London, October 16th, 1910
"Well, Doctor, I must admit that you were right about that miraculous screwdriver of yours. And you, Miss Locke, with your necklace. Lucky you both thought to keep those with you." Angelchrist was still trying to catch his breath as he sat in the passenger seat of his own open-topped motor car, barreling along in the early hours of the morning, searching the skies for any sign of the alien creatures that had been harrying them for the last half hour.
They had run for what seemed like miles, weaving their way through a warren of dubious alleyways and fog-laden streets, conscious all the while of the creatures baying at their heels. Angelchrist had led the way, adrenaline surging through his veins, calling behind for the Doctor and Miss Locke to try to keep up. He'd taken them on a circuitous route, down cobbled streets lined with drunken wastrels freshly spilled out from the public houses, past the misshapen lumps of homeless men bundled up in rags against the cold, in circles around a smartly dressed bobby who called out at them to "Stop right there!" and, having eventually shaken off the pursuing Squall, back to Angelchrist's motor car, which had appeared into view out of the fog, eliciting exclamations of welcome surprise from the Doctor and Miss Locke.
Angelchrist, with a resigned sigh, had climbed straight up into the passenger seat, once again allowing the Doctor to take the wheel.
At present, there was no sign of the Squall, but the professor had the sense that the monsters wouldn't have given up that easily, and as he, the Doctor, and Miss Locke lurched through the fog-bound streets, he kept a watchful eye on the gray canopy above, as if expecting one of the creatures to sweep down on them at any moment.
The Doctor was brooding behind the wheel, his brow furrowed in concentration. He seemed unusually subdued, if the scant few hours in which Angelchrist had known him were anything to go by.
Miss Locke had also fallen silent. Glancing at the backseat, Angelchrist saw she was fiddling with a ring he had failed to notice on her third left index finger. It was gold, and as he studied it, he saw that it wasn't one ring, but two gold rings melded together. They looked very much like wedding bands, and Angelchrist wondered if they might have belonged to her parents. As she played with the ring, twisting it round and round her finger, Miss Locke's eyes, currently a dark chocolate brown, surveyed the night sky, keeping watch for any sign of the Squall.
Angelchrist's own mind was occupied with the Squall, replaying their encounter with them over and over. Something about the nature of the creatures, about their apparent intelligence, had disturbed him more than he'd expected. If they had simply been animals, then perhaps he'd have found it easier. But to discover they were actually sentient, intelligent creatures. . . Well, that had turned Angelchrist's expectations entirely on their head.
He stared at the road ahead, watching the skeletal limbs of trees come swimming out of the fog as they flitted past. The fog seemed to distort everything, to soften all the harsh lines of the city, to erode the world.
After a while, he turned to the Doctor. "Why did they talk like that, Doctor?"
"It's a sign that their hive is growing in power!" the Doctor shouted over the noise of the wind, gunning the engine and powering them on through the deserted streets. "It's eerie, isn't it?"
"Oh, yeah," Alex nodded, shuddering a little.
"Yes," Angelchrist agreed with a shiver of his own, but his words were snatched away by the wind.
"It's not simply that the Squall are hive creatures," the Doctor continued, "not like wasps or bees. They're far more complex, far more sophisticated than that. They also have a hive mind. They're essentially a single organism with any number of individual bodies or drones. A lone Squall is dangerous, but it's basically a mindless animal, a shell. It exists only to feed the hive, to hunt for prey and gorge itself on their psychic energy."
The Doctor glanced over to ensure they were following, and Angelchrist and Alex nodded for him to continue.
"The hive mind can divide itself between any number of its drones. Each one carries a tiny fragment of the whole. Get more than three of them together and there's enough of it present for it to be able to communicate. Get a horde like the one we saw tonight and you're essentially seeing the individual components of a neural network, all the nodes of a vast and complicated brain." The Doctor kept his eyes on the road as he talked. Angelchrist got the impression he was going over it as much for his own benefit as for Angelchrist and Miss Locke's own, trying to look at the problem from a variety of different angles.
"It's barely credible," Angelchrist said. He found it hard to conceive of such a bizarre and fascinating race ever evolving into being. And yet here they were, insidiously mounting an invasion of his world.
"When the Squall manifest on a new world, they begin by sending a number of scouts, a handful of drones to investigate. They're essentially parasites, looking for a new energy source to consume. When they find a world rich in psychic power, such as the Earth, they start to increase their numbers. The hive pours more and more of itself through the rift, spreading itself amongst the drones. The more of them there are, the stronger it gets, until eventually the hive mind will have fully manifested on the planet."
"And then?"
Alex swallowed heavily, already knowing the answer. "And then they feast," she said softly.
Angelchrist shuddered. That was exactly what the creatures had said. 'We are Squall, and we shall feast'. At least they were honest about their intentions. "So that vessel we saw, it was that which caused the Squall to find their way to Earth?"
"The eye of the storm. Yes. That vessel should never have been created." The Doctor sighed. "You humans, you're a talented lot. Give you a bunch of tools and you build something. No matter the consequences, no matter the repercussions. You simply have to do it, just because it's there. Put a mountain in front of you and you climb it." He beamed at Angelchrist. "It's what sets you apart from most of the intelligent life forms out there, professor, out there amongst the stars. You're magnificent. If, perhaps, a little careless sometimes."
You humans. Angelchrist swallowed. His mouth felt suddenly dry. He turned and looked at Alex questioningly.
Alex, having no doubt as to his silent query, nodded slowly. "Me too," she said quietly. The hand that had been occupied with her ring moved to her sonic necklace, twirling the TARDIS charm around her fingertips. "But if it makes you feel better, I used to be human."
Swallowing again, Angelchrist nodded and turned back to the front. So that was how the Doctor and Miss Locke knew all about the Squall, about the rich and varied universe that existed beyond the confines of the Earth. They weren't simply from the future, as Angelchrist had assumed. As if that wouldn't have been enough. No, they weren't even human. Or, in Miss Locke's case, no longer human. What did that even mean? Angelchrist suspected that, however such a thing had happened, it explained the heaviness that occasionally fell over her like a thick blanket, casting her color-changing eyes into shadow, darkness and bitterness momentarily chasing her usual compassion and cheerfulness away.
And what about their friend, the woman whose pullover they'd found in the claws of the Squall? It was resting beside Miss Locke now, a puddle of bright red fabric on the dark leather upholstery. Was she an alien, too?
