Doctor Who_ The Algebra of Ice - Lloyd Rose [79]
Molecross simply stared at him, his mouth slightly open. The Doctor looked away, embarrassed.
‘It’s all true,’ Molecross whispered.
‘Probably not. Goodness knows what sort of nonsense about me is out there.’
‘You don’t understand. This is. . . For me this is. . . ’
‘Go on with your questions, please.’
Molecross was momentarily at a loss about what to ask next. ‘I’ve seen a bad photograph of one of you who’s very tall.’
‘Long scarf?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s the fourth me.’
‘Do you have any choice about how you look?’
‘Unfortunately no. I usually come out a bit odd, though my third and fifth incarnations weren’t bad. I admit that at some point I’d like to be really handsome. Petty vanity, but there you are.’
‘Why do you have a Scots accent?’
‘I have no idea. Came with the package.’
‘Do you live forever?’
‘No,’ said the Doctor softly. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Tell me about your planet.’
‘Nothing to tell. Basically like Earth with a different colour scheme. Stultifying place. I never go there if I can help it.’
‘You never go home?’
‘No.’ The Doctor’s eyes were fixed on the box of blue light. ‘I never go home.’
Molecross brooded on this. ‘My parents are dead,’ he said unexpectedly.
Chapter Nineteen
163
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Do you have parents?’
‘It’s complicated and I’d rather not go into it.’
‘Do you grow on plants or something, like fruit?’
‘Molecross, if you insist on bringing up these ludicrous science-fiction ideas, this conversation is over.’
Chastened, Molecross went quiet again. The Doctor continued to push buttons. The box hummed softly.
Molecross cleared his throat. ‘You don’t understand. You’re a miracle.’
‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’
‘No, listen to me.’ His seriousness made the Doctor look up. ‘You don’t understand. Time and space are yours. The mysterious is as ordinary for you as eggs for breakfast. But my life is small. I never. . . I’m not good with people. At school. . . ’ He swallowed hard. ‘But I always knew, you know, that this wasn’t it. I mean, why would we be made to feel wonder if there wasn’t any to feel?
It had to be somewhere.’
‘Somewhere else,’ said the Doctor gently.
‘Not here, that’s for bloody certain. But on the edges of everything there’s. . .
strangeness. Second sight. Hauntings. UFOs. Astrology. I mean, Newton studied alchemy.’
‘Newton is paranoid schizophrenic.’
‘You’ve met him, then?’
‘He’s a difficult man.’
‘But he knew. There were truths out there, truths no one had ever seen, and he saw them. If he hadn’t had the sort of mind that could accept something as weird as alchemy, would he have recognised anything as weird as the laws of motion? Where does the crank end and the genius begin? Where does the ridiculous end and the transcendent begin?’ Molecross rubbed the side of his face, suddenly embarrassed. ‘I always knew there was something more,’ he finished. ‘And it’s you. Everything you are, everything you represent.’
The Doctor’s sad eyes didn’t meet his. ‘You don’t want this world Molecross.
But there’s no way out. Suffering and corruption expand with the universe.’
‘But you try to stop it. People get up in the morning and ride the bus to jobs they hate and come home to a family that hasn’t any use for them and pay taxes and get sick, and there’s nothing they can do, is there? But you can do something. And you do. I don’t. . . ’ Molecross took a deep breath. ‘I just wanted to know you existed. That things I couldn’t imagine existed. That there was something else.’
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The Algebra of Ice
‘That was the story you were after.’
Molecross nodded. ‘And now I’ve got it. And I’ll put it on my site and no one will believe me.’
The Doctor smiled consolingly. Part of him wanted to argue with Molecross, explain to him that there really was no escape. He told that part to shut up. So many ways to deal with the pain of existence. Run away from it, fight it, shut it out, deny it. He thought of Brett. Murder it. So many solutions to the insoluble problem. ‘Let’s have a look at your arm.’
The skin was smooth and scarless. Molecross stared at it and began to weep