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charms!’ He barked his shin on a coffee table and cried out. ‘The place is chock-a-block with minimalism,’ he cursed.
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    When one of the robots came tootling up to him, asking if he needed anything, he brusquely told it, ‘No. I won’t need anything at all. All night. I need to be left alone.’
    ‘Very good, sir,’ the chunky, glass-bodied robot nodded, and turned away, rather stung by the Doctor’s tone.
    ‘Oh, wait!’ the Doctor said. ‘You could leave the French windows open, if you like.’
    ‘The windows, sir?’ The bland-faced robot somehow managed to look scandalised at the Doctor’s suggestion.
    ‘Yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’m not tired yet, and I might fancy a stroll about on the lawns. Or maybe even a dash. Would you mind?’
    ‘It’s highly irregular, sir. But your wish is my command.’
    ‘Good,’ grinned the Doctor. He paused to admire all of the sparking and whirring innards of the robot, plainly on show through his bulky glass body. ‘What a charming robot you are. What do they call you?’
    ‘Stirpeek, sir,’ intoned the robot as he zapped the windows’ remote controls, and up they went with a shimmer and a hum.
    ‘Marvellous, Stirpeek,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now, would you kindly see to it that I don’t get disturbed at all? While I’m out taking the night air?’
    The robot seemed to frown at him. Almost suspiciously. The Doctor blinked. He put on his most harmless expression.
    ‘Very well, sir,’ Stirpeek said at last.
    ‘Fantastic,’ smiled the Doctor. Then he turned and pelted out of the luxurious sitting room. He took great big lungfuls of the night air on the veranda outside. He relished the sensation of the cool, fresh night, after being cooped up for hours in the stuffy formality of the Tiermanns’ dinner party. He knew this fresh air was fake though: it was recycled and conditioned under the shimmering dome.
    The dome! That’s what he was out here for, wasn’t it? The Doctor fished his sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and set his jaw determinedly. Then he hopped over the stone balustrade and onto the dark lawn. Then he was belting hell-for-leather across the grass.
    Inside the Dreamhome, several sets of glowing robot eyes watched him as he went. He had told the doubtful Stirpeek that he might go 34

    for a run on the lawn. Perhaps this was nothing unusual. But still the Servo-furnishings were suspicious. None of them had ever seen anyone like the Doctor before. They decided to watch him very, very closely.
    Meanwhile the Doctor was congratulating himself warmly for his success in escaping into the freezing dark. Easy! Easy as anything!
    He skidded smoothly to a halt at the very edge of the lawn. He was back at the force shield and its harsh buzzing filled his ears. Beyond the shimmering transparency of the shield he could see the forest.
    It looked sugar-frosted and beautiful in the moonlight. He knew, though, that it was home to a million terrible dangers. Even more so, in the night-time, than in the day. The desperate forest dwellers, spooked by the approach of the Craw, would be going out of their minds.
    But. . .
    and here the Doctor swallowed these thoughts down bravely. . . he had to gird his loins, or whatever the ridiculous phrase was, and get back out there, into the wintry wilderness. Though he hadn’t expressed it to Martha, he was worried about the TARDIS. In his keenness to help out the human settlers of Tiermann’s World, he had left the TARDIS-poor old thing-out there, vulnerable and alone.
    Her powers were astonishing, but even she couldn’t survive the approach of the Voracious Craw. She’d be chomped and chewed up with the rest of everything when the Craw arrived tomorrow night.
    So he had to get a move on. He had to open up the shields just enough to let himself out. He had to cross the deadly forest all the way they had come today. He had to make sure he didn’t get lost or eaten or in some way horribly maimed. And then he had to