Doctor Who_ The Tomorrow Windows Part 2

Ken beamed at Fitz and Trix, and then edged through the throng to the stage. Fitz turned back to see that the Doctor was already skimming through his brochure, lost in concentration, tutting at pa.s.sages that irritated him.

Fitz drained his champagne. 'So, what's the verdict?'

'The concept behind these Tomorrow Windows seems simple enough,' muttered the Doctor. 'You know how quantum events are affected by observation?

The uncertainty principle?'

'I understand the principle of uncertainty,' said Fitz. 'Go on.'

'Well, if you're seeing into the future, then that future itself is shaped by your observation, yes?'

'Keep on going,' said Fitz. 'I'm following you. From a distance, but I'm following you.'

'If you want to see into next week, the window will show you that; if you want to see next year, next century. . . However, what you actually see see, well, this is where it gets interesting.'

'I thought it might,' Fitz muttered. He glanced around. The hall was filling up. Some of the women well, he didn't recognise them, but presumably they were actresses. They had perfect smiles, flawless skin, and physiques that defied the laws of gravity.

Fitz noticed the Doctor had been talking. 'What was that?'

'You see, Fitz, the future, inherently, is uncertain. The universe is a complex system. . . beats of b.u.t.terfly wings creating hurricanes and so forth. But,' the Doctor decided to take a flute of champagne from a waitress after all, 'most b.u.t.terflies don't create hurricanes. Just think how bad the weather would be if they did! No, in fact, the vast majority of choices don't make the slightest hit of difference. Otherwise time travel would be. . . patently absurd.'

'So what do these windows show you?' asked Trix 'The most probable outcome based on current knowledge If you look into tomorrow, the image will he relatively precise. But if you look into next year, the picture will be. . . blurry blurry, and so on as you go further into the future, though you'll still receive an impression of. . . what did they call it?' The Doctor flicked through the programme and winced. '"The Gist of Things to Come Come".'

'Now we come to the clever part. If you can see into the future you can make decisions based on information from from that future! It's what theoretical 14 that future! It's what theoretical 14 physicists would term a "free lunch", and what is, in layman's terms, a "reductive causal loop". Forearmed with die knowledge of the consequences, you can make sure you opt for the optimum optimum course! The windows,' the Doctor drained his gla.s.s, '"accentuate the positive".' course! The windows,' the Doctor drained his gla.s.s, '"accentuate the positive".'

'Oh.' Fitz leaned unenthusiastically against the wall. 'That's nice.

'According to the brochure, with these "Tomorrow Windows" humanity will be able to. . . preclude every disaster. World leaders can make policies based on what the effects will be ten, twenty years down the line. . . and thus the Windows will bring about an end to war, to famine, to terrorism, to pollution.

Even to inaccurate weather forecasts.'

'And this is a bad thing?' Trix had to raise her voice over the music piped out over the public address.

The Doctor considered. 'Well, it's not bad bad bad. But it's interference in mankind's destiny. Tampering with a planet's development is. . . irresponsible.' bad. But it's interference in mankind's destiny. Tampering with a planet's development is. . . irresponsible.'

'You're just annoyed it's someone else doing it.'

'So who do you think is behind all this?' said Fitz.

The Doctor showed him the photograph on the back cover of the programme. A round-faced man in his forties beamed manically, his close curly brown hair receding, his chin adorned with a goatee beard. His eyes were wide and the photograph blurred, as though he'd been caught by surprise. He wore an ill-fitting suit, a check waistcoat and a scarlet cravat. He was the very cliche of English eccentricity. 'Charlton Mackerel, billionaire philanthropist and the exhibition's sponsor.'

'What do you plan to do? Ask him if he's from another planet?' said Trix as the music increased in volume.

'Yes!' the Doctor shouted back. 'But first, I'd like to take a look at one of these Tomorrow Windows.'

'The exhibition's upstairs.' Fitz helped himself to a canape offered by a pa.s.sing waitress. 'It's not open yet.'

'Then we shall have a sneak preview. Fitz, you come with me. Trix, Trix. . .

can you keep an eye on things here?'

Trix shrugged a reluctant 'OK'.

'You shouldn't have any trouble blending in. . . Pretend to be a footballer's wife or something!'

Trix searched the crowd for a familiar face. Stephen Hawking was here with one of his sons. Jeremy Paxman and Ian Hislop shared a joke. Michael Grade had accosted one of the waitresses and was helping himself to two gla.s.ses, steering through the a.s.sembly like a shark in search of prey.

15.Get into character, Trix. She would be a conceptual artist from Eastern Europe. Her work would consist of black-and-white films about cutting off her hair.

A man frowned at her, as though trying to remember something. 'It is you, isn't it? From that group?'

Or, thought Trix, she could be that girl from that group.

