A/N: Alex's outfit for this chapter can be viewed on my Tumblr, under the name 'darksideofparis'.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
London, June 10th, 2789
"Hold on!"
"I am holding on!"
"Well . . . hold on a little tighter, then!" The Doctor shouted this while clutching the TARDIS console and hammering at the controls in what, to Rory, appeared to be a random fashion.
Alex seemed to be of a similar mind as her copper-colored eyes narrowed. "Doctor. . ." she said warningly.
"Erm. . . I think you might want to tell her what's going on now, Doctor," Rory said, in what he hoped was a conciliatory – and not at all panicked – fashion. "And while we're on the subject, I'd quite like to have a better idea myself, too. . .
"Ditto!" Amy shouted, gripping a section of console only steps away from the Time Lord.
Across from them, Rory made a grab for the railing while Alex wrapped her arms around the back of the jumpseat. Both held on for dear life as the entire ship shook and bucked around them. "I mean," Rory added, "for instance, are we all about to plummet to our deaths, or is this fairly typical for a journey to the Rambalian Cluster?"
Alex let out a particularly creative string of curses as the TARDIS jolted ominously. "I'm going with not!" she cried, sending another glare at the Doctor.
Her annoyance, however, went unnoticed by her boyfriend. He was too preoccupied with examining the console. Finally, after a few moments, he glanced up, brushing his floppy hair out of his eyes. It wasn't the only thing slightly off about his appearance. Somewhere along the line, the Doctor had discarded his tweed jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His bowtie was slightly off kilter, too. Had the situation not been so perilous, Alex would have happily indulged in raking her gaze up and down his form. Maybe even help him become more disheveled. . .
She was pulled out of these thoughts as the TARDIS gave a sudden buck that reminded Alex of the mechanical bull she'd once ridden at a bar back in Bristol. She'd lasted a grand total of 3.5 seconds. But that bull was nothing compared to the frenetic pace the TARDIS was keeping as it seemingly bounced all over the time vortex.
Shaking her head, she looked up in time for the Doctor to meet her gaze. Seeing the worry in her eyes, he offered her an endearing smile. When he spoke again, his tone was calm and measured. "Well, I . . . I suppose we're sort of . . . crashing. In a manner of speaking." He turned back to the controls, as if that was the end of the matter.
Alex rolled her eyes. Oh, yes, that clears it all up! She was about to question him further, but Amy beat her to it.
"How can you crash 'in a manner of speaking'?" Though it was phrased as a demand, Rory could tell the exasperation in his wife's voice was very much affected. In fact, Amy looked as if she was actually enjoying the experience. He, on the other hand, felt decidedly queasy. He'd rather not have been crashing at all, let alone 'in a manner of speaking'. Even if this was the first time in days Amy had smiled.
"Well, not so much crashing, as smashing our way through a few roadblocks. Think of it more like a bad case of turbulence," the Doctor said, nearly tumbling over backwards with a sudden jolt, and only managing to maintain his balance by sticking a leg in the air and clinging resolutely to the console. "The old girl seems to want to take us somewhere in a bit of a hurry and she's jumping a few time tracks in order to do it. Just like a needle skipping in the grooves in an old record."
Amy looked at him blankly.
"Oh, now I do feel old."
"But why?" Rory asked, his knuckles tightening on the rail as he was nearly knocked from his feet.
"Why do I feel old?" the Doctor said, a quizzical expression on his face. "Well, Rory, it's quite simple, really—"
"He meant why is the TARDIS taking us somewhere in a hurry?!" Alex snapped. Her nails dug into the jump seat, threatening to tear the leather covering.
The Doctor beamed. "That's the bit I haven't worked out yet," he revealed, leaning forward to pat the console fondly and glancing up at the time rotor. "But it's not like you to take shortcuts, is it?"
It took a moment for Rory to realize the Doctor was addressing the ship. As if in response, the TARDIS shuddered and vibrated, and then seemed to settle. Alex and Rory watched the Doctor and Amy for a moment as the latter two stood back from the console, glanced at each other, and then burst out giggling. Catching Rory's eye, Alex shook her head, her expression a mixture of exasperation and fondness. With a little smile, Rory shook his head right back.
With this moment of camaraderie, Alex and Rory tentatively released their holds on the jump seat and railing, respectively, afraid that the ship would suddenly jolt again, and they'd go tumbling over the edge of the central platform. Fortunately, the TARDIS issued its familiar grating wheeze and landed with a resounding thump.
"We're there!" the Doctor announced, rushing around the console, flicking switches and turning dials. He stood back and grasped the sides of the hanging monitor, swinging it around so he could examine the readout.
"Where's 'there'?" Amy wondered as she came around to stand beside the Doctor, keen not to miss anything. She was wearing a red hoodie, a short black skirt with matching tights, and calf-high black boots. Rory watched her for a minute as she leaned in over the Doctor's shoulder. He still couldn't quite believe that she was his wife. Even with all the awful events of the last few months, he swore he was the luckiest man alive. Smiling to himself, he went over and joined them, Alex right on his heels.
"One thing's for sure. It's not the Rambalian Cluster," the Doctor said, running a hand through his hair. "Where have you brought us, old girl?" he said quietly, looking suddenly serious. "And why?" He tapped a fingertip thoughtfully against his forehead, then turned and clapped a hand on Rory's shoulder. "I suppose there's only one way to find out!" he announced brightly. Without another word, he grabbed Alex's hand and quickly led her down the stairs towards the door.
Alex yelped at the sudden move, but she was soon laughing. Despite her earlier irritation, it was nice to be like this again; the Doctor holding her hand, softly but firmly, leading her headlong into a brand-new adventure. After the events in Berlin just a few days ago, it was a normalcy she desperately needed.
Back on the platform, Rory watched as the Doctor flung open both doors and he and Alex disappeared into the bright sunshine that suddenly flooded in from outside. He looked at Amy. She had a mischievous grin on her face. "We're going after them, then?" he guessed, already knowing the answer.
"Too right we are!" Amy replied, grabbing his hand. "We're not letting them have all the fun." She led him down the steps towards the door. The Doctor and Alex were waiting for them there. The Doctor leaned with his back against the doorframe, silhouetted against the bright sun. One arm was wrapped around Alex's waist, keeping her nestled into his side.
"Come along, Pond. Places to go, things to see." The Doctor fiddled with his newly tied bowtie as if smartening himself up. He'd also managed to reclaim his jacket. "And you, Rory. Chop, chop. No time to waste. You're going to want to see this."
"See what?" Rory said as he followed the others out into the street. He glanced around, shielding his eyes against the sun and taking in the vista. "Oh," he continued. "That."
They were standing on the embankment of a wide river, looking out over a futuristic cityscape of the kind Rory had only ever imagined from reading science fiction novels and comic books when he was younger. Glittering towers of metal and glass seemed to extrude from the ground, twisting organically, toward the sky. Large, covered complexes sat squat beside the river, built – or perhaps even grown – from a substance that resembled pink coral. Huge glass domes encapsulated what looked like forests or plantations amongst all the habitation. Brimming with leafy green trees and lush vines, they punctuated the urban sprawl, little havens of wildlife in the midst of the angular chaos.
Above, the sky was crisscrossed with the vapor trails of scudding aircraft, and below, the river was a hive of activity, buzzing with strange little boats and floating platforms. Amidst all of this shining modernity, however, Rory could see ancient-looking buildings nestling in the shadows, old fashioned brick-built houses and churches of the sort that were old even in his day.
"What is this place?" he asked, drinking it all in.
Amy squeezed his hand even more tightly in excitement. "Is it another alien planet?"
