Doctor Who: Shada

by Douglas Adams; Douglas Roberts; Gareth Roberts

  The Doctor cut him off. ‘Silence!’

  K-9 flashed his eye-screen resentfully and trundled back a fraction.

  The Doctor picked up the box and looked to Romana. ‘I’m sorry it’s ended this way,’ he said.

  ‘Like I said,’ sighed Romana. ‘We’ve no choice. We can’t handle this on our own.’

  The Doctor nodded, grinned suddenly and then threw the box into the air overarm as if he was bowling a cricket ball.

  The box hovered in mid-air, twisting and turning, and then the glow from within brightened until Chris had to shield his eyes. Slowly the box began to vanish into thin air, a thing that Chris was now getting used to other things doing.

  Suddenly K-9 shot forward. There was a low whirring noise and a stubby black rod extended from his muzzle. A moment later a bright red laser beam shot up from it and struck the box.

  ‘K-9, what are you doing?’ cried Romana. Chris was secretly pleased to hear her saying something along those lines.

  There was a deafening crack and Chris was hurled to the ground.

  A thin film of dust particles was floating down from where the box had been.

  The Doctor leapt to his feet. ‘K-9, what have you done?’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Regret action, Master,’ said K-9. ‘My overriding directive to protect yourself and the Mistress caused me to obliterate the thought box.’

  ‘You can’t go around doing things I haven’t told you to do!’ thundered the Doctor. ‘Except if I’m not there, and I am there, I mean here!’

  ‘He must have a very good reason,’ suggested Chris.

  The Doctor rounded on him. ‘Who gave you permission to speak? When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it!’ Suddenly he shook himself and pointed at Chris. ‘I want your opinion. In fact, I’m asking for it.’

  ‘Well, I just thought he must have a pretty good reason for doing that,’ Chris said. ‘He seems like quite a good dog.’

  ‘He is. K-9, did you have a pretty good reason for doing that?’ demanded the Doctor.

  K-9’s tail wagged urgently. ‘Affirmative, Master. This unit calculates that your judgement and the judgement of Mistress Romana have been influenced by emotional reactions to the death of Professor Chronotis.’

  ‘Of course we’re upset, K-9,’ said Romana. ‘But we’re up against something that could be too powerful, even for us.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress, but this unit is without emotional circuitry,’ K-9 countered. ‘I have prognosticated the possible consequences of involving the Time Lords in this matter.’

  ‘What about the consequences of not involving them?’ said Romana.

  But the Doctor had raised a hand and was blowing the air from his cheeks, like a man stepping back from the edge of a very high cliff. ‘Romana,’ he said very quietly, ‘I think K-9 may have had a pretty good reason for doing that.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ said Chris, although he wasn’t following this bit at all.

  ‘Think about it,’ the Doctor went on. ‘The two of us, two Time Lords, reacted to the loss of that book with panic. And we’re the reasonable ones, aren’t we, with the strong ethical code and general attitude of niceness?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Romana.

  Chris was beginning to follow this again. ‘Aha,’ he said, lifting a finger. He was getting pretty good at this now. ‘So the Time Lords back on Galilee—’

  ‘Gallifrey,’ corrected the Doctor, Romana and K-9 all at the same time.

  ‘On Gallifrey, sorry, trying to get all the names right,’ Chris went on, ‘the Time Lords on Gallifrey are going to really have the wind put up them when you tell them Skagra’s nicked their book. And if they’re not as reasonable and nice as you two, they might decide it’s a case of Carthago delenda est.’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘A scorched earth policy. Literally.’ He smiled. ‘Nicely put, Bristol.’

  Romana gasped. ‘You mean the Time Lords might destroy this planet?’

  ‘If they’re as afraid of the book as you are,’ said Chris, who couldn’t quite believe he was now answering her questions.

  Romana shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t. They don’t know what that book is capable of, what secrets it contains, any more than we do.’

  ‘Exactly!’ said the Doctor. ‘They might think it wiser, quicker and safer to burn book, Skagra, planet and all.’

