London, October 17th, 1910
Angelchrist couldn't help but feel a slight sense of trepidation as the small troupe turned off the busy Cheyne Walk in the direction of the Doctor's ship. Just a few hours earlier the alleyway here had been the scene of a horrific attempt on the Doctor and Miss Locke's lives, and it was by sheer chance more than design that they'd been able to get away safely at all. The experience had not been a pleasant one, and Angelchrist was still smarting from his tumble across the cobbles.
Now, by returning so soon, it felt as if they were simply walking into a trap that had been knowingly laid for them by the hive mind. Angelchrist hoped the move wasn't ill considered. He knew the Doctor needed to get back to his ship, but all the same, if it went wrong, he'd be endangering the lives of several people.
He hoped the Doctor really did have a plan.
He decided to forge ahead, and managed to catch the Doctor by the arm before he and Miss Locke turned the corner into the mouth of the alleyway.
"Doctor, how do you know we're not simply walking into a trap?" he asked in hushed tones so the others wouldn't be startled.
Alex, who'd been thinking along similar lines, gave the Doctor a mild version of her so-called 'stern librarian' face. "Yeah," she drawled, disapproval dripping from the lone word. "I was just about to ask you that myself."
The Doctor paled slightly at her expression (how Kendra hadn't run for the hills the first time Alex looked at her that way was beyond him) but endeavored to keep his tone cheery as he answered. "Oh, of course we're walking into a trap," he said brightly. "A big, fat, obvious trap. But the thing is, you two," he leaned forward and conspiratorially tapped Alex's nose, "we know it's a trap. And if we know it's a trap, it isn't really a trap at all."
Alex stared incredulously at him. That is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard! But before she could launch into a blue streak at him, the Doctor, with a positively winning smile, took her hand in his and led her around the corner in search of the TARDIS.
Angelchrist also couldn't quite follow the logic of the Doctor's assertion, but he was here now, and he couldn't in all good conscience allow the man to put himself in harm's way without offering his support. He, the Doctor, and Miss Locke had been through so much together in just a few hours, and Angelchrist wasn't about to simply walk away just because the couple had managed to find their friends. London was still at risk. The world was still at risk, and Angelchrist knew his duty.
Facing his fear, he took a deep breath, fought against his instincts to flee, and followed the Doctor and Miss Locke around the corner.
Sure enough, the alleyway was still crawling with the creatures. There were scores of them, covering almost every surface, like maggots writhing in a festering wound, like wasps in a vast and intricate hive, the TARDIS at the center of it all, their cold, unwilling queen.
"Doctor. . .?" Amy said, moving over to stand beside him and Alex. There was hesitation in her tone. Nervousness. "You said you had a plan?"
"Oh, don't worry, Amy," the Doctor assured her. "This sonic amplifier here is more than up to the task. Custom built for the purpose, in fact." He pulled the contraption out from under his arm, inserted the sonic screwdriver and held it aloft, pressing the button. "There," he said, satisfied.
Nothing happened.
"Hmmm . . . now, I wasn't expecting that."
"Doctor!" Alex cried, her honey-colored eyes wide with terror. Clutching the Doctor's jacket with one hand, the other hastily dug the sonic necklace out from under her shirt collar. The Squall had begun to drop from their perches, scampering across the brickwork to get nearer to her and the Doctor, flowing towards them in an inexorable, chittering tide of gray.
Seeing that the Doctor was still pressing the button on the amplifier, Alex activated her necklace.
Again, nothing happened.
Beside her, Angelchrist stiffened, wishing he'd brought his revolver along after all, despite the Doctor's protestations. If he was going to die at the hands of these monsters, he at least wanted to go down fighting. He braced himself, waiting for the attack to come.
He heard a hissing sound from close behind him and turned to see a number of the Squall had come around behind their small group, hemming them in. Angelchrist edged closer to the Doctor and Miss Locke, noticing that Amy, Rory, and Arven were doing the same.
Desperately, Alex activated her necklace again. The charm's lone topaz emitted a bright, brilliant glow, contrasting sharply against the dim alleyway and the gray drove of Squall. But still, nothing happened. "Dammit!" she growled.
Then, as if they didn't have enough problems, a ferocious pounding started in her temples. The Squall were trying to access her mind again.
"What is it?" Amy asked, her tone growing in desperation. She was holding her head, groggy with the pain of the Squall's psychic assault.
