Apollo 23 by Justin Richards

Night of the Humans by David Llewellyn

The Forgotten Army by Brian Minchin

Nuclear Time by Oli Smith

The King's Dragon by Una McCormack

The Glamour Chase by Gary Russell

Dead of Winter by James Goss

The Way through the Woods by Una McCormack

Hunter's Moon by Paul Finch

Touched by an Angel by Jonathan Morris

Paradox Lost by George Mann

Borrowed Time by Naomi A. Alderman

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Published in 2011 by BBC Books, an imprint of Ebury Publishing.

A Random House Group Company

Copyright George Mann 2011

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Executive producers: Steven Moffat Piers Wenger and Beth Willis

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

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This one's for you, son

London, 13 October 1910

He'd never intended to become a thief.

Edgar Miller considered this as he wedged the

end of his crowbar against the sill and began to

prise open the sash window. He'd always planned

to do something worthwhile with his life, to make

something of himself. Life, however, had pointedly

refused to provide him with any opportunities. For

years he'd tried to earn an honest living, breaking

his back with manual work, mucking out stables,

fetching and carrying. In the end, though, where

had that gotten him? He'd been forced to slog his

guts out while watching others sit back and grow fat

on the fruits of his labour. In the end it had simply

proved too much, and a month earlier he had finally

taken matters into his own hands. There were easier

ways to put food on the table.

The sash window gave way with a noisy splinter

of wood, and Miller paused for a moment, listening

for any sign that someone might have heard. The

night was silent save for the sounds of a tabby cat

prowling about in the flowerbeds and the distant

clatter of horse's hooves. He gently placed the

crowbar on the ground and slid the window up in

its frame, wincing as the mechanism creaked loudly

in protest.

Miller swung himself in through the window and

dropped softly to the kitchen floor on the other side.

The room was cast in long shadows, illuminated

only by the thin sliver of moonlight that slanted in

through the still-open window. He could see shapes

hulking in the gloaming: a table, a dresser, a stove.

None of these were likely to yield the sort of prizes

he was searching for.

Miller crept towards the door, stopping to listen

for sounds of movement from deeper within the

old house. He smiled to himself as he reached for

the door handle. The place might as well have been

deserted. If he was lucky, he'd be out of there in a

matter of minutes, his pockets stuffed full of baubles

he could fence down at the Rose and Crown the

following day.

The hallway beyond the door was long and

narrow, but filled with all manner of ostentatious

decoration: a gilt-framed mirror, a tall vase brimming

with peacock feathers, a telephone table proudly

displaying the latest receiver. Again, he continued

on his way, determined that the stuff of real value

would be found elsewhere in the house.

The dining room proved immediately more

fruitful, and within a few moments Miller had

already relieved the sideboard of its silver cutlery

service, shovelling it into a cloth sack he'd brought

with him for the purpose.

He started at a sudden sound from upstairs,

pausing with a silver ashtray in his hand. His

breath came in ragged gasps. What had it been? The

mewling of an animal? A family pet? He remembered

he'd seen the tabby cat in the backyard. Yes, that

must have been it. The cat had probably followed

him in through the open window. Nothing to worry

about. Cautiously, he continued with his work.

Miller wondered if the family was at home. The

mistress of the house would surely have a well-

appointed jewellery box, and a treasure trove such

as that would mean he wouldn't have to do another

job for weeks, if not longer. He decided it was worth

the risk to find out.

He left the sack of cutlery at the bottom of the

stairs as he crept up towards the bedrooms, his

footfalls accompanied by the ominous ticking of the

grandfather clock in the hall below. Every sound

seemed magnified, echoing out around the still

and silent house. If he found someone asleep in the

master bedroom, well, he would turn about and

hotfoot it out of there the same way he had come,

collecting the sack on the way.

The floorboards on the landing groaned as he

presented them with his weight, and he found

himself tiptoeing along, his back pressed to the

wall. His breath was coming in short, ragged gasps.

Sweat was prickling on his forehead. Until now,

he'd confined himself to quick, relatively minor

incursions into people's homes, but now he was

taking a real risk. If something happened, if he was

caught... well, it would mean the cells, or worse. For

a moment he considered turning back. The silver

service was enough, surely? He could sense the

danger. Yet something made him go on. Whether

it was the promise of the treasures he might find,

or simply the adrenalin that was pounding through

his veins, he had no idea.

Miller passed the door to the guest room,

stopping only momentarily to peer inside. It was

difficult to see anything in the gloom, but the bed

appeared to be made. He considered heading inside

to poke around in the drawers, but decided to press

on to the master bedroom instead. Anything else

was just an unnecessary delay.

Further along the landing, the door to the master

bedroom stood ajar. Miller loitered on the threshold

for a few moments, attempting to gather himself. He

would step in, he decided, take stock, and then back

out onto the landing while he decided what to do.

If the coast was clear, he would locate the jewellery

box and scarper.

Careful to make as little sound as possible, Miller

crept into the room. In here, the curtains had been

pulled shut against the moonlight and it took a

moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. When

they did, Miller immediately found himself wishing

they had not.

The two people in the bed - a husband and wife,

he presumed - lay still on their backs beside each

other, both staring up at the ceiling. Their faces were

fixed in expressions of appalled horror, and dark

blood trickled from their unseeing eyes, pooling on

the pillows beneath them. It was one of the most

horrific sights that Miller had ever seen. He felt his

chest tighten in panic and fear. But it was the sight

of the creature looming over the two corpses that

caused Miller's knees to almost buckle in terror.

The thing was like something derived from a

nightmare, a creature dragged from the very depths

of Hell. It was humanoid and stood on its hind legs,

but its body was strangely angular, as if its pallid

grey flesh had been stretched too taut over its bones.

Beneath its arms fleshy membranes hung loose, and

its face was hideous, with an upturned snout and a

mouth glistening with needle-sharp teeth. Its body

appeared to be smooth and entirely hairless, and its

eyes flashed red in the gloom.

The creature turned and bared its fangs, reaching

out for Miller with its bony fingers. He stood for a

moment, paralysed with fear, as the thing circled

the bed, stalking towards him, its clawed fingers

twitching with anticipation. He could hear its

rasping breath and the click of its talons against the

polished floorboards as it came closer, intent, he

guessed, on doing to him whatever it had done to

the two blood-soaked victims on the bed.

Miller came to his senses. He had to get out of there

as quickly as possible. He stepped back, keeping his

eyes fixed on the creature, and immediately collided

with something behind him. He cried out in panic,

fearing it was another of the things come out of the

shadows to grab at him, but it was only the door,

hanging open where he'd left it.

Steeling himself, Miller spun around and threw

himself out of the opening.

The creature issued a horrifying screech - a shrill,

piercing scream that seemed to reverberate through

his very bones. Then he was out on the landing,

hurtling towards the stairs, all sense of caution

now gone. He practically threw himself down the

staircase, taking the steps three at a time, and didn't

look back until he'd made it to the hallway below. A

quick glance over his shoulder told him the creature

was in fast pursuit.

It was then that his foot caught the edge of the sack

he had abandoned in the hallway earlier, sending

a couple of knives and forks skittering across the

tiled floor. Miller glanced down, weighing up his

options. Would it slow him down? He didn't have

time to worry about that. He reached down and

snatched up the sack, hefting it over his shoulder.

Then, turning towards the kitchen, he charged along

the hallway, intent on making it out of the window

before the thing from upstairs had a chance to catch

up with him.

He shouldered his way through the half-open

door to the kitchen, slung the sack around as

if readying himself to hurl it through the open

window, and, too late, realised there were another

three of the creatures lurking by the dresser, waiting

in the shadows for their prey.

Miller screamed and tried to run, but the creature

from upstairs was behind him, and it grabbed at him

with its bony fingers, scrabbling for purchase, its

talons raking his flesh. It shoved him back toward

the others and he fell to his knees, whimpering,

before them. 'Wh-what are you?' he managed to

stutter.

'We. Are. Squall,' they said, each of them hissing

a word in turn. 'And. We. Shall. Feast.'

Miller screamed once again as they descended,

and bright blood began to bubble out of his eyes.

Chapter

1

London, 10 June 2789

'Hold on!'

'I am holding on!'

'Well... hold on a little tighter, then!' The Doctor

shouted this while clutching the TARDIS console

and hammering at the controls in what, to Rory,

appeared to be a random fashion.

'Doctor...' Amy warned.

'Erm... I think you might want to tell her what's

going on now, Doctor,' said Rory, in what he hoped

was a conciliatory - and not at all panicked - fashion.

'And while we're on the subject, I'd quite like to

have a better idea of that myself, too...' He grabbed

for the railing and held on for dear life while the

entire ship shook and bucked around him. 'I mean,

for instance, are we all about to plummet to our

deaths, or is this fairly typical for a journey to the

Rambalian Cluster?'

The Doctor glanced up from the console, brushing

his floppy hair out of his eyes. Rory noticed that,

somewhere along the line, the Doctor had discarded

his tweed jacket and rolled up his sleeves. His bow

tie was slightly off kilter, too. So, serious business,

then.

The Doctor met Rory's gaze and offered him an

endearing smile. When he spoke again, his tone was

calm and measured. 'Well, I... I suppose we're sort

of... crashing. In a manner of speaking.' He turned

back to the controls, as if that was the end of the

matter.

'How can you crash "in a manner of speaking"?'

demanded Amy, and Rory could tell the exasperation

in her voice was very much affected. In fact, she

looked as if she was actually enjoying the experience.

He, on the,other hand, felt decidedly queasy. He'd

rather not have been crashing at all, let alone 'in a

manner of speaking'.

'Well, not so much crashing, as smashing our way

through a few roadblocks. Think of it more like a

bad case of turbulence,' said the Doctor, nearly

tumbling over backwards with a sudden jolt and

only managing to maintain his balance by sticking a

leg in the air and clinging resolutely to the console.

'The old girl seems to want to take us somewhere in

a bit of a hurry and she's jumping a few time tracks

in order to do it. Just like a needle skipping in the

grooves in an old record.'

Amy looked at him blankly.

'Oh, now I do feel old,' he said.

'But why?' Rory asked, his knuckles tightening

on the rail as he was nearly knocked from his feet.

'Why do I feel old?' The Doctor asked, with a

quizzical expression on his face. 'Well, Rory, it's

quite simple, really...'

'Why is the TARDIS taking us somewhere in a

hurry?' Amy interjected before the Doctor could

continue, rolling her eyes at Rory.

The Doctor beamed. 'That's the bit I haven't

worked out yet,' he said, leaning forward to pat the

console fondly and glancing up at the time rotor.

'But it's not like you to take shortcuts, is it?'

It took a moment for Rory to realise the Doctor was

addressing the ship. As if in response, the TARDIS

shuddered and vibrated, and then seemed to settle.

Rory watched the Doctor and Amy for a moment as

both of them stood back from the console, glanced at

each other, and then burst out giggling. Sometimes,

he considered, travelling with the Doctor and Amy

was like being with two excitable children.

He tentatively let go of the railing, afraid that the

ship would suddenly jolt again and he'd go tumbling

over the edge of the central platform, but a moment

later the TARDIS issued its familiar grating wheeze

and landed with a resounding thump.

'We're there!' announced the Doctor, rushing

around the console, flicking switches and turning

dials. He stood back and grasped the sides of the

monitor that hung from a bracket attached to the

stem of the central column, swinging it around so

he could examine the readout.

'Where's "there"?' asked Amy, coming around

beside the Doctor, keen not to miss anything. She

was wearing a red hoodie, a short black skirt with

matching tights, and calf-high black boots. Rory

watched her for a minute as she leaned in over the

Doctor's shoulder. He still couldn't quite believe

that she was his wife. Somehow, he'd managed to

marry her, despite everything. He was the luckiest

man alive. He went to join them by the console.

'One thing's for sure. It's not the Rambalian

Cluster,' the Doctor said, running a hand through

his hair. 'Where have you brought us, old girl?' he

said quietly, looking suddenly serious. 'And why?'

He tapped a fingertip thoughtfully against his

forehead and then turned and clapped a hand on

Rory's shoulder. 'I suppose there's only one way

to find out!' he announced brightly, before leaping

down from the central dais and charging toward

the door.

Rory watched as the Doctor flung open both

doors and disappeared into the bright sunshine

that suddenly flooded in from outside. He looked

to Amy. She had a mischievous grin on her face.

'We're going after him, then?' he asked.

'Too right we are!' replied Amy, grabbing

his hand. 'We're not letting him have all the fun.'

She led him down the steps toward the door. The

Doctor was waiting for them there, leaning with his

back against the doorframe, silhouetted against the

bright sun.

'Come along, Pond. Places to go, things to see.'

The Doctor fiddled with his bow tie as if smartening

himself up. Rory was surprised to see he'd somehow

managed to reclaim his jacket, too. 'And you, Rory.

Chop, chop. No time to waste. You're going to want

to see this.'

'See what?' said Rory, as he followed the others

out into the street. He glanced around, shielding his

eyes against the sun and taking in the vista. 'Oh,' he

continued. 'That.'

They were standing on the embankment of a

wide river, looking out over a futuristic cityscape of

the kind Rory had only ever imagined from reading

science fiction novels and comic books when he was

younger. Glittering towers of metal and glass seemed

to extrude from the ground, twisting organically

toward the sky. Large, covered complexes sat

squat beside the river, built - or perhaps even

grown - from a substance that resembled pink coral.

Huge glass domes encapsulated what looked like

forests or plantations amongst all the habitation.

Brimming with leafy green trees and lush vines,

they punctuated the urban sprawl, little havens of

wildlife in the midst of the angular chaos.

Above, the sky was criss-crossed with the vapour

trails of scudding aircraft, and below, the river was

a hive of activity, buzzing with strange little boats

and floating platforms. Amidst all of this shining

modernity, however, Rory could see ancient-looking

buildings nestling in the shadows, old fashioned

brick-built houses and churches of the sort that

were old even in his day.

'What is this place?' asked Rory, drinking it all

in. Amy squeezed his hand even more tightly in

excitement. 'Is it another alien planet?' she said.

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. It's Earth.

London, to be precise. And,' he sniffed at the air,

then licked his finger and held it up to the breeze,

'judging by the look and smell of the place, I'd say it

was some time in the twenty-eighth century.'

'London?' said Rory, incredulous. 'Really?

Everything's so... different.'

The Doctor laughed. 'Am I often wrong about

these things, Rory?' Rory shrugged. Well you're not

always right... he thought, but kept that particular

comment to himself.

'Look, there are the Houses of Parliament.' The

Doctor pointed across the river to the now incredibly

ancient - but still stately - buildings on the other

side. Big Ben remained where it had always stood,

proud amongst the surrounding spires that now

dwarfed it, but almost lost amongst those later,

futuristic developments. 'And that's Westminster

Bridge, if I'm not mistaken.' He indicated a little

further along the river. "They manage to preserve a

lot of it. At least for another few decades, anyway.'

'What happens in a few decades?'

The Doctor frowned. 'Good question, Rory. But

more importantly, why has the TARDIS brought us

here, to this specific time and place, and in such a

hurry?'

Rory couldn't help thinking the Doctor was

avoiding his question, but nevertheless, he made a

good point. They lapsed into silence for a moment

while the Doctor seemed to be considering the

answer to his own question. He paced back and

forth, drumming his fingers against his temples.

'What's going on over there?' asked Amy, who

had finally relinquished Rory's hand and had

wandered over to the railing that separated the

street from the embankment below. She leaned over

and pointed to a small group of people who were

gathered by the water's edge, lifting something

tentatively out of the river on a large pallet. There

were at least five men and a woman, plus a handful

of divers bobbing up and down in the water, their

faces hidden behind breathing apparatus. Large

frames of scaffolding had been erected along the

embankment close to where they were working,

covered in flapping tarpaulins.

The Doctor produced a small pair of binoculars

from inside his jacket and put them to his eyes. Not

for the first time, Rory wondered where he secreted

all of these things, and how he knew what to bring

with him. It wasn't as if the Doctor had stopped

to raid the equipment cupboard on the way out.

Somehow, though, he seemed perpetually prepared

for any and all eventualities. 'I don't know, but it

looks interesting. Some sort of archaeological dig,

from what I can see,' he said, stuffing the binoculars

back inside his pocket.

'Then let's go and take a look,' said Amy, starting

out in the direction of the excavation. 'You like

museums, don't you, Doctor? Here's your chance to

see something new.'

'Something old,' Rory corrected her. 'You mean

something old.'

Amy seemed to ignore this. After a few steps

she turned to look back over her shoulder to see if

they were following, and the Doctor caught her eye.

'You've got that look in your eye, Pond.'

'What look?' she replied with mock-sweetness,

as if she had no idea at all what he was getting at.

'Like you're planning mischief,' said the Doctor.

He grinned at Rory, and then turned back to Amy.

'That's good. I like mischief. Mischief is what we

need. Now,' he clapped his hands together with

resolve, taking both of them in with an expansive

gesture, 'let's go and see what they've found in the

river!'

'This looks spectacularly interesting,' the Doctor

announced loudly and with a little too much

enthusiasm, as the three of them walked along the

embankment toward the team of archaeologists. A

number of the men were huddled around the pallet

bickering loudly, preventing Rory from getting a

good view of whatever it was they had lifted out of

the river. Others were drifting to and fro, ducking in

and out of their work tents.

Upon hearing the Doctor's exclamation one of

their number, the woman Rory had spotted from

above, turned to regard them as they approached.

She was clearly in charge: she was holding some sort

of complicated computer device for a start, and she

was wearing a smart blue suit rather than the more

casual attire of the others in her group. She was in

her mid-to-late forties, Rory guessed, and was pretty

and well coiffured. 'Can I help you?' she said to the

Doctor, who raised an eyebrow at her unnecessarily

severe tone. He reached for his psychic paper and

flashed it before her in a rather cursory fashion.

'I do hope so,' he said. 'We're here to make an

inspection.'

The woman narrowed her eyes. 'An inspection,

you say?'

The Doctor nodded. 'Yes, that's right. New

procedure, nothing to worry about. We just need

to take a look at the site to ensure everything is in

order.' He loomed over the woman, trying to see,

but she blocked his way. 'Everything is in order,

isn't it?'

'Yes, of course it is,' she said. 'All the finds are being

logged and recorded in the marquees over there. I

can't imagine there's anything the city conservation

board would find interesting, though.'

'City conservation board... right, yes.' The Doctor

clicked his fingers. 'Love conservation. So... what's

that, on the pallet over there?'

'Nothing but a rusty lump of recently dumped

equipment.' She shrugged. 'You'll be wasting your

time with that.'

'Nevertheless, we'd still like to take a look.'

