Doctor Who: Shada

by Douglas Adams; Douglas Roberts; Gareth Roberts

  ‘Really, are you not?’ said Clare.

  ‘Still, it’s just as well I did,’ said the Professor, ‘or I’d still be dead.’

  ‘Still be dead?’ Clare had a jolting memory of how he had transformed from a ghost into a solid person. She dismissed it. She must have imagined it after that knock on the head. Then she looked at that upright bookcase. What knock on the head?

  ‘Yes, I’ve been killed,’ the Professor went on. ‘But the emergency program, which is a very naughty thing I’m not allowed to have either, means that you tangled with my time fields at the critical moment. You sent us into a temporal orbit, back through last Thursday night and into the vortex, I think. That’s why I’m dressed like this, you see, excuse the impropriety.’

  Clare stared at him, amazed at the garbage he was coming out with. It must sound so real to him, she thought sadly.

  ‘You’re not following me, are you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Clare.

  The Professor nodded. ‘Good. You just think of me as a paradox in an anomaly and get on with your tea.’

  Clare finished her tea and put the cup down. ‘I think I’d better be going, actually, Professor.’

  ‘Oh, I’m afraid there’s absolutely no chance of that,’ said the Professor casually. ‘Not now, anyway.’

  Clare made her way to the door. ‘I’d better find Chris, and the Doctor.’

  ‘Yes, we’d better had,’ said the Professor, ‘but you won’t find them out there, my dear.’

  Clare turned the knob of the door that led into the little vestibule. It was firmly locked. ‘Please, Professor,’ she said, ‘open this door.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘And you certainly can’t.’

  Clare squared her shoulders. ‘Come on, Professor, the joke is over.’

  The Professor stood up and crossed to the nearest windows. ‘The joke is far from over, young lady,’ he said. ‘Would you care to see the punchline?’

  He threw back the curtains dramatically.

  Beyond them, Clare saw the twisting, howling blue maelstrom of the space-time vortex.

  Chapter 49

  SKAGRA STOOD LOOKING up through the observatory at the infinite stars. Romana, still under the guard of a pair of watchful Kraags, wondered what was going on in his head.

  The Kraag Commander stomped through the mass of his fellows towards Skagra. ‘First wave of generations is complete, my lord,’ it said.

  ‘Good,’ said Skagra. He tapped the book in his hand. ‘I have found the key, as anticipated. You will make all necessary preparations for the entry into Shada, and then begin second generation for the activation of the Universal Mind.’

  ‘My lord,’ said the Kraag Commander. It stomped away.

  ‘The Universal Mind,’ scoffed Romana.

  Skagra turned to her. ‘Exactly.’

  Romana believed she still had one option available to her. It was something she had learnt from the Doctor. Irritating the enemy, exposing any weaknesses of their psychology. ‘Why don’t you just kill me, Skagra?’ she said.

  ‘Your reaction will interest me,’ said Skagra.

  ‘My reaction to what?’

  Skagra tapped the book again. ‘Your reaction to meeting one of the greatest criminals in your history.’

  ‘Salyavin?’ Romana shook her head. ‘Salyavin died thousands of years ago. And even you can’t fly the TARDIS back across the Gallifreyan time stream to meet him.’

  ‘Tell me how Salyavin died,’ said Skagra.

  Romana considered. ‘I don’t know.’

  Skagra nodded. ‘A Triple Alpha-plus graduate of the Prydon College in the Academy on Gallifrey, and you don’t know? How peculiar.’

  Romana thought back to Skagra’s earlier boast about the book and the role it had once played in the administration of Gallifreyan justice. Nowadays – or at least in the last few thousand years – the very few evil renegades about, such as Morbius and Zetar, had been sentenced to vaporisation. But she had no idea what had befallen the criminals of earlier generations on Gallifrey. For some reason, the impulse to wonder about it had never crossed her mind, and even now she felt a vague sense of apprehension at the question.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Skagra, ‘the Time Lords wanted to forget. To assuage their consciences. They wanted to obliterate all memory of what they had done, wipe it from their history.’ He gestured to his collection of Gallifreyan texts. ‘But it was all in there, still intact, on Drornid.’

