Thames couldn't believe it. It had worked. Lothos was confirming it. Alia hadn't been destroyed; she was in the past. One minute, she'd been there, in the accelerator chamber, and then—
Hold on. Dr. Smith wasn't the only one in the Holding Chamber anymore. There was—Alia. Out cold, but still. Alia. Only, Lothos was stating, very plainly, that Alia was in 1965—October 9th, in fact—on a farm near Hillsdale, Minnesota. Exactly where he'd sent her.
Originally, the six-year-old daughter of the woman into whom Alia had leaped had been found buried in the old grain bin where she'd been playing, not too long after she'd lost consciousness. Her absence had been noticed by her mother, a frantic search had turned her up, and she had been rushed to the doctor but found none the worse for the wear. She'd gone on to do great things.
Now she wouldn't, providing Alia could keep the searchers away until the critical moment had passed.
Now, Patricia Edwards would suffocate.
Plus, if they were very lucky, Alia would be able to use the distraction of the search to push the toddler son down the well—or, failing that, find another way to dispose of him. Thomas Edwards had always looked up to his sister, and Lothos predicted that he would do just as much good in a world where she was dead as he would in a world where she was alive, and it would be better off if both infernal kids never grew up.
Oh, yes, their little experiment, their Project, certainly had potential. And thanks to Dr. Smith, that potential could now be recognized.
"I can get a lock, Zoey," Thames announced, Lothos transmitting his voice through to the observation post where Zoey waited. "Are you going to see if this is all really going to work?"
"It has so far," she replied. "Although that appearance in the Holding Chamber makes me quite glad that I decided to restrain our Dr. Smith after all."
Thames silently agreed, although he doubted Zoey would have been able to fit Dr. Smith onto the rack so easily if he had been conscious. She would have even had a harder time knocking him out if his reflexes had been better, but they'd ensured that he worked hard, and he hadn't been looking like he'd been getting a whole lot of sleep. As this apparently didn't impact his ability to do good work, however, Thames didn't particularly care. It wasn't his job.
Turning his focus from the Holding Chamber, he instead worked on connecting Zoey, who had made her way into the Imaging Chamber, to Alia. Lothos managed this without difficulty, and Thames set about trying to decipher the readings from the handlink—a task made difficult by Zoey's comments on what she called the scenery.
And Alia's apparent lack of memory.
What was disturbing was that Thames specifically remembered hearing Dr. Smith mention memory loss, although he'd needed twenty words to convey that concept instead of two.
No matter. He had other things to do. With one last glance at the unconscious people in the Holding Chamber, Thames pulled up a file on Joan Edwards and began reading it off to Zoey.
The Doctor groaned and then decided that movement made everything hurt worse. Mentally gathering himself, he started to relax his muscles as best he could. It was the tension that did it, knotting his muscles together only to have them pulled apart, creating more pain and more tension and— Still. He had better things to dwell on. How exactly he'd ended up in this position, for one. He hadn't even seen it coming. Well, he'd expected something, but, judging by his aching skull, the blow had been once his back had been turned.
Besides, it appeared that he could get out of this much more quickly if he befriended whoever was currently wearing Alia's aura. The figure was stirring, after all. The Doctor pasted his best grin on his face. "Hello," he called gently. "Are you all right?" A silly question, but one humans always seemed to ask, even when the answer was obvious, and he felt it best to conform, given the current circumstances.
"W-what?" The leapee looked around in alarm. "Where am I? How did I get here? I'm…I'm not... Am I?"
"Shshsh," the Doctor cut in. The wild eyes found him, widening even more. "Don't worry. I can help. I'm the Doctor. Do you remember your name?"
"Joan," the woman answered. "Joan…Joan…. I don't know. I don't remember! Why can't I remember?" She started to cry.
"Hey, hey, look at me," the Doctor called. "Look at me, come on, that's it, look at me." He had her attention again. "I promise that I can help you," he said, very slowly, very clearly, "but I'm going to need a bit of help from you first. Can you do that for me?" She nodded. "Good. Now, there should be a latch up towards my right shoulder—my right, your left—and…." The Doctor continued walking the woman through the release process, distracting her from her current worries.
When he was finally free, he took a moment to stretch. "Right, then," he said, nodding to her. "Joan. Good to meet you. You don't happen to know the date, would you? If you don't know the day, well, I'm not too particular. Month, year—that sort of thing would be helpful."