The Doctor shook his head. "No. It's Earth. London, to be precise. And," he sniffed at the air, then licked his finger and held it up to the breeze, "judging by the look and smell of the place, I'd say it was some time in the 28th century."
"You really need to teach me how to do that," Alex said, her now light green eyes marveling at the city before her.
The Doctor grinned down at her. "I'll add it to the list."
"London?" Rory breathed, incredulous. "Really? Everything's so . . . different."
The Doctor laughed. "Am I often wrong about these things, Rory?"
Rory shrugged. Well, you're not always right, he thought, but kept that comment to himself.
Alex, thinking the very same thing, shot the Doctor an impish expression. "Do you really want him to answer that, Doc?" she smirked, her eyes shining in mirth.
His own eyes twinkling, the Doctor shot her a mock glare. "Hush it, you," he scolded playfully, before focusing back on the city. "Look, there are the Houses of Parliament." He pointed across the river to the now incredibly ancient – but still stately – buildings on the other side. Big Ben remained where it had always stood, proud amongst the surrounding spires that now dwarfed it, but almost lost among those later, futuristic developments. "And that's Westminster Bridge, if I'm not mistaken." He indicated a little further along the river. "They manage to preserve a lot of it. At least for another few decades, anyway."
Rory's brow furrowed. "What happens in a few decades?"
"Please tell me they don't go the way of the Notre Dame," Alex begged. She'd been devastated when the Doctor told her of the fire that would destroy part of the famed cathedral's roof in 2019, only a few years away in her time. She really didn't want to hear of a similar fate befalling other famous, beautiful, historic buildings.
The Doctor merely frowned. "Good questions, you two. But more importantly, why has the TARDIS brought us here, to this specific time and place, and in such a hurry?"
Alex sighed but didn't try to press him for answers. He was right, after all. Why had the TARDIS brought them here? Based on the time machine's frenzied flight through the vortex, something that needed urgent attention was happening here, but what? Just going off the scenery alone, nothing appeared to be amiss.
She, Amy, and Rory lapsed into silence while the Doctor seemed to be considering the answer to his own question. He paced back and forth, drumming his fingers against his temples.
"What's going on over there?" Amy suddenly asked. She had finally relinquished Rory's hand and had wandered over to the railing that separated the street from the embankment below. She leaned over and pointed to a small group of people who were gathered by the water's edge, lifting something tentatively out of the river on a large pallet. There were at least five men and women, plus a handful of divers bobbing up and down in the water, their faces hidden behind breathing apparatus. Large frames of scaffolding had been erected along the embankment close to where they were working, covered in flapping tarpaulins.
The Doctor produced a small pair of binoculars from inside his jacket and put them to his eyes. "I don't know, but it looks interesting." Suddenly registering a persistent tapping on his shoulder, he quickly handed the binoculars to Alex.
Alex smiled her thanks before peering through the binoculars. "Kinda looks like an archaeological dig," she said with a frown. Was her voice tight or was it just her? Either way, she prayed that Amy and Rory hadn't noticed.
They hadn't, but the Doctor did. He also saw how Alex was gripping the binoculars so tight, her fingers had turned white. Keeping his face neutral, he carefully pried the binoculars out of her grasp. "Just what I was thinking, Ally," he said coolly, before placing the device back to his eyes. His hearts beat in trepidation as he scanned the embankment for a mass of blonde curls.
It hadn't even been a week since their encounter with Melody/Mels/River Song in Nazi Berlin. None of the TARDIS inhabitants would claim to be completely recovered from the incident, let alone the intertwining events that had preceded it. The Doctor had come to the grim realization that, much like the Time War for him, he, Alex, Amy, and Rory would be permanently affected by Demons Run, the Silence, Kovarian, River, all of it for the rest of their days, no matter how much time had passed.
The past few days had mainly been spent in the vortex, each couple taking their own approach in recovering from Berlin. Amy and Rory, the Doctor knew, had mainly sequestered themselves in their room discussing, amongst other issues, what to do about Mels/River's belongings and overall presence in Leadworth. Neither conversation, the Doctor was sure, had been pleasant. The red-rimmed eyes both Ponds had been sporting in recent days attested to that.
What result the conversations had achieved, if any result at all, was unknown. The Doctor wasn't about to pry. He was sure that when the Ponds were ready, they would discuss everything with him and Alex.
As for the Doctor himself, he and Alex had also spent the majority of their time in a bedroom, though their choice of activity was more . . . exciting than Amy and Rory's. The four long red ropes the TARDIS had cheekily provided had gotten a lot of use over the past few days. As had his sketchpad.
They did manage to have a serious conversation of their own though, and a thoroughly successful one at that. Alex had officially moved into the Doctor's bedroom. No packing of boxes or suitcases was even required. Just moments after Alex eagerly agreed to his request, the TARDIS had promptly transferred all of her belongings into the bedroom and bathroom. Just seeing her Chanel No. 5 perfume next to his bottle of cologne on the bathroom counter gave the Doctor's hearts a little thrill.
All that to say, the wounds they'd gained in Berlin were healing, but they still hurt. There was still so much to decide, so much left unsaid. And seeing River not even a week after dealing with a younger, psychotic version of her . . . the Doctor didn't know if any of them could handle it.
Fortunately, he didn't see any sign of River on the embankment. But that still didn't mean they should go down there. Anxious as he was for an adventure, he wouldn't risk upsetting Amy and Rory with a potential reminder of their daughter.
But before he could make up his mind one way or the other, it was Amy, of all people, who made the decision for him. "Then let's go and take a look," she said, starting out in the direction of the excavation. "You like museums, don't you, Doctor? Here's your chance to see something new."
"Something old," Rory corrected her. "You mean something old."
Amy seemed to ignore this. After a few steps, she turned to look back over her shoulder to see if they were following, and the Doctor caught her eye. "You've got that look in your eye, Pond."
"What look?" she replied with mock-sweetness, as if she had no idea at all what he was getting at.
"Like you're planning mischief," said the Doctor. He grinned at Rory and Alex, and then turned back to Amy. "That's good. I like mischief. Mischief is what we need. Now," he clapped his hands together with resolve, taking all three of them in with an expansive gesture, "let's go and see what they've found in the river!"
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
"This looks spectacularly interesting!" the Doctor announced loudly and with a little too much enthusiasm as the four of them walked along the embankment towards the team of archaeologists. A number of men and women were huddled around the pallet bickering loudly, preventing Alex from getting a good view of whatever it was they had lifted out of the river. Others were drifting to and fro, ducking in and out of their work tents.
Upon hearing the Doctor's exclamation, one of their number, the woman they'd all spotted from above, turned to regard them as they approached. She was clearly in charge: she was holding some sort of complicated computer device for a start, and she was wearing a smart blue suit rather than the more casual attire of the others in her group. She was in her mid-to-late forties, by Alex's estimation, and was pretty and well coiffured. More importantly, she was not River Song.
"Can I help you?" she said to the Doctor, who raised an eyebrow at her unnecessarily severe tone. He reached for his psychic paper and flashed it before her in a rather cursory fashion.
"I do hope so," he answered. "We're here to make an inspection."
The woman narrowed her eyes. "An inspection, you say?"
The Doctor nodded. "Yes, that's right. New procedure, nothing to worry about. We just need to take a look at the site to ensure everything is in order." He loomed over the woman, trying to see, but she blocked his way. "Everything is in order, isn't it?"
"Yes, of course it is. All the finds are being logged and recorded in the marquees over there. I can't imagine there's anything the city conservation board would find interesting though."