"They're adapting faster than I anticipated," the Doctor answered, his own voice slightly strained by the mental attack. He shot a worried glance at Alex. Her eyes were tightly closed, fingernails digging into her forehead as she concentrated on controlling her mental barriers. Satisfied she wasn't in danger of passing out anytime soon, he continued to answer Amy's question. "The hive is growing in intelligence. It's already figured out how to tune out the frequencies of the sonic screwdriver and Alex's necklace."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning the amplification device doesn't work."
"So, after all that, we're trapped?!"
"Oh, I wouldn't put it quite like that, Amy. I'll think of something." He hoped his tone came off more confident than he felt.
"In your own time, then!" Alex snapped, gritting her teeth as the pounding in her temples spread to the rest of her forehead.
"Think quickly, Doctor!" Rory shouted in encouragement, his back to them.
Angelchrist issued a cry of alarm as one of the creatures lurched for him, catching him by the jacket and causing him to stumble forward into the clutches of another. It wrapped its cold, bony fingers around his throat as he tried to fend it off, striking it repeatedly in the jaw with his fist and succeeding only in angering it further. He felt the thing probing at the edge of his consciousness and he cried out, mustering all of his strength in an attempt to defend himself.
"Doctor!" Amy screamed.
The Doctor glanced round to catch sight of Arven, wrestling with one of the Squall, using his single remaining arm to keep it at bay by swinging it back and forth like a shield to block the progress of the others.
And realization hit, like a bolt of lightning or a straight punch to the gut.
"Oh, Arven! You're a genius! Modulate the frequency! Why didn't I think of that?" The Doctor began to fumble with his contraption, pulling a bunch of wires loose and tying them together in a slightly different configuration.
"I don't understand, Doctor," the AI called, its voice calm and steady despite the ferocity of the battle in which it was engaged.
"Oh, just something you'll say to me when we first meet. Hold on, professor!" he called to Angelchrist. "Nearly there. . ."
"I can't hold them off much longer!" Rory shouted.
"Doc, do you want me to pass out again?!" Alex shrieked. She was now braced against Amy's back, the girls having linked their arms together in an effort to keep Alex upright. Her face was pale, but defiant, even as a lone drop of blood trickled out of her left eye and down her cheek.
"Just a moment! Almost . . . almost . . . there!"
The Squall suddenly released its grip on Angelchrist's throat, shuddering and falling back against the wall of the alleyway. Angelchrist spluttered and fought for breath.
The Doctor brandished the device before him and the Squall parted in a great wave, falling back, screeching in frustration and pain. "There," he said calmly, with just a hint of satisfaction. "See how you like it when someone forces their way into your head. Not very nice, is it?"
Alex let out a long breath as the pain in her head vanished. Though her legs felt a bit unbalanced, she unlinked her arms from Amy's and took a step forward. "Come on!" she called as the Doctor stalked forward, cutting a swath towards the TARDIS through the massed ranks of Squall.
He stopped before the doors and gestured for Alex to go ahead. "Ally, open the door with your necklace!"
Alex didn't need to be told twice. Unless it was her imagination, her necklace's buzzing seemed to increase the Squall's pain, based on the sudden shrieks they let out as she waved the charm across the lock.
A moment later, barely heard over the Squall and the sounds of their anguish, a tiny click sounded as the TARDIS doors unlocked. Hurriedly, Alex shoved the door open. "Come on!" she urged, waving the group forward. "Quickly!"
Angelchrist frowned. "Doctor, Miss Locke, how are we all going to fit in there?" Now that he was actually standing before the strange blue box – the Doctor's ship – Angelchrist felt utterly dismayed. With no Squall crawling over its surface, he could see it clearly for the first time, and was shocked by the true dimensions of the thing. It was tiny, with room inside for no more than two or three people. "There's no way we're all going to be able to squeeze inside."
Alex was standing in the doorway, therefore inadvertently blocking the TARDIS interior from view. Hearing Angelchrist's words, she gasped in realization. "Oh," she said, a smile spreading across her face, "I see why you like this part so much, Doc."
The Doctor shot her a dazzling grin of agreement. "Trust me, professor," he said, urging Angelchrist forward as Alex stepped to the side. "You're going to enjoy this."
Angelchrist, bemused, gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and followed Arven into the ship.
Immediately, his eyes widened, his jaw dropping inelegantly.
Inside, the room was enormous, entirely at odds with the dark, claustrophobic interior he'd expected. Instead, it was gleaming bright, all orange and red, like something out of a Jules Verne or H.G. Wells novel. The cavernous space seemed erratically designed, with various mezzanines connected by a network of walkways and staircases, disappearing off into what he presumed were other rooms within the ship. Strange, shining roundels were spaced at intervals around the walls, and at the heart of the room was a central dais – a large, raised platform – containing what Angelchrist could only assume were the vessel's controls.