"I can't…." Joan shook her head. "I don't know. I can't remember."
"Try," the Doctor advised. "Don't push yourself. Just…see what comes."
"It was harvest," Joan finally said, though the fact that she was talking about it as if it were past tense made the Doctor suspect she did think that she had died—or at least that this, now, was something surreal, something that wasn't happening. "1965. Better yield than we'd expected; we didn't have enough space for it all. Harry put some of his oats in one of the old granaries. I remember that, because little Tommy was crying because…because…." She stopped. "I don't remember my daughter's name. I know I have a daughter, but I can't remember her name."
The Doctor did his best to console her. Blimey, he had to pity Sam if this is what he went through each time he leaped. Though, the repetition in the process would probably allow him to recall some of the information he used most often, along with whatever random facts dwelled in his mind. Still, the poor man didn't even remember his wife. Granted, that may be because she hadn't been his wife until after one of his earlier leaps.
Bit hard to say. He hadn't done too much research into that. He'd had a little time to try to dig up what he could of Alia's past leaps before he came here, given whatever Ziggy had gleaned from the connection they'd had since the dual leap—the dual leap that, at the moment, was in jeopardy. Troublesome thing, splicing. It'd almost be easier if he didn't know how things were supposed to turn out. At least then he could work cleanly on each parallel, not try to fix it from one side because the other side was twisted up in the effects of what was—or rather, what would be.
One thing that he'd gathered, in his brilliantly clever way, was that on Alia's first few leaps, she'd been…difficult. She hadn't actually managed to do everything they'd sent her in to do. Except now, if his instincts were correct, she was—if only because he had opened his great big gob and told that she had to do what they told her. Well, of course she did, if history was to be kept on track…so to speak. But not quite so soon. Which is why he really wanted to know whatever Joan could tell him, because he would have to intervene as soon as he got out of here.
Trouble was, he'd have to find a way to intervene and still let the people at this Project think they'd won.
He had a feeling that by the time Joan got back, she wouldn't particularly like what she found, whether or not he managed to find the right autumn day in 1965 in—
"Sorry," the Doctor began, "but you don't happen to remember where your farm is, do you?"
"Minnesota," Joan replied, sniffling a bit. "Near Hillsbrook. Hillsdale. I don't know."
She was going to start crying again if he didn't say anything. "Look, I'm going to make sure you get home, okay? I'll get you back home. But to do that, I'm afraid that I've got to leave you here alone. Will you be all right with that?"
"Why can't you stay with me?"
"I'm afraid I can't do what I need to do from here," the Doctor answered carefully, "and I can't promise to get you back home safely unless you stay in this room." He saw Joan's quick glance and added, "It's not as bad as it looks."
"You were strapped," she protested, with the most vigour he'd seen out of her yet, "to that, and you weren't able to get out."
She's quick, he noted. And probably now slipping back into her own personality, after being shaken up as she'd been. Or perhaps she was channelling the fiery side Alia seemed to hide so well in his presence. "Well, yes," he allowed, "but only because someone put me in there, and I'm going to lock the door when I go out, so no one else will be able to come back in except for me. How's that?"
"How do I know that I can trust you?"
Well, that could easily be bits of Alia talking, even if everything else had been Joan through and through. The Doctor offered her another grin. "My trustworthy face?" he ventured. She didn't look amused, so he added, "Really, I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice. But, if you'd prefer that I stayed for a short spell, and it will have to be short, I will."
Joan shook her head. "No. Not if it means that I can go back to my family more quickly. And if this is all just some crazy dream, well, perhaps I'm more likely to wake up when I'm alone."
"If this were a lucid dream, you could wake up right now. Or, you could shift it to be with your family anyhow. Still. Yes. Going." He smiled at her. "Thanks. For…getting me out of there." He nodded towards the rack. "Don't think I would have fancied still being there when they came back for me." He saw her shift uneasily. "No worries! I promise to lock the door behind me."
It was just as well Joan had begun thinking this was all a dream; he wouldn't have to explain the sonic screwdriver to her now. That, ultimately, let him slip out a good deal faster than he would have otherwise. He still wasn't entirely comfortable leaving her behind, but he didn't have a choice. At least she wouldn't wander off. He'd made sure of that.
