Doctor Who_ The Tomorrow Windows Part 28

Dittero s.h.i.+fted forward to speak in Fitz's ear. 'You must come. . . '

'Need. . . concentrate,' mumbled Fitz. 'Driving. Leave 'lone.

'I'm sorry,' said Dittero, 'but I. . . require your attendance.'

'Belong here,' said Fitz, as though talking in his sleep. ' Safe. . . Safe. . . ' '

Dittero squeezed himself over to the right-hand side of the rear seat. He held out the tele-door handle and placed it against the pa.s.senger door. Holding down the activation b.u.t.ton, he slid it to the right, and a rectangle opened up in the side of the car a rectangle opening on to the conference room on Utopia.

Even for someone as used to tele-door travel as Dittero, it was disconcerting to look through the side of a moving car and out into an enclosed, brightly lit room. Where, by rights, there should have been darkness and street lamps, there was a desk surrounded by moulded plastic chairs.

148.

Dittero dragged himself backwards through the door. One moment he was sliding himself across a leatherette seat, the next he was sliding over a carpet.

His feet still remained inside the car while the rest of his body was in the conference room.

Grabbing a table leg, Dittero pulled himself upright. He tapped a sequence of keys on his tele-door control. Each b.u.t.ton bleeped.

The car interior inside the tele-door slid to the left. It was as though a camera, looking into the car, was panning to the right. It kept on moving, taking in the rear of Fitz's seat, then Fitz himself.

Dittero reached in through the tele-door, grabbing Fitz's collar with his left hand and his elbow with his right.

Fitz's fingers remained fast on the wheel. Dittero heaved and Fitz's hands slipped free and together they piled backwards, flying back through the tele-door and landing on the conference room carpet.

Fitz blinked as though waking from a nightmare. 'What happened?'

The Zwees had tended to Fitz's injuries. He had lain in bed in his room while the robots pottered about him, dabbing cotton wool on his bruises, winding bandages on his cuts and fetching him a variety of soothing drinks. They sprayed something on his feet which brought the feeling back, and offered him a variety of pills to improve his mood, mental acuity and memory. Only when a Zwee offered him post-traumatic counselling did Fitz draw the line.

The only counselling he needed was the sort that came with a straw, olive and umbrella.

He didn't remember much about Estebol. It was like trying to piece together a dream. The more he thought about it, the more clouded the memories became.

The place had been affecting him, he decided. It had been a kind of hysteria in the air. He didn't know whether or not the cars were really alive and possessing people. What was important was that Kera and the others had believed it. For them it had been a living nightmare.

Fitz slipped in and out of consciousness. The starched sheets felt so refres.h.i.+ng against his cheeks. He dreamed fitfully, and in his dreams he returned to Estebol, running through endless rain-drenched streets.

When Fitz awoke again, he found his bruises had evaporated and his scars had been reduced to pale lines. The pain had gone and he felt relaxed, refreshed, confident.

It was, his bedside clock told him, about eight in the evening. He pulled on his jeans and s.h.i.+rt, and made his way downstairs to the c.o.c.ktail lounge.

They were waiting for him. Welwyn looked up as he entered and offered him a sympathetic smile. Vors.h.a.gg bared its teeth, the closest to a smile 149 it could manage. Poozle rested on a table, bubbling greenly. Micron's two legionaries sat with the cus.h.i.+on between them. And Dittero approached, clipboard in hand, offering him a firm handshake. 'How are you feeling, Mr Kreiner? Fully recovered from your ordeal?'

Fitz nodded, disconcerted.

'I've delayed the auction until you were sufficiently recuperated. If you would care to come through to the conference room, we can commence. . . '

Dittero walked to the door, expecting the others to follow.

Fitz realised what was missing. He had grown used to seeing two furry b.a.l.l.s bobbing about in mid air above their heads.

'Question Intonation?' said Fitz. 'What's happened to Question Intonation?'

Dittero's smile tightened as he selected his words. 'I regret to inform you, Mr Kreiner, that unfortunately, the delegate known as Question Intonation has been somewhat. . . murdered.'

150.

Chapter Nine.

Going Postal

'What do you mean, he's not dead?'

'I mean he's alive, Doctor! Prubert Gastridge is alive.'

'Prubert Gastridge he's the guy who's the king of the eagle-people, right?'

'Buzzardmen, Trix. Buzzardmen. This is important important.'

'Sorry. Eagle-people, Buzzardmen, he had b.l.o.o.d.y great wings strapped to his back, all the same to me.'

'Charlton, Zap Daniel Zap Daniel was filmed centuries ago. When Prubert Gastridge was strapping on his. . . b.l.o.o.d.y great wings, Aethelred the Unready was the King of England.' was filmed centuries ago. When Prubert Gastridge was strapping on his. . . b.l.o.o.d.y great wings, Aethelred the Unready was the King of England.'

'I suppose you met him, didn't you?'

'Prubert Gastridge? No, Trix, it's always been a regret of mine '

'No, Aethelred the Unready.'