Since the Doctor now looked as though he was trying to wrap his head around the psychic paper's disguise for them, Alex decided to step in. "The city conservation board," she began in her best official, no-nonsense tone, "is focused on preserving London and all of its resources, which naturally extends to the River Thames." To emphasize her point, she nodded towards the river. "We need to make sure this artifact you've found has not contaminated the river in any way, as well as make sure it isn't a threat to the city population."
The woman shifted slightly, evidently not having considered that possibility.
The Doctor shot Alex a quick grin. His Ally really was quite impressive. "So," he said, "what's that, on the pallet over there?"
"Nothing but a rusty lump of recently dumped equipment." The woman shrugged. "You'll be wasting your time with that."
"Nevertheless, we'd like to take a look," Alex insisted, still in an official voice.
"If you must." The woman stepped to one side to allow the Doctor and Alex to pass.
"I'm Amy, by the way," Amy spoke up, stepping forward and offering the woman her hand. "This is Rory, and they're the Doctor and Alex."
"Hmmm," the woman hummed. She took Amy's hand. "Patricia Young."
"So, what is it you've dredged out of the river, Ms. Young?" Amy asked diplomatically, as if in apology for the Doctor and Alex. "We saw you lifting it out on a pallet."
Rory was half-listening to the conversation and half-trying to see over the Doctor and Alex's shoulders as the couple jostled their way to the front of the assembled group of people and dropped to their haunches, examining the find.
"An Artificial Intelligence unit," the woman, Patricia, continued. "It's a recent model, one of those 'nearly human' things that have only been on the market for a few months. It's covered in rust and bits of it are missing. Someone's obviously got more money than sense."
"Why's that?" Amy asked.
Patricia gave her a sideways glance. "Because they cost an absolute fortune," she said, shaking her head. "More than I could afford. And here's someone dumping one in the Thames."
"People don't change," Rory said with a sigh. He turned, glancing up and down the street. He had the vague sense that he was being watched, but he couldn't see anyone else about. He turned back to Patricia and Amy.
Amy gave him an inquisitive look. He shrugged, presuming it was just his imagination. Spending so much time with the Doctor, as well as their recent tangles with the Silence, it was no wonder he was beginning to get spooked by his own shadow.
"Amy? Rory? Come tell us what you make of this." The Doctor and Alex's voices floated over the noise of the buzzing river tugs. The little cluster of archaeologists had begun to disperse, drifting away to the marquees and – Rory assumed – what they considered to be the more interesting finds.
Rory walked over to stand beside the Doctor and Alex. Amy, he realized, was right behind him.
The Doctor and Alex were crouched over the pallet, which had been laid out carefully on the embankment and was basically just a plastic stretcher covered in a blue tarpaulin. Upon this makeshift platform rested what looked like the ancient remains of a human being, not unlike a mummy dragged from the bottom of a peat bog. Rory had seen one of those in the British Museum as a child and the image had stayed with him ever since: its twisted, misshapen face, its wrinkled flesh like waxy clay.
This figure was missing one arm, and its left leg was gone from below the knee. Its body – a series of interlocking metal plates encasing a steel skeleton – was thick with brown rust and corrosion. Clumps of rubbery flesh still clung resolutely to its midriff and in patches across its chest. Bunches of exposed wires could be seen between the rusted plates of its joints and its face was frozen in a rictus snarl; enamel teeth exposed in the jaws where the fleshy covering had peeled away.
The Doctor was running his hands over it, a fascinated expression on his face. Alex merely contemplated the figure, her eyebrows pinched together in thought. Her hand started towards her sonic necklace, but the Doctor beat her to it. He reached into his pocket and extracted his sonic screwdriver, flipping it out so that the four fingers of its retractable casing sprung open like petals. He waved it over the AI's head. It emitted its familiar buzzing sound. Then, standing up and spinning around on the spot, the Doctor turned to face Patricia.
"How long did you say these AI's have been on the market?"
Patricia shrugged. "Two, maybe three months."
"That's very odd," the Doctor said, tapping the sonic against his chin. "Very odd indeed."
Alex pulled her necklace charm out from under the collar of her black, long-sleeved velvet shirt, and quickly scanned the AI. Reading the results, her brow furrowed. "That's odd," she echoed. Turning to look over her shoulder at the group, she announced, "This particular AI has been in the water for centuries."
Patricia almost guffawed. "That's impossible!" she cried, striding forward. "Absolutely impossible!"
The Doctor grinned. "Precisely!" He turned around, clearly animated now. "But look at it! It's made from a plastic-bonded titanium alloy. State of the art! It could never have corroded like that in a couple of months. It's been in there for ages."
"And in addition," Alex added, "by lifting it out of the water, you lot have somehow managed to reactivate it." She tilted her head thoughtfully as she continued to study the necklace's psychic readout. "There's some residual power in the chest unit."
Giving her an approving nod, the Doctor dropped to his knees, once again firing up the sonic. "Exactly, Ally. If I can just. . ." He screwed up his face in concentration. "There!"
One of the AI's eyes suddenly blinked, and Rory took an involuntary step backwards.
"Ow!" Amy shouted, slapping his arm. "Watch my toes!"
"Sorry," Rory said sheepishly, shuffling his feet. He found the entire scene rather creepy. It was like watching an ancient corpse suddenly stir and return to life, like something out of a zombie film. Yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from the corroded shell of the AI. He watched with fascination as it tried to turn its head but failed as the rusted joints had little or no movement left in them. Its arm twitched spasmodically, and then it tried to speak.
"Doc. . .tor. . ." The word was clear, but spoken in such a broken, mechanical voice that it took Rory a moment to realize its significance. "Doc. . .tor. . ."
"Um, Doc?" Alex squeaked. She placed a hand on the Doctor's shoulder, though it was more for her comfort than his. "It's saying your name."
"Yes," he replied. "Although it's most likely a different person it's asking for. The person who built it, perhaps?"
Alex wasn't so sure. Warily, she watched the AI's left eye blink again. There was a dull glow now, emanating from deep within the dark socket. Its head turned fractionally as it tried to look up at the Doctor. "Doc. . .tor. . ."
"Err, Doctor. I actually do think it's you that it wants," Rory piped up with a mixture of bafflement and amazement.
"Doc. . .tor. . ."
"Yes, I'm here," the Doctor told it. "I'm here." He gave the AI another buzz with the sonic. Nothing happened for a second, and then all of a sudden the AI sat up, twisted to face the Doctor, and grabbed the lapel of his tween jacket in its one remaining fist.
The Doctor started and pulled back, but the AI held him firm, dragging him closer so that his face was near to its own eerie visage. "Oooh. Interesting," he murmured, with a frown. "Now I wasn't expecting that."
The AI's unexpected action made Alex yelp, while Amy and Rory jumped. The archaeologists were all backing off too, Patricia included. But Alex forced herself to remain kneeling beside the Doctor, ready to help defend him in case the AI proved hostile. "Doctor," she said, her voice low, her gaze fixed warily on the AI.
The Doctor let out a long exhalation. "It's all right, Ally," he said, speaking in his calmest voice so as not to alarm her. Or the AI. "Just stay calm, love. I have the situation completely under control."
The AI shifted slightly in order to glance over at Amy, Rory, and Alex with its working eye. The sounds of its movements were like the screams of an animal being tortured, as the metal plating, so long in the water, creaked and grated against each other in protest. Alex could hear something else, too, a whirring sound coming from deep inside it. When it turned back to the Doctor, it began to speak once more, but this time its voice was calm and measured, with a neutral, male, English accent. The sound seemed to emanate from within the chest of the machine, as its badly damaged mouth did not appear to move. To Rory, this made the decrepit thing seem even creepier than it had been before.
"Doctor. Can you hear me?" it said.