He paused outside the main control room, listening. From what he could tell, this leap of theirs was going off a good deal better than Sam's first leap had. It was targeted, for one—thanks to him. They'd be able to retrieve Alia in the end, and seeing all they put her through beforehand, they'd probably have an easier time convincing her of what had happened than Al had had convincing Sam. If they were successful now, even when they hadn't been the first time through, then it would be because of him. And if they weren't successful, well, either he'd have to have another talking to with Alia, or it would, again, be because of him.
For someone who didn't overly try to impact history, he sure seemed to have a knack for it.
Still, didn't mean he should be spending his time hanging outside the Control Room, especially when the parallel-hybrid computer within knew of his little escape from the Holding Chamber and hadn't alerted Thames. The Doctor would feel happier if he had. He didn't particularly like questioning the motives of computers. Sure, it was nice to have a bit of an outward change, what with the computer not immediately trying to destroy him, but it was a bit unnerving to realize how quickly a bunch of little humans had managed to devise a machine that would have him deep in thought for longer than a minute or so.
Really, most evil machines weren't at all imaginative. Global—or universal—domination tended to be foremost on their minds, or their processing units, if you so preferred. There was the occasional one bent on his capture and vivisection or dissection, depending on what uses they had planned for him, or simply his destruction, or the odd one or two that focused on other people, both famous and infamous or just plain ordinary. He didn't recall coming across one that simply wanted to, oh, make that perfect cup of tea—or at least not one that hadn't felt it necessary to destroy the competition first.
He had met a couple that had used his own intelligence against him. Like Lothos had, just now. Because while he had been standing there pondering the destructiveness that was felt necessary by evil, the conniving computer had set up a series of lasers—a force field of sorts. Still. Nothing that could hold him. It was only the 20th century, after all. They hadn't figured out deadlock seals.
The all-too-human backup, on the other hand…. He might have a little bit more trouble with that.
"Hello," the Doctor grinned, waving at them. "I seem to be—"
"Silence," snapped the first man. Bit more forceful than the guard at the gate had been, the Doctor noted. Less talkative, too, judging by how he seemed to like speaking with his gun. He pointed it at the Doctor and then down the hallway, and the Doctor knew now was not the time to play the dunce, so he went along with it.
He'd at least heard enough between the relay of data Thames was giving Zoey and Zoey's comments to either Thames or Alia to know the date and what Alia was set to change. Something he could most definitely not allow to happen. At least, not as planned. He couldn't let those children die, not now.
But perhaps the Evil Leaper Project would settle for a couple of disappearances, if he played his cards right.
He could always encourage the children to change their names, if he found himself having to take them across the country.
No, no, that wouldn't work—the names just meant that this Project could track them. What they did, well, that was subject to change, if the circumstances of their lives changed too much.
Perhaps skipping a year would do.
Bit strange, since the children wouldn't have aged, and they were young enough that that would be noticeable, but, well, it was better than completely robbing them of their family and their family of them.
He was sure Jackie Tyler would agree. She'd experienced that. Only by a teensy-weensy miscalculation, but she'd go through a year of panicked searching if she knew she'd find Rose safe and well at the end of it again, wouldn't she?
Or perhaps six months would be plausible enough, if he hid the children's files.
He'd play it by ear.
"Oh, this is a positive delight!" Zoey crowed as Thames centred on her on Alia, looking around her. "Quite realistic. Alia, darling, are you ready?"
Alia was staring at her, looking as if she was clutching the damp dishtowel she held for dear life. "You know who I am?" she whispered, keeping her voice low, glancing at the toddler at her feet who was happily banging on a pot with a wooden spoon, oblivious to Alia's distress.
"Of course I know who you are." Zoey looked her partner up and down, frowning a bit. "And I would hope that you do."
"I thought I did," Alia answered carefully, slowly laying the dishtowel on the counter, "but now I'm not so sure."
"Well, come on out then; I'll give you the grand tour." Zoey laughed a bit. "Not that there's much, but I can show you the highlights, shall I? I'm afraid we're a bit far from the men to get the best views possible, which is a shame, since they're quite delectable."
Alia still looked wary, but she nodded. "Patsy," she called, "come watch your brother. I've got to step out for a moment."
"It would save you some time if you let the kid wander off himself," Zoey pointed out, "but I suppose you have to keep up appearances. And that's not all that effective, is it? He might wander back."
