London, October 16th, 1910
Angelchrist's laboratory was full of wonders. Or so he liked to think. He loved the room and spent most of his time within its four walls, more so now, ironically, that he'd been forced to retire from active duty. He lived alone – he always had – and wasn't yet ready to idle away his days with his pipe and slippers.
So, instead, Angelchrist put his time to good use in the lab, working on some of the inventions he'd always intended to develop, studying rare specimens of plant and animal life, unofficially investigating crimes that Scotland Yard seemed unable to satisfactorily handle. As a consequence, the room was brimming with all manner of paraphernalia: a human skeleton, the skull of a great cat, a large clockwork orrery, a case of ancient, leather-bound books, maps pasted to the walls, photographs of the catacombs beneath Edinburgh, the case of an Egyptian mummy, a cabinet filled with trophies – the list went on.
As Angelchrist came down the laboratory steps, a tea tray in hand, he observed Miss Alex Locke (she'd provided him with her last name on the drive back to his home) wandering through the room. Most ladies of her age would find the lab and its contents dull, the stuff of dusty museums, but Miss Locke, as her attire had already proven, was not like most young ladies. She peered at each and every artifact with wide-eyed interest, taking the object in for several moments before moving on to the next one.
Angelchrist watched as she paused before the sarcophagus, studying it intently. "Is this a real sarcophagus?" she asked.
Angelchrist smiled and nodded. "Indeed, it is."
Kneeling, Alex gingerly ran her fingertips over the hieroglyphs that ran in a straight line down the middle of the sarcophagus. Though the case had to be thousands of years old, the paint still shone, as though it had been applied only yesterday. What do they say? she wondered. The TARDIS wasn't translating, but Alex found that she didn't mind. Seeing the ancient, intricate writing in English would have simply ruined the effect.
"How did you acquire it?"
Angelchrist chuckled. "Would you believe me if I told you?"
Turning, Alex gave him a bright, encouraging smile. "Try me."
The professor crossed over to a small sitting area with a low table. As he set the tea tray down, his lined expression seemed to fade away, replaced by a younger version as he recalled the adventure in question. "It was a few years before I retired. A team and I were sent out to try and take care of some aliens who had managed to break into a tomb near the Giza pyramid complex."
Rising to her feet, Alex raised an eyebrow. "They were tomb-robbing?" That was a first. Most of the alien species she'd encountered didn't care much for Earth cultures. The idea of one species having the resilience and dedication necessary to find, break into, and rob an ancient tomb was very surprising.
"You would think so, but no. It transpired that these creatures stemmed from a planet whose religion was almost identical to that of the ancient Egyptians. They even strongly resembled the ancient gods. In fact, I have a theory that previous visitors of that species may have either directly or indirectly influenced the Egyptians in that regard."
Alex pursed her lips. "Wouldn't be the first time a species has influenced humans," she said coolly.
Angelchrist noticed the slight darkening of her tone but refrained from commenting. He doubted Miss Locke would elaborate on a subject that was clearly very painful to her. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what or who had hurt her so much, why those colorful eyes sometimes darkened, showing a heaviness that shouldn't be present in someone so young.
"Regardless," he said now, endeavoring to distract Alex from her burden, "the creatures believed the nearby pyramids to be the work of their ancestors, meant for their leader, who was in the laborious process of dying, to be buried there. Unfortunately, they failed to gain access to any of the pyramids. So, they regrouped and proceeded to look for an appropriate site near them."
"And they stumbled upon a burial tomb."
"Yes, and I'm afraid they were rather disgruntled when they found that the sarcophagus inside was already occupied." Angelchrist's expression turned grim. "They therefore took matters into their own hands."
Alex's jaw dropped. "They didn't," she breathed.
The professor, his face downcast, slowly nodded. "I'm afraid, my dear, that they did. The sarcophagus before you used to belong to a minor prince from the Fourth Dynasty. A son of Khufu, we believe. There are very few official records of him. The aliens found the prince's sarcophagus and destroyed the mummy inside, intending for it to be occupied by their leader once he finally reached his demise." Angelchrist's face lightened as a small, proud smile crossed his lips. "Fortunately, my team and I were able to get them to see reason and they departed peacefully, if a little put out at their plans being changed."
"Good for you," Alex said, before making her way over to the sitting area. Though her stride was casual, the look in her honey-colored eyes was anything but. Angelchrist had the distinct feeling she was appraising him, as a collector does a specimen he is thinking of acquiring.
But Miss Locke's appraisal, he thought, went further than that. She eyed him in a way that suggested she was trying to peer inside him, see what made him tick, discover the parts of himself he hid from others. It was, he had to admit, a bit unsettling. Even more so as her eyes changed from honey to light green to dark green in the span of a few seconds.
Alex settled herself into a worn wingback chair. She pulled her gaze away from Angelchrist (who, she was amused to see, looked faintly unnerved) to prepare a cup of tea for the Doctor. She didn't know very much about tea or preparing it, but that didn't matter. A toddler could have made the Doctor's preferred beverage. All you had to do was pour the tea into a cup, then add an amount of sugar that would send most humans into a diabetic coma.
"You and your team," she said as she carefully poured the steaming hot tea into a delicate china cup. "You were all part of the secret service?"
"Yes," Angelchrist confirmed, holding out his cup. As Alex poured, he said, "But if you wish to know the particulars of it, I am afraid I cannot oblige you. I signed the Official Secrets Act of 1889."
Alex grimaced, but she wasn't surprised. Anyone belonging to a government agency, especially a secret one, was required to sign some sort of document pledging not to reveal the finer details of their activities while in service.
Still, that didn't mean she was ready to back down. Though she'd been in considerable pain at the time, she still recalled in perfect detail the Doctor telling her about his and Rose Tyler's encounter with an alien werewolf (or lupine wavelength haemovariform, as the Doctor termed it) and Queen Victoria, an encounter that led to the creation of the Torchwood Institute and, ultimately, the Battle of Canary Wharf and the Doctor and Rose's separation.
Everything worked out in the end, of course, but Alex was still incensed that her Doctor had been put through such torment, such grief. All because some uppity queen had deemed him a threat, even though he'd saved not just her life, but the whole British Empire as well.
Just as well we didn't know each other back then, Alex thought wryly. She would have undoubtedly been arrested or banished for punching Queen Victoria in the nose.
Inflicting bodily harm on English monarchs aside, the last thing she wanted to deal with right now, when there was already the threat of the Squall, was a plot by a former Torchwood employee to capture the Doctor.
There's been enough kidnappings already, Alex thought, scowling as she dumped first one, then two, then three lumps of sugar into the Doctor's cup. Too many damn plots and conspiracies. Hell, they were still dealing with a conspiracy. She had no desire to tackle another.
However, the more she thought about it, the less certain she was on the identity of Angelchrist's employers. His story just now. . . From what Alex knew about the original organization, Torchwood had been very anti-alien, seemingly embodying the motto, 'shoot first, ask questions later'. She highly doubted the Torchwood operating in this time period would try to reason with a bunch of misguided creatures they'd caught grave-robbing.
Of course, every organization had some operatives who disagreed with its workings. Torchwood was surely no exception. Perhaps Angelchrist had been one of them, he and his team quietly doing their own thing while the higher-ups were distracted by bigger fish.
There was only one way to find out for sure. "I realize you can't tell me a lot," Alex said slowly, setting the sugar spoon down, "but just tell me this. The secret service you worked for . . . did it happen to be Torchwood?"
Angelchrist's expression was almost comical. His eyes went so wide, they seemed close to popping right out of their sockets. "You know of Torchwood?"
