Doctor Who_ Left-Handed Hummingbird - Kate Orman [93]
Yes, it was a good plan, guaranteed. Unsinkable. As the iceberg said to the Titanic.
He was getting nostalgic now, as though his whole life were limping past his eyes. He remembered assuring Borusa that he’d had nothing to do with the liner’s sinking. Wasn’t worth going back and telling him about this, of course. He’d only get a stony stare.
Yes, unsinkable, no matter what surprises the wily old Aztec tried to pull. They were trapped together now, like two actors stuck on the stage, following the script to the inevitable conclusion. Trapped together on a doomed speck of metal in the middle of an infinite waste of water.
Suitable, thought the Doctor, appropriate.
Huitzilin agreed.
* * *
9.21 pm
Cristián was still waiting on B deck, watching the ocean, as though keeping an eye out for the iceberg. What would they see, he wondered? How large would it be? For all he knew a wall of ice might be invisible against the new‐moon ocean.
Below, couples walked arm in arm, taking the air after their dinners. He fought down the urge to scream out a warning, plead with them that they were heading for disaster, they must turn back.
‘They wouldn’t believe you,’ murmured the Doctor, coming up beside him. ‘This ship couldn’t possibly be sunk by a little piece of ice.’
They stood side by side for a few moments. Cristián wondered if one of the glittering stars was the Doctor’s home. So far away… he was suddenly sad for his grandmother, dying all alone in her little mountain hut. He’d never had a chance to say goodbye to her.
So many people.
‘Two thousand, two hundred, and twenty‐four,’ the Doctor was saying, ‘of whom one thousand, five hundred and two will drown. There are thirteen honeymoon couples, from which four people will survive. Fifty‐three children drown, all of them from third class.’
Cristián twitched. ‘How can we just stand here and not help them, not warn them?’
‘It’s history. We can’t just play with it. You’re the one who was frightened of stepping on butterflies.’
The Indian peered at the Doctor, whose face was hidden by the darkness. When had he mentioned butterflies? In his future – his hidden future? What had they discussed? ‘You’re happy to play with my history,’ he protested.
‘The sinking of the Titanic is part of the web of time.’ The Doctor paused, as though looking for human words to explain what he meant. ‘Prevent the disaster and you may cause another.’
‘How can saving fifty‐three children be a disaster?’
‘The Titanic sank – will sink – because of tremendous carelessness,’ said the Doctor. ‘The ice warnings were lost, ignored. They didn’t see the berg until the last moment, and even then they didn’t turn quickly enough. There were lifeboats for only about half the people on board, and some of those were half‐empty when they were launched. When a ship ten miles away saw her flares, it didn’t do a thing. And their radio operator had gone to bed.’
Cristián put his hand on the Doctor’s arm. It was an aborted slap. Anything to get him to stop. ‘Are you saying it won’t happen again?’
‘From now on, ships will have round‐the‐clock radio surveillance, and lifeboats for everyone. The International Ice Patrol will be formed. Save the Titanic and you’ll be condemning future passengers.’
‘No,’ said Cristián, ‘it won’t do. It’s not good enough. Why can’t we save this boat and the future ones?’
‘Make one change, and you may have to make another, and another. Do you have the skill to arbitrate history?’
‘But you must have changed history. Doesn’t my life count? Haven’t you changed history, just by landing your time machine in New York?’ Cristián blew out a frustrated sigh. ‘So many people must have asked you these questions.’
‘The very first was a teacher who wanted to change the Aztecs. Stop the sacrifices.