'I did, as a matter of fact, yes. And despite his name, you could drop in on him at a moment's notice and he wouldn't mind a bit. No. . . but Prubert Gastridge! He was fantastic fantastic. What I wouldn't have given, just to have gone over old times with him, got his autograph. . . '

'Asked him how they strapped him into those wings '

'. . . asked him how they strap never mind that. He was a boyhood hero of mine. Well, if I'd seen the film during my boyhood he would've been. And now I'll never get the chance to tell him how great he was.'

'That's what I've been trying to tell you, Doctor. He's not dead not dead.'

'Charlton, Zap Daniel Zap Daniel was made a thousand years ago. How many humanoid races live for that long?' was made a thousand years ago. How many humanoid races live for that long?'

'There's the Meons. The VI'harb. The pseudo-terrans of Frantige Two. The tedious hermits of Quixote Minor, you know, they've been rumoured to live for. . . '

'Yes, but Prubert wasn't a Meon or a Vl'harb. He was from Paragrol, and Paragrolli have the same lifespan as Earth humans '

'Yeah, right, Doctor, but '

'After all, the director of Zap Daniel Zap Daniel, Hinkle B. Tawdry, died at the time of the Battle of Hastings! I remember his obituary.'

151.

'That's sort of my point, though. Do you remember ever seeing an obituary for Prubert Gastridge?'

'Well, no, but I'm a busy man, you can't expect me to check every obituary column in the galaxy. It would be morbid.'

'I've looked, yeah? There's never been one published.'

'Oh. That's a shame. He did such a lot of great work. I mean, not just Vargo in Zap Daniel Zap Daniel, but the cla.s.sics. His Captain Hook brought the house down.'

'Hang on, Doctor. This guy was around before Peter Pan was written. . . ?'

'Trix, you wouldn't believe how many of Earth's great works of literature have been influenced by alien cultures.'

'Peter Pan?'

'I'm not saying J.M. Barrie didn't have a creative role, but the plot does bear certain similarities to a story written by Dilvpod Tentacle several millennia earlier.'

'What, you're saying that an alien landed on Earth, gave Barrie a copy of Dilvpod's book and said, "Why not copy all this out"?'

'That would seem the likeliest explanation, yes, Trix.'

'Don't aliens have better things to do than go round interfering with the cultures of planets?'

'You'd be surprised. Anyway, my point was. . . Prubert Gastridge was a great great actor.' actor.'

'Who's not dead.'

'Why do you keep saying that, Charlton?'

'I did a google on the sub-ethernet. Prubert was born in the Galactic Year 1400, right?'

'Yes. . . '

'And portrayed Vargo in the cla.s.sic Zap Daniel Zap Daniel, filmed in Galactic Year 1443. . . '

'Of course.'

'So how come he was guest of honour at ZapCon ZapCon in 1547?' in 1547?'

'What?'

'Doctor, wouldn't that make him a hundred and forty-seven?'

'But that's not all. Right! He also turned up at BuzzardFest Thirty-Eight BuzzardFest Thirty-Eight.

Ninety-one years later, in 1638.'

What?'

'Then, after another ninety-one years, there's An Audience with Vargo An Audience with Vargo. Then, a hundred and eight-two years later, he does Prubert Gastridge A Celebration Prubert Gastridge A Celebration.

Another ninety-one years, and he's guesting on Quark and Sun Quark and Sun.'

'Charlton, if what you're saying is true. . . '

'After that, he does some more conventions, a signing session for the re-release of the Pakafroon Wabster single. . . each one ninety-one years after 152 the last, almost to the day, right up until his last appearance in the Galactic Year 2366.'

'What is the current Galactic Year, Charlton?'

'2475. . . '

'Ninety-one years! It looks as though Prubert Gastridge is due for a revival.'

'Doctor, how can he still be alive, what, a thousand years after he was leading his eagle-people in an attack of the Imperial city of Mango?'

'Good question, Trix. Evidently the clue is in the fact that he's only appearing roughly once every century once every century. Charlton, do you have any of these holo-TV appearances on tape?'

'I have Prubert Gastridge A Tribute Prubert Gastridge A Tribute somewhere, I think.' somewhere, I think.'

'What did he look like?'

'Well, they've got him wearing the wings, the Viking helmet and the posing pouch, and he walks on and shouts, "What do you mean, Daniel's not dead?"

Bit demeaning, really.'

'No, I mean, how old old did he look.' did he look.'

'Sixty-ish.'

'As I thought. Charlton, I want you to get me a complete list of all planetary bodies with an orbital cycle of ninety-one years, all businesses offering cryogenic preservation facilities, I need to cross-reference '

'Don't think that'll be necessary, Doctor.'

'Why not?'

'I just looked him up in the phone book.'

'Charlton, you astonish me. . . do you think we can visit him?'

'Don't see why not.'

'Excellent! Trix, we're going to meet Vargo, king of the Buzzardmen!'