The Doctor nodded, as best as he could with the thing still grabbing hold of him. "Yes, I can hear you."
"I do not have long before this residual power is gone and the remnants of my mind decay. I have waited a thousand years in the water for you to come, conserving what strength I had left. I have a warning for you."
"Go on," the Doctor requested, darkly. "I'm listening." Beside him, Alex stiffened in wary anticipation.
"The Squall are coming. Gradius's experimental ship has torn a hole in time and the hive is manifesting in the past. Everyone is in grave danger. You told me. . ." The remains of the AI slumped forward, its fingers loosening on the Doctor's jacket as its voice became nothing but a long, grating drone. The Doctor caught the machine as it crumpled, laying it down gently upon the pallet. Its strange, half-rotten face stared up at them, unmoving.
The Doctor sat back, an unreadable expression on his face. Never a good sign, Alex thought, her brow furrowing. Knowing that he wouldn't likely be willing to answer questions just yet, she instead did her best to comfort him. Because there was no doubt that whatever this 'Squall' was, it wasn't good. Everyone is in grave danger, the AI had said. The Doctor's expression told Alex that the android spoke the truth.
Gently, she placed one hand on his shoulder. Almost immediately, the tense muscles beneath her fingers loosened. Alex started to rest her other hand on the Doctor's thigh, only to yelp and jump back as the AI suddenly shifted again, its hand scrabbling over the side of the skid, scraping on the ground.
"And Doc. . .tor. . ." Its voice was once again a dull, metallic hiss. "Don't forget. . .to. . .modulate. . .th. . .frequency."
The light in the machine's eyes blinked out, and all was quiet.
Except for Amy.
"Doctor? What's going on?" Amy sounded uneasy, as if what the AI had said to the Doctor had robbed her of her earlier exuberance.
It probably had. Alex didn't blame her. Everyone is in grave danger. The AI's ominous words ran through her mind, alongside a rising flame of anger. Hadn't they just faced a grave danger situation? Hell, weren't they still technically in one? The revelation of River's identity and her mental turnaround in Berlin had answered a lot of their questions regarding Kovarian and the Silence, but there were still so many more whose answers they could only guess at.
The Silence situation, Alex knew, was far from over. At most, they had just landed a temporary reprieve from it. But they were all still healing from Berlin. Amy. . . Ten minutes ago, that was the happiest she'd seen Amy in days. Alex knew she and Rory both would tolerate a bucking bronco of a TARDIS if it meant seeing Amy smile and laugh again.
She doubted this Squall threat would accomplish that.
She was pulled out of these bleak thoughts by the Doctor's reply. "I don't know, Amy," he said softly, still with that unreadable expression, "but I'm sure it has something to do with the reason the TARDIS brought us here."
Rory stepped forward. "Can't you find an alternative power source, Doctor?"
"Yeah!" Alex cried, nodding enthusiastically. "Just plug the AI into the TARDIS and reactivate it so you can hear the rest of its message."
But the Doctor shook his head. "No. It used the last of its power to speak. Now that the reserve has been spent, there's nothing left to hold its mind together. Its neural matrix will have already collapsed." He got to his feet, helped Alex up, then dusted himself down. "We'll just have to get to the bottom of it ourselves."
Alex sighed, but she wasn't surprised. Nor did she really want to turn tale and run in the other direction. If there was a serious threat to humanity brewing, she wanted to stop it before it could reach fruition.
"It was about to say something that it claimed you'd told it. But how could that be right? How could you have told it something?" Amy wondered, a puzzled expression on her face.
Alex gave her a dry look. "Really, Amelia? What, exactly, do we travel in?"
Remembering the TARDIS (not to mention her daughter's own convoluted timeline), Amy smiled sheepishly.
The Doctor gave Alex a nod, a slight, proud smile on his lips. "Ally's right. It must have been referring to something that hasn't happened yet. For me, at least. The AI's past, my future. That sort of thing." Like I haven't dealt with that enough lately, he thought wryly, tugging at his hair.
"And what about all that stuff about Gradius and a hole in time? It said everyone was in grave danger." Amy glanced at Rory, and he tried to offer her a reassuring smile.
"Ah, well, that's a lot clearer. Someone in this period has been conducting experiments with time. It looks as if they sent an experimental ship back a thousand years, taking this AI with them. Something must have happened, and it's been in the water ever since. Waiting for us." The Doctor seemed suddenly animated now as he began to unpick at things, teasing the meaning out of what little the AI had said.
"But why is that dangerous?" Rory asked. "You go traveling through time and space all the time." He glanced over at Patricia Young, who, he suddenly remembered with a cringe, was still standing nearby. Her face was stony and unreadable, and she was watching the Doctor and Alex with suspicion. Rory could tell from her expression that she no longer believed they were representatives of the city conservation board.
Alex followed Rory's line of sight and grimaced. Oh well, she thought. Still a personal best for us. She turned back to the Doctor, who barely seemed to notice that their cover had been blown. He was far too focused on Rory's query.
"Rory, Rory!" he cried, pacing back and forth. "You can't just go blithely swanning about the universe, cutting great swathes through time. My people learned that long ago, and they worked out a way to manipulate the Vortex safely, to pass through without leaving great rents in their wake. There are things out there in the darkness, lurking outside of the universe, waiting to find a way in."
"The Squall," Amy said.
"The Squall," the Doctor confirmed, nodding. "Amongst others."
"What, exactly, are the Squall?" Alex asked, crossing her arms in preparation.
The Doctor took a deep breath before he began, as though bracing himself. "The Squall are a race of parasites, creatures that cling to a paltry existence outside the realms of normal time and space, always looking for a means to get to the gooey core of the physical universe where you and I exist." The Doctor mashed his hands together as he said the words 'gooey core', and Rory couldn't help thinking of the fondant center of a chocolate egg. "The Squall feed on psychic energy, absorbing it to establish new hives. They spread like a plague, a contagion of the whole universe. And if they are not stopped, they will strip the Earth clean. . ."
"Then what do we have to do?" Amy asked, showing signs of her usual resilience (much to her husband and friend's relief). "Where do we find these Squall creatures?"
The Doctor shook his head. "You, Amy Pond, are staying exactly where you are. Here, in the 28th century."
"But—"
"No buts! No questions!" He wagged his finger dramatically. "The Squall are extremely dangerous, and they need to be stopped. Alex and I are taking the TARDIS back to. . .um. . ." He paused to run the sonic screwdriver over the remains of the AI before examining the readout. "The sixteenth of October 1910. The day before this sorry specimen met its end in the water. You and Rory need to find this Gradius fellow and put a stop to these experiments he's been carrying out. Whatever happens, he can't go tearing more holes in the universe. There's no use in me and Alex patching things up in 1910 if more dimensional holes are going to start popping up left, right, and center. If the Squall manage to infest any more time periods, they'll gain a foothold in this universe. There's no time to waste. You need to stop Gradius as a matter of urgency. Got that?"
"Got it," Amy affirmed, grinning. "Come on, Rory. Let's go and see what the 28th century has to offer."
Rory couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive about the sudden change of plan. "Doctor, what if something happens to you and Alex in 1910? Won't Amy and I end up stuck here with no way of getting home?" He tried to ignore the sharp elbow he received in the ribs from his wife for his trouble.
"Rory, would I let you down?" The Doctor grinned, with a look that Rory imagined was meant to inspire great confidence. "We'll be back before you know it. A quick hop to 1910, plug the dimensional hole, find a way to get rid of the monsters. . . You won't even know we've been gone."
Seeing that Rory still appeared reluctant, Alex gave him a soft smile. "Don't worry, Rory. I'll keep him in line."
"Exactly. . . OI!"
