by Doctor Who
‘What are you doing exactly?’ interjected Jack.
‘Trying to find Static.’ Catching Jack’s raised eyebrow, Domnic clarified, ‘With a capital S. It’s a TV station – a pirate station – run by this guy called Hal Gryden. I was telling Rose about it. It broadcasts on 29
different frequencies, at different times of the day. The cops would find it otherwise, you see, and they’d close it down, because it’s making people think and that’s the last thing they want. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of it. Everyone’s talking about it.’
‘We’ve been out of town,’ said Jack.
Domnic looked at him strangely. ‘There is no “out of town”.’
Rose thought she’d better fill Jack in on what he’d missed. ‘The Doctor was right,’ she said. ‘Fiction is against the law here. You can’t even tell a lie or they send you to a. . . a. . . what d’you call it?’
‘A Home for the Cognitively Disconnected,’ Domnic supplied. ‘We call it – the main one – we call it the Big White House.’
‘So be careful, you,’ Rose teased Jack. ‘None of your tall tales.’
‘Dunno what you mean.’ He affected a hurt expression as he pulled on his jeans. ‘I have never spoken anything but the unvarnished truth in my whole life.’
‘Yeah? Tell Domnic the one about the armoured walking sharks and the tin opener, see if he believes you. Go on!’
Domnic turned off the TV set with a disappointed sigh. ‘Must be off-air.’
‘What’s so special about this Static channel anyway?’ asked Jack.
‘It’s different, that’s all. Do you know what the highest-rated show was on the official channels last month? That one about the accoun-tants – you know, where they get kicked out of the firm one by one if they can’t balance the books. It was real. It was dull! But Static. . . On Static there are drama plays like they made in the olden days, comedies to make you laugh and forget your problems, serials that leave you wondering what happens next.’
‘Fiction,’ Jack summarised.
Domnic’s expression darkened. ‘But there’s fact in it too. Hal Gryden tells us how things are – how they really are – and how we can make them better. He opens our eyes, makes us look at the world in a different way.’
‘Sounds like this Gryden guy’s doing our job for us,’ said Jack.
‘You know the Doctor,’ said Rose. ‘He’ll still want to be in the thick of things.’
30
‘Guessing he is already. What I wanna know is how this happened
– who told these people to stop dreaming, and why they listened.’
‘They say it’s dangerous to dream,’ said Domnic, ‘but it’s exciting too. When I’m reading – or especially when I’m writing – it’s like I can. . . ’ He struggled for the words. ‘Like I’m living somewhere else, in a world where anything is possible. The characters, the monsters, the situations, they all seem real. And, yeah, I guess that’s. . . I mean, sometimes I feel as if I could get pulled into that world, and that scares me. But it’s worth it because. . . because when I’m there, it feels like that other world is in colour, and when I come back to this one, it’s all black and white.’
Domnic blinked and suddenly looked at Rose and Jack as if he had said too much.
‘Any idea where we find this Hal Gryden?’ asked Jack.
‘Why?’
‘Like I said, we’re on the same wavelength – only Gryden seems to be set up to do some real good.’
Domnic shrugged. ‘No one knows. They say he was a businessman once, really successful – had four cars and a luxury apartment in Sector One-Alpha, the works. But he’s had to go into hiding. If the cops caught up with him, he’d spend the rest of his life in the Big White House.’
‘He must have a studio,’ said Rose.
‘Dozens of them. They say he used his fortune to build studios all over the city. He never broadcasts from the same place two days running. I wish I could find him. I dream of being able to write for him, having my stories seen by millions. Can you imagine that? I used to think. . . No, no, it’s silly. . . ’
‘Go on,’ said Rose encouragingly.
‘I thought, maybe, through the reading group. . . There were only a few of us, but I thought, some day, if one of my stories could get back to him somehow. . . I just. . . I want to do something more, you know, worthwhile than. . . than calling up people on the vidphone to sell them windows.’