"Doctor? Miss Locke? Who's Amy?" Angelchrist cursed beneath his breath for the way he'd simply blurted the question out. He could tell that the couple were deeply concerned for her safety.
"She's our friend," Alex said. She picked up the pullover, cradling it to her chest. This close, she could smell traces of the perfume Amy had been wearing. The scent was one of Amy's favorites, primarily because it had been a birthday present from the Doctor. The perfume, he'd boasted, was from Florana, which was, by all accounts, one of the universe's most beautiful planets. It was almost completely covered in sweet-smelling flowers (from which Amy's perfume had been harvested), along with seas of warm milk and beaches with sand as soft as swan's down.
The Doctor kept promising to take them there someday. None of them were in a rush. After all, with a time machine, they had all the time in the universe.
Or so they thought.
Suddenly realizing that Angelchrist was looking at her, waiting for further explanation, Alex hastily continued. "She's married to another friend of ours, Rory." She bit her bottom lip. "He should be with her." No sooner had the words left her lips than she shook her head violently, dismissing them. "No . . . he is with her. He wouldn't leave her alone." She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, Angelchrist or herself.
Seeing how upset she was becoming, Angelchrist quickly pivoted to a different subject. "What I don't understand," he said, "is why the army hasn't been mobilized? With all these creatures swarming over the city, all these attacks – surely someone must have noticed. Even the police haven't been particularly forthcoming."
"Ah. That'll be the psychic dampening field," the Doctor answered.
"The what?"
In the backseat, Alex's brow furrowed in thought. She arrived at the answer just a few seconds before the Doctor started explaining.
"The Squall are psychic creatures. They feed on psychic energy, but they also manipulate. It's how they hunt, suppressing their victim's senses until the last moment, so that they can sneak up on them and pounce."
"So, it's like they're invisible, right up until the moment they attack?" Alex clarified, more for Angelchrist's benefit than hers.
"Exactly, Ally. There could be hundreds – thousands – of them in the city, and people wouldn't even know they were there, at least until it was too late. In fact, the more of them there are, the stronger their abilities become, and the less likely people are to spot them."
Angelchrist frowned. "Then how can I see them, Doctor?"
The Doctor grinned over at him, and Angelchrist couldn't help thinking he'd be better off keeping his eyes on the road. "Well, that's because you're expecting them," he explained. "Because you have an open mind. You've seen creatures like the Squall before and you're not afraid to admit they exist. You look at the evidence and don't try to explain it away as something else. Doesn't give the Squall much to work with, you see. They can't play on your ignorance and fears like they can with most people. The majority of the population go about their daily lives without expecting to see monsters lurking in the shadows. So, they don't. The Squall make sure of it. But you . . . you're different, professor. You know about the things that hide in the darkness."
The Doctor turned his attention back to the road, leaving Angelchrist to ponder his words. Near-invisible monsters from another dimension. The very notion was by turns ridiculous and terrifying. And not a little exhilarating. Nevertheless, he was exhausted. He fought to stifle a yawn. "If you were intending to head back to my laboratory, Doctor, I rather fear we've taken the circuitous route."
"Sorry, professor," Alex said with an apologetic smile, "but I don't think that's where we're going. Right, Doc?"
The Doctor shot her a quick grin over his shoulder. "Right-o, Ally. I have a stop to make first, professor. I need to pay a visit to my own ship."
Angelchrist nodded and leaned back in his seat, pulling his coat more tightly across his chest. It looked as if he was in for a sleepless night.
The notion didn't concern him in the slightest.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
"I'm sure I left her somewhere around here. . ." the Doctor mumbled as he strode purposefully through the wispy fog by the river. Once again, he had a tight grip on Alex's hand, though he was pointedly ignoring the critical looks she kept giving him.
Honestly! Alex marveled. How could he forget where he parked the TARDIS? She elected to ignore the fact that she couldn't quite remember where the TARDIS was either.
"What exactly does this ship of yours look like?" Angelchrist asked, trying to keep up with them. "Is it similar to the vessel we saw back there at the house?"
"Just the opposite." Over her shoulder, Alex gave him a mysterious smile. "It's a box."
"A blue box," the Doctor added. "A big, blue box." He smiled affectionately. "Has the words 'Police Box' written on it."
Like Miss Locke's necklace charm, Angelchrist realized. Still, he couldn't keep from raising one eyebrow as he said, "Police?"
The Doctor waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Yes, long story. We'll save that one for another time." He stopped for a moment, looking thoughtful, and then set off again at a brisk pace, all but pulling Alex along behind him. "Down here," he said, he and Alex disappearing down a narrow side street. "Then down here. . ." His voice trailed off as he and Alex wove their way through the deserted, foggy lanes. Angelchrist followed the sound of their footsteps. "And then . . . ah." The footsteps came to an abrupt halt. There was a moment's pause. "Um, that's not quite what I was expecting."
"No, really?" Alex hissed, her words dripping sarcasm.
Angelchrist hurried over to join them, turning the corner to find the couple standing at one end of a long alleyway. "What is it? What have you seen?"
He followed their gazes. His question was immediately redundant. At the other end of the alleyway was a tall blue box, a bigger version of the charm on Miss Locke's necklace. Only, not a great deal of its exterior was visible due to the writhing mass of Squall that was scrabbling all over it, clinging to its surface. There must have been ten or twelve of them, and they seemed entirely oblivious to the Doctor, Miss Locke, and Angelchrist's presence.
"Fascinating," the Doctor remarked. "It's like they're drawn to it, swarming all over it as if they can sense the latent time energy. It's like catnip to them, drawing them in like moths to a flame." He turned to Alex and Angelchrist. "That's the thing about parasites. Always looking for an opportunity, for their next hit. The Squall have spent so long trapped on the other side of reality, they've learned to home in on anything that looks as if it might have traveled across dimensions, that carries a certain type of energy signature."
"And the TARDIS carries that type of energy signature," Alex deduced.
"Radiates it," the Doctor agreed. "It explains why they were hanging around the time ship, too."
This was too much for Angelchrist. He had no idea what they were talking about. He decided to focus on the bit he could fathom. "What will you two do? Use your sonic devices to shoo them away?" He couldn't help feeling a little nervous in the presence of so many of the creatures. After spending half the night running from them, here they were, facing more of them than ever. He was dog-tired and wasn't sure how much energy he'd be able to muster if it came to that again.
