Doctor Who_ The Tomorrow Windows Part 17

Boring, I know. But if I lie back and close my eyes, I could get used to it.

My legs begin to tingle in the heat.

But it's not quite perfect. The wind has grown brisk. Sand is being whisked across the beach and bites into my skin.

92.'Zwee,' I say. I notice that Fitz's drinks table is about to be upended. It shakes, throwing off its drink, and flaps away. 'Can we have a little less wind?'

'The sheerest bliss to administer unto your desires, ma'am.' Zwee's two red-light eyes flash and he retrieves a remote control from one of his receptacles.

He points it at the horizon and clicks.

Nothing happens, so he lifts it higher and clicks again.

The wind falls and there is stillness.

Zwee trundles over to me and presents me with the remote control. 'This controls the weather,' he explains. 'Just point it at the horizon.'

'Like this?'

'A bit higher, ma'am,' coughs Zwee. 'Weak signal. The batteries are low.'

'Excuse me,' says Fitz. 'Another drink over here, please.'

Zwee turns. 'Certainly, sir. Few activities would afford me greater satisfaction.' He reaches into one of his compartments to collect a filled c.o.c.ktail gla.s.s, complete with loop-the-loop straw and umbrella.

'Thanks.' Fitz sups and lounges back.

'And for me,' adds Charlton. 'No cherry this time.'

'This place really is perfection,' says the Doctor.

'It is is Utopia, sir,' says Zwee as he shakes Charlton's c.o.c.ktail. Utopia, sir,' says Zwee as he shakes Charlton's c.o.c.ktail.

The Doctor seems uncomfortable. He pulls himself to his feet. 'Nice place for a holiday, but I wouldn't want to live here.'

As he speaks, I notice something odd. It's the acoustics. His voice sounds dead, almost as though we were indoors.

'Utopia. . . ' continues the Doctor. 'And this is a designer planet, you say?'

'Calculated to facilitate your every satisfaction, sir.'

'I see.' The Doctor pokes the remote control at the horizon. The sky turns a shade of deep orange, streaked with heavy, black clouds.

He flicks it again, and the sky becomes a gaudy shade of pink, then a sinister, soupy green. Then black, dotted with stars and ringed planets.

'Sorry,' says the Doctor, handing the remote control back to Zwee. 'How do you get it to change back?'

After delivering Charlton his drink, Zwee taps a finger on the remote, and we are back beneath a clear blue sky 'So anything can be changed?' said the Doctor.

'Within reason, yes, sir. The buoyancy afforded by the sea, for instance, will allow even the inexperienced swimmer '

'What temperature is the sea at?'

'A refres.h.i.+ng twenty degrees, sir. It can be altered, but bear in mind it can take several hours for changes to take effect.'

'Won't that annoy the sea life?'

'There is none, sir. The water is pure of all pollutants.'

93.The Doctor crouches and taps Zwee's head, as though he were a child. 'Life, Zwee, is not a pollutant.' He pats his knees, rises and squints out to sea. 'So no fis.h.i.+ng, then?'

'The ocean can be stocked with artificial marine life for sporting purposes, sir, graded at several levels of difficulty, from novice to '

'That won't be necessary.'

'Don't knock it, Doctor,' says Fitz, sipping. He's developing a fixed, dopey grin. 'I want. . . a sandcastle. Zwee, build me a sandcastle.'

'Nothing would give me more transcendent and life-affirming joy,' says Zwee. From another of his compartments he recovers a bucket and spade, and he trundles down to dig up some damp sand.

'Try not to take advantage,' mutters the Doctor. 'Or take anything else, for that matter. There might be a reckoning.'

Fitz laughs and drinks. I watch Zwee return from the beach to clump his first bucket-shape of sand at Fitz's feet. 'Did you have any particular castle in mind, sir? I was thinking European, medieval, something rococo '

'Surprise me, Zwee. Oh, and thanks for the shoes. . . '

Zwee gives a series of high-pitched beeps. 'Excuse me. I have a message for you, sirs and ma'am. It is from Mister Dittero Shandy. He wishes me to inform you that if you would care to join him in the auction suite, proceedings are due to commence.'

Fitz drags himself out of his chair. As the Doctor helps Charlton out of his chair he asks Zwee for directions.

'Insh.o.r.e, the grand hotel, you can't miss it. Straight up the steps. If you get lost, ask a Zwee.'

'Thanks.' The Doctor blocks my sun. 'Trix?'

'I'll be along in a minute.' I sip my drink. 'Just need to work on my tan.'