They reminded him of his laboratory, of the higgledy-piggledy contraption the Doctor had assembled there. They looked as if the Doctor had built them himself, patching them up out of whatever he had to hand. Perhaps, Angelchrist considered, that was exactly what had happened, and the control panel was nothing but a reflection of the Doctor's erratic, eccentric personality, of all the times and places he had visited.
He watched as the Doctor leapt up onto the platform, taking the stairs two at a time, and set to work banging at the controls, his fingers dancing over the myriad buttons and switches. His amplification device had been handed off to Miss Locke, who now aimed it at the door, her face set in concentration.
Angelchrist could barely fathom what he was seeing. There was a speaker from a gramophone; a typewriter; knobs, buttons, dials and levers; blinking glass screens that seemed to him like tiny windows, peering out onto other, unrecognizable worlds. There were looping cables, jumpseats, a hand crank, a bell, flashing lights. At the center of it all was a tall glass column that extended up toward the distant ceiling, serving what purpose he could only imagine.
And then there was the Doctor, presiding over it all like a mad man, a wide grin on his face as he threw himself into whatever task he had given his attention.
It was impossible, and yet it was all maddeningly real.
Angelchrist reeled. Suddenly the strangeness of the last few hours, the sheer immensity of it all, came crashing in. He backed toward the door, feeling overwhelmed. He didn't know what to make of it. He turned, peering out of the door to see the alleyway beyond, the Squall still writhing there in their masses. Even that, somehow, seemed more real to him at that moment than the interior of the TARDIS. Even those monsters seemed easier to comprehend.
"Um . . . er. . ." He staggered toward the alleyway.
Amy caught him by the arm. "I don't think you want to go back out there in a hurry, professor," she said softly, pulling him in and slamming the door shut behind him.
"But. . .?"
"I know," she smiled, "it's a lot to take in."
"This is your ship, Doctor? Your vessel?"
"Yes! Marvelous, isn't it?" the Doctor called, still intent on hammering away at the vessel's controls.
"It's miraculous! It's . . . it's. . ."
"Big?" Rory offered.
Angelchrist laughed out loud, twisting around on the spot as he tried to take it all in. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Yes, it's big!" He felt breathless. His heart was pounding against his chest so hard that he thought it might burst. "How. . .?" he asked, trailing off, unable to find the words.
"Dimensionally transcendental," the Doctor explained from over by the console. He was hopping about now, still twiddling dials and examining readouts.
"But the Doctor prefers 'bigger on the inside'," Alex said with a wry grin. Now that the door was safely shut and locked again, she turned and set the amplification device down on one of the jumpseats.
"Bigger on the inside," Angelchrist repeated. "Quite so."
"Professor Gradius would have marveled," Arven spoke, circling the room, staring up at the gleaming central column. "This was always her dream. A vessel such as this." He sounded full of awe.
"What wonders," Angelchrist breathed. "What remarkable things you must have seen. . ."
"Oh, you get used to it," Amy said nonchalantly as she skipped up the steps toward the Doctor and Alex. "And sometimes the plumbing leaves something to be desired."
The Doctor glanced up, shooting her an affronted look. "Now, let's see about this dimensional rift, shall we?" He grasped hold of the edges of the console monitor screen and pulled it closer to him, examining its contents intently. "Oh," he said after a moment. "Oh, that's not good. That's not good at all."
"What is it?" Alex demanded.
"It's too big. The rift is too big. It's a whopping great hole in the fabric of the universe. So big you could get a double-decker bus through it." He seemed to shudder at the very thought of this, causing Alex to raise an eyebrow. "Actually, I've done that before. Not a pleasant experience."
Definitely getting that story out of him later, Alex thought.
"Too big for what?" Angelchrist asked.
"I was planning to use the TARDIS. Fly it through the rift, cause it to collapse in on itself. But the hole is too wide. The stress would cause the TARDIS to implode."
"Um. . ." Rory said, and everyone turned to regard him. "Forgive me for stating the obvious, but that's a bad idea, isn't it?"
"I'm guessing we might need a new plan?" Amy asked.
"What would happen," Angelchrist began, watching the Doctor intently, "if the TARDIS were to implode?"
"Oh, you know," the Doctor shrugged. "End of the universe, cracks through time. Same old story."
