Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [22]
‘Like what?’ Adric prompted the Doctor once it had gone.
‘Well, off-hand I can’t actually think of anything,’ the Doctor admitted.
‘The Keeper of Traken did.’
‘I think we can safely rule him out as a suspect.’ The Doctor turned his attention back to the clean-up operation unfolding around them. A holographic figure walked along the platform, like a ghost. Not like a real ghost, though.
This was just a simulacrum, a computer’s estimate of the woman, based on the size and depth of her footprints in the snow. It jumped from the platform, between imaginary carriages and derezzed. A forensic scientist made a note on an electronic notepad.
Medford was walking back towards them. He checked their condition with the medic, who was satisfied that they had suffered only superficial injuries.
Another Adjudicator began to take down their statements. Once again, the Doctor and Adric gave their names.
‘What are your occupations?’
‘Well,’ the Doctor began ‘I am a scientist and Adric is a mathematician.’ The Adjudicator took this down, without betraying a flicker of interest. Medford, though, leant closer to listen in, Adric related the events of the last quarter of an hour or so; the Doctor was content to stand back and listen. Adric did an admirable job, carefully omitting certain details that might be difficult to explain: quite why they were on the platform in the first place, the Doctor’s time sensor and so on.
‘What do you think the aim of the attack was?’ the Adjudicator asked.
‘An attempt to steal the train’s cargo?’ Adric suggested.
‘I don’t know to be honest. I think they were thieves.’
‘A little more than that, lad,’ the Provost-General smiled. This attack is part of a terrorist campaign to disrupt our peacekeepmg operations on this planet. We’ve become used to the bomb threats and minor acts of sabotage.’
‘There was a bomb warning?’ the Doctor asked. He’d just noticed that the Provost wore a badge on his breastplate with the same grid design as the Empress statue and the skitrain carriage.
‘No.’
‘And there wasn’t a bomb either, was there?’
Medford looked around thoughtfully, as if he was trying to spot it. ‘The bombers probably took it with them.’
‘A rather risky strategy, surely. They could have been hoist by their own petard – literally.’
‘They were removing the evidence.’
‘Really? So if the bomb had gone off, they’d have stayed around to pick up all the bits? Your forensics team could have found all the clues they’d need in the debris.’
‘Then they’ve kept hold of the bomb so that they can use it to murder more civilians. These people are killers, don’t forget.’
‘No one died here,’ the Doctor noted. ‘Indeed, the woman was only carrying a stungun. I think she was more interested in getting a look inside the train than blowing it up.’
‘That is your opinion.’
‘With respect, Provost, you weren’t there.’
‘And with respect, Doctor, you weren’t there when they bombed civilians and when they forced my flagship down in the mountains.’
‘One way of settling the argument would be to look at the recording of the event,’ Adric offered.
The Doctor and Medford both turned to face him. ‘I beg your pardon?’ the Provost asked quietly.
Adric pointed upwards. ‘That camera must have had a pretty good view of the whole attack.’
With a gesture, the Provost ordered one of his men over to the pedestal to retrieve the recorder. After a moment, the technician returned, a mangled mass of plastic and metal in his hands.
‘It was hit by a stray blast, sir. The memory cubes have been completely destroyed, the recording has been lost.’
‘Oh, nonsense,’ the Doctor insisted, taking the bundle from the technician. ‘It needs a little work, that’s all.’ A couple of metal components clattered out of the Doctor’s grasp onto the floor.
The Provost eyed him suspiciously. ‘You could fix this?’
The technician was also looking sceptical.
‘Oh yes,’ the Doctor said cheerily, turning it over in his hands, shedding more of the pieces.