The Doctor shook his head. "They'll be getting wise to that. There are too many of them. I'll have to try some—"
The Doctor and Alex gave cries of alarm as something grabbed them from behind and yanked them backwards, causing the Doctor's sonic screwdriver to rattle away across the cobbles. Angelchrist looked on in horror as he saw that two of the Squall had crept up on them from behind, wrapping their bony, taloned fingers around the couple's necks.
The heads of the other Squall in the vicinity – those crawling over the Doctor's ship or lurking at the other end of the alleyway – snapped around in unison, their red eyes glaring in Angelchrist's direction.
The hive mind, Angelchrist thought, glued momentarily to the spot with fear. It can see me. It's looking at me through their eyes.
He had no idea what to do.
Across the alleyway, the Doctor and Alex each scrabbled at the Squall's hands, frantically trying to prize them free of their throats. Alex clawed desperately at her captor's fingers, digging her nails into its leathery skin. She'd seen the Doctor drop the sonic screwdriver. If she could just get a hold of her necklace. . .
But it was no use. Her Squall had its skeletal fingers wrapped tight around her throat. Only her respiratory bypass system kept her from passing out. The Squall and its companion squealed in delight, their faces a riot of ecstasy.
And then the hive mind began to probe at the edges of the psyches.
"You," Alex's Squall said.
"Shall," said the Doctor's Squall.
"Sustain. Us," the Squall finished in their bizarre, disjointed tones. "Your. Minds. Are. Rich. . . You. Are. Not. Like. The. Others. Of. This. World."
"No!" the Doctor called between gasping breaths. Managing to twist her head sideways, Alex saw a single tear of dark blood trickle down his cheek from the corner of his left eye.
"Leave him alone!" she screamed. She kicked her legs and twisted from side to side, one of the maneuvers Spencer had taught her in case she was ever restrained. Unfortunately, while the move worked on regular humans, it barely threw her Squall off its stride. It was stronger and faster, and in any event, it had an easier way of immobilizing her than simple restraint.
She could feel the Squall poking and prodding at her mind, as well as the efforts of her advanced brain working overtime to keep them out. Her mental bombs whizzed about like pinballs in an old arcade game, acting completely beyond her control as it endeavored to banish the unwelcome intruder. The mental bombs struck the hive mind relentlessly, a constant assault Alex knew wouldn't stop until the threat was completely vanquished. The hive mind recoiled each time it was hit, but nevertheless pressed forward. Far from being put off by her brain's abilities, the Squall was even more curious to explore her mind than before.
An awful pressure was building behind her eyes. Blood didn't fall, but Alex wished it would, if only to relieve the aching. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tightly, but to no avail. If anything, it just made the pressure worse.
Her head felt like it was about to split open. Alex opened her eyes, only to immediately wish she hadn't. Black spots peppered her vision. Angelchrist's horrified expression had become slightly blurry.
Her body was shutting down. With the exception of vital life-sustaining organs, every other bodily function and its resulting energy was being diverted to her mind, the priority no longer keeping her conscious, but driving this hostile intruder out.
Alex strove to think of something, anything, that would stop this Squall, allow her to escape its clutches and help the Doctor. And, incredibly, almost miraculously, something came to her.
The memory played across her vision like a movie. This morning, only a few hours ago, she was getting dressed. . .
The Doctor was in the shower, and Alex was dearly tempted to join him. Never mind her fear of water. Never mind the fact they had only just managed to drag themselves out of bed, and only because Amy had banged on the door, threatening to start pressing random buttons on the console if they weren't out in thirty minutes.
It didn't help her restraint that the shower's glass door allowed her a perfectly unobstructed view of the Doctor's nude, wet form.
Breathing heavily, Alex discarded the towel she'd been using on her hair and made a beeline for her closet. This new addition to the bathroom had appeared right after she agreed to move into the Doctor's room. Large and roomy, every article of clothing she owned (and some she didn't) neatly organized according to color and season. There was even a massive, Hollywood style vanity tucked into its own alcove, a vase of purple rose-orchid hybrids from the 22nd century sitting atop the smoky gray counter. The whole room (because it really was more room than closet) reminded Alex of something out of Gossip Girl, and she had spent several minutes upon first seeing it petting and cooing at the TARDIS walls.
Hopefully, spending some time in it now, selecting an outfit and preparing for the day's travels, would distract her brain from lingering on other, more salacious thoughts.
It seemed to work. Usually, Alex didn't have much trouble selecting an outfit. But traveling on the TARDIS, where planned destinations often didn't work out, meant careful planning and consideration was required. Alex had long since figured out that dressing in layers was the best way to go. She could easily tug something off if they happened to land on a desert planet or in the middle of the Amazon. On the opposite end of the spectrum, it would be a simple matter to zip up a jacket and shove on some mittens if they landed during the Ice Age or on a planet engulfed in a 1,000-year snowstorm.
After several minutes spent studying the vast array of clothing, she settled on black tights, a denim skirt, and a black velvet top, followed by her favorite pair of well-worn combat boots. Only her favorite leather jacket was missing, but Alex was pretty sure it was back out in the bedroom. A split second later, a hum rang out and Alex turned to see the jacket in question now lying neatly over the tufted blue stool before the vanity.
Smiling at the TARDIS's thoughtfulness, Alex patted the wall and tugged her jacket on. After that, she plopped down on her stool and studied her bare face in the mirror. She was pleased to see she had no zits, despite all the stress she'd been under recently. It seemed another pro to her forced transformation was excellent skin. She hadn't had to use her preferred blemish cream in months, though she still slathered on Jergens Face Cream every morning and every night, just as Marigold had taught her years ago.
She did so now, and then made quick work of applying her makeup, pausing only to consider her lip color. In the end, she went with a new lip gloss she'd gotten on a girls day with Amy a few weeks before they left Leadworth. A dark berry color, it wasn't her usual go-to, but what was life without variety? Also, Amy had insisted it would complement her normally pale skin and, unsurprisingly, she was right.
Twisting the cap back on, Alex started to put the lip gloss in her jacket pocket, only for her fingers to hit something. She frowned. She didn't keep a lot of things in her pockets, even if they were dimensionally transcendental. Just her cell-phone, wallet, her keys if she was in Leadworth, maybe the occasional hair tie or bobby pin. But this was something hard, with a smooth, carved surface.
Slowly, her face puckered in confusion, she withdrew the object. Her eyes widened.