  ‘The High Council would never agree to that,’ said Romana firmly. ‘This planet is inhabited, it’s littered with fixed points in time—’

  The Doctor cut across her. ‘You’re a historian, aren’t you? Remember the fifth planet, the sack of Lassademon, the Battle of Karn—’

  ‘Thousands of years ago, relative time,’ said Romana.

  ‘And all of those involving Time Lord secrets falling into the wrong hands,’ said the Doctor. He leant down and patted K-9. ‘Well done, K-9. You are a very, very, very good dog.’

  K-9’s ears twizzled. ‘Master.’

  ‘No, we can’t take the risk of involving the Time Lords,’ said the Doctor. ‘Not yet anyway.’

  Chris laughed.

  ‘What’s so funny now?’ asked Romana.

  ‘We’ve just had a conversation about the end of the world,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Not just in general terms, like students on beanbags at two o’clock in the morning when the beer’s run out, but actually about the end of the world really happening. Today.’

  Romana crossed to him. ‘Chris. Go home and forget about all of this. Please, go now.’

  Chris was crestfallen. However dangerous and strange today had been, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted it to end. ‘What? Turn my back and wonder about this day for the rest of my life? No!’ he said boldly. ‘I’m a scientist, Romana. It’s my duty to stay and help you.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said the Doctor, bounding over and slapping him on the shoulder.

  ‘Doctor, this is a terribly dangerous situation, he’ll only get in the way,’ said Romana, with a look of apology to Chris.

  ‘That’s what I used to think about you,’ said the Doctor. He looked suddenly more genial and less abrupt. ‘The more the merrier. Too many cooks spoil the broth of destruction. Now let’s get on with it. K-9, Skagra must have some kind of spacecraft. Search for high technology emissions, energy spikes, all that kind of naughty thing.’

  ‘Excluding the TARDIS there are no such traces, Master,’ said K-9.

  ‘Must be shielded,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Shielded from K-9’s sensors,’ mused Romana. ‘Which are linked to the scanners in the TARDIS.’ She shuddered. ‘A ship that can hide itself even from Gallifreyan technology? How is that possible?’

  The Doctor ignored the question. ‘Well then, K-9, can you find any trace of that sphere, the telepathic activity?’

  ‘Affirmative, Master,’ said K-9, ‘but it is far, far too weak to take a bearing.’

  ‘We’ll have to wait until it becomes active again,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now listen, K-9, the moment the signal becomes clear, full alert!’

  ‘Affirmative, Master.’

  ‘Right! Come on, we’ll wait in the TARDIS.’ He strode towards the police box. ‘Much safer for the moment.’

  ‘Excellent thought,’ said Romana. ‘Goodbye, Chris.’

  ‘Come on, Bristol!’ said the Doctor, grabbing Chris and virtually throwing him into the TARDIS before Romana could say anything more.

  Chapter 27

  SKAGRA POSITIONED THE book gently behind the vacuum-bubble shield of his book collection. He hated the thought of hands, even his own, touching any book, what with all their grease and bacteria and animal warmth contaminating the pristine pages.

  ‘You have the book, my lord,’ cooed the Ship.

  Skagra nodded. ‘And now you will read it to me. I will learn the darkest secret of the Time Lords.’

  ‘At once, my lord,’ said the Ship. ‘You are such a wonderful, wonderful person. My circuits are unworthy of the privileges you bestow on me so bountifully.’

/>   ‘Just read the book,’ said Skagra.

  He sat back in his comfort pod and closed his eyes.

  Behind the bubble shield a slim metal probe extended from a tiny hole. It reached the front cover of the book and gently pushed it open to the first page.

  From another hole on the other side of the vacuum shield emerged a thicker, flexible tube. At the end was an attachment that rather resembled an eye, a cool blue light blinking steadily from the iris.

  The Ship coughed.

  ‘Begin,’ said Skagra.

  ‘At once, my lord,’ said the Ship. ‘Er – are you seated in the position of maximum comfort, my lord?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Skagra.

  The Ship coughed again.

  ‘Begin!’ said Skagra again.

  ‘So I just have to read the book, do I, my lord?’ asked the Ship.

  ‘For the moment, yes, that is your instruction,’ said Skagra.

  ‘And a wonderful instruction it is too, my lord,’ said the Ship. ‘An instruction worthy of the paradigm of unutterable brilliance that is my lord.’