‘You’re a salesman?’ Jack piped up. ‘Hey, that needs imagination 31
too. Best way to close a deal is to spin your customer a good story.’
He turned to Rose with a grin. ‘Did I tell you about the time I was out of fuel in the Ataline System? All I had was a traffic cone I’d picked up on a night out. I had to persuade this old prospector it was worth the price of a bag of caesium rocks. I told him it was the crown of –’
Domnic looked at him sharply. ‘What are you trying to say? We don’t lie to the customers. We wouldn’t be. . . I mean, we just don’t!
We tell them about the product, what it can do, that’s all.’
‘He didn’t mean anything by it,’ said Rose, puzzled by the sudden change of mood.
‘Look, I. . . I. . . Just forget everything I said. It was only thoughts, that’s all. I’m not a writer. I don’t know where those things, those stories, came from. I just. . . I found them. Outside. I was confused for a while, but I feel better now.’ He had got to his feet and was edging towards the door as he spoke.
Rose stood too and got in his way. ‘C’mon, what about that stuff you were saying? Worlds in colour and writing for TV and all that?
Now suddenly that doesn’t matter any more? I know it does, Domnic.’
‘It’s all this. . . this talk of armoured sharks and crowns and. . . and schools where you read fiction. I think you’re. . . If you want to know, I think you’re both far gone. Fantasy crazy. I think you should see a. . . ’
‘Y’know,’ said Rose, ‘real life doesn’t have to be in black and white.
A friend of mine taught me that. You should meet him.’
‘. . . doctor.’
‘Eh? How did you –’
‘You mentioned a. . . ’ Domnic’s eyes widened with fright and he backed away from Rose as far as he could in their cramped confines.
‘Is that why you’re asking me all these questions? You’re police, aren’t you? You. . . you’re working with the doctors at the Big White House, and you’re trying to trick me, pretending to be sympathetic.’
Jack looked scandalised. ‘Everywhere I go today, people are calling me a liar.’
‘Just today?’ teased Rose.
Then Domnic made a run for the door – and, when Rose stopped 32
him again, he let out a wail of frustration and snatched the nearest object to hand, which was a grotty old kettle. ‘Let me past! Let me go or I’ll brain you, I swear I will!’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Rose, trying to sound calm, holding her hands out in front of her in a steadying gesture. She wasn’t altogether sure of her ground, but the kettle was empty and it didn’t look heavy, and she doubted that Domnic was all that strong. If he did attack her, she could defend herself.
Jack came up behind Domnic and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Cool it, fella,’ he said firmly. ‘No one’s lying to you, and no one’s trying to –’
He never finished the sentence. Domnic pushed past him, taking him by surprise with a strength born of desperation. Before Rose or Jack could react, he was at the window, wrenching it open. The room was filled with the noise of traffic and the curtains danced in a soft wind. ‘I won’t go to that place!’ vowed Domnic. ‘I’ve heard what they do to you there, how they. . . how they burn out parts of your brain, so you can’t think at all. Well, I’d rather die!’
Rose’s heart leaped as she realised what he was going to do. She took a step back, groping for the words that would reassure him, convince him that they meant him no har
m.
But Domnic had one foot over the ledge and Jack was hurtling across the room, realising that there was no time for words, and all Rose could think was that they were sixty floors up and no one could survive a drop like that.
Jack lunged towards Domnic, but his arms closed on thin air. He turned back to Rose, his ashen face telling the story.
The colours of the TV screen outside flickered in the empty square behind him.
Domnic had jumped.
33
It was easy enough to pinpoint the source of the disturbance.
There were lights in the first-floor windows of an office block and people popping out of the entrance doors below: men in identical black dinner jackets and women in identical white cocktail dresses.
Some of them were hysterical.
Caught up in the chase, Inspector Waller hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings until now. She hadn’t realised she was at the edge of the financial district, one of the more affluent sectors. Its buildings looked the same as all others from the outside.