It was the dagger she'd bought at the Leadworth Fair. The dagger she'd stabbed Mels in the thigh with.
Alex had honestly forgotten all about her impulsive, fear-driven purchase, much less recovering it after their chaotic, stressful day in Berlin ended. But apparently, the TARDIS hadn't. For how else could the dagger have ended up in her jacket pocket? Especially a clean dagger. There wasn't a trace of blood on it. The ivory hilt shined, the intricately carved roses and vines looking even more exquisite than they had the day she bought it. Even the three-inch blade looked sharper than normal, reinforcing the fact that though the weapon was dainty, it was still very much a weapon.
A weapon she really didn't need anymore . . . right?
"Why?" Alex asked, glancing up at the ceiling. "Why give this to me?"
What use did she have for the dagger now? She had bought it out of fear of Mels and her threats, but that was over now.
But was she really safe? Alex worried her bottom lip as she considered this. True, Mels/River was no longer a concern, but Kovarian and the Silence were still out there somewhere, plotting and waiting for their next move. Lake Silencio was over for her, but who was to say that they wouldn't come after her again? After all, they still didn't know why Alex had been turned into a Time Lady. What if Kovarian came back, wanting to finish whatever twisted mission she had started back at Demons Run?
The very thought sent a shiver down Alex's spine. Almost unconsciously, she gripped the dagger just a little bit tighter.
Alex knew the Doctor disliked weapons. But he also disliked her being defenseless. It was why he'd requested UNIT send her a bodyguard, why he'd promised to teach her self-defense. And he had yet to say anything about her stabbing Mels when the woman was literally holding her at gunpoint. So, perhaps he wasn't against the idea of her carrying something to defend herself with? Surely, Alex rationalized, he would have said something by now if he did.
Her thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of the shower switching off. Around her, the TARDIS hummed, almost as if in warning. It was clear to Alex that the time machine was telling her she needed to make her decision right now.
With a shaky sigh, Alex slipped the dagger back into her pocket. Maybe the TARDIS knew something she didn't.
Maybe, though Alex desperately hoped otherwise, the dagger would come in handy once again.
It wasn't quite life flashing in front of her eyes, but the memory from just a few hours ago did give Alex comfort. As well as just enough energy to slip her hand into her pocket and pull out the dagger.
Stars danced in front of her eyes. Wearily, Alex's head flopped back. Her limbs felt so heavy, so weak. If the Squall hadn't had her in its unrelenting grip, she would have completely crumpled to the ground by now. Her fingers struggled to hold the dagger, the ivory hilt suddenly slick between her shaky digits.
She felt something wet slide down her cheek. Blood, a distant part of her mind thought.
Her ears were ringing. But somewhere, somehow, she heard the Doctor scream her name. "ALEX!" She had never heard her name screamed so loud, never heard it said with such desperation and anguish. It was the scream of a lover, desperate to save his partner but completely powerless to do so.
But she wasn't powerless.
Seizing onto the last little bit of strength left in her, Alex tightened her fingers around the hilt and plunged the dagger's dainty three-inch blade into her Squall's thigh.
The Squall let out a screech of pain as the blade easily tore through its leathery skin and into the meat beneath. It let out another screech as Alex yanked the dagger back out. Dark red blood oozed out of the creature's wound. Though not serious, it concerned the creature enough to release its hold on its captive.
Her vision spinning, Alex stumbled away from the creature. The part of her brain still registering her surroundings was elated, but it was short-lived. She had escaped the Squall, but now what? She was still too weak, too close to passing out to help the Doctor.
As if to reinforce her point, her legs chose that moment to give out. She collapsed into the ready arms of Professor Angelchrist.
Angelchrist stared, wide-eyed, at the young woman he now cradled against his chest. At first, he thought she had fallen unconscious, but a closer look revealed that wasn't the case. Miss Locke's eyes were open, but fluttering, the glazed irises changing colors with such rapidity, Angelchrist couldn't register all the shades. She still gripped her little dagger, the blade covered in the Squall's blood. The injured Squall, for its part, shrieked in agony at its injury and fruitlessly tried to wipe away the still trickling blood.
A victory, to be sure. But it was a small one, and they weren't out of danger just yet.
The Doctor was still struggling to escape his captor, tears of blood dripping down his face. And Miss Locke was faltering. Though she'd escaped her Squall, her body seemed in no shape to continue fighting. Her skin was pale as death, her eyes fluttering wearily. Her body dropped backwards, and Angelchrist was alarmed at how limp she felt.
He needed to act. In a moment, Angelchrist knew the other creatures would be upon him and Miss Locke. She was in no shape to fight them. Nor would he be able to overcome the beasts in hand-to-hand combat; his old bones were simply not strong enough to fend them off. Not in those numbers. He needed to use his brain.
What would the Doctor and Miss Locke do?
Angelchrist glanced down at the Doctor's sonic screwdriver resting on the cobbles a few steps away. It was his only hope. Whether they were wise to it or not, he had to give it a try. There was a chance it might buy them enough time to get away.
Taking a deep breath, he threw Miss Locke towards the alleyway entrance, then dove to the ground, rolling awkwardly and knocking the wind out of himself in the process. He clutched for the sonic screwdriver and kept rolling, just as one of the Squall dropped from the sky, its talons narrowly missing his face.
Twisting over onto his back and holding the sonic aloft like a talisman, Angelchrist pushed one of the buttons, and hoped.
The device emitted its familiar whirring sound, and for a moment nothing happened. Then the Squall all around Angelchrist began to shake their heads violently, screeching in fury and frustration, bashing their temples with their palms as if attempting to dislodge the sound. The beast standing over him fell to its knees with a squawk, and Angelchrist took the opportunity to scramble to his knees, still struggling to regain his breath. He felt lightheaded and wide awake, all sense of his weariness gone.
The Doctor was in the process of extracting himself from his attacker's grasp, pushing it off him as it thrashed about, trying to get away from the sound. It fell to the ground by his feet, writhing and moaning on the cobbles.
Alex had managed to snag hold of some protruding bricks when Angelchrist hurled her away. It was all that was keeping her upright. But not for long. The moment the Doctor got free, as though her body knew he would catch her, the black spots before her eyes became one sweeping darkness. Her fingers, growing limp, fell from the bricks and Alex slumped backwards.
The Doctor reached her just as her eyes rolled into the back of her head. "ALEX!" he screamed as she sank into his arms. Had she heard it, Alex would have recognized the same desperation and anguish in it as there had been in the scream he'd emitted minutes earlier.
