Shada

by Douglas Adams

  ‘Access knowledge of this ground-transporter,’ Skagra ordered the sphere.

  The sphere burbled and detached itself from the forehead of the human. This one had not survived the extraction, Skagra noted with interest. The bodies of these Earth creatures were obviously more fragile than those of his former colleagues on the Think Tank.

  The sphere zoomed to the operating wheel of the vehicle. Skagra prised the dead man’s fingers from it.

  ‘Return me to the Ship,’ Skagra commanded.

  The sphere burbled and the vehicle sprang into life, roaring past the gates of St Cedd’s and off in the direction of the Cambridgeshire countryside.

  On the back seat on the Capri, a Supermousse slowly melted.

  Chapter 10

  THE PROFESSOR WAS stalling.

  ‘A rather special book?’ the Doctor prompted him again.

  ‘Rather special? Did I say rather special?’ The Professor blinked. ‘No, it’s very special. A very special book.’

  ‘Special in what way?’ asked Romana.

  ‘Award-winning? Critically acclaimed? Made out of jelly?’ the Doctor suggested, increasingly desperately.

  ‘No, not very special in that way,’ fudged the Professor. ‘Though I did once have a book made out of jelly, or was it about jelly, I forget…’

  The Doctor looked as if he was building up to that explosion again. Romana gulped – and then her head was suddenly occupied by something else entirely. The thin, distorted babble of inhuman voices, much fainter this time. They were gone in a second.

  ‘Did you just hear voices?’ said the Professor, blinking.

  The Doctor nodded. ‘I just heard voices. Romana, did you just hear voices?’ He wheeled on the Professor. ‘Are those voices anything to do with this very special book, Professor?’

  The Professor thought for a moment, then shook his head categorically. ‘What? Oh no, no, no. No no no, no no no.’ Talking into his shirt collar and avoiding their eyes, he added casually, ‘That’s just a book I accidentally brought back with me from Gallifrey. More tea, everybody?’

  He shuffled towards the kitchen but the Doctor blocked his path. ‘From Gallifrey? From Gallifrey?’

  ‘Is that what I said, yes I suppose it was, yes I suppose it was.’

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘From Gallifrey. Rather a charming place, if a little static and futile, either of you two ever been there, worth a visit I suppose.’ He looked at their shocked faces. ‘Oh yes, of course, I suppose you must have, we were going to have tea, weren’t we?’

  This time Romana blocked his path. ‘From Gallifrey? You brought a book from Gallifrey to Cambridge?’

  The Professor nodded. ‘Yes, just a few old knick-knacks, you know. And you know how I love my books, Doctor.’

  ‘Professor, you just said that you brought it back by accident,’ the Doctor reminded him.

  ‘Ah yes, an oversight.’ He mumbled into his collar again, very quickly, ‘I overlooked the fact that I decided to bring it…’

  The Doctor and Romana exchanged a worried glance. Earth might be a very nice place to while away the odd afternoon, and this one was already turning out to be a very odd afternoon, but it was, nonetheless, at this stage in its history a level five civilisation with all the savagery and stupidity that implied. If an Earth warlord got his hands on an alien book that might refer, even casually, to the secrets of trans-dimensional engineering or warp-matrix astrogation or remote stellar manipulation, the planet might end up a charred cinder on which it would impossible to while away any kind of afternoon.

  ‘It was just for study, you know,’ said the Professor, avoiding their gaze. ‘Handy for reference.’ He sighed and turned his head a little sadly. ‘But as I’m now getting very old – very, very old – I thought that perhaps…’ He let his sentence trail off suggestively and finally looked up over his half-moons at the Doctor, shamefaced.

  ‘That perhaps I’d take it back to Gallifrey for you,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Well,’ said the Professor, ‘now that I’m retired I’m not allowed to have a TARDIS.’

  He turned his sad old eyes to Romana. She couldn’t help but be moved. He seemed such a nice old man.

  The Doctor looked less forgiving. ‘Professor, I don’t want to be critical. But I will be. It’s very risky, bringing a book back from Gallifrey. It could be terribly dangerous in the wrong hands!’

