'Yes, well, the thing is, on Minuea, it's difficult to convince people of anything. When we were on the news, the journalists had to give coverage to both sides of the argument, so the more we tried to convince people of our case, the more they had people telling them there was nothing to worry about.'

'What people?' I return my mug to the Olympic-ringed table.

'Astrologers. Holistics. Columnists. People who had no idea what they were talking about.' Wantige looks disappointed as he remembers. 'They told people what they wanted to hear, so they listened. . . And then the leader of the opposition Jarkle Winkitt said that if he were elected, he would abandon the rocket plan.' Wantige sips his tea. 'So that's what the people voted for.'

'But that's madness,' I say.

'People have families to feed, bills to pay. What might happen twenty years down the line seems a long way off.'

'Yet getting nearer all the time.' The Doctor examines the rocket.

'You saw me today. . . I'm still trying to make people realise. But they say it's only my opinion, and their opinion is equally valid.'

'I see. . . ' The Doctor pilots the rocket at arms' length around the room.

'But that's not the case, is it? All opinions aren't equal. All opinions aren't equal. I've devoted my life to astronomy. I've checked all my calculations to the most rigorous standards of proof. And yet my word is worth no more than. . . anyone else's.' I've devoted my life to astronomy. I've checked all my calculations to the most rigorous standards of proof. And yet my word is worth no more than. . . anyone else's.'

The Doctor crumples up some paper into a ball and tosses it in the air while flying the rocket into it, making a whooshing noise. 'Blam!' The rocket hits the ball and it lands in the fireplace. 'Sorry,' he says, realising he's the centre of attention. That must be very galling.'

'It's how things work. We have democracy. Everyone has to respect each other's point of view. . . '

'No matter how ill informed?' says Charlton.

Wantige pauses while the Doctor returns the rocket to the mantelpiece.

'Everyone has an equal voice no matter how ignorant. I mean, how can that be fair? How can it be?'

'It's not supposed to be fair,' says the Doctor. 'It's supposed to be representative representative. If the people are selfish, stupid and lazy, their leaders will be selfish, stupid and lazy. People don't get the government they need, they get the government they deserve.'

193.

'Exactly,' agrees Wantige. 'I wish there was some other way, some way of forcing people to see sense '

The Doctor shakes his head. 'Democracy is the worst form of government, except, that is, for all the other forms that have been tried from time to time.

You have to find a way to make it work, Professor Wantige.'

'How can we?' Wantige picks at his elbow-patches, which is presumably why he needs elbow-patches. 'All the politicians are interested in is getting votes.'

'Yes, well, that's their job,' says the Doctor. 'How often do you hold elections?'

'Every year. That's why no one can make any long-term decisions.'

'What people need is a real choice.'

'A real choice?' I ask.

'At the moment people can't vote in favour of resuming work on the rocket.'

Wantige laughs. 'What, vote for a drop in the standard of living? You're wasting your time, they'd never go for it.'

'They might, if they were better informed,' says the Doctor. 'Charlton, Trix, I want you to return to Charlton's base. I have an errand for you.'

'Why, what are you going to do?'

'I'm going to break one of my rules,' smiles the Doctor. 'I'm going to get involved in local politics.'

'Did the Doctor say whether he wanted a mini-Tomorrow Window, or a big one?' asks Charlton.

'A big one, I think.' I have to shout over the sputter of Charlton's Tomorrow Window workshop. He seems to have about a dozen employees. They're busy polishing the panes of gla.s.s, or cutting them, or taking readings from electroscopes.

Charlton leads me to another door, which takes us to the storeroom. While Charlton wanders about, choosing which Tomorrow Window to take, I close the door behind us. It silences the workshop with a click.

'It'll need a portable power supply,' I add. 'I'm not sure what plugs they use on Minuea. . . '

Charlton selects a six-foot-high pane of gla.s.s and heaves it over to the opposite door.

'Do you want some help with that?'

Charlton nods. As I approach the tilted gla.s.s my reflection walks up at me, seemingly from beneath the floor, and looks back at me with catlike eyes.

'These Tomorrow Windows,' I ask. 'How did you find out about them?'

Charlton looks at me as though he has suddenly remembered something.

'It all began when I was at Gnomis university. G.o.d, almost thirty years ago!

194.

I spent of lot of time listening to miserable but worthy music. Couldn't get a girlfriend.'

'That would be the miserable but worthy music. . . '

Charlton leans against the wall. 'I was studying Theoretical Ultraphysics.

My professor was. . . odd. In some ways he'd be very efficient he was prompt at marking papers, and always correct at predicting grades, but during his lectures, right, I don't know, it was as if he was just reading the notes without any clue what they meant! That was pretty common, though, so I didn't think too much of it at the time. It was only later, when I was doing my thesis. . . '

Charlton burst into the professor's study. The room had none of the creative disarray of the other professors' rooms. The blackboard hadn't seen chalk. The disarray of the other professors' rooms. The blackboard hadn't seen chalk. The books were lined alphabetically, their spines uncreased. There were no notes, no books were lined alphabetically, their spines uncreased. There were no notes, no scrawls. The computer screen-savered. scrawls. The computer screen-savered.

