Doctor Who_ The Also People - Ben Aaronovitch [46]
5
All the Answers
He told me he had all the answers
To all my loneliness and pain
He said to open my heart to Jesus
And let God take all the strain
God Knows All About It,
by Johnny Chess
From the LP Things to do on a Wet
Tuesday Night (1987)
It was cold up on the high plateau lands behind iSanti Jeni, cold enough to make Chris's breath steam when he stepped out of the aerodrome's clubhouse. The cold had sucked up a thin mist from the surrounding valleys, half obscuring the field of grass that served as a runway. The main hangar was a hazy box shape at the far end.
The grass, brittle with frost, crunched under their feet as Chris and the Doctor set off for the hangar. Above them the gaudy architecture of the night sky faded to grey as God turned the sun up. Chris made sure that his jacket was fastened and the furlined collar turned up. He pulled on the heavy gloves that he'd found with the jacket in the clubhouse locker. The Doctor had ignored the heavy flying gear available, preferring to brave the cold in his crumpled linen suit. Perhaps the frigid air didn't bother him.
The hangar's side door was unlocked. Never any locks on public buildings, Dep said. Nothing you could steal that couldn't be ordered from central stores with less fuss. No wonder they needed help when dealing with a murder.
The biplane was waiting for them just inside the main hangar doors, exactly where Dep said it would be. Chris slipped off his glove and ran his hand along the underside of the lower wing. The treated fabric was smooth and slightly yielding like that of the biplane he'd flown in over the English Channel. It even had the same slight fraying around the aileron mountings. Still, there were differences: a subtle sweep of the wings and a complex recurve in the leading edges that pointed to a better understanding of turbulence than the designers of the early twentieth century.
Despite that Chris half expected to see the tricolour painted on its tailplane, a roundel on the fuselage.
'It's beautiful,' said Chris.
'It'll do,' said the Doctor.
The hangar doors were strictly manual; Chris had to push them open by hand. The big doors were well balanced but heavy and the effort made Chris sweat inside his jacket. He paused once they were open to look out over the aerodrome. The sun was burning off the ground mist, trees were visible as slender shadows at the far end. Chris took a deep breath. The air was clear and fresh.
He thought of the fresh smell of Dep's hair as it caressed his face and shoulders, how he could read her passion in its ceaseless flexing and touching and how it had tightened around his waist when she'd finally lost control.
'Chris?'
'Yes?'
'If you don't mind?' said the Doctor.
'Sorry.'
The Doctor took the rear cockpit and Chris took the front, easing himself into the narrow bucket seat. A leather flying helmet and goggles were hanging off the joystick. Chris pulled the helmet over his head and tried on the goggles. There didn't seem to be a head up display. The instrument panel was made of some kind of wood polished to a deep amber glow. The indicators were simple enough: airspeed indicator, altimeter, VSI, engine temperature and lubricant pressure. They had archaic analogue pointers and were labelled in a language that Chris couldn't read. It didn't worry him. One end was stop, the other was fast – two-thirds along was probably cruising speed. Same with the altimeter except with two pointers, when both the long hand and the short hand were pointing to the top you were probably on the ground.
Chris manipulated the joystick and the pedals, craning his neck to do a visual inspection of the control surfaces. The controls responded smoothly and satisfied that he could handle the plane Chris glanced back at the Doctor who gave him a thumbs-up. Chris stabbed at the big blue button that he hoped was the starter.
The big radial engine caught