Rory chuckled and gave the two a winning smile as Amy quickly dragged him away, eager to explore the 28th century and find this Gradius person.
"And you, Ms. Young," the Doctor declared, beaming and spinning about to face Patricia, who was now standing with a small group of archaeologists and divers, watching the exchange between the Doctor and his companions with some interest. "I'm pleased to report that the city conservation board are satisfied with everything you're doing here." He waved his hand to indicate the remains of the AI as he started off toward the TARDIS at a run, tugging Alex along behind him.
Alex shook her head at his tweed-clad back. "Please continue with what you were doing!" she called over her shoulder.
Patricia Young, shaking her own head, watched them go with a bemused expression on her face. "Come on, boys," she said after a minute, resignedly. "Let's get this thing back to the lab."
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
London, October 16th, 1910
Professor Archibald Angelchrist had yet to see one of the creatures for himself, but he'd read the descriptions in the police reports, and he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they were real. The newspapers, of course, told a different story, attributing the recent rash of disappearances to the work of a serial killer or a criminal organization. They argued that the rumors about the creatures were simply that – rumors, started by those responsible to create a climate of fear and to throw the police off their trail.
Angelchrist knew from experience, however, that most criminals were not that clever, and even those who were would be unlikely to go about blaming unearthly demons for their handiwork. No, Angelchrist wholeheartedly believed in monsters. He knew they existed because he'd encountered their like before.
He'd been retired for five long, quiet years now, but before that, before he'd been put out to pasture, he'd worked for the secret service as a scientific advisor, and as such he'd been party to all sorts of information about the various alien incursions that had plagued the country over the years. From the earliest surviving records, the history of Britain was a colorful account of the battles that had been lost and won against foes both human and alien. Angelchrist himself had fought against such unnatural interlopers on more than one occasion – strange tentacle things that had clambered out of the Thames; people possessed by an apparently extraterrestrial virus that drove them murderously insane; ancient entities awoken from their tombs beneath Edinburgh. Of course, the truth of such matters had been kept from the public in the interests of their own protection, but nevertheless, Angelchrist was well aware of the reality: that monsters lurked around every corner, that the universe teemed with life, and that the human race was not, as it seemed to consider itself, at the center of everything.
It had come as no great surprise to Angelchrist then to discover that London was being slowly overrun by this new breed of demon: tall, bipedal creatures that left their victims lying in the gutters weeping blood. What concerned him most, though, was the fact that nobody seemed to be doing anything about it.
It was with that in mind that he had taken it upon himself to investigate the matter.
He knew he was no spring chicken – that he was most definitely past his prime – but his gray moustache was still peppered with traces of its original raven-black, and he was still fit and mobile. And besides, he had experience on his side.
He'd started by mapping the attacks and sightings that had been reported over the course of the previous few days, pinning them up on the laboratory wall. It had become immediately clear to him that the police were already barking up the wrong tree. They had gotten into their heads that whoever – or whatever – was responsible for the attacks was working alone. Angelchrist could tell from the pattern of the incidents, however, that they were wrong. There were at least three of the creatures on the loose. What was more, they seemed to be behaving in a territorial fashion, maintaining their own hunting grounds distinct from one another.
Consequently, he had selected one of those territories – the area between Hyde Park and the river – and now stood on Cheyne Walk in the dusk, watching, waiting. He knew if he were patient, he would see it. A number of the bodies had been discovered in the area, and if he set himself up as bait, as easy prey, surely it would come for him. It would certainly get a surprise when it did.
The night was drawing in now, though, and Angelchrist was growing cold. The swirling fog that had been threatening to descend on the city all afternoon was finally beginning to settle; long, ghostly fingers wrapping themselves around streetlamps and the masts of boats moored in the river. The moon was a bright bauble hanging low overhead, and his breath was fogging as he leaned heavily on his cane. Another hour and he'd have to head home to Grosvenor Square. Even inside his gloves, his fingers were beginning to grow numb, and his long, black overcoat and hat were offering little protection from the penetrating chill.
Angelchrist turned at the sound of footsteps in the distance. He stiffened, imagining the creature lurking there unseen, but then he heard the bark of a man's drunken laughter, and realized it was probably a crewman from one of the boats returning to his bunk. He turned back to the river, sighing with a mixture of disappointment and relief, and that was when he saw it, looming out of the fog a short distance from where he was standing.
It was just as he'd imagined it from the descriptions: tall, gangly, and angular, with a slightly elongated head and a face that resembled that of a bat. Its flesh was gray and smooth, and its hands terminated in vicious claws that twitched in anticipation of what was to come. Beneath its arms hung loose flaps of skin – membranes, he presumed, for enabling it to glide through the air.
This particular specimen, however, was currently on foot, and as it came towards him, baring its fangs, Angelchrist knew that he was going to have to put up an exceptionably good fight. He raised his cane and brandished it before him like a sword, as if in warning the creature to keep back. It snarled like an animal in response, and it occurred to Angelchrist that the thing wasn't necessarily blessed with intelligence or self-awareness. That, of course, made it even more of a dangerous foe. It would fight like a ravenous animal for all it was worth.
The creature stalked forward, its red eyes blazing, and Angelchrist swung his cane, leveling a blow at the side of its head. The creature shrieked in fury, but its reactions were lightning fast, and it brushed aside his attack with a sweep of its arm. Angelchrist stepped back, trying to buy himself some more time. All he needed to do was knock it unconscious. A few stiff blows to the head would do it, he was sure.
He raised his arm and swung at the beast again, this time throwing all of his weight behind the motion. The cane struck home with a loud thud and the creature staggered back, shaking its head as if attempting to clear the disorientation caused by the blow. Angelchrist pressed forward, hoping to capitalize on his success, but the creature reared up again, swiping at him with its talons. They slashed through the front of his coat, scattering buttons and shreds of fabric across the cobbled road.
"Get back, beast!" Angelchrist bellowed, lurching forward with a roundhouse punch that connected squarely with the creature's jaw. It would have been enough to fell a man, but the creature reeled for only a moment before its long, bony fingers whipped out and closed around Angelchrist's throat. He choked and tried to kick at the thing, but it was agile and avoided his frantic attempts to take its legs out from beneath it.
The fingers tightened around his throat, but worse, Angelchrist could feel the creature doing something else to him, somehow probing around inside his mind, as if it were sifting through his memories, tugging at them, trying to prize them free. He felt tears running down his cheeks and realized it was warm blood, trickling from the corners of his eyes. Enraged, he raised his cane and lashed out at the beast, striking it hard across the temple. Its grip on his throat loosened for a second and he pressed his advantage, shoving it forcefully back and striking it repeatedly, intent on dazing it.
It was at that point, just as Angelchrist was beginning to gain the upper hand, that a tall, thin man in a tweed jacket came barreling out of a nearby alleyway, skidded to a halt a few steps away, and raised some sort of bizarre glowing device above his head.
Behind him came another figure, this one a young woman. Her clothing was like nothing Angelchrist had ever seen. Rather than a floor-length dress and petticoats, she wore an indecently short denim skirt that showed off her black stocking-clad legs, a long-sleeved black velvet shirt, a black leather jacket, and black combat boots. For jewelry, Angelchrist spotted ridiculously large gold hoops hanging from her lobes and a gold necklace decorated with moon and star charms. Her long, brown-blonde hair was unpinned, flowing freely down her back. She kept slightly behind her companion as they rushed forward, but her wide-eyed gaze was firmly fixed on the creature.
"Don't worry!" the man called, still wielding the glowing device over his head. "I've got everything under control." Unseen by him, his companion's brow furrowed, clearly dubious of this statement.