Alex kept her face perfectly blank as she said simply, "Yes."
Angelchrist seemed to realize he was gawping at her, and quickly took a sip of tea. The bracing liquid seemed to prove restorative for his features relaxed, though an air of tension continued to hover around him. "You had best be careful of who you say that to, my dear." Though he smiled as he said it, his eyes were solemn, fixed solidly on Alex. "That particular organization is not too keen on publicity. They would have no qualms in quieting you, and I suspect their ways of doing so would be rather drastic."
Alex was quick to note his use of 'suspect'. "So, you didn't work for them?"
Angelchrist shook his head. "No, although I was approached several times by their director." The professor set his cup down, his shoulders tensing slightly as he recalled those encounters. "I have no doubt that they do good work, but their approach to non-terrestrial life. . ." Though his expression remained neutral, his moustache seemed to quiver indignantly. "Well," he said slowly, "let's just say that they have their methods and I have mine."
With a long whoosh of breath, Alex eased back into her chair. Her muscles, clenched so tight as to be almost painful, relaxed, and the anxious thudding of her hearts calmed to a soothing rhythm. Thank God, she thought. Thank God he's not one of them. It was one less thing to worry about, one less thing her mind had to puzzle over. Heaven knew there had been too much she'd had to fret over lately. Hell, there were things she was still mulling over!
Angelchrist reclaimed his teacup, eyeing Alex over the rim as he took a sip. Much as she had done earlier, he studied her intently. He was incredibly curious about the astonishing, mysterious young woman sitting before him. What lurked inside that brilliant mind of hers? Dark secrets and amazing truths, no doubt, things he probably couldn't imagine, not even in his wildest dreams. But hidden inside, he was sure, were intense emotions, the kinds of feelings one only experienced when they lived so much in so short a time. Passion and heartbreak, delight and pain. . . Angelchrist had experienced such emotions himself, but he suspected his experiences paled to those of Miss Locke's.
He suspected the same could be said for her companion, perhaps in an even greater capacity.
Recalling his other visitor, Angelchrist stood to see what the Doctor was doing. For a moment, he couldn't see him amongst the chaotic forest of artifacts, but then he spotted him in the corner of the laboratory, examining some of the machinery.
Angelchrist smiled. The Doctor was running his strange device over one of the professor's most prized possessions: a clockwork owl, given to him years ago by an old and very dear friend. The Doctor turned when he heard Angelchrist approaching. Alex was right on the professor's heels, the teacup she'd lovingly prepared cradled in both hands.
"What is that marvelous contraption, Doctor?" Angelchrist asked.
"This?" The Doctor held it out, still bent low, studying the owl. "This is a sonic screwdriver."
"And this," Alex tugged at a necklace chain Angelchrist hadn't even seen, hidden as it was by her moon and stars one, "is a sonic necklace."
Angelchrist examined the necklace thoroughly, admiring the multitude of sapphires, diamonds, black onyx, and lone topaz that made up the charm. They shimmered and shined in the low light of the laboratory, appearing even more impressive than the Crown Jewels themselves. Though he was a bit bemused as to why the gems had been fashioned into the shape of a blue box. Particularly a box labelled 'Police Public Call Box'. He'd heard of such boxes becoming popular in Glasgow, but Miss Locke's necklace charm looked nothing like those boxes.
Truth be told, Angelchrist couldn't help but find the necklace a bit gaudy. Not to mention, why would anyone want to make a piece of jewelry sonic? But he kept those thoughts to himself. Miss Locke clearly treasured her necklace; holding the teacup in one hand, her free one gently cradled the charm, her thumb rubbing over the gems in an almost reverent manner. He was a gentleman, and gentlemen took great pains to avoid upsetting young ladies, even if they were ones as unorthodox as Miss Locke.
Giving Miss Locke a nod he hoped came off as admiring, Angelchrist took the proffered sonic screwdriver and turned it over in his hands. "A screwdriver?" he said, handing it back to the Doctor, once again a little unimpressed. "I've always believed in the principle that tools shouldn't be over-engineered. I mean, why go to all of that trouble when a traditional screwdriver would do the job just as well?" He shrugged. "Still, I suppose we're lucky that Squall didn't think much of the sound it was making."
Alex bit back the giggles threatening to erupt. Oh, the Doctor's not gonna like that!
Sure enough, the Doctor turned around, looking suddenly taken aback. "Well, it's really not that simple. . ."
"Precisely!" Angelchrist replied.
"Oh, never mind," the Doctor dismissed, tucking the sonic screwdriver back into his pocket. Following his lead, Alex tucked her necklace back underneath her shirt. In any event, it was time to get back to the matter at hand.
"You said you had a map of the attacks, professor?" Alex asked.
"Over here, on the wall." Angelchrist led them to the other end of the laboratory, avoiding the life-sized model of a Neanderthal man that stood propped against a stack of wooden crates. "The map is a little out of date, I'm afraid, but London doesn't change all that much."
"Try telling that to Amy and Rory," the Doctor said cryptically, distracted by the raft of artifacts that covered the workbench beside him. "Ah, a top hat!" he exclaimed, suddenly, plucking it from where it sat atop an ancient globe and putting it on his head. "I love top hats. Top hats are—"
"Not something we need to be focusing on right now, Doc," Alex said pointedly, giving him a sharp look for good measure.
The Doctor looked vaguely crestfallen as he removed the hat and placed it back on the workbench. His face brightened though when Alex passed him the cup of tea, then more so when he looked up and saw the map. "Excellent work, professor!" he enthused, taking a long, appreciative sip of tea.
He and Alex stepped closer, looking up at the yellowing old street map of London that Angelchrist had pasted to the wall. It was covered in an array of pins, each one marking the scene of one of the recent attacks or sightings. Around it, Angelchrist had pinned grainy photographs of six of the victims, each one taken in the police morgue, the victims' faces all streaked with dried tributaries of blood. Lines of string stretched from each photograph to the exact locations of their deaths. Angelchrist still had friends in Scotland Yard, and they were more than happy to provide him with all the information he needed, grateful as they were for his help.
"I fear the Squall have been busy. The reported attacks have been steadily increasing in number since Thursday," Angelchrist revealed now, his voice low.
"And there's no telling how many unreported attacks there have been," Alex said, biting her lip.
The Doctor stood for a moment in silence, tracing his fingers over the lines of the map, turning his head this way and that as he interpreted the data. "There's not quite enough information to triangulate an exact position, but it looks as though the region we want is about here," he said, tapping the map with his finger, "somewhere around Holborn and the British Museum."
"What exactly is it you're looking for?" Angelchrist asked, studying the map over the Doctor's shoulder.
Alex was quick to figure it out. "He's trying to locate ground zero, the vessel that punched a hole in the universe and allowed the Squall to come through and into this time period."
"If I can find it," the Doctor added, "we have a shot at stopping them before the hive can fully manifest."
"What happens then? If this . . . hive is allowed to establish itself here?" Angelchrist decided not to bring up the bit about 'this time period' or the questions that such a statement implied.
"The end of the world," the Doctor answered gravely. He set his now empty cup on top of a nearby cabinet, the china hitting the wood with a soft clink. "The Squall will suck it dry. And once they've finished, once they've drained the human race of all its psychic energy, they'll move on. They'll use the Earth as a beachhead, a staging post from which to expand throughout the galaxy, setting up hives on innumerable worlds as they go. Within a few hundred thousand years, they'll have conquered half the galactic spiral. They have to be stopped." He fixed Angelchrist with a firm stare. "Will you help us, professor?"
Angelchrist looked first at Alex, then at the Doctor, staring him straight in the eye. "I'm an old man, Doctor. I'm not sure what use I can be."