'If you must.' The woman stepped to one side to

allow the Doctor to pass.

'I'm Amy, by the way,' said Amy, stepping

forward and offering the woman her hand. 'This is

Rory, and he's the Doctor.'

'Hmmm,' said the woman, taking Amy's hand.

'Patricia Young.'

'So what is it you've dredged out of the river, Ms

Young?' asked Amy diplomatically, as if in apology

for the Doctor. Had they fallen straight into their

'good cop, bad cop' routine, Rory wondered? 'We

saw you lifting it out on a pallet,' she went on.

Rory was half listening to the conversation and

half trying to see over the Doctor's shoulder as he

jostled his way to the front of the assembled group

of people and dropped to his haunches, examining

the find.

'An Artificial Intelligence unit,' the woman,

Patricia, continued. 'It's a recent model, one of those

"nearly human" things that have only been on the

market for a few months. It's covered in rust and

bits of it are missing. Someone's obviously got more

money than sense.'

'Why's that?' said Amy.

Patricia gave her a sideways glance. 'Because

they cost an absolute fortune,' she said, shaking her

head. 'More than I could afford. And here's someone

dumping one in the Thames.'

'People don't change,' said Rory with a sigh. He

turned, glancing up and down the street. He had

the vague sense that he was being watched, but he

couldn't see anyone else about. He turned back to

Patricia and Amy.

Amy gave him an inquisitive look. He shrugged,

presuming it was just his imagination. He'd spent

so much time with the Doctor of late, he mused, he

was beginning to get spooked by his own shadow.

'Amy? Rory? Tell me what you make of this.' The

Doctor's voice floated over the noise of the buzzing

river tugs. The little cluster of archaeologists had

begun to disperse, drifting away to the marquees

and - Rory assumed - what they considered to be

the more interesting finds.

Rory walked over to stand beside the Doctor.

Amy, he realised, was right behind him.

The Doctor was crouched over the pallet, which

had been lain out carefully on the embankment

and was basically just a plastic stretcher covered

in a blue tarpaulin. Upon this makeshift platform

rested what looked like the ancient remains of a

human being, not unlike a mummy dragged from

the bottom of a peat bog. Rory had seen one of those

in the British Museum as a child and the image had

stayed with him ever since: its twisted, misshapen

face, its wrinkled flesh like waxy clay.

This figure was missing one arm and its left leg

had gone from below the knee. Its body - a series of

interlocking metal plates encasing a steel skeleton,

Rory saw as he leaned closer - was thick with brown

rust and corrosion. Clumps of rubbery flesh still

clung resolutely to its midriff and in patches across

its chest. Bunches of exposed wires could be seen

between the rusted plates of its joints and its face

was frozen in a rictus snarl, enamel teeth exposed

in the jaws where the fleshy covering had peeled

away.

The Doctor was running his hands over it, a

fascinated expression on his face. He reached into his

pocket and extracted his sonic screwdriver, flipping

it on so that the four fingers of its retractable casing

sprung open like petals. He waved it over the AI's

head. It emitted its familiar buzzing sound. Then,

standing up and spinning around on the spot, the

Doctor turned to face Patricia.

'How long did you say these AIs have been on

the market?'

Patricia shrugged. 'Two, maybe three months.'

'That's very odd,' said the Doctor, tapping the

sonic against his chin. 'Very odd indeed.' He looked

across at Amy. 'Because this particular AI has been

in the water, for centuries.'

Patricia almost guffawed. 'That's impossible!'

she said, striding forward. 'Absolutely impossible!'

The Doctor grinned. 'Precisely!' He turned

around, clearly animated now. 'But look at it! It's

made from a plastic-bonded titanium alloy. State of

the art! It could never have corroded like that in a

couple of months. It's been in there for ages. And

what's more, by lifting it out of the water you've

somehow managed to reactivate it. There's some

residual power in the chest unit.' He dropped to his

knees, once again firing up the sonic. 'If I can just,

he screwed up his face in concentration. 'There!'

One of the AI's eyes suddenly blinked, and Rory

took an involuntary step backwards.

'Ow!' shouted Amy, slapping his arm. 'Watch

my toes!'

'Sorry,' said Rory sheepishly, shuffling his feet.

He found the entire scene rather creepy. It was like

watching an ancient corpse suddenly stir and return

to life, like something out of a zombie film. Yet he

couldn't tear his eyes away from the corroded shell

of the AI. He watched with fascination as it tried

to turn its head but failed as the rusted joints had

little or no movement left in them. Its arm twitched

spasmodically, and then it tried to speak.

'Doc... tor...' The word was clear, but spoken in

such a broken, mechanical voice that it took Rory a

moment to realise its significance. 'Doc... tor...'

'Doctor,' said Amy, putting her hand on his

shoulder, the concern evident in her voice. 'It's

saying your name.'

'Yes,' he replied. 'Although it's most likely a

different person it's asking for. The person who

built it, perhaps?'

Rory saw the AI's left eye blink again. There was

a dull glow now, emanating from deep within the

dark socket. Its head turned fractionally as it tried

to look up at the Doctor. 'Doc... tor...'

'Err, Doctor. I actually do think it's you that it

wants,' said Rory with a mixture of bafflement and

amazement.

'Doc... tor...'

'Yes, I'm here, said the Doctor. 'I'm here.' He

gave the AI another buzz with the sonic. Nothing

happened for a second, and then all of a sudden the

AI sat up, twisted to face the Doctor and grabbed the

lapel of his tweed jacket in its one remaining fist.

The Doctor started and pulled back, but the AI

held him firm, dragging him closer so that his face

was near to its own eerie visage. 'Oooh. Interesting,

the Doctor said, with a frown. 'Now I wasn't

expecting that.'

Rory felt Amy jump behind him. The

archaeologists were all backing off, too, Patricia

included. 'Doctor...?' Rory said.

The Doctor let out a long exhalation. 'It's all right,

Rory. Remain calm. I have the situation completely

under control.'

The AI shifted slightly in order to glance over at

Rory and Amy with its working eye. The sounds of

its movements were like the screams of an animal

being tortured, as the metal plating, so long in

the water, creaked and grated against each other

in protest. Rory could hear something else, too, a

whirring sound coming from deep inside it. When

it turned back to the Doctor it began to speak

once more, but this time its voice was calm and

measured, with a neutral, male, English accent. The

sound seemed to emanate from within the chest of

the machine, as its badly damaged mouth did not

appear to move. To Rory, this made the decrepit

thing seem even creepier than it had before.

'Doctor. Can you hear me?' it said.

The Doctor nodded, as best he could with the

thing still grabbing hold of him. 'Yes, I can hear

you.'

'I do not have long before this residual power is

gone and the remnants of my mind decay. I have

waited a thousand years in the water for you to

come, conserving what strength I had left. I have a

warning for you.'

'Go on,' said the Doctor, darkly. 'I'm listening.'

'The Squall are coming. Gradius's experimental

ship has torn a hole in time and the hive is manifesting

in the past. Everyone is in grave danger. You told

me...' The remains of the AI slumped forward, its

fingers loosening on the Doctor's jacket as its voice

became nothing but a long, grating drone. The

Doctor caught the machine as it crumpled, laying it

down gently upon the pallet. Its strange, half-rotten

face stared up at them, unmoving.

The Doctor sat back, an unreadable expression

on his face. Amy went to his side, kneeling on the

ground beside him. She put her hand gently on the

outer casing of the machine, and then jumped back

as it suddenly shifted again, its hand scrabbling over

the side of skid, scraping on the ground. 'And Doc...

tor...' Its voice was once again a dull, metallic hiss.

'Don't forget... to... modulate... th... frequency.'

The light in the machine's eye blinked out, and

all was quiet.

'Doctor? What's going on?' Amy sounded

uneasy, as if what the AI had said to the Doctor had

robbed her of her earlier exuberance.

'I don't know, Amy, but I'm sure it has something

to do with the reason the TARDIS brought us here.'

Rory stepped forward. 'Can't you find an

alternative power source, Doctor? Plug the AI into

the TARDIS and reactivate it so you can hear the

rest of what it had to say?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No. It used the last

of its power to speak. Now that reserve has been

spent, there's nothing left to hold its mind together.

Its neural matrix will have already collapsed.' He

got to his feet, dusting himself down. 'Well just

have to get to the bottom of it ourselves.'

'It was about to say something that it claimed

you'd told it. But how could that be right? How could

you have told it something?' Amy was wearing a

puzzled expression as she grabbed the Doctor's arm

and used it to hoist herself up beside him.

The Doctor shrugged. 'It must have been referring

to something that hasn't happened yet. For me, at

least. The AI's past, my future. That sort of thing.'

He tugged at his hair in thought.

'And what about all that stuff about Gradius

and a hole in time? It said everyone was in grave

danger.' Amy glanced at Rory, and he tried to offer

her a reassuring smile.

'Ah, well, that's a lot clearer. Someone in this

period has been conducting experiments with time.

It looks as if they sent an experimental ship back a

thousand years, taking this AI with them. Something

must have happened and it's been in the water ever

since. Waiting for us.' The Doctor seemed suddenly

animated now, as he began to unpick at things,

teasing the meaning out of what little the AI had

said.

'But why is that dangerous?' asked Rory. 'You go

travelling through time and space all the time.' He

glanced over at Patricia Young, who he suddenly

remembered, with a cringe, was still standing

nearby. Her face was stony and unreadable. She

was watching the Doctor with suspicion. Rory could

tell from her expression that she no longer believed

they were representatives of the city conservation

board, if, indeed, she ever had.

The Doctor, however, barely seemed to notice. He

was too wrapped up in his thoughts. 'Rory, Rory!'

he said, pacing back and forth. 'You can't just go

blithely swanning about the universe, cutting great

swathes through time. My people learned that long

ago, and they worked out a way to manipulate the

Vortex safely, to pass through without leaving great

rents in their wake. There are things out there in the

darkness, lurking outside of the universe, waiting to

find a way in.'

'The Squall,' said Amy.

'The Squall,' the Doctor confirmed, nodding.

'Amongst others.'

'What are they?' asked Rory.

'The Squall are a race of parasites, creatures that

cling to a paltry existence outside the realms of

normal time and space, always looking for a means

to get to the gooey core of the physical universe

where you and I exist.' The Doctor mashed his hands

together as he said the words 'gooey core', and Rory

couldn't help thinking of the fondant centre of a

chocolate egg. 'The Squall feed on psychic energy,

absorbing it to establish new hives. They spread

like a plague, a contagion of the whole universe.

And if they are not stopped they will strip the Earth

clean...'

'Then what do we have to do?' said Amy,

showing signs of her usual resilience. 'Where do we

find these Squall creatures?'

The Doctor shook his head. 'You, Amy Pond, are

staying exactly where you are. Here, in the twenty-

eighth century.'

' B u t - '

'No buts! No questions!' He wagged his finger

dramatically. 'The Squall are extremely dangerous

and they need to be stopped. I'm taking the

TARDIS back to... um...' He paused to run the

sonic screwdriver over the remains of the AI before

examining the readout. 'The sixteenth of October

1910. The day before this sorry specimen met its end

in the water. You and Rory need to find this Gradius

fellow and put a stop to these experiments he's

been carrying out. Whatever happens, he can't go

tearing more holes in the universe. There's no use

me patching things up in 1910 if more dimensional

holes are going to start popping up left, right and

centre. If the Squall manage to infest any more time

periods they'll gain a foothold in this universe.

There's no time to waste. You need to stop Gradius

as a matter of urgency. Got that?'

'Got it,' said Amy, grinning. 'Come on, Rory.

Let's go and see what the twenty-eighth century has

to offer.'

Rory couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive

about the sudden change of plan. 'Doctor, what if

something happens to you in 1910? Won't Amy and

I end up stuck here with no way of getting home?'

Rory tried to ignore the sharp elbow he received in

the ribs from his wife for his trouble.

'Rory, would I let you down?' The Doctor

grinned, with a look that Rory imagined was meant

to inspire great confidence. 'I'll be back before you

know it. A quick hop to 1910, plug the dimensional

hole, find a way to get rid of the monsters... You

won't even know I've been gone.'

Rory did his best to give a winning smile, but he

didn't feel particularly reassured as Amy dragged

him away.

'And you, Ms Young,' said the Doctor, beaming

and spinning about to face Patricia, who was now

standing with a small group of archaeologists

and divers, watching the exchange between the

Doctor and his companions with some interest. 'I'm

pleased to report that the city conservation board

are satisfied with everything you're doing here.' He

waved his hand to indicate the remains of the AI as

he started off toward the TARDIS at a run. 'Please

do carry on.'

Patricia Young, shaking her head, watched him

go with a bemused expression on her face. 'Come

on, boys,' she said after a minute, resignedly. 'Let's

get this thing back to the lab.'

Chapter

2

London, 16 October 1910

Professor Archibald Angelchrist had yet to see

one of the creatures for himself, but he'd read the

descriptions in the police reports and he knew,

beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they were real.

The newspapers, of course, told a different story,

attributing the recent rash of disappearances to the

work of a serial killer or a criminal organisation.

They argued that the rumours about the creatures

were simply that - rumours, started by those

responsible to create a climate of fear and to throw

the police off their trail.

Angelchrist knew from experience, however,

that most criminals were not that clever, and even

those who were would be unlikely to go about

blaming unearthly demons for their handiwork. No,

Angelchrist wholeheartedly believed in monsters.

He knew they existed, because he'd encountered

their like before.

He'd been retired for five long, quiet years now,

but before that, before he'd been put out to pasture,

he'd worked for the secret service as a scientific

adviser, and as such he'd been party to all sorts of

information about the various alien incursions that

had plagued the country over the years. From the

earliest surviving records, the history of Britain

was a colourful account of the battles that had

been lost and won against foes both human and

alien. Angelchrist himself had fought against such

unnatural interlopers on more than one occasion

- strange tentacled things that had clambered out

of the Thames; people possessed by an apparently

extraterrestrial virus that drove them murderously

insane; ancient entities awoken from their tombs

beneath Edinburgh. Of course, the truth of such

matters had been kept from the public in the interests

of their own protection, but nevertheless, Angelchrist

was well aware of the reality: that monsters lurked

around every corner, that the universe teemed with

life, and that the human race was not, as it seemed

to consider itself, at the centre of everything.

It had come as no great surprise to Angelchrist

then to discover that London was being slowly

overrun by this new breed of demon: tall, bipedal

creatures that left their victims lying in the gutters

weeping blood. What concerned him most, though,

was the fact that nobody seemed to be doing

anything about it.

It was with that in mind that he had taken it upon

himself to investigate the matter.

He knew he was no spring chicken - that he

was most definitely past his prime - but his grey

moustache was still peppered with traces of its

original raven-black, and he was still fit and mobile.

And besides, he had experience on his side.

He'd started by mapping the attacks and

sightings that had been reported over the course

of the previous few days, pinning them up on the

laboratory wall. It had become immediately clear

to him that the police were already barking up the

wrong tree. They had gotten into their heads that

whoever - or whatever - was responsible for the

attacks, was working alone. Angelchrist could tell

from the pattern of the incidents, however, that they

were wrong. There were at least three of the creatures

on the loose. What was more, they seemed to be

behaving in a territorial fashion, maintaining their

own hunting grounds distinct from one another.

Consequently, he had selected one of those

territories - the area between Hyde Park and the

river - and now stood on Cheyne Walk in the dusk,

watching, waiting. He knew if he were patient,

he would see it. A number of the bodies had been

discovered in the area, and if he set himself up as

bait, as easy prey, surely it would come for him. It

would certainly get a surprise when it did.

The night was drawing in now, though, and

Angelchrist was growing cold. The swirling fog

that had been threatening to descend on the city

all afternoon was finally beginning to settle; long,

ghostly fingers wrapping themselves around

street lamps and the masts of boats moored in the

river. The moon was a bright bauble hanging low

overhead, and his breath was fogging as he leaned

heavily on his cane. Another hour and he'd have to

head home to Grosvenor Square. Even inside his

gloves, his fingers were beginning to grow numb,

and his long, black overcoat and hat were offering

little protection from the penetrating chill.

Angelchrist turned at the sound of footsteps in

the distance. He stiffened, imagining the creature

lurking there unseen, but then he heard the bark

of a man's drunken laughter, and realised it was

probably a crewman from one of the boats returning

to his bunk. He turned back to the river, sighing

with a mixture of disappointment and relief, and

that was when he saw it, looming out of the fog a

short distance from where he was standing.

It was just as he'd imagined it from the

descriptions: tall, gangly and angular, with a

slightly elongated head and a face that resembled

that of a bat. Its flesh was grey and smooth, and its

hands terminated in vicious claws that twitched in

anticipation of what was to come. Beneath its arms

hung loose flaps of skin - membranes, he presumed,

for enabling it to glide through the air.

This particular specimen, however, was currently

on foot, and as it came towards him, baring its fangs,

Angelchrist knew that he was going to have to put up

an exceptionally good fight. He raised his cane and

brandished it before him like a sword, as if warning

the creature to keep back. It snarled like an animal

in response, and it occurred to Angelchrist that the

thing wasn't necessarily blessed with intelligence or

self-awareness. That, of course, made it even more

of a dangerous foe. It would fight like a ravenous

animal for all it was worth.

The creature stalked forward, its red eyes blazing,

and Angelchrist swung his cane, levelling a blow at

the side of its head. The creature shrieked in fury,

but its reactions were lightning fast and it brushed

aside his attack with a sweep of its arm. Angelchrist

stepped back, trying to buy himself some more time.

All he needed to do was knock it unconscious. A few

stiff blows to the head would do it, he was sure.

He raised his arm and swung at the beast again,

this time throwing all of his weight behind the

motion. The cane struck home with a loud thud

and the creature staggered back, shaking its head as

if attempting to clear the disorientation caused by

the blow. Angelchrist pressed forward, hoping to

capitalise on his success, but the creature reared up

again, swiping at him with its talons. They slashed

through the front of his coat, scattering buttons and

shreds of fabric across the cobbled road.

'Get back, beast!' Angelchrist bellowed, lurching

forward with a roundhouse punch that connected

squarely with the creature's jaw. It would have been

enough to fell a man but the creature reeled for only

a moment before its long, bony fingers whipped out

and closed around Angelchrist's throat. He choked

and tried to kick at the thing, but it was agile and

avoided his frantic attempts to take its legs out from

beneath it.

The fingers tightened around his throat, but

worse, Angelchrist could feel the creature doing

something else to him, somehow probing around

inside his mind, as if it were sifting through his

memories, tugging at them, trying to prise them

free. He felt tears running down his cheeks and

realised it was warm blood, trickling from the

corners of his eyes. Enraged, he raised his cane and

lashed out at the beast, striking it hard across the

temple. Its grip on his throat loosened for a second

and he pressed his advantage, shoving it forcefully

back and striking it repeatedly, intent on dazing it.