'Your tan?' says the Doctor. 'Well, be. . . careful. This place may not be everything it says in the brochure.'

It seemed somehow unfinished, thought Fitz. Like a movie set. The stone buildings were whitewashed, without a trace of damp or erosion. Shutters blanked out every window and every door had been painted a vivid colour letterbox red, navy blue, banana yellow.

The street wound narrowly uphill. The Doctor led the way, leaning into the incline. Charlton struggled himself upward, muttering between gasps.

They were alone, save for the Zwee robots. Like little motorised wheelie-bins, they b.u.mbled their way across the cobbles, spraying on extra coats of whitewash, or scrubbing doorsteps.

It was eerie although there was no one to be seen, the ambient noise kept on playing. So as they walked past the boarded-up shops and cafes, they could 94 hear muted laughter, the clink of gla.s.s, pealing bells and the snort of horses pulling juddering carts. After a few minutes the tape fell silent, only to begin again. It was like they were moving through a town of ghosts.

Catching his breath, Fitz looked back down over the bay. In the distance lay a harbour, enclosed by its breakwater, and beyond, a lighthouse. The pink roofs of the town continued into the distance, scattering themselves over rolling hills.

Soon they reached a pair of gates, opening on to a plush lawn, tended by Zwees and watered by roving fountains. Abstract sculptures littered the grounds like the forgotten executive toys of a giant silver baubles, springs and helixes. And in the middle, flanked by palms, a colonial palace baked lazily in the afternoon sun.

Every surface had been decorated. Statues gestured within every cranny and upon every balcony. It towered five storeys high, its summit a dome of twinkling gla.s.s.

A vast, ammonite-spiral staircase swirled them up into the main entrance.

The Doctor leading the way, they pa.s.sed through the regal entrance and into the cool, dark interior.

It was silent, save for their footsteps upon marble. Potted plants lent the hall an earthy smell. An unoccupied desk took up one wall, behind which lay compartments for post. Full-length mirrors filled the remaining s.p.a.ce, showing reflections of paintings that were not in the room itself.

Someone had stuck a paper sign on the wall with an arrow. Upon it had been felt-tipped: Auction Suite This Way The arrow directed them to a pair of high double doors. The Doctor shoved them aside. 'h.e.l.lo?'

The conference room was surprisingly frugal. Moulded plastic chairs surrounded a table. The table offered a variety of drinks, plastic folders and a slide projector, which projected an oblong on to the far wall.

They were all here. Nimbit slouched in his chair, dabbing at his monocle with his handkerchief. The two bronzed guards sat to one side, the cus.h.i.+on holding the small gla.s.s dome of the Fabulous Micron resting on the table before them. Vors.h.a.gg preferred to pace back and forth, its tail las.h.i.+ng from side to side. Poozle floated an inch above the table, his globules distending and bubbling and Question Intonation, the two furry, brown footb.a.l.l.s, bobbed above an empty chair.

' Magnificent Magnificent, we are all here, at last,' said Dittero Shandy, strolling into the room, clipboard clasped. He waved Fitz, the Doctor and Charlton into the three vacant chairs. The Doctor beamed and helped himself to a custard 95 cream.

'I trust we're all refreshed. . . ' Dittero continued, moving into the projector beam. 'Let me introduce myself. I'm Dittero Shandy. We are being delighted delighted by the by the radiant radiant company of the Fabulous Micron,' he indicated the cus.h.i.+on, company of the Fabulous Micron,' he indicated the cus.h.i.+on, 'Vors.h.a.gg, Poozle, Nimbit and,' he adopted a quizzical, surprised expression.

The Doctor nodded at each of the delegates as though they were old friends.

'And we have been joined by another bidder, Mr Fitz Kreiner, with his a.s.sistants '

'The Doctor,' said Fitz. 'And Charlton Mackerel.'

Dittero clasped his hands. ' Resplendent Resplendent. Now, we all know why we are here, so let's get straight on to business with no more beating-around-the-bushness. I represent the owner of the delightful property known as Valuensis ' He clicked a b.u.t.ton on a hand-held device and a slide clicked into place.

It showed an emerald sphere smothered in swirling white.

'Valuensis,' repeated Dittero. 'The property is, as you all know, in a highly desirable system, with good access for the hyperspatial ring-route, and represents a unique opportunity. It has recently been vacated by its previous tenants, and is in prime condition for. . . improvement. The level of background radiation is minimal, much of the mineral and fossil wealth lies unexploited, and,' he turned to Nimbit, 'I can guarantee that the Van Allen belts are in superb superb working order.' working order.'

