Doctor Who_ Psi-Ence Fiction - Chris Boucher [26]
"It's ten o'clock in the morning,' a voice said behind him. 'And trust me, as far as Barry Hitchins is concerned that's the middle of the night.'
The Doctor turned to find a short, dark-complexioned man smiling at him.
He returned the smile. 'Temporal-shift lag,'
he said nodding. 'I used to have the same problem myself. It can be quite disconcerting if you try and maintain any sort of relative consciousness rather than an absolute personal reference point during a transition. It takes practice to develop the mental discipline to cope. Though some people do take to it quite naturally. My present travelling companion, for example, has no difficulties that I've been able to ascertain. She is a primitive of course, which might have something to do with it.'
'Oh dear' The man was still smiling but his expression had become slightly wry. 'Either that's a post-ironic gesture in the general direction of my upcoming - or rather my upchucking lecture - or you're a time-travel nut.'
'You're Professor Parnaby?' the Doctor asked delightedly.
'You didn't know?'
The Doctor offered his hand. I've been looking forward to meeting you.'
Parnaby shook the hand warily. 'Or possibly looking back to meeting me?'
he suggested.
For a moment the Doctor found himself wondering if whole areas of the campus had been wired for sound. 'What makes you say that?' he challenged.
'Just a little time-travel gag,' Parnaby said with a slightly nervous laugh. 'I have to go now.' He started to edge away down the corridor. 'I suggest you try Barry Hitchins again around midday, mm'kay?'
As he started to walk off the Doctor fell into step beside him and said, 'Do you believe in coincidences, Professor?'
You'd have to define your terms more precisely I'm afraid,' Parnaby said.
'Belief and coincidence. Both a bit vague as they stand.'
The Doctor suspected Bill Parnaby was one of those dis-advantaged people who found it difficult to be rude to strangers. 'When was the last time you told anyone to go away and leave you alone?'
Parnaby frowned. 'I'm sorry?'
'Or when was the last time you gave a straight answer to a straight question for that matter?'
Parnaby looked at him sideways. Who are you exactly?'
'I'm flattered,' the Doctor said, ‘that you would think I could answer such a question.' He smiled his most vivid smile. 'A philosopher's question of such terrifying complexity that in all my travels I have met only one entity who came close to answering it. It was a planet-sized fungus whose name as far as I recall was a small electric shock and a rather unpleasant smell.'
Parnaby stopped and turned to the Doctor, 'listen old chap'
'I'm not that old,' the Doctor said and thought: why am I talking so much? Is there something strange going on here? There is something strange going on here. This is not normal behaviour. I am not behaving normally.
'Is there some medication,' Parnaby was saying solicitously, 'that maybe you've forgotten to take?'
'Medication?' The Doctor was puzzled. Why should this short philosopher imagine that he had forgotten to take medicine?
'Pills perhaps? Only I notice that you're carrying a bottle of designer water.'
The Doctor looked down at the bottle of water he had in his hand. That's odd, he thought, where had he got that from? Then he remembered there was another Clearspring Water Company advertising display, and more free samples, in the cafeteria where he had taken Leela to get her some breakfast. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything else since they arrived so could it be that the water was affecting him? Could the water be contaminated in some way?
'Is the water to help you swallow your pills?' Parnaby suggested gently.
The Doctor recognised the exaggeratedly relaxed tone of voice which he himself often used when he was trying to calm a tense situation, and he realised with a jolt that