It was at that point, just as Angelchrist was

beginning, to gain the upper hand, that a tall, thin

man in a tweed jacket came barrelling out of a

nearby alleyway, skidded to a halt a few steps away

and raised some sort of bizarre glowing device

above his head. 'Don't worry,' he called. 'I've got

everything under control!'

He marched forward in the direction of the beast,

waving his contraption in the air as if it were a magic

wand and he a conjurer casting an enchantment to

dispel the beast. Angelchrist realised the device was

emitting an unusual buzzing sound.

Whatever the man was doing, it worked, for

almost immediately the creature began to back

away, clutching its hands to the sides of its head.

Angelchrist raised his cane as if to strike it again,

but he wasn't quick enough, and before he could

make his move the creature had fled, hurtling away

along the street. He lowered his cane in frustration.

The other man sidled over to him, looking

pleased with himself. 'Hello,' he said, beaming. 'I'm

the Doctor.'

Angelchrist watched with dismay as the creature

made off into the night. 'No! What are you doing?

Are you mad?' He took a few steps forward as if to

go after the creature, but stopped when he realised

it was already too late. He watched it dive over the

side of the embankment, disappearing from view

for a moment before rising up again on the zephyrs,

sailing away into the foggy night on its membranous

wings.

'Beautiful creatures, the Squall,' the Doctor said,

coming to stand beside him. 'But quite deadly.

Especially if there's more than one of them.'

Angelchrist turned to regard this strange, gawky

man who had appeared out of nowhere to foil his

plans. 'You fool!' he said, trying to bite back his

frustration. 'I almost had it!'

'You almost had it? What... you mean... No! You

weren't trying to catch that thing, were you?' said

the Doctor, sounding impressed.

'I most certainly was,' replied Angelchrist

hotly. 'And I would have managed it too, if you

hadn't intervened with your strange contraption.'

He sighed, attempting to compose himself. He

supposed the fellow had only been trying to help. 'I

imagine I owe you an apology for the brusqueness

of my tone. Thank you for your assistance.'

'You're very welcome,' said the Doctor. 'I admire

your bravery, Mr...?'

'Professor Angelchrist.'

'... Professor Angelchrist, but you really don't

want to get on the wrong side of one of those

creatures. It'll suck out all of your psychic energy

before you know it. Oh... look, you're bleeding.

Here.' The Doctor produced a handkerchief from

his jacket pocket with a flourish, and then promptly

dropped it on the ground. He looked down as it

settled in a brackish puddle. 'Ah. Right. Well... yes.

You might want to take a look.' He made circles

beneath his eyes with his two forefingers.

Angelchrist looked the stranger up and down

appraisingly. There was something odd about

him. His eyes were fiercely bright and intelligent,

and he obviously knew what he was talking about,

but his manner was... unusual, to say the least.

He was young and carried himself with a certain

awkwardness, like a child who had only recently

learned to walk.

Angelchrist took a handkerchief from his own

pocket and dabbed at his cheeks. The Doctor had

been right - he'd definitely been bleeding, just like

the victims he'd seen described in the police reports.

He wiped his eyes. Thankfully it seemed to have

stopped.

'You're lucky it didn't have time to do any lasting

harm,' the Doctor continued. He was watching

Angelchrist with interest. 'A few seconds longer and

you'd have been dead.' He rubbed his hand over

his chin in thought. 'Still, something's not right.

Something's wrong with this picture.' He frowned,

leaning in and studying Angelchrist's face a little

too closely for comfort, as if he expected to find the

answer hidden in the lines on the man's face. Then,

a moment later, his face lit up in apparent jubilation.

He clicked his fingers. 'Yes! That's it! I know what's

wrong. You threw me there, for a minute, professor.'

He was grinning, now, like the cat that got the

proverbial cream.

'What are you going on about, Doctor? What's

wrong?' Angelchrist was more perplexed than

outraged by the Doctor's bumbling familiarity.

The Doctor's expression changed, suddenly

serious. 'I'll tell you what's wrong, professor. You're

not scared. And you should be scared. You should

be very, very scared.'

Angelchrist was momentarily taken aback by the

sudden alteration in tone. 'Well... I... Look here,

young man! I'll have you know I've encountered

more beasts of that sort than you've had hot

dinners!'

The Doctor laughed, heartily. 'Oh, I sincerely

doubt that, professor. But good on you! Good

for you! Getting stuck in there.' He punched

Angelchrist gently on the arm, and then looked

vaguely embarrassed.

'Who are you, Doctor?' asked Angelchrist.

The Doctor smiled, and his eyes seemed to

flash in the moonlight. 'I'm the one the monsters

are scared of,' he said, cryptically, and Angelchrist

didn't detect even a hint of irony.

'You're not from around here, are you?' said

Angelchrist.

'Ah, now that's a long story,' the Doctor replied.

'A good one, admittedly, filled with lots of gadding

about and danger and adventure, but very long,

and it's cold out here. And besides, it's far more

important you tell me why you were trying to catch

that thing.'

'What was it you called it?' asked Angelchrist.

'A Squall. An alien from another dimensional

plane. A parasite with an insatiable appetite for

psychic energy.' The Doctor brushed his hair from

his eyes. 'It certainly wouldn't have taken kindly to

being put in a cage. It wouldn't have proved any

less dangerous, either.'

Angelchrist shrugged. 'Someone needs to do

something. To stop them. People are dying, and

Scotland Yard is still saying it's the work of a serial

killer. During my time in the secret service I fought

to protect the country from incursions such as this.

I thought if I could catch it, I could study it, find

out what they were. Prove to the police once and

for all what it was they were up against. I've been

mapping the pattern of their attacks. There are three

of them, I believe, each of them keeping to its own

territory within the boundaries of the city.'

The Doctor smiled. 'I fear, professor, there are far

more of them than that. The Squall are hive creatures,

like ants or bees. Their numbers will be growing with

every passing hour as more and more of them spill

through the rent in the universe that brought them

here.' The Doctor tapped his mechanical contraption

idly in the palm of his hand. 'You say you've been

mapping the location of their attacks?'

'Indeed...'

'Then I need you to show me. As soon as you

can. It could be of critical importance.' The Doctor

turned and set off in the direction he had come. After

a few steps he stopped and turned back, gesturing

up and down the street. 'Umm, lead on!' He looked

at Angelchrist sheepishly, and shrugged. 'I don't

know the way.'

Angelchrist knew that he should walk away

from this strange man, should simply thank him for

his assistance and leave. But there was something

about him, about the intensity in his eyes, about the

way he seemed to know exactly what was going

on, that compelled Angelchrist to trust him. He had

the notion that the Doctor could help him get to the

bottom of the situation with the Squall. He didn't

know exactly where the Doctor had come from, but

he supposed it didn't matter. Not if he could help

Angelchrist to prevent any further deaths.

'This way, Doctor,' he said, pointing in the

opposite direction with the end of his cane. 'I have a

motor car parked around the corner and my house

is only a short drive away. I'd be happy to help.'

The Doctor grinned. 'I'm glad to hear that,

Professor Angelchrist,' he said. 'Good choice.'

Chapter

3

London, 10 June 2789

It had taken Amy and Rory the best part of a day to

navigate their way through the teeming streets of

the metropolis.

London had changed almost beyond recognition,

as unfamiliar to Rory as any alien world. Some of

the landmarks were the same, of course: St Paul's

Cathedral still sat squat and proud by Ludgate

Hill; the Tower of London, now unimaginably old,

remained like a sentry by the river; Buckingham

Palace had been preserved almost as it had been in

Amy and Rory's time. These familiar monuments

were not enough, however, to dispel the sense of

dislocation, the feeling that they were somewhere

else, somewhere that wasn't London. It felt to Rory

as if those ancient buildings had somehow been

plucked from where they had sat, back home in the

twenty-first century, and dropped here in this other

time and place, in the middle of a different city, on a

different world. Given the things he'd seen with the

Doctor, he knew that wasn't as outlandish an idea

as it sounded.

Amy, ever the more streetwise one, had led the

way, but even she had been enchanted by the sheer

magic of the place, unable to wipe the look of wide-

eyed wonder from her face. Rory had squeezed her

hand and held on to her as they'd fought their way

through the milling crowds, past strange-looking

boutiques staffed by talking computer terminals

and restaurants selling a bizarre mix of dishes, from

the almost incongruously traditional shepherd's pie

to the unpalatable sounding 'corobian scuff'.

. Rory had expected to see flying cars and

hoverboards and all that stuff from Back to the

Future, but in reality, the city was still just a city,

as unfamiliar as it was. There did appear to be a

version of the Tube still in operation - a system of

pneumatic trains that shot soundlessly through a

network of tunnels beneath the city - but they had

chosen to walk in order to drink in the sights. Or

rather, Amy had insisted on it.

At one point they had turned down what had

seemed like a familiar side road just off Oxford

Street, only to come across the base of one of the

large domes they had seen from the other side of the

river. It appeared to erupt from the ground itself,

a towering wall of shimmering crystal, curving up

into the sky and away in all directions; a vast bubble

of glass in the centre of the metropolis.

To Rory it had looked like an enormous version of

one of those botanical experiments, a micro-ecology

in a bottle, but the area it covered must have been

half a square mile, all the way down to the river's

edge. Huge swathes of the old city must have been

cleared away to accommodate it.

Amy had pressed herself up against the glass,

her hands cupped to her face so she could peer

at the strange, bottled environment inside. It was

utterly at odds with the city around them: instead

of tall towers of steel and glass or the crumbling

monuments of ages past, the dome contained what

appeared to be a lush, green forest, complete with

brazenly coloured birds and a lioness stalking

through the undergrowth, only a few metres away

from where they were standing. Inside, at the apex

of the dome, Rory had noticed a bank of huge fans

mounted on a series of steel frames.

'What do you think it is?' Rory had said, thinking

aloud. 'Some sort of zoo or conservation area?'

Amy had shaken her head. 'Perhaps. More likely

it's an oxygen factory like the one at the heart of

the Byzantium.' She'd shuddered as she'd said this,

stepping back from the glass wall. 'Big city, no

trees, lots of people. I reckon this is how they keep

everyone breathing.'

Rory had been impressed by her deduction.

Clearly all that time spent with the Doctor was

beginning to rub off on her. 'An oxygen factory...'

he'd said, bewildered. He didn't like the implication

of that, what it suggested had happened to the

Earth's natural habitats in the intervening centuries

since their own time.

They'd moved on, dazzled by the strangeness

of this future London, frustrated by the things that

hadn't changed. Rory had caught sight of more than

one of the artificial people - what he assumed to

be the 'nearly human' AIs that Patricia Young had

referred to, just like the one they'd pulled out of the

river. Except, of course, these examples were up and

about, sheathed in pale, rubbery skin, walking along

beside their owners. They were fetching, carrying

and otherwise assisting their rich benefactors, as

if they were nothing but personal butlers. Some of

them were even dressed in the typical apparel of an

Edwardian servant, all black suits and white gloves.

Something about it just didn't sit right with Rory.

He didn't like the notion of slaves, whether they

were human or machine.

Neither of them had really known where to start

in their search for Gradius. They didn't even know

- they realised as they set about their task - if they

were looking for a man or a woman.

At first they'd decided to try to locate any institutes

or establishments at which a leading scientist might

be conducting experiments such as the Doctor had

described, but that had led them down a blind

alley. Literally, on at least one occasion. So, instead,

they had wandered the streets, trying to get their

bearings, wracking their brains for a way to narrow

their search. Rory had even tried getting his mobile

phone to connect to a network in order to run a

search on the name 'Gradius', but, of course, his

service provider had long ago ceased to exist, the

technology having become entirely obsolete. He'd

wondered if people even had mobile phones in the

future. Or, indeed, whether the internet had been

superseded by something entirely new.

In the end, however, the answer had been almost

ridiculously simple.

Amy had pointed out one of the tall, black

boxes that seemed to pepper the streets, installed at

intervals all over the city. They were coffin-shaped

and around two and a half metres tall, hollow and

open-fronted. Rory had pretty much ignored them

as they'd passed them by, distracted by the sheer

magnificence of the view, too busy looking all

around him to worry about what these strange, box-

like constructions really were.

What Amy had seen, however, was a person

stepping into one, just across the street. Rory had

watched with interest as the man had disappeared

inside and a faint blue light had emanated from

within the box. Moments later, voices had followed.

It was at that moment he'd realised what the black

boxes actually were.

'Information terminals,' he'd said, turning to

Amy with a wide grin on his face, only to see her

already dashing off down the street toward another,

unoccupied booth. Sighing, he'd followed after her.

He'd caught up with her a few seconds later, just

as she was entering the box. 'Amy, don't you think

we should—'

'Sshhh,' she'd replied, cutting him off, as a

holographic image had flickered into being in the

dark recess at the back of the booth: an electronic

ghost with a blank, hairless, asexual face. Only its

head and shoulders were visible, giving Rory the

impression that it was leaning forward from the

shadowy recess, dipping its head into the light.

Rory had watched over Amy's shoulder, straining

to get a proper look at what was happening. The

holographic face had stared at them impassively for

a moment, and then it had spoken. 'Welcome to the

City of London. I am your guide. How may I be of

assistance?'

'Erm... We're trying to find someone?' Amy had

said, with a shrug.

'Please state the name of the person you wish

to locate,' the hologram had replied in cool,

unemotional tones.

'Gradius,' Amy had continued, glancing over

her shoulder at Rory with a cheeky smile, her eyes

wide with excitement, as if to say ' this is the future,

Rory!' He couldn't help but grin back in return. Her

enthusiasm was utterly infectious.

'There are six occurrences of the name Gradius

in the directory,' the hologram had stated after

a moment, and a list of names and addresses

had scrolled up before Amy, the glowing letters

apparently hovering in mid air.

'Look! There! A Professor C. Gradius. That has

to be the one we're looking for,' Rory had said,

pointing to the name.

'Well, the professor bit does kind of give the

game away there, bright spark,' Amy had laughed,

before reaching out and tentatively prodding at the

name with an outstretched index finger.

Rory had felt her start as the holographic face

had suddenly dispersed in a shower of glittering

fragments, and in its place a map had resolved,

showing them the location of the professor's

workshop or home, indicated by a blinking light.

Beneath the map, the address scrolled through the

air, the letters shining a bright, holographic blue.

'This is the registered address of Professor C.

Gradius. Currently, the professor does not appear

to be in residence,' the disembodied voice of the

guide had announced.

Rory had thought it sounded a little bored,

but he could have been imagining it. Surely, he'd

considered, holographic guides couldn't actually

get bored?

'I know where that is,' Amy had said. 'It's right

near the British Museum. Look, there it is on the

map. I visited it once when I was a kid.'

'It should be easy enough to find,' Rory had

agreed. 'It's only about half an hour's walk from

here. I think.'

'Um, thank you,' Amy had said to the guide,

backing out of the booth.

'Enjoy your stay in London,' the monotone voice

had replied, and the two of them had set out with a

renewed sense of purpose.

Now, they stood on the threshold of a large,

modern-looking building about ten minutes' walk

from the British Museum. The frontage was all steel

and glass, and through the towering windows Rory

could see a curved reception desk in the sparsely

furnished lobby.

'It looks like a hotel,' he said, peering inside.

'Do you think anyone actually lives here?' Amy

replied, trying the door handle. It turned easily in

her hand and the door creaked open.

'I think we're about to find out,' said Rory,

ushering her in through the opening.

Inside, the building smelled of polish. That

was the only way Rory could describe it. Clean,

clinical - the sort of smell that got right up your

nose and lingered there for hours. The place itself

was immaculate. The marble floor gleamed in the

reflected light of the overhead strip lights, the walls

were bare and white, and the sweeping lines of

the reception desk were hewn from a single piece

of black granite. Upon it the legend GRADIUS

INDUSTRIES was emblazed in foot-high letters. So,

it was an office or laboratory, after all.

Across the lobby was a spiral staircase leading to

both upper and lower floors, designed to represent

the twisting lattices of a double helix. Someone had

spent a lot of money on the interior design.

'There's no one here,' he said, redundantly. It was

cold, and he had the oddest sense that something

here was very wrong. 'Where's the receptionist?'

Amy shrugged. 'Probably another of those

holographic whatjamacallits,' she said, strolling

pointedly over to the desk, her boots clopping on

the polished stone floor.

'There's no muzak, either,' Rory muttered. 'Places

like this always have muzak.'

'Are you telling me you'd rather have some dodgy

instrumental rendition of a Justin Bieber song?'

Rory gave his best 'what do you take me for' look,

but she only smiled sweetly and turned to lean on

the reception desk. 'Helloooo?' she called. 'Anyone

at home?'

There was no reply.

'Helloooo?' she tried again.

Rory glanced at the stairs, then back at the door.

'Look, it's pretty clear no one's here. Perhaps we got

the wrong place?' He was starting to feel increasingly

uncomfortable.

Amy frowned. 'No, that can't be right. There has

to be someone here.'

'Even that holographic thing out there told us

Professor Gradius wasn't at home. We shouldn't be

in here,' Rory said, half turning toward the door.

'If nobody's at home, why was the door open?'

Amy asked, and Rory knew she had a point. 'Besides,

there's a reception desk. It's not like we're trespassing in someone's house.' She clopped over to him and

took his hand. 'Come on. I think we should take a

look around.'

'I've got a bad feeling about this, Amy.

'Oh, come on! Where's your sense of adventure!'

She beamed at him and he felt himself giving in,

despite his sense of impending danger.

DOCTOR WHO

'I suppose we did promise the Doctor...' he

said.

'Precisely! So...' she took his hand and dragged

him across the lobby towards the staircase, 'upstairs

or downstairs first?'

'Um...' Rory peered up and down the stairwell.

It looked more than a little precarious. 'Upstairs,'

he said, with confidence. 'We should look upstairs

first.'

'Great,' Amy said, jumping onto the steps and

beginning her descent to the lower level.

'I said upstairs first!' said Rory, as she took the

metal rungs two at a time.

'Exactly!' was the only response he received, her

voice drifting back up the stairwell, already halfway

down the flight to the lower level.

Shaking his head he followed behind her,

wondering - not for the first time - at how often he

seemed to do just that.

'What did you mean, "exactly"?'

'You should take it as a compliment. I'm trusting

your instincts.'

'My instincts told me we should look upstairs,

just as I said.'

'Precisely. Which is why I figured we should

look downstairs first. Your gut was telling you to

avoid the dark, scary hangar that you expected us to

find down here. And that's exactly the sort of place

we should be looking.'

