Shada

by Douglas Adams

  The cranes swung out. The frames splashed into the lava pit. New Kraags started to form around each frame.

  The cranes swung back – then swung out again a second later, producing more wire frames.

  Romana looked into the impassive face of Skagra. If this was madness, it was madness on a terrifying scale. For once, she could not hide or mediate her own reaction.

  Romana was appalled.

  Chapter 39

  CHRIS LOOKED BETWEEN K-9, who had apparently turned himself off in a state of utter dejection, and the Doctor, who sat sprawled in the big white chair, his hat still jammed on his head and covering his eyes.

  Chris assumed they were thinking. He hoped they were thinking, anyway.

  He looked at the holo-screen, where the image of the quiet Cambridge meadow on this drizzly Sunday morning remained. There was nothing to prevent him, he supposed, walking out of here right now. He could find Clare and try to apologise and return to his normal human life.

  His normal human problems seemed pretty irrelevant now.

  He found himself distracted by three red lights that winked insistently in sequence by one of the control panels. He didn’t like red lights. Red light meant danger. Three red lights, logically, meant thrice the amount of danger. He considered asking the Ship what they meant but realised he wouldn’t get an answer, as he was an enemy of Skagra’s.

  That was something at least, thought Chris. He’d never had any enemies before. Never made enough of an impression on anyone. And he’d never even met this Skagra bloke.

  The silence had lasted a good five minutes. Chris decided to break it. ‘So we need to work out where he’s gone in the TARDIS? Yeah?’

  ‘Affirmative, young master,’ said K-9. ‘And/or when he has gone.’

  ‘When he has gone?’

  ‘Time machine,’ said the Doctor from beneath his hat.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Chris.

  The silence formed again.

  Chris couldn’t bear it. ‘He must have taken Romana because she can fly it.’

  ‘So can he,’ said the Doctor. ‘He’s got my mind in that sphere of his, remember. Everything I know is at his disposal.’

  ‘There’s one thing he doesn’t know,’ said Chris.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You’re still alive.’

  The Doctor ripped off his hat and simply stared at Chris. ‘No, I’m dead, remember.’

  Chris hunched himself down next to the Doctor. ‘Doctor,’ he whispered, ‘why doesn’t the Ship realise that you’re – you know – if it’s really clever, I mean I can work it out—’

  ‘The Ship is programmed only to obey instructions, not to consider them,’ said K-9.

  ‘Blind logic,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Right,’ said Chris. ‘Why don’t we try a bit of logic ourselves? Let’s work out what we know.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ urged the Doctor.

  ‘Well,’ said Chris, ‘we know that…’ He trailed off. ‘We know that… er, perhaps we could work out what we don’t know and work backwards?’

  The Doctor grunted. ‘We don’t know where Skagra has taken Romana, we don’t know why he wants the book, we don’t know what he’s going to do with it, we don’t know what it can do.’

  ‘That’s enough don’t knows to win an election,’ said Chris sadly.

  The silence descended again.

  Chris sighed. ‘So. Back to square one.’

  Suddenly, the Doctor leapt from the chair in an explosion of movement. Chris jumped back, astonished at how the man had gone from despondent lethargy to crackling vitality in less than a second.

  ‘That’s it!’ cried the Doctor.

  ‘What’s it?’ asked Chris.

  ‘Square one!’ cried the Doctor, exultant. ‘Work backwards, like you said!’

  ‘Did I?’ asked Chris.

  ‘We’ve got to go back to square one if we want to find out who Skagra is and what he’s up to,’ said the Doctor. ‘Once we know that, we’ll know where to find him now. Hopefully.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘Ship! Me again, the late lamented Doctor, ex-enemy of Skagra and former all-round ratbag. I order you to take us to where your lord Skagra last came from.’

  The Ship answered straight away. ‘Very well. The order does not conflict with my programmed instructions. I will activate launch procedures.’

  ‘Blind logic,’ said the Doctor. ‘Well done, Bristol!’

  Chris couldn’t quite work out what he had done well, but he smiled anyway.

  ‘Launch procedures activated,’ said the Ship.

  The floor vibrated beneath Chris’s feet.

  ‘Oh my God, we’re taking off!’ gasped Chris. ‘We’re going into space!’

