Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [63]
Benny had the urge to take notes. On‐the‐spot archaeology. Never mind, she thought, just put it in your diary tonight. ‘Is that an idea from Eastern religion?’
‘A lot of what we believe is. I’m more into Tarot and things. Lizzie’s reading Watts and the Dhammapada, doing the whole mysticism bit, but I don’t think she’d really know what Zen was if Nansen came up and hit her with half a cat.’ He laughed.
‘You sound as if you know a bit about it.’
‘I have half of a theology degree. Maybe I’ll go back and get the other half eventually…’ He jumped up. ‘You want something to eat?’
They found Ace downstairs, sitting on a beaten‐up sofa, a bowl of noodles carefully balanced in her lap. Steam rose, fogging her sunglasses. Behind her was a huge sign done in crayon on butcher’s paper, each letter a great swirl of colour. MERRY XMAS. Streamers hung down from the ceiling like an inverted field of seaweed, swaying as people’s hair brushed past.
There were a dozen hippies in the room, some lying down with their heads next to the speakers, listening to John Lennon mournfully belting out Yer Blues. A couple were quietly smoking. Someone plucked at the strings of a guitar, their fitful music swamped by the blare from the record player.
Benny sat down next to Ace, who was wearing a leather jacket over her usual jeans and T-shirt. The younger woman did not look at her, expertly snatching noodles out of the bowl with a pair of chopsticks. To any of the others in the room she must seem absorbed in the meal, relaxed. Benny could see the tension in her shoulders.
It suddenly occurred to her that if these people constituted a real threat, Ace would kill them.
Benny glanced around. They seemed harmless, almost childlike. Cheerful clothing and smiles, and genuine friendliness, wanting to get to know you as much as tell you about themselves. Casual conversation was tricky when you came from the twenty‐fifth century, so Benny spent her time asking questions, fascinated. It was a movement that had blossomed and faded within a few short years, and yet the social upheaval it had accompanied made permanent changes in Western culture. She realized she was thinking like a journal article. The hippies were here, and now, breathing and alive, and Ace probably had a nuclear missile hidden under her jacket.
It struck Benny that she felt more at home with the hippies than she did with Ace.
‘You want some noodles?’ John proffered a bowl. Benny took it from him. ‘Tell me more about time,’ she said.
* * *
‘Telepathy has traditionally been confused with mysticism,’ the Doctor was saying. ‘It’s difficult to scientifically study something that affects the mind of the observer. And those very rare cases of genuine psychic talent fuel the millions of hopefuls who believe they have a handful of psi…’
Cris listened from inside his blanket. He had pulled it over his head, so that he formed a peculiar tartan lump on the floor. It wasn’t working: he could still hear the Doctor clearly.
‘I know the sorts of things you’ve been sensing,’ said the stranger. ‘But they’re not messages from God or the Devil. You’ve had a profound psychic experience. It’s like being the one‐eyed man in the kingdom of the blind.’
Cris peeped out from the blanket. There were weird vibes coming from the little man, ripples in the air, an invisible pressure. He seemed calm, and rational, and yet there was some sort of distortion hovering around him… ixiptla. The god in human form. Cris shuddered and went back inside the blanket.
‘Different places have a different feel,’ the Doctor was saying. ‘A different time has a different Zeitgeist. You can sense that, I know. It attracted you to this place. These people, at this time. Now, why do you think that was?’
Cris said, ‘The rent was cheap.’
‘Ah,’ said the Doctor, ‘but you didn’t have psychic experiences while you were in Mexico.