Title: Half Sick of Shadows (Chapter Two)
Author: E.A. Week
E-mail: eaweek at hotmail-dot-COM
Date of publication: May 2012.
Summary: The barren planet Gossan holds a powerful secret, one that is somehow connected to River Song's release from prison. Can River and the Eleventh Doctor defeat the Papal Mainframe, or will they become its prisoners for all eternity?
Category: Doctor Who. Eleven/ River.
Distribution: Feel free to link to this story from another web page, but please drop me at least a brief e-mail and let me know you've done this.
Feedback: Letters of comment are always welcome! Loved it? Hated it? Send me an email and let me know why!
Disclaimer: Copyrights to all characters in this story belong to their respective creators, production companies, and studios. I'm just borrowing them, honest!
The story title is shamelessly stolen from the ballad "The Lady of Shalott," by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.
Datclaimer: This story is rated M for sex, language, and mild gore/ violence.
Continuity (PLEASE read this): This story follows after the events of Doctor Who, season six. I assume that this story will be rendered apocryphal/ alt-universe/ moot/ irrelevant once Steven Moffat decides to continue telling the story of the Silence. This is my version of how events might play out.
Chapter Two
"It's all right!" the Doctor gasped, flashing the light of his torch in a quick arc. "They're all dead."
The bitter almond smell was incredibly strong in here, but mixed with an unmistakable scent of decay.
"It's coming from them," River realized, shuddering.
"Yes," the Doctor said. "The gas is in their tissues… they're giving off a cyanotic by-product as they decompose."
River looked up at the ceiling. "They fell," she said, turning her attention back to the bodies, which lay in an undignified heap. She could see that one or two Silents had attempted to crawl across the floor—toward what?—but had died in their tracks. "They were poisoned while they were sleeping—maybe they were hibernating. Was it a deliberate murder?"
"No," the Doctor said, casting the beam of his torch from ceiling to floor and back again. The floor of the cavern was packed dirt, and puddles of water had accumulated here and there. He leaned over one of the puddles, sniffing.
"Don't you see?" he said, straightening up. "The cyanide must've been in the water, and it dripped down from the ceiling… worked its way in from elsewhere, maybe an underground stream."
"But how did the cyanide get into the water?" asked River. "And why aren't we affected?"
"Tremaine's ship," the Doctor said. "An old reconditioned category two starliner. It must've been the best the Moolotites could afford. Category two ships were discontinued because—"
"Because acrylonitrite was used in the ships' hulls!" River said. "When the ship crashed, the hull split open. The acrylonitrite must have burned and released the cyanide that got into the ground water, somehow."
The Doctor was inspecting the bodies of the Silents. "They haven't been dead very long," he said. "It's damp down here; the bodies will decompose quickly."
"Less quickly than usual, though," River said. "It's cold here, and there aren't the insects and bacteria that would help break the bodies down." She looked again at the ceiling. "It took a while, but the hydrocyanic acid must've started dripping down here, maybe after a heavy rainfall, and gassed them to death." She forced herself to scoot down and examine the nearest body. Using a knife taken from her belt, she cut a small piece of tissue from the alien's head. The outer skin was more gray than white, the flesh blue and spongy in texture. When River studied it under her light, she could see it showed clear signs of necrosis. "I think they've been dead for a while." She stood up, grimacing. "God, I hate Silents."
"Why were they down here?" the Doctor said. "Why were they even on Gossan?"
"Does it have something to do with…?" River gestured with her arm, mouthing, "It."
The Doctor took her meaning. "It must be," he said. "I don't believe in that much coincidence."
"There's nothing on Gossan to bother with," River said. "Silents need other intelligent species to do their work for them."
"Unless they're guarding something," the Doctor said. "Like they used to guard you in the orphanage."
They stood staring at each other, and River said, "We can remember them! Without looking at them!"
"Because they're dead," the Doctor said. "They need to be alive to interfere with your memory. Right now, they're just so much lifeless flesh."
"How can you remember the orphanage?" asked River, hands on her hips. "I can't even remember that, beyond what you and Amy told me, and tiny bits of memory."
The Doctor pretended to be very absorbed with his sonic screwdriver, scanning the puddles, the Silents' bodies, and looking at the readings.
"Doctor, how much do you remember?" River persisted.
"All of it," he said at length. "Well, most of it, anyway."
"How is that even possible?"
The Doctor ran a hand through his silvering hair. "Age," he said. "Time Lords' telepathic abilities increase with age. Well, everything increases—all mental faculties. Including memory."
"So you remember everything?" River breathed. "All of it—Utah, Florida, the orphanage? Every time you've seen them—you can remember now? Without an external hard drive?"
The Doctor looked self-conscious. "It took some work," he said. "Long spells of sitting quietly, and focusing, and being really quite bored—"
"That's why you've been going off on your own," River said.
"Quiet places," he said. "Lots of meditating. It takes work to strengthen memory, like building up a muscle." He wagged the sonic screwdriver at her. "I was always rubbish at telepathy—flunked it three times at the Academy."
River asked, "Who else knows? Have you told Amy and Rory?"
The Doctor shook his head. "Only you."
"Will I be able to do that?" asked River, trying not to get her hopes up.
"You won't live long enough," he said bluntly. "You gave up your ability to regenerate when you saved my life in Berlin."
"A small price to pay," River said without hesitation. "Still, it would've been useful—to be able to remember the Silents."
The Doctor looked around the cavern. "Never though I'd make it to 1500," he said, half to himself.
"How many times can you regenerate?" asked River.
"Not really sure," the Doctor said. "They used to make you stop after twelve. Thirteen bodies, that was the limit. Time Lords tended to go a bit mad after that." The sonic screwdriver clicked as the Doctor opened and closed the end, the green light glowing. "But there's no-one to stop me now." He gave a short laugh. "I can keep going for as long as I like, River." He snapped out of his reverie. "So, where were we?"
"Silents," River said. "You can face them now. We—you have an advantage you didn't have before. And they don't know that."
"Yes." The Doctor turned around. "So, what were they guarding?" he said. "Something important, if it had to be hidden underground on the dullest lump of rock in the universe."
"A weapon?" asked River.
"Doesn't make sense," the Doctor said, sonicing the cavern walls with careful precision. "They'd need another species to do the work for them."
"Could this be their native world?" asked River.
"What would they have evolved out of?" asked the Doctor. "Thin air? No, I'm still working on that one."
"Their planet of origin?" asked River.
"No records," the Doctor said. "Nobody could remember enough to write anything down. Even photographic images of them disappear over time." He flashed a grin at River. "Until now. Ha-ha! Hello—what's this?"
With a grating noise, a section of the cavern wall slid aside, revealing a passageway within. It wasn't dark—the corridor glowed from LED lights, set into the base of the walls.
"This is artificial," River said. "Someone must've built this—the servants of the Silents." She felt that odd presence even more strongly here—the very air seemed to breathe, to pulse with life. River felt a surge of wild hope: would she and the Doctor discover some vital secret of the Silence—something that might weaken them, or knowledge that could be used against them?
"Come on," she said, unholstering her blaster.
"You and your guns," the Doctor half-teased.
River whipped around to face him. "I have a score to settle with the Silence."
He touched her nose. "Don't let that blind you."
Flashing a wicked grin, River said, "No chance of that, sweetie. I'm forged like steel. Now, come on."
(ii)
The corridor led them, after a few minutes, to a small square room whose walls were completely white and blank.
"Dead end?" asked River.
The Doctor soniced the walls, one by one, with small deliberate sweeps, not missing an inch. At last, a small panel in one wall opened.
"Handprint," River said. "Four digits, middle finger much larger than the others. It's for the Silents."
The Doctor soniced the panel; River listened as the instrument's frequency changed, humming low, then whistling high, like a tea kettle. She didn't harbor much hope, but after a moment, the Doctor placed his hand into the impression.