Alex grimaced at the memory. "And we really don't want or need to go through that again."
Amy and Rory let out identical snorts of agreement.
The Doctor stood back from the console, drumming his fingers against his temples. He paced back and forth while the others looked on in silence.
"So?" Amy asked after a moment of watching him do this. "What about Plan B?"
"Plan B?" the Doctor repeated. "Plan B? Yes. Good point. There's always a Plan B."
Alex eyed him knowingly. "You don't have one, do you?" It wasn't a question.
He shot her a defensive look. "I'm working on it," he retorted. He crossed to one of the railings, and then returned to the console again, his forehead wrinkled in thought.
"DOCTOR." The voice came suddenly, booming loudly throughout the TARDIS and causing all but Arven and the Doctor to cringe, covering their ears in surprise at the sudden aural assault. "DOCTOR," it sounded again, and this time it was immediately clear to whom the sinister, hissing voice belonged.
"Doctor! That's the Squall! How are they doing that?" Amy wondered anxiously. "Are they in the TARDIS?"
"I don't think so, Ames," Alex said soothingly. She moved closer and rubbed Amy's arm reassuringly. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, searching for any wayward Squall that may or may not have slipped into the TARDIS.
"Oh, you're clever," the Doctor said, addressing the voice. "You're very, very clever." Alex could hear his genuine admiration.
"Doctor?" Rory questioned.
"It's using the TARDIS's telepathic circuits, manipulating the ship's psychic matrix. The hive mind is talking to us through the TARDIS."
"WE SEE, DOCTOR, THAT WE WERE RIGHT TO CONSIDER YOU AND YOUR ALLY WORTHY OPPONENTS," the voice boomed.
At this declaration, the Doctor's jaw tightened, and he tugged Alex to him, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to his side. He laid his other hand down on the console. "I'm sorry, old girl," he whispered. "Might be nice if you could keep it down a bit," he called to the hive mind.
"WE RELISH THE OPPORTUNITY TO ABSORB YOUR MIND, DOCTOR, AND THAT OF YOUR ALLY. THE TIME IS APPROACHING. YOUR TARDIS WILL BE A GREAT ASSET TO THE HIVE. WE SHALL POPULATE THE UNIVERSE, EXTENDING OURSELVES INTO EVERY CONCEIVABLE TIME AND PLACE IN THIS PHYSICAL REALM."
"So that's why you're so anxious to consume my and Alex's minds," the Doctor realized. "Oh, you disappoint me. You really do. I'd have thought you'd have come up with something a bit more original than that. Well, I can assure you, I won't allow it. Whatever happens, I won't let you have the TARDIS."
"We won't let you have her," Alex corrected, a dark note bleeding through her words.
The Squall laughed, and the sound of it made both Alex and Angelchrist's stomachs churn. "YOU HAVE NO CHOICE. THIS CITY WILL FALL WITHIN A FEW HOURS. THE HIVE IS MANIFESTING. THIS UNIVERSE WILL BE OURS."
"Doctor, what are we going to do?" Amy wondered. There was desperation in her tone. For the first time since meeting her, Angelchrist got the sense that, despite the bravado, despite the gallant front, she was really just as fragile and scared as the rest of them. With the exception, perhaps, of the unflappable Doctor himself.
The Doctor met her gaze across the console. "We're going to stop them," he said decisively. "That's what we're going to do. With the TARDIS, the Squall would be unstoppable. They would spread like a plague, right across the universe, obliterating not only every world, but every known point in time too. Species would cease to exist in the blink of an eye. Only the hive would exist, all pervading, all knowing."
Alex knew where he was heading. She turned to Angelchrist. "Professor, we're going to have to go back to your lab."
"Very well," he replied, pleased to be able to offer at least some assistance.
"But the creatures," Arven reminded them. "They're swarming all over the ship. Even with your amplification device, I'm doubtful we'll be able to deter them all."
The Doctor grinned. "Then we'll take the shortcut," he decided, reaching over the console. He punched a few buttons and yanked on a lever, and the ship bucked suddenly beneath their feet. "Hold on!" he called.
"He's not kidding!" Alex cried as she rushed to grab the amplification device before it was knocked off the jumpseat. Holding it to her stomach with one hand, she used the other to grab firm hold of the railing. Amy and Rory hastened to follow her lead, Amy throwing herself at the console and Rory guiding Arven into joining him at gripping one of the staircase rails.