He marched forward in the direction of the beast, waving his contraption in the air as if it were a magic wand and he a conjurer casting an enchantment to dispel the beast. Angelchrist realized the device was emitting an unusual buzzing sound.
Whatever the man was doing, it worked, for almost immediately the creature began to back away, clutching its hands to the sides of its head. Angelchrist raised his cane as if to strike it again, but he wasn't quick enough, and before he could make his move the creature had fled, hurtling away along the street. He lowered his cane in frustration.
"You okay, Doc?" the young woman asked. Angelchrist was surprised to hear an American accent.
"Fine, Ally," her companion answered. The two then sidled over to Angelchrist, the young man looking pleased with himself. "Hello," he said, beaming. "I'm the Doctor and this is Alex."
Angelchrist watched with dismay as the creature made off into the night. "No! What are you doing? Are you mad?" He took a few steps forward as if to go after the creature, but stopped when he realized it was already too late. He watched it dive over the side of the embankment, disappearing from view for a moment before rising up again on the zephyrs, sailing away into the foggy night on its membranous wings.
"Beautiful creatures, the Squall," the Doctor said, he and Alex coming up to stand beside Angelchrist. "But quite deadly. Especially if there's more than one of them."
Angelchrist turned to regard this strange, gawky man who had appeared out of nowhere to foil his plans. "You fool!" he exclaimed, trying to bite back his frustration. "I almost had it!"
"You almost had it? What. . .you mean. . . No! You weren't trying to catch that thing, were you?" the Doctor said, sounding impressed.
Alex, in stark contrast, gaped incredulously. He's either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, she thought. Even with the experience she'd gained in traveling with the Doctor, she wouldn't have touched one of those creatures with a twenty-foot pole.
"I most certainly was," Angelchrist replied hotly. "And I would have managed it too, if you hadn't intervened with your strange contraption." He sighed, attempting to compose himself. He supposed the fellow had only been trying to help. "I imagine I owe you an apology for the brusqueness of my tone. Thank you for your assistance."
"You're very welcome," the Doctor nodded. "I admire your bravery, Mr. . .?"
"Professor Angelchrist."
". . .Professor Angelchrist, but you really don't want to get on the wrong side of one of those creatures. It'll suck out all of your psychic energy before you know it. Oh. . . Look, you're bleeding. Here." The Doctor produced a handkerchief from his jacket pocket with a flourish, and then promptly dropped it on the ground. He looked down as it settled in a brackish puddle.
Alex sighed. "Smooth, Doc," she said dryly.
The Doctor shot her a defensive look before turning back to Angelchrist. "Ah. Right. Well. . .yes. You might want to take a look." He made circles beneath his eyes with his two forefingers.
Angelchrist looked him up and down appraisingly. There was something odd about him. His eyes were fiercely bright and intelligent, and he obviously knew what he was talking about, but his manner was . . . unusual, to say the least. He was young and carried himself with a certain awkwardness, like a child who had only recently learned to walk.
Angelchrist took a handkerchief from his own pocket and dabbed at his cheeks. The Doctor had been right – he'd definitely been bleeding, just like the victims he'd seen described in the police reports. He wiped his eyes. Thankfully it seemed to have stopped.
"You're lucky it didn't have time to do any lasting harm," the Doctor continued. He and Alex were watching Angelchrist with interest. "A few seconds longer and you'd have been dead." He rubbed his hand over his chin in thought. "Still, something's not right. Something's wrong with this picture." He frowned, leaning in and studying Angelchrist's face a little too closely for comfort, as if he expected to find the answer hidden in the lines on the man's face. Then, a moment later, his face lit up in apparent jubilation. He clicked his fingers. "Yes! That's it! I know what's wrong. You threw me there, for a minute, professor." He was grinning now, like the cat that got the proverbial cream.
"What are you going on about, Doctor? What's wrong?" Angelchrist was more perplexed than outraged by the Doctor's bumbling familiarity.
"I think I know." Alex's currently dark green eyes roamed over Angelchrist, her head tilted in thought. "Most people who encountered a creature such as the Squall would be scared out of their mind, or frantically trying to deny its existence. But you aren't."
"She's right," the Doctor said, his expression suddenly changing to a serious one. "You should be very, very scared."
Angelchrist was momentarily taken aback by the alteration in tone. "Well . . . I. . . Look here, you two! I'll have you know I've encountered more beasts of that sort than you've had hot dinners!"
The Doctor laughed heartily. Even Alex couldn't hold back a few giggles. "Oh, I sincerely doubt that, professor," the Doctor chuckled. "But good on you! Good for you! Getting stuck in there." He punched Angelchrist gently on the arm, and then looked vaguely embarrassed.
"Who are you, Doctor? Alex?" Angelchrist wondered.
The Doctor smiled, and his eyes seemed to flash in the movement. "I'm the one the monsters are scared of," he said cryptically, and Angelchrist didn't detect even a hint of irony.
He looked expectantly at Alex.
Alex's lips, tinted a dark berry color, curved upwards, but it wasn't quite a smile. More of a grimace trying to masquerade as a smile. "Someone they really shouldn't piss off." Her eyes, normally so full of compassion and eagerness, were now hard, the dark green irises bordering on black. In that moment, anyone that wished her harm would surely have thought twice before doing so.
Angelchrist, most decidedly not in that camp, just blinked at them. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Not exactly," Alex agreed, her dark gaze softening as she glanced down and tugged self-consciously at her skirt.
"It's a long story," the Doctor replied. "A good one, admittedly, filled with lots of gadding about and danger and adventure and a pretty girl," he paused to wink at Alex, delighting in her ensuing blush, "but very long, and it's cold out here. And besides, it's far more important you tell us why you were trying to catch that thing."
"What was it you called it?" Angelchrist asked.
"A Squall," Alex said. She kept her gaze firmly fixed on Angelchrist as she said, "It's an alien from another dimensional plane."
If she expected Angelchrist to balk, say she was talking nonsense, she was sorely mistaken. Angelchrist didn't so much as blink at the information, nor at what the Doctor said next.
"A parasite with an insatiable appetite for psychic energy." He brushed his hair from his eyes. "It certainly wouldn't have taken kindly to being put in a cage. It wouldn't have proved any less dangerous, either."
Angelchrist shrugged. "Someone needs to do something. To stop them. People are dying, and Scotland Yard is still saying it's the work of a serial killer. During my time in the secret service, I fought to protect the country from incursions such as this. I thought if I could catch it, I could study it, find out what they were. Prove to the police once and for all what it was they were up against. I've been mapping the pattern of their attacks. There are three of them, I believe, each of them keeping to its own territory within the boundaries of the city."
The Doctor smiled sadly. "I fear, professor, there are far more of them than that. The Squall are hive creatures, like ants or bees. Their numbers will be growing with every passing hour as more and more of them spill through the rent in the universe that brought then here." The Doctor tapped his mechanical contraption idly in the palm of his hand. "You say you've been mapping the location of their attacks?"
"Indeed. . ."
"Then we need you to show us. As soon as you can. It could be of critical importance." The Doctor turned and set off in the direction he and Alex had come from. After a few steps, he stopped and turned back, gesturing up and down the street. "Umm, lead on!" He looked at Angelchrist and shrugged. "I don't know the way."
Rolling her eyes, Alex turned her best smile on Angelchrist. "Could you please show us the way?" she asked, shooting a pointed look at the Doctor as she said 'please'.
Angelchrist knew that he should walk away from this strange couple, should simply thank them for their assistance and leave. But there was something about them, about the intensity in their eyes, about the way they seemed to know exactly what was going on, that compelled Angelchrist to trust them. He had the notion that the Doctor and Alex could help him get to the bottom of the situation with the Squall. He didn't know exactly where the couple had come from, but he supposed it didn't matter. Not if they could help Angelchrist to prevent any further deaths.