The Doctor didn't remove his panic-stricken gaze from Alex as he shouted to Angelchrist, "Keep your finger on that button!" He quickly swept Alex into a bridal carry, supporting her head with his shoulder. He looked strangely haunted, and Angelchrist couldn't tell if it was the experience of having his mind invaded by the Squall, the sight of what his sonic screwdriver was doing to them, or the fact that the woman he loved was unconscious in his arms. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.
"We've got to get out of here," the Doctor declared. He adjusted his hold on Alex, hoisting her up higher in his arms. At the same time, he took hold of the bloody dagger, slipping it into his trouser pocket. "There are too many of them."
"What about your ship?"
"The TARDIS will have to wait. Come on!"
Keeping his finger pressed on the button, Angelchrist backed away from the incapacitated Squall, out of the mouth of the alleyway, and into the fog enshrouded street beyond.
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
Angelchrist placed a tea tray on the table before the Doctor and Alex. "Here, a restorative cup of tea. I always find it helps, even in situations such as this."
The Doctor reached for the old clay teapot. It was roughly made and etched with a five-pointed star and two short lines of Sanskrit. It was one of Angelchrist's treasures, obtained during an adventure nearly a decade earlier.
The trio had reconvened at Angelchrist's house and holed back up in his laboratory. Alex had regained consciousness about ten minutes into the drive back, but the Doctor had ordered her to keep lying still in the backseat. Upon arrival, he insisted on carrying her inside, settling her on the laboratory sofa before placing himself right beside her.
"Doctor, I'm fine," Alex protested when the Doctor began buzzing the sonic screwdriver over her head. It might have been more convincing if she hadn't been rubbing her temples, as well as trying to hide a pained wince.
He'd simply given her a firm look, his eyes narrowing. "I'll be the judge of that." Though the words were said calmly enough, there was no missing the underlying strain, the worry that continued to run through his veins even though they were now safe. Therefore, Alex remained silent as he waved the sonic in front of her eyes before finally pronouncing that she was fine, if a bit drained from the ordeal.
Now, the Doctor grinned. It was slightly forced, but the prospect of refreshment did seem to dampen the fear that still clouded his eyes. "That's the Englishman's answer to everything, isn't it?" Angelchrist poured the milk, and the Doctor splashed the hot brown liquid into three cups. He handed one to Alex, giving her another firm look as he did so. Waiting until Alex obediently began sipping the drink, he added, "A good cup of tea. And you're right, professor. It does seem to make everything a little bit better."
Angelchrist smiled. "So, what are we going to do now?" he asked, easing back into his chair. He felt decidedly weary, right down to his bones, and his eyelids were growing heavy. Now they were here, back at his laboratory, the events of the night seemed distant already, as if he might have imagined them, as if they might have happened to someone else. Now that he was surrounded by his familiar comforts, safe in his own home, he could hardly conceive of the remarkable things he had seen. If it hadn't been for the eccentric figures sitting opposite him, Angelchrist would have been forced to consider himself quite insane.
"The hive is growing in strength," the Doctor said, cutting through Angelchrist's reverie. "It needs to be stopped."
"But how, Doctor? Even you and Miss Locke were no match for them this evening. One man, one woman, a screwdriver, and a necklace can only do so much."
Alex took another sip of tea before setting her cup down. Despite her disdain for the drink, it was exactly what she'd needed. Her head still ached, but not as bad as before. She gave Angelchrist a broad smile. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that, professor. One man and a screwdriver can achieve more than you think." She turned her smile on the Doctor, her tone becoming flirtatious as she added, "One man and a screwdriver can save the universe, if he puts his mind to it."
Just as Alex had intended, the Doctor matched her smile perfectly, his emerald eyes twinkling. "So can one woman and a necklace." A rush of adrenaline ran through him at the pleased blush that rose in Alex's cheeks. Unfortunately, much as he wanted to (and oh, did he want to), he couldn't continue with this line of conversation. Time was of the essence and, alas, flirting with Alex would do nothing to defeat the Squall. Though it did help alleviate his distress and worry over her, something he was sure had been Alex's intention when she gave him that dazzling smile.
With a slight shake of his head, he turned to Angelchrist. "Besides, I've got you to keep an eye out for me and Alex." He placed his teacup pointedly on the table between them. "Now, before we proceed, I've got something terribly important to ask you."
"Yes, Doctor? Anything." Angelchrist leaned forward in anticipation. Alex tilted her head curiously.
"Do you have any custard creams?" the Doctor asked, clapping his hands together loudly. "Tea, I think, is always so much better with a custard cream."
Angelchrist couldn't prevent himself from breaking into a long, guffawing laugh. Alex rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched in barely concealed amusement.
The Doctor offered them a bemused smile, as if he wasn't quite sure of the joke. "Okay . . . so no custard creams. But I could have a use for a few of the bits and bobs you have lying around here." He glanced over at the workbenches and bookcases overflowing with mechanical contraptions, wooden dolls, baubles, trinkets, and other assorted oddments. "A few components here and there."
"Whatever you need, Doctor. Help yourself."
"Good man!" the Doctor exclaimed, jumping energetically to his feet. He started to use his arm to sweep a stack of papers off the table and onto the floor, only for Alex to clear her throat pointedly. Seeing her sharp glare, the Doctor, suitably chastened, dutifully set the papers on the floor and out of the way. "This is going to take me a while, I'm afraid," he warned, and then turned and disappeared behind the heaps of boxes at the other end of the lab. Angelchrist and Alex heard sounds of him rummaging about amongst the components and equipment there.
He must have dozed off, because the next thing Angelchrist knew, there was sunlight streaming in through the window and the Doctor, now in his shirtsleeves, was pouring him a fresh cup of tea. "Ah, hello!"
Alex, still lying on the sofa, looked up from the book in her lap. It was Angelchrist's first-edition copy of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Hound of the Baskervilles, and she was already over halfway through it. "Good morning, professor," she said, uncurling her legs from underneath her and setting the book on the coffee table.
Angelchrist blinked at them, bleary-eyed. "Oh, forgive me, Doctor, Miss Locke," he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his aching neck and sitting forward, trying to regain his bearings. "I must have nodded off."
"Perfectly understandable after last night's events," Alex assured him.
