‘Of course,’ I said.
‘Some. Yet there
should
be billions.’
‘I don’t understand where you’re going with this,’ I confessed.
‘Only to explain the Fermi paradox. It’s the Time Gentlemen, you see. They’re the answer. They can’t abide a teeming multitude of simultaneous galactic civilisations. They’ve weeded most of them out. They’ve all the time in the cosmos, after all. All the time they need to institute hundreds of thousands of varieties of this plan here. This plan - to eliminate the Garleks. That’ll be one less alien group cluttering up the place.’
‘But the Garleks are the most evil beings in the galaxy!’ the Dr objected.
‘Nonsense. They make war, it’s true. They’re cruel. But do you know how many alien races would be left if you eliminated
all
those that made war, or
all
those who were sometimes cruel? None, that’s how many. And that’s where the Time Gentlemen plan is heading.’
‘That’s a grotesque pastiche,’ said an infuriated Linn, ‘a distorting parody of the philosophy of . . .’
‘And you’ve no time for parody,’ interrupted the ET, scornfully. ‘I
know
. Let me put it this way, young Prose. When you were growing up on Earth, my young tike, did you have any knowledge of the Cydermen?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Not when I was growing up. I met them later, with the Doctor.’
‘That’s right. You did. You met them because you were in the extratemporal bubble of the Doctor’s TARDY. But you’d never heard of them before, when you were growing up on Earth in the twenty-third century?’
‘No.’
‘Despite the fact that the Cydermen invaded earth in twenty-ten?’
‘Did they?’ I said. ‘I don’t remember learning that in history.’
‘It’s been edited
out
of history. Too messy. The whole Cydermen race - gone. They exist now only as a faint echo in the species subconscious, echoing vaguely in the bizarre fictions of writers and filmmakers. There are whole
groups
of alien races - gone the same way. For instance: did you know that Octopoid Martians invaded Earth in eighteen-eighty-nine, until a zealous Time Gentleman went back to a much earlier Mars and left a fridge door open, depriving the Martian national grid of electricity and causing (domino clacking onto domino) the downfall and death of the whole civilisation. Time Gentlemen? That’s—what—they—
do
.’
‘By our actions Earth was spared a violent invasion . . .’ pointed out the Dr.
‘And the Martians were spared the bother of living in the first place. Just to make the cosmos
neater
.’ He scowled. ‘Do you know where it’ll lead? To the weeding out of all co-existing races. Eventually the Time Gentlemen will permit to exist only a succession of linearly consequent civilisations - one after the other - like Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘Is this true?’ I asked the Dr and Linn.
‘True? To be sure it is,’ said the ET. ‘How many alien civilisations were known to your homeworld when you were growing up, Prose?’
‘Well, the three of course.’
‘So. Imagine this: one day, if the Time Gs have their way, a boy or a girl will be born on Earth and look up at the sky - and it’ll be
wholly bare of life
! All the teeming multitudes cross-pollinating one another’s civilisations in messy profusion - gone! Nothing at all, except humans pondering an unsolvable Fermi paradox.’
‘There are good reasons,’ said the Dr, slowly, ‘why the proper order and sequence of the life-forms of the . . .’
‘But there’s more,’ interrupted the ET. ‘If it were only that, I’d have qualms about committing - as Ms Trout so accurately says - murder. But there’s more than that.’
‘What?’
‘The very nature of the universe itself. Have you ever wondered,’ the ET said, as if what he were saying followed logically from his previous speeches, ‘why every hydrogen atom in the universe possesses exactly the same dimensions?’
I looked at Linn. She looked at the Dr. The Dr looked at Linn. I looked at the Dr. Linn and the Dr looked at me. We all three looked at the ET.
‘No,’ I said eventually. ‘I can honestly and without fear of contradiction say, that this is not something I have ever wondered.’
‘It’s a puzzle, though, ain’t it?’ said the ET.
‘Is it?’
‘Oh yes. Very much a puzzle. Puzzly, that’s what it is.’
‘I’m afraid I’ve lost the thread a little . . .’
‘Hydrogen is the simplest atom. All the other atoms, carbon and beryllium and gallagherlium and so on, they’re just variants of hydrogen mashed out by deep gravity wells and high temperature. Inside stars mostly. But what of the
original
hydrogen? Trillions upon trillions, trillions to the power of trillions of hydrogen atoms and every one
exactly the same as all the others
? It’s hard to believe, don’t you think?’