  ‘Read it,’ said Skagra.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Out loud, my lord?’ asked the Ship, rather tentatively.

  ‘Yes, out loud!’ said Skagra. ‘Reveal the secret of the Time Lords. Tell me of Shada!’

  ‘Yes, my lord, immediately,’ said the Ship.

  There was another pause.

  ‘From the beginning, my lord?’ asked the Ship.

  ‘Read it from the beginning, out loud, to me,’ said Skagra. ‘Now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked the Ship.

  ‘I am very sure,’ said Skagra.

  ‘How very sure, my lord?’

  ‘One hundred per cent sure!’ thundered Skagra. ‘Now begin, before I’m forced to destroy your circuitry!’

  ‘Very well, my lord,’ said the Ship.

  She coughed again.

  ‘The Worshipful and Ancient Law of Gallifrey,’ she said grandly. ‘Read by me, out loud, to my lord Skagra.’

  There was another pause.

  ‘Squiggle squiggle squiggle squiggle,’ the Ship said, enunciating every syllable with the gravitas required of the moment. ‘Squiggle, line, squiggle, squiggle line squiggle squiggle wavy line, though I suppose that could be a squiggle—’

  Skagra leapt from the comfort pod. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

  ‘Your magnificence has, as usual, pinpointed the problem with unerring accuracy, my lord,’ said the Ship. The eyestalk flexed uneasily over the open book, which Skagra saw was covered in arcane symbols. ‘I am programmed to translate every language and alphabet in the universe. And I have absolutely no idea what this means.’

  Chapter 28

  NIGHT SHROUDED THE city of Cambridge. The moon shone fitfully through the clouds above the old streets and around the colleges.

  Wilkin made his final walk-round of the grounds of St Cedd’s, gave the padlock one final tug, then returned to the lodge where, at precisely half past ten, he changed into his pyjamas and curled up in bed with a John Dickson Carr.

  Clare Keightley waited for Chris in the physics lab. She waited so hard she fell asleep in a very uncomfortable plastic chair, her head resting on a pile of books about carbon dating, and dreamt about America and big decisions and Chris and the Doctor and the book, but mainly about Chris. He would have been surprised to see how very forthright he could be in Clare’s dreams.

  David Taylor’s mum wondered where he’d got to. Wherever he’d gone, she hoped he was having some fun at last.

  And the Doctor, Romana, K-9 and Chris Parsons waited in the TARDIS, which remained in the corner of Professor Chronotis’s silent study, which had not so long ago been filled with the sound of friendly conversation and rattling china and teaspoons.

  *

  The Doctor and Romana either didn’t want or didn’t need to sleep, Chris realised. After entering the TARDIS, the Doctor had activated the force field and collapsed into a large wicker chair, looking tired and portentously undisturbable. Romana plugged K-9 into a power point underneath the console, ‘to charge him up overnight’ as she put it. His eye-screen went blank, then the lowermost of its horizontal bars glowed into life with a beep, and the one above that began to flicker.

  ‘He was down to one bar, poor thing,’ said Romana.

  Throughout, K-9’s radar dish ears revolved steadily, searching for the sphere.

  ‘He can only trace it when it’s active,’ Chris pointed out.

  ‘I know that,’ said Romana.

  ‘Which means when it’s attacking someone,’ said Chris. ‘Trying to kill someone, steal their mind.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Romana as patiently as she seemed able.

  ‘That’s a bit horrible, isn’t it?’ ventured Chris.

  ‘Nothing else we can do,’ said Romana. ‘We’re talking about a potential threat to the lives of everyone in the universe. We can only hope we’ll be there to stop it in time, like we saved the Doctor.’

  Chris decided to risk another question. ‘So you and the Doctor, you’re sort of explorers?’

  ‘That’s the idea, though it never seems to work out that way.’ To Chris’s astonishment Romana smiled. ‘Why not try and get some rest? There’s a bathroom and a guest suite.’ She indicated the interior door and gave another set of detailed directions.

  ‘So you’ll call me when you need me?’ said Chris.

  ‘Whenever that may be, yes,’ said Romana, still smiling sweetly.

