Ace, look at that," said the man, interrupting himself in mid-flow of a description of a planet called Metabilis-Three. He pointed his umbrella at a small clump of bramble. A beautiful butterfly rested on a branch, its multicoloured wings spread open to the rays of the Sun. The man sank to his knees as if mesmerised by the little creature.

"It's only a Red Admiral, Professor," retorted Ace moving alongside. The butterfly fluttered away.

The man's face crumpled with anger. "Only! You've scared it away Chesterton, and kindly call me Doctor, not Doc, Prof - er, - oh!" The Doctor looked shocked by his own reaction. Ace, also shocked, sank down beside him and put an arm on his shoulder. She had learned to expect the unexpected from her friend but this was different. He didn't even seem to be the same man for that brief moment.

"Doctor, what's wrong, what happened?"

"I thought I was…er…did I ever tell you about the planet Vortis?"

"No," said Ace releasing her hand, a worried frown still on her face. She sat cross-legged to one side of the Doctor.

"It is peopled by various insectoid forms of life. The dominant species are called the Menoptra. They look like man-sized butterflies or wasps. They are gentle, poetic, folk. Another race on that planet are the Zarbi. You might call them giant ants. Originally Vortis was covered in lush vegetation and the creatures led an idyllic existence.

"Then a horrendous parasitic creature arrived from space. The Menoptra named it the Animus. The creature had enormously strong powers of mind control. It controlled the Zarbi and made them enslave the Menoptra. The planet's vegetation was torn down and fed into the acid pools that bubbled to the surface. The Animus had taken root and was growing into the very being of Vortis. It fed on the vegetable matter and grew for centuries. The power of the creature was such that it could even attract other small planets to the vicinity of Vortis. Those of the Menoptra that could fled to Pictos, one of the small worlds drawn near. When the TARDIS strayed too close even she was drawn down to the planet.

"When I saw it, Vortis was reduced to a barren wasteland. All that was left were the strange rock formations, swirling mists, and pulsing glows in the sky."

"Sounds Ace," chipped in Ace enthusiastically.

"Think about the Menoptra, driven from their home and dying in misery on the dark half-world of Pictos!" snarled back the Doctor.

"Sorry" said Ace gently. They fell silent for a long moment as the Doctor's thoughts seemed lost somewhere in the mists of time.

"Ah, well," he said at length, "that was a long time ago and I was a lot older then." It crossed Ace's mind that really it was HE that needed the holiday.

The Doctor sprang to his feet. "Up you get, Ace! Time waits for no van!" He started to walk. Ace quickly got up and set off after him.

"Where does the van come in, Professor?"

"Through the garage doors, of course."

"Oh!"

Two women stood gossiping in the doorway of the first of a row of five picturesque thatched cottages set back from a wide, gravelly, lane. Each of the cottages had flower-filled front gardens and all, apart from the third cottage, had an immaculate and freshly-painted look.

"Dropped down dead, she did!" said the plump woman standing just inside the doorway to the other thin lady standing on the doorstep, "And she only went in to MacPherson's to get some scrag-end. I blame her husband, you know. Mollie told me some tales. Well, she could couldn't she, living next door to them as she did." The plump woman lowered her voice and continued, "Mollie said what he used to demand of her was virtually phonographic."

"Oh!" exclaimed the wiry, thin-lipped woman with a look as if someone had just pushed an open bottle of strong ammonia under her nose.

The other woman continued. "Mollie said - her son went to the same school as Doctor Kemp's daughter, you know - er, she said the doctor said it was a cadillac arrest."

"Wasn't she seeing Doctor Kemp for something else?" twittered the wiry woman. Her beady eyes shone fiercely with interest.

"No dear. She was seeing Doctor Robinson at the hospital but that was for her vicarious veins."

"Oh him! Well, I'm not surprised. I went to see him about…" the wiry woman mouthed some words silently to the plump woman, "and do you know he had the cheek to tell me that there was nothing wrong with me!"

"Well! These young doctors don't know anything. It stands to reason…"

A slim woman, obviously aged somewhere in her early thirties, with a pleasant and cheerful countenance, appeared from the front door of the third cottage. She was carrying a wicker basket in which were a few gardening tools. The wiry woman stared across the intervening garden at her and sniffed loudly. The plump woman leaned forward to see what her friend was looking at. The young woman waved a hand and called out a friendly "Hello!" The two woman did not return the greeting. The young woman's smile faded as she dropped her gaze. The other two women continued to chat in whispered tones.