'I was devastated when you split up.'

'Yes. We thought we'd quit while we were ahead.'

'Very wise. So what are you doing now?'

'Trying to break into weather forecasting.'

'Excellent. Because we'll always have weather, won't we? Though if these Tomorrow Windows do what they say. . . ha! You know, when I got the invite I thought it was a Bill Gates launch thing! But all this is terrific.'

'So what do you do?' said Trix, not because she was interested, but because it seemed the polite thing to say.

'I'm the Shadow Education Secretary,' said the man. 'If you'll excuse me '

He'd seen somebody whose hand he had to shake. Trix watched him go, then examined the crowd for other famous faces. Salman Rushdie, Ricky Gervais, Joanne Rowling, Bill Bailey, Stephen Fry, Richard Curtis, Ben Elton 'Excuse me ' muttered an uncomfortable young man. He was completely out of place his T-s.h.i.+rt was unwashed, unironed and untucked and sported a faded military design. John Lennon spectacles perched upon his nose. As he talked, he glanced from side to side, as though worried about being spotted.

He had wide, large eyes, like an excited rabbit.

'Hiya,' said Trix. 'And you're. . . ?'

'Martin!' he said. Trix tried to place his accent. 'Those two men you were speaking to. . . um, you know, are you with them?'

'No. I'm with me.'

'Oh. Good. Wow! So. . . ' There was a long can't-think-of-anything-to-say pause. 'What do you do?'

Trix sipped her champagne. Who would she be now? An Eastern European conceptual artist? A former member of a girl group? No. Too obvious.

Trix said, 'Save planets.'

'Wow. Me too!' Martin grinned.

He was obviously trying to chat her up, but claiming to have 'saving planets'

in common was a bit of a stretch. Trix frowned. 'What?'

'It's a bit embarra.s.sing embarra.s.sing,' Martin glanced around again to check no one was listening. 'You see, I'm from another galaxy!'

'Yeah. . . I bet you say that to all the girls.'

16.The more expensive the food, the less sure you were what it actually was was. Fitz studied his canape in the gloom of the corridor. The squidgy contents could be either mushroom, or crab, or cheese. Whatever it was, it was delicious.

Fitz brushed the crumbs from his lips and followed the Doctor through a pair of gla.s.s doors.

Their footsteps scuffed eerily in the emptiness. The gallery rooms were unlit, lending the artwork a sinister countenance. One room was filled with a vast, monochrome canvas, the paint hurled to form skulls. Another room had been furnished to resemble a chemist's shop. Eventually, the Doctor sonic-screwdrivered open another pair of gla.s.s doors and they found themselves in a long room painted a uniform white. Three of the walls were lined with six panes of gla.s.s, each the size of a full-length mirror.

Fitz peered into one of the panes. He could make out his own reflection, his tired eyes, his tangle of hair. 'They're just sheets of gla.s.s!'

'Yes,' said the Doctor, thwarted, before spotting a plug socket surrounded by cables. 'No, wait a moment, they haven't been turned on.'

The Doctor pressed a switch and a low, powerful throbbing filled the air.

Fitz turned to his reflection and shuddered. The man that looked back still had the tired eyes but was now completely bald. As Fitz blinked, the man blinked and his lips parted to reveal a toothless mouth.

Is this my future, thought Fitz? I don't want this. I won't allow this to happen. I want The image s.h.i.+fted to be replaced by a man in an evening jacket. Beside him stood a beautiful, olive-skinned woman young enough to be his daughter. In a chest-hugging wedding dress. Maybe, Fitz hoped, she wasn't his daughter.

The picture softened to nothing. Somewhat unsettled, Fitz approached the Doctor. In front of him, the gla.s.s showed nothing but eddying mist.

The Doctor lifted his chin. 'Show me. . . my future.'

The fog cleared to reveal a dark chamber, the only light the red of a digital countdown clock. Then the image was replaced with a concrete world of motorways. A man with powdery skin, his body covered in implants and callipers, revolved in a wheelchair. A flower drifted through s.p.a.ce, its petals unfurling towards an auburn sun 'Yes, yes. Further forward,' urged the Doctor. The picture flitted like a fast-forwarded film, the images flickering by so rapidly it was impossible to make out individual scenes.

Abruptly the image changed to a ruined city, the buildings silhouetted against billowing flames. A flying saucer soared overhead, its body revolving around it. Squat machines in gunmetal grey glided through the rubble, their eyestalks scanning from left to right.