Alex patted his arm reassuringly. "I think you'll be a great deal of use, professor, as long as you're up for it." She grinned, her eyes turning from topaz to light green. "And besides, do you really want to miss this?"
Angelchrist couldn't hide the smile that crept onto his lips. "One last adventure, eh? Once more unto the breach and all that. Why not? I'd be honored."
The Doctor's grin was an exact twin to Alex's. "You're a remarkable man, professor," he complimented, clapping Angelchrist on the shoulder and steering him toward the door. "Now, we're going to need your car. . ."
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
"Ally, professor, overhead. Have you seen them?" The Doctor had to shout over the noise of the wind as they hurtled through the streets in Angelchrist's open-topped motor car. Somehow, the Doctor had persuaded Angelchrist to let him drive, and now, bent over the wheel, his hair whipping wildly about his face, he looked every bit the madcap adventurer. Angelchrist hadn't felt so alive in years.
Alex, in stark contrast, felt nothing but déjà vu, recalling Rory's driving and Amy's erratic directions as they'd constructed the 'Doctor' crop circle. Just as she'd been a few weeks ago, she was in the backseat, one hand clutching the edge of the door, the other digging holes into the leather seat. And I'm supposed to be the bad driver! she thought as the Doctor made a sharp left turn. It was only Alex's white-knuckled grip that kept her from flying over the door, Angelchrist's car lacking seatbelts.
"Doctor, be careful!" she shouted, sending a dark look at the back of his head. She doubted he could hear her though, thanks to the rushing wind.
Back in the front seat, Angelchrist looked to the skies. It was late – approaching midnight – and he could see very little for the darkness and the wispy fog. What he could discern, however, stark against the moonlight, were three Squall, circling the rooftops of the city, gliding smoothly on the shifting currents. He wondered if they were searching for prey, or whether, perhaps, they were keeping watch on something far below. If the latter were true, then the likelihood was that he, the Doctor, and Miss Locke would be spotted before they ever got near their destination.
Whatever the case, the Doctor had been right. There were clearly more of them than Angelchrist had at first assumed. If the Doctor and Miss Locke were to be believed – something which Angelchrist was becoming more and more disposed to do, the longer he spent with the couple – there'd be many, many more to come if they couldn't find a way to close the inter-dimensional rift through which they were spilling like a torrent of living poison.
Angelchrist didn't quite understand the complexities of the situation, but he knew enough to have grasped that the Squall represented a terrible threat. If they were allowed to establish a hive in the physical world, they would spread and devour every living thing they encountered, extinguishing entire species as they fueled their insatiable appetite.
Angelchrist had always suspected the universe was teeming with life. He'd known other life forms existed, of course – he'd seen examples of them on Earth during his active years in the secret service – but to have the Doctor and Miss Locke confirm the existence of myriad other worlds, to hear them describe the vastness of the populated universe, the near-infinite spread of life. . . Well, that was something else entirely. Angelchrist's world had suddenly gotten bigger and exceedingly more interesting, and whatever he did, he wasn't about to let these alien parasites take that away from him.
The Doctor yanked the steering wheel and the car lurched around a corner, causing Angelchrist and Alex to bounce up and down in their seats, Angelchrist nearly tumbling out over the low side of the door. "Steady as she goes, Doctor!" he shouted. "There is a break, you know."
The Doctor grinned, but kept his eyes on the road ahead, searching intently for any sign of the vessel he expected to find in the area. "I haven't had this much fun since Bessie!" he cried cryptically.
Angelchrist still hadn't been able to ascertain exactly who the Doctor and Miss Locke were, or where they had come from, but surprisingly found himself happy to accept that ambiguity for now. They clearly had a sophisticated understanding of how the universe worked – much more so than anyone Angelchrist had ever met – and the intensity and urgency with which they worked had been enough to carry Angelchrist along in their wake.
What surprised the professor the most about the remarkable couple, however, was the fact that they appeared to be enjoying themselves. There was a kind of exuberance about them, a joie de vivre that to Angelchrist seemed utterly infectious. No matter that they were hurtling headlong into danger – the Doctor and Miss Locke appeared to relish every moment of it.
Well, almost every moment. Angelchrist's lips twitched as he caught an expletive Miss Locke hurled at the Doctor as the latter took a curve a little too steeply, the passenger side of the car bouncing harshly off the curb.
But no matter. Being with them reminded Angelchrist of his younger, carefree self, of his days adventuring and derring-do. In his eyes, that was no bad thing. If felt as if he were finally shaking off the cobwebs that had settled over him these last few years and embracing the spirit of adventure once again. The thought brought a welcome smile to his lips, and he leaned back in his seat to watch the hours flit by as they shot along the road at speed.
The streets at this time of night were deserted, save for the odd, lonely figure drifting along the pavements, making their way home from some hostelry or other, less salubrious undertaking. The Doctor paid them no heed as he sent the car careening along the roads, spinning the wheel to send them flying around corners, the headlamps bobbing as the vehicle was jolted this way and that. The twin beams seemed to burrow through the wispy fog, penetrating the gloom like shimmering arrows.
Presently, after nearly half an hour spent circling the area in the immediate vicinity of the British Museum, the Doctor brought the car to a sharp halt by the side of the road, cranking the handbrake so that the vehicle lurched dramatically before shuddering to rest. Without even so much as glancing in Angelchrist's direction, he leapt out of the driver's seat, sprang over the side of the car, and produced his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket. He proceeded to hold it aloft like a torch, pressing the button that caused it to emit the loud buzzing noise that Angelchrist was beginning to find a little grating.
"I fail to see what a screwdriver is going to do to aid us in our search for this mysterious vessel, Doctor," he said, perplexed once again by the Doctor's bizarre behavior.
"He's using it to try and locate the vessel," Alex explained. Basking in relief that their car ride was (momentarily) over, she relinquished her death grips on the door and seat and leaned back, eyes trained on the sky. Like Angelchrist, she had spotted the three Squall leaping and jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Now, they were no longer in sight, but that didn't mean they weren't nearby.
Her hearts thudding in nervous anticipation, Alex's gaze moved from the sky and onto the Doctor. He was turning about on the spot, regarding the sonic thoughtfully. "Yes, I. . ." He trailed off, turning back on himself to face in the opposite direction. "Ah ha! This way!"
Alex hurriedly climbed out of the car and rushed to follow him. They set off at a brisk pace, and only turned to look back at Angelchrist – who was still sitting in his seat – when they were already halfway along the street. "Come on, professor!" Alex called, beckoning him to join them.
"You'll get cold sitting there!" the Doctor added.
Laughing despite himself, Angelchrist popped open the car door and clambered down onto the pavement. He hurried over to where the Doctor and Alex were standing, waiting for him.
"Now, very important this next bit. Stay alert. Watch the skies as well as the streets. And most crucial of all," the Doctor patted Angelchrist on the lapel with the sonic screwdriver as if to emphasize this last point, "do absolutely everything I say."
Angelchrist nodded. "You can count on me, Doctor," he confirmed, fingering the butt of his revolver in his pocket.
When the Doctor turned to her, an eyebrow arched in question, Alex smirked. "Don't I always, Doc?"
The Doctor's lips twitched, his emerald green orbs full of amusement. "Do you really want me to answer that, Ally?"
"Probably better for you if you don't." Still smirking, Alex stretched up on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. She would have given him a proper one, but Angelchrist was standing right next to them, and Alex didn't want to shock his Edwardian sensibilities by engaging in what would surely be a long, lingering kiss involving tongue. Instead, her lips still touching the Doctor's skin, she murmured in a voice only he could hear, "I promise, Doc."