"She had the bare-faced cheek to knock on my door the other day and offer me some of the apples from her tree, she did!" bleated the plump woman.

"No!"

"As true as I'm stood standing here. I just politely said 'No thank you,' and closed the door on her."

"So would I have done." rasped the wiry woman, "This is a nice little village. We can do without her sort here!"

"I'm going out into the garden!" called out a gruff voice from inside the cottage.

"Alright Fred," replied the plump woman, turning, "I've weeded down to the dahlias. I've left the basket and the trowel down there by them."

"Right!" said Fred.

The plump lady turned back to the wiry woman, who leaned forward and said, "Now you know me, I'm the last to gossip but…"

Fred slammed the back door of the cottage behind him and walked moodily down the long garden and over to the basket and trowel by the clump of dahlias. Fred was tall and thin, with nearly pure white hair. He grunted as he stiffly lowered himself onto his knees. He quickly became absorbed in his task of weeding the flowerbed.

Suddenly, not far from his head, a hideously clawed hand appeared over the top edge of the low garden fence. Tufts of black hair spiked up from the large gnarled talons. The claws drummed on the woodwork. Fred remained blissfully unaware. Slowly, little by little, a fearsome head, almost totally covered in black hair and with a short snout-like nose and fangs, raised into view above the fence. The werewolf-like apparition stared down at the still unaware Fred. "Grrrrr!"

Fred looked up and with a yelp he lurched backwards and fell back on his haunches. "Bill! You old devil!" he panted.

With guffaws of laughter Fred's impish neighbour stood up and pulled off the latex face-mask. Blubbery and balding, Bill had the sort of face that was made for laughing.

"The look on your face!" whooped Bill, still chuckling.

"Huh! And I came out here for some peace and quiet," complained Fred wistfully.

"Oh dear! Like that is it?" said Bill, still smiling as he pulled off the latex gloves.

"I came out here because I was fed up listening to old Evil Ena and Mary gossiping. Honestly, Bill, you wouldn't credit the amount of poison they like to dredge up about people. When I came out they were chewing over Cindy Peters again."

"Aw! She's a nice girl." Bill's expression, though still jovial, became a little more serious, "I think she's marvellous, the way she's coped with bringing up young Michael all on her own. She works all the hours God sends. And he's a smashing kid, too. Pat and I couldn't wish for better neighbours."

"Yes, I think so too but Mary won't have a bit of it. I get a bit bloody fed up with it at times, I can tell you!" Bill looked at the ground, his expression much less jovial than before.

"Anyway, Bill, where did you get the mask and gloves from?"

Bill looked up and his face lit up with pleasure once again. "My daughter's eldest. He's into monster comics and all that, now, and they bought this from a shop in London."

"How are they? Is Peter still a motor-fitter?"

"They're all fine, thanks. Peter's not been a fitter for some while; I thought I said? They moved to Croydon, just off the Gloucester Junction. Actually, funnily enough, it's near where Pat and I used to live when we first got married. Peter now works in an engineering firm in Selhurst. They're still renting, of course, but they've come on a bit. They have even splashed out and got a telly! It's a big one, too: a 12-inch 'Cossor'. The kids love it. Pat and I have seen it going. Marvellous!"

"Fred! Fred!" shouted Mary from the back door of the cottage.

"Oh, leave me alone!" muttered Fred under his breath, then turning he said loudly "Yes dear?"

"Bring some onions for our tea when you go to the allotment."

"But I'm not going to the allotment today."

"Well then, get them on your way back!"

"Oh y…eh?" spluttered Fred.

As Mary closed the cottage door Bill roared with laughter.

Ace and the Doctor were slowly walking, now in silence, along the river bank. Ace felt as lazy and relaxed as the slowly rippling water. She thought how tired the Doctor now looked. The incident with the butterfly seemed to be of almost cosmic significance to him. If he was in deep thought, she couldn't tell. His eyes seemed leaden, almost lifeless.

They both noticed a small figure walking along the path towards them. As the figure neared they could see it was a young boy. Dressed in black trousers and a white short-sleeved shirt, the youth was chubby, dark-haired and had a blushing complexion. He carried a fishing road slung over his right shoulder and a brown shoulder-bag over his left. Instantly to Doctor's sombre mood evaporated.