A quiet vibration filled the room. The Doctor stepped back, looking smug.
"How'd you manage that?" River asked.
"Changed the genetic interface to recognize my DNA," he said.
As they watched, the smooth white walls began to rise, all four of them, revealing bank after bank of glowing panels, blinking lights, and small, square monitors. All this hardware was set into a metal frame that gleamed a dull gold, like brass. The overall effect was a curious mixture of high-tech and old-fashioned.
The Doctor went immediately to one of the glowing panels and placed both hands against the smooth surface. The panel lit up, and River realized it was a keypad of some sort.
"This is it," he said.
"The—the planetary entity? It's a computer?" River couldn't help a certain amount of letdown.
"The computer is the planet," the Doctor said. "The planet's entire mantle, all that rock, is just a gigantic outer casing. No wonder nothing ever evolved here—Gossan's not a planet at all." The Doctor's long fingers flew across the keypad. "Someone or something created it."
"How big?" River breathed, coming to stand beside him.
"Goes right through the planet's core," said the Doctor. "This room is an access portal."
River turned around, looking. "So, who built all this?"
"Decavandaans, probably," the Doctor said.
"They've been extinct for eons," River said.
"They were brilliant engineers," the Doctor said, "best known for creating artificial planets. Their entire society was wiped out about ten thousand years ago. Freak plague, that was the official reason."
"You think the Silence…?"
"Got what they wanted," the Doctor said, "and had no more use for them." He sounded grim, but not very surprised.
"Pretty ruthless, even by their standards," River said. "With their ability to erase memories, why didn't the Silence just leave the Decavandaans alive, so they could be used again and again?"
"This computer is something they wanted to keep especially well-hidden," the Doctor said. "They weren't taking any chances."
"Maybe it contains information about their species," River said.
"It's more than a machine, though," the Doctor said, aiming the sonic screwdriver at another panel. "It's a living entity, a living mind. It holds more than just data—any computer could do that. This massive computer… it's alive."
Without warning, music began to play, thoroughly incongruous with the surroundings, a weird digital transposition of horns and strings. River recognized the tune after only a handful of notes; she'd heard it often enough growing up in Leadworth. Hearing it now, under these circumstances, made her flesh crawl.
"'Jerusalem,'" she said. "Is this a joke?"
The computer monitors flashed to life, a logo appearing on each of them: a black Christian cross on a purple field, with a stylized heart where the horizontal line met the vertical. Above the cross, a brass crown seemed to hover in midair. In each corner of the screen was a small brass fleur-de-lis, set at a diagonal angle and pointing toward the cross.
"The emblem of the Silence," the Doctor said. "The symbol of their order, known only to members of the inner circle. You may have seen it, or a variant on it, as a child, but you probably don't remember. The box where Dorium Maldovar's head is kept has a similar design, but this is the real thing."
"How do you know?" asked River. "Did Dorium tell you?"
"No, I downloaded the information from the Tessalecta," the Doctor said. "The Justice Department was masquerading as Father Gideon Vandaleur, a Silence envoy who'd died. He wore a medallion under his robes with this emblem on it. The Silence must've evolved as a sect of Earth-based Christianity."
"They've come a long way since then," River snorted. "Beheading their own followers? The Church on Earth had it issues, but that's still extreme."
"They're all part of the Silence," the Doctor said. "The Headless Monks, the Clerics, Madame Kovarian—all servants of the Silents."
River pointed to the heart at the center of the cross. "Headless Monks are said to follow their hearts, not their minds. They're supposed to be incorruptible because they don't have independent will. You can see that in the symbol, the crown floating over the space where the head would normally be."
"Rubbish," the Doctor said, his lip curling. "Headless Monks are animated corpses, arms and legs for the thing that controls them."
"Animated by what?" asked River.
"You're standing in it, right now," the Doctor said.
River goggled at him. "This computer?"
The Doctor said, "River Song, meet the Papal Mainframe."
(iii)
River didn't know whether to feel elated or terrified. "This?" she said.
"What else would the Silents be guarding so zealously?" the Doctor asked. "Why else would Gossan's entire galaxy be off-limits for millennia? Even poor Tremaine was shot down as a threat and his people picked off one by one because they got too close to Gossan's orbit."
"So it was deliberate sabotage," River said.
"One thing the Papal Mainframe didn't count on," the Doctor said. "Random chance—the cyanide leaking down here and killing the Silents. Leaving all this exposed." He grinned at River, a feral gleam in his eyes.
"Can we destroy it?" asked River.
"It's too well-protected," the Doctor said. "Something this massive can't be destroyed from the outside. We'd have to set off a nuclear reaction at the core of the computer, blow the whole planet apart."
"So what can we do?" asked River. "We can't just leave—we may never get this chance again."
"We have to infiltrate the mainframe," the Doctor said. "Find its weakness."
"How?" asked River.
"Back on Gallifrey, when Time Lords died, their consciousness would be uploaded into a giant computer called the Matrix, so all their wisdom and experience wouldn't be lost," the Doctor said. "Time Lords could use the Matrix to communicate with the dead."
"Fascinating," said River.
"You think so?" asked the Doctor. He sounded weirdly eager and hopeful—almost relieved. River wondered why.
"Well, it sounds more appealing than the alternative," she said. "Do you think the Papal Mainframe is anything like the Gallifreyan Matrix?"
"It might be," the Doctor said. "Once, I entered the Matrix when a corrupt Time Lord had taken control of the system." He grimaced. "Not a pleasant experience, either."
"And that was on your home world," River said. "Doing that here would be walking unarmed into enemy territory."
"It's the only way," the Doctor said. "And I have to do it now; sooner or later, those Silents who died are going to be missed. Someone in the Silence will realize the Mainframe is unguarded, and they're going to come here in force."
"I'm going with you, then."
"Are you sure?" the Doctor asked.
Hands on her hips, River said, "You think I'm going to let you go in there alone?"
"I didn't think you would."
"If we don't make it out alive, Tremaine and Marissa will die," River said.
"If we don't return to the TARDIS in five days, the ship will automatically take them to Symestine," the Doctor said. "I programmed the emergency protocol before we left."
"Which would leave us stranded here," River snorted.
"If we're not out of the Papal Mainframe in five days, we're not getting out at all," the Doctor said.
River took a deep breath. "What will we find in there?"
"A virtual reality landscape," the Doctor said. "It'll feel like a living nightmare. The Papal Mainframe will use our weaknesses against us. It'll try to frighten us, to make us relive our worst experiences. You have to be strong, River. You have to fight it—remember what you love, what you believe in. And it'll be clever—there'll be tricks and traps that you might not expect."
"Don't you worry," River said. "I haven't lived all these years to let a computer get the better of me."
"That's my girl," the Doctor grinned.
"What does it want?" asked River.
"Oh, the usual things," the Doctor said. "Universal domination, probably; and to kill me as well."
"For a particular reason, or just on general principles?"
"Because I'm the only one who can destroy it," the Doctor said. "The only one with the knowledge."
River steeled herself. "All right, then," she said. "How do we start?"
The Doctor used the sonic screwdriver to illuminate another couple of panels. "You put your hands here," he said. "Your consciousness will merge with the Mainframe."
"How do we get out?" asked River.
"By destroying the Mainframe," the Doctor said. "Strike a lethal blow."
"How?" she repeated.
"Do something unexpected," the Doctor said. "Something that doesn't make sense."
"Well, that leaves loads of options," River said. "In other words, improvise?"
"It always works for me," the Doctor said. "Well, most of the time. Well, maybe most of the time. In fact—"
"Doctor," said River, laughing nervously, "shut up."
"Right," he said, stepping in front of one of the panels. "Remember—this is a machine, River. You and me, together, we're stronger than even the most powerful machine in the universe. Hold onto that."
