Doctor Who_ Unnatural History Part 22

'Get out of here,' he told them. 'Don't look back.' They didn't need telling twice.

No sooner had he got Sam and Fitz into the hotel lobby than he turned on his heel and headed for the door. 'Stay here,' he said, quietly. 'I'm going out now.'

'And you may be some time?' murmured Fitz.

The Doctor stopped in the doorway. 'Yes, actually, it'll probably be a few hours.' His eyes were very hard Sam hadn't seen that before. 'I've got to meet someone. It's best that you stay out of the way.'

'Yeah. . . I think you're right.'

'Don't worry, it'll be fine.'

'Uh-huh,' said Fitz.

They went back to Fitz's room, together, a lonely pair. Fitz shut the door and leaned against it, head hanging low. He looked spindly.

'Did you see what he did?' he said. 'He just flicked away those stupid little discs. Just walked out through the force field. It was a joke joke.'

Sam settled on the corner of the bed. 'You all right ' she began, and broke off. Stupid question.

She hadn't looked when it happened. Except that she'd seen, just for a moment.

Fitz meandered across the room. 'Yeah. Fine. It's not that much of a blow, really. I mean, I knew her for maybe three days.' He ended up in a corner by the window, talking shakily to the wall. 'It's not like I knew what she did for a living. What she did at school. How she came to live in that house. What she put in her coffee. The name of that b.l.o.o.d.y iguana.'

'Hey.'

139.

She got up, choking down the lump in her own throat, and walked over to stand right in front of him. He didn't look at her, he stared at the carpet.

She reached her hands behind his head, leaned in, and gave him a slow, deliberate kiss.

It didn't sizzle. Her knees didn't buckle with l.u.s.t, or anything it was just a perfectly competent kiss, with a minimum of fumbling on either side. She had to lean up on her toes because of the height difference. His lips parted smoothly, and they spent a few moments just getting used to each other's rhythm and taste.

When she closed off the kiss, he spent a few moments blinking slowly, his hands resting against the small of her back. 'Well,' he said. 'I wasn't expecting this. Why?'

''Cause you're human,' she said.

She saw the flicker of suspicion cross his face, felt his hands hesitate against her back. 'I'm not the consolation prize, am I?'

Sam tried to suppress a wry smile. She must have failed, because he went into a frantic back-pedal. 'I mean, not that I'd be complaining. I think. I '

She leaned up and kissed him again a nibbling movement, drawing him in.

Making it a promise.

The picture went across the surface of her mind again. This time she could look. Look at Kyra, turned this way and that, turned inside out and back to front, just like one of those Pica.s.so paintings, eyes on the same side of her face, just like a Pica.s.so.

She let the picture rise and fade, rise and fade, until it was less intense than the feel of his mouth, the brush of his stubble.

''Cause you're human,' she said. ''Cause you're not going to pull any nasty surprises on me. 'Cause you're not going to get me killed. 'Cause we've both had a b.u.g.g.e.r of a day.'

He just kept looking at her, at Sam Jones, up and down. 'This is too strange.'

'What gave it away? The unicorns?' Sam laughed. 'We're looking at a couple of hours with nothing in them but worrying and feeling bad. We both need something better to do.'

For a while she just held on to him, feeling him breathe, his jacket brushing against her through her T-shirt. Then she looked him in the eye. 'Shall we?'

He gave that shrug, he smiled a glimmer of a smile. 'Yeah.'

The Doctor had walked a little way from the hotel until he had come across a park, somewhere in the Tenderloin. Perhaps it was a bit reckless to be out now, 140 where anyone could see him. Perhaps he was feeling a bit reckless.

He sat down under a tree, his back to the thick bark, the strong trunk. For a moment he let his body sink down, into the gra.s.s, into the wood, as though all the energy was draining out of him and into the soil. He closed his eyes, limp as a rag.

He didn't know how Griffin had managed to collapse the dimensional field.

The mathematics had been dancing in his head, on the long journey back to the city, up until now. For Griffin, it wouldn't be a matter of numbers, of abstract concepts. It would be more like breathing. Or eating. Or swatting a fly.

The Doctor made the numbers stop, made himself remember. Kyra's face and body distorting, tearing, as Griffin grabbed and turned her through directions she shouldn't have been able to go. She would have been dead in moments, like a puppet whose strings had been tangled, then broken. He hoped she had had no idea of what was happening to her.

Griffin had sent her away, once he was done.

The Doctor sat up. There were some children playing a little distance away, their high calls echoing through the park. No one else was nearby.