The Doctor coughed. Dittero responded with raised eyebrows. 'Yes, Mr. . .

Doctor?'

'You said the previous tenants had vacated the property. . . would I be right in saying it's no longer under the protection of Galactic Heritage?'

'You presume accurately, Doctor.'

'Excellent. Don't want them sticking their oars in, eh?'

'The Foundation's influence only extends to those worlds with indigenous, sentient sentient life,' Dittero explained. 'While some vestigial life does remain on Valuensis, I can a.s.sure you that it does not fall within any conservation remit, and is, therefore, very much an optional feature.' life,' Dittero explained. 'While some vestigial life does remain on Valuensis, I can a.s.sure you that it does not fall within any conservation remit, and is, therefore, very much an optional feature.'

'An optional feature? What are the other options?'

'I was getting to that.' Dittero clucked in irritation. 'We have obtained the services, the exclusive services, I should add, of the galaxy's most renowned planetary terraformist. Whatever your desire, he shall make it reality. Every style, every taste is catered for. He is, in a word, an artist.'

Dittero exhaled as though awaiting applause. His speech had taken on a rapturous, rhythmic quality. Fitz feared he might burst into song.

'We can change the gravity, the poles, the atmospheric strata. We can change the geology, the tectonics, the composition of the mantle.'

96.As Dittero spoke, the projection changed to a purple-pink view of pyramids, the desert wobbling in the heat. They saw a lush, dribbling jungle. They saw a placid ocean, dotted with icebergs sculpted into the shapes of extremely voluptuous, and extremely naked, young women.

'We can move mountains and forge lakes. We can s.h.i.+ft the orbit, the axis, the tilt. We can change the length of days and years, the order of the seasons '

Smocked villagers scythed fields of wheat. Skysc.r.a.pers glinted. The puddles of a quarry sploshed. A flat world, its surface divided into a chessboard, was littered with spongelike boulders, each casting a square shadow.

'Anything is possible. The only limit is your imagination. . . and your credit rating.' Dittero laughed at his own joke.

'And we get to choose the colour scheme?' The Doctor rose to his feet and circled the table. The other delegates turned to watch him, Nimbit s.h.i.+fting in his chair with the effort. Vors.h.a.gg grunted, disgruntled. 'Something in burgundy, perhaps. Toulouse Lautrec-y. I do love gothic gothic, don't you?'

Dittero stared at the Doctor like a disappointed teacher. ' If If you had read the brochure, you would know that we offer a wide variety of colour schemes.' you had read the brochure, you would know that we offer a wide variety of colour schemes.'

'You have a chart?' said the Doctor. 'How delightfully mundane.'

'Mundane is an adjective seldom used to describe the work of Welwyn Borr,'

snapped Dittero. 'Seldom, in the sense of "never".' Dittero's eyes circled the room. ' If If we are all ready ' we are all ready '

'One more question,' said the Doctor.

'Yes?'

'This decorator who does up the planets. . . '

'He is no mere decorator decorator.'

'If I ask him nicely. . . would he put them back how he found them?'

The delegates s.h.i.+fted nervously. Nimbit's moustache bristled. Question Intonation backed away. Even Vors.h.a.gg stopped slavering.

'A "retro" approach,' mused Dittero. 'Not his milieu milieu, but he's nothing if not. . . flexible. Now. Shall we commence the bidding? Currency is Arcturan ultra-pods, Glissian roubles or Warrien milli-francs. All major credit cards accepted.'

The Doctor returned to his chair and enjoyed another custard cream. He then offered the plate to Fitz, Charlton and Poozle.

Dittero retrieved a gavel from his jacket pocket. 'Let us start at one million ultra-pods. Do I hear one million?'

Fitz looked at Vors.h.a.gg. Vors.h.a.gg's lizard eyes stared back, displeased. Fitz turned to Nimbit, who peered through his monocle at Question Intonation.

Question Intonation drifted upwards, as though embarra.s.sed. One of Micron's legionaries held a finger to his ear, but shook his head.

97.'This is a highly desirable world! No?' Dittero sighed. 'Do I hear half a million Arcturan ultra-pods? Half a million?'

An uncomfortable silence hung over the table.

The Doctor raised one hand. 'Half a million.'

The first I hear of them is a voice carried along the breeze. Then it gets lost among the birdsong and slap of the sea.

I lift my sungla.s.ses. Zwee is putting the finis.h.i.+ng touches to his castle. It features a dozen turrets, a drawbridge and moat. All it's missing is a Sleeping Beauty.