‘You’re imagining,’ Linn offered, ‘a universe in which some hydrogen atoms were atom-sized and some were the size of a semi-detached house?’
‘Not that,’ said the ET. ‘But, you know. In almost every other manifestation the universe admits of small variations. Microbes are all very small, but not every microbe is precisely the same size. Stars, planets, all differ. Even the speed of light differs depending on whether it passes near a strong gravitational field or not. All these things are different, yet every single atom of hydrogen is exactly the same size? Surely not.’
‘I just don’t see what you’re getting at,’ I admitted, as candidly as I could. ‘I mean, isn’t that just the way hydrogen atoms are?’
‘Could somebody just explain to me how we went from the Fermi Paradox to hydrogen atoms?’ put in Linn. ‘I just can’t seem to see the link.’
‘Bear with me,’ said the ET. ‘I’m getting round to it.’
‘What is the Fermi paradox anyway?’ I asked.
‘It’s the “For
me?
paradox”,’ Linn corrected me. ‘It’s called that because the observer looks around and can’t quite believe that the whole cosmos is just there for his individual benefit.’
‘You’re both wrong,’ said the Dr. ‘It’s the Vermin Paradox - the cosmos ought to be swarming with vermin. But the Time Gentlemen have been carefully pruning and husbanding the cosmos to keep it clean.’
‘What was it about hydrogen atoms?’ I asked.
‘I’ll tell you why they’re all exactly the same size,’ said ET, sighting along the barrel of his curiously shaped weapon. ‘Because they’re the same atom.’
‘The same atom?’
‘The same atom.’
‘How can they be the same atom? That’s absurd. There are many trillions of them all.’
‘How can there even be
one
atom?’ said ET. ‘That’s the real question. But there was. One atom of hydrogen. It existed . . .it was the only thing that existed. It lasted through the billions upon billions of years of the cosmos. When it reached the end of time it got bounced back upon itself, lasting counterclockwise through time to the beginning. Then there were two. Then four. Then eight - all the same atom, bouncing back and forth through time. But, you see, that gives the wrong impression - because these replications did not happen
one after the other
in the way I’m describing here, they appeared to the external observer to happen
simultaneously
. This one atom, duplicated trillions of times, suddenly exploded outwards - the Big Bang. Our cosmos.’
‘Right,’ I said. ‘And this is relevant because . . .?’
‘Because if the Time Gentlemen get their way then that simultaneity, that messy simultaneity, will be unpicked. That’s the inevitable endpoint of the TG philosophy. If you purge the cosmos of all ungrammatical and unsyntactic logic, then eventually you purge it of life. Because life
is mess
- life is the refusal to abide by the rules, the refusal to be constrained by restrictions. Life is evolution - and evolution is the production of parodies of previously existing forms of life! Parody is the process of growth and change! Those who take a zero tolerance approach to parody are enemies of the endless shuffling and recombination, the sometimes beautiful and sometimes alarming mutations that power existence itself. I used to be a Time Gentleman myself, policing the timeways. But then I realised: the TGs are not the answer to the problem. They
are
the problem.’
‘Well,’ said the Dr, slightly sneeringly. ‘A very pretty speech.’
‘Enough Doctor,’ said the ET. ‘I apologise for having to do this. Murder is never a nice thing. But perhaps you can believe that it is in the service of a higher good. If I let you live you’ll destroy the Garleks forever - and then you’ll go on to do much worse.’
‘I’m sorry!’ I burst out. ‘It’s my fault! I betrayed you, Doctor!’
There was an awkward silence. Linn and the Dr both looked at me.
‘I didn’t realise he was planning to . . . you know,
kill
you,’ I said, in an agony of remorse. ‘I just thought he was going to . . . I don’t know.’
‘What?’ snapped the Dr. ‘What did you think he was going to do?’
‘I don’t know,’ I wailed. ‘But you killed the only woman I ever loved!’
‘What are you talking about?’ the Dr snapped. ‘That woman in the helmet? You’re bonkers. I’m a Time Gentleman! Don’t you think that, once we’d sorted out these evil Garleks, I was planning to go back to the moment just before that lady was trapped inside the helmet and rescue her?’
‘You,’ I gulped, tears in my eyes, ‘you
were
?’