The rich people were partying – and if the lights were still shining at this time of the morning, it must have been a good one.
She braked, feeling her bike’s centre of gravity shift as the Doctor leaped from the back seat before they had reached a full stop. He flung his helmet aside and placed himself obdurately in the way of the runners.
‘He’s in the ballroom,’ they jabbered over the clamour of the traffic and the alarm bell. ‘He has a –’
‘– knife –’
‘– a gun –’
35
‘– a satellite in orbit with death rays programmed to wipe out this sector –’
‘– wearing an iron mask –’
‘– rays shooting out of his eyes –’
‘– wants to take over the –’
‘– entire bank –’
‘– universe –’
‘– the title of Mr Cosmic Champion of the World –’
Waller grabbed the Doctor’s arm and pulled him away from them.
‘No point talking to them. They’ve had a shock. They’re delusional.’
Some of the revellers were scrambling over the hoods of stalled cars in their attempts to get as far away as they could. Some drivers abandoned their vehicles to flee alongside them on foot, caught up in the panic.
Waller and the Doctor raced into the building. Immediately, the traffic sounds were calmed. They were surrounded by marble, lush jungle plants and soft lighting. A fountain gurgled in a soothing rhythm, but the alarm bell was still ringing, like a drill in Waller’s head.
A dinner-jacketed man with a weasel face skidded up to her. He was holding a banana like a gun. ‘About time you got here,’ he panted. ‘I got the perps pinned down on the first floor – they crashed a dinner dance for the Sector One Bank, but they didn’t count on my being here. I’ve got ten men round the back and four more ready to come through the windows at my –’
She gave him a backhand slap, which sent him reeling.
‘Feel better now, do you?’ asked the Doctor.
‘He’ll thank me in the morning. You’d best stay here.’ Waller attacked a flight of stairs that swept up to what had to be the ballroom entrance. ‘This could be serious and I can’t be responsible for your sanity.’
The Doctor didn’t argue. He just ignored her.
They barrelled through the doors, raising a collective gasp from the crowd inside. Waller had her gun drawn and was scanning a sea of black and white, looking for a tell-tale splash of colour. It wasn’t hard to find.
36
He was standing on a table in the centre of the room, apparently oblivious to the fact that he had one foot in a bowl of trifle. A middle-aged man, overweight and red-cheeked, his hair dark and greasy. He was brandishing a small black control device, and at the sight of the new arrivals he waved it petulantly and warned, ‘Not a step closer.
Don’t you come a step closer or I’ll blow this place sky high!’
‘That’s what you get for barging in without looking,’ said the Doctor, and Waller was alarmed to see that he was grinning like a loon. ‘I do it all the time.’
She felt ice in her stomach. This had gone beyond a few lies. This was what Inspector Waller had long feared but tried not to imagine.
How many times had she said to Steel that something like this was coming? How many times had he agreed with her? Such foreknowl-edge gave her no comfort now, though.
It was her job to evaluate this new threat, to consider the worst-case scenario. But she had encountered nothing like this before and all the possible futures from this point on felt like fiction to her.
Whenever she thought about it – as her mind edged towards that dangerous area – the whole world seemed to explode into flame, and Waller could smell smoke and hear the screams of the burning, and that damned itch was flaring up in the back of her brain until she wanted to tear open her skull to get at it.
Eyes closed. Breathe deeply. Hold it together. You’ve come too far to let it all fall apart again.
She was only dimly aware that the fat geek was talking. His tone was petulant but edgy, his head jerking around as he tried to keep the whole room in sight at once. ‘OK, no one else comes in and no one else leaves. I mean it. Anyone goes near a door, you’ll be sorry. Now, everyone on the floor! Go on, down! You have to do as I say, or I’ll blow you all up. I will!’
There were about forty hostages, Waller reckoned. Forty lives at stake, not to mention the property damage. Maybe not only to this building; maybe to the entire block. And the cars outside and anyone still in the surrounding office buildings and. . . and. . . Her brain was itching, buzzing, and she couldn’t think about it.