"Caught anything?" he called out, smiling, as the boy approached.

"No," came the reply. "Do you fish here?"

"No, I've never fished here, er…?"

"Michael," said the boy answering the question in the Doctor's voice, "Michael Peters." As the boy strode up the Doctor put out his right hand. They shook hands as the Doctor raised his Panama hat with his left hand.

"Pleased to meet you. I am the Doctor and this is Ace."

"Hi!" said Ace.

The three chatted as they walked back a little way along the river bank, then diverting through a narrow path inbetween some thick bushes. The boy enthusiastically described how he had got the fishing rod and tackle yesterday, his twelfth birthday. He had hoped that his mum would get it for him and she had. She also got him a couple of beautiful books on fishing. His mum had made a lovely teatime spread for them both, with a huge chocolate cake that she had secretly made for him.

"What did you get from your dad?" asked Ace. She realised her mistake straight away from the cold look that the boy darted her.

"I never knew my dad. He cleared off as soon as Mum was expecting me". The bitterness in the boy's voice was unmistakable.

"Sorry," said Ace awkwardly.

"Oh! It's alright, really, I don't care if I never see him. I've got Mum and she's got me - and that's all we want." The Doctor quickly took over the conversation as Ace's eyes visibly moistened.

A few minutes later the path they were on crossed a narrow swath of common land and then onto the wide country lane near the first of the row of five small thatched cottages. The young lady was still working in the front garden of the third cottage. She busily snipped at a large hydrangea, placing the debris in the small basket at her feet.

"Hi!" called the boy, as he broke into a scampering run, reaching the garden gate ahead of Ace and the Doctor. The woman looked up. Her face lit up with pleasure.

"Hi love. Nice time? Catch anything?"

"Yeah, great time! Didn't get any bites, though."

The woman's gaze turned to the advancing Ace and the Doctor.

"Hello!" beamed the Doctor, raising his hat, "I'm the Doctor and this is Ace. I take it you're this charming fellow's mother?"

"Yes", replied Cindy Peters, looking quizzically at the clownish apparition in front of her, "Doctor who?"

A few minutes later Michael Peters, hands and face freshly washed, sat down in his favourite armchair in the immaculately clean living room of the small cottage. He started to peruse one of the fishing books his mother had bought for him. The rattling of china announced her entrance into the room. She carefully carried her china tea service on a tray and placed it on the small oak dining table by the window. The tea service was her mother's and she cherished it, as her mother had done before her.

Michael looked up and noticed the delicacy with which she placed the tray on the table. He was reminded of how lovingly she looked after that tea service.

"Beef sandwiches first, love. Would you like some of your birthday cake after that?" said Mrs Peters, looking at Michael.

"Yes please Mum."

They smiled at each other as the woman started to leave the room. Then she momentarily stopped at the doorway and looked back at the boy. "Where did you say you met those strange people, Michael?"

"On the riverbank, on my way home. I liked them, especially the Doctor. Didn't he look funny! I hope we see them again."

"Hmm!" his mother's tone was of quizzical concern, "I expect they will have reached the village square by now."

"I want to ask him more about fishing," continued the boy as he glanced back down the open pages before him, "especially as I can't find any mention of a fish called a gumblejack!"

Ace and the Doctor strolled into the odd-shaped village 'square'. The late afternoon sunshine was still warm and comforting. A large Golden Labrador, sprawled on the small green at the centre of the square, briefly looked up at the new arrivals, then with a gruff snort, lowered its head once more.

"Oh look!" said Ace as they passed a news-stand stacked with papers outside one of the old-fashioned looking shops, 'Saturday 29th August 1954.' Ace glanced at the Doctor and the smile on her lips evaporated. The Doctor's countenance was one of worry and fatigue.

"Hmm! Oh yes – er…" he said in a far away voice. He seemed lost in thought.

"What's wrong, Professor?"

"Let's go in here." was his only reply as he sharply turned to step through the open doorway of a café.

Ace followed him, stepping out of the sunshine and into the cooler interior of the empty café. She never quite got used to visiting places in the Earth's past and seeing everything so fresh and new and yet so old-fashioned. She looked around at the pale blue walls, speckled red linoleum on the floor, yellow and white check-patterned tablecloths covering the six small tables, each with antiquated-styled wooden chairs tucked underneath. The main window overlooking the village square was divided into large panes of glass by thick wooden transoms, painted dark blue, matching the woodwork of the door-frame.