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a bottle of beer. The gla.s.s was still damp. He set it on the gra.s.s and rummaged in the pocket for a bottle opener.

He couldn't find one. Should have picked one up in the liquor store. The Doctor sighed, concentrated just a little energy in the tips of his fingers, and flicked the lid off with a bright, metallic sound.

'This is for you, Kyra,' he said. He tipped the bottle, pouring it back and forth. The beer hissed as it hit the gra.s.s and sank into the ground. 'I hope it's the right sort of thing.'

He waited for a few minutes, once the bottle was empty. He wished he could conjure her up, bring her back to life for just a few minutes, just long enough to say all the things that he wanted to say. That the city seemed somehow smaller, tonight. That he wouldn't give up.

But he supposed she was busy right now, somewhere, in a birthing centre, or a warm cardboard box filled with mewing and purring. Or perhaps an iguana hatchery. Yes.

It was time to get on with it. The Doctor got up, put the bottle and lid into a rubbish bin.

At the edge of the park he looked back at the trees, all the growing things.

'If you could put in a good word for me. . . ' he murmured. 'I think I'm going to need it.'

141.

Griffin sat in his brick-walled laboratory, safe among his iron machines. He had an old-fashioned telephone, long black stalk, receiver dangling in its metal socket.

'No? Well, thank you, anyway,' he said.

He replaced the receiver, precisely, and picked up the hotel directory again.

He had retrieved sufficient small clues from Kyra Skye's biodata. Now it was just a matter of slow, patient research, the kind he was best at.

It had been a simple matter to collapse the field intended to cage him. The Doctor had run away at once, of course, probably to protect his companions; Griffin had not been able to catch him in time. No matter.

He had been careful to erase the cadaver, rotating it perpendicular to this three-s.p.a.ce; if the Doctor's species really was aware of his people, he would have to be cautious about leaving any evidence of his expedition.

But the unnaturalist was certain of one thing. His report to the Society would guarantee his membership, with full honours.

He picked up the phone again, and began to dial.

Chapter Thirteen.

The Book of Lies.

Perhaps the most wilfully perverse of the known esoteric religious texts is the Book of Lies, Book of Lies, produced by the group known as Faction Paradox. Though it is ostensibly produced by the group known as Faction Paradox. Though it is ostensibly a secret book of arcana only to be shown to higher-level initiates of the Faction, a a secret book of arcana only to be shown to higher-level initiates of the Faction, a number of academics believe that it is in fact a hoax even a practical joke which number of academics believe that it is in fact a hoax even a practical joke which the Faction has played on the entirety of known s.p.a.ce. The book itself is even the Faction has played on the entirety of known s.p.a.ce. The book itself is even known to suggest on occasion that it is a hoax, although considering the context, known to suggest on occasion that it is a hoax, although considering the context, this is perhaps the best evidence available that it isn't. this is perhaps the best evidence available that it isn't.

Physically the Book of Lies Book of Lies is a dynabook, but one with its textual generators is a dynabook, but one with its textual generators interfaced to a few inexplicable pieces of Faction technology. The book claims that interfaced to a few inexplicable pieces of Faction technology. The book claims that its text is directly interfaced to the unstable nature of reality in all its alternatives, its text is directly interfaced to the unstable nature of reality in all its alternatives, or possibly just to a random-number generator. In either case, the net result is that or possibly just to a random-number generator. In either case, the net result is that the book itself is different in numerous subtle ways each time it is opened, and at the book itself is different in numerous subtle ways each time it is opened, and at times even when flipping back to previously read pages. This makes annotation times even when flipping back to previously read pages. This makes annotation rather difficult, and indexing an existential nightmare. rather difficult, and indexing an existential nightmare.

It is indicative of the Faction's philosophy that, where most religious texts offer a fairly straightforward explanation of what Is, the a fairly straightforward explanation of what Is, the Book of Lies Book of Lies is a maddening is a maddening ramble through what Isn't. Its tales (usually) include bits of detailed alternative histories, scandalously rewritten versions of historical events, fractal poetry, ramble through what Isn't. Its tales (usually) include bits of detailed alternative histories, scandalously rewritten versions of historical events, fractal poetry, carefully ominous foreshadowing, and the occasional apparently accurate bit of carefully ominous foreshadowing, and the occasional apparently accurate bit of historical truth. Whether the latter are included to lend verisimilitude to the other historical truth. Whether the latter are included to lend verisimilitude to the other material, or to discredit by a.s.sociation the certainty with which we treat those material, or to discredit by a.s.sociation the certainty with which we treat those accepted facts, remains unclear. accepted facts, remains unclear.