  ‘Where did you think Skagra came from, Norwich?’ said the Doctor.

  ‘But – space,’ said Chris, gasping.

  ‘Oh, sit down,’ said the Doctor, pushing him into the chair.

  Chris found himself looking directly across at the three blinking red lights. They probably didn’t mean anything. In space, red probably meant ‘hooray, everything’s fine’.

  ‘Launch procedures activated.’

  The Ship’s voice echoed throughout itself. In the empty corridor, in the airlock, in the prison.

  ‘Launch procedures activated.’

  The voice echoed in another area of the Ship, where a small chamber contained an empty tank. As if in response to the voice, tiny nozzles on either side of the tank began to spray boiling jets of lava.

  A panel in the ceiling swung open, and a wire frame descended into the tank. Heavy green gas began to swirl.

  Crystals of black carbon started to form around the frame.

  Chapter 40

  CLARE COULD HEAR a peaceful, smooth electronic hum. Was she in hospital?

  Slowly the events of the last few hours swam back into her foggy head. Chris, and his amazing discovery of the book. The Doctor. The porter, saying he’d ring round the college to find Professor Chronotis –

  A bookcase toppling onto her.

  She moved her head, and immediately wished that she hadn’t. A sharp pain jabbed behind her eyes.

  She got up slowly. She was still in the Professor’s study. The bookcase was back in its place, as if it had never moved.

  She looked about. The humming noise was coming from all around her, as if the room was alive with power. She still had the key clutched in her hand. The brass control panel blinked and winked with flashing lights.

  She had the strangest sensation that the room was moving.

  The curtains were drawn and no light came from beyond. She must have been out for hours.

  Dazed, she grabbed the arm of the nearest chair and slumped down into it. She couldn’t even begin to understand what had happened.

  Suddenly a ghost appeared in front of her.

  She knew he was a ghost because she could see right through him, and also because he was wearing a nightgown and nightcap and held a ghostly flickering candle in an antique holder. He was a very old ghost, in his late seventies at least, and Clare caught herself thinking sadly about how awful it must be to linger on Earth for all eternity when you’re way past your prime.

  The ghost opened its mouth to speak. Clare was expecting a spectral howl or shriek of revenge.

  ‘Well done, young lady,’ said the ghost. ‘Very well done.’

  The ghost took a pair of spectacles from inside its nightgown and hobbled over to the brass control panel. It reached out one transparent hand to a particularly large golden knob. To Clare’s astonishment, its hand did not pass right through it but connected with it, firm and solid.

  The ghost shimmered. A wave of solidity passed up along the hand and through the ghost’s body, until he was concrete and corporeal and no longer a ghost at all. He was a small old man with a heavily lined face.

  He turned back to her and smiled broadly. ‘Tea?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes please,’ said Clare. She could think of nothing nice
r, and whoever he was, this ex-ghost seemed like such a nice old man.

  ‘May I ask who you are?’ she heard herself say as he shuffled towards the kitchen in threadbare checked slippers.

  The ex-ghost turned at the door. ‘Certainly you may. What delightful manners you have, young lady.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Clare, her head still spinning. ‘So who are you?’

  The little old man puffed out his chest proudly. ‘I was, I am, and thanks to you I hopefully will be, Professor Chronotis,’ he said.

  Chapter 41

  CHRIS STARED THROUGH the open shutters of the ship’s forward screen and marvelled at the infinite universe. He was heading away from Earth, from everything he knew, out into the stars. It was his boyhood dream come true, in a way he had never expected. He gave a sigh of satisfaction.

  ‘Will you stop doing that?’ asked the Doctor. He was sat cross-legged on the floor next to K-9.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Chris. ‘I didn’t know I was doing anything.’ He gestured to the stars. ‘Look at that. Just look at that.’

  ‘I am looking at it,’ said the Doctor as another star system flew past. ‘And I don’t like the look of it. We’re going a bit casually for my liking. Bit of a Sunday service, if you ask me, though I suppose it is Sunday.’ He called out loudly, ‘Ship! How long will this journey take?’

  ‘Thirty-nine astrasidereal days,’ said the Ship primly.

  ‘What!’ the Doctor exclaimed. ‘That’s nearly three months!’