A long blue-painted wooden counter was set a couple of metres in front of the opposite wall. A large glass display cabinet stood at one end of the counter, filled with cakes and sandwiches. The labels stuck into the food-stuffs had prices on them such as '3d' and '1/-'. At the other end of the counter stood an old-fashioned till, with a red 'no sale' indicator tab showing in the narrow glass window running along the top of it. Next to the till a peculiar-looking tea urn hissed and gurgled. Ace looked disdainfully at these signs of the life and times before she was even born.

Ace and the Doctor wandered forward to the counter. "Cor, Professor, look at that," said Ace pointing to the peculiar-looking tea urn that threateningly hissed and gurgled from its position close to the till, "I bet that came from a famous ship!" The abstract look on the Doctor's face turned to vague puzzlement as he looked at her. His eyebrows lifted, questioningly. Ace continued, "Yeah! The animals got on it two by two!" Ace thought her joke was a clever one. She was chagrined to see it was not appreciated by her friend. He simply turned to look at the very fat, balding, middle-aged man who was now entering through the string-bead covered doorways behind the counter.

The man was sweating profusely, and he was wiping his hairy arms with a cloth. Putting the cloth on the counter, he then wiped his arms on the front of his white apron as he said, "Good day to you both. What can I get you?"

As the Doctor ordered refreshments Ace turned to see a wiry old lady enter the café. It was Ena, not that Ace could have known her name. She eyed Ace and the Doctor briefly as she moved to take a seat at one of the tables, then sniffed loudly. She had hoped for someone she knew to be in the café. She was itching to pass on the latest gossip, having recently had a very informative chat with her friend Mary.

"Oh! Michael! Ahhh!" Michael Peters looked up from his book to see his mother stagger into the living room, clutching at her head. As she started to topple towards the table, she thrust out a hand, catapulting one of the cherished tea cups out of its saucer and onto the floor. As the boy reached her, she gave him a horrified stare then collapsed into his arms. They both fell to the floor and he felt the fallen cup crack beneath his left shoulder.

"Mum! Mum! No! Mum!" he wailed. He struggled to drag her to the settee and then he hoisted her up onto it and into a lying position.

"Mum, what is it? Wake up! Oh no! Wake up! Please wake up!" Almost numb with panic, he thought about the local GP. There was no alternative. He would have to leave her to get Doctor Kemp as fast as he could. He tried one more time to rouse his mother before running from the room.

"This place has got no street cred!" said Ace, provocatively. There was no reaction from her friend. Ace had just sat down opposite him with a cup of tea and a cream cake for each of them. The Doctor sat with his elbows resting on the table and his chin resting on his clasped hands. His face seemed even more crumpled and lined than usual and the skin under his eyes seemed dark and baggy, like the eyes of a man too long deprived of sleep.

"Doctor, what's wrong?" Ace tended to call the Doctor 'Doctor' in serious moments or when, like now, she was very worried. His eyes swivelled to looked at her and seemed about to say something when the café owner suddenly screamed out. "Yeaaaaargh! No! Argh!"

Transfixed for a moment, Ace and the Doctor stared at the man who was frantically trying to brush off some unseen small creatures from his arms and body. The Doctor was the first to recover his composure and he sprang up and athletically vaulted over the counter. Ace stood up from the chair and stared at the unfolding scene, still transfixed with shock.

"What is it?" the Doctor plaintively shouted as he grabbed at the man's shoulders, "There is nothing on you!" The man looked into the Doctor's face and screamed again. The man collapsed and, though the Doctor tried to support him, they both fell to the floor, the man hitting the side of his head on the counter as he did so.

A fierce, cackling, laughter had Ace turning to see Ena, still seated, with her eyes now rolling and her head vigorously shuddering. The wiry woman was spitting laughter like venom. Then the laughter was choked from the woman as her mouth began to drip with froth and she started to champ her teeth.

Ace looked back towards the counter, to see the Doctor's head beginning to appear, rising up from behind the counter. He stared at the woman. "What's happening?" shouted Ace, half crying with shock and fear, "What's going on, Doctor?"

