Doctor Who_ The Tomorrow Windows Part 8

Martin shushes me with alarm. 'Don't say that, Trixie Trix,' he whispers.

'On Shardybarn, scepticism is a capital offence.'

'We live our lives in concord with the stars.' Grigbsy raises his eyes to the heavens, or rather, the ceiling. 'It is regrettable that some are disadvantaged, but our lives are predetermined by our birthdates.' He smiles a thin, humour-less smile. 'Those of us born on descension day become Low Priests.'

'And the fingers,' I ask. 'What about the fingers?'

'Why do we remove them, you mean?' The question amuses Grigbsy. 'Because only G.o.d is perfect. And just to make absolutely sure there can be no misunderstanding on that issue, we deliberately render ourselves imperfect.'

'But that's. . . ' I can't express my revulsion, '. . . barbaric.'

'It's their custom,' whispers Martin. 'You should respect their indigenous customs. . . '

'Sod their indigenous customs!'

Grigbsy swallows some silence before speaking. 'It is a simple procedure, and rarely fatal. We are not savages we use special pliers. Two fingers are a small price to pay to enter the empire of heaven.'

'Look at you! You're starving to death, your city's falling to bits. . . and you murder and mutilate your children. Can't you see what you're doing is wrong?'

'It would not be a sacrifice if it did not beget hards.h.i.+p. The greater the hards.h.i.+p is, the more justifiable the sacrifice. Besides,' Grigbsy adds, 'there will always be more children. We have developed artificial fertilisation.'

'Artificial?'

'The menfolk of our world are only. . . potent for a few days every five years. We like to think it makes us more pious.'

I consider making a comment about them working out their s.e.xual frustra-tions, but think better of it. Martin giggles again.

Without another word being spoken, we ascend another set of stairs. I can't forget what I've seen, but I can restrain my anger. Sometimes I'm furious with Grigbsy, sometimes with this whole world.

We emerge into a high-ceilinged hall, b.u.t.tressed by trunks of marble. At the far end of the hall stand a pair of double doors, defended by two surly-faced monks.

After exchanging some hurried mutters with the monks, Grigbsy returns to speak to Martin and me. 'I'm afraid Low Priest Jadrack is busy right now. He has been submitting himself to an intense programme of self-abuse, plus it seems there are some prisoners due for interrogation, and of course there is 46 the apocalypse to bring about. However, he says he will try to fit you in as soon as possible.'

'That would be smas.h.i.+ng,' says Martin.

Grigbsy's smile tightens. 'If you could please linger in the vestibule. . . '

We are directed to a bare room to one side of the double doors. Lavender sack-cloth robes hang along one wall. There is another door, presumably leading into Jadrack's chamber, from which is emanating an energetic hammering sound and a series of yelps, gasps and groans.

'You must excuse me, I have a congregation to berate.' Grigbsy bows and closes the door behind him. Martin takes a place on the low bench, patting the s.p.a.ce beside him.

'We can talk about it,' he says. 'I'm sure if you listen. . . '

I can't bear to talk to him. Instead, I open the door and peer back into the chamber.

Three cowled figures bearing machine guns escort in the prisoners.

The prisoners are the Doctor and Fitz, and the man from the brochure, Charlton Mackerel.

'Low Priest Jadrack will see you now.' The large double doors swung open of their own accord as Fitz, the Doctor and Charlton approached. Their captors followed.

Fitz had expected a grand chamber, draped in curtains, with flaming braziers.

Instead there was near-darkness and a naked, skinny man in his eighties who was beating himself about the head with a short plank of wood.

'Won't. Be. A.Minute,' gasped the skinny man between thwacks. 'Haven't.

Quite. Finished!' His cheeks were raw and bruised. His bones were so devoid of flesh that he had the appearance of a medical diagram.

The Doctor moved to help, but a prod of a rifle advised him against it.