River stepped up to the second panel. "Ready?" she asked.
"On count of three," the Doctor said. "One—two—three—"
As one, River and the Doctor placed their hands on the glowing panels. There was a loud, thundering mechanical noise, like a thousand jet airplanes lifting off at once. And then everything went black.
(iv)
An irregular pattern of flickering light tickled the backs of River's eyelids. She blinked awake, turning. As she did, bedsprings squeaked beneath her. She realized she lay in a bed—a tiny bed, child-sized. Overhead spun a mobile representing the solar system; it was the gleam of soft lamplight on golden planets and stars that had awakened her.
River sat, looking around. The room was small, with a sloped ceiling. She took in the furniture: a large wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a bookcase, a low table, none of the pieces quite matching. Toys lay scattered across a hearth rug. Against one wall stood a sink with a mirror above it, towels neatly folded on a metal drying rack nearby. Beneath the sink was a child-sized chamber pot. Outside the single small window, thunder rumbled, lightning flashed, and rain splashed the wavy glass.
"Oh, my God," River said, then put a hand to her throat. Her voice was young, high, childish. She sprang from the bed and ran to examine her reflection in the mirror. Her face—small and round—perhaps not a twin of young Amelia Pond, but close enough so that even a casual observer would recognize them as kin. The hair, drawn back in two short pigtails, was not the brilliant crimson of her mother's, more of a reddish-brown.
River whirled around. Atop the chest of drawers sat an array of photos, mostly of River—Melody—by herself, growing from a toddler into a little girl. There was one photo of Melody as an infant, hovered over by a smiling Amy. River stared at it, baffled: had this been taken on Demon's Run? Surely not; Amy would never have smiled with such genuine, unforced joy under those circumstances. River examined the shadowing and contours of the photo, deciding that the image had been digitally manipulated.
"To give me the facsimile of a normal childhood," she said out loud.
The door to the room creaked open, and in stepped a small man of middle years, his appearance unkempt, his expression kindly but vacant. He held a tray of food in his hands. When he saw Melody looking at the pictures, he said, "So tragic about the accident." He had a warm voice, his accent suggesting the southern United States. "But you're safe here. Yes. You're safe."
"That's a filthy lie," River shot. Even as a child, she'd had a mouth on her. "My mother is Amelia Pond. My father is Rory Williams, the Last Centurion. And when they find me, they're going to kick your sorry arse."
"Why do you say that?" Dr. Renfrew said, looking deeply hurt. "You know those are lies. Your parents, they died in a car accident. Yes. Why would you tell lies?"
River felt guilty for berating poor, befuddled Dr. Renfrew. He was doing the best he could under the circumstances.
"Of course," River said, still startled by her voice. "The Silents would have no idea how to raise a human child, so I had to have a caretaker until I was old enough to function independently."
Dr. Renfrew blinked at her adult vocabulary. "Yes, yes," he said. "Yes. I must care for the child. It's important. They told me it's important." He set down the tray on the small table. "Your breakfast," he said. "It's your favorite—eggs and toast and grits. Yes."
River ignored the food and his rambling. "So, this is where the nightmare begins," she said. "Greystark Hall. My home for the first—how many years? Six? Seven?"
"Not much longer, now," Dr. Renfrew said. "We close in two years. In 1969."
"It is 1969, you idiot," River said. She squared her shoulders. "I escaped from here once," she said, one of her few childhood memories that remained intact. "I can do it again."
She marched out of the room into the gloomy, dimly-lit hallway. She was in an attic, a garret on the top floor of the orphanage. The rest of Greystark Hall might be falling into a ruin, but the door to Melody's room was reinforced steel with a sturdy lock. River laughed out loud when she saw it. Clearly, the Silents knew how strong she would one day become.
She skipped along the hallway and raced down the stairs, past abandoned dormitories where children once had slept ten or twenty to a room. Not Melody Pond, though—Melody had her own room at the top of the mansion, like a princess kept in the tall tower of a castle. Down the stairs she went, past lettering Dr. Renfrew had painted in great, red splashes, like blood: GET OUT, a message to himself in his more lucid moments; LEAVE ME ALONE, a message to his tormentors.
River reached the first floor, the foyer lit only by irregular flashes of lightning. Each streak of electric-white illuminated the interior of the once-grand house: the mildew, the peeling wallpaper, the dust and cobwebs, the broken old toys.
She tried the front door and, finding it unlocked, raced out into the night. Immediately her thin night-dress was soaked through by the pouring rain, but Melody didn't care: she ran down the crumbling stone steps, splashing through the big puddles in the driveway.
There was a high-pitched sonic whine, then a grinding noise that made Melody's heart leap. Out of nowhere appeared the blue box with the flashing light on top. The door in the front opened, and a young man in a tweed jacket emerged.
"Melody Pond!" he exclaimed, scooping her up in his long arms. "What are you doing out here in the rain, you naughty girl?"
"Escaping," River said.
"No, you don't, not yet—it's too soon for that," the Doctor said, carrying her back inside the orphanage and setting her down. "I've brought some books for you—look, Ivanhoe, and Robinson Crusoe." He drew out the two volumes from beneath his jacket. "You like to read, don't you?"
River responded by kicking the Doctor's ankle, but she was barefoot and hurt herself more than him. She howled in pain, hopping up and down.
"Silly girl," the Doctor said, picking her up and kissing her forehead.
"Doctor, it's me, it's River," she protested as he carried her up the stairs. "We're in the Papal Mainframe. We need to find its weaknesses, its vulnerabilities. We need to—"
"Shush," he said, returning her to her room. "Ah, hello, Dr. Renfrew."
"The child needs to eat," Dr. Renfrew said. "Her breakfast is getting cold."
"We're all right, Dr. Renfrew," the Doctor said. "I've got this sorted. Why don't you get some sleep?"
"Yes," Dr. Renfrew said. "Sleep—yes." He shuffled out of the room.
When he was gone, the Doctor checked the corridor and popped back inside. River stood shivering in her wet nightgown, dripping water onto the floor.
"First things first." The Doctor pulled a towel off the rack, dried Melody, and helped her change into a clean nightgown.
"Why does he give me breakfast at night?" River complained.
"Because he's confused," the Doctor said. "Now, eat. You need to keep up your strength."
River glared at him. "Don't treat me like a child."
He hunkered down to her level. "You are a child," he said. "At least for now. It's too early for you to break out of the orphanage. You'll escape when I come here with your parents and your older self and Mr. Delaware. The Silents will be testing you out in an astronaut suit, but you can escape from it. There's a sort of wire in the back; you just have to wiggle your arm around and pull it until it breaks."
"Why are you even here?" asked River. "You never really came here when I was little."
"Of course I did," he said. "When you told me who you are, I realized at once you must've been the little girl in the suit, so I came here. The Silence brought you here from Demon's Run. You've been in Greystark Hall since 1963."
River threw herself at him. "Take me home!" she said. "To Leadworth, to my mum and dad."
"Shh," the Doctor said. "I can't do that without rewriting your entire life. And you'll find your own way to Leadworth, very soon."
In a sudden burst of anger, River said, "You never came here! You're just trying to salve your own miserable conscience!"
"Melody," he said, "I did. You just can't remember it—the Silents wiped your memories. But I visited all the time—your birthday, Christmas, every few months, making sure you were safe."
"Then why don't you rescue me?"
"Because if you grow up in Leadworth, with your parents, you'll never be River Song." The Doctor looked unbearably sad, and more than a little guilty. "You'd be Melody Pond, another girl in the village. One day, you're going to be a very powerful, very special woman, and you're going to help so many people, but you'll never do any of that if the Silence doesn't raise you."
"I'm lonely," said River. "I want my mum and dad."