Rory frowned. Somehow, however wrong it

seemed on the surface, he couldn't argue with

Amy's logic. 'Well, I suppose I can see your point.

Kind of.'

She elbowed him affectionately in the ribs. 'See.

Trusting your instincts. And now look,' she gave

an expansive gesture with her arms, 'a big, scary

hangar. The Doctor would be so proud.'

They were standing at the bottom of the stairs in

what appeared to be a very large open space. Rory

could discern as much from the way their voices

echoed, and from the fact the light seeping down

from the stairwell did absolutely nothing to dispel

the darkness that seemed to close in on them from

all sides.

'So... definitely not a hotel,' he said.

Amy shook her head as she walked cautiously

forward into the gloom. 'It must be some sort of

underground warehouse or workshop,' she said.

'Yes. And Professor Gradius definitely isn't here,'

he replied.

Amy took another step forward and there was a

sudden, stuttering flash of light. Rory blinked and

covered his face with the back of his hand to ward

off the glare. Banks of brilliant electric bulbs blinked

on in sudden succession, flooding the hangar with

sickly yellow light, triggered - he guessed - by

Amy's movements.

'That's more like it!' exclaimed Amy.

Rory peered between his fingers while he waited

for his eyes to adjust to the sudden alteration in

their surroundings. The hangar was as big as he'd

imagined - bigger, even - and was lined with

workbenches and computer stations, banks of

monitors and pools of cables. Wires trailed from

the ceiling like writhing vipers dripping from

the branches of trees, and beneath them, right in

the centre of the room, sat a huge, shining, silver

spaceship. At least, to Rory, it looked like a spaceship.

It was like something out of a science fiction film, a

gleaming escape pod or shuttlecraft, the sort of thing

he would have expected to see filling the skies over

London in the twenty-eighth century, if he hadn't

been there to know otherwise.

The ship was around fifteen metres in length

and about the height of an average car. It appeared

to be fashioned from panels of shining chrome or

polished steel, gleaming in the harsh, reflected light.

It was shaped like a lozenge with a conical nose, and

a hatchway was open in one side of it like a gull's

wing. Some of the overhead cables actually snaked

down and disappeared inside the machine like fat

umbilical cords, plugged into sockets on its outer

shell.

Rory drifted towards it without really noticing

what he was doing. 'Just look at it,' he said. 'Do you

think this is the time machine the Doctor was talking

about? It doesn't look that experimental.'

Amy shrugged. 'Must be,' she said, walking

slowly around it, reaching out to run her fingers

over its smooth surface.

'Careful,' said Rory. 'Do you think you should be

touching that?'

Amy, however, had stopped dead in her tracks

and was staring at something by her feet, an

expression of absolute horror on her face. Rory ran

to her side without a moment's hesitation. 'Amy?

Are you...' He trailed off when he saw what she

was looking at.

Lying there on the stone floor, in the shadow

of the time machine, was a pretty woman in her

early thirties. She was wearing a white lab coat and

her blonde hair was tied back in a severe ponytail.

Her face, however, was twisted into a visage of

utter terror, and dark, sticky tributaries stained her

cheeks and collar.

She was dead, and she had died weeping blood.

Chapter

4

London, 16 October 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.

Angelchrist set the tea tray down upon the table

and turned to see what the Doctor was doing. For

a moment he couldn't see him amongst the chaotic

forest of artefacts, but then he spotted him over 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.

'What is that marvellous contraption, Doctor?'

'This?'' The Doctor held it out, still bent low,

studying the owl. 'This is a sonic screwdriver.'

Angelchrist took it and turned it over in his

hands. 'A screwdriver?' he said, handing it back

to the Doctor, 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.'

Turning around, the Doctor looked suddenly

taken aback. 'Well, it's really not that simple...'

'Precisely!' replied Angelchrist.

'Oh, never mind...' said the Doctor, tucking the

sonic screwdriver back into his pocket. 'Where's

this map of yours, professor?'

'Over here, on the wall.' He led the Doctor 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,' he said.

'Try telling that to Amy and Rory,' the Doctor

said cryptically, distracted by the raft of artefacts

that covered the workbench beside him. 'Ah, a top

hat!' he said, suddenly, plucking it from where it sat

atop an ancient globe and putting it on his head. 'I

love top hats. Top hats are—'

'—entirely inappropriate for an occasion such as

this, Doctor.'

The Doctor looked vaguely crestfallen as

he removed the hat and placed it back on the

workbench. His face brightened when he looked

up and saw the map. 'Excellent work, professor!'

He 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, Doctor. The

reported attacks have been steadily increasing in

number since Thursday,' said Angelchrist, his voice

low.

'Hmmm. Then there are all the unreported ones

to consider, too,' the Doctor replied.

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, Doctor?'

said Angelchrist, studying the map over the Doctor's

shoulder.

'I need to locate the epicentre, the vessel that

punched a hole in the universe and allowed the

Squall to infest this time period. If I can find it I 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 replied,

gravely. '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.'

The Doctor fixed Angelchrist with a firm stare. 'Will

you help me, professor?'

Angelchrist looked the Doctor straight in the

eye. 'I'm an old man, Doctor. I'm not sure what use

I can be.'

The Doctor raised a questioning eyebrow. 'Oh,

I'd say you can be a great deal of use, professor, if

you're up for it.' He smiled. 'Are you sure you want

to miss it?'

Angelchrist couldn't hide the smile that crept

onto his lips. 'One last adventure, eh, Doctor? Once

more unto the breach and all that. Why not? I'd be

honoured.'

The Doctor grinned. 'You're a remarkable man,

professor,' he said, clapping Angelchrist on the

shoulder and steering him toward the door. 'Now,

we're going to need your car.

'Overhead, professor. 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.

He 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

and the Doctor would be spotted before they ever

got near to 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 was to be believed

- something which Angelchrist was becoming more

and more disposed to do, the longer he spent with the

man - 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 fuelled 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 confirm the existence of myriad

other worlds, to hear him describe the vastness of

the populated universe, the near-infinite spread

of life... Well, that was something else entirely.

Angelchrist's world had suddenly got 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 to

bounce up and down in his seat, nearly tumbling

out over the low side of the door. 'Steady as she

goes, Doctor! There is a brake, 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 said cryptically.

Angelchrist still hadn't been able to ascertain

exactly who the Doctor was, or where he had come

from, but surprisingly he found himself happy to

accept that ambiguity for now. The Doctor 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 he worked had been enough to

carry Angelchrist along in his wake. What surprised

the professor most about this remarkable man,

however, was the fact he actually appeared to be

enjoying himself, too. There was a kind of exuberance

about him, a joie de vivre that to Angelchrist seemed

utterly infectious. No matter that they were hurtling

headlong into danger - the Doctor appeared to relish

every moment of it. Being with the Doctor reminded

Angelchrist of his younger, carefree self, of his days

of adventure and derring-do. In his eyes, that was

no bad thing. It 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

houses flit by as they shot along the road at speed.

The streets at this time of night were near

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 up 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?' said Angelchrist, perplexed once again by

the Doctor's bizarre behaviour.

The Doctor was turning about on the spot,

regarding his instrument with a thoughtful

expression on his face. 'Yes, I...' He trailed off,

turning back on himself to face in the opposite

direction. 'Ah ha! This way!' He set off at a brisk

pace, and only turned to look back at Angelchrist

- who was still sitting in the passenger seat - when

he was already halfway along the street. 'Come on,

professor!' he called, beckoning for Angelchrist to

join him. 'You'll get cold sitting there.'

Laughing, despite himself, Angelchrist popped

open the car door and clambered down onto the

pavement. He hurried over to where the Doctor was

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 his sonic screwdriver as if to emphasise

this last point, 'do absolutely everything I say.'

Angelchrist nodded. 'You can count on me,

Doctor,' he said, fingering the butt of his revolver

in his pocket.

The Doctor held his finger up in the air as if

judging the direction of the wind. 'This way,' he

said, and then set off at a run.

Sighing, Angelchrist gave chase. At least, he

thought, all of this running about was going to keep

him fit.

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 down a series of

alleyways and side streets, concentrating hard on

keeping up with the enigmatic stranger. 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, 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 ducked down

another darkened alleyway, almost slipping over

on the damp cobbles in his haste, the tip of his sonic

screwdriver casting eerie shadows on the redbrick

walls.

'If I'm right...' he announced, in a voice that

suggested he thought himself to be exactly that, 'then

it should be just about...' He stopped suddenly,

kicked open the back gate of a terraced house and

stood back, a beaming smile on his face. 'Here!'

The Doctor 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.'

Angelchrist, who up until this point had still

been hurrying along, trying to keep pace with the

Doctor, 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 the

Doctor was 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 rubble 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. 'Is this what the

future looks like, Doctor?'

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?'

Angelchrist 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, Doctor? Half in the wall, I

mean.'

Angelchrist heard the Doctor follow him into the

yard.

'Ah, yes. Well, that's the "experimental" part,

you see. Whoever built this thing hadn't considered

fitting it out with proximity alarms. It's materialised

at the right coordinates, even though those

coordinates were already partially occupied by a

wall.'

'Meaning...?'

'Meaning the nose of the ship has materialised

inside the wall. Luckily for the people inside the

ship, the wall wasn't any thicker,' said the Doctor.

'Or any closer to the alleyway,' Angelchrist said,

his voice low. He could still hardly believe what he

was seeing.

The Doctor approached the remains of the crashed

ship, 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

ship in their neighbour's backyard. I mean - look

at the thing: big, shining, futuristic-looking ship.

Must have appeared with a heck of a bang. 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...?'

'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 light bulb 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,

a pained expression on his face. 'I don't really want

to look now, do I? They're here, aren't they?'

'Quite so, Doctor. I rather think you have your

reason,' said Angelchrist, pointing 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 started as one of the creatures

swooped down from above, landing noisily on the

wooden fence that separated the yard they were in

from the neighbouring 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,' said the Doctor brightly. '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,' continued the Doctor. '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 drawling a word in turn.

'Yes, yes, yes,' said the Doctor. '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 fibre 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.'

Angelchrist saw the Doctor's shoulders sag.

The professor stepped forward, pulling his

revolver from his pocket and brandishing it before

him. 'Have you any weapons, Doctor?'

The Doctor turned to Angelchrist, and the

professor was momentarily taken aback by the

coldness he saw in the Doctor's eyes. 'Put your gun

away, professor. You won't be needing it,' he 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 both Angelchrist and

the Doctor 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 yelled, rushing forward and

snatching 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 his sonic screwdriver from his pocket

and held it aloft. 'If you've hurt her...' he said, and

there was 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. Because that's the only

thing that will stop me. Mark my words.'

He depressed the button on his sonic screwdriver

and all around them the Squall began screeching in

pain and scratching violently at their heads. The

creature immediately in front the Doctor 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 sound. Further afield,

along the street, the unaffected creatures looked

on curiously, as if unable to understand what had

suddenly become of their kin. Angelchrist realised

they must have been out of range of the Doctor's

device.

- Still holding his screwdriver aloft, the Doctor

turned and tossed Angelchrist the jumper he'd taken

from the creature, 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 walked over to where

Angelchrist was standing, wide-eyed with wonder.

'I can't keep this up for long,' said the Doctor,

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 sound. Better to conserve what we

can for later.' He searched Angelchrist's face for

understanding. 'We might need it,' he added.

Angelchrist nodded.

'So, when I take my finger off this button...' said

the Doctor.

'More running?' asked Angelchrist, with a grin.

'More running,' the Doctor replied, but the

smile was gone from his face, replaced instead by a

haunted expression that sent a cold shiver running

down Angelchrist's spine. 'They're going to be very,

very angry,' he said. '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's

sonic screwdriver. The sound of their anguish was

at once terrifying and moving. 'I'm ready.'

The Doctor nodded. 'Then run!' he bellowed, as

they both hurtled toward the alleyway, a pack of

baying alien parasites hot on their heels.

Chapter

5

London, 10 June 2789

'What do we do now?' said Amy, who was

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 women'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 said 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?' said Amy. 'Go on, admit it, you were

expecting an old man, weren't you? A mad professor,

with a wispy grey beard and hairs growing out of

his ears.'

'Well, weren't you?'

Amy shrugged. 'I suppose I was,' she sighed,

but there was little humour in it. 'I certainly wasn't

expecting this. I mean... look at the state of her. It's awful.'

'Poor woman,' said Rory, 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?' asked Amy. 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 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-travelling ship, the body

was just incongruous. Wrong.

At least, he supposed, it hadn't yet started to

decompose.

'I think we should try to alert the authorities,' he

said. 'We could go to one of those booths, ask for

help.'

Amy shook her head. 'I'm not sure that's such a

good idea,' she said.

Rory frowned. 'What's wrong? Other than the

fact you're standing over the corpse of a scientist

from the twenty-eighth century, that is.' He felt

immediately foolish for spouting such a flippant

comment, but Amy smiled weakly, realising 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 recognise us. As

far as the twenty-eighth 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, then? Here, with a strange time machine

and a corpse. Brilliant.'

Amy nodded again. 'Yes. But we could wait

upstairs in reception. The Doctor should be back

soon.'

'He's only been gone a few hours.'

'Time travel, remember!' Amy rolled her eyes

dramatically.

'Yes, but how's he going to find us?'

Amy waved her hand dismissively and made

for the stairs. 'Hell find us. He always does.' She

stopped suddenly, her face creasing in concern.

'Hang on. What was that?'

'What was what?' said Rory, perplexed.

'Shhh.' She waved him quiet. A second later

there was a quiet rapping sound from somewhere

beneath their feet.

'That,' said Amy, pointedly.

Rory dropped to his knees. 'It sounded as if it

was coming from down there,' he said, 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,' said

Amy, nervously, stepping back and studying the

ground where she'd been standing.

'No,' said Rory, 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,' said Amy.

'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 glanced 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 was here with his sonic screwdriver,'

she said. '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 decided against 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

head - 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 was

going to help. 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?' said the AI, clearly ignoring

him.

'Have who gone?' asked Amy, 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 realised 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 said.

'Erm...' said Rory, 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 it planted

both of its palms firmly on the ground, dragging

itself the rest of the way out by itself.

'Whoever... you... are...' said Rory, between

gasping breaths, 'you're... heavy.

The AI clambered to its feet, dusting itself down.

It must have been over two metres tall and was

dressed in a white shirt - now thick with grime -

and black trousers. 'My designation is RVN-73,' it

said. 'I am Professor Gradius's assistant. Thank you

for your help.'

'RVN-73,' repeated Amy. '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 said. '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 realised 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 realised

it couldn't be opened again from within.'

'How long have you been down there?' asked

Rory.

'A day, perhaps longer,' said Arven.

'You said they did something to her mind?' said

Amy.

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?' said Arven.

'He's... a friend,' said Rory noncommittally.

'So Professor Gradius was running experiments

with time-travel technology?' said Amy, pressing

on with her questions.

'Yes... but how did 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,' said Rory.

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's

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 grey, 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,' said Arven, quietly. 'Get

behind me.'

'I knew we should have looked upstairs first!'

Rory said. 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 the 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 creatures 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 prise 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, swinging 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,' said Rory, 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?' yelled Amy, 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. 'Well 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.

Subsume. 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 said, clinging on to

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

vigour, 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?' asked Amy, 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

aluminium lid and snatch him out for dinner. The

thought didn't do much to put him at ease.

'Well, I wasn't expecting that,' Rory said, with

disdain.

Amy gave a nervous laugh and clutched at his

arm. 'I hope the Doctor's having more luck,' she

said.

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?' said Amy, 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 said,

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...?'

started Rory, but 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,' said Arven. 'They're

trying to break in through the hull.'

'Will they do it?' asked Rory.

'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 said, 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 said in his usual monotone.

'Then what are you waiting for?' replied Amy,

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,' said Rory, grinning. 'I

certainly wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of

her.'

'Oi!' said Amy, slapping him - playfully - on the

arm.

'I must warn you the vessel has not yet been

tested with a living occupant,' said Arven. '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 said.

'Besides, we're used to this time travelling stuff...'

said Amy nonchalantly.

'Very well,' said Arven, rising to his feet and

steadying himself against the bulkhead as the vessel

gave another violent rock. A moment later he was

gone, worming 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 OK,' said Rory, but he knew it was more an

attempt to convince himself than reassure Amy.

Seconds later, red lights winked on throughout

the ship, casting everything in a disturbing, blood-

coloured 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 twenty-

eighth-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 said.

Rory offered her a weak smile. 'I wonder if it'll be

as hairy a ride as the TARDIS,' he said.

'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 bucked. He could hear

Squall screeching loudly as they were thrown from

their perches.

'Whhhooooaaaaa...' Amy called, squeezing his

hand, until the 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-grey Vortex.

Rory squeezed his eyes shut and held on to Amy

for all he was worth.

He hoped the Doctor would be waiting for them

at the other end.

Chapter

6

London, 16 October 1910

'Well, Doctor. I must admit that you were right about

that miraculous screwdriver of yours. Lucky you

thought to keep it with you.' Angelchrist was still

trying to catch his breath as he sat in the passenger

seat of his own open-topped motor car, barrelling

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 an 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, adrenalin surging through his veins,

calling behind for the Doctor 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

humps 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 hove

into view out of the fog, eliciting an exclamation of

welcome surprise from the Doctor.

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 and

the Doctor lurched through the fog-bound streets

he kept a watchful eye on the grey 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.

Angelchrist kept replaying their encounter with

the Squall over and over in his mind. Something

about the nature of the creatures, about their

apparent intelligence, had disturbed him more than

he'd expected. If they'd 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? Finishing each other's

sentences.'

'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?'

'Yes,' Angelchrist replied with a shudder, but his

words were snatched away by the wind. He had no

idea what time it was. Late. Or early, he supposed,

depending on one's point of view. He realised, with

surprise, that he actually had no idea where the

Doctor was taking them.

'It's not simply that the Squall are hive creatures,'

the Doctor continued, and Angelchrist huddled

closer in order to hear. '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 he was

following, and Angelchrist 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 the Doctor was going over it as much for

his own benefit as Angelchrist's own, trying to look

at the problem from a variety of different angles.

'It's barely credible,' said Angelchrist. 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?'

'And then they feast.'

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.' The

Doctor beamed at him. '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. So that was how the Doctor

knew all about the Squall, about the rich and

varied universe that existed beyond the confines

of the Earth. He wasn't simply from the future, as

Angelchrist had assumed. As if that wouldn't have

been enough. No, he wasn't even human. And what

about his friend, the woman whose pullover he'd

found in the claws of the Squall. It was resting on

the rear seat now, a puddle of bright red fabric on

the dark leather upholstery. Was she an alien, too?

