Doctor Who_ The Tomorrow Windows Part 36

Trix laughed. 'Will you be signing autographs later, Poobar?'

Prubert muttered something about consonantal shift.

The Doctor shook his head in disbelief. 'You told them your name name?

'Didn't think it would do any harm,' Prubert said defensively.

'You're unbelievable,' said the Doctor. 'You are simply unbelievable.'

' They They thought me rather convincing,' Prubert retorted. 'They thought I was a G.o.d. Still think I am! In a way, it's the ultimate accolade.' Before he could say any more, the speakers squawked with feedback once more. thought me rather convincing,' Prubert retorted. 'They thought I was a G.o.d. Still think I am! In a way, it's the ultimate accolade.' Before he could say any more, the speakers squawked with feedback once more.

Charlton looked back at the carnival where, above the effigy of Prubert, a hologram shimmered. The image blurred back and forth, finding its focus.

The crowds fell silent as they shifted to better vantage points.

The hologram resolved itself into the features of a lugubrious man, his nose aquiline, his eyebrows disdainful. 'Welcome to the presidential debate. I'm Pax Hummellium. With me in the studio we have both the candidates Jarkle Winkitt, current president of Minuea, hoping to secure an eleventh term. . . '

The hologram cut to the chubby-faced man from the posters.

'. . . and to my right, the leader of the opposition, Dreylon Pewt.'

Dreylon Pewt swept back his hair. He looked immaculate, and knew it.

'. . . and let's move straight to our first question. The lady in the front row.'

The lady in the front row raised her hand. For some reason, she was staring at the ceiling, and then she realised people would see her staring at the ceiling and she hastily examined her piece of paper. 'My question to the candidates is, what do they intend to do about public services?'

'Jarkle Winkitt?' said Pax.

'My record speaks for itself. A ten per cent increase in investment, through efficiency savings brought about by the introduction of management targets.'

'Dreylon?'

'I'm afraid Jarkle's record does indeed speak for itself. Under his administra-tion, investment has, in fact, fallen by ten per cent, because of the bureaucracy of introducing management targets.'

'Jarkle?'

'Let me clarify. We stand for improvements to public services and the reduction of taxes. If the opposition were in power, public services would be compromised and taxes would need to increase dramatically.'

'Dreylon?'

'In contrast to the current regime, we will offer value for money, with lower taxes and better public services. This government has, in fact, increased taxes and reduced spending on public services.'

189.

'So, a clear difference there,' said the presenter. 'Our next questioner, Professor Brimble Wantige. . . '

The camera cut to a bespectacled man in an elbow-patched corduroy jacket.

His hair and beard were untroubled by scissors. He cleared his throat. 'I would like to ask the candidates. . . what are you going to do about the moon?'

'The moon?' said Dreylon.

'It's gonna crash into Minuea in twenty-two years' time,' said the corduroy man. 'What do you intend to do about it?'

Dreylon sleeked his hair. 'Our policy on the potential potential catastrophic collision with the moon is diamond clear. We are not prepared to waste public money on preventing something that very well may not happen.' catastrophic collision with the moon is diamond clear. We are not prepared to waste public money on preventing something that very well may not happen.'

Jarkle nodded. 'As I see it, this whole moon thing is still up in the air. . . '

The corduroy man quivered with anger. 'It will will happen. I can prove it.' happen. I can prove it.'

'Yes, well, that's your opinion,' Dreylon said. 'Whereas I am of the opinion that it might not.'

'I've calculated the orbital trajectories,' the man shouted. 'It's a fact!'

'I could say that my opinion was a fact fact too,' Dreylon sneered. 'The point is, we live in a democracy, which means that my opinion is as good as yours.' too,' Dreylon sneered. 'The point is, we live in a democracy, which means that my opinion is as good as yours.'

'I'm in agreement with Dreylon on this,' said Jarkle. 'You are ent.i.tled to believe that we are going to collide with the moon, just as we are ent.i.tled to believe that it won't won't.'

The man stood up and removed his gla.s.ses. 'Look, there's no doubt about this, every scientist agrees. . . '

'Scientists? What do scientists scientists know?' said Dreylon. 'They're always scare-mongering about something. . . ' know?' said Dreylon. 'They're always scare-mongering about something. . . '

'We haven't made it up,' the man shouted. 'It's going to happen! It's going to hit us! We're all gonna die!'

'Or maybe it won't won't. Dreylon dripped condescension. 'You may hold that view, and I respect you for holding it, but you must respect our views too.'

'Everyone's beliefs hold equal weight that is the point of democracy, after all,' said Jarkle.

'And besides,' said Dreylon, 'who knows where we'll be in twenty-two years'

time? Let's cross that bridge when we come to it.'