The Doctor smiled, nodding in agreement, and passed him a china teacup. There was a contraption of sorts, resting on the table. It was about the size of a man's head and had clearly been assembled from a bizarre assortment of discarded mechanical parts and copper wire. Angelchrist had no notion of what it could be. It didn't look very professional. Whatever the Doctor was, he didn't appear to be a particularly capable engineer.
Alex couldn't help feeling dubious as well. Her brow furrowed as she studied the device, trying to work out its function. The Doctor had shrugged off all her queries, simply saying that all was well and that she should rest. The disturbed look in his eyes as he undoubtedly recalled the Squall's horrible mental probing and her reaction to it made Alex disinclined to question him further. Instead, she tried to reassure him. She accepted his offer of a second cup of tea, didn't protest when he insisted on stacking several pillows at her back, and kissed his cheek when he presented her with a copy of her favorite Sherlock Holmes story, borrowed from Angelchrist's library. Only then did that anguished gleam vanish, but Alex knew it was only a matter of time before it reappeared.
Now, the Doctor picked up the device, hefting it in his hands. He was wearing a broad grin and seemed inordinately pleased with himself. "It's not the most aesthetically pleasing object," he admitted, "but given the circumstances, I think it's rather beautiful. Even if I do say so myself."
Alex and Angelchrist exchanged dry looks. 'Beautiful' wasn't quite the word they would have used to describe the contraption.
"What is it?" Angelchrist asked.
"An amplifier!" the Doctor cried, animated.
Alex's eyes widened in realization. "Oh!" she cried, bouncing a little. "It'll boost the range and signal of the sonic screwdriver and my necklace, won't it?"
The Doctor beamed, wide and brilliant, pleased his Ally could keep up with him. "Right, Ally," he affirmed. "Should help to keep those pesky Squall at bay so we can get to the TARDIS. At least for a while, anyway."
"Why is it you need to get to your ship?" Angelchrist asked.
"The instruments in the TARDIS will give me a better idea of the extent of the problem, the size of the rift. From there I'll be able to work out how to close it. First, though, there's something else we have to do."
"Breakfast?"
The Doctor shook his head. "No. Far more important than that. There were no bodies in the wreckage of that time ship. Just a torn red jumper."
Angelchrist set his empty teacup down on the arm of his chair. "Surely that's good, isn't it? It suggests that they got away from the Squall?"
"Precisely. That's very good. It's very good indeed."
"So. . .?" Angelchrist pressed.
Alex grabbed Amy's jumper from where it lay by her feet. She fingered it lightly as she said, "It means that Amy and Rory are here somewhere. And they're in grave danger." Beside her, the Doctor nodded grimly. The haunted look had returned to his eyes, and his jaw was clenched so tight, Alex could see a vein in his cheek throbbing.
"But how are we going to find them?" Angelchrist wondered, his brow creased with a heavy frown. "We don't even know where to begin our search. They could be anywhere."
"Oh, that's easy," the Doctor said with an impish grin. "Whenever you want to find Amy Pond, you simply look for trouble."
"And when you find Amy Pond," Alex picked up, "you'll also find Rory Williams, because he'll be right next to her."
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~
London, October 13th, 1910
Everything was black.
Rory shook his head to clear the grogginess and tried to peel open his eyes. After a moment, he realized they were, actually, open and he was simply lying in a darkened room.
Lying?
He stirred, feeling the press of cold metal against his right cheek. His left arm was trapped beneath something heavy. He gave it a tug and the thing moved. His head was pounding.
The thing that had been resting on his arm gave a familiar-sounding sigh. Rory blinked, trying to bring himself round. Where had he heard that sound before? That was like . . . just like . . . Amy!
He dragged himself up into a sitting position and immediately wished he hadn't. The world swam in wide circles all around him. He had no sense of where he was, or what he'd been doing, not helped by the utter, impenetrable darkness. He had the vague sense that he'd been in a workshop or laboratory, but everything was fuzzy and distant. Where were the Doctor and Alex?
Suddenly, his memories began to snap into focus. London. The river. Professor Gradius, the AI, the Squall, the time ship . . . ah. The time ship.
Rory ran a hand through his hair. Well, at least they were all still alive. He heard Amy give a low groan and reached out for her. His hand touched something soft.
"Oi! Get your hand out of my face."
That was Amy, alright. That was good. That was very good. "Are you okay?" Rory croaked, feeling the need to ask her regardless.
"I will be when you move your legs," she replied.
Rory frowned. What did she mean? He shifted around, causing Amy to yelp and realizing that, at some point during the landing – if, indeed, they had landed – they must have been bowled over and become somehow entwined.
"Sorry," he apologized, extracting himself and feeling around in the darkness for something to hold on to.
Amy laughed. "I was grateful for the soft landing."
Rory rubbed his head. He gathered he must have struck it as he'd fallen. Either that or the probing of the Squall had done more damage than he'd imagined. "Have we stopped moving?"
"A couple of minutes ago," Amy answered. "I've been trying to wake you."
So that was why his other cheek was stinging. "Arven?" he asked.
"I don't know," Amy said, her voice level. He sensed her shifting about, climbing to her feet in the confined space.
Grasping hold of a bundle of loose cables, Rory hauled himself up. He was still feeling dizzy and disorientated, but the spinning had stopped, and his eyes were finally beginning to adjust to the gloom. It was dark, but he could just about make out his surroundings. He took a couple of steps toward what he thought was the front of the ship, but realized, in the chaos, that he'd completely lost his bearings. He didn't even know which way was up or down.
"Arven?" he called. "Are you there, Arven?"
"I'm here," came the reply.
Rory followed the voice, picking his way through the ship, keeping his head bowed to avoid striking it against the low curve of the hull. A moment later, he pushed his way through to the pilot's pit, brushing aside an access panel that had come loose during the turbulent journey through the vortex. There was a dull glow in here from a red bulb set into the ceiling. He could see Arven in the pilot's chair.
"Can you switch the lights back on?" Rory requested, struggling his way through a curtain of trailing cables. He could hear Amy moving about behind him, following him through the morass of overhanging wires.
"No," came Arven's monotone reply. "Half the control panel is missing. We'll have to make do with what's left of the emergency lighting."
"Missing?" Rory repeated. "As in, we lost part of the ship as we landed?"
"It's more complicated than that," Arven said. "This ship doesn't 'land' in any conventional sense. It just . . . appears. It materializes back into reality, phasing back into being at the designated location."