37
‘Yeah, yeah, go on. That’s it, down on the floor. Down in the dirt.
Grovel to me! Grovel, like I had to grovel to you all these years!
And you – you get that head down, Jankins, before I remember how you got that promotion by taking the credit for my work. And Miss Lieberwitz – I saw what you wrote about me, don’t think I didn’t. Well, I’ll show you “unstable”.’
The bankers were obeying, one by one, in dreadful silence. Waller seethed and fretted, fingering her gun, knowing it was no use to her.
She needed time to get her thoughts straight. The geek shot her a pointed glare and she dropped the weapon, showing her empty hands as she lowered herself onto her stomach.
Surreptitiously, she flipped a switch on her wrist-mounted vidcom.
There’d be bikes en route already, answering the alarm – but now they’d know there was an officer in danger and they’d hear everything that went on in here.
‘You might well look at me like that, Suzi Morgan,’ the fat geek ranted. ‘I used to like you. You could have been one of the people I let go – but you know why you weren’t, don’t you? Do the words
“parking space” mean anything to you? Do I deserve nothing after thirty-two years? Do I? Well, you – all of you – are the ones who have to beg me now.’
‘Or you’ll kill everyone in this room.’
The Doctor was still standing. The alarm bell cut out almost on cue, so that his cheerful words were the only sound to be heard, electrifying the sudden hush.
‘Starting with yourself.’
‘Doctor,’ hissed Waller, grabbing at his ankle in an attempt to bring him down, ‘this is no time to go fantasy crazy!’
‘Stand up, Waller,’ he said sternly. ‘We can hardly have a conversation with you flat on your face, and that’s all matey here wants – isn’t that right?’
‘I. . . I. . . ’ the fat geek stammered. ‘I just want someone to. . . to notice me.’
‘Done that. I can safely say you’ve got our full attention. Now, what’s so important?’
38
The Doctor wasn’t crazy. He was a genius. He was bringing the geek down to earth, making him concentrate on the logic, the fact, of his actions. He was doing wha
t Waller should have done, and she smarted at the realisation.
‘Come on,’ he chided, ‘we’ve not got all day.’
Then he blew it in a second, with one careless question. The one that Waller had been trained never, ever to ask.
‘What do you want?’
She leaped to her feet. ‘Don’t you dare answer that!’
The geek’s eyes widened and he thrust the detonator towards her.
But there was no going back now. She had to talk him down, before the Doctor could do any more harm. Forget the explosives, forget the consequences if she got this wrong. Just treat this geek as she’d treat any other.
‘That’s what got you into this mess,’ she said firmly. ‘Wanting, dreaming, imagining. You’ve got a job, haven’t you? You can afford a flat and a TV and food. You should think about that, not about what others might have. Sure, there are people with better jobs and more money than you, but that’s life. Deal with it!’
‘And you think this is the right approach, do you?’ murmured the Doctor.
‘Listen. . . ’ began Waller more kindly, leaving a significant pause.
‘Arno Finch,’ said the geek in a small voice.
‘Arno, I know you can’t have meant for all this. I mean, when you look at what you’re doing in the light of reality, it must seem. . . well, I bet it’s hard to believe, isn’t it? It must seem like fiction. Because people don’t plant bombs in their workplaces or threaten entire city blocks in real life, do they? Especially not people like you, Arno –people who’ve worked hard and obeyed the law their whole life. I know I’ve never seen it. I’m a police inspector and I’ve never seen anything like this. How about you, Arno? Have you ever seen it?’
‘I. . . don’t know. Maybe. I think. . . yeah, I think I saw. . . ’
‘No, Arno. In real life, I said. Think! I know it’s hard to tell fact from fiction, but think! When you saw this before, when you saw 39
someone behaving like this, you were in your flat, weren’t you? You were watching the telly.’