‘Of course I was! What do you think I am - heartless? It’s one of the perks of being a Time Gentleman. One of the few, I might add. You get to go back and undo your mistakes. Pop back in the TARDY, try again ’til I get it right.’
‘So that,’ I said, realisation dawning, ‘was why you were so blasé about her being dead?’
‘Nothing ever really dies,’ the Dr said. ‘Not if you’re a Time Gentleman.’
Hope flared in my breast. ‘So we can go and get her?’
‘Of course.’
‘Can we go back now this minute?’
‘Well, absolutely, yes,’ said the Dr, scratching his chin, ‘Just as soon as I get these two trivial things out of the way. Firstly the elimination of the threat posed by the most evil race of beings the galaxy has ever known. And secondly, secondly, something else, slipped my mind, what is it, oh yes, my imminent and painful
death
, you
berk
.’
I turned to the ET. ‘Please!’ I begged him. ‘Please don’t murder the Doctor! I’m very sorry I betrayed him to you - but if you let him live he can undo some of the damage he has done. I’m sure he’s learned his lesson. You were once a Time Gentleman yourself, you say? You reformed your ways . . . why can’t you believe he can do the same?’
‘Why can’t I?’ said the ET. ‘Well, because I’ve lived in the future. I know how this story ends. It doesn’t end the same way every time, of course; but in every version I’ve seen the Doctor can’t be allowed to live.’
‘Please!’ I implored. ‘We’re talking about my only true love! I lost her once - now I discover I can get her back. Don’t take her away from me one more time!’
‘You need to consider the bigger picture,’ advised the ET. ‘Did you ever wonder what the initials d and r stood for?’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘Doctor, obviously.’
The ET shook his lump-shaped green head. ‘Not that.
Dictator
. And whilst murder may be a crime, tyrannicide is
not
.’
‘Dictator,’ I said. ‘Really? Is this true, Doctor? Linn?’
‘Well, yes,’ the Dr admitted. ‘But it’s not as bad as it sounds. A dictator is simply somebody who dictates - who tells you the correct way of doing something. That’s all we do, we Time Gents. We just point out where people have gone wrong . . .’
‘I think we’ve been talking long enough,’ said the ET. ‘Is everybody up to speed now? Does everybody understand what’s at stake? If the Doctor here lives he’ll eliminate the Garleks, bring your woman back to life, and then go on to cleanse the galaxy of
all mess
. If I execute him, then I’m afraid your woman stays dead. Sorry about that. But otherwise life can continue in its messy and glorious profusion, and the Fermi paradox need never bother us.’
‘Go on,’ said the Dictator, with sudden bravado. ‘Do your worst. Shoot me with your nasty gun! See if I care! You’re only going to hit my knee at the height you’re pointing it anyway.’
With an agility that one would not automatically associate with his stumpy little legs the ET leapt up and landed on the tray of his Stavros-shaped TARDY. This brought him up to a level where a shot from his death-dealer would shatter the Dr’s chest and stop his brain.
‘Ah,’ said the Dr, in a much less bravado-y voice. ‘I see. So it’s my brain, is it?’
‘That’s the fatal zone,’ said the ET.
The Dr put his hands up in the air. ‘Does this help?’ he asked.
‘Help?’
‘Help you not shoot, I mean? Look, I surrender.’
‘It’s no good, I’m afraid. This is goodbye, Dictator. No longer shall your kind oppress the Galaxy with your terrible grammatical correctitude—’
‘—ness,’ corrected the Dr, in a small voice.
‘Enough,’ said the ET in a sorrowful voice.
I could not believe what was happening in front of my very eyes. ‘No,’ I cried. ‘Wait!’
The ET pressed the muzzle of his weapon close up against the Dr’s chest, so as to be quite sure that there was no chance of the shot going wide. I had a ghastly sensation of
déjà vu
. There had to be some way of preventing this event.
The ET pulled his trigger and the deadly weapon discharged. Its explosive bolt of time-energy crashed into the Dr’s torso, and he lurched backwards.
He fell.
He crashed to the ground amongst the rubbish of Stavros’s lab.
‘Ta ta now,’ said the ET, hopping back onto the floor. He pressed a button on the outside of his TARDY; the door opened and he scurried inside. A moment later the form of seated Stavros, whiskers and all, shimmered out of vision and disappeared.