There was a grating, wheezing roar from within the belly of the TARDIS, and Angelchrist was pitched forward, taking Miss Locke's advice and clutching for a nearby railing as the floor seemed to lurch, first one way and then another. The glass column at the center of the console rose and fell in keeping with the steady sighing of the ship. Angelchrist held on for all he was worth.
Moments later there was a resounding CLANG, and everything was still.
"Right!" the Doctor proclaimed, giving a brisk clap of his hands. "We've arrived."
Amy, peeling herself away from where she'd been gripping the console, jumped down from the central dais and ran over to where Rory was standing beside Arven. Alex released her hold on the railing, then set the amplification device back on the jumpseat. However, instead of heading for the door, she remained beside the Doctor.
Angelchrist looked on in confusion. "What? Have we moved? Are you telling me this vessel has just flown us halfway across London, all in a matter of a few seconds?"
"Pretty much," Alex nodded.
"I can assure you, we are in your laboratory, professor," the Doctor chimed in. "I'm afraid I'm going to need to raid your workshop again."
"Oh . . . ah . . . be my guest," Angelchrist allotted, feeling more than a little baffled by the whole situation. In his laboratory? Surely not? How could a vehicle arrive suddenly indoors?
He watched as Amy strode purposefully toward the door, turned the latch, and disappeared outside. "Oh, nice pad, professor," she complimented, her voice trailing behind her through the open door. She popped her head back around the doorframe. "You coming?" she said to Rory.
Tentatively, Angelchrist released his grip on the railing, which he realized he'd been gripping so hard that his knuckles had gone white. He flexed his fingers, trying to get the feeling back. He'd never been a nervous man, taking everything he encountered in his stride. He'd fought monsters on behalf of the British government, both men and beasts, and he'd traveled halfway around the globe, immersing himself in wildly different cultures. But this . . . traveling in a vessel such as this . . . well, he didn't know what to make of it. He felt speechless, as if his world had just been turned upside down.
"Go on, professor. It's all right, really," the Doctor encouraged, he and Alex coming over to stand beside him. The Doctor put a reassuring hand on Angelchrist's shoulder.
Angelchrist allowed himself to be led to the door. He peered out nervously through the opening.
Sure enough, he could see his laboratory on the other side. He smiled at the familiar sight of his armchair beside the bookcase; the coffee table still strewn with the tools and equipment abandoned there by the Doctor earlier that morning; the Egyptian sarcophagus Miss Locke had admired, standing proud against the far wall; even his prized clockwork owl, hopping from foot to foot on its wooden perch, clacking and chirping.
He stepped out over the threshold, relieved to feel his feet encounter the plush, red carpet. He filled his nostrils with the musty scent. Yes, he was in his laboratory. It was unmistakable. He glanced back at the Doctor and Miss Locke, now stepping out of the TARDIS behind him. "It's a miracle," he said, "an out and out miracle! This . . . this box of tricks – it's the work of a magician!"
The Doctor grinned, leaning in the doorway. "A magician? I think I could take to that," he mused.
"Don't encourage him, professor," Alex said, her mouth curved in an impish grin. "It's already a chore to fit his giant head in there. We don't need it getting any bigger."
"Oi!" the Doctor cried. Across the room, Amy and Rory snickered. "Watch it, you lot," the Doctor called to them as he and Alex stepped aside to allow Arven to join them. He turned and patted the wooden frame of the police box. "I don't know what I would do without her," he admitted. "And I suppose it is magic, of a sort."
Angelchrist smiled. "Thank you, Doctor."
He crossed the room to where Amy and Rory were milling about, examining the decades' worth of paraphernalia.
"It's the ultimate boy's room," Rory remarked, clearly entranced by the spoils of so many adventures. He was running his hands over a clay tablet that had been impressed with a letter to the gods, written in ancient cuneiform. Amy was watching him with adoring eyes.
Arven, on the other hand, was silently taking it all in. He seemed the most ill at ease of them all, this mechanical man, as if he knew he didn't belong in this world, in this age of steam and industry. He was an oddity here, an anachronism, unable to understand his surroundings, unable to blend in like the others.
There was something else too. Angelchrist was sure of it. The automaton appeared to be afflicted by a great sense of loss. Whether this was a symptom of being so dramatically displaced in time – he'd overheard the Doctor claim Arven was a relic from the 28th century – or whether there was something deeper, something more personal behind it, Angelchrist did not know. He didn't suppose there was a great deal he could do to help.
Angelchrist glanced back at the TARDIS. From here, the wooden box looked as if it might always have been a fixture in his laboratory, standing there between the remnants of a Grecian marble and the wooden model of the Neanderthal man. Just another oddity in his collection.
