A RACE THROUGH DIM PLACES

The Doctor bit into a bar from the food machine, his mouth already
salivating at the thought of roast Ha'harn, basted in its own juices
and
stuffed with vine leaves. "Phagh!" He spat the disgusting crumbs all
over the TARDIS console, desperately wiping his mouth clean with
the sleeve of his coat of many colours. Frantically he checked the
settings on the machine, flicking through panel after panel. Then he
slumped. Striving for a reasonable tone of voice he called out. "Oh,
Melanie."

There was a pause before his young companion appeared in the
doorway, continuing the skipping that had already covered miles of
the TARDIS corridors in the last few days. Sweat soaked the top of
her purple leotard and the green headband that kept her bouncing
curls restrained. She was counting under her breath. "What is it,
Doctor? I'm half way through my ten thousand."

"Mel," he asked in honeyed tones, "have you been fiddling with
the food machine?"

She beamed happily at him. "I certainly have, Doc. A full
reprogramming. From now on it's the wholesome tastes of nature's
bounty for both of us." She narrowed her eyes slightly as the
suspicion finally dawned that the Doctor might not be completely
happy with her improvements.

"You've singlehandly wiped out three hundred and six of the
finest cuisines in the galaxy! Core dump! Gone forever!"

"Whoops," giggled Mel, eyeing the fuming Timelord warily.
"Anyone can make a mistake!"

The Doctor edged slowly around the console, his eyes fixed on
hers. "I *did* ask you to consult with me before you made any
improvements, did I not."

"But it seemed so straight forward! Anyhow, can't stop, Doc --
lots more excercise to do." The Doctor made a lunge for his bouncing
Nemesis, but with a shrill scream of alarm Mel dropped the skipping
rope and sprinted into the corridor. By the time the Doctor had
untangled one foot from the rope she had a good head start, her
flashing rump disappearing around the first bend.

"Run all you like," muttered the Doctor, "I know the TARDIS
like I know my own hand." He checked his hand carefully and
nodded with satisfaction before taking off after his fleeing
companion, at a steady jog.

Forty minutes later and he was wheezing for breath, leaning
against the pseudo-brick wall of the basketball court. It seemed Mel
had learnt a lot about the layout of the TARDIS in the few weeks
she'd spent on board. Of course, having a photographic memory
probably helped as well.

He thought he'd caught her in the cloister, but she ducked into an
alcove that even he'd forgotten about, slipping her svelte form past a
narrow gap that took him a good few seconds to squeeze through.
What was that? He resisted the impulse to pant for breath, and dived
behind one of the piles of old car tires that littered the place.
Footsteps. Coming closer. He carefully peered out between two
whitewalls.

Mel tripped lightly into view, casting the occasional amused
glance back over her shoulder. He was irritated to see that she didn't
appear particularly fatigued, though the sweat stains on her leotard
were larger than previously. Hearing no pursuit she halted to retie the
laces

of her shocking pink training shoes and re-adjust her stripy leggings.
As she bent over the Doctor got a close-up view of her pert buttocks
and the lycra tautly stretched over them. An idea came to him
instantly. He leapt from concealment and seized Mel around the
waist. Her scream of mingled surprise and shock almost made him
drop her again, but gritting his teeth he dragged her over his knee and
proceeded to wallop that inviting behind.

"Doctor! Ow! You scared the ... ow ... life out of me. Yow!"
Mel's headband slipped off as she flinched with each blow, and her
freed hair ballooned out, forcing the Doctor to peer through a reddish
curtain at her struggling form.

"I. Will. Not. Have. Any. One. Alter. The. TARDIS. Machines.
Without. Supervision." He almost shouted, punctuating each word
with the smack of his palm on Mel's round buttocks. After he ran out
of complaints he noticed that Mel was no longer squealing at each
blow, but was simply shuddering on his lap. Instantly he stopped.
Had he gone too far? Was she hurt? Carefully he lifted her to her feet,
peering anxiously at her face through the disarray of her ginger mane.
She was struggling to stop laughing!

"Sorry about all that, Doc. It was the only way I could think of
to get you doing some exercise!"

"You mean ..?"

"Oh, the food machine's fine. I downloaded all the old menus
before I scrubbed the core." Mel reached into the small pocket at the
rear of her leotard. "They're all on this wafer -- oh!"

Mel looked gingerly down at the broken sliver of plastic and
metal. "Well how was I to know? Doctor? What are you doing? Oh,
no! Please, not again!" The sound of spanking and the squeals of the
victim once more echoed through the infinities of the TARDIS.