Doctor Who: Shada by Douglas Adams, Gareth Roberts, Douglas Roberts Page B

kind, with a web of netting suspended from it, and a metallic strut at one end.
    The object got larger and larger, and Skagra concentrated harder and harder, trying to divine its meaning.
    Letters formed beneath the object.
    S, I, E, V, E.
    Skagra suppressed his irritation and rejected the object. It was irrelevant.
    He pushed deeper, aiming to bypass the general disorder and access recent memory traces.
    He saw himself in Chronotis’s rooms, from the Professor’s viewpoint.
    No – he needed to go further back.
    He pushed deeper still.
    The mental image disintegrated in a haze of grey and then reformed in a different pattern. This time it showed a tall figure with a long scarf. The face of the man was hazy, unformed. The Professor had clearly attempted to hide the man’s identity. Futile. Skagra immediately recognised it as the Doctor. Did he have the book?
    No – that was suddenly clear. The Doctor had gone to fetch the book from Young Parsons .
    Skagra concentrated, trying to break through and bring up an image of this Young Parsons. The grey veil lifted for a moment and he was suddenly seeing through Chronotis’s eyes again. He was busying himself preparing the T liquid in an antechamber of his dwelling. Skagra was distantly aware of a twittering noise from the main room. The twittering noise asked something about borrowing some books about carbon dating and the Professor said something about creative disarray –
    Skagra felt Chronotis’s mind slipping away from him. Again the metal loop appeared, the sieve.
    For all his slippery forgetfulness and senility, Chronotis had still evidently retained some of the mental training and telepathic discipline of a Time Lord.
    These efforts at concealment would almost certainly have proved fatal.
    Skagra made one final attempt and demanded all Chronotis’s knowledge of the book.

Chapter 23
     
    CHRIS LOOKED ANXIOUSLY as Romana leant over the Professor, her face lit eerily by the green glow of the collar and the red eye-screen of K-9.
    ‘The collar’s working,’ she told Chris. ‘K-9, is there any trace of conscious thought?’
    K-9’s radar-dish ears twizzled. In some way, thought Chris, he must be able to connect wirelessly with the collar. ‘Processing data, Mistress.’ There was a pause, then he added, ‘It is too early to tell.’
    ‘Good,’ said Chris.
    Romana’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What do you mean, good ? What’s good about any of this?’
    ‘Well, don’t you see?’ asked Chris, who thought it was obvious. ‘When one works as a scientist, one doesn’t always know where one’s going, or that there even is anywhere for one to go, only that there are always going to be big doors that stay permanently shut to one.’ Chris had often noticed that when he was at his very best, when he was communicating the abstract (and yet concrete) wonder of the scientific method, that people tended to assume an enthralled, glazed expression, as if he was opening their minds to entirely new ways of thinking. He was delighted to see that even Romana eyes seemed to be frosting over, and K-9’s tail antenna had drooped as if in fascination.
    Chris waved a hand around the room, taking in the dog, the collar and the police box. ‘You see, I look at all this. And suddenly I know that a lot of things that seem impossible are possible, so yes, that’s why I say “good”—’
    K-9 made a peculiar noise, almost as if he was clearing his throat. ‘Mistress!’ he said. ‘The Professor’s condition is rapidly deteriorating!’
    Chris was astonished to see tears forming in Romana’s eyes. ‘Oh, K-9, isn’t there anything we can do?’
    K-9’s head lowered. ‘Negative, Mistress. The condition is terminal.’
    Chris almost put out a hand to console Romana but stopped himself.
    K-9’s eye-screen flashed. ‘Minimal cerebral impulses detected, Mistress!’
    The Professor’s dry cracked lips moved. ‘He’s trying to talk to us?’ gasped Chris.
    ‘Negative,’ said K-9.