  The Ship sniffed. ‘That is at full warp drive. And we have hundreds of light years to cover.’

  ‘Hundreds of light years,’ said Chris. ‘In three months. That’s an incredible speed!’

  ‘Yes, it’s incredibly slow,’ said the Doctor. He pondered for a moment, then called, ‘Ship, do you have the power to adjust your own inner circuitry?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the Ship, ‘yes, I can do that.’

  ‘I thought you might,’ said the Doctor. ‘Being created, as you were, by someone with an interest in Gallifreyan technology.’

  ‘Yes, my precious lord Skagra,’ sighed the Ship. ‘I do miss him, you know.’

  ‘We all do,’ said the Doctor. ‘Right then, Ship. Stop!’

  ‘Please clarify,’ said the Ship. ‘Stop what?’

  ‘Stop,’ said the Doctor. ‘Cut all engines. Halt!’

  The faint vibration of movement died away, and Chris watched as the stars outside slowed and then fixed on one beautiful image, a nebula of unimaginable size and variety of colour.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Chris, stifling another sigh of wonder.

  ‘I’m going to introduce this ship to a few new concepts,’ said the Doctor. ‘Fortunately it’s halfway there already.’

  ‘I have accomplished your request,’ said the Ship.

  ‘Good,’ said the Doctor. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Now, Ship, please regrade your deoscillation digretic synthesisers by ten points.’

  The Ship gasped. ‘I cannot do that! The drive will explode!’

  ‘Nonsense, it’s perfectly safe,’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Master,’ said K-9 warningly.

  The Doctor huffed. ‘What now, K-9? Nobody asked for your contribution—’ He cut himself off. ‘Wait a minute. Did I just say ten points?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Chris.

  ‘Affirmative,’ said K-9.

  ‘You did, yes,’ said the Ship.

  The Doctor wiped the back of his hand over his chin and swallowed. ‘Well, obviously I meant minus ten points. Otherwise the drive would explode.’

  ‘I am complying,’ said the Ship. There was a chatter of electronic activity.

  Chris barely noticed. He was staring at the nebula, open-mouthed. The only thing that spoilt his perfect view were those three irritating red lights winking on and off in his peripheral vision, now ever so slightly faster.

  ‘Accomplished,’ said the Ship. ‘Deoscillation digretic synthesisers regraded by minus ten points.’

  ‘Good,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now, Ship, please realign your maxivectometer on drags so it cross-connects with your radia-bicentric anodes.’

  There was another burble of electronics.

  ‘Accomplished,’ said the Ship.

  ‘Good,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now, here comes the difficult bit. Please switch your conceptual geometer from analogue to digital mode and keep triggering feedback responses until you get a reading of 75 dash 839.’

  ‘Accomplished,’ said the Ship. ‘And for your information, Doctor, that bit wasn’t so difficult at all.’

  The Doctor took a deep breath. ‘Now. Let’s see if it works. Ship, activate all realigned drive circuits!’

  Electronics chattered incessantly.

  ‘Ooh!’ said the Ship. ‘Something – something very strange is happening.’ She giggled. ‘Very strange – ooh –’

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear, keep going!’ insisted the Doctor.

  Chris leapt out of his seat as the view on the forward screen suddenly shifted. The nebula blurred and was replaced by a shifting, whirling blue vortex. At the same time there was a sound not unlike the painful grinding of the TARDIS’s engines, though much softer and smoother.

  ‘Ooh!’ said the Ship, sounding to Chris like she was licking her lips. ‘Ooh Doctor! Ooh, ooh, ooh!’

  ‘Bingo!’ cried the Doctor, punching the air.

  ‘What have you done again?’ asked Chris, who was mesmerised by the swirling blue vortex but felt sure the Doctor wanted to explain how clever he’d been in more detail.

  The Doctor smiled. ‘I’ve only gone and constructed a primitive form of relative dimensional stabiliser by remote control.’

  ‘Oh good,’ said Chris.

  ‘So any journey, however far we go, will only take a couple of hours’ relative time.’ He beamed. ‘Pretty clever, don’t you think, everybody?’

  ‘Very,’ said Chris.

  ‘Affirmative, Master,’ said K-9.