The Doctor's muscles, rigid and hard as a statue's, relaxed at Alex's words. With a shuddering breath, he ran his free hand down the smooth expanse of her hair. "Thank you, Ally," he whispered, before placing a light kiss to the center of her forehead.
Slowly, reluctantly, the couple pulled apart. The Squall weren't going to vanquish themselves. Both knew that the faster they resolved this threat, the faster they could be back on the TARDIS. Back in their bedroom, where so many pleasures still waited to be explored. . .
Clearing her throat, Alex forced her mind away from that distracting train of thought. "So," she said, giving the Doctor an expectant look, "where are we going?"
The Doctor held his finger up in the air as if judging the direction of the wind. "This way," he said, nodding down the street. He took Alex's hand and together, they set off with a run.
Sighing, Angelchrist gave chase after them. At least, he thought, all of this running about was going to keep him fit.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
It didn't take the Doctor long to find what he was looking for.
Angelchrist had lost track entirely of where they were, after following the Doctor and Miss Locke down a series of alleyways and side streets, concentrating hard on keeping up with the couple. It seemed to Angelchrist as if they'd already doubled back on themselves innumerable times and that the Doctor was generally working hard to get them utterly lost. He would dash down a narrow lane at a run, still holding Miss Locke's hand, stop dead, consult his sonic screwdriver, and then set off again in the other direction, tutting to himself and frowning.
Just as Angelchrist was becoming exasperated, as well as breathless, the Doctor and Miss Locke ducked down another darkened alleyway, almost slipping over the damp cobbles in their haste, the tip of the sonic screwdriver casting eerie shadows on the redbrick walls.
"If I'm right. . ." the Doctor announced, in a voice that suggested he thought himself to be exactly that, "then it should be just about. . ." He stopped suddenly, Alex nearly barreling into his back. The Doctor kicked open the back gate of a terraced house and stood back, a beaming smile on his face. "Here!" He folded his arms across his chest, evidently pleased with himself. "One terribly dangerous, experimental time ship that should never have been created." He leaned forward, peering in through the opening. "Oh, but it does look rather splendid, doesn't it? This Gradius fellow has a good eye for aesthetics, even if his applied physics is a little on the wonky side."
"I'll take your word for it," Alex murmured as she tilted her head to one side, eyeing the vessel curiously.
Angelchrist, who up until this point had still been hurrying along, trying to keep pace with the Doctor and Alex, came to a stop by the open gate. He leaned against the wall with one hand, his breath coming in long, rasping gasps. When he turned to see what his companions were staring at, however, he suddenly forgot all about his aching limbs, his sore feet, and the sweat beading on his brow. He stepped forward, drinking in the sight.
A gleaming silver spaceship – or what looked to Angelchrist very much like he imagined a spaceship should look – was partially buried in the back wall of the house. The potting shed, or what had once been the potting shed, had been reduced to nothing but a pile of rubbish beneath the weight of the vessel, and broken glass from a greenhouse lay scattered all across the flagstones of the backyard.
The vessel itself seemed to shimmer in the reflected moonlight, its smooth hull unblemished by the violent manner of its arrival. It was shaped like a bulbous torpedo, about the size of three motor cars in length, and a hatchway was open in its flank like a dark, gaping maw. Clearly, the ship had disgorged someone, or something, into the yard.
What puzzled Angelchrist most of all, however, was the fact that – although the ship appeared to be half buried in the brickwork of the house – the wall itself did not seem to have been damaged by the impact. It was almost as if the building had been built around the ship, or as if the nose of the vessel had been sliced off and the fuselage pushed flush with the wall to give the impression that it had somehow grown there like a vast silver blemish, a rupture on the side of the building.
"It's . . . remarkable. Beautiful. It's like nothing I've ever conceived of, even in my wildest imaginings." Angelchrist turned to the Doctor and Alex. "Is this what the future looks like?"
The Doctor grinned. "This? Well, sort of, I suppose. It's actually fairly primitive really, as far as time-capable vessels go. Looks impressive though, doesn't it?"
"It does," Alex admitted. She then aimed a dazzling smile at the Doctor, her eyes turning from copper to his own emerald green. "But I've seen better."
The Doctor's grin softened into a besotted smile. The fact that Alex loved the TARDIS as much as he did. . . Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Not quite sweeping her off her feet and into a full snog, but it would have to do. Alex, far from complaining, let out a little hum and nestled into his chest.
Angelchrist, meanwhile, edged slowly through the opening towards the ship, his feet crunching on broken shards of glass. There was a smell in the air, like the scent of burnt ozone after a lightning storm. "Why does it look like that? Half in the wall, I mean."
With little resigned sighs, the Doctor and Alex separated and followed Angelchrist into the yard. "Ah, yes," the Doctor said. "Well, that's the 'experimental' part, you see. Whoever built this thing hadn't considered fitting it out with proximity alarms. It's materialized at the right coordinates, even though those coordinates were already partially occupied by a wall."
"Meaning. . .?"
Alex quickly connected the dots. "Meaning the nose of the ship has materialized inside the wall."
The Doctor nodded, his eyes shining in admiration at his Ally's clever brain. "Luckily for the people inside the ship, the wall wasn't any thicker."
"Or any closer to the alleyway," Angelchrist said, his voice low. He could still hardly believe what he was seeing.
The Doctor and Alex approached the remains of the crashed ship, the Doctor running the palm of his hand over the silvery hull. Angelchrist could tell that, despite what he'd said about the vessel being primitive, the Doctor was genuinely impressed by the craftsmanship.
"What of this dimensional hole you spoke of, Doctor? Wasn't that the reason you wanted to find the ship in the first place?"
"Oh, that'll be somewhere close by, no doubt. Probably inside the house. Or over there, in what's left of that outside loo. Won't be much to see. Just a vague shimmer in the air where the skein between dimensions is a bit thin, like a heat haze on a road." The Doctor hadn't taken his eyes off the vessel as he spoke. "The thing that's worrying me, though, is why no one has noticed there's a whopping great time skip in their neighbor's backyard."
Alex stiffened, her stomach immediately twisting into a hard, anxious knot. "You're right," she murmured, biting her lip. "This thing must've made quite a racket when it landed. And you'd think that would attract a crowd." Unless something happened that made it impossible for a crowd to form. Her stomach tightening further, she shifted closer to the Doctor, pausing only when she could smell faint whiffs of musky cologne coming off his tweed jacket. The scent calmed her, but the knot in her stomach refused to lessen.
"Precisely, Ally. We're in the middle of a terrace of what, fifty houses?" The Doctor stepped back, putting his hands on his hips, still regarding the ship.
"Ah, Doctor. . .?" Angelchrist nervously called.
Alex looked up, only to immediately wish she hadn't. Her hearts seemed to jump into her throat, her honey-colored eyes widening to the size of saucers.
"You'd think someone might have noticed it by now, reported it to the police. You'd think the place would be swarming with people."
"Doctor!" Angelchrist hissed, his voice growing ever more insistent as he tried to get the Doctor's attention.
"Instead, the whole street is absolutely silent. It's as if there's nobody here. All the lights are off, in all the houses. . . Oh." The Doctor stopped talking suddenly, as if a lightbulb had just gone on inside his head. "And that's exactly why you're trying to get my attention, isn't it, professor? Because I've forgotten something really quite important. I've forgotten there are monsters here, lurking in the shadows." The Doctor turned to look at Angelchrist and Alex, a pained expression on his face. "I don't really want to look now, do I? They're here, aren't they?"
"Oh, yeah," Alex squeaked.