This was the difference between the Doctor and Arven, he considered. Not the fact that one was formed from flesh and blood and the other from steel and rubber, but the fact that the Doctor just seemed to fit. For him it seemed effortless – the manner in which he'd ingratiated himself and Miss Locke in Angelchrist's life, the way in which he talked to people – even the way he'd dealt with the Squall. He, too, was from another time and place, but seemed eminently adaptable, able to compensate as he went, comfortable with his incongruities. It was admirable and spoke to Angelchrist of great experience. He wondered how old the Doctor really was.
Right now, the Doctor was busying himself gathering armfuls of components from around the lab. He bustled about like this for a few moments, making interested noises as he added to his pile of bits. Then, sighing happily like a child in a sweet shop, he plumped himself down in an armchair and scattered bits of metal and reels of copper wire all over the coffee table. Next, he produced the amplification device he'd made earlier, along with Angelchrist's best top hat.
"Rory," he said, without looking up from the heaped mess, through which he'd already begun to rifle with apparent purpose. "I'm going to need a few bits from the TARDIS, too."
"Anyone for tea?" Angelchrist asked, suddenly remembering his manners. There were more visitors in his house than he'd seen in years, and the momentary disorientation of having traveled in the Doctor's extraordinary vessel had thrown him.
"Excellent idea," the Doctor agreed. "That's exactly what's called for."
"And food," Amy added hopefully. "If you have any food? It's been three days since our last proper meal."
"Of course," Angelchrist said, nodding. "I'll see what I can rustle up. Mr. Arven?" he asked, unsure of the etiquette. "Is there anything you require?"
"No, thank you, professor. There is nothing I require at this time," came the monotone reply.
Angelchrist imagined there was rather a lot the artificial man required, but nothing that he or anyone else in the room could offer. "Very well. Please, make yourselves at home," he said, redundantly. "I'll return in a few moments."
"I'll help you, professor," Alex volunteered. "That is, if you don't mind?"
Angelchrist smiled warmly. "Not at all. I would be most glad."
As he and Miss Locke made their way to the kitchen, Angelchrist considered the events of the last day. He couldn't quite believe that he was worrying about domestic duties at a time like this, only minutes after being attacked in an alleyway down by the river and with vast hordes of Squall infesting London. But, just as the Doctor had said, it seemed to be exactly what was called for.
He would do his bit. He would make himself useful, whatever it was that needed doing.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
When Angelchrist and Alex returned a few minutes later, Alex holding a plate of sandwiches and Angelchrist a pot of tea, they found the Doctor and Arven sitting by the coffee table, deep in discussion. Amy and Rory were still poking around amongst the detritus of the professor's secret service career, pawing through the heaps of miscellaneous junk looking for treasure. It amused Angelchrist to see young people so fascinated by his collection. To many of their age, it would appear as nothing but so much rubbish, the accumulation of a lifetime spent refusing to throw anything away.
To him, of course, it was priceless, regardless of its monetary value. All of it. To him, each and every object was a memory, a part of his life, a fragment of what he'd once been and what he'd never be again.
The thought saddened him, a little. Was that really what his life had come to? A heap of old junk in a lonely house in Grosvenor Square? He'd never married, always too busy to give romance more than a cursory thought. Had he thrown his life away? Had he wasted his best years chasing after the enemies of Great Britain, only to lose everything now, to the Squall?
Perhaps it wasn't true. Perhaps he was just being maudlin. The Doctor and Miss Locke had shown him he still had some fire left in his belly and, by Jove, the Squall would bear the brunt of it, even if it finished him off.
He had faith in the Doctor and Miss Locke, too, he realized. He couldn't explain why, but he trusted the couple implicitly. There was something about them, some facet of the Doctor's exuberant, frustrating personality and Miss Locke's cheerful, but determined disposition that inspired Angelchrist to keep on fighting. And fight he would, right up until the bitter end.
For now, though, he had a job to do.
He and Miss Locke took their trays over to Amy and Rory, who turned their attention gratefully to the food, making quick work of the cucumber sandwiches Miss Locke had carefully prepared. Angelchrist then poured the tea and followed Miss Locke over to the Doctor and Arven, whose conversation seemed to have stuttered to a halt. The Doctor was still busy fiddling with the pile of odds and ends on the table, wiring two components together with a bizarre tool that looked more like a fork with three glowing nibs than anything one might use to construct something.
"Doctor? You were talking earlier as if we'd met before," Arven said, "but I have no recollection of these events. Could it be that you're mistaken?"