"Yes, of course," he said. "This way." He pointed in the opposite direction with the end of his cane. "I have a motor car parked around the corner and my house is only a short drive away. I'd be happy to help."
The Doctor grinned and grabbed Alex's hand. "I'm glad to hear that, Professor Angelchrist. Good choice."
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
London, June 10th, 2789
It had taken Amy and Rory the better part of a day to navigate their way through the teeming streets of the metropolis.
London had changed almost beyond recognition, as unfamiliar to Rory as any alien world. Some of the landmarks were the same, of course: St. Paul's Cathedral still sat squat and proud by Ludgate Hill; the Tower of London, now unimaginably old, remained like a sentry by the river; Buckingham Palace had been preserved almost as it had been in Amy and Rory's time. These familiar monuments were not enough, however, to dispel the sense of dislocation, the feeling that they were somewhere else, somewhere that wasn't London. It felt to Rory as if those ancient buildings had somehow been plucked from where they had sat, back home in the 21st century, and dropped here in this other time and place, in the middle of a different city, on a different world. Given the things he'd seen with the Doctor, he knew that wasn't as outlandish an idea as it sounded.
Amy, ever the more streetwise one, had led the way, but even she had been enchanted by the sheer magic of the place, unable to wipe the look of wide-eyed wonder from her face. Rory had squeezed her hand and held on to her as they'd fought their way through the milling crowds, past strange-looking boutiques staffed by talking computer terminals and restaurants selling a bizarre mix of dishes, from the almost incongruously traditional shepherd's pie to the unpalatable sounding 'corobian scuff'.
Rory had expected to see flying cars and hoverboards and all that stuff from Back to the Future, but in reality, the city was still just a city, as unfamiliar as it was. There did appear to be a version of the Tube still in operation – a system of pneumatic trains that shot soundlessly through a network of tunnels beneath the city – but they had chosen to walk in order to drink in the sights. Or rather, Amy had insisted on it.
At one point they had turned down what had seemed like a familiar side road just off Oxford Street, only to come across the base of one of the large domes they had seen from the other side of the river. It appeared to erupt from the ground itself, a towering wall of shimmering crystal, curving up into the sky and away in all directions; a vast bubble of glass in the center of the metropolis.
To Rory, it had looked like an enormous version of one of those botanical experiments, a micro-ecology in a bottle, but the area it covered must have been half a square mile, all the way down to the river's edge. Huge swathes of the old city must have been cleared away to accommodate it.
Amy had pressed herself up against the glass, her hands cupped to her face so she could peer at the strange, bottled environment inside. It was utterly at odds with the city around them: instead of tall towers of steel and glass or the crumbling monuments of ages past, the dome contained what appeared to be a lush, green forest, complete with brazenly colored birds and a lioness stalking through the undergrowth, only a few meters away from where they were standing. Inside, at the apex of the dome, Rory had noticed a bank of huge fans mounted on a series of steel frames.
"What do you think it is?" he had said, thinking aloud. "Some sort of zoo or conservation area?"
Amy had shaken her head. "Perhaps. More likely it's an oxygen factory like the one at the heart of the Byzantium." She'd shuddered as she'd said this, stepping back from the glass wall. Whether she was recalling the terror of the Weeping Angels or that that had been her first proper encounter with River, Rory wasn't sure. But whatever memory had sprung to mind, Amy hadn't let it affect her for long. She smiled, her head tilted to the side in thought as she added, "Big city, no trees, lots of people. I reckon this is how they keep everyone breathing."
Rory had been impressed by her deduction. Clearly all that time spent with the Doctor was beginning to rub off on her. "An oxygen factory. . ." he'd breathed, bewildered. He didn't like the implication of that, what it suggested had happened to the Earth's natural habitats in the intervening centuries since their own time.
They'd moved on, dazzled by the strangeness of this future London, frustrated by the things that hadn't changed. Rory had caught sight of more than one of the artificial people – what he assumed to be the 'nearly human' AIs that Patricia Young had referred to, just like the one they'd pulled out of the river. Except, of course, these examples were up and about, sheathed in pale, rubbery skin, walking along beside their owners. They were fetching, carrying, and otherwise assisting their rich benefactors, as if they were nothing but personal butlers. Some of them were even dressed in the typical apparel of an Edwardian servant, all black suits and white gloves. Something about it just didn't sit right with Rory. He didn't like the notion of slaves, whether they were human or machine.
Neither of them had really known where to start in their search for Gradius. They didn't even know – they realized as they set about their task – if they were looking for a man or a woman.
At first they'd decided to try to locate any institutes or establishments at which a leading scientist might be conducting experiments such as the Doctor had described, but that had led them down a blind alley. Literally, on at least one occasion. So, instead, they had wandered the streets, trying to get their bearings, wracking their brains for a way to narrow their search. Rory had even tried getting his mobile phone to connect to a network in order to run a search on the name 'Gradius', but, of course, his service provider had long ago ceased to exist, the technology having become entirely obsolete. He'd wondered if people even had cell-phones in the future. Or, indeed, whether the internet had been superseded by something entirely new.
In the end, however, the answer had been almost ridiculously simple.
Amy had pointed out the tall, black boxes that seemed to pepper the streets, installed at intervals all over the city. They were coffin-shaped and around two and a half meters tall, hollow and open-fronted. Rory had pretty much ignored them as they'd passed them by, distracted by the sheer magnificence of the view, too busy looking all around him to worry about what these strange, box-like constructions really were.
What Amy had seen, however, was a person stepping into one, just across the street. Rory had watched with interest as the man had disappeared inside and a faint blue light had emanated from within the box. Moments later, voices had followed. It was at that moment he'd realized what the black boxes actually were.
"Information terminals," he'd said, turning to Amy with a wide grin on his face, only to see her already dashing off down the street toward another, unoccupied booth. Sighing, he'd followed after her.
He'd caught up with her a few seconds later, just as she was entering the box. "Amy, don't you think we should—"
"Shh," she'd hissed, cutting him off, as a holographic image had flickered into being in the dark recess at the back of the booth: an electronic ghost with a blank, hairless, asexual face. Only its head and shoulders were visible, giving Rory the impression that it was leaning forward from the shadowy recess, dipping its head into the light.
Rory had watched over Amy's shoulder, straining to get a proper look at what was happening. The holographic face had stared at them impassively for a moment, and then it had spoken. "Welcome to the City of London. I am your guide. How may I be of assistance?"
"Erm. . . We're trying to find someone?" Amy had said with a shrug.
"Please state the name of the person you wish to locate," the hologram had replied in cool, unemotional tones.
"Gradius," Amy had continued, glancing over her shoulder at Rory with a cheeky smile, her eyes wide with excitement, as if to say, 'this is the future, Rory!' He couldn't help but grin back in return. Her enthusiasm, like Alex's own, was utterly infectious.
"There are six occurrences of the name Gradius in the directory," the hologram had stated after a moment, and a list of names and addresses had scrolled up before Amy, the glowing letters apparently hovering in mid-air.
"Look! There's a Professor C. Gradius. That has to be the one we're looking for," Rory had pointed out, pointing to the name.
"Well, the professor bit does kind of give the game away there, bright spark," Amy had laughed, before reaching out and tentatively prodding at the name with an outstretched index finger.
Rory had felt her start as the holographic face had suddenly dispersed in a shower of glittering fragments, and in its place a map had resolved, showing them the location of the professor's workshop or home, indicated by a blinking light. Beneath the map, the address scrolled through the air, the letters shining a bright, holographic blue.