'Doctor? Who's Amy?' Angelchrist cursed

beneath his breath for the way he'd simply blurted

the question out. He could tell that the Doctor was

deeply concerned for her safety.

The Doctor kept his eyes on the road. 'She's a

friend,' he said quietly, and Angelchrist decided not

to press the matter further.

'What I don't understand is why the army haven't

been mobilised? 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,' said

the Doctor.

'The what?' replied Angelchrist, bemused.

'The Squall are psychic creatures, professor. They

feed on psychic energy, but they also manipulate it.

It's how they hunt, suppressing their victim's senses

until the last moment, so that they can sneak up on

them and pounce.'

Angelchrist shuddered. 'So you mean it's as if

they're invisible, right up until the moment they

attack?'

'Yes. 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.'

'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 said, '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.'

The Doctor grinned again. '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.

'I'm sure I left her somewhere around here...' the

Doctor mumbled as he strode purposefully through

the wispy fog by the river.

'What exactly does this ship of yours look like,

Doctor?' asked Angelchrist, trying to keep up. 'Is

it similar to the vessel we saw back there at the

house?'

'It's a box,' said the Doctor, shaking his head. 'A

blue box. A big, blue box.' He smiled affectionately.

'Has the words "Police Box" written on it.'

Angelchrist raised one eyebrow. 'Police?'

The Doctor waved his hand in a dismissive

gesture. 'Yes, long story,' he said. 'Well save that

one for another time.' He stopped for a moment,

looking thoughtful, and then set off again at a brisk

pace. 'Down here,' he said, disappearing down a

narrow side street. 'Then down here...' His voice

trailed off as he wove his way through the deserted,

foggy lanes. Angelchrist followed the sound of his

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.'

Angelchrist hurried over to join him, turning

the corner to find him standing at one end of a

long alleyway. 'What is it, Doctor? What have you

seen?'

He followed the Doctor's gaze. His question

was immediately redundant. At the other end of

the alleyway was a tall blue box, just as the Doctor

had described. Only, not a great deal of its exterior

was visible due to the writhing mass of Squall that

were 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 and

Angelchrist's presence.

'Fascinating,' said the Doctor. '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 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 travelled

across dimensions, that carries a certain type of

energy signature. The TARDIS is drenched in the

stuff. Radiates it. It explains why they were hanging

around the time ship, too.'

This was too much for Angelchrist. He had no

idea what the Doctor was talking about. He decided

to focus on the bit he could fathom. 'What will you

do, Doctor? Use your sonic device 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 gave a brief cry of alarm

as something grabbed him from behind and yanked

him backwards, causing his sonic screwdriver to

rattle away across the cobbles. Angelchrist looked

on in horror as he saw that one of the Squall had

crept up on them from behind, wrapping its bony,

taloned fingers around the Doctor's throat.

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, thought Angelchrist, 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 scrabbled at the

Squall's hands, trying frantically to prise them free

of his throat. The creature squealed in delight, its

face a riot of ecstasy as the hive mind began to probe

at the edges of the Doctor's psyche.

'You,' it said.

'Shall,' came another voice from somewhere up

above them.

'Sustain. Us,' the Squall finished in their bizarre,

disjointed tones. 'Your. Mind. Is. Rich... You. Are.

Not. Like. The. Others. Of. This. World.'

'No!' The Doctor called between gasping breaths.

Angelchrist saw a single tear of dark blood trickle

down the Doctor's cheek from the corner of his left

eye.

He needed to act. In a moment he knew the other

creatures would be upon him. He wouldn't 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 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 dived to the floor, 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.

'Keep your finger on that button,' said the Doctor,

dabbing at his cheek. He looked strangely haunted,

and Angelchrist couldn't tell if it was the experience

of having his mind invaded by the Squall, or the

sight of what his sonic screwdriver was doing to

them that concerned him. Angelchrist had never

known a man who appeared to be as concerned for

the wellbeing of his enemies as he was for his own

safety.

'We've got to get out of here,' said the Doctor.

'There are too many of them.'

'What about your ship?'

'The TARDIS will have to wait. Come on!'

Keeping his finger depressed on the button,

Angelchrist backed away from the incapacitated

Squall, out of the mouth of the alleyway and into

the fog-enshrouded street beyond.

Angelchrist placed the tea tray on the table before

the Doctor. 'Here, Doctor, a restorative cup of tea.

I always find it helps, even in situations such as

this.'

The Doctor grinned and 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 greatest treasures, obtained

during an adventure nearly a decade earlier.

'That's the Englishman's answer to everything,

isn't it?' said the Doctor, smiling. Angelchrist

poured the milk and the Doctor splashed the hot

brown liquid into the two teacups. '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 said, 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 barely

conceive of the remarkable things he had seen. If it

hadn't been for the eccentric figure sitting opposite

him, this madman from another world, Angelchrist

would have been forced to consider himself quite

insane.

'The hive is growing in strength,' said the Doctor,

cutting through Angelchrist's reverie. 'It needs to be

stopped.'

'But how, Doctor? Even you were no match for

them this evening. One man and a screwdriver can

only do so much.'

The Doctor smiled, sipping at his tea. 'Oh, I

shouldn't worry about that, professor. One man

and a screwdriver can achieve more than you think.

One man and a screwdriver can save the universe, if

he puts his mind to it. Besides,' a broad grin spread

over his face, 'I've got you to keep an eye out for

me.' 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.

'Do you have any custard creams?' said the

Doctor, 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.

The Doctor offered him a bemused smile, as if

he wasn't quite sure of the joke. 'OK...' he said.

'So no custard creams. But I could have a use for

a few of the bits and bobs you have lying around

here.' The Doctor 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 used his arm to sweep

a stack of papers off the table and onto the floor,

clearing a space. Angelchrist tried to ignore the

mess. 'This is going to take me a while, I'm afraid,'

the Doctor said, and then turned and disappeared

behind the heaps of boxes at the other end of the lab.

Angelchrist 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!'

Angelchrist blinked at him, bleary-eyed. 'Oh,

forgive me, Doctor,' he said sheepishly, rubbing the

back of his aching neck and sitting forward, trying

to regain his bearings. 'I must have nodded off.'

The Doctor smiled 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, but

it didn't look terribly professional. Whatever the

Doctor was, he didn't appear to be a particularly

capable engineer.

The Doctor picked up the device, hefting it in

hands. He was wearing a broad grin and seemed

inordinately pleased with himself. 'It's not the most

aesthetically pleasing object,' he said, 'but given the

circumstances, I think it's rather beautiful. Even if I

do say so myself.'

Angelchrist nearly spluttered on his tea.

Beautiful wasn't quite the word he might have used

to describe it. 'What is it?'

'An amplifier!' the Doctor said, animated. 'It

boosts the range and signal of the sonic screwdriver.

Should help to keep those pesky Squall at bay so I can

get to the TARDIS. At least for a while, anyway.'

Angelchrist nodded. 'Why is it you need to get

to your ship?'

'The instruments in the TARDIS will give me

a better idea of the extent of the problem, the size

of the rift,' said the Doctor. '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 they got away from the Squall?'

'Precisely. That's very good. It's very good

indeed.'

'So...?' Angelchrist pressed.

'It means only one thing, professor. It means that

Amy and Rory are here somewhere, in 1910, and

that they're in very grave danger.'

'But how are we going to find them?' said

Angelchrist, 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,' said the Doctor with an impish

grin. 'Whenever you want to find Amy Pond, you

simply look for trouble.'

Chapter

7

London, 13 October 1910

Everything was black.

Rory shook his head to clear the grogginess

and tried to peel open his eyes. After a moment,

he realised 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 was the Doctor?

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 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.'

So, Amy was all right, then. That was good. That

was very good. 'Are you OK?' 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 realising that, at

some point during the landing - if, indeed, they

had landed - they must have been bowled over and

become somehow entwined.

'Sorry,' he said, extracting himself and feeling

around in the darkness for something to hold on

to.

Amy laughed. 'I was grateful for the soft landing,'

she said.

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?' he asked.

'A couple of minutes ago,' said Amy. 'I've been

trying to wake you.' So that was why his other cheek

was stinging.

'Arven?' he asked.

'I don't know,' said Amy, 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 realised, 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 slumped in the pilot's

chair.

'Can you switch the lights back on?' said

Rory, 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?' said Rory. 'As in, we lost part of the

ship as we landed?'

'It's more complicated than that,' said Arven.

'The ship doesn't "land" in any conventional sense.

It just... appears. It materialises back into reality,

phasing back into being at the designated location.'

'Just like the TARDIS,' said Amy, her voice closer

now.

'So what went wrong?' asked Rory, unsure

exactly where this was leading.

'We materialised in a wall,' said Arven. '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 realised the space where

it ought to have been was occupied instead by a

solid brick wall. He reached out and, right 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,' said

Arven, 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!' said Amy, putting a hand on

Rory's shoulder in the gloom. 'Bit drastic, isn't it?

Can't we just dematerialise 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,' he said. '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 dematerialise, we'd end

up taking half the wall with us.'

'I bet the Doctor could do it,' said Rory. 'We

could leave you here, go and fetch help.'

'Too dangerous,' said Arven. '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 was 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 the place was

probably swarming with aliens who wanted to suck

out their minds.

Just another day in the life of Rory Williams.

'OK, Arven. Well help,' said Rory, 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,' said Arven. 'Is there room for you to

come around the other side of my chair?'

'Yes, I think I can do that,' said Rory. He

manoeuvred 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, nor that the arm had somehow

been pushed violently 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. 'OK.

What do you need me to do?'

'Right, the first thing you need to do is tear away

the clothing,' said Arven. '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.

'OK,' 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 said.

'I hardly think it prepared me for amputating the

arm of an artificial man,' said Rory, 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,' he said.

'Well 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 asked.

'Yes,' came the reply.

"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!' he called.

'Are you all right?' asked Amy.

'Yeah,' he said. 'Just a little knock.'

'Not you!' she said. 'Arven!'

The AI was picking himself up off the ground. 'I

am quite well,' he said. 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome,' said Rory, although he

had no idea to whom the appreciation had been

addressed.

'Let's get out of here,' said Amy. 'We need to find

the Doctor.'

'Best idea I've heard since "Let's take a trip to the

Rambalian Cluster",' said Rory, 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,' said Rory,

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 2010, too,' said Amy. '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, pants!' 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 neighbouring 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,' said Rory, 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

metres 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 said, 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?' said Amy. 'What's

coming?'

'They are,' said Rory, pointing to the shimmering

haze just as a hundred grey-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 travelled 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 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 barrelled

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 said.

'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?' asked Rory.

'From a stand back there. Picked it up as we ran

past.'

'You mean you stole it?'

'More like... borrowed it,' she said, smiling. 'Well,

it's not like I had any old pennies to pay for it.'

'I suppose not,' said Rory. He took it from her

and unfolded the front page. 'Oh,' he said.

'Oh, what?' said Amy. 'That sounded ominous.'

'Oh, nothing,' said Rory, folding the paper away

again 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 the 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 look 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,' said Rory with a shrug. 'Three days

isn't going to kill us.'

'No. But they might,' said Amy, 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,' said Arven.

'Something tells me that religion isn't going to

stop them,' said Rory.

'Perhaps not,' said Arven. 'But thick wooden

doors just might.'

'Excellent point,' said Amy. 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,' said Rory, leaping

over the wall and squelching across the muddy loam

toward the entrance.

Behind them, the three Squall hissed in unison.

'We. Are. Squall. And. We. Shall. Feast.'

Chapter

8

London, 13 October 1910

The church was cold and empty. Their footsteps

echoed in the cavernous space as Rory, Amy and

Arven hastily took cover inside.

'Help me with this,' said Arven, attempting to

close the heavy oak doors with his remaining arm.

Rory ran to his aid, pushing them shut and sliding

the deadbolts into place. Within seconds, the doors

were bucking violently in their housing as the three

Squall threw themselves against the other side,

trying to force their way in.

'Great. Now we're trapped again,' said Amy,

despondently.

Rory looked around, trying to get his bearings.

The building was ancient and sombre, solidly built,

thick stone walls inset with rows of stained glass

windows. The sunlight shining through them cast

colourful patterns over the rough wooden furniture

below.

'They're not going to give up,' said Arven, and

as if to underline his point there was a tremendous

bang from above as the creatures tried to batter their

way in through the roof. Rory saw dark shadows

flitting past the windows.

'There's more of them,' he said. 'They've found

us.' 'It won't take them long to work out they can

break in through the windows,' said Amy. 'We need

to think of a plan.'

'We can barricade the doors with some of those

pews,' said Rory, pointing at the ranks of wooden

benches lined up behind them.

'They'll still be able to get in through the

windows,' said Arven. 'Amy's right. We don't have

very long.'

Amy crossed to the altar at the far end of the hall.

'Do you think there's another way out?' she called,

her voice echoing around them.

Rory shrugged. 'Probably. But that won't do us

much good. They'll be waiting outside.'

'No, I don't mean a back door,' said Amy.

'These old churches always have hidden nooks and

crannies, secret passageways and stuff. You know

the sort of thing: dark, dingy tunnels, dead people.'

'I think you've been watching too many horror

films,' said Rory. 'But we're running out of options.'

He went to join Amy. Behind him, the Squall

were scratching frantically at the doors with their

talons. He could hear hordes of them chittering and

squawking outside.

'OK,' he said, determinedly. 'There's got to be

something around here. Some other way out. Arven,

can you keep an eye on those Squall while Amy and

I take a look around?'

The AI nodded and turned to face the door. Rory

turned to tell Amy they should split up, but found

she'd already gone. Sighing, he set out after her.

Behind the altar and pulpit was a series of smaller

rooms - private rooms, Rory assumed - for the

vicar. They were sparsely furnished. One of them

contained only a beaten old table and a few chairs,

along with a basic stove and tea-making equipment.

Another held a desk and a number of bookcases, the

shelves lined with row-upon-row of musty leather-

bound tomes. The doors were solid enough, and if

it came to it they'd be able to retreat into one of the

rooms, effectively shutting themselves off from the

invading Squall, but Rory knew they wouldn't be

able to hold out for long.

'Over here!' he heard Amy cry a moment later.

He ducked out of the study, picking his way

along the narrow stone passageway. He found her

standing between two large marble tombs, each of

them bearing the solemn-faced effigy of the dead

person it contained. She had a triumphant smile on

her face.

'See! I told you! A secret passageway.' She stepped

to one side, indicating a small doorway behind her.

The door was hanging ajar, and Rory saw that it

opened onto a flight of worn stone steps. He inched

forward and peered into the inky darkness below.

'We can't go down there,' he said. 'It could be

anything. A dungeon. A tomb. A dead end.'

'Well it's not like we have any better options,'

said Amy pointedly.

Just then, there was a cry from the other end of

the church, and their eyes met in concern. 'Arven!'

said Rory, turning around and starting back down

the passageway. He stopped when he heard Arven's

footsteps thundering against the flagstones, heading

in their direction.

A second later the artificial man was sliding to

a stop before him. 'They're here!' he said urgently.

'They're inside.' Rory could hear them bashing their

way in through the priceless windows.

'Secret tunnel it is!' said Amy, reaching through

the doorway and yanking something free from

a bracket on the wall. It was a wooden torch - an

actual, traditional torch - of the sort used to ward

off monsters in those same horror films that Rory

had joked about with Amy.

'Here, hand me those matches,' said Amy,

pointing to a small table covered in altar candles.

Rory reached over and retrieved the matchbook

from where it lay amongst the white pillars of wax.

He pulled a match free, struck it, and put the flame

to the proffered torch. It went up with a sudden

whoosh and, before he knew it, the three of them were

descending the steps into the darkness, Amy leading

the way, the torch held high above her head.

Rory pushed the door shut behind them. 'No

one's been down here for years,' he said, dismayed,

as he fought to brush the cobwebs away from his

face. They were in some sort of catacomb, a roughly

hewn tunnel that was only just high enough for Rory

to be able to stand at his full height. Arven, on the

other hand, had to stoop to be able to manoeuvre in

the confined space.

Innumerable alcoves had been carved into the

walls, each one occupied by the remnants of the

long dead. Some of them bore wooden coffins -

or what remained of them - while in others there

were simply heaps of dusty bones, wrapped in the

occasional rag. The hollow sockets of the skulls

seemed to stare at them as they crept along, winding

their way further beneath the ancient building.

'These tunnels must go right under the

graveyard,' said Amy, using the torch to singe away

a particularly dense cluster of spider webs blocking

their route. It was an eerie thought to consider they

were entirely surrounded by the dead, both in the

walls and high above them in the soft ground of the

graveyard. Rory suppressed a shudder.

They pressed on like this for some time, mostly

in silence, each of them expecting to hear the sounds

of the pursuing Squall in the tunnel behind them

at any moment. Amy led them along the narrow

tunnel as it snaked further and further beneath the

city, glancing back every few minutes to check that

Rory hadn't fallen behind.

Presently, after what seemed like hours of

trudging through the creepy passageway, Rory

became aware of the sound of running water up

ahead.

'Urgh!' said Amy in disgust. 'What's that smell?'

'Human waste,' replied Arven in his usual

monotone. 'I think we must be nearing the sewers.'

'Sewers?' said Amy. 'Perhaps we should turn

back?'

Rory covered his nose and mouth with his cupped

hands in an effort to stifle the acrid stench. 'No,' he

called. 'No, there'll be a way out through the sewers.

If these tunnels meet up with them well be able to

find a manhole to the street above. There's nothing

but Squall back there in the church.' They continued

-on, slowly growing used to the disgusting scent.

Sure enough, the tunnel soon came to a T-junction

that opened out into a dank, brick-built sewer. The

walls curved up around them, and filthy water

sluiced along in a wide channel, carrying with it all

manner of disgusting waste. Rory tried not to look

at it.

The writhing forms of rodents scampered out

of their way as they edged cautiously along the

walkway. 'Rats!' said Amy, with barely concealed

horror. 'God, I hate rats!' She waved the torch at the

sea of them around her boots, and they squealed

and shot away, splashing into the water.

'There's a ladder up ahead,' said Arven, pointing

to a spot a little further along the tunnel. Rory could

just make it out in the semi-darkness, an iron ladder

leading up to a manhole high above.

'Come on!' said Rory, urging them forward.

'Well be out of here in a few minutes.' He took the

torch from Amy and squeezed past her, leading

them on with renewed vigour.

'Right, you first, Arven,' he said as they came to

the foot of the ladder a few moments later. The AI

mounted the first rung and began the steady climb

to the surface, bracing himself with his legs as he

pulled himself up with his one remaining arm.

'Now you, Amy.' He watched until she was safely

halfway up the ladder. Then, ditching the torch on

the walkway, he followed behind the others.