The Doctor, his eyes fixed on whatever delicate transaction was taking place between the two wires he held, gave a resigned sigh, as if he'd been waiting for the AI to ask this very question. "We have met before, Arven. In the future. In your time. You helped."
"I do not understand," the artificial man protested.
"It's complicated, Arven. The TARDIS can travel in time as well as space, just like Professor Gradius's ship. Well, much more successfully than Professor Gradius's ship, really, but that's beside the point." The Doctor popped the pencil-thing between his teeth while he manhandled the object in his lap. "Events that will occur in your future have already occurred in my past," he continued, shaping the words slowly around the tool in his mouth.
Angelchrist raised an eyebrow at this, but decided not to chip in.
"So, I make it home?" Arven asked, and Angelchrist marveled that a machine could express so much emotion with a simple expression, despite its damaged face. It was far more than sheer mimicry, of that he was sure.
The Doctor glanced at Miss Locke, now perched on the armrest beside him. There was tiredness in his eyes, and Miss Locke, her own dark brown orbs shining in sympathy, squeezed his shoulder in a manner Angelchrist would call comforting. The Doctor managed to give her a small, half-hearted smile before focusing back on Arven.
"You take the long way home, Arven," he said cryptically, and the look in his eye was enough to tell the AI that the matter was closed. The Doctor returned his attention to the device in his lap, manipulating a coil of copper wire into place, affixing it to the framework of what had once been his amplification device.
Alex, in an effort to break the awkward silence, asked, "What exactly are you doing there, Doc?"
"Oh, just making a few improvements, Ally. A modification here or there."
Alex eyed the device dubiously. 'Modification' seemed like a gross understatement. If it was possible, the contraption looked more bizarre and unprofessional than it had before. A quick glance at Angelchrist's expression revealed he was thinking much the same.
She was about to ask what the modifications were meant to do, when a voice suddenly boomed from the TARDIS, ringing out through the open doors, and causing her and Angelchrist to wince. "DOCTOR. THE TIME APPROACHES. SOON, YOU AND YOUR PRECIOUS ALLY SHALL BE OURS."
"Hard work, being popular," the Doctor joked, shooting a wink at Alex.
Alex's shoulders, which had tensed at the Squall's threat, immediately relaxed, just as she knew the Doctor had intended. "It'll get harder yet, I'm sure," she smirked, before turning to Angelchrist. "I'm sorry, professor. But they're here. We've brought them to your home."
"It's not your fault," Angelchrist assured her. "There's nothing else you could have done." He turned at the sound of talons tapping menacingly at the window, the scritch-scratch of the creatures on the roof, at the walls, at the doors. "We make a stand. Right here."
"All you need to do is hold them off," the Doctor told them. "Just keep them at bay for a few more minutes."
Arven stood and crossed to the window. "There are hundreds of them," he reported, his voice level. "They're swarming all over the house."
From somewhere upstairs came the crash of broken glass.
"Defend yourselves!" Angelchrist shouted, rising to his feet and rushing over to a glass-fronted display cabinet on the wall. He pulled open the doors and grasped hold of a mechanical mace, hefting it in his hands, comforted by its weight, the feel of its shaft.
"They're getting more sophisticated," the Doctor warned. "As the hive grows in strength, the drones are becoming more and more intelligent. Be careful."
The laboratory door shuddered violently in its frame, followed by the sinister scritch, scritch of one of the creatures trying to get in. Amy stumbled backwards, away from the door. She grabbed hold of a bronze idol of the Buddha that Angelchrist had acquired twenty years earlier during one of his trips to the East. She raised it above her head, ready to use it if the creatures managed to break through.
Seconds later the window shattered, and Arven called out as he struck at the Squall attempting to force its way through the ragged hole. He wrapped his remaining hand around its face and pushed it back, sending it sprawling to the street outside. But seconds later, there were two more of the creatures, and Angelchrist rushed to his aid, swinging the mace with all his strength. It connected with a flashing talon, and Angelchrist felt the satisfying crunch of shattered bone.
As Angelchrist and Arven battled the Squall at the window, Alex rushed around the room, searching for a suitable weapon. She ran down makeshift aisles of artifacts, her copper eyes spotting and quickly rejecting stacks of leather-bound books and a large cat skull.
What I need, she thought, giving a quick glance to a display case filled with silver Roman coins, is an actual weapon. Her dagger might count as one, but it was far too little to be used effectively against the horde knocking down Angelchrist's doors and windows. Not to mention, but she was pretty sure she'd dropped it during their first venture into the alleyway, so who knew where it was now. Shaking her head at the memory, she continued her search. What I need is something like a gun or a big mallet or a. . .