"Just like the TARDIS," Amy remarked, her voice closer now.
"So, what went wrong?" Rory asked, unsure exactly where this was leading.
"We materialized in a wall," Arven explained. "Part of the control panel is buried inside it. So is my arm." There wasn't even the slightest hint of emotion from the AI, as he calmly delivered this – frankly alarming – piece of information.
Rory stumbled forward in the half-light, trying to make out the shape of the control panel. He almost started in surprise when he realized the space where it ought to have been was occupied instead by a solid brick wall. He reached out and, sure enough, his fingers encountered cool, rough brickwork. It seemed as if the wall cut through the entire front end of the vessel. He stepped back, unsure what to say or do next.
"I need your help to disconnect my arm," Arven informed him, as if sensing his hesitation. "It's buried up to the elbow. If we remove it at the shoulder socket, I'll be able to get free."
"Remove your arm!" Amy cried, putting a hand on Rory's shoulder in the gloom. "Bit drastic, isn't it? Can't we just dematerialize the ship and free your arm that way?"
Arven shook his head, twisting around in his seat to look at her. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. My arm – and the nose of the ship – is now irreversibly bonded with the wall. Assuming there's enough of the ship's circuitry left to dematerialize, we'd end up taking half the wall with us."
"I bet the Doctor could do it," Rory declared. "We could leave you here, go and fetch help."
"Too dangerous," Arven argued. "Those creatures . . . the Squall. If they come for me while you're gone, they'll tear me apart. I'll have no means of getting away." He shifted slightly in his seat. "Please, help me to disconnect my arm. I cannot feel pain. There is no need to be alarmed."
Rory sighed. To his mind, there was every reason to be alarmed. They were stuck inside an experimental time vessel, buried halfway in a wall, with an AI that wanted them to tear off its arm. They had no idea where the Doctor and Alex were and whether they'd even successfully managed to make it to 1910. And even if they had made it to 1910, they had no idea where to begin searching for the Doctor and Alex, and the place was probably swarming with aliens who wanted to suck out their minds.
Just another day in the life of Rory Williams.
"Okay, Arven. We'll help," Rory agreed, and he felt Amy squeeze his arm reassuringly. "You'll have to guide us through it, though. I might be a nurse, but I've never done an amputation."
"Very well. Is there room for you to come around the other side of my chair?"
"Yes, I think I can do that." Rory maneuvered around to the other side of the AI, squeezing himself in between the edge of the control panel and the chair. He glanced down at where Arven's arm disappeared abruptly into the wall.
It was utterly bizarre. Where the rubbery flesh met the brickwork it seemed to meld seamlessly, merging into one. It wasn't as if the wall had been built around the arm, not that the arm had somehow been violently pushed inside the wall, becoming trapped. The join was smooth and seamless, and it felt more as if the arm had somehow grown out of the solid brickwork, becoming part of the fabric of the building.
Rory put his hand on Arven's shoulder. "Okay. What do you need me to do?"
"Right, the first thing you need to do is tear away the clothing," Arven directed. "Then you need to cut away the flesh."
Rory grimaced, and then remembered that the AI could see his expression. He tried to compose himself. He grabbed a fistful of the AI's shirt and tugged. The garment had already been practically shredded by the Squall, and after a couple of attempts, it gave way at the seams, rending free with a loud tear.
"The flesh there is already damaged. Work your fingers into one of the gashes and tear it away."
Closing his eyes, Rory felt across the rubbery surface of the AI's shoulder until his fingers encountered a wide furrow, caused by the rending talons of the Squall. He worked his fingers into the space until he could feel the metal skeleton underneath. He'd expected it to feel damp and warm, reminiscent of a human body, but instead it felt cold and mechanical, more like a machine than a person. That helped.
"Good. Now strip it away so you can access the metal frame beneath."
Rory did as Arven asked, pulling away gobbets of the rubbery flesh until the shoulder joint was exposed.
"Okay," he said, dropping the last of it to the floor and telling himself that he didn't feel queasy at all. "I think we're done."
He glanced over at Amy, who was close by, watching with interest. "Good job you had all that medical training," she commented.
"I hardly think it prepared me for amputating the arm of an artificial man," Rory argued, exasperated.
"Now," Arven said, twisting around to face Rory. "This is the difficult bit. There's a release mechanism at the base of my neck. You need to find it, depress it, and then twist my arm counterclockwise out of the socket."
"But your arm is buried in the wall," Rory reminded him. "We'll never get the leverage."
Arven nodded. "We will. I'll twist one way while you twist the other."
Rory felt around the back of Arven's neck until he located the release switch. It was firm and unyielding. "Are you ready?" he checked.
"Yes."
"Then one, two, three. . ." Rory tugged on the shoulder joint, twisting it around as firmly as he could. He felt Arven pulling in the opposite direction, trying to give them enough movement to wrench the limb out of its socket.
For a moment they remained locked in that bizarre position, Rory grunting with the effort of maintaining the pressure, Arven twisting around in his seat, working to free his trapped limb from his torso. But then Rory felt something click deep inside Arven's shoulder and a second later the arm popped free, causing the AI to tumble ungracefully to the floor with a loud clatter.
Rory, stunned to be holding the wrong end of someone's arm in his hands – regardless of whether it was artificial or not – stepped back, banging his head painfully against the curved hull of the ship. "Ow!"
"Are you all right?" Amy asked.
"Yeah. Just a little knock."
"Not you!" she cried. "Arven!"
The AI was picking himself up off the ground. "I am quite well," he answered. "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Rory said, although he had no idea to whom the appreciation had been addressed.
"Let's get out of here," Amy suggested. "We need to find the Doctor and Alex."
"Best idea I've heard since 'Let's take a trip to the Rambalian Cluster'," Rory quipped, with feeling.
They snaked their way back through the belly of the time ship, a one-armed Arven leading the way. Within a few moments he had cracked the hatch, which opened with a deep, pneumatic sigh, and then they were peering out into the dusky evening beyond.
"Well, it certainly looks like 1910," Rory said contemplatively. He could see they were in the backyard of a terraced Victorian house. It was late and night was beginning to close in. Wispy trails of fog clung to the streetlamps and the moon was already bright and hanging low in the sky.
"It looks like 2011, too," Amy argued. "I don't suppose these back streets of London change all that much. We need to ask somebody."
Rory glanced over at Arven, who was standing by the hatchway, looking out over the scene outside. He lowered his voice. "Asking someone might be a bit difficult, what with the one-armed robot from the far future here."
