Doctor Who_ The Tomorrow Windows Part 38

'When in doubt, shout,' said Prubert. 'We could do some vocal exercises.'

'If you think so. . . ' said the Doctor.

'After me,' Prubert thrust out his chest, raised one arm and bawled at a deafening volume, 'Buzzardmen attack!'

Charlton stumbled backwards in shock, tripping over some cables. He b.u.mped into the person standing behind him. 'Watch where you're falling, Charlton mate,' said a familiar voice.

Fitz emerged nonchalantly from the shadows.

'Fitz!' The Doctor gripped him by the shoulders. 'What are you doing here?'

'I could ask you the same question,' said Fitz, opening up his jacket to reveal a T-s.h.i.+rt with the Doctor's face on it, together with the words I'm Voting For I'm Voting For The Doctor The Doctor.

'I'm glad I can count on your support,' said the Doctor, smiling.

'The Doctor's not doing too well in the polls,' Trix explained.

'Nought point four per cent,' added Charlton by way of clarification.

'Yes, well. . . ' said the Doctor, 'I'm hoping for a last minute surge. Five minutes is a long time, in politics.'

'Right.' Fitz frowned at Prubert. 'Haven't I seen you before somewhere?'

Prubert cleared his throat. 'You may be aware of my work. . . Vargo? Hook?'

'No, that's not it,' said Fitz, and then he realised. 'Hang on. Raise your arm for me, like you're pointing into the distance '

Prubert outstretched his arm and pointed.

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l,' exclaimed Fitz, taking a step back. 'It's you you, isn't it?'

The Doctor nodded. 'It's a small universe.'

From the other side of the part.i.tion someone shouted for hush. The studio sank into an antic.i.p.atory darkness.

'This takes me back,' whispered Prubert, putting his arm around Trix. 'I did this show once with a little talking fox '

His anecdote was cut short as the studio dawned.

Charlton peered around the edge of the curtain. The presenter sat in the middle of the presentation console, reading the words that slid up the camera he was addressing. 'Welcome to the second presidential debate. I'm Pax Hummellium.' Having seen him on the hologram, Charlton thought the presenter looked oddly proportioned. His head was too big for his body. 'In the studio 197 we have all of the presidential candidates including the surprise last-minute candidate, the mysterious Doctor. . . '

The Doctor stepped out into the light. The audience applauded and he basked. Holo-cameras glided to follow him as he strolled over to the chair between Jarkle and Dreylon. The two politicians slow-clapped as he sat.

'And if we can have our first question. . . yes, sir.' Pax indicated a man in the audience. The cameras swung towards him.

The man brushed his corduroy jacket and pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. 'I'd like to know,' said Brimble, 'regarding the moon. . . '

The audience sighed in disappointment. Pax sucked in air. '. . . yes. I think we've already covered that question. . . '

The Doctor leaned into his microphone. 'I'd like to answer that question, if I may?'

Pax reluctantly acquiesced.

The Doctor acknowledged the audience with a grin. 'h.e.l.lo. . . voters of Minuea. We've already heard the policies of my right honourable friends Winkitt and Pewt. . . who were, as they are on so many things, in complete agreement.

It's a tribute to their skill as politicians that they still manage to disagree, even when they have the same policies!'

The audience gasped in astonishment. Even Pax raised a sardonic eyebrow.

'It's understandable,' continued the Doctor, 'after all, they're trying to appeal to the same const.i.tuency but it seems to me, it rather misses the point of holding elections.'

Another astonished gasp. Dreylon and Jarkle leaned back into their chairs, arms folded.

'You see, democracy is only as meaningful as the choice it offers. Deciding between two identical candidates is no choice at all. Six of one, half a dozen of the other. Tweedledum and Tweedledee. "Anything you can do, I can do better and I can do anything better than you."'

'I'm here to give you a genuine choice.' The Doctor rose from his seat and strode across the studio floor. 'Your world will collide with its moon in just over twenty years' time. That may seem a long way off, but it's not. You may be retired, your children will have become adults, had children of their own but all of you, watching this, are going to die.'

The Doctor paused. 'I think that would be a shame. It's a particular shame because, right now, you can do something about it. Professor Wantige's plan is daring, inventive, and feasible feasible. However, for it to have a chance of success, you have to get back to work on it. Today Today.'