  Chapter 11

  CHRIS PARSONS TURNED the book over in his hands. He’d summoned the courage to pick it up again but he couldn’t banish the feeling that it was in some way terribly dangerous. His duty was obviously to alert the highest authority of his college straight away, the head of the Faculty, Professor Armitage.

  So he put down the book, picked up the phone, and called Clare.

  Firstly, and least importantly, Clare wouldn’t kick up a fuss about the smouldering spectrograph. She might even think it was funny, though sometimes he didn’t understand her sense of humour. Why she had nicknamed that skeleton she was examining ‘bony Emm’ and why she found that so hilarious and expected him to fall about too, he had no idea.

  Secondly, and more importantly, the book was impressive. Much more impressive than the books he’d actually meant to borrow from old Chronotis, which now sat abandoned on a table top, in their disappointingly papery ordinariness.

  As the call connected and Chris listened anxiously to the ring-ring, he was not aware that there was a third and even more important reason. He had found something exciting and wonderful, and there was nobody else on Earth that he would rather share it with than Clare Keightley.

  She answered. ‘Hello?’ She sounded busy, as if he’d disturbed her in the middle of something.

  Chris was flustered, as he always was when they first made contact, and then for most of the time they subsequently spent together. ‘Keightley, it’s me,’ he said. As there were so few women in the faculty, Chris had decided that to make them feel welcome and not different in any way, he would address them by their surnames just as he would with any other friend or colleague. He was sure they appreciated it.

  ‘Hello, Parsons,’ she said. ‘I’m busy, what is it?’

  ‘Right,’ said Chris, ‘stop being busy because this is very important.’

  ‘I’m packing,’ said Clare. ‘I leave on Monday. So get to the point.’

  ‘If you want to see the world of science turned on its head,’ said Chris impressively, ‘come to my lab!’

  ‘Your lab? You mean the faculty’s lab that you sometimes use?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I said, my lab,’ said Chris.

  ‘Look, give me two hours, OK?’ said Clare. ‘I’ve got a lot to sort out.’

  ‘No, not in two hours, now!’ insisted Chris. ‘I need you here!’

  There was a pause. ‘All right then,’ said Clare, in a different tone that Chris hadn’t heard before. ‘I’ll come over now. But this had better be worth it.’

  Chris glanced at the book. ‘Trust me, it is – the most amazing, incredible thing—’

  ‘Sooner you shut up, sooner I’ll be there. Bye,’ said Clare and hung up.

  Clare replaced the receiver and looked around her small flat. Neatly propped against one wall were a stack of collapsible cardboard boxes and a huge roll of parcel tape, ready to receive all her worldly goods and transport them across the world to her new life. They had been sat there now for a week. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to make a start.

  She’d been hoping for a particular call that would mean she’d never have to leave. She wondered, despite all the weirdness, had that been it? Was she finally going to hear what she’d been waiting so long for?

  She grabbed her coat and was out the door in five seconds flat.

  Chapter 12

  THE PROFESSOR MARCHED solemnly over to a particular bookshelf, reached up and confidently plucked down a thin, hard-backed volume. Then he walked slowly back to where the Doctor waited with outstretched hand. The book was embossed,
Romana saw, with the seal of Rassilon. Rassilon was the almost legendary founder of Time Lord society, the man who, untold millennia before, had endowed Gallifrey and its people with their awesome powers and great responsibilities.

  The Doctor let out a sigh of profound relief and clutched the book to himself. ‘Thank you, Professor. Yes, we’ll take this back to Gallifrey for you.’

  Romana’s hearts sank at these words. She dreaded the thought of leaving the Doctor’s side and returning to her old life. But she knew she must put any personal considerations aside. This wasn’t the time.

  The Doctor opened the book at a random page and read in his loudest, most sonorous voice, ‘“And in the Great Days of Rassilon, five great principles were laid down.”’ He frowned as his eyes wandered ahead to the next line. ‘“Can you remember what they were, my children?”’

  Romana laughed. She took the book from the Doctor and flicked through it, reminiscing. ‘It’s just a Gallifreyan nursery book. Our Planet Story. I had it when I was a Time Tot.’