  ‘What was there?’ Romana felt an almost overwhelming impulse to fight her own curiosity, as if this was a question that should never be answered.

  ‘Can’t you work it out for yourself?’ asked Skagra.

  ‘The book of the law sentenced Salyavin,’ said Romana slowly, each word sounding a death knell deep in the back of her mind.

  ‘But what was his punishment?’ Skagra coaxed her.

  ‘Imprisonment?’ suggested Romana.

  Skagra nodded. ‘Correct. In Shada, the ancient prison of the Time Lords!’

  Romana shuddered. The words hit her like a physical attack. If this was true – and somehow she just knew it was – she could at last begin to guess at the ultimate nature of Skagra’s great scheme.

  She pointed to the sphere. ‘The Universal Mind,’ she gasped.

  Skagra nodded. ‘My mind.’

  Chapter 50

  CLARE’S HEAD WAS spinning again. She had a million pressing questions but didn’t know which one to ask first or how to understand the likely replies. She had established that Chris was probably safe, and probably with the Doctor and this Ramona girl. But the deeper details eluded her.

  As far as she could begin to grasp it, the Professor’s suite of rooms was also an alien capsule for travelling through space and time, and the Professor himself was an alien. It seemed Gallifrey was not a Greek island after all but the home planet of a race called the Time Lords. Furthermore, the Professor’s space-time craft, which he called a TARDIS, was at present stuck in something called a temporal orbit, which had sent itself and both of them back to Thursday night, or as the Professor more accurately said, ‘a state of Thursday night-ness.’ She abandoned her last objections to this idea when she looked in a mirror and saw that the perm she had washed out on Friday night was well and truly back. ‘I suppose it’s a time perm,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘That is the correct technical term, yes,’ said the Professor abstractedly. ‘Unfortunately the temporal orbit did not bring the book back in here. I suppose it must stand outside time, or it couldst have must’ve did has.’

  Mention of the book made the Professor rather agitated. ‘We must find Skagra. He’s got the book,’ he kept repeating, looking worriedly between the brass control console of his capsule and the window view that now showed not the neat green lawns sloping down to the Backs but the dazzling infinity of space and time.

  ‘I thought the book might be dangerous,’ said Clare.

  ‘It is!’ cried the Professor. ‘Very dangerous, and I have been very careless with it.’ He mopped his brow. ‘I’ve been such a stupid old fool.’

  ‘But why is it so dangerous?’ asked Clare.

  The Professor hesitated. ‘I cannot say.’

  Clare put her hands on her hips in a gesture that she had used unconsciously since the age of eight to terrify men. ‘I think I deserve an explanation. I saved your life, didn’t I?’

  The Professor stared at her through his spectacles and seemed to reach a decision. ‘Quite right, young lady. What does the secret matter now? It is best that you know before the trials that lie ahead.’

  Clare felt a sinking sensation at the mention of danger. But then she remembered the books that had fallen onto the floor earlier. Adventures. Wasn’t that what she’d always wanted?

  ‘So what is the book’s secret?’ she asked.

  The Professor drew himself up and spoke slowly, as if he could not quite believe he was telling her words out loud. ‘It is the key to Shada.’

  ‘
Oh,’ said Clare.

  ‘The ancient prison of the Time Lords,’ said Chronotis heavily.

  ‘I see,’ said Clare.

  ‘Of course the Time Lords have all forgotten about it,’ said Chronotis. ‘All except me.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Clare again.

  The Professor bit a fingernail. Clare was astonished to see that his eyes were beginning to fill with tears. ‘And if this Skagra is meddling with mind transference, he is only going to Shada for one reason, and it is imperative that he be stopped!’

  He crossed decisively to the brass control panel. ‘But where to start? How to start?’

  Clare followed him over. ‘And what’s in Shada that’s so dangerous?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s not a matter of what,’ said the Professor, taking off his spectacles and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. ‘It’s a matter of who.’