  When the Ship spoke again she had a slightly different, warmer tone. ‘For a dead man, Doctor, you are extremely ingenious.’

  ‘Yes, well let’s not harp too much on that aspect, shall we?’ said the Doctor.

  ‘Yes, well done,’ said Chris. ‘I just wish you could turn those red lights off, they’re very irritating.’

  ‘What red lights?’ asked the Doctor.

  ‘Those ones,’ said Chris, pointing them out. ‘They’ve been annoying me ever since I came in here but I didn’t want to mention them, as it’s probably nothing.’

  The Doctor vaulted over to the panel where the red lights flashed. ‘Ship, please explain the significance of these lights.’

  ‘How should I know?’ said the Ship. ‘My lord Skagra activated that panel shortly before his departure. It is outside my schematics.’

  The Doctor beckoned K-9. ‘Here, boy. What do you make of this? Come on, I’m asking for your contribution.’

  K-9 extended his probe and scanned. ‘Alert, Master. This ship has been timed to explode in precisely one point four three minutes!’

  ‘What?’ cried the Doctor and Chris.

  ‘The ship has been primed to explode,’ repeated K-9.

  ‘Skagra wanted to cover his tracks,’ surmised the Doctor. He called upwards. ‘Ship, please disable the explosive mechanism. Now!’

  ‘Now how can I do that?’ asked the Ship coyly. ‘I’ve got no interface with those particular circuits, as decreed by my gracious lord Skagra.’

  ‘Your gracious lord Skagra wants to blow you to atoms!’ called the Doctor.

  The Ship paused. ‘I cannot believe that, Doctor. I am his truest and most trusted servant.’

  ‘Er, if it is a bomb, shouldn’t we defuse it, Doctor?’ asked Chris.

  The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver, adjusted the settings and ran it swiftly along the side of the panel, cutting a smoking square through the smooth white material. ‘Sorry if it hurts—’

  ‘Ow!’ cried the Ship.

  ‘No t
ime to be gentle,’ said the Doctor. He wrapped his hand in one of the ends of his scarf and wrenched aside the burning plate. Beneath the panelling, Chris saw a maze of thin, interconnected fibres, like a bowl of dry vermicelli. Red light throbbed from somewhere underneath the tangle.

  ‘Time to detonation now fifty-four seconds, Master,’ said K-9.

  ‘Thanks for that, K-9,’ said the Doctor. He held the glowing tip of the sonic screwdriver above the fibres. ‘Which one do I cut?’

  ‘How should I know?’ said Chris and the Ship at the same time.

  ‘Time to detonation now thirty seconds, Master,’ said K-9.

  ‘What?’ spluttered the Doctor. ‘It was fifty-four seconds a couple of seconds ago!’

  ‘Does it matter?’ said Chris. ‘Just cut them all! Do it!’

  The Doctor stared at Chris, apparently rather struck by his sudden hot temper. ‘Good idea!’ he said – and he jabbed the sonic screwdriver down into the mass of fibres.

  There was a crackle of energy and a sound like popping corn. The fibres twanged and split.

  ‘Well?’ called the Doctor in the sudden silence that followed.

  ‘Crisis averted, Master,’ said K-9. ‘The detonation sequence has been aborted.’

  The Doctor mopped his brow and switched off the sonic screwdriver. ‘Well, there we are.’

  Chris was trying to piece together what had just happened. ‘So Skagra set the ship to explode,’ he said.

  ‘More than just the ship,’ said the Doctor. He indicated the burnt ends of the tangled fibres. ‘There was enough thermal energy generated by that thing to destroy an entire planet.’

  ‘He was going to wipe out Cambridge?’ Chris was horror-struck. ‘All the colleges? The Backs, the railway station… the pubs?’

  ‘Plus the entire planet,’ said the Doctor gravely.

  Chris flared up. He found himself squaring up, his nostrils flaring in anger. ‘He was going to kill Clare?’ The words burst out of Chris’s mouth before he had a chance to think about what they told him about his subconscious.

  The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘And all the other lovely girls. Plus the lovely boys. He must have considered it safer, just in case we’d sent off a message to the Time Lords.’ He sighed. ‘Which we perhaps should have done.’