The skinny man bashed himself on either side of the skull with such force Fitz was worried he would knock himself out. Then he halted, panting but cheerful, and padded over to a basin and splashed himself. 'Give me a second.'

As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, Fitz could make out a foul-looking mattress and a table. A squat metal box hummed to itself in the centre of the floor. Beneath its blank screen ran a series of clunky k.n.o.bs and switches. A cable slithered to a socket in the wall.

Something about the box worried the Doctor. Fitz noticed that he couldn't take his eyes off it.

'Would you like something to eat?' The skinny man scrubbed himself down with a towel and wound it around his waist. As he did, Fitz realised that while their guards had been missing their little fingers, this man had had all of his 47 fingers removed, save for his thumbs and index fingers. It made his hands look like claws.

'Sorry?' said Fitz.

'Something to eat?'

'Yes,' said the Doctor. 'That would be delightful. I'm the Doctor. Low Priest Jadrack, is it?' He offered the priest a handshake.

The man refused, opting instead to slap his cheeks. 'Please, do come in, come in!' He waved to one of the guards with his two-fingered hand. 'Grunt soup, if you will.'

Fitz didn't like the sound of that. 'Soup made out of. . . Grunt?'

'Ah, here we are. Lovely!' said Jadrack as a cowled guard brought in four bowls of steaming, milky soup. Jadrack handed them out. 'Nothing quite like it, is there?' He then upturned his bowl, pouring its contents over the floor.

'You don't want us to. . . drink it?' sputtered Fitz.

'You don't drink drink it,' admonished Jadrack. 'That would be sacrilege! None may sup the sacred soup of the Grunt!' it,' admonished Jadrack. 'That would be sacrilege! None may sup the sacred soup of the Grunt!'

Fitz was even more confused. The Doctor held his bowl out before him and, as Jadrack had done, emptied its contents on to the floor. Charlton followed suit, and Fitz, feeling ridiculous, let his soup slop away.

'Grunt soup was the favoured dish of the great prophet Moop,' explained Jadrack. 'So we declared it sacred and, therefore, forbidden.'

'Shame,' said Fitz. 'It comes so highly recommended.'

Jadrack stepped aside to allow in a guard with a mop. 'The only slight problem is that, before G.o.d turned up, Grunt was pretty much our staple diet.'

'You must have other things to eat,' said the Doctor.

'Oh, yes.

Weeds, moss, crowflies.

And besides, self-denial feeds the soul.' Jadrack paused for contemplation. 'Not for a thousand years have we savoured Grunt soup. One can scarcely wonder at its flavour. . . '

'What happened a thousand years ago?' the Doctor asked. 'You say G.o.d. . .

turned up? That's quite. . . remarkable.'

'I'm supposed to be interrogating you,' snapped Jadrack, but then softened.

'However, it is such such a good story. . . and it will be to your edification, I am sure. I do so like to edify.' a good story. . . and it will be to your edification, I am sure. I do so like to edify.'

'Please do.'

Jadrack took a deep breath. 'Moop, of course, was not always a great prophet. Before G.o.d arrived, no one even knew what a great prophet was was.

Moop was a humble Grunt herder, son of Droon the Grunt herder, son of Prad-dle the Grunt herder, son of Larbgroodle. . . I'll abridge. One day, G.o.d arrived upon a throne of s.h.i.+mmering green or blue, gospels differ and commanded that we wors.h.i.+p him. In return, he promised that he would return and save us.'

48.'And he. . . hasn't come back?' said the Doctor, smiling.

'Not yet. Between you and me, we're pretty tired of waiting. All this time we've been wors.h.i.+pping him, and living according to the stars. . . and nothing.

While our belief has never wavered, we are. . . impatient.'

'Understandable,' said Fitz.

'Which is when I had an idea. G.o.d said he would return and save us, so I thought, "Jadrack, how can I get him to come back now?" What was needed, I realised, was there to be something for G.o.d to save us from from! A situation where his divine intervention was required! Then he would have have to come back, wouldn't he?' to come back, wouldn't he?'