Michael Peters' chest was hurting and his lungs were painfully dragging up air as he ran. The village square at the end of the lane was now in sight. Though he was dreadfully hot and beginning to feel light-headed, he kept on running, driven by his need to bring help to his mother. After what to him seemed to be an age he at last reached the door of the surgery. He burst in to its hallway and reached the waiting room door. Opening it, he remained clinging to the doorknob, whooping in great lungfulls of air, as black clouds seemed to roll down over his eyes and his legs felt as though they were about to give way.

Struggling against unconsciousness, he became aware of shouting voices. As his eyesight regained he could see that several people were standing in the room. They were the ones doing the shouting. They were shouting at each other. They made no sense. They seemed to be screaming obscenities and accusing each other of impossibly mad things. Michael became aware that there were yet more people in the room. One woman was slumped back in one of the wooden chairs that lined the walls of the room. Two men lay on the floor. Steeling himself, the boy sidled round the edge of the room, trying to avoid the arguing people, and moments later he reached the receptionist's hatchway. As he got there all the shouting ceased. The boy glanced back to see the people all slump to the floor. All but one became still, this one shuddering and moaning where he lay, champing his teeth while foam dripped from his mouth. Michael turned back to the hatchway. He recognised the receptionist from his previous appointments to see Doctor Kemp. She glared down, through the hatchway, at the boy. "Yes?" Her tone was curt.

Still breathing heavily, Michael gasped "It's my mother, she's…"

"Can't you see I'm busy?" the woman interrupted, "Anyway, why should Doctor Kemp waste his time on that slut of a mother of yours! Oh yes! Hah! You don't know who your daddy is, do you! Clear off, little bastard boy!" The woman cackled with laughter.

"Stop it! Stop it! The doctor's got to come!" wailed Michael as his eyes brimmed with tears. The door next to the hatchway opened. Michael's relief at recognising Doctor Kemp was brief indeed.

"How dare you! You heard what she said. Clear off you little brat!"

"But my mum, she's…" Doctor Kemp lunged towards Michael, then raised his hand and dealt the boy a stinging blow to the side of his head.

"Clear off, you little brat!" roared Doctor Kemp. Distraught, Michael nearly fell over the bodies strewn across the floor of the waiting room as he ran out, into the hallway, then out into the sunlit village square.

Not understanding. Not knowing what to do next. The thought of his collapsed mother desperately needing help…overwhelmed, Michael sank to his knees, put his hands to his face, and sobbed bitterly.

"How is she?" called the Doctor from behind the counter.

"Unconscious. She's stopped foaming at the mouth," said Ace tensely. She crossed from the woman - now slumped back in her chair - to the counter. Leaning over it, she could see the Doctor squatting down beside the café owner. She noticed a gash on the side of the unconscious man's head, from which a small rivulet of blood trickled to the floor.

"You know what's going on don't you, Professor?"

"No Ace," replied the Doctor without taking his gaze from the café owner. Then, after a pause, he added, "At least, I…no, I'm sure, no. No!" The Doctor shook his head as his tone became uncharacteristically irritable.

Suddenly the café owner twitched and his eyes opened, wide and bulging. The man's gaze met the Doctor's. "Hah! Mnnnnn! Hmmmnnnnnn!" began the man, first as a wheezing groan, and then building towards a crescendo of increasing pitch and volume, "Nnnnnnn! You will die! Heh! Eeeeeeee!" Then in a thin and high voice the man said "You will die! Your time is near! You will die! Yeeeeeeeeeeeee! Your time is near! You will die! You will die!"

"Michael, what's wrong?" The boy felt a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up. Though his vision was blurred with tears, he recognised the countenance of Ace, now deeply concerned, looking down at him. He felt, more than saw, the Doctor slowly moving up alongside.

"Oh! I…I…it's mum…and…" the boy choked, once again breaking down into sobs.

"Where is she, now?" The Doctor's voice, though sounding taught, was full of gentleness.

"At home…Oh!" the boy sobbed again. Ace and the Doctor looked at each other for a brief moment. Ace had never seen such a look of deep anguish in her friend's features. The Doctor averted his gaze skyward, his expression changing to one of anger. "Come on!" he barked, striding off towards the long lane leading from the village square.

"Professor!" shouted Ace as she helped Michael to his feet but the Doctor carried on striding away. "Come along Michael, let's go to your mother," Ace said in a gentle, though urgent, tone. They quickly moved after the Doctor.

The Doctor had abruptly left the café, abandoning the owner and the old woman, without trying any further to help them. Ace did not like this new, peremptory, perhaps even aggressive, manner the Doctor had adopted.

