Doctor Who - The 8th Doctor - 36 - The Ancestor Cell by Peter Anghelides;Stephen Cole

Author:Peter Anghelides;Stephen Cole
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Juvenile Fiction, General, Space Warfare, Adventure, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Fiction
ISBN: 9780563538097
Publisher: BBC Pubns
Published: 2000-07-02T07:00:00+00:00

‘My TARDIS,’ said the Doctor, like a proud parent at a baby show.

Nivet looked astonished. ‘But there are trace elements of thousands of different planets embedded in the external structure, and in millions of different times.’

‘Well, I’ve travelled widely,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘Not all Time Lords are unimaginative unadventurous stay at home dullards, y’know.’

‘Thanks,’ said Nivet.

‘Now,’ continued the Doctor briskly, ‘let’s see about those telepathic circuits …’ He placed his palms flat on the console and closed his eyes. ‘Ah yes, some evidence of a connection to the Edifice, and – Aagh!’

Suddenly he was no longer in the TARDIS. He was swirling in an eddying vortex of visions and sounds and scents, some powerfully familiar, and some that resonated on the edge of his mind. He was frightened and delighted and nostalgic and regretful. He was spinning through some past that he had never experienced, but had always known.

In the centre of his mind a sharply defined crystal poured its calm blue light in a cleansing flow through his synapses. There were half familiar creatures here – huge spiders – not the bone monstrosities from the Edifice, but larger, hairier, more threatening, more fearful creatures from his past.

His past?

He was in a blue cave, and the spider queen leered down at him. She didn’t need to devour him, though she could have crushed him with the slightest movement. Or with the slightest thought. She knew he was dying already.

He fled the cave and struggled to the TARDIS.

The door slammed behind him, and he fell against the console as a random dematerialisation began, taking … taking him … taking him to …?

He sat up abruptly. He was in a crumpled heap on the TARDIS floor, in a patch of scattered glass and pottery fragments. He wondered where his dark blue jacket had gone, and then he saw he was wearing his familiar dull green velvet frock coat.

Why was that woman standing over him like that?

It was Combat Elite Mali. She had taken the opportunity offered to her by his sudden telepathic attack. She held a knife to his throat.

‘Don’t move,’ said Mali coldly. ‘Now that we have the Type 102, we no longer need you, Doctor. We will return to Gallifrey at once.’

‘You don’t understand,’ mumbled the Doctor. ‘I know what’s happening here.’

‘I understand perfectly; snapped Mali, and pushed the knife closer. “The virus has taken hold of you, Doctor. You’re a Faction agent. You are the enemy. Resist me, and I’ll kill you right here.’

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