He kissed her forehead again. "And they want you, but they don't know they grew up with you—not yet. Now, eat your breakfast and go to sleep. It's 1969 already, and you'll escape in just a few weeks." River pouted, but the Doctor said, "I know it's terrible to be lonely, but you're safe here—you have food and shelter and someone to look after you. The Silents won't hurt you—you're too valuable to them."
"I'm special," Melody boasted.
"Of course you are," the Doctor said. He waved his sonic screwdriver at the tray of food. "There, that'll warm it up. Now, eat."
River did as she was told: she ate, she relieved herself in the little chamber pot, and she crawled back into her bed. The Doctor told her a story about the far-away planet Silane, where the crimson sun set every night in a cloud of green and purple gas. Melody fell asleep listening to the sound of his voice, the most soothing sound she knew, the most wonderful sound in the universe.
(v)
When River awoke again, she was in the Florida warehouse, where the Silents had tested her in the astronaut suit.
"Wakey-wakey," sang a familiar, hated voice.
"Oh, God," River groaned, hauling herself off the floor to face Madame Kovarian, relieved to find herself in her adult body once more. "If it isn't the mutant lovespawn of Cruella de Ville and Mrs. Danvers."
The literary references went right over Madame Kovarian's head. "We've waited so long for you, Melody. All of us." River heard the hissing rattle of Silents, and she thought she saw the sweeping robes of Headless Monks in the shadows.
"The whole freak squad's here," River said.
A few Silents emerged from the darkness, flanking Madame Kovarian. "Your old friends," she smiled. "Your babysitters, remember? Or not."
"More your friends than mine," River shot back. "I'm sure you find plenty of use for those middle fingers on the cold, lonely nights."
"So disrespectful," Madame Kovarian said, her black-lipsticked mouth tightening in distaste.
"Says the woman who kidnaps children and decapitates her followers." River glanced around. "What now? I know about my childhood, Madame Kovarian. I know how it began, how it ends, what I suffered. And I know you lose. Nothing you show me here can change that."
"Oh, I'm not here to show you what you suffered," Madame Kovarian said, still smiling, her voice honeyed and cloying. "I'm here to show you what you missed. Come with me." And she put her hand on River's arm.
(vi)
At the touch of her hand, everything went blank again. River awakened to the sound of birdsong, to flickering leaf shadow on a pale wall. She blinked: her bedroom in Leadworth.
There was a knock on the door, and a young, brown-skinned woman poked her head inside. "Melody," she called out. "Come on—training time. We have a surprise for you."
Melody leaped out of bed, washed, and dressed. A surprise. That could only mean a new type of weapon. She was outside in the back garden before she remembered she had already lived this day, that she was experiencing a computer-generated simulacrum of her youth.
A small, burly white man waited in the wooded back lot behind the Zuckers' cottage. Like the woman, he appeared to be about thirty-five. They were fifty-first century clerics, River knew, chosen because they could plausibly pass as the parents of a light-skinned black girl.
"Hey, Melody," the man said. His name was Trevor, and he spoke with an accent curiously between British and American. River remembered their cover story—the Zuckers were Canadians, living in the village while Trevor worked as an engineer for a military contractor outside Gloucester. Marlene—that was the woman's name, or the name she was using here.
River decided to play along this time, hoping she could learn something about the Papal Mainframe.
"Hey, Dad," she said. "What've you got for me?"
He handed her a gleaming black gun.
"Cool!" exclaimed Melody, looking it over. "A semi!"
"We figured you're ready to move on from pistols," Trevor said. "This is a Glock 17 with a high-capacity magazine—you can get off 33 rounds before you need to change the clip." He demonstrated for Melody how to load and eject the gun's magazine. "You'll need it when you face the Doctor—he's one fast son of a bitch, and you'll need to get to both hearts quickly."
"Right," said Melody. "What's this bit, here?" She touched the barrel.
"A silencer," Trevor said.
Marlene added, "Ideally, you'll be somewhere secluded when you take him on—the fewer witnesses, the better."
Trevor said, "With a gun like this, witnesses shouldn't be an issue. But either way, you don't want to draw attention to yourself."
"Hot damn," said Melody. "Can I have a machine gun next?"
Marlene and Trevor laughed. "One thing at a time, Mels," Trevor said. "Now, why don't you squeeze off a few rounds?"
Melody and her ersatz parents donned protective ear coverings; in addition, the Zuckers wore Kevlar vests. As a precaution against accidents, or because they didn't fully trust Melody? No matter—River turned to the target, a plastic shop dummy about the same size and shape as the Doctor. The Zuckers had even dressed the dummy in a tweed jacket and put a wig of floppy dark hair on its head. Bracing her right wrist with her left hand, Melody fired the gun, steeling her body against the weapon's recoil. The Glock fairly leapt in her hands; River kept her arms locked and strong. After fifteen rounds, she flipped the gun into her left hand, supporting the wrist with her right, and kept firing.
"Good work!" Trevor praised, slipping off his ear coverings. "How does that feel?"
"Brilliant," said Mels, tossing her hair a bit.
He handed her a pair of fresh clips. "Now, try it again, and let's see how quickly you reload."
Mels repeated the drill, and when the first clip was spent, she ejected it and inserted the replacement, lightning fast, whipping up her arm to continue shooting, almost without missing a beat.
"Excellent speed," said Marlene. "You definitely have Time Lord reflexes. Once you start using an energy blaster, there'll be no stopping you."
"When do I get to kill something that actually bleeds?" asked Mels. "Making Swiss cheese out of shop dummies is getting a little dull."
"When the time is right," Trevor promised.
Marlene asked, "How are your parents progressing?"
"Dating," shrugged Mels. "I almost never see Amy anymore—she's always off somewhere, shagging the Beak." Making a face, she said, "Please tell me I won't get his nose next time I regenerate."
Trevor and Marlene laughed, and Marlene said, "You won't target the Doctor until Amy and Rory are married—otherwise, you'll erase yourself from existence, and that would be a pity, wouldn't it?"
"Damn straight." Melody played with the gun. "What now?"
"Staff work," said Trevor.
"Staves are boring," Mels complained. "This isn't the freaking Middle Ages. Can't we at least do swords?"
Trevor shook his head. They left the shooting range and moved to another part of the training field. "The Doctor, for all his professed pacifism, is expert with any number of weapons. Also, he's brilliant at improvisation. You never know when or where you're going to encounter him, and you'll need to be able to fight with anything you find at hand. You could very well have to fight him in the Middle Ages. Unfortunately for us, his followers—and even complete strangers—have a habit of sacrificing themselves to save or protect him, so you also never know who or what is going to get in your way. You'll need to be prepared for anything, Mels. This is no ordinary target you're going after."
"But I'm the only one who can take him down," Melody bragged.
"That's right," said Marlene, "the only being in the universe who could be remotely considered his equal. But remember: take nothing for granted. He hasn't survived a thousand years by being stupid."
Trevor tossed a long staff to Melody. "Right, then," he said.
Melody brandished the weapon, grinning widely. "Have at it, Little John."
(vii)
After dinner that night, the computer in the corner of the dining room began to bleep softly.
"We have company," Trevor said, shifting to check the transmat module, disguised to resemble a tall china cabinet. "It must be time for your progress report, Mels. Look sharp."
Marlene hastened to clear the dishes from the table; Mels grabbed a damp tea towel and wiped away the crumbs. A few moments later, in a shimmer of light, Madame Kovarian appeared, flanked by a pair of armed clerics.
Marlene, Trevor, and Mels, stood at attention. "Ma'am," said Trevor.
"At ease," said Madame Kovarian, and the Zuckers relaxed. The gaze of her uncovered eye shifted to the youngest member of the trio. "Hello, Melody."
"Hey, Madame K," said Mels, the only member of the Silence who dared to be so casual with the older woman.
"It's six months," Madame Kovarian said, not wasting any time. "Show us."