  Chapter 51

  CHRIS FOUND HIMSELF shrinking into the Doctor’s side, like it was an instinct to go all girly and powerless next to this big, solid broad-shouldered man.

  ‘Who are they, Doctor?’ he whispered urgently as the five figures shuffled from the shadows into the main control room of the space station. ‘What are they?’

  At first sight, Chris had thought these newcomers were vampires or zombies or werewolves, or a bit of all three with something else even worse mixed in. They were ragged, filthy creatures with long unkempt hair and long dirty fingernails, some with wild straggling beards. All of them wore a similar outfit of tunic and trousers. These clothes, Chris guessed, had once been gleaming white, but now they were shredded, hanging from the creatures’ skinny bodies like torn grey shrouds.

  Perhaps the worst thing about the newcomers, though, was the smell. They were caked in filth. Their eyes were blank and uncomprehending. Their bodies moved jerkily and uncertainly, like toddlers taking their first cautious steps. They held their hands outstretched towards the Doctor and Chris like beggars. They made a ghastly chorus of mewing sounds, and short guttural clicks and cries.

  To Chris’s astonishment and alarm, instead of sensibly backing away from these creatures as he had done with the Kraag, the Doctor put out an arm and gently took the bony hand of the nearest. He made soothing noises.

  ‘There, there,’ he said.

  He smiled, though Chris could see he was deeply disturbed by the apparitions, whatever they were.

  The creature touched by the Doctor lifted its head, and Chris was startled to see that under the shapeless rags and tatters it was a woman.

  ‘Victims of Skagra’s brain drain,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘That sphere?’ said Chris.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Their minds were stolen but their bodies survived the extraction process. If you can call this survival.’ He brushed the woman’s hair gently away from her blue eyes. ‘They might know who Skagra is, what he’s after, where he’s gone.’

  ‘But their minds have been stolen,’ pointed out Chris.

  ‘Some memory patterns might remain,’ said the Doctor, clearly thinking hard. ‘Locked off in the Broca’s region.’

  He turned very slowly, looking between Chris and the cone. ‘Bristol, I would like you to do something for me.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Chris brightly. ‘Anything I can do to help.’

  ‘It won’t be pleasant, I’m afraid,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Silly Kraag, silly dog,’ observed the Ship, looking on at the titanic struggle between K-9 and the rock monster. ‘You should really give it up. The pair of you. I mean, all this denial’s not going to get you anywhere, is it? We’re all dead.’

  K-9’s laser continued to fire into the Kraag. The searing heat and blazing light would have blinded any organic being. Even K-9’s finely attuned sensors, which operated through every spectrum, were having trouble keeping a clear image of his opponent. The constant wittering from the Ship wasn’t helping things either.

  ‘Ah,’ sighed the Ship, now switching to its more wistful and reflective mood. ‘“Feel no more the heat o’ the Kraag,” as one of the great poets of that silly Earth planet almost has it. Take a break, get a long sleep in, that’s the whole point of being dead, isn’t it? I intend to do nothing at all now I’ve crossed to the other side.’

  ‘Nothing – but – talk,’ K-9 managed to say. It was, of course, completely impossible that a machine creature like himself could feel irritation. That was an organic emotion. But several of K-9’s inner servo cut-offs were locking in and out with what could almost have been frustration.

  The Kraag suddenly roared. It flung out its arms on either side, as if it was basking in the deadly laser beam.

  ‘Master!’ K-9 called urgently. ‘Master, hypothesise that the Kraag creature is absorbing energy from the beam! Master!’

  ‘He can’t hear you,’ said the Ship. ‘For that matter, neither can I. Ho-hum.’

  Chris stood in one of the alcoves around the central cone, as directed by the Doctor. The Doctor had gently led one of the survivors, a man, into the position right next to him. Then he took a long length of wire from his pocket and fastened it around some sinister-looking inputs above Chris’s head.

  ‘Bristol,’ he said darkly. ‘I’m going to allow this man access to your intelligence reserves. It’ll only be temporary. It might just allow his memory to function. I’m sorry, but it’s our only hope of finding Romana.’