  ‘So did I, and it’s very good,’ said the Doctor. He turned to the Professor, who was looking agitated. ‘Well, if that’s all it is, thanks for all the crackers but why make such a song and dance about it?’

  The Professor tutted and crossed back to the bookshelf, scanning the myriad titles. ‘Oh, no no, that’s just another memento. Not the right book at all. Now where is it?’ He ran his fingers along the shelves. ‘Ah. Is this the one?’

  He pulled it down and looked inside. ‘“I was sitting on a sofa, SW1, St James or so, very quietly, minding my own business –” No!’ He threw the book over his shoulder. ‘Ah, no, this looks like it.’ He grabbed another book and read, ‘“The rain stopped as the Inverness rode into Dunedin harbour –” No!’ He threw it over his other shoulder, narrowly missing the Doctor. ‘Oh dear, no. Where is it? I know it’s here somewhere.’

  ‘Professor,’ said the Doctor, looking worried again, ‘how many books did you bring from Gallifrey, for heaven’s sake?’

  The Professor shrugged. ‘Oh, just the odd two or seven. There’s only one that’s in any way… mm-mm-mous.’ He mumbled the final word into his collar, turning away from them.

  ‘Dangerous?’ suggested the Doctor.

  He turned to scan the shelves and picked out a book at random. Romana did the same. ‘This,’ whispered the Doctor to Romana, ‘is going to be like trying to find a book about needles in a room full of books about haystacks.’

  Romana looked around at the bulging shelves desperately. ‘What does it look like, Professor? What’s it called?’

  ‘The Worshipful and Ancient Law of Gallifrey,’ the Professor said breezily.

  Romana’s hearts skipped a beat. She and the Doctor dropped their books in horror.

  The Doctor stormed over to the Professor. ‘Did you just say “The Worshipful and Ancient Law of Gallifrey”?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Professor, in the manner of a man discovered standing over a dead body clutching a bloody knife who remarks to the appalled onlookers what dreadful weather we’ve just been having. ‘Little book, about five by seven.’

  Romana had never seen the Doctor look so grave. He towered over the old man, and for once she saw the experience of centuries unclouded by his mask of bemused affability. She was reminded of the old Time Lords depicted in the pages of Our Planet Story, forbidding and unknowable. ‘Professor, how did that book get out of the Panopticon Archives?’

  ‘Well, what I did you see, is, er. Well, er, well, I just took it. Borrowed it, rather.’

  The Doctor’s tone was level. ‘Borrowed it?’

  ‘Well, no one’s interested in ancient history on Gallifrey any more,’ said the Professor. ‘And I thought that possibly certain things would be safer with me.’

  ‘And were they safer?’ boomed the Doctor. ‘In an unlocked room on a level five planet?’

  ‘Well, in principle,’ said the Professor. He sniffed and glanced over at the police box in the corner. ‘After all, I’m sure your TARDIS is safer with you, isn’t it? And you borrowed that from Gallifrey, didn’t you?’

  The Doctor was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded, as if acknowledging a good point well made, and let out a huge sigh.

  He draped an arm around the Professor’s shoulders. ‘Professor, that book dates back to the days of Rassilon.’

  The Professor blinked owlishly. ‘Does it? Yes indeed, I suppose it does.’

  ‘It’s one of the Artefacts,’ continued the Doctor.

  Romana reflected. The Artefacts were the mysterious objects left over from the days of the first Time Lords, their significance lost over the untold centuries. The Sash, the Rod, the Great Key – the Time Lords had an almost superstitious terror of these ancient relics, and stored them safely deep in the Panopticon, the grand ceremonial chamber at the heart of the Citadel.

  ‘Yes, I suppose now you mention it, it is one of the Artefacts, yes.’

  ‘Professor, you know that perfectly well!’ shouted the Doctor. ‘And you also know perfectly well that Rassilon had secrets and powers that even we don’t fully understand!’