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt as she reached a dust-covered display cabinet tucked into a back corner of the laboratory. The dust on the glass was thick, but not too thick as to completely mask the contents inside.
Or a sword, Alex thought, grinning madly as she ran her necklace over the lock. Where and how Angelchrist had picked up a genuine Roman shield and sword, Alex had no idea, but she was grateful that he had. She scrabbled for the shield, placing it haphazardly over her left arm, then seized the sword. The tip was a bit rusty, but Alex was confident that it could cut into a Squall, if need be.
"Hurry up, Doctor! Whatever you're doing!" she heard Angelchrist call, followed by a scream from Amy. Alex whirled around to see the redhead slamming the Buddha down across the shoulders of a Squall who had finally managed to splinter the paneled door and force its way through. It crumpled to the floor and didn't move.
Rory – who, Alex suddenly realized, was much better qualified to wield a Roman sword than she – was standing by Amy's side, the Neanderthal's wooden club clutched tightly in his hands. He swung it with a terrified "Arrgghhh" as another of the creatures jammed its head through the fragmented door.
"YOUR ATTEMPTS TO DEFEND YOURSELF ARE FUTILE," said the voice from the TARDIS. "THE HIVE SEES ALL. THE HIVE KNOWS ALL. WE ARE LEGION."
"Ignore it!" the Doctor yelled. "Don't let it get to you!"
Alex gritted her teeth as the now familiar pounding invaded her temples. "That might be easier said than done, Doc!" she shouted as she raced to Rory's aid.
Another Squall was coming up on him. The moment she reached him, Alex shoved Rory behind her and quickly slashed the Squall across its chest. Before it could react, she thrust the sword into one of its membranous wings, then the second. The Squall let out a pained shriek as dark red blood oozed from its wounds, dripping down and staining one of Angelchrist's Oriental rugs.
With this particular Squall sufficiently distracted, Alex immediately turned and stabbed another Squall in the chest, blocking its talons with her shield. A few feet away, Rory – who had initially froze in shock at Alex's actions – was helping Amy throw priceless fragments of a Roman mosaic at another creature.
The Doctor was also momentarily taken aback as, risking a quick glance away from his work, he saw Alex viciously slash one Squall's head, coming very close to scalping it. His eyes widened, but he didn't dare call out to her. He didn't want to risk distracting her and causing the Squall to advance.
Though he suspected that wouldn't be an issue. Alex had already proven that she was more than adept with a weapon. And more than willing to use one. The little dagger in his pocket suddenly felt heavier.
Swallowing thickly, he focused back on his contraption. "Nearly there!" he called to no one in particular. "Almost. . ."
"I can't hold them off for much longer!" Arven shouted from the window.
"There! Finished! What do you think?"
Alex risked a glance away from the relentless Squall long enough to see the Doctor stand, his arms held wide, the top hat perched atop his mop of unruly hair. She rolled her eyes as she turned back to the Squall. "Is now really the time for your hat obsession?!" she snapped, swiping at the creature she'd nearly scalped. This time, she almost succeeded in decapitating it. Blood gushed from its neck, and she made a mental note to apologize to Angelchrist later for the state of his rugs.
Amy had also spotted the Doctor's new headwear and didn't hesitate to add in her two cents. "What have I told you about hats?!" she cried in agreement, grunting as, together, she and Rory maneuvered the ancient wooden sarcophagus across the doorway to form a barricade. The nearly headless Squall and its brethren were soon blocked from view.
Her shoulders sagging in relief and not a bit of exhaustion, Alex allowed herself a moment of respite, lowering her sword and sinking back to lean against a workbench. Across the room, Angelchrist sighed at the loss of the sarcophagus as one of the Squall's talons burst through what was left of the door, raking great furrows in the decorated outer coffin.
"It's a top hat!" the Doctor argued. "Top hats are cool. Particularly this top hat." He lifted it off by the rim to reveal a bundle of intricate wires and components nestling inside.
"What is it?" Rory cried with a tone somewhere between exasperation and desperation.
"This? This is Plan B."
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
A/N: The FIFTIETH chapter! And we're nowhere near done with this behemoth of a story, lol. If you're still with me after all this time, thank you so very much!
Notes on reviews. . .
NicoleR85: Glad you enjoyed the chapter! Haha, you're welcome! I'm glad I'm back to updating.