  Chris hesitated at the door. There was no other furniture in the control room. ‘Er, shall I fetch you anything? Chair or stool or cushion or anything?’

  ‘No thanks,’ said Romana. ‘I can sleep standing up, if need be.’

  ‘Really?’ said Chris. Then he noted a slight smirk mixed in with her smile. ‘You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?’

  ‘Night night, Young Parsons,’ said Romana, turning her attention to the console.

  Chris set off down the twisting white corridors of the TARDIS. This time there was less urgency to his mission and he took time to open a few of the doors that led off the corridors. Some of them gave on to other, seemingly identical stretches of twisty white, and he was very careful, as befitted the proud owner of the 7th Bristol Scout Pack award for Orienteering 1966, to close them firmly and ignore any temptation to stray from the path. As before, he could remember Romana’s instructions exactly.

  Some of the other doors led to rooms. There was a cricket pavilion, which somehow actually smelt of new-mown grass and linseed oil. Another door led to a huge empty cinema in which was playing a black-and-white Lone Ranger film. Chris flinched as he bumped into a large-bosomed usherette. He apologised, only to realise the figure was a cracked dummy wound around, for some reason, with dead Christmas tree lights, with a cabbage for its head, a stuffed parrot on its shoulder and a cleaning lady’s bucket, filled with popcorn, slung over one arm.

  He peeked through yet another door to find an enormous room filled with shelves packed with balls of multicoloured wool, a huge plastic pick-and-mix dispenser with jelly babies in every tray, and piles of entangled yo-yos.

  Finally, Chris made his way to the particular door to which Romana had directed him. So this was the guest suite. He gripped the handle and pushed, ready for anything.

  Somewhat disappointingly the guest suite looked, at first sight, like nothing more or less than a fairly average hotel room, apart from the ever-present circular design of the walls. Flowery carpet, a dresser, a mirror, a trouser press. Then Chris noticed two peculiarities. The bed was a single four-poster, with ornately carved wooden posts, but when he drew back the curtains he found a bunk bed, with a rickety wooden ladder attached.

  The second peculiarity was the minibar, if that was actually what it was. It was gleaming white and came to about chest-height, and it certainly looked like some kind of drink dispenser or chocolate machine, with a tray for delivery of the food or drink selected but with no slot for money – on
ly two large dials with selector needles. There were numbers on the first dial, letters on the second. In the mood for experimentation, Chris set the dials to K12 and pressed a button in the middle. There was a rumble from inside, a kind of thunk, three loud beeps, a whirr, and then an object something like a white-coloured Mars bar shot out into the tray.

  Chris picked it up and took a tentative munch. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he realised. Chocolate would do very nicely. He took a bite. His mouth filled not with the sweetness of chocolate but the hot juicy taste of prime rib, medium rare. Chris grinned – space food, this was more like it! Greedily, he took another bite. The juicy steak was replaced by the tacky oversweetness of candy floss. The tastes blended in a very unpleasant way. He pulled out his hanky and spat the contents of his mouth out into it. There was obviously some clever space-thing you had to know before you got the hang of the minibar. He looked around for instructions but there were none.

  There was one interior door, presumably leading to the en suite. Chris took a deep breath and pushed in.

  This was perhaps even more disappointing. It looked exactly like a hotel bathroom, with a lavatory, mirror, towels and toiletries. Another door said BATH.

  Chris pushed it open and gasped. Beyond the door was an enormous – at least Olympic-sized – swimming pool, slopping about in a huge white enamelled container. Chris looked closely at the base of the container and saw, to his astonishment, two tiny little brass feet supporting it at this end. Presumably at the other end, eighty feet away, there were another two. On the perimeter of the bath or pool, on the left at what would normally be the shallow end, he could just glimpse two ordinary-sized taps and a rubber duck.

  Chris stripped off, climbed a metal ladder and dived in. It was the warmest, most soothing water he had ever known. There was a rush of spray and a bar of soap zoomed over the water towards him.

  After his bath – he hadn’t dared take the plug out – Chris climbed back into the bedroom and shrugged into a big white towelling bathrobe that had been thoughtfully placed on the back of the bathroom door.

  But how was he going to sleep, with all that was going on?