Seeing her frightened expression, the Doctor was quick to close the remaining distance between them. He grabbed her arm, tugging her into his side. As he placed a protective arm around her shoulders, he felt her tense limbs relax, but her horrified expression remained.
"Quite so, Doctor," Angelchrist confirmed. "I rather think you have your reason." He pointed over the Doctor's shoulder at the massing ranks of Squall. They were hanging from the eaves of the nearby houses like gargoyles, or scrabbling over the rooftops, or squatting on the walls. Their red eyes burned in the darkness like hot coals. There must have been fifty of them, at the very least, up and down the entire street. Clearly, they had made short work of any people in the vicinity of the crash site, harvesting their psychic energy to feed the hive. That was why nobody had reported the appearance of the ship – because there was nobody left here to do so.
Angelchrist stared as one of the creatures swooped down from above, landing noisily on the wooden fence that separated the yard they were in from the neighboring property. It raised its head and issued the most terrifying shriek, baring its fangs as it regarded them. Its black talons scored the wooden panels as it settled, wrapping its membranous wings around itself protectively.
"Hello," the Doctor said brightly as he shoved Alex behind him. "Pleasant night for it."
The Squall hissed at him from between its teeth.
Others were coming closer now, too, and a quick glance up at the house told Angelchrist the place was swarming with them. He could see them crowding the windows inside the house, too. One was hanging from a drainpipe just a few paces away.
Angelchrist slipped his hand into his pocket, reassured by the feel of his revolver, cold and hard against his palm.
"Oh, come on," the Doctor continued. "You can do better than that. There are plenty of you here now. You must have at least the intelligence of an average human between you."
"We," said the Squall in its thick, gravelly voice.
"Are," said another to Angelchrist's left, which had hopped over the fence and was now stalking towards them over the rubble of the potting shed, its talons extended.
"Squall," said the third from its perch on a window ledge above.
"And. We. Shall. Feast," they finished, each of them drawing a word in turn.
"Yes, yes, yes," the Doctor chattered. "Heard it all before. Same old story. But I'm afraid that's not going to happen."
"The. Hive. Is. Manifesting," the Squall replied in their strange, disjointed speech. "And. It. Hungers."
"I understand all that. I really do. Biological imperatives, insatiable appetites, I get it. But this universe isn't for the taking. You can't have it." He sighed. "Look, you're intelligent enough now to understand what I'm offering you here, so I'll give you a chance. I'll give you one chance. Turn around and leave. All of you, now, just turn and go back to where you came from. Either that, or I'm going to have to do it for you." He straightened his back, meeting the gaze of the Squall on the fence. "Make you leave, that is," he added quietly.
Angelchrist could hardly believe the manner in which the Doctor was speaking to the monstrous creatures. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to start shooting at the things, to take as many of them down as he could before they descended on him and began tearing him apart. But it was as if the Doctor wasn't scared of them, as if he did this sort of thing all the time. There was a kind of weary inevitability about the way he addressed them, as if he knew that the Squall were never going to accept his offer but felt obliged to make it anyway.
"This. World. Is. So. Rich," the Squall continued, unperturbed by the Doctor's threat. "And. You. . . We. Can. Smell. You. . . We. Shall. Feast. On. You."
The Doctor's shoulders sagged. Alex, who'd been standing on tiptoe behind him, sighed heavily. She'd been hoping for a peaceful outcome, but unfortunately, she wasn't surprised by the Squall's refusal. Maybe one day a hostile alien race would take the Doctor's offer seriously, but today was not that day.
Angelchrist stepped forward, pulling his revolver from his pocket and brandishing it before him. "Have you any weapons, Doctor, Miss Locke?"
The couple turned to Angelchrist, and the professor was momentarily taken aback by the coldness he saw in the Doctor's eyes. Miss Locke, in stark contrast, offered him a sad smile, as if to say she understood his motives. In fact, based on her actions back in his lab, Angelchrist suspected she understood more than he could imagine.
Her partner, however, was not so sympathetic. "Put your gun away, professor. You won't be needing it," the Doctor said severely.
Angelchrist frowned. "But. . ." he started, before trailing off. He'd promised the Doctor he'd do exactly as asked, and he would be true to his word, as much as it pained him. He slipped the revolver back into his pocket. He hoped that whatever the Doctor had up his sleeve, it was good.
There was a sudden screeching sound from somewhere to his right, accompanied by the sound of claws grating on metal, and Angelchrist, the Doctor, and Alex turned to see another of the creatures emerging from the hatchway of the ship, something soft and red draped in its claws. It was an article of clothing, as far as Angelchrist could tell, some sort of jumper with a hood.
"Amy!" the Doctor and Alex yelled, rushing forward.
The Doctor snatched the item from the Squall's grasp. It tore as he wrenched it free, and the alien shrieked, raising its claws to attack. The Doctor, his face like thunder, wrenched the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and held it aloft. "If you've hurt her. . ." he began, with real ire in his voice. "If you've hurt her, then you'd better hope you've manifested a whole army by the time I return."
"By the time we return," Alex corrected. Her light green eyes darkened, the irises so dark they bordered on black. Narrowing them, she withdrew her sonic necklace, holding the charm out in front of her.
With an almost cruel smile, the Doctor linked his free arm through hers. "By the time we return," he affirmed. "Because that's the only thing that will stop us. Mark my words."
The couple activated their sonic devices.
All around them, the Squall began screeching in pain and scratching violently at their heads. The creature immediately in front of the Doctor and Alex buckled to its knees on the ground, wrapping its membranous wings around itself and burying its head in its arms, as if trying to blot out the sounds. Further afield, along the street, the unaffected creatures looked on curiously, as if unable to understand what had suddenly become of their kin. Angelchrist realized they must have been out of range of the Doctor and Miss Locke's devices.
Still holding his screwdriver aloft, the Doctor turned and handed Alex Amy's jumper, and then ducked his head into the hatch of the ship. He remained there for a moment or two as if looking for something. Then, stepping back from the vessel, he and Alex walked over to where Angelchrist was standing, wide-eyed with wonder.
"We can't keep this up for long," the Doctor revealed, motioning with the sonic screwdriver. "It'll drain all the power. And besides, the hive adapts quickly. Within a few minutes, they'll have figured out how to filter out the sounds. Better to conserve what we can for later." He searched Alex and Angelchrist's faces for understanding. "We might need it," he added.
Alex and Angelchrist nodded.
"So, when I take my finger off this button and Alex deactivates her necklace. . ."
"More running?" Angelchrist asked with a grin.
"More running," the Doctor and Alex agreed, but the smiles were gone from their faces, replaced by identical haunted expressions that sent a cold shiver running down Angelchrist's spine.
"I imagine they're going to be really, really angry," Alex mused. She raised an eyebrow at Angelchrist. "Are you ready?"
Angelchrist turned back to see the Squall still writhing on the ground, or screaming from their perches, clinging on as they twisted and turned in agony at the frequency being emitted by the Doctor and Miss Locke's sonic devices. The sound of their anguish was at once terrifying and moving. "I'm ready."
The Doctor nodded. "Then run!" he bellowed, as they all hurtled toward the alleyway, a pack of baying alien parasites hot on their heels.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
London, June 10th, 2789
"What do we do now?" Amy wondered, steadfastly refusing to look at the corpse. She was stoically maintaining a stiff upper lip, but Rory could tell she was deeply affected by the sight of the woman's body. He knew how she felt.
He was stooped over the body, rummaging in the dead woman's pockets, searching for any clues as to what might have happened to her, what might have caused her to perish in such a terrible way. Bleeding out of the eyes like that. . . He could think of no medical explanation for it. She didn't appear to be wounded in any way, although her clothes had been torn as if she'd been in a fight.