"Listen," Alia hissed, stepping out the door and—needlessly—holding it open for Zoey. "What's going on? Everyone else is calling me Joan and Mommy and I didn't even—"
"You don't remember?" Zoey rolled her eyes. "Oh, that blasted Dr. Smith was right, then, was he? You're on assignment, Alia. You've a job to do, and then you can go back home."
"But I'm—"
"I don't have time to answer all your questions," Zoey cut in harshly. "You're here right now, masquerading as Joan Edwards, wife of the delicious Harry Edwards and mother to his two insufferable offspring. They're the reason you're here. The children."
"What about my children?" Alia asked slowly, as if she didn't want to hear the answer.
"My, my." Zoey smirked. "Your true nature comes out. Protective, are you? You've been their mother for all of, what, ten minutes?"
"Since I woke up," Alia retorted, "two days ago."
Zoey frowned. "Really? Unusual. Thames, see what Lothos makes of the discrepancy. I want to know whether Dr. Smith missed something or tampered with it."
"Who are you talking to? And who are you, anyhow? What's all this about an assignment?"
"I'm your partner. Zoey. Remember that at least, even if you forget the rest. Though I should hope your training stays with you, when it comes time to use it."
"Training?" Alia repeated doubtfully.
"Those children must die." Zoey was not one to mince words when it didn't suit her purpose, and her tone was harsh. There was no need to let Alia live in a fanciful world, after all. It would only waste their time. "In the original history, the girl, Patricia, is found before she suffocates in the grain over—" Zoey scanned the yard, and then pointed towards the appropriate bin on the hill "—there. Your task should be simple enough. You just need to make sure she's not found until it's too late."
"And Tommy follows her, then?'
"Heavens, no. If the girl's so protective of her brother, as you imply, do you think she'd let him follow her? No, Lothos projects that if he lives, he'll establish some new organization in his sister's honour, and we simply cannot have that. If you come this way, however, you'll see they've got an old well boarded up on their land, but the wood's fairly rotten, wouldn't you say? I'm not sure if it would even take a child's weight."
"Harry's fenced that off," Alia said, trailing after Zoey. "We weren't going to risk letting the children near it."
"Fences can be broken, Alia, dear. Now, do stop acting like you are a part of this family, because you aren't."
"You really mean for me to murder my—Joan's—children?" Alia asked, astounded.
"It's your assignment. You will complete it, or you won't get home. And then you'll be trapped here."
Alia was quiet for a moment. "I don't remember much of my home."
Zoey quickly surveyed the yard. "It's a sight different from this wreck," she said, noting the rampant weeds and rusting machinery in the bush, the leaning buildings on the hill and the deadwood in the shelterbelt. "Just remember your assignment. Lothos estimates that Patricia will have suffocated by about two o'clock, and the search originally began an hour earlier, when Harry returned home to pick up his lunch. Lunch I imagine you are supposed to be making?" Alia flushed, so Zoey continued, "I'll check in with you later, then. See if you can come up with a plan to effectively complete your assignment. I don't think you'd like the consequences if you do poorly."
Zoey studied the handlink for a moment and found the appropriate button to open the door to the Imaging Chamber. "Good luck," she called, stepping out and leaving the door to close behind her.
"Lothos hasn't found anything yet to account for the time discrepancy," Thames informed her when she entered the main control room. "However, he reported that Dr. Smith escaped the Holding Chamber with Joan Edwards's help but has been apprehended and is now being held in one of the Observation Chambers again. Number three."
"And Joan Edwards?"
"Remains in the Holding Chamber. Shaken but stable. Seems to be taking it about as well as Alia."
"And how, exactly, did Dr. Smith escape?"
"He corrupted Lothos's circuits. It won't happen again."
"I should hope not." Zoey checked the display screen. "I'll have a bit of a chat with him, then. Keep running scenarios through Lothos; see what Alia's best options are." Zoey waited for Thames's acknowledgement before setting off to visit Dr. Smith. She knew he knew more than he was telling, and she intended to find out precisely what that was.
A/N: I'm not entirely sure what sort of year 1965 was for the farmers in Minnesota, but we'll pretend it was a good crop despite September snows or weather of that sort, shall we? Also, I really had no idea what to do for Alia's first leap, though I'm fairly certain that things on that first leap would have gone less smoothly than the next ones, so I'm going to say that they're a bit more flexible for this first trial than they might be later on, as they'd then know how things work.