• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

'As in history? Anthropology? Sociology of?' Simpson offered in a tone that clearly suggested he recognised an exaggerated distortion when he heard one.

As in science of,' Bartok said triumphantly.

Simpson said, 'There is no science of. It's superstition. Superstitious rubbish is what it is.'

They regularly test the students here for spookiness.'

'Spookiness? What is that supposed to mean?' I'm not exactly sure but it looks to be mind-reading and fortune-telling and stuff of that sort.' Bartok shrugged and shook his head. 'I'm not exactly sure.'

Are we exactly sure that it goes on?' Simpson still looked dubious.

'Oh yes. They call it parapsychology or some such.'

First I've heard of it.'

'Me too.' Bartok looked around him at the blocks of smoked glass and steel, and the geometrically linked shapes of the multilevel paved areas with their water features and specimen-tree planting. 'Maybe it's not something they like to admit. Doesn't fit with the hi-tech image.'

Lights had begun to come on across the campus.

'Why do it then I wonder?' Simpson mused. 'Was Joan Cox involved?'

Bartok shrugged again. 'Seems possible, doesn't it? And if she was and if that was what set her off, where does it leave them?'

'No wonder Fred's got his knickers in a twist.' Simpson blew a thin column of smoke up into the still air. 'He actually thought he could use me to keep things quiet. Stupid prat was going to be a big man with the university authorities. Look at what I've done. I've saved you all from a bloody nightmare.'

Bartok's smile was not without admiration. 'Imagine the Brownie points he'd have racked up if he could have told them that.'

I prefer to imagine the call he's making right now telling the powers that be what's going on and why he can't do a damn thing to stop it.' Simpson tossed the cigarette down and ground it out. Go and see what else you can find out about this department of the occult. I'm going back to rattle Fred's cage some more.'

'You said you'd give him half an hour.'

I lied,' Simpson said, and headed back into the security offices.

It was almost dark before the Doctor reached what he recognised as the path that led into the wood where the TARDIS was. He stood hesitating.

Beyond the wood he could see the university campus. Already lights were coming on in some of the buildings. Should he make a detour to the TARDIS and collect the components for a basic field-effect detector? It would have to be a very basic detector, he thought, and even for that he would need to cannibalise several quite useful pieces of equipment: like the outside viewing screen and the electric sandwich toaster, for example. The chances were that he would also have to borrow one of the pseudo-time-line narrow focus coils from the control console itself. He was never comfortable doing things like that to the TARDIS. The old girl resented it.

He could feel her resentment. There was a feedback which was slow to reverse and dissipate. It took time and effort for him and the TARDIS to get back to a comfortable working relationship. During that period the TARDIS

could be very unpredictable.

In the distance more lights were coming on. The campus was beginning to glitter. The wood looked almost pitch-black silhouetted against a sunset sky. There were other possibilities to be examined, the Doctor thought, before he needed to abuse the trust of the TARDIS. He still hadn't had so much as a preliminary conversation with this Kellerfield Research Fellow fellow. He really should talk to him before doing anything else, anything precipitous. He must not jump to conclusions. You could fall from a precipitous conclusion and land yourself in trouble. The field effect could inhibit logical thought processes and lead to dangerously hasty conclusions. It would be sensible, he decided, to leave the detector for the time being and go straight on to the university campus and the parapsychology lab.

He turned away from the black wood and strode across the darkening fields