Doctor Who: Virgin Missing Adventures [017] - Lords of the Storm by David A. McIntee

Author:David A. McIntee
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780426204602
Publisher: Virgin
Published: 1996-01-13T23:00:00+00:00

Eleven

The baleful red glimmer that was Antares smouldered coldly in the distance, its colour scarcely tainting the sour milk shade of frozen methane that enveloped the outermost planet in its system.

The planet was not alone in its orbit; a necklace of sparkling jewellery encircled it and its tiny moon. Huge sheets of icy crystal like diamond butterflies swooped around the even larger clusters of gemstone minarets and buttresses that were laced together with glassy lace as fine and fragile-looking as a glass spider-web.

Far below, methane monsoons lashed across the ice fields from nitrogen and methane clouds. A field of craters marred the smooth surface of the southern pole. Vapour rose from the carefully maintained shafts of rippling water that tunnelled deep into the ice sheet.

In the depths below the miles-thick ice sheet, the blackness of the sunless waters was dispelled by fuzzy organic luminescences flickering and pulsing all around the underside of the ice. Here the ice itself was illuminated from within the fantastically buttressed spires that reached downward like the roots of a plant.

Throbbing masses, whose veins flickered with a glowing nimbus, could be seen shifting around inside the inverted crystal citadel as the Rutan busied themselves with the complex task of choreographing the flight plans of their orbiting fleet.

The Rutan also perused the data being transmitted back from their scattered probe, their thoughts echoing through the statically charged organic molecules in their atmosphere so that the entire Rutan in the base could work on their duty.

So far, the probe had sensed no Sontaran, though several systems had been memorized as being of interest for other reasons. Another thought was received by the communications array on the surface, and translated into electrostatic pulses in the atmosphere that became a thought.

Another part of the probe was about to be deposited.

Turlough was disappointed to discover that the well-lit area he had seen so distantly turned out to be a floodlit water filtration plant. Warehouses stood amidst a scattering of small silvery lagoons, all surrounded by chainlink fences and low walls.

A low bridge led across from the rooftop where he was to the roof of one of the warehouses, and Turlough edged his way across as fast as he dared. Pipes stretched out across the gravel unnervingly far below, while a stretched black ambulance was parked next to one of the small lagoons. A number of white-coated figures milled around with the faint crunching of gravel underfoot.

Turlough wondered if there had been some sort of accident, and was beginning to wonder if he shouldn’t go down to investigate. A faint series of whistling chirps helped him postpone the decision, and he settled for ducking below the low parapet that edged the warehouse roof. He was glad he had, when a floating trapezoidal machine with trailing insectoid legs and a matt finish of mouldy bone drifted across the gravel.

It slid up to the medical orderlies – which is what he presumed the white-coated figures were – without disturbing the gravel. Several of the

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