'I'm not promising you it'll be easy. The next few years will be tough, but you can do it, if you want to. You see, I think the politicians have underes-timated you. You're brave, indomitable, you can can pull together for a common 198 pull together for a common 198 good. And, two decades from now, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing your planet is safe, and that you you were the ones who saved it. And you will enjoy one of the most spectacular firework displays in the galaxy.' were the ones who saved it. And you will enjoy one of the most spectacular firework displays in the galaxy.'

The audience gave an 'aah', as though a game-show hostess had caressed a was.h.i.+ng machine.

'Or you can vote against the rocket,' said the Doctor. 'The choice is yours.

He walked over to the six-foot-high pane of gla.s.s that had been erected at the rear of the set. 'Of course, I don't expect you to take my word for it. It is, after all, only an opinion opinion. But, before I finish, I want to show you something.'

The Doctor reached down and pressed the switch on the side of the Tomorrow Window. The gla.s.s clouded, becoming a drifting blur. The Doctor beckoned the cameras forward.

'This,' he said, 'is a Tomorrow Window. It's like a. . . television set that shows you the future. Using this window, I could find out the winning lottery numbers for the next hundred years. . . '

The audience laughed apprehensively.

'I can also find out what Minuea will be like in thirty years' time.'

The Doctor stepped back, and the Tomorrow Window cleared to reveal a nightmare of black, satanic crags. Rivers of lava slithered like fat snakes. The sky was pregnant with swollen clouds of ash. It flashed with lightning.

'This is not a recording,' the Doctor explains. 'This is what will will happen, if you don't vote in favour of the rocket. happen, if you don't vote in favour of the rocket.

The image panned to the right, revealing the ruins of a city. Fire licked at hollowed-out hover-cars. Flames raged against the storm.

And there were figures, like buckled sculptures. Rags fluttered from their skeletal forms. Their skin was a shrivelled, charred coating of tar. Skulls stared out from empty sockets, their jaws agape.

'So be it,' said the Doctor. 'The Tomorrow Window is a perfectly accurate gauge of public opinion. . . ' He turned to Jarkle and Dreylon. It seems one of you will win the election. My congratulations congratulations. Politicians, always on the fiddle while Rome burns '

'The people are not as. . .

gullible as you think, Doctor,' sneered Jarkle Winkitt. It will take more than some. . . stock footage stock footage to sway public opinion.' to sway public opinion.'

'The people prefer to vote for policies based on the here and now here and now,' said Dreylon Pewt. 'They are not intimidated by your doom-mongering.'

'I'm in agreement with Dreylon on this,' said Jarkle. 'What people care about is the money in their pocket and public services. They're not interested in what may or not happen in the future future.'

The image s.h.i.+fted. It seemed indecisive. For a moment it cleared to reveal the main street of the town, with its narrow, colourful facades and a bustling carnival.

199.

'h.e.l.lo,' said the Doctor. 'What's this? Some doubt? Some uncertainty uncertainty?'

'More trickery,' said Jarkle. 'You're just showing people what you want them to see.'

The window returned to the smoking, crumbling corpses.

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. No, I have no control over what's shown here. What we're seeing is the future future. And the more persuasive you are, the more likely it is there won't be be one.' The Doctor turned to the camera. 'People of Minuea. The future isn't some great. . . unknowable thing, it's forged in the one.' The Doctor turned to the camera. 'People of Minuea. The future isn't some great. . . unknowable thing, it's forged in the here and now here and now. This is your chance. Tell your leaders that you care about what's going to happen to you.'

The Doctor indicated the Tomorrow Window, and the smoking volcanoes.

'See the future that Jarkle and Dreylon are offering you. Look into the future, and make it the one you you want it to be.' want it to be.'

The window blurred. The image of the carnival returned briefly, then disappeared into the smoke and soot.

'That's it!' said the Doctor. 'Ask yourselves. . .

how can you make that picture change? How can you make it show what you you want to see?' want to see?'

The picture swam again, before focusing upon the carnival. Majorettes stomped and twirled and looked joyously up to the clear blue sky, with not a cloud, or a moon, in sight.