Moments later the scurrying Ace and Michael caught up with the striding Doctor. Ace put her arm protectively around the boy as they both walked quickly to keep up with him. "Don't worry, Michael, she'll be alright with our help, won't she Professor?"

The Doctor, stern-faced, didn't answer. Ace frowned at him and gave the boy's shoulder a firm squeeze. "Yeah, she'll be alright."

Suddenly the Doctor swung his umbrella sideways and up in front of Ace and the boy. The three came to a halt. Blocking the lane from the square was the Golden Labrador that had earlier gave them its gruff welcome from the green. The dog stood utterly motionless in the middle of the lane, facing the trio.

"Don't move from this spot. Whatever happens don't move!" whispered the Doctor urgently, "and keep very quiet." Although Ace was in a deeply unsettled mood, she could not see any danger posed by the amiable-looking dog. She was about to say as much when the dog craned its head forward and its ears flattened back as its lips curled and it began a long, menacing, growl.

"Nice doggy!" blurted Ace weakly. The growling sharply raised in pitch and loudness.

"Ace!"

"Sorry, Professor."

"You both stay still!" came the Doctor's command. Once again using his umbrella in the manner of a walking stick, the Doctor very slowly picked his way forward. Ace clung to the boy ever more tightly. The boy's already pale face grew whiter still.

Saliva began to drip from the corners of the dog's jaw and its growling sounded ever more fearsome. The Doctor, all the time staring at the dog, began to move sideways as well as moving slightly nearer to the animal. The dog began swaying its head to and fro, shifting its gaze between the Doctor and the huddled couple. It uneasily shifted about on its paws. As the Doctor came closer to the animal its attention fixed on him.

To the amazement of the frightened onlookers, the Doctor began a low growling sound every bit as menacing as that of the dog. The Doctor's nostrils flared and his face displayed anger and supreme defiance. The animal seemed startled and frightened. It back-peddled slightly and started barking. Then the animal gave a long, blood-curdling, howl.

"Professor!" shrieked Ace. The Doctor's gaze flashed momentarily towards Ace - and the dog pounced. Surprise, turning to fear, showed on the Doctor's face as he rapidly turned back to see the dog leaping towards him. With lightning-quick speed the Doctor thrust forward with his umbrella. The dog gave a terrible shriek of anguish and then, with the Doctor being thrust backwards while still holding on to his umbrella, the dog slumped lifeless to the ground - the point at the end of the umbrella speared through the animal's right eye and embedded deep inside its skull.

"Michael, Michael." Ace's voice sounded far away to the boy as he became aware that his tongue felt large and prickly and that he had a sour taste in his mouth. He opened his eyes and saw the blurred face of Ace staring down at him. He felt very cold, even though he was bathed in the late afternoon sunshine. He realised that he was laying against the grass verge. He tried to move but he felt very dizzy.

"No, rest a minute," urged Ace as she laid a restraining hand on the boy's chest.

"He's OK Professor. He's coming round," Ace called out loudly.

Was it all a horrible dream then? The boy looked sideways. His sharpening vision made out a large pool of blood in the lane not far from them. No. It was not a dream. It had all really happened. Suddenly the boy felt very sick and very, very, cold. Ace grimaced as he vomited.

Watched by Ace, the Doctor emerged from the undergrowth, where he had laid to rest the dead Labrador. Deep sorrow dominated his expression as he picked up the umbrella that was lying against the verge. Ace looked sharply back at the reclining boy as the Doctor wiped the blooded tip of the umbrella on the grass. She was feeling more than a little sickly and faint herself. She concentrated on helping Michael to his feet.

"Alright Michael, it's alright now," comforted Ace as she supported the boy as his legs buckled under him for a second time. The Doctor moved alongside and they took an arm each.

"Come on now, my friend. Try to walk a bit," urged the Doctor quietly, "We'll stop and rest after we've gone a short distance further".

"Mum…"

"Shhhh! I know. I know," said the Doctor, gently.

Ace could see that the Doctor's mood had changed. To her he seemed accessible once again. "Professor…?" she began.

"Not now, Ace!" came the hissed reply. Her face tightened with annoyance.

The walk had helped Michael to recover from the after-effects of his fainting. The incident with the dog had been the last straw. Though his face was still pale and tear-stained, he was soon walking briskly and unaided, anxious to get himself and his new friends back to his beloved mother.

