Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [24]
In the centre of the spaceport there was a cluster of needle-like spires, hundreds of metres high. They glinted pure white in the pale sunlight. Air traffic control, Adric guessed, and the buildings probably incorporated the departure lounges and office space for the spacelines. As they passed between two of the spires, the buildings changed, became more squat and functional. There were more spaceships docked on this side of the spaceport, but they were of a more uniform design. These were military ships. They were just as elegant as the others: the laws of aerodynamics dictated the shape that a ship travelling through an atmosphere had to be, but despite the streamlining they were less aesthetically appealing. Most were of the same oily blue as the Adjudicator’s armour, although some of the smaller craft had been painted a camouflage grey. Virtually all had weaponry: laser cannons, missile batteries, bomb bays. In all, there were between two and three hundred vehicles.
Adric glanced across at the Provost-General, the man in command of all this hardware. The Adjudicator was studying their reactions carefully. Adric realized for the first time why they hadn’t simply travelled across the city by transmat: this flight was a demonstration designed to impress upon them the might of the Adjudicators, and particularly the power and authority of their leader, the man sitting opposite them.
Then the spaceport was behind them and they were back in a residential area. They caught up with the skitrain. It was the same one the terrorists had tried to stop there was little doubt of it: the mottled white and grey paint scheme made it stand out against the bolder brown and chrome buildings. Besides, it still had its armed escorts, two hovercopters like their own flying alongside.
Their vehicle was on a higher flightpath, and it overtook the skitrain and its entourage now, surging onwards.
Medford leant over to the pilot and asked him something. Then he turned back to them.
‘ETA at the Scientifica in one minute.’
Adric peered out of the windscreen. A pyramid had appeared on the horizon and was growing ever larger. Its smooth black sides were broken by flat terraces – docking platforms and hanging gardens. The pyramid dwarfed the surrounding buildings, It was a couple of kilometres high at the apex. There was something regular about its construction that spoke of architectural perfection. If its dimensions had been even slightly different, Adric could imagine how incongruous, or even threatening, the dark structure might appear. Yet somehow the building achieved harmony with its surroundings, as if the most natural thing to find in this flat snowblown landscape was an ebony pyramid the size of a mountain. As they got closer, Adric saw that a number of skitrain tracks ran inside the structure, disappearing into discreet tunnels.
The Doctor was studying the pyramid, and although he would never admit as much, he was clearly impressed by it.
Beneath him, Adric felt the undercarriage of the hovercopter deploy and lock into place. The engine whine lowered it’s pitch and they began to slow down. He could hear the chatter of traffic control in the pilot’s earphones now.
‘Justice Alpha, slaving your autopilot to Scientifica Traffic Control.’
‘Copy that Scientifica Traffic Control,’ the pilot responded, releasing the controls. The Provost-General was already unfastening his safety harness.
‘Docking chamber thirteen selected.’ The hovercopter passed under an access stairway and into the body of the pyramid.
‘It’s a good job we’re not superstitious,’ the Doctor remarked cheerfully. Medford glared at him.
The hovercopter was flying through a large hangar area, one big enough to be holding around a dozen similar vehicles. Many sported Adjudication Bureau colour schemes, a handful had a more drab grey livery. The personnel milling around had a similar divide: there were a dozen or so Adjudicators here, many in full armour, but some in a lighter version of the same uniform –
presumably technicians or administrative