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„But I thought you said you had some of the most sophisticated equipment in the Universe in here?‟ Turlough reminded him.

„Oh, I do. But the infection is continuing to prove impervious to analysis. It appears to have no physical characteristics whatsoever.‟

Turlough looked irritable, as if the Doctor was being deliberately obtuse. „But that‟s impossible.‟

„Yes,‟ said the Doctor thoughtfully. He pivoted slowly on his heels, eyes roving around the vast laboratory as if searching for something specific. „I wonder.‟

„What -‟ Turlough began, but the Doctor was already off, striding along the aisles between the cluttered benches, cream coat flying behind him. Turlough caught up with him beside a pair of double doors, which he had assumed led deeper into the TARDIS. They were made of some heavy dark wood, each one carved with the stylised representation of a shaggy tusked beast rearing up on its hind legs. The Doctor threw the doors open with such force that Turlough had to jump back to avoid being hit in the face.

When he recovered he saw not the expected corridor, but a large cupboard. Though Turlough had never seen spiders in the TARDIS, the jumble of scientific equipment heaped haphazardly on the shelves was festooned with cobwebs.

„Aha!‟ the Doctor cried, and dropping on all fours crawled into the cupboard, dipping his head to duck beneath the bottom shelf. He reached in and grabbed something, then backed out, hauling the object with him.

It was a green metal cabinet with a panel of buttons on the front and a small screen inset at an angle into the top. The cabinet was on castors and the Doctor pushed it gently in Turlough‟s direction. „Look after this for a moment, would you?‟ he said, then plunged back into the cupboard again.

Turlough stopped the trundling cabinet with his hand, grimacing at the sticky dust that adhered to his fingers. The screen was cracked and there was a mess of multi-coloured wires hanging out of an open panel at the back.

The Doctor back-shuffled out of the cupboard again, this time dragging what appeared to be a large green hair-dryer on a tall metal stand. It was only when he had pulled the object fully out into the light that Turlough realised it was a rather more sophisticated piece of equipment than he had first thought. The exterior of the cone-shaped helmet was studded with lights that were evidently linked to a maze of circuitry within the helmet itself. Like the cabinet, the „hair-dryer‟ was covered in dust and cobwebs - as indeed, by this point, was the Doctor himself.

„What is this thing?‟ Turlough asked, prodding at the cabinet with his foot, sending it trundling a few inches across the floor on its squeaky castors.

„It‟s an Image Reproduction Integrating System - IRIS

machine for short. It translates thoughts into pictures.‟

„Does it work?‟ Turlough asked.

„Oh yes. But the only time I used it, someone died. I haven‟t tried it since.‟

Turlough looked dubiously at the two pieces of equipment, battered and covered in grime like so much scrap. „Will it still work?‟

„I don‟t see why not,‟ said the Doctor, plucking threads of cobweb from his hair. „All it needs is a bit of spit and polish.

Come on.‟

He bent and picked up the „hair-dryer‟ and carried it - its jointed metal stand scraping the floor behind it - over to his main area of operations. Turlough followed, pushing the cabinet on its squealing castors. The Doctor placed the „hair-dryer‟ on a clutter-free work bench, took a large maroon handkerchief from his pocket and wiped away the worst of the grime. He handed the handkerchief to Turlough, then pored over the interior of the cone, prodding connections, hmm‟ing and „hah‟ing as he worked. Turlough half-heartedly wiped dust from the cabinet, grimacing all the while as if the task was beneath him. He had almost finished when he heard a familiar sound.

„Doctor, listen.‟

The Doctor looked up, strands of cobweb still clinging to his fringe. Hmm?‟

„We‟re materialising‟

The Doctor‟s face