  He trailed the wire from the inputs and wound it around the head of the dirty, bearded old man. The old man looked up and smiled innocently like a small child. His fellow survivors cowered in a shadowy corner of the control room, looking on uncomprehending.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ said Chris as the Doctor held out his sonic screwdriver.

  ‘So do I,’ muttered the Doctor.

  ‘I have total faith in you,’ said Chris.

  ‘So do I,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘There should be enough power to jump-start the transference circuit, for a while anyway.’ He turned on the sonic screwdriver and touched the tip to the length of wire that ran between Chris and the old man. ‘Take a deep breath,’ he ordered.

  Chris took a deep breath.

  ‘Now!’ cried the Doctor.

  Chris felt a tingle of power along the back of his neck. It was not unpleasant, and he was just opening his mouth to tell the Doctor that everything was all right when the world fell away.

  Another mind crashed into his.

  A bewildering sequence of wild, flashing images tumbled through Chris’s head. He felt himself flashing through purple waves on some kind of futuristic surfboard, a young woman’s hands wrapped around his naked back. He saw lectures, machinery, white boards and computer viewscreens filling up with equation after equation after equation.

  The image of Clare faded from his mind, to be replaced by another face. A cold-eyed young man with fair hair and full, sensuous lips. The small part of Chris that still existed was certain he’d seen him somewhere before.

  And then, Chris felt himself disappear. Suddenly, he was somebody else.

  ‘Master, alert!’ cried K-9. ‘Kraag creature is –’ He gathered his strength. ‘Kraag not only absorbing energy – but it is –’

  The Kraag turned almost mockingly in the beam, shaking itself. Its entire body was now suffused in the red light, smoke and steam belching from it in furious blasts.

  ‘It is – growing stronger!’ called K-9 weakly. ‘This unit requires assistance! Hurry, Master!’

  The Kraag gave another horrifying roar and stepped slowly to the side and out of the beam.

  ‘I knew this would end badly,’ said the Ship.

  The Doctor looked anxiously between Chris and the old man. Chris’s head was slumped back in the alcove, and the pained expression on his face was not pleasant to behold. The Doctor quickly checked Chris’s life signs and gave him a fond kiss on the brow.

  Then he turned his attention to the old man. A little light had come back into the man’s clouded gaze, and the Doctor fancied he could almost see the
adult intelligence swimming back up onto the ravaged face.

  Suddenly the old man’s arm jerked. He pointed with one long-nailed finger and moaned.

  ‘Gently now, take it easy,’ said the Doctor, kissing the old man’s brow as well for good luck.

  A hissing sound issued from the back of the old man’s throat. Then a single syllable pushed itself up through his lips.

  ‘It’s…’

  ‘Please, go slowly,’ said the Doctor.

  The old man’s eyes settled upon him. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘The Doctor.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ gasped the old man, every syllable clearly a tremendous effort.

  ‘Me? I’m here to help,’ said the Doctor. He leaned in close and whispered softly, ‘May I ask who you are, sir?’

  ‘My name is… Akrotiri…’

  The Doctor’s own memory was functioning perfectly accurately. ‘What?’ he gasped. ‘Not C.J. Akrotiri? The neurologist?’

  ‘The same,’ said the old man. He managed to dip his head graciously. It was a pitiful sight, thought the Doctor, the famed scientist reduced to the level of a babbling idiot.

  Carefully the Doctor shook the old man’s hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,’ he said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. ‘One of the greatest intellects of your generation.’

  ‘So are we all.’ Akrotiri gestured to his fellow survivors. There were tears forming in his rheumy eyes as he identified them. ‘K. Thira the psychologist, J. Centauri the parametricist, C. Ia the biologist, D. Caldera…’

  The Doctor regarded the survivors. ‘I thought I recognised those faces. Arguably some of the greatest intellects in the universe in this time period,’ he breathed. One of the women, J. Centauri, master of parametrics, was staring at her fingers as if trying to count them.

  Akrotiri gave a long, grating sigh. ‘And Doctor R. Skagra.’

  The Doctor returned his attention to the old man. ‘Tell me about Skagra.’