A common refrain throughout its text is that the events being described never happened. In fact, this note is repeated to the point of appearing to protest too happened. In fact, this note is repeated to the point of appearing to protest too much perhaps deliberately. Whether this 'never happened' refers to historical much perhaps deliberately. Whether this 'never happened' refers to historical fact or official denial is therefore left as an exercise for the reader. fact or official denial is therefore left as an exercise for the reader.

To the Faction, these contents could all well be true.

Among the pa.s.sages which the copy of the Book of Lies Book of Lies in the university library in the university library on Dellah is fond of including, we find. . . on Dellah is fond of including, we find. . .

143.

Introduction to Quantum Esotericism Introduction to Quantum Esotericism, 2nd Edition, Watkinson & Thripsted, page 274 The Doctor screwed up his face as he slid the needle into his arm. Amazing, he thought between ouches he was thoroughly used to people inflicting pain on him in a variety of creative ways, but that didn't make it one bit easier to inflict something as small as this on himself.

He withdrew the two c.c.s of blood and emptied the syringe into the beaker of distilled water, setting the pale solution on the gra.s.s in front of him. Above it glinted the bare thread of biodata, almost invisible in the daylight.

With reverential slowness he measured out the pota.s.sium permanganate.

He'd spent the afternoon scrounging for the substances he needed.

' Exotica arcana esoterica Exotica arcana esoterica,' he intoned. ' Dominus ad nauseam, reductio ad ab-surdum. Dominus ad nauseam, reductio ad ab-surdum. ' '

'Don't screw up!' the little boy shouted in his ear.

The Doctor didn't so much as flinch. ' Iam amore virginali totus ardeo Iam amore virginali totus ardeo,' he said, stirring the stuff into the solution.

The boy stepped into his field of view, watching approvingly. He probably didn't understand a word of the incantation, but the words weren't what made the ritual work.

Words were linear they needed too much history and context to lend them meaning. You needed a past to grasp words. But sounds and emotions were now. The sort of thing a cult devoted to breaking out of linear rationality would be drawn to.

'So,' said the Doctor, between verses of the chant. 'Are you just going to stand there and watch me try to summon you, or would you like to give me a hand with it?'

The boy grinned, wolf-cubbishly. 'Nah, you go right ahead.'

The Doctor nodded and began reciting an obscure verse from Leviticus about cleaning fungus off walls, as he dripped in exactly three drams of iodine.

He was braced for the sharp poke the boy delivered to the scar in his side.

He gritted his teeth, but he didn't miss a drop.

'By the face that stops the clocks, by the power of the broken mainspring and the pendulum that tocks before it ticks, I summon thee, tempora nullius tempora nullius, alaka zoom zoom!'

With a sizzle, the solution turned milky white.

The boy applauded mockingly. The Doctor stayed unswervingly solemn, picked up the beaker, and presented it to the boy. 'Extract of biodata. An 144 offering to the spirits of Paradox.'

The boy sniffed at the beaker. 'd.a.m.n,' he said. 'You got it right.'

'Sorry to disappoint you.'

'If I'd stopped you from making the offering that summoned me, it would have been way way acausal. Sweet.' acausal. Sweet.'

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. 'I know. Why do you think I wasn't startled?'

'd.a.m.n, you're good!' The boy sat down on the gra.s.s, facing him. 'Even this young, you're good. You know, I'm a big fan of your early stuff.'

The Doctor rubbed the dull ache in his side. 'You've got an odd way of showing it.'

'Not of you you. Just the stuff. You haven't got cool yet.'

The Doctor busied himself with the reagent jars, gathering them up one by one and popping them back inside his shopping bag.

Eventually the boy said, 'I know what you want from us. If you want it, you'll have to come with me.'

The Doctor looked up at him. 'What's your price?'

'Same thing as always,' said the boy. 'You.'

'I only want a little bit of help.'

'Then we'll only take a little bit of you.'

The Doctor put the bag of chemicals safely on the floor in the back of the Bug.

The boy was already in the front, idly picking at the loose vinyl at the edge of the dashboard.

'Go east on Lincoln,' he told the Doctor. The Doctor drove.

San Francisco was becoming a mecca for seekers of the strange. And Golden Gate Park, officially off limits, had become a mecca inside that mecca. He had encountered a dozen souls rambling through the giant flowers in the freshly grown jungles, speaking in soft, awed voices, taking photographs of the Heisenbugs.