Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [60]
‘Most computer programs have a “back door”,’ Adric explained. Even programs with high security, the programmers leave a way in so that they can access it if things go wrong. It’s usually a mathematical encryption.’
He turned to the console and tapped in a couple of commands. As part of the panel lit up. Roz raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. ‘I don’t have time to free the whole network – there are millions of nodes in there. If I had a set of co-ordinates I’d be able to bypass the system for one transmission, to that location.’
Roz was looking at another readout. ‘Here: this is the log. These are the last co-ordinates that were used. About an hour ago. It doesn’t say anything else.’
Adric looked over her shoulder and did a quick calculation. ‘North of here. Over a thousand kilometres.’
‘That’s out in the frostlands. It must be a garrison of some kind, or a waystation. It could be dangerous.’
‘Anywhere has to be safer than here,’ Adric said.
‘The Adjudicators tend to steer clear of the frostlands,’
Roz agreed.
Adric twisted a dial on the console. The pentagon on the floor lit up. I’ve set the timer for ten seconds,’ he told her.
They moved onto the pad, Forrester standing to attention.
Adric tensed.
‘Relax, you won’t feel a thing,’ Roz assured him. ‘See?’
They were somewhere else.
A maintenance robot buzzed past. It was dark here, colder than elsewhere in the building. They were in an area like a hangar, or a multi-storey car park. The floor was concrete, it was cold and rough beneath Tegan’s feet. There were dim floodlights mounted on the ceiling, but it was still only twilight in here, a real contrast to the overlit corridors of the Scientifica.
‘Where are we?’ she whispered.
‘A stockyard,’ the Doctor replied.
‘For trains? Real, solid trams? Trains were something that Tegan could understand: they didn’t defy gravity, travel through time or anything weird like that.
‘Skitrains, yes.’
Tegan was wary at first, but a quick look at them confirmed that they were just trains that ran on skis. The carriages were like American box cars: great squared-off shapes made from slabs of dark grey metal with large sliding doors on the side. At last, some technology that she understood.
‘They still use trains in the future, then?’
‘Tried and trusted methods, Tegan. The technology might be centuries old, but it works. These days, on most worlds, people travel using transmats – matter transmitters that teleport –’
‘It’s all right, Doctor, I’ve seen Blake’s Seven.’
‘Well, anyway,’ he continued, more than a little irritated, ‘the Scientifica have clearly decided that the skitrains are more suited to these conditions. Perhaps the storms and other atmospheric phenomena make large-scale transmat platforms uneconomic.’ The Doctor was examining a noticeboard with a display like a digital watch. This one is leaving in two minutes. We’re in time for our connection. We’ll head for the engine.’
‘Won’t the driver object?’
‘There isn’t a driver, it’s all computer-controlled.’
Again, this was technology that Tegan could cope with.
A vent opened on the roof of the engine and a cloud of black smoke blasted out. The noise made them quicken their pace. The Doctor reached the cabin door and ushered the Patient and Tegan inside.
He had barely closed the door when the train had started to chug into life. The cabin was small. There were two seats, functional things with only minimal cushions.
There was a control panel in front of one of them, with a steering wheel the size of a dinner plate and a row of big square buttons. There was also something that looked like a radar box - possibly an electronic route map. There was a door on either side, and they were almost identical to the doors of a jumbo jet: heavy and airtight. There were little square windows in the doors, and a narrow strip of double glazing in front so they could see where they were going.
Doctor was in the corner of the cabin, turning up the thermostat. By his knees there was an equipment locker.
Tegan vowed to