When he finally got to the top of the ladder, Rory

found Arven had already shifted the cover to one

side and was hauling Amy out into the street. Rory

pulled himself up and out with a loud groan of

exertion, and Amy helped him to his feet. He dusted

himself down, blinking into the bright sunlight. A

small crowd of people were milling around, staring

at the three of them in astonishment as Arven slid the

manhole cover back into place with a loud clang.

'Erm, hello,' said Rory, offering them a little

wave. 'Sewer inspection.'

'Yes, and everything's fine,' said Amy, as if that

was the end of the matter. 'Ten out of ten.' She

grabbed Rory's arm. 'Come on!' she said, urgently,

and together the three of them, looking somewhat

incongruous in their modern clothes, set off at a run,

hoping to put as much distance between themselves

and the Squall as possible.

*

Three days.

Three days they'd been on the run, moving

from location to location, each time hoping they'd

happened upon a place where the Squall wouldn't

be able to find them, each time being forced to move

on when they did.

They'd been constantly on the move, resting for

only a few hours at a time, moving around the city,

living hand to mouth. They'd managed to purloin

some clothes from a washing line in a deserted

garden, a long black coat to cover Amy's short skirt,

which had already drawn rather too much attention

as they'd hurtled through the streets, and a shirt

and cap for Arven, the latter of which they'd pulled

-down low over his face, making it easier for him to

hide what was left of his damaged flesh.

They'd eaten only scraps of stolen food, or

whatever they'd been able to beg from the scant

few people who'd helped them. Arven, of course,

needed neither food nor sleep and had proved a

constant companion, remaining watchful and alert,

keeping an eye on Rory and Amy while they slept.

Wherever they went, however, whatever they

tried to do, they seemed unable to shake the constant

hounding of the Squall. It was as if the aliens were

somehow drawn to them, as if the creatures had

picked up their scent and were doggedly refusing

to let it go.

Rory suspected there was more to the creature's

persistence than the simple impulse to hunt, of

course, but he had no way of telling, and no real

time to consider it. They hadn't been able to remain

in one place for long enough. At one point they'd

taken shelter in a house in Kensington - a huge,

well-appointed townhouse that appeared to be

empty - only to find the still-warm corpse of a

burglar laid out on the kitchen floor, surrounded by

the scattered spoils of his trade. He'd bled profusely

from his eyes, and at the sound of movement from

upstairs they had fled again, realising the Squall

were already there, waiting for them. They'd spent

the night beneath a railway bridge instead, huddled

against the cold, wishing they'd been able to find

somewhere warm and dry.

The previous day - 16 October - they'd waited

with baited breath, waited for the Doctor to come

storming out of the misty London morning to find

them. Waited for the distant, elephantine roar of

the TARDIS's engines. In the end, however, neither

had come. The Doctor was somewhere in London,

but the likelihood was that he didn't have even the

slightest notion that Amy and Rory were there, too.

They'd discussed going back to the scene of the

crash, to see if they might find the Doctor poking

around in the remnants of the time ship, but the

presence of the Squall made that impossible. They

knew they'd never even get near the ship, what with

the sheer number of creatures in the vicinity.

They'd seen the newspapers too, of course, and

were aware of the reign of terror under which

the Squall held the city. There had been so many

deaths, so many victims. The Squall were all over

London now, picking their victims indiscriminately,

plucking them openly from the streets. They loitered

in the mouths of dark alleyways, hid around corners

or swept down on people from the rooftops, gliding

on their translucent wings. The evidence was there

before everyone's eyes, but the police seemed

entirely unable to acknowledge it, attributing the

deaths to the work of an imaginary serial killer.

Rory had considered going to them, showing

them the evidence himself, but he knew he'd simply

be branded a madman and thrown in a cell, or

worse, in a sanatorium. That would be no use to

anyone, least of all Amy and the Doctor.

Sighing, Rory peeled open his eyes.

Day was breaking. The sunlight slanting in

through the window picked out the dust motes

ebbing on the stirring currents. He watched them

dance for a moment, transfixed.

Amy was still dozing on the pile of woollen

blankets beside him, her hair like a spill of bright

red ink on the makeshift pillow. Rory decided to let

her sleep for a little while longer. He knew that she

didn't really need protecting - if anyone could look

after themselves, Amy Pond could - but it didn't

prevent him from trying. It didn't change anything.

He was her husband, and he had a job to do. Keeping

her safe was his first priority.

The house they were in had clearly been

abandoned for some months, if not longer. It was

in a grave state of disrepair. It stank of mildew and

damp, and the ceilings had collapsed in a number of

places, opening up ragged holes that allowed them

to see through to the floor above. They'd decided

to remain downstairs for the duration of their brief

stay, both to make it easier if they needed to get out

in a hurry and to avoid any of them accidentally

falling through the rotten floor from above.

They'd found the place almost by accident

while trying to lose themselves in the slums of the

Whitechapel district, hoping the sheer volume of

people, coupled with the stench of the place, would

help to throw the Squall off their scent. Rory had

been appalled by the things they had seen while

wandering the streets, the sheer poverty on display

at every turn. The people there lived in absolute

squalor, eking out a miserable existence with little

or no prospects of ever finding a way out.

It was like something he might expect to see in

the Dark Ages. But this - this was the twentieth

century. Surely there was no need for people to live

like that in 1910.

Whatever the case, he'd been grateful for the

empty house they'd discovered here, boarded up

down a narrow lane. His survival instincts had

kicked in, and together he and Arven had affected a

makeshift entrance through a back window. They'd

holed up in there for the night, wrapping up against

the cold in whatever rags they could find. Now, it

was nearly time to move on again. He wondered if

today they might find the Doctor. Or rather, if the

Doctor might find them.

He felt Amy stirring beside him. She blinked up

at him with sleepy eyes. 'Oh, it's not time to get up

already, is it? It's so cold, and I'm so warm in here.'

Rory shrugged. 'I'm afraid so,' he said. 'We've

got to get moving before the Squall find us. And

besides, today's the seventeenth of October.' He

glanced over at Arven pointedly.

'Oh,' said Amy, her mood suddenly changing.

She sat up, propping herself on one elbow. They

both knew what that meant. The AI they'd seen

dredged from the Thames, a thousand years in the

future, had been just like Arven. That one had also

been missing an arm. It had been in the water for

over a thousand years, and it had fallen into the

water - the Doctor had said - on 17 October 1910.

It was only a matter of time before Arven found

himself in the river. It was practically inevitable,

and it was going to happen today.

'I can hardly look at him,' said Rory, in hushed

tones. 'I didn't think he'd be like this, so much like

a... person. I thought he would just be a robot, a tool created for a specific role.'

'I know,' said Amy, putting her hand on his

arm. 'But all we can do is try to prevent it from

happening.' She sighed. 'I wish the Doctor would

hurry up.'

'I've been thinking about that,' said Rory. 'Do

you remember in the future, on the embankment,

when the Doctor spoke to the AI?'

'Of course.'

'Well, it clearly knew him. It recognised him. And

that means that at some point today, before he has

his... accident, Arven is going to meet the Doctor.'

Amy's eyes widened as the implications of his

words struck home. Her face split into a wide grin.

'Oh, you're not just a pretty face, are you?' she said,

leaning forward to kiss him brightly on the cheek.

'Now all we have to do is stay alive long enough

to find him,' said Rory drily.

'Oh, go on, spoil the moment,' said Amy, but she

was smiling.

'Right. Time to get up.' Rory heaved himself up

and crossed to where Arven was standing, sentry-

like, by the window. 'Morning,' he said. His mouth

felt dry as he stood beside the proud figure of the AI.

He didn't know what else to say to it, couldn't find

any words that wouldn't sound hollow, knowing

what he knew about the machine's impending

demise.

Arven seemed to sense his discomfort. 'I do not

belong here,' he said, keeping his gaze fixed on

the street beyond the grimy window. People were

already milling around out there, going about their

morning business.

'None of us belong here, Arven,' said Rory,

quietly. 'But we have to stop the Squall. We have to

find the Doctor and work out how to prevent them

from sucking the planet dry, from killing any more

people.'

Arven turned his scarred face from the window

to look at Rory. The ribbons of torn flesh still hung

across his left cheek like trailing fingers. 'I admire

you, Rory Williams. I admire your resolve, your

dedication. You remind me very much of Professor

Gradius.'

Rory swallowed, unsure how to respond. 'Um,

thanks.'

He turned, grateful for the interruption, at

the sound of a boot scuffing the bare floorboards

behind him. Amy stood watching them both with

an amused expression on her face, her hands on her

hips. 'OK, boys,' she said, full of gusto. 'It's a brand

new day, and we're going to find the Doctor. Time

to get moving!'

When the Squall found them again, they were down

by the river.

Rory had suggested they head to the waterfront,

at least in part because it was where he expected the

day's events to transpire, unless things somehow

played out very differently to how he imagined

they would.

The Doctor knew that the AI would end up in

the river at some point that day, too, so it seemed a

reasonable assumption that he might come looking

for them there. So Rory had led them to what he

thought was roughly the same location at which

they'd first arrived in London over a thousand

years in the future. It was presently a nondescript

spot on the embankment overlooking the Houses of

Parliament. All had been quiet when they'd arrived,

save for the pigeons that pecked incessantly at his

boots and the squawking gulls that wheeled beneath

a canopy of dirty grey, high above their heads.

Amy had clearly recognised where they were,

but she'd remained steadfastly silent on the subject

of Arven. To Rory this was a clear indicator that she

suspected what was going to happen, but wasn't yet

prepared to give voice to her thoughts.

Nevertheless, he felt somewhat guilty for

hastening Arven on towards what would most

likely prove to be the last few hours of his existence.

Whether he was a machine or not, whether he

actually experienced pain or anguish, he was still a

person. Standing there on the embankment, looking

out over the dark, glassy water, Rory had resolved

to do whatever he could to save the AI, to alter the

future, to prevent those things from coming to pass.

Life wasn't predetermined. He knew that. Things

could change. He'd seen the Doctor do it any number

of times, plucking people out of their own timelines,

saving people's lives, altering the course of events.

Perhaps, then, there was hope for Arven? Perhaps.

Now, however, Rory was feeling a little less

confident, as he backed up against the railing,

clutching Amy's hand in his fist. Moments earlier

a flock of Squall had descended in a grey flurry,

swooping down on them from above. There were at

least ten of them in the pack, and they didn't look as

if they were about to take no for an answer.

Rory knew he should have been more prepared,

should have been watching the skies, but the truth

was that he was simply exhausted. Three days with

hardly any food or sleep, remaining constantly on

the run, had taken their toll. And now, it seemed,

there was nowhere left for them to run. The Squall

closed in on them, encircling them, hemming them

in.

'You. Do. Not. Belong...' hissed the Squall in

their broken, fragmented English. 'You. Taste...

Different... The. Hive. Shall. Absorb. Your. Minds...

The. Hive. Shall. Feast.'

Arven stepped forward, taking in each and every

one of the aliens with a sweep of his head. 'No,' he

said. 'This ends here.'

The Squall laughed, and it was one of the most

hideous sounds that Rory had ever heard. 'The.

Artificial. Man. Is. Of. No. Consequence... The.

Hive. Shall. Feast.'

Was this it, then? Was this when Arven ended up

in the river?

Rory was filled with a sudden sense of panic. He

hadn't considered that he and Amy might end up

the same way, dropped over the riverbank, their

minds consumed by psychic parasites. Presently, it

was looking like a distinct possibility.

Rory glanced at Amy, expecting one of her usual

quips, but instead she simply grabbed hold of the

back of his head, pulled him closer and planted a

whopping great kiss on his lips.

'You too,' he said, turning back to the aliens.

There was nothing left to do. They were trapped,

and the circle of Squall was closing.

Chapter

9

London, 17 October 1910

'See! Trouble. I told you. Always in trouble.'

The Doctor, grinning inanely, charged towards

the gathering circle of Squall. 'Pond!' he bellowed

at the top of his lungs. 'What do you think you're

doing?'

'Doctor!' A woman's voice floated over the

chittering of the alien beasts. 'Doctor! Over here!'

She sounded triumphant and more than a little

relieved to hear the Doctor's voice. She leapt up and

down on the spot, waving her arms in the air above

her head.

Angelchrist hurtled along behind the Doctor,

keeping pace as best he could. It seemed odd to him

that, after spending so much time running away

from the alien creatures, the Doctor was now intent

on haring towards them. Such was the way of this

bizarre, impossible man; able, it seemed, to change

his mind on a whim, to see at least three steps ahead

of his opponents and take the necessary measures.

Angelchrist decided he never wanted to challenge

the man to a game of chess.

As they drew closer Angelchrist was able to make

out three people at the heart of the trouble - a pretty

young woman with bright red hair, a thin young

man in a checked shirt and a tall, pale-skinned man

wearing a black coat and cap. The first of these he

assumed to be Amy, the Doctor's lady friend.

There were at least ten of the creatures encircling

them, and they were backed up against the railing

with nowhere to run. The Squall were closing in,

clearly intent on devouring their minds.

The Doctor, of course, had very different

thoughts on the matter. He skidded to a halt a couple

of metres from the creatures, yanking his sonic

screwdriver from his trouser pocket and jamming

it into the receptacle at the base of his amplification

device, which he clutched in his other hand. He

poised his thumb over the button, ready to trigger

the contraption.

'Oi! You lot! You've had your warning. Now get

out of it. Go on. Get out of here.' The Doctor glared

at the Squall, who turned as one to regard him, their

glassy eyes shining in the morning sun. 'Leave my

friends alone.'

'The. Hive. Knows. You. Doctor...' they replied.

'The. Squall. Have. Tasted. Your. Thoughts.... The.

Hive. Hungers. For. Your. Mind.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'Ah, you see, that's

where you've got it wrong. That's where you've

got it very, very wrong. Because if you knew me,

if the hive truly understood what I was about, it

would know that I will never let it succeed, that

I will do absolutely everything to prevent it from

consuming this planet. It would know that I'm the

Doctor, that I never give in, and that it should be

very, very scared.' He paused, his expression stern,

unforgiving. 'It would know that it should have left

while it had the chance.'

The Squall cocked their heads to one side in a

display of eerie symbiosis, regarding the Doctor

as though weighing his words. 'The. Hive. Shall.

Enjoy. Consuming. Your. Mind. Doctor... You. Are.

A. Worthy. Enemy. Of. The. Squall...'

'Wrong answer!' said Amy, as the hungry pack

of Squall turned away from her and launched

themselves toward the Doctor, their talons

glistening.

Calmly, the Doctor held his sonic device aloft

and pressed the button. 'I warned you,' he said.

The results were instantaneous. The Squall

dropped immediately to the ground like so many

dead weights, screaming and writhing in agony.

They clutched at their heads, some of them even

using their own talons to burrow into their flesh as

if trying to physically wrench the noise out of their

heads.

Amy looked at the Doctor, a wide-eyed expression

on her face.

The Doctor released the trigger. All around

him, the grey-skinned creatures were sprawled on

the ground, groaning and shaking their heads in

confusion. 'Go. Now, before I press it again.'

The nearest Squall looked up at him and hissed,

its fangs gleaming. Dark, red blood was trickling

from its ears.

'Go!' he bellowed, and the creatures scattered,

scrabbling over the paving stones and scampering

away into the hazy morning. Seconds later, there

was no sign that they'd ever been there at all.

The Doctor met Amy's gaze, a playful smile on

his face. 'It won't keep them busy for long,' he said.

Amy's face split into the widest of grins and she

ran at him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders

and squeezing him tight. The Doctor, for his part,

looked decidedly uncomfortable, and, with both

hands full, simply stood there and allowed himself

to be squeezed, a baffled expression on his face.

A moment later she released him, stepped back

and folded her arms crossly over her chest, although

Angelchrist could tell it was mock fury. 'Three days!

Three days we've had to hang around waiting for

you to show up. Do you know how desperately I

need a shower?' She punched him gently on the

arm. 'Three days!'

The Doctor glanced from Amy to the young

man, and then back to Amy again. He gave her

an apologetic look. 'I thought I left the two of you

safely in the twenty-eighth century?' he said.

'Well, you left us in the twenty-eighth century,'

said the man. 'I'm not sure if safely is exactly the

adjective I'd use to describe it.'

Angelchrist raised an eyebrow. The twenty-

eighth century!

'The Squall,' said Amy. "The Squall were there,

too. We found Professor Gradius, but we were too

late. They'd already killed her. We used her time

ship to get away, to come back to 1910 to find you.

Only, we overshot by a few days.'

'I'm sorry,' said the Doctor. 'I'm sorry I put you

through that. Both of you.'

They stood in silence for a moment.

'Still,' said the Doctor, a little sheepishly, 'it must

have been a little bit exciting, wasn't it? Travelling

in an experimental time ship. Breaking new ground.

You were probably some of the first humans in history

to take part in an incredibly, profoundly dangerous

time experiment. I mean, really, anything could

have happened.' He prodded Amy inquisitively on

the shoulder, then pinched her cheek between his

finger and thumb as if checking she was actually

real. Amy slapped his hand away and rubbed at her

face. 'So? What was it like?'

Rory sighed. 'Fine. Good. Right up until the

crash landing.'

'Ah. Yes. I saw that. Hmmm.' The Doctor tapped

his index finger against his lips thoughtfully.

Feeling ever so slightly discomfited, as if he were

intruding on a private conversation, Angelchrist

gave a polite cough into his fist in an effort to remind

the Doctor of his presence.

'Of course! How incredibly rude of me!' The

Doctor spun around on the spot and beckoned

him forward. 'Professor Angelchrist, meet Amy

and Rory. Amy and Rory, say hello to Professor

Angelchrist.' The Doctor took Angelchrist's hands,

crossed them over the wrists and placed one of them

in Amy's hand and the other in Rory's. He shook

them all up and down and then stood back, looking

pleased with himself.

They quickly released each other and stepped

back, embarrassed expressions on their faces.

'Good. So we all know each another. Now we can

get on with stopping the Squall,' said the Doctor.

He turned as if to set off.

'Ah, wait a minute, Doctor,' said Angelchrist. 'I

think you're forgetting someone.' The unusually

tall man who was standing off to one side, quietly

watching the retreating Squall, had piqued

Angelchrist's curiosity.

'I am? Oh! Of course I am!'

Amy grinned, beckoning to the pale-skinned

figure. He stepped forward so that the Doctor and

Angelchrist could get a better look at him. 'This is

Arven,' said Amy. 'He's a friend.'

Angelchrist regarded the unusual figure. At

first his brain failed to register the ragged strips

of flesh hanging loose from the man's face, or the

dull, exposed metal of his cheekbone beneath. And

then it hit him, and he almost staggered backward

in surprise.

