Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [15]
‘He doesn’t believe a word of it,’ he said to himself, with an eye on the Doctor, as Kitson came out with a load of scientific gobbledegook – as far as the Brigadier was concerned – which purported to explain how the thing worked.
‘What do you think, Doctor?’ he asked as they followed the others into the next side-show, a wonder by the name of ‘ER’, which promised, yet again, to blow their minds.
‘They should make a lot of money.’
‘Yes, but what do you think?’
‘Well, in the first place, neither centrifugal force nor centripetal force exists, as such; the use of the terms –
indeed of the concepts – betrays either a naive misunderstanding or a cynical intention to mislead. In the second place, in the context of anti-gravity – ’
He stopped abruptly and shushed the Brigadier, giving him a severe look as if he had been the one talking. Kitson was holding up his hand for silence.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘Space World can, I think you’ll agree, be justly proud of the wonders you have seen so far. However, the next call on our itinerary will more than astound you, it will introduce you to something which is destined to become an integral part of your future lives. If you will follow me, I shall show you a way to the fulfilment of all your secret hopes – and an escape from all your secret fears – Experienced Reality!’
Oh yes? thought the Brigadier.
Chapter Six
‘ER – Experienced Reality! The Wonder of the Millenium!’
The Brigadier surveyed Kitson with a somewhat cynical eye. He’d come across too many of these smooth-talking johnnies. Trying to sell something, this fellow was. Like Chuffy Knowles. Perfectly decent cove when he was at Sandhurst, and then, only eighteen months after he left the Service, turned into a smoothy just like Kitson and tried to sell him a life insurance policy. Over lunch at the club, at that.
‘Now, this may look like a rest room to you,’ Kitson was saying, ‘but these luxuriant ergonomically perfect couches can offer you the chance to know for yourself all the thrills this great old world of ours can offer. Like to go skiing?
Can’t ski? Oh, yes you can. You can ski as well as next year’s Olympic champion. Skin-diving, windsurfing, hang-gliding, you name it – and not just on a colour telly screen.
I’m talking about a real experience. A leisure experience beyond your wildest dreams!’
He was interrupted by the blurred voice of a member of his audience who had obviously been anticipating the promised ‘wee snifter’.
‘That’s not the sort of thing I dream about, when I’m on my luxuriant couch,’ it said coarsely.
The Brigadier looked round. He recognized the leering face at once, which was not surprising, since it not only graced the top of his daily column, but appeared with nauseating regularity on every sort of chat show, as he could always be relied upon to supply a generous measure of thinly veiled innuendo and implied smut. Septimus Hardiman, that was the name. Were there really six more at home like him? God help us all.
‘Well sir, replied Kitson, obviously treading very carefully, ‘although it wouldn’t be appropriate to offer such delights to the general public, the technology is available to cater for every imaginable taste to the utmost, er, satisfaction.’ He invested the word with a multiplicity of meaning.
There was a feverish scribbling of notes, and a clamour of voices, led by Hardiman’s demand that he expand on the notion. But Kitson was into his prepared spiel once more.
‘An opera lover, perhaps? You can not only be present at the first