The Doctor gazed into the window and smiled.

'It appears there has been a swing in my direction,' he observed before turning to face the audience. 'The Tomorrow Window predicts that I'll win the election. . . and your world will flourish.'

There was a cough from Dreylon Pewt. The Doctor turned to him, 'Yes?'

'I would like to give my personal a.s.surance,' said Dreylon, 'that if I were to be elected president, I would also also give the instruction for work on the missile to recommence. No expense will be spared, all resources will be allocated. . . ' give the instruction for work on the missile to recommence. No expense will be spared, all resources will be allocated. . . '

The Doctor looked at Jarkle Winkitt. 'What about you?'

'If reelected: said Jarkle, 'I would also give the instruction for the work on the rocket to recommence. And I make that my personal pledge. I guarantee that I will make it my number one priority.'

The audience cheered and applauded. The Doctor lifted his palms to indicate hush.

'It seems that, now both my opponents have. . . adopted adopted my policies, there's no need for me to stand. I therefore wish to withdraw my application.' He gave a short bow. 'Goodnight.' my policies, there's no need for me to stand. I therefore wish to withdraw my application.' He gave a short bow. 'Goodnight.'

'Good luck with the rocket, Wantige,' says the Doctor, shaking his hand.

'Thanks again,' says Wantige, releasing his grip on the Doctor's hand. He quivers with excitement, his eyes gleaming, his cheeks s.h.i.+ning. He has the 200 gobsmacked expression of someone who can't believe their luck. He takes Prubert's hand, and Charlton's, and Fitz's, even though he's never met him before. Then he kisses me on the cheek before backing towards the studio door.

'Well, no time to waste. Back to work! Missiles don't build themselves. . . ' He nods to himself, pats his pockets, and hurries away.

'You did it!' says Charlton, a smile exploding across his face. Tears sparkle in his eyes.

The Doctor shakes his head. 'No. You did it, Charlton.'

'I did?'

'It was your plan.'

'It was?'

'Charlton, the Tomorrow Window worked worked. It was the window that persuaded them, not me. It showed them the error of their ways! It '

'"Delivered them from folly"!' proclaims Charlton.

I slide on to the presenter's console. The studio has been cleared, so I'm facing terraces of empty moulded plastic chairs. Close up, the set is surprisingly tatty. The seats are held together with gaffer tape.

'And if Minuea can be saved. . . ' begins the Doctor delightedly.

'. . . every world that was visited by Prubert,' continues Charlton. 'Every one on the Galactic Heritage list, every world blighted by a selfish meme. . . '

Prubert has been listening. 'They can all be saved?' he asks, his hopes lifting.

'No. No, not all,' replies the Doctor. 'For some it is already too late, but for those planets that still have a chance. . . The Tomorrow Windows will show them the way and where there's a way, there's a will. You can't undo the past but you can give them the future the future.

Charlton rubbed his hands together. 'So that's that, then. We've won!'

'No. No, not until we've discovered who is behind this.' The Doctor looks at me curiously. 'They may have some more tricks up their sleeve.'

'What are you looking at me for me?' I ask.

The Doctor turns away. 'I thought. . . ' he trails off. 'Well, there is one odd thing. All this time, Trix, and you've never explained to us how you ended up on Shardybarn. I can't for the life of me work out how you managed it.'

Fitz gives me a wary look. 'Yeah. Last we knew, you were at Tate Modern. . .

We thought you were dead, Trix '

Looking at the Doctor and Fitz, I feel myself blus.h.i.+ng with anger.

I could tell them everything about Martin. About going back to his bed-sit, how he'd been the one responsible for the exploding Ken Livingstone.

About how he hadn't cared when the people of Shardybarn blew themselves to pieces.

But why should I tell them? What are they accusing me of?

201.

I'm Beatrix MacMillan. I'm the Grand d.u.c.h.ess. I'm Crystal Devine. I'm Aunt Beatrice, Triksie, Nat, Mac and a hundred others. But they don't know me, not the real me, the underneath underneath me. They only know this Trix person, this person I'm pretending to be. This part I'm playing. me. They only know this Trix person, this person I'm pretending to be. This part I'm playing.

I don't have to explain myself. Why should I give a piece of myself away?