"It's Gradius," he announced a moment later, producing an ID card from the woman's pocket. "Professor Celestine Gradius." He stared at the pretty face that smiled back at him from the photograph. "I was expecting someone . . . well, you know. Someone more like a. . ."
". . .man?" Amy supplied. "Go on, admit it, you were expecting an old man, weren't you? A mad professor, with a wispy gray beard and hair growing out of his ears."
"Well, weren't you?"
Amy shrugged. "I suppose I was," she sighed, but there was little humor in it. "I certainly wasn't expecting this. I mean . . . look at the state of her. It's awful."
"Poor woman," Rory said darkly. "Now we know why the hologram thought there was nobody here. Technically, it was right."
"Do you think one of her experiments might have gone wrong?" Amy asked. Her expression was serious; all sense of exuberance and joy had long since been dispelled. She looked pale and tired. Rory wished that the Doctor and Alex would hurry up.
He shrugged. "I suppose so," he said, glancing around the hangar. "I mean, what else could have caused her to bleed out of her eyes like that?"
He looked back at the body, and then turned away, preferring not to dwell on the sight of the corpse. He'd seen bodies before, in the hospital – of course he had – but that was different. He found it difficult to articulate why. It was something to do with the fact that they were meant to be there. Those people had been ill, or hurt, and they were in a place where they were meant to live or die, the place where that sort of thing was supposed to happen, where decisions like that were made.
Here, in this strange, futuristic workshop, lying in the shadow of a time-traveling ship, the body was just incongruous. Wrong.
At least, he thought, it hasn't yet started to decompose.
"I think we should try to alert the authorities. We should go to one of those booths, ask for help."
Amy shook her head. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
Rory frowned. "What's wrong? Other than the fact you're standing over the corpse of a scientist from the 28th century, that is." He felt immediately foolish for spouting such a flippant comment, but Amy smiled weakly, realizing he was only trying to cheer her up.
"Think about it for a minute. We're not from around here. We're trespassing. No one will have any records of our identities. That hologram even told us that Professor Gradius wasn't at home. There must be a system that keeps track of everyone's movements, and it's not going to recognize us. As far as the 28th century is concerned, we don't exist."
Rory frowned as he worked her chain of reasoning through to its logical conclusion. "And the fact we're strangers who found the body while trespassing in her lab might implicate us in her death."
Amy nodded. "If there happened to be more to her death than a botched experiment, well. . ."
Rory shrugged, getting to his feet. "Yes. Good point, well made." He sighed. "So, we wait here for the Doctor and Alex, then? Here, with a strange time machine and a corpse. Brilliant."
Amy nodded again. "Yes. But we could wait upstairs in reception. They should be back soon."
"They've only been gone a few hours."
"Time travel, remember!" Amy rolled her eyes dramatically.
"Yes, but how're they going to find us?"
Amy waved her hand dismissively and made for the stairs. "They'll find us. They always do." She stopped suddenly, her face creasing in concern. "Hang on. What was that?"
"What was what?" Rory asked, perplexed.
"Shhh." She waved him quiet.
A second later, there was a quiet rapping sound from somewhere beneath their feet.
"That," Amy said pointedly.
Rory dropped to his knees. "It sounded as if it was coming from down there," he remarked, studying the ground beneath them.
"You don't think these experiments involved drilling, do you? I could do without the earth suddenly opening up beneath my feet again," Amy chattered nervously, stepping back and studying the ground where she'd been standing.
"No," Rory said, a smile spreading on his face. "But you've been standing on a trapdoor." He listened carefully for a minute. There it was again – the same rapping sound, like someone hammering on a door with their knuckles, only far away.
"There's someone down there," Amy deduced. "Someone's trapped down there." She dropped to her haunches and ran her fingers around the edges of the wide trapdoor, which appeared to be little more than a square cut into the concrete floor of the hangar. "How do I open this thing? There's no handle."
Rory shuffled over until he was kneeling beside her. "Hold on." He put his hand over hers to stop her for a moment. "Have you considered that we might not want to let them out?"
Amy stared at him, confusion in her eyes. "What?"
"There may be a reason they're down there. What if they're the ones who're responsible for Professor Gradius looking the way she does?"
Amy paused for a moment, and then shook her head. "No. We'll have to take that risk. We can't leave someone trapped down there, Rory. Innocent until proven guilty and all that." She returned to running her fingers around the rim of the trapdoor once again, searching for a way to pop it open. "Gah! If only the Doctor and Alex were here with their sonics. It must have been sealed with some sort of complex locking mechanism."
"Have you tried. . ." Rory leaned over and pushed down on the far right corner of the trapdoor. There was a loud click, and it popped open with a sigh. ". . .that?" he finished, sitting back, and feeling more than a little smug. He decided it would work out better for him if he refrained from rubbing it in.
Amy reached forward and eased the trapdoor back on its hinges, which groaned in protest at the motion. She allowed the door to fold back on itself, striking the ground with a loud bang.
Rory peered into the hole. There was nothing there but a silky puddle of darkness and a cold breeze swirling up from below. He felt a shudder run along the length of his spine. "Perhaps we were wrong? Perhaps we were hearing things? It might have been the rattle of old pipes, or the so—" He stopped suddenly as a head shot up out of the hole, causing Amy to fall back with a cry and Rory to call out in alarm. He leapt to his feet and scrabbled about on a nearby workbench, looking for anything he could use to defend them with. In the confusion, he grabbed for the nearest tool he could reach and brandished it before him in what he hoped was a threatening manner.
A voice boomed suddenly and urgently out of the hole – a deep, male voice with a distinct mechanical edge. "Do not be alarmed," it said, and Rory stepped back from the hole, taking a moment to absorb what was happening. His heart was hammering in his chest as if it were trying to burst its way out through his ribcage.
The head was that of an AI – just like the other examples they had seen around the city. Rory watched as it turned to look at them both in turn, and then twisted its neck to survey the rest of the hangar. It blinked, and he was momentarily taken aback by how well the machine was able to mimic the human gesture.
This close, the synthetic nature of the AI's flesh was clearly evident. It was pale, rubbery, and didn't vary in tone like a human face. The eyebrows and eyelashes were perfectly shaped, and its pate was smooth and unblemished. It looked too perfect to be true, too idealistic to be human. Its eyes, however, looked every bit as human as Rory's own: bright blue and darting frantically from side to side. If anything, it looked nervous.
Rory clutched the tool before him like a weapon, hoping he at least looked as if he could defend himself.
"A set square? Seriously?" Amy sounded incredulous, rather than scared. "Of all the possible weapons in here, you picked a set square?"
He glanced down at the thing in his hand, and then pulled a dejected face. A set square. Yeah, that's going to help, he thought. He shrugged and waved it threateningly at the AI regardless. "I could do some damage with a set square," he said unconvincingly.
"Have they gone?" the AI asked, clearly ignoring him.
"Have who gone?" Amy questioned, leaning forward as if studying the machine's face. As far as Rory was concerned, she was getting uncomfortably close to the AI.
"I'll take that as a yes," it replied. It twisted suddenly and its left hand shot out of the hole, scrabbling at the ground by Amy's boots, its rubbery fingers scraping on the concrete as it tried to find purchase.
Amy shuffled backwards, avoiding the reach of the spidery fingers. She glanced nervously over at Rory. He thought about rushing forward to stab at the fingers with the set square, but realized that wouldn't help the situation, and Amy was already out of its reach.
After a moment, the hand stilled and the AI turned its gaze on Rory. "May I request some assistance in extracting myself from this inspection pit?" it requested.