Charlton's professor looked up. He had been polishing his latest trophy. A little globe for globe for Award For Outstanding Ingenuity Award For Outstanding Ingenuity . 'Yes? Mackerel, isn't it?' . 'Yes? Mackerel, isn't it?'

'Professor.' Charlton brandished a copy of Scientific Breakthroughs Monthly Scientific Breakthroughs Monthly . .

'Explain this.'

'It's a magazine.'

Charlton opened the magazine meaningfully at the appropriate page. The article was, article was, 'Inversions In The Hyperspatial Matrix. By Astrabel Zar.' 'Inversions In The Hyperspatial Matrix. By Astrabel Zar.'

'Ah,' said Astrabel. 'You noticed my little piece.'

Charlton took in a deep breath. 'That's my thesis!'

'What?' Astrabel stroked one of the photos on his desk with an affectionate finger. finger.

'I've been working on it for two years. . . and it's under your name!'

Astrabel sighed. 'You don't honestly think I stole it from you, do you?'

'The first third of the article it's from my notes, verbatim!'

'And the rest?'

Charlton paused. 'The rest. . . some of it seems to be copied from my working drafts, but the rest. . . it's based on research I haven't completed yet.' drafts, but the rest. . . it's based on research I haven't completed yet.'

'Exactly,' smiled Astrabel. 'There you go.'

'There are even conclusions from experiments that I haven't started. . . '

'So how can I have copied it from you? That would be. . . impossible!'

'Yes, it would. Except it's not the first time this has happened, is it?'

'What?'

'I've checked. Everything you've written has been based on someone else's work that that had yet to be published had yet to be published .' .'

'Maybe I'm just quick off the mark?' Astrabel suggested.

'What about all the times when you marked projects before they'd been handed in? Before they'd been written?' Charlton swallowed. 'I don't know how, but it's in? Before they'd been written?' Charlton swallowed. 'I don't know how, but it's 195 195 the only explanation. . . you've got a time machine, haven't you?'

Astrabel grinned. 'I was wondering how long it would take before you guessed the truth. I knew you'd find out, of course. That's why I brought it in this the truth. I knew you'd find out, of course. That's why I brought it in this morning to show you.' morning to show you.'

Charlton stared disbelievingly at the six-foot-high sheet of gla.s.s. His reflection shared his scepticism. 'What is it?' shared his scepticism. 'What is it?'

'It's called. . . a Tomorrow Window.'

'A Tomorrow Window?'

'You look through it and see the future. Next week, next year; next century.

Whenever you like, it shows you what will happen.'

'You mean. . . the future is predetermined? Free will is an illusion?'

Astrabel shook his head. 'It shows the most probable future, based on the present. An extrapolation, if you like.' He peered into the window. 'Looking into present. An extrapolation, if you like.' He peered into the window. 'Looking into this, you can avoid mistakes. You can forecast events. You can. . . ' this, you can avoid mistakes. You can forecast events. You can. . . '

'. . . plagiarise scientific papers that haven't been published?'

Astrabel held up his bands. 'Guilty.'

'But that. . . ' Charlton collected his words. 'That's a reductive causal loop! In layman's terms a free lunch!' layman's terms a free lunch!'

'I like free lunches,' said Astrabel. 'I eat a lot of them.'

Charlton rubbed his forehead. 'You mean. . . all your research, all your breakthroughs. . . have been because of this?'

Astrabel smiled. 'I don't actually know the first thing about Theoretical Ultraphysics. I only pa.s.sed the exam by learning the answers beforehand!'

'So that's why you don't answer questions after lectures. . . '

'I wouldn't have known what you were talking about!' Astrabel laughed.

Charlton looked back at the Tomorrow Window. 'So how does it work?'

'First you must make me a promise.'

'What promise?'

'I was not to reveal the secret of the Tomorrow Windows to. . . anyone.'

'Why not?'

'He never told me, all he said was '

'One day, many years from now,' said Astrabel. 'I'll return to Gadrahadradon.

I'll die there. Nothing must prevent that.'

'What? Gadrahadradon? Isn't that '

'"The most haunted planet in the galaxy"? Yes.'

'Why do you want to go there to die?'

Astrabel smiled. 'Because that's where it all started.'

196.

Charlton had never been in a television studio before. They had been told to wait at the back of the set, concealed from the audience by a black drape.

'Any advice before I go on?' asked the Doctor as Trix pa.s.sed him his freshly laundered waistcoat.

Prubert Gastridge looked the Doctor up and down. 'If I've learnt one thing, it's that projection is important. One must make oneself heard.'

'Right.' The Doctor straightened his shirt. 'Projection.'