The man wasn't human.

'Ah, hello, Arven,' said Angelchrist, extending

his hand.

The artificial man took it and shook it firmly. His

hand felt rubbery and cold. 'Likewise, professor

Angelchrist.'

The Doctor was grinning like a lunatic. 'Arven?'

he said, with a knowing glance at Amy.

'My official designation is RVN-73,' replied

Arven.

Angelchrist stepped out of the way to allow the

Doctor through.

'Oh, look at you!' said the Doctor, giving Arven

an appraising look. 'You're beautiful.' The Doctor

walked in a circle around the AI, utterly transfixed.

Then, coming around to face him again, he leaned

in, studying Arven's face. 'Wonderful!' he said.

'Who built you?'

'My registered place of activation is the Villiers

Artificial Life laboratory in Battersea, London.'

The Doctor nodded in appreciation. 'You were

the pilot who brought my friends safely back to

1910?'

'Indeed,' said Arven, a glint in his eye.

'Well, thank you,' said the Doctor. 'But tell me,

what happened to your arm?' he asked, peering

nosily into the empty socket.

'Long story, involves a wall,' interrupted Rory.

'Let's just say my CV now states that I've performed

an emergency amputation on a robot.'

'Oh, he's far more than a robot, Rory,' said the

Doctor, patting Arven on the chest. 'Far more than

that.' He turned, glancing over at Angelchrist. 'What

time is it, professor?'

Angelchrist reached into his waistcoat pocket

and extracted his timepiece. 'Just after ten,' he said.

The Doctor nodded. 'Then perhaps there's still

time,' he said, more to himself than the others. He

looked as if he were about to say something else,

but Amy interrupted him with a question.

'Have you found the source? The hole where the

Squall originated?' she said. 'You obviously haven't

stopped them yet...'

'Yes. The rift was opened three days ago,' said the

Doctor, distracted. 'The hive is growing in strength

and... hold on a moment,' he looked momentarily

taken back as her words finally registered, 'I've only

been here a day!' The consternation was evident in

his voice. 'A day! Not three, like some of us here.'

He looked reprovingly at Rory, who raised his

eyebrows in a 'what, me?' sort of way.

Amy frowned. 'Three days... but that's when

we arrived, that's when... oh.' Angelchrist saw

realisation dawn in her eyes. 'Oh. Oh no.'

'What is it?' said Rory, glancing nervously at the

Doctor. 'What's wrong?'

'Three days, Rory! The rift opened three days

ago. It was us...' Amy looked to the Doctor for

confirmation, who gave her the slightest of nods.

'We were the ones who used the time ship to punch

a hole through to 1910! We came in search of the

Doctor. Arven even warned us. He said that until

that point, the ship had only been used for short,

local experiments. We're the ones responsible for

allowing the Squall through to this time period in

the first place.'

'Hang on a minute,' said Rory, raising a hand to

ensure everyone was listening. 'I don't understand.

How can it have been us? Surely that's some sort

of paradox? We only came back in time to look for

the Doctor because the Doctor came back looking

for the monsters. The monsters were already here.

That's right, isn't it?'

'Yes,' said the Doctor, 'but—'

'Hold on,' interrupted Rory. 'Let me get this

straight. What you're describing is an impossibility.

Logically, it can't have been us who opened the

rift, because the rift already existed before we ever

got into the time ship. Simple cause and effect. If

it hadn't been for the AI in the river, you would

never have gone back in time to find the Squall, and

we would never have stayed behind in the twenty-

eighth century.'

The Doctor shook his head. 'No, no, Rory. It

doesn't work like that. History is like a...' the Doctor

wove his fingers together and wiggled them around

before Rory's face, searching for the right words,

'like a... a noodley soup of causality, a big bundle

of threads. Pull a loose end and it begins to unravel.

Events in the future impact on events in the past.'

He glanced at Amy, and then turned his attention

back to Rory again. Angelchrist stood watching him

from the sidelines, a fascinated expression on his

face.

'Humans experience the world in such a linear

fashion. You live, you grow old, you die. But the

universe is vaster and older and more complex than

you could possibly imagine. History isn't linear, just

because it seems that way. It's a living, changing

thing. It shifts with the tides. History is more than

the sum of what we experience, and it's not as

fragile as you think. There are fixed points, yes,' he

stopped for a moment to take a breath, 'things that

have to happen, things that have occurred and will,

always, occur. Those events can't change, can't be

altered. Everything else... well, history flexes, Rory.

Time bends. It tries to assert order on chaos.'

Rory frowned. 'So, just so I'm clear - the world

isn't about to suddenly unravel because everything's

stopped making sense?'

The Doctor looked deadly serious, as if Rory had

asked the most momentous of questions and he'd

honestly had to consider the answer. 'No. Reality

isn't about to unravel. At least, I don't think so. For

now. Assuming we can find a means of stopping the

Squall, that is.' He ran a hand through his hair and

screwed up his face in thought.

Rory didn't look at all placated by the answer

he'd received.

Amy stepped forward, looping her arm through

the Doctor's. 'So, what next, Doctor? I assume you

have a plan?'

The Doctor smiled. 'You know me, Pond. I always

have a plan.'

'That's what I'm worried about,' mumbled Rory.

To the TARDIS!' proclaimed the Doctor,

and set off, dragging Amy along beside him, his

amplification device tucked safely beneath his left

arm.

Shrugging, Angelchrist fell into step with the

artificial man. Surely, he considered, things couldn't

get any stranger than this.

Chapter

10

London, 17 October 1910

Angelchrist couldn't help but feel a slight sense of

trepidation as the small troupe turned off the busy

Cheyne Walk in the direction of the Doctor's ship.

Just a few hours earlier the alleyway here had been

the scene of a horrific attempt on the Doctor's life, and

it was by sheer chance more than design that they'd

been able to get away safely at all. The experience

had not been a pleasant one, and Angelchrist was

still smarting from his tumble across the cobbles.

Now, by returning so soon, it felt as if they were

simply walking into a trap that had been knowingly

laid on for them by the hive mind. Angelchrist hoped

the move wasn't ill considered. He knew the Doctor

needed to get back to his ship, but all the same, if it

went wrong he'd be endangering the lives of several

people. He hoped the Doctor really did have a plan.

He decided to forge ahead, and managed to catch

the Doctor by the arm before he turned the corner

into the mouth of the alleyway.

'Doctor, how do you know we're not simply

walking into a trap?' he asked in hushed tones so

the others wouldn't be startled.

'Oh, of course we're walking into a trap,' the

Doctor replied, brightly. 'A big, fat, obvious trap.

But the thing is, professor,' he leaned forward,

conspiratorially tapping the side of his nose, 'we

know it's a trap. And if we know it's a trap, it isn't

really a trap at all.'

At this, he gave another of his beaming smiles,

turned on his heel and disappeared around the

-corner in search of his ship.

Angelchrist couldn't quite follow the logic of

the Doctor's assertion, but he was here now, and he

couldn't in all good conscience allow the man to put

himself in harm's way without offering his support.

They'd been through so much together in just a few

hours, and Angelchrist wasn't about to simply walk

away just because the Doctor had managed to find

his friends. London was still at risk. The world was

still at risk, and Angelchrist knew his duty.

Facing his fear, he took a deep breath, fought

against his instincts to flee, and followed the Doctor

around the corner.

Sure enough, the alleyway was still crawling with

the creatures. There were scores of them, covering

almost every surface, like maggots writhing in a

festering wound, like wasps in a vast and intricate

hive, the TARDIS at the centre of it all, their cold,

unwilling queen.

'Doctor...?' said Amy, moving over to stand

beside him. There was hesitation in her tone.

Nervousness. 'You said you had a plan?'

'Oh, don't worry, Amy,' said the Doctor. 'This

sonic amplifier here is more than up to the task.

Custom built for the purpose, in fact.'

The Doctor pulled the contraption out from

under his arm, inserted the sonic screwdriver and

held it aloft, pressing the button. 'There,' he said,

satisfied.

Nothing happened.

'Hmmm... Now, I wasn't expecting that.'

'Doctor!' said Amy, now with a little more

urgency. The Squall had begun to drop from their

perches, scampering across the brickwork to get

nearer to the Doctor, flowing towards them in an

inexorable, chittering tide of grey.

Angelchrist stiffened, wishing he'd brought

his revolver along after all, despite the Doctor's

protestations. If he was going to die at the hands

of these monsters, he at least wanted to go down

fighting. He braced himself, waiting for the attack

to come.

He heard a hissing sound from close behind him

and turned to see a number of the Squall had come

around behind their small group, hemming them

in. Angelchrist edged closer to the Doctor, noticing

that Rory and Arven were doing the same.

The Doctor pressed the button on his sonic

screwdriver again. Once again, nothing happened.

'Hmmm. That's interesting,' he said.

'What's interesting?' asked Amy, her tone

growing in desperation. She was holding her

head, groggy with the pain of the Squall's psychic

assault.

'They're adapting faster than I anticipated,' he

said. 'The hive is growing in intelligence. It won't

be long before it's fully manifested. It's already

figured out how to tune out the frequency of the

sonic screwdriver.'

'Meaning?'

'Meaning the amplification device doesn't

work.'

'So after all that, we're trapped?'

'Oh, I wouldn't put it quite like that, Amy. I'll

think of something.'

'Well you'd better think quickly, Doctor,' said

Rory, his back to them.

Angelchrist issued a cry of alarm as one of the

creatures lurched for him, catching him by the

jacket and causing him to stumble forward into the

clutches of another. It wrapped its cold, bony fingers

around his throat as he tried to fend it off, striking

it repeatedly in the jaw with his fist and succeeding

only in angering it further. He felt the thing probing

at the edge of his consciousness and he cried out,

mustering all of his strength in an attempt to defend

himself.

'Doctor!' screamed Amy, distraught.

The Doctor glanced round to catch sight of

Arven, wrestling with one of the Squall, using his

single remaining arm to keep it at bay by swinging

it back and forth like a shield to block the progress

of the others.

'Oh, Arven! You're a genius! Modulate the

frequency! Why didn't I think of that?' The Doctor

began to fumble with his contraption, pulling a

bunch of wires loose and tying them together in a

slightly different configuration.

'I don't understand, Doctor,' called the AI, its

voice calm and steady, despite the ferocity of the

battle in which it was engaged.

'Oh, just something you'll say to me when we

first meet,' replied the Doctor. 'Hold on, professor!'

he called to Angelchrist, 'Nearly there...'

'I can't hold them off much longer,' shouted

Rory.

'Just a moment! Almost... almost... there!'

The Squall suddenly released its grip on

Angelchrist's throat, shuddering and falling back

against the wall of the alleyway. Angelchrist

spluttered and fought for breath.

The Doctor brandished the device before him

and the Squall parted in a great wave, falling back,

screeching in frustration and pain. 'There,' he said.

'See how you like it when someone forces their way

into your head. Not very nice, is it?'

'Come on,' he said to the others, stalking forward,

cutting a swathe towards the TARDIS through the

massed ranks of Squall.

He stopped before the doors, turning and handing

the crazed bundle of wires and components to Rory.

'Keep your finger on that button, Rory,' he said, and

Rory nodded, nervously taking the contraption in

both hands while trying to do as the Doctor asked.

The Doctor fished around in his pockets for a

moment before producing a silver key, which he

promptly dropped onto the cobbles and had to

stoop to retrieve, an embarrassed twinkle in his

eye. 'Always doing that,' he mumbled beneath his

breath.

The Doctor turned the key in the latch and the

TARDIS door swung open smoothly. 'Now,' he said

magnanimously, 'come on inside, quickly.'

Angelchrist frowned. 'Doctor, how are we all

going to fit in there?' Now that he was actually

standing before the strange blue box - the Doctor's

ship - Angelchrist felt utterly dismayed. With no

Squall crawling over its surface he could see it

clearly for the first time, and was shocked by the

true dimensions of the thing. It was tiny, with

room inside for no more than two or three people.

'There's no way we're all going to be able to squeeze

inside.'

Amy, standing on the threshold, smiled back at

him. 'Oh, I like this bit,' she said enigmatically.

'Trust me, professor,' said the Doctor, clapping

him on the shoulder and urging him forward.

'You're going to enjoy this.'

Angelchrist, bemused, gave a brief nod of

acknowledgement and followed Arven into the

ship.

Inside, the room was enormous, entirely at odds

with the dark, claustrophobic interior he'd expected.

Instead, it was gleaming bright, all orange and red,

like something out of a Jules Verne or H.G. Wells

novel. The cavernous space seemed erratically

designed, with various mezzanines connected by a

network of walkways and staircases, disappearing

off into what he presumed were other rooms within

the ship. Strange, shining roundels were spaced at

intervals around the walls, and at the heart of the

room was a central dais - a large, raised platform

- containing what Angelchrist could only assume

were the vessel's controls. They reminded him of his

laboratory, of the higgledy-piggledy contraption the

Doctor had assembled there. They looked as if the

Doctor had built them himself, patching them up out

of whatever he had to hand. Perhaps, Angelchrist

considered, that was exactly what had happened,

and the control panel was nothing but a reflection

of the Doctor's erratic, eccentric personality, of all

the times and places he had visited.

He watched as the Doctor leapt up onto the

platform, taking the stairs two at a time, and set to

work banging at the controls, his fingers dancing

over the myriad buttons and switches.

Angelchrist could barely fathom what he was

seeing. There was a speaker from a gramophone;

a typewriter; knobs, buttons, dials and levers;

blinking glass screens that seemed to him like tiny

windows, peering out onto other, unrecognisable

worlds. There were looping cables; a chair; a hand

crank; a bell; flashing lights. At the centre of it all

was a tall glass column that extended up toward the

distant ceiling, serving what purpose he could only

imagine. And then there was the Doctor, presiding

over it all like a mad man, a wide grin on his face as

he threw himself into whatever task he had given

his attention. It was impossible, and yet it was all

maddeningly real.

Angelchrist reeled. Suddenly the strangeness

of the last few hours, the sheer immensity of it

all, came crashing in. He backed toward the door,

feeling overwhelmed. He didn't know what to

make of it. He turned, peering out of the door to

see the alleyway beyond, the Squall still writhing

there in their masses. Even that, somehow, seemed

more real to him at that moment than the interior of

the TARDIS. Even those monsters seemed easier to

comprehend.

'Um... er...' he staggered toward the alleyway.

Amy caught him by the arm. 'I don't think you

want to go back out there in a hurry, professor,' she

said softly, pulling him in and slamming the door

shut behind him.

'But...?'

'I know, it's a lot to take in,' she said.

'This is your ship, Doctor? Your vessel?'

'Yes! Marvellous, isn't it?' called the Doctor, still

intent on hammering away at the vessel's controls.

'It's miraculous! It's... it's...'

'Big?' offered Rory.

Angelchrist laughed out loud, twisting around

on the spot, trying to take it all in. 'Yes!' he said.

'Yes, it's big!'

He felt breathless. His heart was hammering in

his chest so that he thought it might burst. 'How...?'

he said, trailing off, unable to find the words.

'Dimensionally transcendental,' called the Doctor

from over by the console. He was hopping about

now, still twiddling dials and examining readouts.

'Or in other words, bigger on the inside,' said

Rory, grinning.

'Bigger on the inside,' Angelchrist repeated.

'Quite so.'

'Professor Gradius would have marvelled,' said

Arven, circling the room, staring up at the gleaming

central column. 'This was always her dream. A

vessel such as this.' He sounded full of awe.

'What wonders,' said Angelchrist, 'what

remarkable things you must have seen.

'Oh, you get used to it,' said Amy, nonchalantly,

as she skipped up the steps toward the Doctor. 'And

sometimes the plumbing leaves something to be

desired.'

The Doctor glanced up, shooting her an affronted

look. 'Now, let's see about this dimensional rift,

shall we?' He grasped hold of the edges of a monitor

screen and pulled it closer to him on concertinaed

hinges, examining its contents intently. 'Oh,' he

said, after a moment. 'Oh, that's not good. That's

not good at all.'

'What is it?' said Amy.

'It's too big,' he replied, his voice low and serious.

'The rift is too big. It's a whopping great hole in the

fabric of the universe. So big you could get a double

decker bus through it.' He seemed to shudder at the

very thought of this. 'Actually, I've done that before.

Not a pleasant experience.'

'Too big for what?' asked Angelchrist.

'I was planning to use the TARDIS,' said the

Doctor. 'Fly it through the rift, cause it to collapse in

on itself. But the hole is too wide. The stress would

cause the TARDIS to implode.'

'Um...' said Rory, and everyone turned to regard

him. 'Forgive me for stating the obvious, but that's a

bad idea, isn't it?'

'I'm guessing we might need a new plan?' said

Amy.

'What would happen,' said Angelchrist, watching

the Doctor intently. 'If the TARDIS were to

implode.'

'Oh, you know. End of the universe, cracks

through time. Same old story. Wouldn't want to go

through that again.'

The Doctor stood back from the console,

drumming his fingers against his temples. He

paced back and forth while the others looked on in

silence.

'So?' said Amy, after a moment, 'what about Plan

B?'

'Plan B?' said the Doctor. 'Plan B? Yes. Good

point. There's always a Plan B.'

'And...?' she coaxed.

'And... I'm working on it,' he said, with a sigh.

He crossed to one of the railings, and then returned

to the console again, his forehead wrinkled in

thought.

'DOCTOR.' The voice came suddenly, booming

loudly throughout the TARDIS and causing all but

Arven and the Doctor to cringe, covering their ears

in surprise at the sudden aural assault. 'DOCTOR,'

it sounded again, and this time it was immediately

clear to whom the sinister, hissing voice belonged.

'Doctor! That's the Squall. How are they

doing that?' said Amy, urgently. 'Are they in the

TARDIS?'

'Oh, you're clever,' said the Doctor, addressing

the voice. 'You're very, very clever.' Angelchrist

could hear the admiration in his voice.

'Doctor?' said Rory.

'It's using the TARDIS's telepathic circuits,

manipulating the ship's psychic matrix. The hive

mind is talking to us through the TARDIS,' he said.

'WE SEE, DOCTOR, THAT WE WERE RIGHT

TO CONSIDER YOU A WORTHY OPPONENT,'

the voice boomed.

The Doctor laid a hand on the console. 'I'm sorry

old girl,' he whispered. 'Might be nice if you could

keep it down a bit,' he called to the hive mind.

'WE RELISH THE OPPORTUNITY TO

ABSORB YOUR MIND, DOCTOR. THE TIME

IS APPROACHING. YOUR TARDIS WILL BE

A GREAT ASSET TO THE HIVE. WE SHALL

POPULATE THE UNIVERSE, EXTENDING

OURSELVES INTO EVERY CONCEIVABLE TIME

AND PLACE IN THIS PHYSICAL REALM.'