"Erm. . ." Rory squirmed, unsure what to do.
Amy glowered at him and nodded her head in the direction of the AI, her eyes wide with embarrassment. "Go on," she mouthed. Then, sighing and shaking her head when he didn't respond, she edged forward and caught hold of the AI's extended arm. She never had been big on subtlety.
"Oh, right. Of course," Rory stuttered. He dropped the set square and inched forward, reaching gingerly down into the pit as if he expected something to bite him in the darkness. His fingers closed around the AI's other limb. The flesh of its forearm felt cold and pliable, but he could feel the hard skeleton underneath. He decided he really wouldn't want to end up on the wrong side of the machine.
Rory set his feet on either side of the pit and looked over at Amy. "Ready?"
She nodded.
"One, two, three. . ."
He heaved with all his strength, staggering backwards as he and Amy tried to drag the artificial man free of the hole. He tumbled over onto his backside a moment later, and Amy fell back with a grunt, leaving the machine slumped half-in and half-out of the hole, its legs still dangling down into the empty void. He let go of its hand and the AI planted both of its palms firmly on the ground, dragging itself the rest of the way out.
"Whoever . . . you . . . are. . ." Rory said, between gasping breaths, "you're . . . heavy. . ."
The AI clambered to its feet, dusting itself down. It must have been over two meters tall and was dressed in a white shirt – now thick with grime – and black trousers. "My designation is RVN-73," it informed them. "I am Professor Gradius's assistant. Thank you for your help."
"RVN-73," Amy repeated. "RVN . . . RVN . . . Arven!" She beamed at the AI. "Hello, Arven."
Rory shook his head and the AI frowned in apparent confusion. "Professor Gradius?" it said, its voice solemn.
Amy stopped smiling and shook her head. "Behind you," she directed. "I'm afraid she didn't make it."
Arven – the name was now stuck in Rory's head – turned towards the ship. For the first time, Rory saw the great furrows that had been torn into his back, slashing the fabric of his shirt, and gouging his rubbery flesh so that the metal skeleton beneath was exposed.
The AI crossed to where the body of Professor Gradius was sprawled on the concrete like a discarded ragdoll. "Your human forms are so fragile. I tried to help her . . . to stop them, but they did something to her mind."
Arven paused for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. His eyes had taken on a haunted quality. There was an infinite sadness in the look he gave the corpse of his former mistress, and Rory couldn't tell if it was simply respect, or something more. Perhaps the AI was actually capable of feeling human emotions, or at the very least emulating them incredibly well.
"When they realized I was not human, they tried to tear me apart," he went on. "They were swarming at me from all sides, blocking all of the exits, so I threw myself down into the inspection pit and locked myself inside. It was only later that I realized it couldn't be opened again from within."
"How long have you been down there?" Rory asked.
"A day, perhaps longer."
"You said they did something to her mind?" Amy recalled.
Arven nodded. "The last thing I heard her scream was for them to get out of her head."
Amy glanced at Rory. "The Doctor said the Squall were a race of psychic parasites."
"The Doctor?" Arven repeated.
"He's . . . a friend," Rory said noncommittally.
"So, Professor Gradius was running experiments with time-travel technology?" Amy quizzed, pressing on with her questions.
"Yes . . . but how do you know about that?" Arven looked confused. "Who exactly are you?"
"I'm Amy and this is Rory. We're . . . well, it doesn't matter. The important thing is that those experiments are the reason those creatures were here."
"But the Doctor said the Squall had infected the past," Rory reminded her.
Amy shrugged. "And now it looks like they've infected this time period, too," she said, indicating the corpse on the ground nearby. "The evidence kind of speaks for itself."
"So, the monsters are here too, and the Doctor and Alex have gone back to 1910 to look for them. Leaving us here. Where there are monsters." Rory reiterated the word 'monsters' in case Amy had missed it the first time.
There was a clattering sound from behind them. As one, Rory, Amy, and Arven turned towards the direction of the sound. Rory gawped at the sight that confronted him.
A strange bipedal creature, so thin it was almost skeletal, stood watching them from the bottom of the stairwell. It had a gray leathery hide, and its beady red eyes regarded them with obvious malice. Membranous flaps of skin hung loose between its elbows and its ribcage like a fleshy cloak, and its upturned snout twitched as it sniffed deliberately at the air. It was tapping the tips of its long, bony fingers menacingly against the metal railings.
As Rory watched, the creature bared its needle-like fangs and hissed at them. To Rory, it sounded almost as if it were a sinister laugh. Behind the creature, the sound of further talons striking the metal treads of the staircase betrayed the fact that it was not alone.
"They're still here," Arven said quietly. "Get behind me."
"I knew we should have looked upstairs first!" Rory hissed. He reached down, picked up the set square he'd dropped earlier and threw it at the nearest creature, which squawked angrily as it batted it aside with its arm. It stalked forward, raising its claws.
The hairs on the nape of Rory's neck prickled with fear. There was nowhere to run. The way out was now completely blocked by a gathering mass of creatures. He could see them swarming down the stairwell, flooding like a deluge into the hangar.
He had to keep Amy safe. He had to do something. If these were the creatures responsible for what had happened to the professor, he had to keep them as far away from his wife as possible.
The staircase, though, was the only exit from the hangar. Whichever way he looked at it, they were trapped.
Rory took a deep breath, refusing to take his eyes off the Squall as it crept slowly into the hangar, taking its time as if it knew there was nowhere for them to run. Its talons looked vicious, and he knew he wouldn't be able to defend himself against the creature for long. Worse, he could feel a pain beginning to blossom inside his head, like a sharp headache, like something was teasing away at his very thoughts, trying to prize them free.
"We. Are. Squall," the creatures hissed, their voices grating and unnatural. "And. We. Shall. Feast."
"In the pit!" Amy bellowed. "We can hide in the pit!" She started forward, but Arven caught her wrist and swung her around to face him.
"No. It can't be opened from the inside. If you find yourself trapped down there, there'll be no getting out. You'd die without food or water if no one comes."
"Oh, great," Rory groaned, stepping forward and readying himself for the coming attack. "So it's a choice between starving to death or having our minds sucked out by inter-dimensional parasites."
"What about in here?" Amy yelled, backing up until her hands encountered the fuselage of the ship. She grimaced as she stepped over the body of the dead professor and peered into the open hatchway. "Come on!"
"You've got to be kidding!" Rory called to her through gritted teeth. "We'll be trapped in there too!" The pain in his head was excruciating and his eyes were beginning to swell, filling with pressure. It was like the worst migraine he'd ever had, a deep, painful throbbing, as if something inside his skull was trying desperately to escape. He issued a low moan of pain despite himself.
"It's not like we have any other choice!" came Amy's desperate reply.
Without warning, Arven suddenly lurched forward, grabbed Rory by the shoulders, and shoved him violently back towards the ship. Rory stumbled and almost fell, catching himself on the edge of the hatchway and tumbling awkwardly inside.
"I'll hold them off," the AI said as Amy pulled Rory to safety in the belly of the ship.
The Squall now completely filled the space around the base of the stairwell. There were five, six of them, possibly more, and they were completely blocking the exit. "There. Is. Nowhere. To. Hide. . . The. Squall. Shall. Consume. All. . . The. Hive. Shall. Consume. This. World. . . The. Hive. Shall. Manifest. . . We. SHALL. Feed."
Rory shook his head, trying to clear the fog of pain and confusion. He could see Amy was now suffering from the same effects, her hands clutching desperately at her head, trying to stave off the flowering pain. Only Arven, the artificial man, seemed immune to the creature's psychic ministrations.