Marlene set up the laptop in the center of the table so that Madame Kovarian and the two clerics could have a clear view of the screen. Marlene toggled a couple of keys, and a video began playing: a montage of Melody's most recent training activities. As Madame Kovarian watched, Melody climbed things, rappelled down cliff faces, engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Marlene and Trevor, swam the waters of a churning river, piloted a number of vehicles, and demonstrated expertise with weapons ranging from ancient to modern.
When the video finished, Trevor said, "And that doesn't even include today's work—she handles a Glock 17 better than our best operatives."
Madame Kovarian gave a curt nod. "Satisfactory. How's her schooling?"
"Exellent, as usual." Marlene toggled more keys, revealing Melody's test results—not her Leadworth schooling, but her indoctrination in the history and philosophy of the Silence.
"Hm." Madame Kovarian never spoke more than strictly necessary; if there was a problem, though, the Zuckers would hear about it, and not kindly. Madame Kovarian snapped her fingers three times in Melody's face, and at once the girl went rigid, her gaze glassy. "What is your name?"
"Melody Tabetha Pond, also known as Melody Zucker, or Mels."
"What are you?"
"A loyal acolyte of the Silence, Ma'am."
"What is your purpose?"
"To kill the Doctor, Ma'am, and to permanently end the threat he represents to the Silence."
"Very good." Madame Kovarian snapped her fingers once, and Mels relaxed. "Since your training is progressing so well, it's time we gave you something special." Madame Kovarian reached into an inner pocket of her jacket. "You'll never bring down the Doctor with any conventional weapon. He's too wily for that. He has another weakness, though, one you can easily exploit."
"What's that?" asked Melody.
Smirking, Madame Kovarian said, "He can't resist a pretty face." She handed a slim metal tube to Melody. It looked like an ordinary cosmetics tube, save that there was a cap at each end. Melody unscrewed one cap, finding within a lipstick of a pale, waxy substance.
"I usually like something a little darker," said Mels. "This won't really work with my complexion."
"It's a silicone base," Madame Kovarian said. "It's colorless. Put it on before you use the other end, unless you want to die an especially nasty death." She said this last with particular relish.
Melody carefully unscrewed the second cap, which revealed a glass roller ball, similar to those found in purse-sized perfume vials.
"Use a tiny amount," Madame Kovarian said. "It penetrates the skin in seconds."
Melody sniffed, detecting a faint herbal tang. "What is it?"
"Poison from the Judas tree," Madame Kovarian said, her eye aglow. "So named because of its use in poisoned kisses."
"I have to kiss him? The Doctor?" asked Melody.
"One quick, light touch," Madame Kovarian said. "And don't lick your own lips until you've washed off the poison, otherwise you'll be just as dead. The poison is fatal within thirty minutes, and is more painful than the sting of a jellyfish. Well—that's what the prisoner we tested it on said before he died, in between all the writhing and screaming in agony."
"Is there a cure?" Melody screwed the cap back onto the tube.
"None," said Madame Kovarian.
"The Doctor will just regenerate," said Melody.
"The poison also contains an enzyme to block regeneration," Madame Kovarian said. "Something we developed with the aid of your DNA, my sweet." She laughed. "Remarkable how useful a few stem cells can be."
Marlene said, "Take extra care, Mels. That poison could kill you just as easily as the Doctor, and you wouldn't be able to regenerate."
"Point taken." Mels made sure both ends of the tube were tightly capped.
"Keep it with you at all times," Madame Kovarian ordered.
"Yes, Ma'am." Melody slipped the vial down into her cleavage.
"Until November, then." Madame Kovarian gestured to the two clerics.
"Yes, Ma'am," the three Zuckers chorused, standing at attention until Madame Kovarian and her attendants had vanished into the teleport.
"Good work," said Marlene. "She doesn't show much, but she's pleased with your progress, Mels."
Melody said, "Do I get an eyepatch, too?"
"Only members of the Inner Sanctum wear an eye drive," Marlene said. "That's a privilege you have to earn."
Trevor said, "Bring down the Doctor, and almost certainly you'll be elevated to the Inner Sanctum. Most of us have to wait years, but you're a vital asset to the Order."
Melody stretched. "So, what happens after I kill the Doctor? What do I do then?"
Trevor said, "Other missions, naturally. The Silence has other enemies, not just the Doctor, though not nearly as dangerous. You'll be sent into the field as required, and you'll have a cover identity when you're not on assignment."
"'Kay," said Mels. Her left hip pocket began to vibrate, and she withdrew her phone. "Got a text," she said, opening the message. "It's from Amy." Melody barked a short laugh. "The Beak popped the question. They're getting married in a year—June 2010. Beaky insisted they set a date right away, the big lump. He's probably worried Amy'll scarper in the middle of the night. Oh, Christ, I suppose she'll want me in her wedding. I better think of a good excuse. Maybe I can have measles."
"Excellent," said Marlene, glancing at Trevor. "The time is getting closer. We better step up your training."
Melody patted the front of her blouse, where the vial of poison lay hidden. "Just say the word."
(viii)
River blinked. She was back in the warehouse again, Madame Kovarian watching her reactions to everything the Papal Mainframe revealed.
"So?" said River. "Was there a point to all that?"
"To remind you of where you came from, and how much further you could have gone."
"As an assassin in the employ of the Silence?" asked River. "No, thank you."
"We made you what you are," Madame Kovarian said. "All your skills and cunning—we trained you, don't forget. You'd never be the River Song whose very name strikes terror in the hearts of her adversaries, if not for us."
"Your loss," River shrugged.
"Your loss," Madame Kovarian countered. "You could be the most powerful woman in all of time and space, with more wealth and influence than most pathetic species can even imagine. And you threw it all away for that flop-haired, meddlesome prat."
"'But what shall it profit a woman, if she gains the whole universe, and lose her own soul?'" River misquoted.
Madame Kovarian's eye rolled. "Human drivel," she said. "It was a mistake to let you be raised on Earth—you've become one of them. Weak. Soft. Superstitious." Smiling, she said, "It's not too late, Melody. You could still join us. We're more forgiving than you'd think."
River snorted. "I'd rather die."
"That can be arranged," Madame Kovarian said, putting her hand on River's arm again.
(ix)
The enormous industrial clothes washers and dryers droned, a neverending din, churning their way through cycle after cycle as they cleaned the prison uniforms and linens. The heat generated by the machines was fierce, turning the laundry into a boiling sauna. River and three other female prisoners worked in sleeveless tops and thin trousers, yet they gleamed with sweat.
Today was Krystal's turn to watch over them, a petite, homely member of the prison staff. Unlike so many other Stormcage employees, Krystal seemed perfectly content to remain in the prison, running the airless, overheated laundry. Her colorless hair, yanked back in a ponytail, did nothing to soften her harsh features and pockmarked skin. But she was a fair taskmistress, allowing the prisoners plenty of breaks for water, and she kept the three tiny, ceiling-level windows open at all times.
Halfway through River's shift, Landers Gordon, one of the female guards, appeared.
"They behaving?" she asked, jutting her chin toward the four inmates.
"Yeah," said Krystal. "They're good."
Landers drew off her helmet. "How the fuck do you stand it in here?" she asked.
Krystal shrugged her twig-like shoulders. "You get used to it."
Landers leaned against the work table. She was a tall, handsome woman—ambitious, River thought.
"You free later?" Landers asked Krystal.
The laundress shook her head. "Nope."
"I thought we could get a drink," said Landers.
"Sorry, nope." Krystal turned her back, loading some sheets into a clothes washer. River watched the whole exchange from the corner of her eye as she folded clean uniforms. Krystal finished her task, turning, clearly perturbed to find Landers still there.
"It's not serious with the chocolate pudding, is it?"
"None a' ya fucken business," spat Krystal.
