Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [31]
‘Francis Bacon’. They paused there for a moment.
Whitfield looked up at the statue, almost reverently,
‘One of the first of our modern human scientists.’
‘Yes, I know,’ the Doctor said.
‘You are aware of our history?’ Whitfield asked.
The Doctor looked into the eyes of the statue as though it were an old friend. ‘Yes.’
‘How?’
The Doctor turned back to her, suddenly wary. ‘Oh, you know, travellers’ tales.’
Whitfield was watching him, assessing what he was saying. Testing him.
‘I know little about the history of this colony, I’m afraid,’ the Doctor admitted disarmingly.
‘This system was discovered when the hyperdrive on a science ship misjumped. The engines vented, and the ship drifted into the planet’s gravity well. The scientists put ashore here. The science team were marooned for three years, and set up a survival station. The planet had a breathable atmosphere, the temperature was tolerable, there was potable water. When the rescue ship arrived, over half the colonists elected to stay. As the colony became a little more established, scientists from throughout human space began to flock here to conduct research.’
‘But surely the conditions here –’
‘Don’t forget, Doctor, this was one of the earliest colonies. It was a lot more hospitable here than on Venus or Callisto. Or Earth, for that matter. At first, much of the scientific effort was spent just surviving: developing fertile soil from barren rock, building solar cells that would work even in the weak sunlight we get here. But within a century the plantations were established and the planet was energy self-sufficient.’
‘So you have become a galactic centre for scientific research. You must get a lot of grants from Earth.’
‘We pride ourselves on our isolation – our detachment from such concerns. We earn hard currency by exporting minerals.’
The metal doors ground open, leading through into a high-ceilinged chamber. It was a laboratory of some kind, with testbeds and benches. A couple of men and women in grey tunics were assembling some heavy equipment in the centre of the room, ready for a test. There were about a dozen people present. The Doctor watched, fascinated. The scientists moved quickly, in concert.
They walked past a tall glass cylinder full of metal beads. ‘Is that a cold fusion generator?’ the Doctor asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And that’s a warp field stabilizer,’ the Doctor noted, as they passed what looked like a metal tennis net.
‘It is, yes.’
‘A rather expensive piece of laboratory equipment.’
‘It is a prototype built by our research team here.’
‘But why are you building a dimensional observatory in the first place?’
‘– a dimensional observatory in the first place? ’
Medford’s eyes narrowed.
‘This is the cutting edge of science, Doctor. With this device we will be able to probe other dimensional states.
One of our scientists believes that we will even be able to tap into “dimensional energy”. If that was possible, then humanity would be able to generate almost infinite power supplies.’
The scientists made their final adjustments and stood clear of the test area.
Whitfield measured the Doctor’s response. The young man looked sceptical, but he didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand. His companion, the mathematician, was asking something, ‘The red tunics are medics, the green are...
technicians. You have the white tunic. What does grey signify?’
‘They are warranted men.’
‘Ah yes,’ the Doctor piped up, ‘slaves. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.’
Whitfield was happy to change the subject. The warranted labour system was a familiar topic of contention between her government and the galaxy at large, and the arguments for and against had become well-trodden