Amy smiled and her eyes sparkled. "That's what I love about you, Rory Williams. Ever the optimist." She grabbed hold of the edges of the hatchway and heaved herself out. As she did so, the sleeve of her red hoody caught on the buckled frame and there was a loud, rending tear of fabric.
"Oh, hell!" she exclaimed, turning to look at the damage. The whole right side of the garment was shredded, hanging loose off her shoulder. Sighing, she pulled it up and over her head, tossing it back inside the ship. Underneath she was wearing a plain black t-shirt. She put her hand out to Rory. "Jacket," she said. It wasn't a request.
Rory shrugged off his coat and handed it to her. She smiled sweetly and slipped it on. He clambered out of the ship to stand beside her, his feet sinking into the soft loam of a flattened flowerbed. The air out here smelled as if there'd just been a thunderstorm, fresh and sharp. Rory could hear voices coming from the neighboring yard and lights had blinked on in some of the windows further along the street.
"Er, I think our arrival might have drawn some attention," he said, looking up and down the row of terraced houses. When Amy didn't reply, he nudged her, trying to get her attention. "Amy?"
Wordlessly, she tugged on his sleeve. He turned to see what the problem was.
Standing across the yard, no more than three meters away, was a slavering, chittering Squall. It blinked at them as if it were a little disorientated, but nevertheless bared its fangs in apparent warning. Behind the creature the air shimmered gently, as if in a heat haze, and Rory had the sense that something terrible was about to happen.
"They're coming," he observed, taking Amy by the hand, and walking her slowly backwards from the ship. Arven followed suit, keeping his eyes on the lone alien. "In a moment we're going to have to run. We're going to have to get out of here as quickly as we can."
"What are you talking about?" Amy demanded. "What's coming?"
"They are," Rory answered, pointing to the shimmering haze just as a hundred gray-skinned limbs burst through it at once, the sky suddenly filling with Squall as more and more of them poured through the dimensional rift. They swarmed over the wreckage of the ship, swung up onto the window ledges of the nearby houses and glided over the rooftops, eliciting cries of terror from the people who had come out into their gardens to find out what the noise of the crashing ship had been about. Their cries soon turned to wails of horror as the Squall descended, setting about their grisly psychic feast.
Amy and Rory turned to face one another. Amy looked terrified, and Rory could only imagine the expression on his own face. They'd traveled a thousand years into the past to escape the monsters, and now here they were, still threatening to consume their minds, or worse. He'd expected at least a few hours' respite before the Doctor and Alex found them and dragged them back into the whole sorry mess. It seemed that wasn't to be.
"Run!" they cried in unison, fleeing up the garden path and bursting through the back gate into the stench-filled alleyway beyond. Arven barreled along after them, keeping his head down as he ran.
They shot out onto a busy street a moment later, skidding to a halt as they tried to decide which way to run. The people around them seemed utterly oblivious, bustling along minding their own business, returning home after a long day's work or an evening in the pub. Primitive motor cars nudged horses out of the way on the road, their drivers trundling along without any heed of the pedestrians or other road users. One woman screamed when she caught sight of Arven, his artificial flesh hanging in loose tatters from his metal face, and Rory quickly ushered him on, keeping to the shadows, trying to put as much distance between them and the Squall as possible.
He had no idea if the creatures had given chase, but he dared not look back, dared not think about what might happen if the Squall caught up with them, focusing only on getting them to safety as swiftly as he could. The thought of the poor people who'd already fallen to their clutches filled him with a hollow feeling, a sharp pang of guilt, even though he knew there had been nothing they could have done.
They ran for ten or fifteen minutes, until Rory's chest was burning and his feet hurting from the constant, relentless pounding. He slowed, coming to rest by the low wall of a churchyard to catch his breath.
Behind him, the church loomed out of the gloom; a bleak, gothic structure decorated with all manner of ostentations, crenellations, and gargoylish faces. Around it, the listing headstones of the graveyard looked like a forest of broken teeth in the gloaming. Fog curled around them like smoky fingers, reaching out from beyond the grave to snatch at the ankles of the living. Rory shivered at the thought. Clearly, he'd been watching too many horror films.
He glanced up at Amy as she dropped onto the wall beside him. "Do you think they followed us?" she asked.
"I doubt it," he replied through gasping breaths, shaking his head. "Too many people." He glanced up at the sky, just to be sure. None of the creatures, he was pleased to see, were circling overhead.
Arven was standing nearby, probing the socket where his arm used to be.
Amy held out a newspaper. "Where did you get that from?" Rory asked.
"From a stand back there. Picked it up as we ran past."
"You mean you stole it?"
"More like . . . borrowed it," she corrected, smiling. "Well, it's not like I had any old pennies to pay for it."
"I suppose not," Rory accepted. He took it from her and unfolded the front page. "Oh."
"Oh, what?" Amy demanded. "That sounded ominous."
"Oh, nothing," Rory lied, folding the paper away and putting it behind his back. "Oh, you don't have to worry."
Amy narrowed her eyes. "Give me that newspaper!"
"We don't have time for this now, Amy."
"Give it to me," she said reprovingly. "It's my newspaper!"
"Well, technically not, since you borrowed it."
She reached around his back and wrestled it out of his hands. "Um, you might not want to do that. Not now."
Amy gave him a dark look and unfolded the front page on her knee. He waited while she scanned the dateline. "The thirteenth of October 1910! We're three days early!"
Arven looked up from the ruins of his shoulder. "I told you, it's an experimental ship. Three days is good. Three days is lucky. We could have been off by years."
"And let's face it, Amy – we've both waited much longer before," Rory pointed out with a shrug. "Three days isn't going to kill us."
"No. But they might," Amy said, an expression of sudden alarm on her face. Rory twisted around to see three Squall picking their way between the headstones toward them, their eyes blazing with menace.
"Quickly, into the church!" Arven ordered.
"Something tells me that religion isn't going to stop them," Rory said.
"Perhaps not. But thick wooden doors just might."
"Excellent point," Amy enthused. She turned to Rory, indicating the AI with a nod of her head. "He's good at this."
"Go on! Get in there after him!" Rory cried, leaping over the wall, and squelching across the muddy lawn toward the entrance.
Behind them, the three Squall hissed in unison. "We. Are. Squall. And. We. Shall. Feast."
~The Pros and Cons of Silence~