"Woo-hoo," said Landers. "That lump? She must munch a mean rug. I mean, Christ, she's massive. How do you find her pussy under all that blubber?"
"Shaddup," said Krystal, her rat-like face mottled with anger.
"You don't know what you're missing," said Landers. "Tell you what—one date. I'll bet my next month's salary you never want that freak to touch you again."
"Fuck off," said Krystal.
"Make me!" Landers grabbed Krystal, throwing her into one of the huge metal washers, causing the smaller woman to howl in pain. "You scrawny fucking little twat!"
This was more than River could tolerate. In one swift bound, she was across the laundry room floor. Landers saw her coming, but too late. River aimed her kick at the back of the knee, where the two pieces of leg armor were joined together, one of the only vulnerable spots. Landers yelped, the leg buckling beneath her, and River decked her with a stunning blow to the temple.
"Get out of here," River told Krystal, knowing just how ugly things were going to get.
Krystal darted from the room. A moment later, two male guards rushed in, each wielding a heavy black truncheon. They lit into River, throwing her into the machines and then down to the floor, where they beat and kicked her until the room went black.
River came to awareness some indefinite span of time later, unable even to open her eyes. Something hard and horrid was in her nose, her mouth, her throat. She thrashed and flailed, but found herself completely immobilized. She heard a voice, and a moment later the blackness rose up again.
When she came around, the breathing tube had been removed, and she could open her left eye a slit, enough to realize she was in the prison infirmary. This time she didn't try to move: every single fiber of her body was a searing, screaming inferno of pain. A few moments later, a shadow crossed her tiny field of vision, and the world went blank.
The next time she awoke, she was able to make at least a small croaking noise. She heard a chair scrape, and a rough voice nearby said, "Don't try ta' move so much. Ya healin' fast, but ya still got a ways to go."
River groaned again, and the voice said, "I'll getcha some morphine."
Each time River regained consciousness after that, she had a bit more vision, a bit more mobility. She could lift her head with effort and take a few sips of water, but most of her nutrition came via an intravenous line. At last, the day came when she could sit upright and look down at the casts: both arms, and her left leg.
At the next change of shifts in the infirmary, a staggeringly obese black-skinned woman took over River's care. "I'm Tassinelli, Tass for short," she said. River recognized her rough voice.
"What does the other guy look like?" River wheezed.
"Ya lucky ta' be alive," said Tass, checking beneath the bandages on River's head. "Ya looked like raw meat when they brotcha here." For all her great size and butch demeanor, her touch was gentler than River would have imagined possible. "Thanks."
River blinked. "For what?"
"For protectin' Krystal from that whore Landers."
River recalled what Landers had said: chocolate pudding. Of course. Tass and Krystal must be lovers. The racial slur would have enraged River if she'd had more strength.
"It was my pleasure, for about ten seconds," she said.
Tass oversaw River's treatment and recovery, sneaking her treats from the canteen and books from the library. When River's face wasn't such a horror show, Valeria came in to visit, and from the way she started and blanched, River could guess the extent of the damage; Tass hadn't allowed River access to a mirror. Every day, the nurse remarked on how amazingly well River was healing: no scarring, no disfiguring lumps of tissue, her flesh seeming to leap back together into its normal configuration. Even her broken bones were completely mended in less than a month. Her immune system, her Time Lord's ability to mend, was restoring not only River's health but her beauty.
The emotional healing took longer. Every night, River waited for the Doctor to appear—surely by now he would wonder why she wasn't in her usual cell and come looking for her. She wanted terribly to see him, to be reassured by his voice, his touch. But his absence dragged on, and every day, River sank a bit further into despair.
On the day River was scheduled to return to her cell, the vice-commandant of the women's prison arrived in the infirmary. Since River had attacked a prison guard, she was sentenced to solitary confinement, beginning immediately. Tass protested, to no avail. Now that River no longer required medical attention, she could begin serving her sentence. Rules were rules, and attacking a prison guard carried an automatic penalty of six months in solitary.
"The Pit," as it was known in Stormcage, consisted of cells in the basement of the prison, tiny windowless oubliettes in the thick, lower walls of the fortress, the doors made of impenetrable black steel. There was a narrow cot, a sink, and a toilet. Nothing else was allowed, not writing material, not even a book. The single light blinked on in the morning and blinked out again at night, leaving the cell in Stygian darkness for ten hours. No sound penetrated the walls, not even the churning of the ocean outside. Twice a day, meals were delivered through a hatch at the base of the door. Once a week, River was allowed out to shower; that was the only human contact she had, the only sense of time passing. Day after interminable day, she laid on her cot in the cell, too numb even to move.
And still the Doctor did not come.
Three and a half weeks into her sentence—she knew how much time it had been because she'd had three showers—the door opened, and two guards put River in shackles. She was escorted up to her usual cell, unshackled, and locked in her cell without any explanation. For a full forty-eight hours, River lay on her cot, breathing in the cool scent of rain and sea air, listening to the joyous symphony of thunder and crashing waves, watching the lightning flash on her cell walls, feeling as though she'd been delivered from Hell into paradise.
The third day after her release, Valeria was allowed to visit, bringing River a large stack of books from the library. The visit was brief, five minutes, supervised by a hovering guard outside, but River learned what had happened. Tass and Valeria had appealed to the prison commandant to review River's case. Krystal had testified on River's behalf. At last, the commandant agreed to view the security tape from the laundry room. If River had acted in self-defense, the sentence would have been upheld, but because she'd acted in Krystal's defense, the sentence was commuted to confinement in her cell. For the remaining five months, River had no gym or library privileges, but she had light and fresh air, and after nearly a month in the Pit, she valued those things more than gold. She anticipated also that the Doctor would come and take her for their usual adventures, but his absence continued, and River began to fear he might have died for real this time.
At last, her punishment ended, and River was allowed to begin using the library and gym once more, to mingle with the other prisoners. She learned through gossip that fate had taken its own revenge: one of the male guards who'd beaten River had slipped while patrolling the outer battlements of the fortress and fallen to his death in the ocean below. The second male guard had been demoted for persistent drunkenness and transferred to an installation on another part of the planet. And Landers, the lecherous female guard, had eaten a piece of contaminated fruit and died an agonizing death from an intestinal parasite. River suspected Tass had had a hand in that one, but she said nothing. Professor Candy visited, and River resumed her archeological reading and writing.
Three months after that, the Doctor appeared, acting, as usual, as if it had been only five or ten minutes since their last meeting. River sometimes debated telling him what had happened, but the whole incident was done and over, the perpetrators gone, and River, her spirits mostly restored, opted not to add any more weight to the burden of guilt the Doctor already carried.
(x)
"So very noble of you," Madame Kovarian said.
River shot back, "Did you really think making me relive all that could make me return to the Silence?"
"The Doctor doesn't love you nearly as much as you think he does," Madame Kovarian said. "You're one in a long line of women for him."
"You think I don't know that?" River asked. "I'd rather have three minutes' love from the Doctor than a lifetime of sham affection from someone like you."
"Look how long he was away when you needed him most," Madame Kovarian said, gloating. "His absences will get longer and longer and longer, until one day, he'll never come back. Is that what you want? A life of imprisonment, all to protect a man who'll forget you even exist?"
River laughed. "You don't get it, do you?" she said. "Stormcage was the first time in my life I was completely outside the control of the Silence. Ironic, isn't it? Behind bars, even in the Pit, I was never so truly free."
"You will never be free from us," Madame Kovarian hissed. She snapped her fingers three times in front of River's face, but River didn't blink.
"Sorry," she smiled. "I overcame that conditioning a long time ago. Throw your worst at me, Madame Kovarian. My mind will always be my own, no matter what you do."
"Then perhaps you need to walk a path not taken," Madame Kovarian said, putting her hand on River's wrist.