'Your logic is impeccable.' The Doctor leant against the door arch and gave a 'please continue' gesture.

'And so I had the science deacons build this.' Jadrack indicated the humming metal box. 'Do you know what it does?'

'I think you're going to confirm my very nasty suspicions. . . '

'This,' Jadrack announced, 'begins a countdown of one hour in duration. It has been specially designed so that when that countdown has been started, it cannot be stopped. After that hour, it will send an electric pulse down this wire,' he pointed to the cable, 'to the bombs which are situated across this planet's surface. I believe you were captured in one of my bomb shrines.'

The Doctor, Fitz couldn't help but notice, was no longer smiling.

Jadrack continued. 'They have been positioned so that if they detonate, there will not be a single living thing left alive.'

'I notice you say "if". Not "when",' said the Doctor.

'Ah. That is because, you see, G.o.d will step in and prevent prevent the bombs from exploding!' the bombs from exploding!'

'You're creating an "only G.o.d can save us now" situation?'

'You have a gift for precis precis, Doctor. Yes. So what do you think?'

'He's stark staring bonkers,' Fitz whispered to the Doctor.

'I know, Fitz,' whispered the Doctor. 'Unfortunately, on this planet, that's relatively sane.' He turned back to Jadrack. 'I can only spot one snag. What if, for some reason, G.o.d doesn't doesn't turn up?' turn up?'

'But he will,' said Jadrack with utter conviction.

The Doctor shook his head. 'What if. . . what if he judges that you are not worthy?'

'Then we shall die for our sins.'

'What if he's busy?'

'G.o.d has excellent time-management skills.'

'What if,' Fitz interrupted, 'G.o.d doesn't actually b.l.o.o.d.y exist?'

Jadrack looked mortified. 'But he does!'

49.'You're taking a ma.s.sive gamble!' Fitz laughed in exasperation. 'You might blow yourselves up for no reason!'

'Then,' said Jadrack, 'we would be better off dead than living in a G.o.dless universe. However, I do not doubt G.o.d for one instant. I have complete confidence in his reliability.'

'And you intend to prove it?'

'It will be the ultimate expression of faith! To say to G.o.d, "we are prepared to martyr our world in your name". How can he possibly resist?'

'What if,' said Fitz, 'he's a non-interventionist G.o.d?'

'Non-interventionist G.o.ds don't tend to turn up on thrones of green or blue and spake unto shepherds, do they?' Jadrack folded his arms.

'No, I suppose not,' admitted Fitz.

'Right. . .

If you will allow me.' Charlton extracted the mini-Tomorrow Window from the confines of his jacket and presented it to Jadrack.

'What is this?' The scrawny man peered at the gla.s.s doubtfully. 'A gift?'

'It's a special. . . window, your high your lowness,' explained Charlton. 'It allows you to see into the future.'

Jadrack examined it. Frowning, he turned it upside down.

'It shows,' continued Charlton, 'that Shardybarn will very soon be reduced to a radioactive wilderness. Please, your lowness, reconsider before it's too late.'

Jadrack hurled the Window to the corner of the room, shattering it. 'No!

No! That's not true! G.o.d will save us. . . ' His features twisted into a sneer of rage. 'It's as I thought. . . you have been sent to test my faith! You think you can tempt me away from the true course. . . you are devils!'

'Said your plan was rubbish,' muttered Fitz to Charlton.

'Guards, kill them!' yelled Jadrack. The guards clicked the safety-catches of their rifles and raised them. 'No, wait! I have a. . . better idea. Lock them up.

G.o.d will deal with them later!' His body shaking with anger, Jadrack crouched down beside his electronic box and began to flick the switches. will deal with them later!' His body shaking with anger, Jadrack crouched down beside his electronic box and began to flick the switches.