  Romana came forward and laid a hand on the Doctor’s arm. ‘Gently, Doctor.’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘Professor, you’ve been appallingly irresponsible. I thought I was appallingly irresponsible, but you’ve taken appalling irresponsibility on to a whole new level. You’ve no idea what might be hidden in that book.’

  The Professor smiled. ‘Well then there’s not much chance of anyone else understanding it, is there?’

  ‘I only hope you’re right,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’d better find it, hadn’t we? Romana, little red book –’

  Romana nodded. ‘Five by seven.’ She gave one final despairing glance at the mountains of books surrounding them, then set her jaw and began the search. A little red book…

  The Professor’s voice drifted from the kitchen, where he had scurried to prepare more tea. ‘Then again, it could be green,’ he said.

  The Doctor’s shoulders slumped. ‘And I usually like Saturdays,’ he said.

  Chapter 13

  SKAGRA ENTERED THE command deck of his Ship, the dead body of the human over his shoulder. He let it thump to the ground and then barked out an order. ‘Retain the outer vestments and then dispose of this carrion. Transpose it to the emergency generation annex.’

  The body was immediately transposed away. In its place was the clothing it had worn, now cleaned, pressed and folded into a neat pile.

  Skagra considered. It was time to absorb the nutrients that were essential to the functioning of his body. He viewed this prospect with no particular pleasure. Taste sensations were essentially animal and had no inherent intellectual worth. When the time came, Skagra reflected, he would not miss food.

  ‘Feed me,’ he ordered.

  A golden serving trolley was instantly transposed to his side. It was laden with the finest and most nutritionally correct delicacies that the Ship’s raw-matter synthesiser could provide.

  Skagra set down the carpet bag containing the sphere and lowered himself onto his command lounger. Another diktat of the body needed to be satisfied. ‘Rest me,’ he commanded.

  He closed his eyes and let the bio-tranquillic vibrations do their work. The rays bathed his neural pathways, cleansing the need for wasteful sleep from his brain. At the same time his body was pummelled by minute, invisible pressures that wiped harmful toxins from his muscles and removed waste matter.

  Skagra opened his eyes, instantly refreshed and revitalised. He selected a fruit from the trolley and bit into it, chewing thoroughly to absorb the correct nutrients and ease digestion.

  He spoke again, addressing the empty command deck. ‘I have confirmed the location of the book. It shall soon be mine.’ This was not strictly the truth, of course. He had left the Ship fully confident of the book’s location, and fully intending to return with it. There was no logical reason to dissemble, but in fact Skagra had already rewritten his recent history i
n order to eliminate his concern over the mysterious guest in the Professor’s rooms.

  ‘Congratulations, my lord,’ said the warm, soothing voice of his truest, most trusted, and in fact only, companion.

  He took another bite from the fruit and said casually, ‘Tell me of a Time Lord called “the Doctor”.’

  The Ship opened up a data window on the opposite side of the command deck and accessed its data store. Information began to scroll across the window, and Skagra blinked repeatedly, absorbing the information into the data-spike embedded in his cortex. The data store had combed all available information, including the secret and arcane Time Lord histories that were part of Skagra’s own book collection. These books were lined up neatly, their spines matching perfectly, in a sterile, dust-resistant recess in a corner of the command deck, further protected by a powerful force field. Skagra had never physically opened the books, never so much as touched them, but had used scanning devices and robo-papyrologists to extract the information from within and add it to the store with no damage to the originals.

  As Skagra watched, he learnt of the Doctor’s early history, academic achievements, his family ties on Gallifrey and elsewhere, and the exact reasons for his first flight from his home world. But all of that was irrelevant. He needed to know about the Doctor as he was now.

  Skagra flinched as a grainy image of the Doctor from some ancient video-text flashed by. He was a tall, imposing figure dressed scruffily in a long frock coat, a broad-brimmed hat and an unfeasibly long multi-coloured scarf. He had untidy curly hair, the wide, staring eyes of a child and he smiled all the time.

  But he had seen this person, this idiot, earlier today, cartwheeling his arms as he lost control of the water transport on the river! Could this buffoon really be the Doctor?

  It appeared that he was. Skagra focused in on a random selection of video-texts involving the Doctor and scrutinised them closely.