17.The picture changed again. An artist sc.r.a.ped oils on to a canvas, his model smiling enigmatically. Men in skullcaps, robes and large, rounded collars gathered in a cathedral of turquoise. A robot spider, fifty yards tall, advanced upon a medieval castle as flaming arrows streaked through the sky. A figure with the head of a yellow-horned bull emerged from a sphere A planet exploded in a silent flash. A listless-looking man sat on a sofa beside a girl in a red dress in an unconvincing medieval dungeon. An aris-tocrat with a high forehead and devilish, shadow-sunken eyes sucked on an asthma inhaler. A man in a cream suit strolled through Regent's Park, his long hair swept back, his nose bent, his chin held imperiously high. A kindly-faced old gentleman in an astrakhan hat pottered in a junkyard, chuckling. A short, impudent-looking man, his ginger hair in disarray, plucked fluff from the collar of his afghan coat. A stockily built figure in a crushed velvet suit and eyeliner stared arrogantly into the distance. A scruffy student with un-ruly, curly hair shrugged and smiled an apologetic, lopsided smile. A stranger stood alone on a sand dune, his hair sc.r.a.ped into a ponytail, his cloak flapping batlike in the wind The picture drifted. Sometimes it seemed to settle upon one face and then another. Sometimes the figures merged like a double-exposed photograph.

Sometimes other men appeared, each one in pseudo-Edwardian dress Then it solidified into one, final figure. A wiry man with a gaunt, hawklike face, piercing, pale grey-blue eyes and a thin, prominent nose. His lips were set into an almost cruel, almost arrogant smile. He had an air of determination, as though withholding a righteous fury. As though facing down the most terrible monsters.

Then he turned to the Doctor and his expression softened into a broad, welcoming grin, as if to say, 'This is what you've got to look forward to.'

'How are you enjoying my little exhibition?' announced a voice from the other end of the room. It was an educated voice with a Scots burr, the voice of a lawyer or doctor. Fitz turned to see Charlton Mackerel flanked by two security guards.

In real life, Charlton was an even more unprepossessing figure. He looked as though he had been inflated to fill his suit and they had forgotten to stop pumping. His waistcoat combined all the colours of the rainbow in a manner substantially less restrained than a rainbow.

He padded over to the plug socket, and switched off the Windows.

'Like Scrooge, having seen the future, I shall mend my ways,' said the Doctor. '"And Tiny Tim, who did not not die ". . . ' die ". . . '

Charlton turned to Fitz. 'How about you? Did you like it?'

'Oh yeah. Changed my world.'

'They're great fun, aren't they?' Charlton's eyes glittered with new-train-set 18 enthusiasm. 'Humanity shall be saved from themselves, right and do you know who by? Me!'

'So. . . er,' said Fitz, 'what planet are you from, then?'

'Frantige Two. Very outer spiral, back-of-beyondy, you probably haven't heard of it!'

'So it's quiet there?'

'As quiet as a little, shy mouse. By the time we get the films, they're already out on H-DVD. Small population, a billion, everybody knows everybody else.'

'What's it like?'

Martin adjusted his spectacles. 'Oh, boring. Nothing's changed for thousands of years. It has that small-town mentality, but on a planetary scale. I go back there to visit the oldies sometimes, not as often as I should, but after a week of it you're gasping for a bit of pollution.' Martin's eyes bulged when he laughed.

Another waitress swung by and Trix exchanged her gla.s.s for another, filled.

She sat down on the stage beside Martin. 'So what was the last planet you saved, Martin?'

'Well, I don't actually save save them, on my own, single-handedly, as-it-were-so-to-speak. I'm a member of Galactic Heritage! You might have heard of them?' them, on my own, single-handedly, as-it-were-so-to-speak. I'm a member of Galactic Heritage! You might have heard of them?'

'I might not.'

'What we do is ha! we try to prevent big business from destroying our heritage! Because, you know, there are a lot of planets threatened by un-scrupulous development.'

'So what are you doing here?'

'Well, Earth has loads of heritage wars, plagues, people getting stabbed in the back with penknives. . . but Charlton Mackerel, you see, wants to end to all that. With the Tomorrow Windows, there won't be be any more history.' any more history.'

'You sound like the Doctor,' Trix muttered. Martin's jaw dropped and he began to choke.

'You know the Doctor the Doctor?'

Trix backed away. 'Yes.'

'Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh wow! Oh mother wow and three little baby wows!'

'You've heard of him?'

'Heard of him? The Doctor? Heard of him? He's completely a complete hero of mine. When it comes to saving planets from spooky-alien-tentacles stuff, the Doctor is so so "da man".' "da man".'

Trix waited for Martin to stop hyperventilating before mentioning, 'I travel with him.'

'No way way? You do the saving-planets stuff with him?'

19.'Yes. It's a thing we like to do.'

Martin could not have boggled more.

'In fact,' whispered Trix. 'That was him I was with just now.'

Martin's eyes widened even further with an idea. 'Hey, I know. . . ' He paused. 'Sorry, I don't even know your name.'