Head Down

I've had my head under the console most of the day, busy.

There's a lot of corrosion under here, but with the parts Virrginia has secured for me and rare grid metals Angus managed to find (how does he do it) I may just have a working camelion circuit within the week. While not essential, this goes a long way towards the peak status required. Terry has been busy on a personal project and I've seen her less than I'd like. I confess I miss her terribly when she's not around and it was good to have work to keep me occupied.

Young Kiralette is now in our employ, in a dusting capacity. I'm not sure if this will lighten the load, she brought some kind of potted plant with her, but she's keen. Her sister is also keen. Keen that is that if Kira is to hang around the ETC then she is to useful while she is doing so and she seems to feel her sister is some form of potential liability.

I confess I don't care much for Kirawill, wife to Lord Bardhaven, but we are both civil enough to each other in the same way Zealot and I are. She is the sort of feline who knows she is gifted with first class breeding and has long lost any magic for a world that her sister still finds beautiful.

I began a few sketches of my new genetic matrix this evening. I have high hopes, if all goes well.

The Day After

I popped out for some milk and a few bits then walked slowly back to Mayfair. The shops are still open, with the stiffest of upper lips, but Victoria smells like burning prims. What a mess.

Left a jar of anchovy butter on Kiras swing for her. Bardhaven looked particularly quiet, and only a chambermaid could be seen stowicly going about her duties.

Sat on the ches longue in the console room reading a book for a few hours, then got back to work on the cabinet.

Began the bulk processing, but I'll look at the footage tomorrow. There's a lot, and most of it will be unusable. I need a clear head, a bit more sleep, and a few spare hours.

The Doctor is In

Work is going well on the ETC, I had checked on the chaps and chapesses around the Guvnahs mansion (leaving a cunningly transformed Terry with a close eye on group of rather 'enthusiastic' weasels), and I decided to take a break onto a small personal project.

I was ensconced in the Mayfair Studio until the wee small hours, changing my Panoptikon to a Eidoloscope. This is a simple but delicate task, adding a basic intermittent mechanism to keep the two-inch film moved continuously during showing and improve the reliability of frame rate.

Being a glass house (for the excellent coastal light it provides), the studio affords a splendid outlook. Eventually, my attention was unavoidably drawn to the road outside where Miss Kelley had been walking backward and forwards for sometime, seemingly reciting dialogue and practising a cough. Having my hands full I allowed her to continue a while, I have no desire to become embroiled in amateur dramatics, and eventually she approached the door.

It's always nice to see her. She is a ray of sunshine. But this evening she came with grave news.

For sometime now Zealot has referred to me as Doctor Sputnik. I have no idea why. I do hold several doctorates, and a professorship or two, but they are from the Academy on Gallifrey and if Zealot knew about them I'd be worried indeed. Not that Zealot doesn't worry me I hasten to add.

Young Miss Kelly had taken this title to be literal, and was in search of a medical practitioner. It appears 'our mutual friend' is not fairing well by her treatment under capture.

I wasn't the sharpest tool in the old woodshed when at The Academy, not by the standards of my peers, but a distinction in Micro Cellular Biology I did mange to scrape and I can slap on a trauma bandage with the best of them. When we first arrived here I resolved to keep myself and Terry healthy with a regular dose of panacea to keep out the diseases of the Victorian age. Nothing is infallible, I have heard of some nasty viral stuff called 'grey goo' on the mainland that I have yet to examine, but it's a start. Typhoid, tuberculosis, smallpox, cholera, the sniffles, hayfever, even syphilis (god forbid) are all simple stuff to remedy with the power of a time travellers hindsight.

We nipped into the Cabinet and I added some base vitamins, a general restorative of future extraction, some peppermint essence and a slow release food supplement.

Within a few minutes she was on her way over the fences, back across Mayfair to Bardhaven. In the name of the First President I prey nothing bad befalls that girl. She is taking a terrible risk and we are so very powerless to interfere.

I tried to get some sleep but couldn't meditate. Even the Zero Room seemed full of psychic static. Next time I see her, I really must give her a transmat bracelet just in case.

A Late Visitor

I had a visitor last night.

Often of late I have found myself in conversation with Miss Kelley. She is a most charming creature, very pleasant, that reminds me much of the New Earth felines of 5,000,000,000. She is, I am told, not entirely indicative of her species, having at least the veneer of Victorian sensibility. She is quick of eye, strong in spirit, has an adventurous streak a mile wide, yet wraps herself in pretty crinolines with seemingly little comfort but the greatest of pride.

She visited me in the ETC to bring me news and share my supper. She had never visited us properly and as I showed around our home, Terry currently being away visiting the Dracoforms and having missed the excitement of the last few days, she gazed wide-eyed at the workings of the ETC. I took her over to New Babbage, and we walked and talked a while in relative safety.

When one spends time with her, one soon begins to realise how frightened she is of reprisal by her Master Zealot. In my opinion, a cat should not have a master...

...I will say no more, but suffice to say, she's a very brave young lady.

Caledon and Neualtenburgh owe her more than they may ever know.