"This is the registered address of Professor C. Gradius. Currently, the professor does not appear to be in residence," the disembodied voice of the guide had announced.
Rory had thought it sounded a little bored, but he could have been imagining it. Surely, he'd considered, holographic guides couldn't actually get bored?
"I know where that is," Amy had declared. "It's right near the British Museum. Look, there it is on the map. I visited it once when I was a kid."
"It should be easy enough to find," Rory had agreed. "It's only about half an hour's walk from here. I think."
"Um, thank you," Amy had called to the guide, backing out of the booth.
"Enjoy your stay in London," the monotone voice had replied, and the two of them had set out with a renewed sense of purpose.
Now, they stood on the threshold of a large, modern-looking building about ten minutes' walk from the British Museum. The frontage was all steel and glass, and through the towering windows, Rory could see a curved reception desk in the sparsely furnished lobby.
"It looks like a hotel," he remarked, peering inside.
"Do you think anyone actually lives here?" Amy wondered, trying the door handle. It turned easily in her hand and the door creaked open.
"I think we're about to find out," Rory replied, ushering her in through the opening.
Inside, the building smelled of polish. That was the only way Rory could describe it. Clean, clinical – the sort of smell that got right up your nose and lingered there for hours. The place itself was immaculate. The marble floor gleamed in the reflected light of the overhead strip lights, the walls were bare and white, and the sweeping lines of the reception desk were hewn from a single piece of black granite. Upon it, the legend GRADIUS INDUSTRIES was emblazed in foot-high letters. So, it was an office or laboratory, after all.
Across the lobby was a spiral staircase leading to both upper and lower floors, designed to represent the twisting lattices of a double helix. Someone had spent a lot of money on the interior design.
"There's no one here," Rory said, redundantly. It was cold, and he had the oddest sense that something here was very wrong. "Where's the receptionist?"
Amy just shrugged. "Probably another one of those holographic whatjamacallits," she suggested, strolling pointedly over to the desk, her boots clopping on the polished stone floor.
"There's no muzak, either," Rory muttered. "Places like this always have muzak."
"Are you telling me you'd rather have some dodgy instrumental rendition of a Justin Bieber song?"
Rory gave his best what-do-you-take-me-for look, but she only smiled sweetly and turned to lean on the reception desk. "Hello?" she called. "Anyone at home?"
There was no reply.
She tried again. "Hello?"
Rory glanced at the stairs, then back at the door. "Look, it's pretty clear no one's here. Perhaps we got the wrong place?" He was starting to feel increasingly uncomfortable.
Amy frowned. "No, that can't be right. There has to be someone here."
"Even that holographic thing out there told us Professor Gradius wasn't at home. We shouldn't be in here," Rory said, half-turning toward the door.
"If nobody's at home, why was the door open?" Amy asked, and Rory knew she had a point. "Besides, there's a reception desk. It's not like we're trespassing in someone's house." She clopped over to him and took his hand. "Come one. I think we should take a look around."
"I've got a bad feeling about this, Amy. . ."
"Oh, come on! Where's your sense of adventure?" She beamed at him, and he felt himself giving in, despite his sense of impending danger.
"I suppose we did promise the Doctor. . ." And Alex would have told him to buck up as well if she were here.
"Precisely! So. . ." Amy took his hand and dragged him across the lobby towards the staircase. "Upstairs or downstairs first?"
"Um. . ." Rory peered up and down the stairwell. It looked more than a little precarious. "Upstairs," he said with confidence. "We should look upstairs first."
"Great," Amy beamed, jumping onto the steps, and beginning her descent to the lower level.
"I said upstairs first!" Rory cried as she took the metal rungs two at a time.
"Exactly!" was the only response he received, her voice drifting back up the stairwell, already halfway down the flight to the lower level.
Shaking his head, he followed behind her, wondering – not for the first time – at how often he seemed to do just that.
But he knew he wouldn't have it any other way.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
"What did you mean 'exactly'?"
"You should take it as a compliment. I'm trusting your instincts."
"My instincts told me we should look upstairs, just as I said."
"Precisely. Which is why I figured we should look downstairs first. Your gut was telling you to avoid the dark, scary hanger that you expected us to find down here. And that's exactly the sort of place we should be looking."
Rory frowned. Somehow, however wrong it seemed on the surface, he couldn't quite argue with Amy's logic. "Well, I suppose I can see your point. Kind of."
She elbowed him affectionately in the ribs. "See. Trusting your instincts. And now look," she gave an expansive gesture with her arms, "a big, scary hangar. The Doctor and Alex would be so proud."
They were standing at the bottom of the stairs in what appeared to be a very large open space. Rory could discern as much from the fact the light seeping down from the stairwell did absolutely nothing to dispel the darkness that seemed to close in on them from all sides.
"So . . . definitely not a hostel," he quipped.
Amy shook her head as she walked cautiously forward into the gloom. "It must be some sort of underground warehouse or workshop," she hypothesized.
"Yes. And Professor Gradius definitely isn't here."
Amy took another step forward and there was a sudden, stuttering flash of light. Rory blinked and covered his face with the back of his hand to ward off the glare. Banks of brilliant electric bulbs blinked on in sudden succession, flooding the hangar with sickly yellow light, triggered – he guessed – by Amy's movements.
Rory peered between his fingers while he waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden alteration in their surroundings. The hangar was as big as he'd imagined – bigger, even – and was lined with workbenches and computer stations, banks of monitors and pools of cables. Wires trailed from the ceiling like writhing vipers dripping from the branches of trees, and beneath them, right in the center of the room, sat a huge, shining, silver spaceship.
At least, to Rory, it looked like a spaceship. It was like something out of a science fiction film, a gleaming escape pod or shuttlecraft, the sort of thing he would have expected to see filling the skies over London in the 28th century, if he hadn't been there to know otherwise.
The ship was around fifteen meters in length and about the height of an average car. It appeared to be fashioned from panels of shining chrome or polished steel, gleaming in the harsh, reflected light. It was shaped like a lozenge with a conical nose, and a hatchway was open on one side of it like a gull's wing. Some of the overhead cables actually snaked down and disappeared inside the machine like fat umbilical cords, plugged into sockets on its outer shell.
Rory drifted towards it without really noticing what he was doing. "Just look at it," he said. "Do you think this is the time machine the Doctor was talking about? It doesn't look that experimental."
Amy shrugged. "Must be," she guessed, walking slowly around it, reaching out to run her fingers over its smooth surface.
"Careful," Rory cautioned. "Do you think you should be touching that?"
Amy, however, had stopped dead in her tracks and was staring at something by her feet, an expression of absolute horror on her face. Rory ran to her side without a moment's hesitation. "Amy? Are you. . ." He trailed off when he saw what she was looking at.
Lying there on the stone floor, in the shadow of the time machine, was a pretty woman in her early thirties. She was wearing a white lab coat, and her blonde hair was tied back in a severe ponytail. Her face, however, was twisted into a visage of utter terror, and dark, sticky tributaries stained her cheeks and collar.
She was dead, and she had died weeping blood.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
A/N: And here's the first part of Paradox Lost! And if you thought 'Let's Kill Hitler' was a doozy for our Fab Four, you haven't seen anything yet! And I promise, we'll be getting more introspection from the Fab Four on those events, as well as a few things that haven't been touched on yet (cough, cough, Alex's dagger?).
Notes on reviews. . .
Natalie Wilson - Sorry you were beginning to worry! But thankfully, I finally got that chapter out. Haha, definitely don't blame you if you reread for purpose and pleasure! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!
NicoleR85 - Thank you! I can't wait to get into everything else that's happening this season. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!