'You won't have a b.l.o.o.d.y bridge when you come to it!' the man shouted. 'If you don't act now it will be too late '

'I think the candidates have answered the question,' Pax interrupted. 'If we may move on, others have questions. . . '

Fitz followed the debate on the screen set into the dashboard of the hover-car.

His driver grunted with disapproval each time Dreylon spoke.

190.

Fitz had been grateful when the hover-car had thrummed into sight, and even more grateful when it had offered him a lift. Given how much the driver was perspiring, he was grateful for the air-conditioning.

Outside, identical suburbs slid past as though on a loop. Occasionally another hover-car would float by, its engines droning like a contented bee.

Fitz redirected the air vents so they ruffled his hair, and noticed a sticker.

Winkitt The One You Can Trust. 'You don't think much of Dreylon, then?'

The driver shook his head. 'Some of us have long memories, even if he hasn't.'

'What do you mean?'

The driver pointed a podgy finger. The rocket loomed on the horizon. It was still some miles away and shimmering in the haze, but Fitz could make out scaffolding. 'That was his lot's idea. Great bleedin' waste of money.'

'What is it?'

'A missile. They started it twelve years ago. When there was all that stuff in the news, 'bout how we're gonna crash into the moon.'

'Like the guy in the audience was saying. . . '

'So the government Dreylon's lot thought up this pie-brained scheme, they'd build a missile, fire it at the moon.'

'Why "pie-brained"?'

'You know how much that thing cost? The taxes we had to pay I've two kids and a mortgage to support!'

The hover-car swung to one side as a large, oblong vehicle swerved in front of them. It was covered in fluttering bunting, jiggling balloons and rosettes.

Fitz decided to change the subject. 'What's that?'

'A battle bus.'

s.h.i.t, thought Fitz. They have killer vehicles on this planet too.

The building skulked on the outskirts of the town. The neighbourhood was unkempt, with gra.s.s nudging through gaps in the paving. Charlton followed Trix and the Doctor up the overgrown path to the building. Paint crumbled from its plank work and the roof had tooth gaps in its tiling.

The doorbell rang at the Doctor's finger, and he took a step back. The door swung open a couple of inches and a horn-rimmed eye peered out from the shadows. 'What?'

The Doctor smiled. 'h.e.l.lo, I'm the Doctor, these are my friends, Beatrix MacMillan, Charlton Mackerel '

'What do you want?' said the eye.

'We're here to see the professor,' said the Doctor.

'Professor Brimble Wantige.'

'The Professor isn't at home.'

191.

'We saw you on television,' said the Doctor. 'Can we talk?'

'I'm not interested. Bye-bye.' The door closed.

The Doctor sighed, and turned away. Then he said, loudly, 'An increasingly eccentric orbital ellipse, with Minuea as one of the focal points. It's currently at the point of periapsis. You'll need to deflect it tangentially at the point of apoapsis.'

The door swung open. 'You understand orbital trajectories?'

'We believe you, Brimble. We're here to help.'

The door squeaked open to reveal the corduroy man. He blinked at the sunlight and patted his hair into place. 'Come in, come in,' he said, glancing about as though wary of being seen. 'I've just got back myself.'

Charlton stepped into the musty hallway. 'You're not expecting visitors?'

'Kids come round to throw stuff, break windows. There's not a lot of respect for scientists. Not after. . . ' He trailed off as he saw Prubert. 'Don't I know you from somewhere?'

'Yes, I'm '

'Ah yes,' said the Doctor. This is my friend. . . Vargo Buzzardman.'

'Vargo what?'

'Buzzardman,' said the Doctor. 'He's come to apologise.'

'For what?'

'The last thousand years,' said the Doctor. 'Cup of tea?'

Wantige returns from the kitchen with a tray and five non-matching mugs. He rattles them on to the ring-stained table by my chair.

The room hasn't been cleaned for years. Sunlight creeps in tentatively through the slats in the windows and picks out dust-smeared bric-a-brac.

Books teeter upon every surface, many sandwiching dozens of bookmarks, or other items used as bookmarks. The armchairs are draped in blankets. The walls are high, like a nineteenth-century townhouse, the ceiling lost in the gloom.

I shift some papers out of my seat and place them on the pile by my feet.

They are scrawled with calculations.

The Doctor runs an admiring finger over a model rocket on the mantelpiece.

'Impressive.'

'It would've worked,' says Wantige, stirring his tea. 'A controlled nuclear burst on the moon and it would shift to a stable, solar orbit.'

'So what happened?'

'When we first discovered what was going to happen twelve years ago the public couldn't get enough of it. Back then I was still at the university. It looked as though something would be done. We had a plan, we had popular support. . . and then. . . '

192.

'And then?' I ask.

'Then people realised how much it would cost. It wasn't much, but it would've meant a drop in living standards for a year or so, people wouldn't agree to it.'

'Why not? It would be saving their lives!' says Charlton.