Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [25]
The traffic control computer had allocated a space for them about halfway into the hangar. Landing lights began flashing there, more for the benefit of the hovercopter’s passengers than for that of its flight computer. The vehicle eased into place, and a buzzer sounded.
‘Docking procedure complete,’ a synthesized female voice said. ‘Welcome to Scientifica.’ A light above the hatch lit up green. With a hydraulic hiss, the door slid open and a step unfolded itself. The Provost-General’s aide left first, and even here he scanned the crowd for danger.
The Provost-General was next, followed by the Doctor and Adric. The pilot detached himself from the controls and brought up the rear. An Adjudicator wearing the lightweight uniform hurried forward, holding out a black cloak for his commanding
‘Justice by your side,’ Medford intoned.
‘And fairness be your friend.’ Some sort of ritual greeting. The Adjudicator bowed his head. They moved out from the parking bay into the hangar itself In complete contrast to the dark exterior of the pyramid, the hangar was an airy space, painted in delicate pastels and greys. Natural light spilled into the room, dancing off the ceiling. The. heavy machinery being used was clean: the cranes and lifters were electrically driven, drifting silently along on hoverfields. It was so clean in here, so free of the oil, grease and dirt usually associated with this sort of place, that much of the floor was covered in a plush carpet. Pleasant music, a gentle electronic rhythm suggesting busy-ness and efficiency, wafted across the hangar. The Provost-General led them to the lifts. Half a dozen Adjudicators saluted their commander as they crossed the room. Adric fought the urge to salute back.
‘Excuse my ignorance,’ the Doctor was saying, ‘but what is the Scientifica?’ It was about time someone asked that question, Adric thought.
Medford raised an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know?’
‘My friend and I are visitors to the planet.’
Even so... the Scientifica are the rulers of this colony.’
‘A ruling elite of scientists?’ Adric asked. In his experience most advanced civilizations eventually adopted this structure. Both he and Nyssa came from such worlds, and from what he could gather about Gallifrey, so did the Doctor.
‘That’s right,’ the Provost-General grunted. ‘It dates back to when the planet was first settled as a mining colony. Life here can be harsh; food and energy resources are scarce, even here at the equator. The settlers discovered that they could survive using computer modelling. They used scientific principles to determine everything from recycling and crop rotation to widescale social engineering.
The Computers assess a child’s genetic potential, and provide an education and facilities tailored to individual need. The Scientifica were ahead of their time in many ways: they were one of the first planetary governments to reintroduce slavery.’ It was the Doctor’s turn to raise an eyebrow, but Medford continued. ‘Thanks to the Scientifica, this planet is one of the most harmonious in the Empire.’
‘Yet they need a peacekeeping force.’
The lift arrived, and they stepped inside. Without anyone pressing a control, the lift car began moving upwards.
‘Indeed. Recently, the planet’s economy has suffered: the palladium and jabolite have begun to run out. Robots can work mineral seams that human miners couldn’t even reach, and so have all but replaced them.’
‘With economic hardship the rule of law has begun to break down: rioting in the streets, an increase in petty crime, that sort of thing?’
‘The criminal psychologists rapidly identified the problem.’
‘I’m sure they did.’
The lift door opened onto a terrace garden. They were high above the city here, near the summit of the pyramid.
The garden was protected from the snow flurries and wind outside by an elegant plastic dome, but it was cold here.
The floor was tiled, in a black