As they walked, the Doctor gently coaxed an account of what had happened from Michael. Ace supplied comforting words and gentle shoulder-squeezes, while the Doctor looked ever more grim. Ace suspected that somehow the Doctor did know what was going on - but to her there seemed to be more to it than that. In her experience the Doctor had often manipulated people and deftly shaped events. He often seemed to be like a master chess player several moves ahead of his opponent. In the past the outcome had always been for the best. This time, though, Ace sensed in her friend the realisation that whatever evil force they now faced was going to be too powerful, even for him. That was terrible enough - but Ace couldn't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that there was something more weighing heavily on the Doctor's mind.

Michael broke into a run for the last few metres to the garden gate. A moment later he was at the front door of the picturesque middle cottage, fumbling for his key. Then he had the door open and rushed inside, just as the Doctor and Ace reached the garden gate.

"Professor…?"

"Not now!" The Doctor almost barked his reply. Ace stopped by the gate for a moment and glared at the back of the Doctor's head as he continued to stride crisply down the path. Then he disappeared inside the cottage. Ace thumped her fist on the gate post before slamming the gate behind her and stomping down the path after him.

Just inside the floral-wallpapered hallway was an open door to the right. The Doctor stood in the doorway, and Ace moved up behind him and peered over his shoulder into the room. Michael's mother was sitting upright, with the boy kneeling on the sofa and hugging her, his head turned sideways and resting against her chest.

"…and I thought you might be dead. I was so worried." He choked out his relief to his mother. Then Ace noticed the woman's expression: cold, aloof; her arms lay to her sides and she made no attempt to comfort the boy.

Ace's spirits sank even lower. She knew there were still more horrors to unfold. She wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere. Anything but this.

Though her head did not move, the seated woman's eyes swivelled to stare at the Doctor. "Get up Michael. We have visitors." The woman's voice was unemotional, almost a monotone. The boy looked sharply up at his mother's face. His own expression turned from relief to one of renewed worry.

The vast, gas-giant, planet Jupiter coasted along its orbit about the Sun with quiet magnificence. The glittering white clouds of ammonia crystals and the pale-coloured vapours in-between wrapped argumentatively around the globe in swirling patterns, creating a vista of great beauty that few Earthly eyes could see, save the few that spent long nights with their telescopes trained towards the world, and then only to get a much less detailed view. Twenty more years would have to pass before the first human-built space-probes would pass the planet, beaming back detailed images to mother Earth.

However, on this day in August 1954 something else was passing near the great globe of Jupiter. This thing showed no interest in the beauty of the gaseous world. Its destination was a planet orbiting much closer to the Sun. A small blue-green planet, wreathed in white cloud, and swarming with sentient life. It knew that its patience would soon be rewarded. It sensed it would also find the key to something far greater…

"More tea?" Michael weakly asked his mother.

"No," came the indifferent reply. Michael looked helplessly at the Doctor and Ace.

The Doctor, who had been sitting forward in one of the armchairs resting his hands and his chin on his umbrella, suddenly sprang up. "Michael, let me help you wash up the tea things. Stay here Ace. Kitchen this way…?"

Ace, who had also started to get up, lowered herself back in the chair as the Doctor picked up the tea tray and quickly left the room. Michael followed. Ace gave the woman a withered and nervous smile. The woman stared back impassively.

As the Doctor put the tea tray down by the kitchen sink, so Michael fingered a fragment of the broken tea cup that had been picked from the sitting room floor and placed on the tray. The Doctor looked sombrely down at Michael. He could feel the boy's anguish.

Michael began speaking, his voice quiet and unsteady. "This tea set was my grandmother's. Mum really…er…carefully looks after it. She only ever brings it out for special occasions. She'd bring it out and clean it and we would use it for a week. It was only out this week…er…" the boy's voice faltered and his eyes moistened, "She…she brought it out…for my birthday." The boy choked and tears spilled down his cheeks.

"It'll be alright, Michael. It'll be alright," the Doctor comforted, giving the boy's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"What's wrong with her? What's been happening? I…I don't…" Michael manfully tried to regain his composure.

"Shhhh! Be strong for her," urged the Doctor in little more than a whisper. "I'm here to help. You'll both be alright. We'll get this sorted out and everything will be alright again, you'll see."