(xi)
Sunlight and birdsong awakened River. She turned over and blinked, sitting up. She stared around. She knew this room—she'd passed so many hours in here, listening to stories about the Doctor and sharing idle village gossip, later watching her parents fall in love. Amy's bedroom in the Ponds' house in Leadworth.
A rapping at the door broke into her thoughts. "It's morning, Sleepyhead. Are you gonna sleep through your entire birthday?"
"It's my birthday?" said River, startled by her voice—a child's voice once more.
The door opened a few inches, and Amy peered inside.
"Of course it's your birthday," she said. "What kind of dream were you having, anyway?"
"A really strange one," said Melody, scratching her head.
"Well, come on downstairs."
This isn't real, River thought, padding across the hallway to the bathroom. Reflected back at her in the mirror stared a young face, perhaps three years older than the last time she'd seen it, longer and slimmer, less childish.
This never happened. River washed her face at the sink. I never grew up in this house. I didn't even live beyond seven years in this body.
She cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair—shoulder length now and a lustrous, rich chestnut color, full of red and gold highlights. River lingered over the sensation of it running through her fingers. Amazing hair. What a beautiful color—I'd love to have this color again. She leaned closer to the mirror, examining her face. Freckled skin, full pink lips, blue eyes—Rory's eyes.
In the kitchen, Amy was cooking bacon and eggs, and the scent made River salivate. Unable to shake the sheer reality of this vision, she sat at the table and poured a glass of orange juice. Across the table, Rory lowered his newspaper.
"Happy birthday," he smiled. "Ten years old. Double digits. How does it feel?"
"Brilliant," said Melody. "It's a birthday in binary code."
Her parents both laughed, and Amy set a plate of food in front of Melody. She ate, disconcerted by the sights, sounds, and scents, all the textures of memory. The eggs were delicious—fresh from their own hens, Melody knew. She could remember helping Amy clean the chicken coop only a day or two earlier. The bacon, she knew, came from a hog farm outside Leadworth. Around the kitchen were set flowers in vases—Amy's flowers, from her garden. Those vases Amy had thrown, glazed, and fired herself. Melody had chosen some of the colors.
Amy and Rory looked exactly the way River thought they'd look in their early thirties. Rory's hair had darkened from sandy-blond to a medium brown, while Amy's auburn mane had faded a bit to a lighter red. Both had faint lines River had never seen on them—creases around their eyes from laughing and pleasant, wavy forehead lines from lifting their brows.
The house looked different from how it had been when Augustus and Tabetha had lived there—Melody knew her grandparents had retired to the Cotswolds, a move they'd made with Amy's financial assistance. Amy and Rory had bought the house from them, redecorating it to their own tastes. Melody could remember all of it: the day her grandparents had moved, the smells of paint and plaster dust from the renovations.
The door burst open, and in flew a boy of about six, whip-thin, his hair a vast white-blond pile, eyes wide and gray-green.
"Mum," he said, "Dad, there's a—"
"Oh, my God!" Melody blurted.
Three heads turned to stare at her.
"What?" the boy said.
"You're my brother," said Melody.
"Of course he's your brother, silly," said Amy, folding her arms. "What's wrong with you? Did the Doctor come and take you for a spin in the TARDIS last night?"
Rory clicked his tongue. "Not 'till you're at least eighteen; we keep telling him that."
Melody couldn't stop staring at the young boy, who looked exactly as Rory had at the same age.
"What?" he asked, sticking out his tongue at her.
"Chris, that's rude," Amy reprimanded. "Now, what'd you see?"
"A pheasant," the boy answered. "It was under the hedge."
"Dinner," said Rory, returning to his paper.
"Ew," said Amy.
"We eat the chickens when they're too old to lay eggs," Melody said.
"Those are our birds," said Amy. "They're not… wild animals." She told the boy, "Wash your hands and have some breakfast."
He did as she said, sitting at the table. Christopher. That was his name—Christopher Augustus Williams, after Rory's and Amy's fathers. Melody watched him eat. A younger sibling. Of course—Amy and Rory surely would have other children, children who would grow up very like this—the life River had never experienced. The fragmented memories of her lonely, frightened years in Greystark Hall hurt now with unexpected intensity.
For a while, Melody sat at the table in the kitchen, basking in her parents' love, in the security of an ordinary home. She knew it was all a mirage, but she nevertheless wanted it to continue and never stop.
"C'mon, Mels," Amy said when the meal ended. "Get your Wellies."
Outside, beneath the balmy spring sun, Melody helped her mother weed vegetables and water the flowers. The wild jungle from Augustus and Tabetha's days had been tamed, replaced with ordered rows of vegetables and terraced beds of flowers. Wire fencing enclosed a chicken coop and yard. There were several outbuildings: a couple of sheds and a large structure that Melody recognized as Amy's studio.
Everything felt absurdly real: the warm sun, the soil beneath Melody's hands, the rough shapes of roots, the slim new shoots of vegetables, as pale green as limes, reaching up toward the sky. Amy also grew raspberries, and Melody knew there would be strawberries in another three months. In the distance lay an orchard of apple and pear trees, their limbs lacy with tender young leaves; soon, they would be heavy with blossoms. When Melody wiped sweat off her forehead, she could feel the gritty smear of dirt her hand left behind.
When they finished in the garden, Amy went back into the kitchen, Melody on her heels.
"Time to bake a cake!" Amy sang out.
Melody assisted, following her mother's directions: measuring ingredients, melting chocolate, cracking eggs, watching everything fold together into a smooth batter. Amy poured the chocolate in last, the batter turning from a creamy white to a creamy brown. Melody greased and floured five small, round, rather flat pans, which Amy filled with cake batter.
"Right," said Amy, setting a timer. "That'll take a bit—why don't you go out and play for a while?"
Melody thought this a wonderful suggestion. For the next two hours, she explored Leadworth on her red bicycle, discovering that very little had changed since her days as Melody Zucker. Indeed, it began to seem to her that those days had never existed, or that they had happened in another timeline. How could this world not be real? Everyone and everything she saw, she recognized. She knew the history of each house, the personality of each villager she passed.
Melody bicycled as far as Upper Leadworth, joining some local children as they played in the ruins of the castle. When the afternoon sun began to slant down the sky, Melody cycled back to Leadworth and home. She rode slowly, marveling at the verisimilitude of this vision. Grass that had been dewy in the morning now stood dry. Shadows cast by trees and buildings had changed in response to the sun's position. A faint breeze had picked up, and overhead, clouds sailed across the heavens, not white, but blue and gray and lavender, shot through with gold where the sun's rays touched them. Melody could smell farms and wood smoke and newly-mowed grass, as well as the ineffable scent of springtime. How could this world not be real?
In Melody's absence, Amy had decorated the house with green and purple balloons and the dining room table with a tablecloth and napkins in the same colors. A stack of wrapped gifts sat in one corner. Amy had assembled the five layers of the cake with luscious buttercream frosting and topped the entire confection with ten purple candles. In the oven, a chicken roasted.
"Go and wash," Amy said, laughing at Melody's expression.
Family arrived: Aunt Sharon, Rory's parents, two of his cousins, and their children. Just as Amy began serving dinner, Augustus and Tabetha arrived, embracing Melody and exclaiming at how much she'd grown. The meal was a noisy, wonderful cacophony of voices and laughter. Melody could barely process the conversation; she sat enveloped in a cocoon of the most intense joy possible.
After the meal came the gifts: not children's toys, but sophisticated novels and scholarly works, games and Mensa-designed puzzles, all to challenge Melody's precocious intelligence. The final present was in a large box, wrapped in newspaper and tied with string. The newspaper, Melody saw, was covered in words she recognized without difficulty as Portuguese.
"Someone was in Brazil," Rory remarked.
Melody cut the string and tore away the paper, gasping at the image on the box.
"A telescope!" she shrieked.
Amy put an arm around her. "Now you can look at the stars up close."