The lead Squall leapt at Arven, spreading its membranous wings and screeching in fury as it buried its talons deep in the rubbery flesh of the AI's chest.
"Arven!" Amy cried, pushing her way to the open hatchway. Rory grabbed her and held her back inside the confines of the ship, trying to prevent her from putting herself in the creature's way.
"We need to shut the door!"
"No! Not without Arven!" she protested, clinging onto the lip of the hatchway.
The AI was battling the creature frantically, trying to fend off its rending limbs. With immense strength, he grabbed the Squall around the waist and wrenched it free, holding it writhing above his head before slamming it down hard against the concrete floor. It bellowed in fury, flapping a broken arm uselessly as it tried to scramble to its feet.
The remaining Squall, as if on cue, rushed forward en masse, suddenly engulfing the AI.
"Arven!" Amy screamed.
There was no response, other than the screeching of the Squall as they set upon the AI.
Cursing, Amy shook herself free of Rory's grip and threw herself out of the ship into the hangar.
"Amy!" Rory called after her in frustration. "Amy, get back here!"
Amy ignored him, rushing instead towards the morass of flailing limbs, covering her face in the crook of her arm and reaching out, grabbing hold of the AI's arm as he tried to defend himself against the creatures. Arven twisted around to look at her in surprise, and Rory saw with horror that half of the rubbery flesh that covered his face had been gouged away. It hung in stringy lumps beneath his left eye, exposing the bright steel skeleton beneath.
"Quickly!" Amy cried, admonishing the artificial man as she tried to drag him back toward the ship. Arven, in response, seemed to fight with renewed vigor, and he wrestled the Squall free, tearing one of them off his shoulder and kicking out at another that was busy attempting to wrench his left leg free from its socket.
Rory was up and out of the ship again now, and he hurried to Amy's side, bustling her back into the hatchway and ducking in behind her, just as another of the Squall leapt up onto Arven's back. The AI twisted and turned, trying desperately to shake the creature free as its wings battered his face and hands.
Arven groaned in frustration as the Squall wrenched another chunk of his rubbery flesh free in its talons. He turned on the spot, slamming himself back against the hull of the ship and crushing the Squall on his back, causing it to momentarily loosen its grip. He took advantage of the brief reprieve, diving headfirst through the open hatchway and almost crushing Rory in the process, who had to leap to one side to avoid being bowled over.
Amy grabbed urgently at the door and slammed it shut, catching one of the creature's wrists in the process as it tried to claw its way inside. It squealed and thrashed at the opening, its hand spasming open and closed, and so Amy raised the door and slammed it shut once again, this time causing the creature to wail and withdraw its damaged limb.
The door clicked shut, and the three of them were plunged into absolute darkness.
They stood for a moment in the belly of the time ship, trying to catch their breath. The only light was the faint glow of Arven's eyes, pale and haunting, twin orbs searching their faces in the gloom. Rory wondered if the AI could actually see in the dark, or whether it could simply sense them there and didn't know where else to look.
"Are you hurt?" Amy asked, her voice tremulous.
"I do not feel pain," Arven replied, although Rory thought he could hear something – anxiety, perhaps – in the AI's voice. Perhaps the machine didn't feel pain, but it was certainly jumpy.
Outside, the Squall were clawing away at the outer skin of the ship, their claws scratching noisily at the polished metal plating. Others were banging and shaking the vessel as they searched for a means to get inside. Rory felt like a sardine in a can, trapped and waiting for someone to peel back the aluminum lid and snatch him out for dinner. The thought didn't do much to put him at ease.
"Well, I wasn't expecting that," he said with disdain.
Amy gave a nervous laugh and clutched at his arm. "I hope the Doctor and Alex are having more luck."
He hoped she couldn't feel him trembling. His head was still pounding, and he had the disturbing sensation of something crawling around inside his head, like a spider sifting through his thoughts. He shuddered.
Rory watched Arven's eyes flickering back and forth as he followed their conversation.
"So, this is a time ship, is it?" Amy spoke, addressing her question at the AI.
"Yes, although it's only an experimental model. It's been tested on short hops of up to a few minutes."
"It's a lot smaller than the TARDIS," Rory observed. He was hunched up against the bulkhead to avoid banging his head on the curved roof.
There was a terrifying CLANG, and the whole vessel gave a sudden, violent shudder. "What the. . ." Rory started, but he never finished his sentence. There was another bang, and then another. The Squall were clearly striking the outer skin of the ship with whatever tools they could find on the workbenches.
"They're trying to get in," Arven summarized. "They're trying to break in through the hull."
"Will they do it?" Rory questioned.
"With time," Arven confirmed. "There are so many of them, and they have such strength. . ."
"Then we have to work out how to pilot this thing," Amy declared, releasing her grip on Rory's arm. "We have to use the ship to get out of here. It's our only chance."
Again, Arven's eyes turned towards her in the darkness. It was an eerie experience, like watching two tiny moons revolving in a sea of black. "I can pilot this vessel," he announced in his usual monotone.
"Then what are you waiting for?" Amy exclaimed, and her voice was once again filled with her characteristic confidence. "Take me to 1910, mister RVN-73! The sixteenth of October!"
Arven glanced at Rory, a question in his eyes.
"Better do what she says," Rory grinned. "I certainly wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her."
"Oi!" Amy cried, slapping him – playfully – on the arm.
"I must warn you the vessel has not yet been tested with a living occupant," Arven cautioned. "The risks are manifold."
Rory glanced at Amy but couldn't make out her expression in the darkness. Another clanging sound reverberated around the ship as the creatures outside continued with their attempts to smash their way in. He could hear them clambering over the hull, could imagine their fangs glistening in the harsh electric light of the hangar. "Another five minutes and there won't be any living occupants," he pointed out.
"Besides, we're used to this time traveling stuff," Amy said nonchalantly.
"Very well," Arven agreed, rising to his feet and steadying himself against the bulkhead as the vessel gave another violent rock. A moment later, he was gone, working his way through the narrow space towards the front of the ship.
Rory and Amy remained silent, listening to the scratching of the Squall so close to their heads. "It'll be okay," Rory said, but he knew it was more an attempt to convince himself then reassure Amy.
Seconds later, red lights winked on throughout the ship, casting everything in a disturbing, blood-colored hue. Rory peered along the spine of the small ship. It was pretty much an empty shell, filled with nothing but trailing wires and banks of switches. Up in the pilot's pit, Arven had strapped himself into a low bucket seat and was busy operating the controls, tapping screens and turning dials. It looked decidedly low-tech for a 28th century invention.
Rory turned to Amy who, despite her earlier moment of bravado, was wearing a decidedly worried expression. He reached out and took her hand.
"Here goes nothing," she muttered.
Rory offered her a weak smile. "I wonder if it'll be as hairy a ride as the TARDIS."
"I wouldn't count on it," she replied. "Not without the Doctor at the controls."
Rory squeezed her hand. "At least we're together."
"Hold on!" Arven called back to them. The vessel began to vibrate, shaking violently as if building up a head of steam. Rory grabbed for a loop of overhanging cable, using it to brace himself as the metal shell rattled and buckled. He could hear Squall screeching loudly as they were thrown from their perches.
"Whhhoooaaa. . ." Amy called, squeezing Rory's hand, until the very end of her cry was lost in the midst of an almighty clap as the vessel ripped an aperture in the fabric of time and space and slammed itself through into the swirling blue-gray Vortex.
Rory squeezed his eyes shut and held on to Amy for all he was worth.
He hoped the Doctor and Alex would be waiting for them at the other end.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~