Michael drew strength from the Doctor's words. "Oh, thank you! You don't know how…I don't…know what I would do if you weren't here." The Doctor forced a strained and weary smile at his friend. The boy sighed.

"I'll wash if you want to wipe?" said Michael at length. The Doctor nodded in agreement. As Michael moved in front of the sink and refilled the kettle for the hot water they would need he did not see the agonised look on the Doctor's face.

For some minutes Ace had been sitting in awkward silence in the living room. She had tried a number of times to start a conversation with Mrs Peters but had now given up after receiving no more reaction than a blank stare each time. Ace was feeling more than a little bit fed up. It seemed to her that she was always a pawn in somebody else's game. Even those instances where she thought she was in control, it actually turned out that somebody else really was. Most often it was the Doctor. She was getting tired of it. True he had helped her to overcome her deep-rooted fears and her feelings of inadequacy. As it turned out, he had even helped her to face up to the feelings of guilt she felt about her lack of any real feelings of love for her mother. However, she was sure that he had helped her only because it suited him, since from an early age destiny had seen fit to intricate her with powerful and unearthly forces. She felt sure that the Doctor had used her as much as he had helped her, as a tool to be used in the vanquishing of those forces.

Now these latest horrors. This time she felt that the Doctor's attitude was different. He seemed insular, withdrawn. She felt shut out. She felt that she was being carried along, helpless; having to endure but having no control. The Doctor didn't seem to value her rights even to the point of allowing her to understand what is going on. Her questions were tersely deflected. She wasn't sure whether or not he really could supply any answers but she was damned sure that he wouldn't.

Ace was started from her thoughts by the Doctor's voice. He walked into the sitting room behind Michael. She was surprised to see the toothy smile that crumpled his baggy face. Then she noticed that the expression in his eyes did not match his smile.

"Mrs Peters," he began jauntily, "I wonder if you could do Ace and myself a big favour?" Mrs Peters stared at him. He coughed awkwardly. "Er, if you would allow us, we would like to spend the night here?"

"Oh, thanks for asking me!" muttered Ace. The Doctor darted her a sour glance. Turning back to Cindy Peters, he raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"No," came the dull, but emphatic, reply.

"Oh please Mum," began the boy moving towards his mother, "I'd really…"

"No!" she screeched and landed him a fierce slap across his face.

Ace sprang up. "You slag! How could…"

"Stop it, Ace! Enough!" snarled the Doctor angrily. Ace stood for a brief moment staring at the surreal scene before her. Mrs Peters was still staring at the boy with a mad fury in her eyes. Young Michael was whimpering, a hand to the side of his face, and the Doctor, he…

Almost before she knew it, Ace had stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind her.

A couple of hours had passed. Ace was back in the clearing in the woods, sitting on the fallen tree trunk opposite the doors of the TARDIS. Almost at once she had started to regret storming out of the cottage like that. She had faced many terrors alongside the Doctor and he HAD shown her kindness in the past. However, she also realised that the magic and excitement of travelling with him through the dimensions of space and time was now beginning to wear a bit thin. It was becoming something to be endured, no longer enjoyed.

She realised that this mood had been creeping up on her for several days. Her recent encounter with the Cheetah People had been deeply unsettling. At the time she had felt euphoric in her intoxication. The Doctor had told her that a little of their disintegrated world would live inside her for the rest of her life. She had felt glad of that. She wanted to hold onto those primeval feelings. Never before had she felt as alive and vital as then. Then the dreams started. Dreams of chasing and killing. Dreams of the taste and the smell of blood. She would relive the euphoria in her dreams but she always awoke to feelings of disgust and of being violated.

Not so long ago she took up the challenges posed by her hectic life with the Doctor in her stride. She relished those challenges. The more she had the opportunity to make her mark on the Universe, to help bring power-crazed despots tumbling off their pedestals, the more she liked it. Get the scumbags!

Now all this. Enough, she thought, is enough. Ace had now had enough.

Alone with her thoughts, she waited for the Doctor to return. It was getting dark and she was beginning to feel hungry and thirsty - but still the Doctor did not arrive. Would he come? Why should he? After all, Ace thought, churlishly, why should he worry about me when he's got the whole bloody Universe to save! She got up, walked over to the TARDIS, banged her fist on its doors, and then moved out of the clearing, picking her way through the growing gloom under the trees and heading back towards the cottage. Surely I'll meet him coming to look for me on my way back? thought Ace.

She didn't.