"Who was that from?" asked Tabetha.
"The Doctor," said Amy. "He left it here on his last visit."
"That mad bloke from the wedding?" laughed Augustus. "You never did tell us the secret of his vanishing trick with the blue box."
Melody looked around, pouting. "Where is he?"
"You know he can't be at every birthday," Amy said gently.
Rory said, "We're having a skylight put in the roof this summer," he said. "The attic can be your observatory. How do you like that?"
Melody wiggled with excitement. "That sounds brilliant. Thanks, Daddy!"
Amy said, "Next time the Doctor visits, he can show you how to use the telescope—if you haven't worked it out on your own by then."
"The manual's in Portuguese, but that won't stump the wonder-kid for long," Rory said.
"She'll be starting uni by the time she's twelve," Tabetha smiled.
"She's almost there now," Amy laughed.
"What are you going to read at uni?" Tabetha asked Melody, bemused.
"Astrophysics," said Melody. "Or maybe rocket science. I want to build a spaceship, so I can travel in outer space."
Her younger brother, sitting in Rory's father's lap, announced, "I want to be a fireman."
Christopher kissed the top of his young namesake's head. "There's a good lad," he said. "No trips to Mars for you, then?"
"Please," said Rory. "I'd like at least one of my kids to keep their feet on Earth."
(xii)
The party lingered well into the evening, when at last the guests began to disperse. Augustus and Tabetha sat in the parlor, catching up on village gossip with Aunt Sharon. Upstairs, Rory ran a bath for young Christopher while Amy helped Melody stow her gifts.
"Want to wear your pretty new jim-jams tonight?" Amy asked.
Melody sat on the bed, gazing seriously at her mother.
Amy said, "If you're in a strop because the Doctor didn't come to your party—"
"This isn't real," Melody said. "None of this is real, Mummy. I never grew up here. I grew up in a creepy old orphanage in America."
"In another timeline, you did." Amy sat on the bed also. "It's okay; I know you can remember that. But the Doctor changed your life after he defeated the Silence."
"No, he didn't," said Melody. "He never defeated the Silence. Well, he hasn't yet."
Amy had the patient, tolerant look of a parent dealing with a child who insists their imaginary friend really exists or a fairy tale is in fact true.
"He did," said Amy. "He loves you so much; he'd do anything for you."
"I don't want to be Melody Pond!" Melody burst out. "I want to be River Song, traveling in time and space and marrying the Doctor."
"You were willing to give that up so we could raise you," Amy said.
"The Doctor—"
"He gave up the chance to be married to you," Amy said. "He sacrificed his own happiness so that Daddy and I could have you back as a baby and raise you properly, here in Leadworth. You both agreed to it. When the war with the Silence was over, he went back to Florida and rescued you from Greystark Hall. You've been here in Leadworth with us since you were six months old." Amy reached over to stroke her daughter's hair. "I know it's confusing, sweetie—the same thing happened to me, remember? I had two different childhoods, and I remember both of them."
Melody sat on the bed, staring at Amy, stunned. For one wild instant, she thought Amy spoke truth, that this marvelous world was real, that this timeline existed. The Papal Mainfame's cunning knowledge of the Doctor's personality was what made this vision so very plausible. He would willingly sacrifice his very life for the well-being of others; how much more readily he would give up his chance at fleeting happiness with the woman he loved.
Melody pondered this—would she be willing to make the same sacrifice? Give up her life, everything that made her River Song, her marriage to the Doctor, in order to restore Amy and Rory's child to them, to give them the chance to raise their daughter, a chance they thought they'd lost forever? Melody was honest enough to recognize her own selfishness. She didn't want that. As difficult has her life had been, it was her life, and it had made her what she was: strong, capable, clever, resourceful, even ruthless. Madame Kovarian was right: River would never be any of those things without the intervention of the Silence.
Still stroking Melody's hair, Amy said, "Don't fuss; the Doctor'll probably turn up here on your eighteenth birthday and whisk you off into the time vortex before Daddy and I can blink." She laughed and said, "Maybe we can have a proper wedding this time. I'm sure there's no getting out of being his mother-in-law."
Melody made a noise of protest, but Amy said, "This world is real, Melody—this is your life. Your life as River Song doesn't exist now." Amy reached over, pulling Melody into a maternal embrace, warm with the scent of her latest fragrance. "Aren't you happy here? You're safe and loved, and nothing can hurt you."
Amy's arms, so full of love and reassurance, began to feel like velvet chains, and even her voice was cloying. Melody yanked herself free and yelled, "It's a lie! It's all a lie! I hate you! This never happened!"
Amy was on her feet now, full of menace, green eyes flashing anger, red hair standing out from her head, her demeanor that of an ancient Celtic warrior-queen—powerful and fearsome. "You ungrateful little monster! Look at all that's been done for you, how much we've given up for you, and this is how you thank us!" Remarkable how Amy's voice had begun to resemble Madame Kovarian's.
Melody grabbed the nearest object at hand: the box containing the telescope. With all her strength, she threw it through the window. The glass exploded outward, and a sucking, whooshing vacuum filled the bedroom, as if Melody had blown the airlock on a spaceship.
"Melody, no!" Amy cried, reaching out to grab her daughter, but River allowed herself to be carried out the window and into the black nothingness of space
(xiii)
The cold chill persisted, even when she woke up. River found herself lying on a concrete floor, shivering in a bitter wind. Around her were the steel posts of a half-finished skyscraper, sheets of plastic fluttering and whipping every which way. River remembered this place well: the building she'd fallen from in 1969. Strange to think now that her older self had been traversing America, investigating the Silence, all while her younger self had been a prisoner in Greystark Hall.
"Remarkable." Madame Kovarian melted out of the shadows. She was alone now, and without the Silents or the Clerics or the Headless Monks, she seemed smaller, diminished, older. "Even when tempted with your heart's greatest desire, you resist."
"Nothing you can do or say would ever change how I feel about the Doctor," River said.
"Nothing?" Madame Kovarian smiled. "Oh, I could tell you some things about him that would change your mind, Melody. Secrets he's keeping from you. You don't really think it was coincidence that those two Stormcage guards died so soon after the attack on you?"
River said, "You'll have to do better than that, Madame Kovarian."
"Or how about the biggest secret of all? The one he's been keeping since the first time he met you? The one he will never, ever tell you?" Madame Kovarian laughed. "Why don't you ask your precious Doctor about that? The answer might surprise you."
The wind was cold at River's back as she edged towards the precipice. "I don't care," she said. "Unlike you, I've learned that some things can't be controlled or predicted, and that's one of the joys of life."
Madame Kovarian's expression changed when she realized what River was going to do. "Melody, no," she said. "Your life… your whole life! You could be so much more than this!"
"Or so much less," River said.
Madame Kovarian's mouth trembled. "My little girl," she said. "My precious little girl, who I raised like my own daughter."
"You're not my mother," River shot back. "Amelia Pond is my mother, and she's a million times the woman you'll ever be." The ledge was at River's back now, the streets of New York City fifty floors below, a vertiginous plunge straight down. "Do you know why the Silence failed to defeat the Doctor? Because they put a sadistic diva like you in charge."
"He won't always be there to save you, you know," Madame Kovarian said. "And then only death will be waiting for you."
"If it's a choice between dying and being a plaything of the Silence," River told her, "I'd rather die." She opened her arms wide. "Goodbye, Madame Kovarian." And she dropped back into the cold embrace of the dark night.
(xiv)
At the instant of impact, River's eyes popped open. She stepped away from the glowing panel, gasping. A moment later, the Doctor also opened his eyes, jumping back from the control board, shouting something inarticulate, arms flailing.
She faced him, and the first question out of her mouth was a surprise even to River.
"Doctor," she demanded, hands on her hips, "why did you kill those guards?"
To be continued…