Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [99]
Cwej.’ There was no sign at all of the stomach wound.
‘You pronounced it right... yeah, I have. A lucky escape.
They even fixed my ankle. Are you really the Doctor?
‘Yes,’ the Doctor said a little warily.
‘You’re a Time Lord who travels around time and space with your companions in your TARDIS. Fighting injustices, defeating evil? Neither cruel nor cowardly?’
‘Er... yes. I didn’t realize I had a fan club. On this planet, my reputation seems to have preceded me.’
Chris clammed up, clearly occupied by some thought or other. The Doctor chose not to press the point.
On the other side of the room, Tegan had rounded on the Director. ‘I thought that this place was run on logical lines. Why on earth do you still have weddings?’
The Director attempted to stand his ground. ‘A pair-bond often has beneficial social advantages and can actually improve worker-productivity. Marriage is encouraged among certain grades, although the Scientific a take a neutral stance on the issue. Most of the members of the Scientifica, myself included, are unmarried.’
The Doctor turned away, smiling.
‘Where’s Adric?’ Nyssa asked him.
‘Adric?’ Chris said. ‘But I thought that he was the one that... came from Alzarius,’ he finished quickly.
The Doctor frowned. ‘I don’t know where Adric is,’ he admitted. ‘We were split up at the Scientifica.’
‘Do you have the first aid box?’ Nyssa asked.
‘Underneath my coat,’ the Doctor said softly. The overcoat was draped over his arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve disabled them.’
‘How?’
‘It’s a technique beyond the science of the Humanian Era: I reversed the polarity of the neutron flow. Anyone who tries to use the bombs now is going to be rather disappointed.’ He checked that the Director wasn’t looking, then passed the box over to them.
‘What are we supposed to do with these?’ Chris asked.
The Doctor shrugged. ‘You’re a resourceful chap, I can tell. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Tegan,’ he called over ‘why don’t you come with me? We’ll find you somewhere to change, and then we’ll pay a visit to Patience.’
The screens were awash with static. All around the bridge of the Battle Platform, Adjudicators sat trying to decipher the scratchy, indistinct images coming from the colony. Up here in space, there was no interference. Anxious transmissions from Icarus Skybase punctuated the Adjudicator’s work. Their instruments suggested that the activity in the clouds was ‘not conventional electricity’, whatever that meant. There was still one reliable line of communication open from the planet: technicians at the Scientifica had managed to rig up a device that could send out pulses of neutrinos. The Adjudicator-Lieutenant stationed at the pyramid had sent a Morse messages that all appeared well on the planet. As a precaution, Adjudicator units had been deployed planetwide under the cover of anti-terrorist operations.
Medford sat in the centre of the room, brooding. The Scientifica prided themselves on the constant monitoring of the population: close circuit cameras on every corner, concealed microphones in most public places. The justification for this wasn’t crime prevention, that was just a useful side benefit. The mass of data collected allowed the Scientifica to predict social and economic trends.
Housing and transport needs could quickly and accurately be assessed. Public opinion could also be instantly gauged.
On most worlds in the Empire, even the Corporate Belt, such invasion of privacy would be intolerable. Most people on this colony didn’t even notice it.
But with the microphones not working, rumours would be spreading. Without their news broadcasts, the population would be making up stones by themselves.
Ghost stones.
On one screen the last pictures relayed from Pryanishnikov before the blackout were silently replaying themselves over and over. Half a dozen robed figures were chanting something, surrounded by gossamer-thin cables that glowed and pulsed with white light.
A couple of hours ago, when the image had been fresh, every Adjudicator in the room had fixed their