Doctor Who - The 8th Doctor - 35 - The Banquo Legacy by Andy Lane;Justin Richards

Author:Andy Lane;Justin Richards
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Brain, Juvenile Fiction, General, Science Fiction, Adventure, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Fiction
ISBN: 9780563538080
Publisher: BBC Worldwide
Published: 2000-06-30T07:00:00+00:00

‘He was a foolish man,’ muttered Baker. ‘There’s some things it’s best not to meddle with, sir.’

The Doctor stopped on the last but one tread. He glanced up at Baker, his usually open, friendly face showing signs of irritation. ‘You think so, Sergeant?

It doesn’t matter whether Richard Harries was likeable or not; it doesn’t matter whether he really understood what he was doing or not; what he did do took courage and commitment. Science is about taking risks, Sergeant.

It’s about carrying out experiments and taking any consequences on yourself.

Harries wasn’t afraid of those consequences.’ He sighed. ‘Times are changing, Sergeant. With the finish of the century so close, people are rethinking their attitudes, changing their approaches. Check the newspapers – discoveries aren’t made by people any more: they are made by teams. The praise is spread out, but the responsibility? It could rest with anyone. No, the age of the gentleman scientist is over. No more Galileos; no more Newtons; never-more a Faraday.’

The Doctor was genuinely angry as he stood there, two steps lower than Baker but somehow towering over him. Suddenly I understood him. He was a romantic, an idealist. He wanted to pin things down to people, not movements. There was no room in his mind for crowds.

There was an embarrassed pause. ‘And that is why Romana has to be stopped,’ the Doctor murmured cryptically to himself.

‘Because she still

doesn’t understand that the morality of an organisation – a race – is no better than the morality of its most immoral member.’

THE ACCOUNT OF JOHN HOPKINSON (20)

‘Where do we start?’ asked Baker, ever practical, as we reached the hall.

The Doctor was already at the telephone, rattling its cradle. He glared at the handset for a second before slamming it back down. A moment later he was tracing the wire along the wall. He reached a frayed end and held it up for us to see. The other end of the wire was nowhere to be seen. ‘Pity,’ he murmured, ‘I could have put it back together.’ He sighed, then straightened up. ‘You know the house best,’ the Doctor said to me, as if I could produce a room full of chains and ropes (not to mention the odd thumbscrew) with absolutely no difficulty. I was explaining to him as patiently as I could that this was not the case when a thought came to me.

‘Wait a moment, though,’ I interrupted myself. ‘That large portrait of Dodds

– the one in the drawing room – that must be held up with something. It could be a chain fastening it to the wall.’

‘Well, let’s look.’ Stratford led us into the drawing room.

It was the work of just a minute to climb up on a chair and to lift down the portrait to Stratford and Baker. It was heavy – more because of the plaster frame than because of the savage brushwork.

The Doctor peered closely at it as the two policemen lifted it from me.

‘Well, it’s no masterpiece,’ he said in a tone

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