particular?’
‘In particular,’ he said, ‘that’s a very odd way for a book to behave.’
‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ said Clare.
The Doctor raised a finger importantly. ‘Aha! Never underestimate the obvious!’
‘But what does that tell us?’
‘Nothing,’ said the Doctor, equally grandly, ‘obviously.’
Clare could tell he was waiting for her to say And what does that tell us, Doctor? So she said, ‘And what does that tell us, Doctor?’
He grinned. ‘Obviously it was meant to tell us nothing, which is exactly the opposite function of a book. Therefore—’
Clare cut him off. ‘It isn’t a book!’
He smiled encouragingly. ‘So what is it?’
A teleprinter over in Clare’s corner chattered into life, the results of the carbon-dating test. She crossed over and tore off the strip of paper. ‘Twenty thousand years,’ she said slowly. She picked up the book in her other hand and stared at it wonderingly. ‘Doctor, this book is twenty thousand years old!’ Her mind was suddenly full of ridiculous thoughts about aliens and/or Atlantis.
The Doctor peered over her shoulder at the print-out and pointed. ‘Look there.’
Clare gulped. ‘A minus sign. Minus twenty thousand years…’ She looked helplessly up at him. ‘What does that mean, Doctor?’
‘It means,’ he said, ‘not only that the book is not a book, but that time is running backwards over it.’ His features took on a particularly stern and forbidding aspect. ‘I think I’d better return it to my friends as soon as possible, don’t you?’
He held out a hand.
Clare knew that if she handed the book to him she would never see him or it again. An entire new world of amazing possibilities would be closed to her for ever, and she would wonder to the end of her days about the last crazy twenty minutes. On top of that, Chris would probably go ballistic over the loss to science and the forfeiture of his amazing, if accidental, discovery.
But somehow, Clare knew, the book wanted to go with the Doctor. It felt the same way about him as she did. He was the right pair of hands.
So she handed it over.
For the first time, the Doctor touched the book. Clare watched as, the moment it touched his skin, he flinched and stood back, his eyes closing involuntarily. A seraphic smile formed on his lips. What was he seeing, she wondered?
Then his eyes opened and he waved cheerily to her. ‘Thank you, Clare Keightley. It’s been a pleasure working with you. I’ve rather missed your sort.’
‘Can’t I come with you?’ Clare protested.
‘I think it’ll be much safer if you stay here and wait for your friend Parsons,’ said the Doctor. ‘Goodbye! Sorry we didn’t get to do any running!’
And then he burst out of the lab and was gone.
Chapter 22
THE BELLS OF Cambridge struck six.
Skagra sat in the passenger seat of the brown Capri, considering his next move. The book was the antepenultimate part of his plan, a precisely detailed scheme to which he had devoted most of his life. So where was the book now? Where had the Professor hidden it?
He pressed the tips of his fingers around the cold metallic surface of the sphere and accessed the mind most recently added to it.
He flinched as he anticipated the full force of Chronotis’s mind, the mind of a Time Lord, bursting into his own. He blinked, for once taken by surprise.
This was it? What he felt now might once have been a powerful mind. Now it was nothing but greyness, mist and confusion.
A faintly unpleasant taste surged at Skagra from the melee of Chronotis’s thoughts. It was a weak, warm sensation with an aroma of scorched plant material, and for some reason it was accompanied by the letter T. Skagra cast it back, searching deeper.
Suddenly, from out of the greyness, a large shape began to form. This was more like it, thought Skagra. Whatever this thing was, it was at the heart of Chronotis’s deepest thoughts. It was roughly circular, a hoop of some
‘In particular,’ he said, ‘that’s a very odd way for a book to behave.’
‘I would have thought that was obvious,’ said Clare.
The Doctor raised a finger importantly. ‘Aha! Never underestimate the obvious!’
‘But what does that tell us?’
‘Nothing,’ said the Doctor, equally grandly, ‘obviously.’
Clare could tell he was waiting for her to say And what does that tell us, Doctor? So she said, ‘And what does that tell us, Doctor?’
He grinned. ‘Obviously it was meant to tell us nothing, which is exactly the opposite function of a book. Therefore—’
Clare cut him off. ‘It isn’t a book!’
He smiled encouragingly. ‘So what is it?’
A teleprinter over in Clare’s corner chattered into life, the results of the carbon-dating test. She crossed over and tore off the strip of paper. ‘Twenty thousand years,’ she said slowly. She picked up the book in her other hand and stared at it wonderingly. ‘Doctor, this book is twenty thousand years old!’ Her mind was suddenly full of ridiculous thoughts about aliens and/or Atlantis.
The Doctor peered over her shoulder at the print-out and pointed. ‘Look there.’
Clare gulped. ‘A minus sign. Minus twenty thousand years…’ She looked helplessly up at him. ‘What does that mean, Doctor?’
‘It means,’ he said, ‘not only that the book is not a book, but that time is running backwards over it.’ His features took on a particularly stern and forbidding aspect. ‘I think I’d better return it to my friends as soon as possible, don’t you?’
He held out a hand.
Clare knew that if she handed the book to him she would never see him or it again. An entire new world of amazing possibilities would be closed to her for ever, and she would wonder to the end of her days about the last crazy twenty minutes. On top of that, Chris would probably go ballistic over the loss to science and the forfeiture of his amazing, if accidental, discovery.
But somehow, Clare knew, the book wanted to go with the Doctor. It felt the same way about him as she did. He was the right pair of hands.
So she handed it over.
For the first time, the Doctor touched the book. Clare watched as, the moment it touched his skin, he flinched and stood back, his eyes closing involuntarily. A seraphic smile formed on his lips. What was he seeing, she wondered?
Then his eyes opened and he waved cheerily to her. ‘Thank you, Clare Keightley. It’s been a pleasure working with you. I’ve rather missed your sort.’
‘Can’t I come with you?’ Clare protested.
‘I think it’ll be much safer if you stay here and wait for your friend Parsons,’ said the Doctor. ‘Goodbye! Sorry we didn’t get to do any running!’
And then he burst out of the lab and was gone.
Chapter 22
THE BELLS OF Cambridge struck six.
Skagra sat in the passenger seat of the brown Capri, considering his next move. The book was the antepenultimate part of his plan, a precisely detailed scheme to which he had devoted most of his life. So where was the book now? Where had the Professor hidden it?
He pressed the tips of his fingers around the cold metallic surface of the sphere and accessed the mind most recently added to it.
He flinched as he anticipated the full force of Chronotis’s mind, the mind of a Time Lord, bursting into his own. He blinked, for once taken by surprise.
This was it? What he felt now might once have been a powerful mind. Now it was nothing but greyness, mist and confusion.
A faintly unpleasant taste surged at Skagra from the melee of Chronotis’s thoughts. It was a weak, warm sensation with an aroma of scorched plant material, and for some reason it was accompanied by the letter T. Skagra cast it back, searching deeper.
Suddenly, from out of the greyness, a large shape began to form. This was more like it, thought Skagra. Whatever this thing was, it was at the heart of Chronotis’s deepest thoughts. It was roughly circular, a hoop of some
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