'So that's why you're so anxious to consume my

mind,' said the Doctor. 'Oh, you disappoint me. You

really do. I'd have thought you'd have come up with

something a bit more original than that. Well, I can

assure you, I won't allow it. Whatever happens, I

won't let you have the TARDIS.'

The Squall laughed, and the sound of it made

Angelchrist's stomach churn. 'YOU HAVE NO

CHOICE. THIS CITY WILL FALL WITHIN A FEW

HOURS. THE HIVE IS MANIFESTING. THIS

UNIVERSE WILL BE OURS.'

'Doctor, what are we going to do?' said Amy.

There was desperation in her tone. For the first

time since meeting her, Angelchrist got the sense

that, despite the bravado, despite the gallant front,

she was. really just as fragile and scared as the

rest of them. With the exception, perhaps, of the

unflappable Doctor himself.

The Doctor met her gaze across the console.

'We're going to stop them,' he said, decisively.

'That's what we're going to do. With the TARDIS, the

Squall would be unstoppable. They would spread

like a plague, right across the universe, obliterating

not only every world, but every known point in

time, too. Species would cease to exist in the blink

of an eye. Only the hive would exist, all pervading,

all knowing.' The Doctor turned to Angelchrist.

'Professor, we need to get back to your lab.'

'Very well, Doctor,' he replied, pleased to be able

to offer at least some assistance.

'But the creatures,' said Arven. 'They're swarming

all over the ship. Even with your amplification

device, I'm doubtful we'll be able to deter them all.'

The Doctor grinned. 'Then well take the

shortcut,' he said, reaching over to the console. He

punched a few buttons and yanked on a lever, and

the ship bucked suddenly beneath their feet. 'Hold

on!' he called.

There was a grating, wheezing roar from within

the belly of the TARDIS, and Angelchrist was pitched

forward, clutching for a nearby railing as the floor

seemed to lurch, first one way and then another.

The glass column at the centre of the console rose

and fell in keeping with the steady sighing of the

ship. Angelchrist held on for all he was worth.

Moments later there was a resounding clang, and

everything was still.

Chapter

1 1

London, 17 October 1910

'Right!' said the Doctor, giving a brisk clap of his

hands. 'We've arrived.'

Amy, peeling herself away from where she'd

been gripping the console, jumped down from

the central dais and ran over to where Rory was

standing beside Arven.

Angelchrist looked on in confusion. 'What? Have

we moved? Are you telling me this vessel has just

flown us halfway across London, all in a matter of a

few seconds?'

'Absolutely!' said the Doctor, brightly. 'We're in

your laboratory, professor. I'm afraid I'm going to

need to raid your workshop again.'

'Oh... ah... be my guest,' said Angelchrist, feeling

more than a little baffled by the whole situation.

In his laboratory? Surely not? How could a vehicle

arrive suddenly indoors?

He watched as Amy strode purposefully toward

the door, turned the latch and disappeared outside.

'Oh, nice pad, professor,' she said, her voice trailing

behind her through the open door. She popped her

head back around the doorframe. 'You coming?' she

said to Rory.

Tentatively, Angelchrist released his grip on the

railing, which he realised he'd been gripping so

hard that his knuckles had gone white. He flexed

his fingers, trying to get the feeling back. He'd

never been a nervous man, taking everything he

encountered in his stride. He'd fought monsters

on behalf of the British government, both men and

- beasts, and he'd travelled halfway around the globe,

immersing himself in wildly different cultures. But

this... travelling in a vessel such as this... Well, he

didn't know what to make of it. He felt speechless,

as if his world had just been turned upside down.

'Go on, professor. It's all right, really,' said the

Doctor, coming over to stand beside him and putting

a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Angelchrist allowed himself to be led to the door.

He peered out nervously through the opening.

Sure enough, he could see his laboratory on the

other side. He smiled at the familiar sight of his

armchair beside the bookcase; the coffee table, still

strewn with the tools and equipment abandoned

there by the Doctor earlier that morning; the

Egyptian sarcophagus standing proud against the

far wall; even his prized clockwork owl, hopping

from foot to foot on its wooden perch, clacking and

chirping.

He stepped out over the threshold, relieved to

feel his feet encounter the plush, red carpet. He

filled his nostrils with the musty scent. Yes, he was

in his laboratory. It was unmistakable. He glanced

back at the Doctor stepping out of the TARDIS

behind him. 'It's a miracle,' he said, 'an out and out

miracle! This... this box of tricks - it's the work of a

magician!'

The Doctor grinned, leaning in the doorway. 'A

magician? I think I could take to that,' he said.

'Oh, leave him alone, professor. He's got a big

enough head as it is,' said Amy playfully.

'Oi! Watch it, Pond,' said the Doctor, stepping

out to allow Arven to join the others. He turned and

patted the wooden frame of the police box. 'I don't

know what I'd do without her,' he added. 'And I

suppose it is magic, of a sort.'

Angelchrist smiled. 'Thank you, Doctor,' he

said.

He crossed the room to where Amy and Rory

were milling about, examining the decades' worth

of paraphernalia.

'It's the ultimate boy's room,' said Rory, clearly

entranced by the spoils of so many adventures. He

was running his hands over a clay tablet that had

been impressed with a letter to the gods, written

in ancient cuneiform. Amy was watching him with

adoring eyes.

Arven, on the other hand, was silently taking it

all in. He seemed the most ill at ease of them all,

this mechanical man, as if he knew he didn't belong

in this world, in this age of steam and industry.

He was an oddity here, an anachronism, unable to

understand his surroundings, unable to blend in

like the others.

There was something else, too. Angelchrist was

sure of it. The automaton appeared to be afflicted by

a great sense of loss. Whether this was a symptom

of being so dramatically displaced in time - he'd

overheard the Doctor claim that Arven was a relic

from the twenty-eighth century - or whether there

was something deeper, something more personal

behind it, Angelchrist did not know. He didn't

suppose there was a great deal he could do to help.

Angelchrist glanced back at the TARDIS. From

here, the, wooden box looked as if it might always

have been a fixture in his laboratory, standing there

between the remnants of a Grecian marble and the

wooden model of the Neanderthal man. Just another

oddity in his collection.

That was the difference between the Doctor and

Arven, he considered. Not the fact that one was

formed from flesh and blood and the other from steel

and rubber, but the fact that the Doctor just seemed

to fit For him it seemed effortless - the manner in

which he'd ingratiated himself in Angelchrist's life,

the way in which he talked to people - even the way

he'd dealt with the Squall. He, too, was from another

time and place, but seemed eminently adaptable,

able to compensate as he went, comfortable with

his incongruities. It was admirable, and spoke to

Angelchrist of great experience. He wondered how

old the Doctor really was.

Right now, the Doctor was busying himself

gathering armfuls of components from around the

lab. He bustled about like this for a few moments,

making interested noises as he added to his pile of

bits. Then, sighing happily like a child in a sweet

shop, he plumped himself down in an armchair

and scattered bits of metal and reels of copper wire

all over the coffee table. Next, he produced the

amplification device he'd made earlier, along with

Angelchrist's best top hat.

'Rory,' he said, without looking up from the

heaped mess, through which he'd already begun

to rifle with apparent purpose, 'I'm going to need a

few bits from the TARDIS, too.'

'Anyone for tea?' asked Angelchrist, suddenly

remembering his manners. There were more

visitors in his house than he'd seen in years, and the

momentary disorientation of having travelled in the

Doctor's extraordinary vessel had thrown him.

'Excellent idea,' said the Doctor, 'that's exactly

what's called for.'

'And food,' said Amy, hopefully. 'If you have

any food? It's been three days since our last proper

meal.'

'Of course,' said Angelchrist, nodding. 'I'll see

what I can rustle up. Mr Arven?' he asked, unsure

of the etiquette. 'Is there anything you require?'

'No, thank you, professor. There is nothing I

require at this time,' came the monotone reply.

Angelchrist imagined there was rather a lot the

artificial man required, but nothing that he or anyone

else in the room could offer. 'Very well. Please,

make yourselves at home,' he said, redundantly. 'I'll

return in a few moments.'

As he made his way to the kitchen, Angelchrist

considered the events of the last day. He couldn't

quite believe that he was worrying about domestic

duties at a time like this, only minutes after being

attacked in an alleyway down by the river and with

vast hordes of Squall infesting London. But, just as

the Doctor had said, it seemed to be exactly what

was called for. He would do his bit. He would make

himself useful, whatever it was that needed doing.

When Angelchrist returned ten minutes later bearing

a plate of hastily prepared sandwiches and a full

pot of tea, he found the Doctor and Arven sitting by

the coffee table, deep in discussion. Amy and Rory

were still poking around amongst the detritus of his

secret service career, pawing through the heaps of

miscellaneous junk looking for treasure. It amused

him to see young people so fascinated by his

collection. To many of their age it would appear as

nothing but so much rubbish, the accumulation of a

lifetime spent refusing to throw anything away.

To him, of course, it was priceless, regardless of

its monetary value. All of it. To him, each and every

object was a memory, a part of his life, a fragment of

what he'd once been and what he'd never be again.

The thought saddened him, a little. Was that really

what his life had come to? A heap of old junk in

a lonely house in Grosvenor Square? He'd never

married, always too busy to give romance more than

a cursory thought. Had he thrown his life away?

Had he wasted his best years chasing around after

the enemies of Great Britain, only to lose everything

now, to the Squall?

Perhaps it wasn't true. Perhaps he was just being

maudlin. The Doctor had shown him he still had

some fire left in his belly and, by jove, the Squall

would bear the brunt of it, even if it finished him

off. He had faith in the Doctor, too, he realised.

He couldn't explain why, but he trusted the man

implicitly. There was something about him, some

facet of his exuberant, frustrating personality that

inspired Angelchrist to keep on fighting. And fight

he would, right up until the bitter end.

For now, though, he had a job to do.

Angelchrist took the tray over to Amy and

Rory and they turned their attention gratefully to

the food, making quick work of the sandwiches.

He then poured the tea and went over to join the

Doctor and Arven, whose conversation seemed to

have stuttered to a halt. The Doctor was still busy

fiddling with the pile of odds and ends on the table,

wiring two components together with a bizarre tool

that looked more like a fork with three glowing

nibs than anything one might use to construct

something.

'Doctor? You were talking earlier as if we'd met

before,' said Arven, 'but I have no recollection of

these events. Could it be that you're mistaken?'

The Doctor, his eyes fixed on whatever delicate

transaction was taking place between the two wires

he held in his fingers, gave a resigned sigh, as if he'd

been waiting for the AI to ask this very question.

'We have met before, Arven. In the future. In your

time. You helped,' he said.

'I do not understand,' continued the artificial

man.

'It's complicated, Arven. The TARDIS can travel

in time as well as space, just like Professor Gradius's

ship. Well, much more successfully than Professor

Gradius's ship, really, but that's beside the point,'

he said, popping the pencil-thing between his teeth

while he manhandled the object on his lap. 'Events

that will occur in your future have already occurred

in my past,' he said, shaping the words slowly

around the tool in his mouth.

Angelchrist raised an eyebrow at this, but

decided not to chip in.

'So I make it home?' said Arven, and Angelchrist

marvelled that a machine could express so much

emotion with a simple expression, despite its

damaged face. It was far more than sheer mimicry,

of that he was sure.

The Doctor paused in his ministrations and

looked up. 'You take the long way home, Arven,'

he said, cryptically, and the look in his eye was

enough to tell the AI that the matter was closed. The

Doctor returned his attention to the device in his

lap, manipulating a coil of copper wire into place,

affixing it to the framework of what had once been

his amplification device.

'What are you doing, Doctor?' asked Angelchrist,

as much to break the awkward silence as anything

else.

'Oh, just making a few improvements,' said

the Doctor. 'A modification here or there.' To

Angelchrist, the construction looked more bizarre

and more unprofessional than ever.

He was about to ask the Doctor what the device

was intended to do, when a voice boomed suddenly

from the TARDIS, ringing out through the open

doors and causing Angelchrist to wince in pain.

'DOCTOR. THE TIME APPROACHES. SOON YOU

SHALL BE OURS.'

'Hard work, being popular,' said the Doctor, with

a defiant wink at Angelchrist. 'I'm sorry, professor.

They're here. We've brought them to your home.'

'It's not your fault, Doctor. There's nothing else

you could have done.' He turned at the sound of

talons tapping menacingly at the window, the

scritch-scratch of the creatures on the roof, at the

walls, at the doors. 'We make a stand. Right here,'

he said.

'All you need to do is hold them off,' said the

Doctor. 'Just keep them at bay for a few more

minutes.'

Arven stood and crossed to the window. 'There

are hundreds of them,' he said, his voice level.

'They're swarming all over the house.'

From somewhere upstairs came the crash of

broken glass.

'Defend yourselves!' called Angelchrist, rising to

his feet and rushing over to a glass-fronted display

cabinet on the wall. He pulled open the doors and

grasped hold of a mediaeval mace, hefting it in his

hands, comforted by its weight, the feel of its shaft.

'They're getting more sophisticated,' said the

Doctor. 'As the hive grows in strength, the drones are

becoming more and more intelligent. Be careful.'

The laboratory door shuddered violently in the

frame, followed by the sinister scritch, scritch of

one of the creatures trying to get in. Amy stumbled

backwards, away from the door. She grabbed hold

of a bronze idol of the Buddha that Angelchrist had

acquired twenty years earlier during one of his trips

to the East. She raised it above her head, ready to

use it if the creature managed to break through.

Seconds later the window shattered and Arven

called out as he struck at the Squall attempting to

force its way through the ragged hole. He wrapped

his remaining hand around its face and pushed it

back, sending it sprawling to the street outside. But

seconds later there were two more of the creatures,

and Angelchrist rushed to his aid, swinging the

mace with all of his strength. It connected with a

flashing talon, and Angelchrist felt the satisfying

crunch of shattered bone.

'Hurry up, Doctor! Whatever you're doing,' he

called, as he heard Amy scream over to his left.

He turned to see her slamming the Buddha down

across the shoulders of a Squall who had finally

managed to splinter the panelled door and force

its way through. It crumpled to the floor and didn't

move.

Rory was standing by her side, the Neanderthal's

wooden club clutched tightly in his hands. He swung

it with a terrified 'Arrgghhhh' as another of the

creatures jammed its head through the fragmented

door.

'YOUR ATTEMPTS TO DEFEND YOURSELF

ARE FUTILE,' said the voice from the TARDIS.

'THE HIVE SEES ALL. THE HIVE KNOWS ALL.

WE ARE LEGION.'

'Ignore it!' called the Doctor. 'Don't let it get to

you.'

'That's proving rather difficult,' said Rory

through gritted teeth, as he jammed his elbow into

the face of a Squall while Amy threw priceless

fragments of Roman mosaic at another.

'Nearly there!' called the Doctor. 'Almost...'

'I can't hold them off for much longer!' called

Arven from the window.

'There! Finished!' said the Doctor. Angelchrist

turned to see the Doctor stood, his arms held wide,

the top hat perched atop his mop of unruly hair.

'What do you think?' he said.

'What have I told you about hats!' said Amy,

grunting as, together, she and Rory manoeuvred the

ancient wooden sarcophagus across the doorway

to form a barricade. Angelchrist sighed at the loss

as one of the creature's talons burst through what

was left of the door, raking great furrows in the

decorated outer coffin.

'It's a top hat!' said the Doctor. 'Top hats are cool.

Particularly this top hat,' he added, lifting it off by

the rim to reveal a bundle of intricate wires and

components nestling inside.

'What is it?' cried Rory, with a tone somewhere

between exasperation and desperation.

'This?' said the Doctor. 'This is Plan B.'

Chapter

12

London, 17 October 1910

'Well don't just stand there! Use it!' shouted Amy,

rolling her eyes at the Doctor as he popped the

hat back onto his head and retrieved his sonic

screwdriver from amongst the pile of scraps on the

table.

'Ah, well. Yes. That's the problem. You see, it's

not quite as simple as all that.'

'What do you mean?' shouted Angelchrist over

the noise of the hissing creatures at the window,

swinging the mace to send another of them spinning

back out into the street. 'You said you were just

making a few improvements. Can't you use it to

repel the Squall?'

The Doctor looked sheepish. 'Well, those

improvements I mentioned... It's more that, now,

it'll have quite the opposite effect.'

'You mean that thing will actually attract the

creatures?' said Amy, the disbelief evident in her

voice. ' Doctor...'

'Yes. You see, the Squall want the TARDIS. And

the only person on this planet who knows how to

pilot the TARDIS is me. Ergo...'

'They want you,' said Amy. 'But we already

knew that.'

'Oh, Amy, it's much better than that. To the hive,

my mind is the tastiest morsel in the universe right

now. So tasty, in fact, that every single one of those

drones out there is trying to get at it. They've had a

taste of it, you see, back in the alleyway yesterday,

and they've seen what's on offer. None of your

typical human minds, thank you very much.' The

Doctor paused for a moment. 'As pleasant as those

human minds might be,' he added quickly. 'No, the

hive has seen inside the mind of a Time Lord, and it

wants to get at the secrets locked within.'

'This is all fascinating stuff, Doctor, but what

does it actually mean?' said Rory, still working to

barricade the door by piling up more and more of

Angelchrist's archaeological treasures.

'The hat will boost my mind's psychic signal.

Amplify it to epic proportions. It'll be like a beacon

to all of the Squall in the city. They won't be able to

resist. They'll come flocking. When I turn this little

beauty on... Well, if you think there's a lot of them

here now, just you wait.'

'And that helps us how?' said Amy, perplexed.

'It means I can lead them to wherever I want

them to be,' said the Doctor, grinning. 'It means I can

get them all back to the rift. Every one of them. The

signal from the hat will call to them, far and wide.'

'Like the pied piper of Hamlyn,' said Angelchrist,

'leading the rats to their doom.' He had to admit, he

was impressed with the Doctor's audacity.

'Well,' said the Doctor, a little disapprovingly,

'more like sending them back to where they

belong.'

'But how are you going to do that?' asked Amy.

'You said it was too dangerous to close the rift with

the TARDIS.'

'It is,' said the Doctor. 'But there's another time

ship in 1910. A damaged, experimental time ship

that might just have enough of a kick left in it to seal

the rift.'

Amy frowned. 'So you're going to create an

implosion? You're going to lead all of the Squall

right the way across London to the rift, and basically

cause the time ship to blow up, sending them all

back to their own dimension on the other side of

time? Just, so, you know, I'm getting this right.'

'Boom!' said the Doctor, grinning insanely and

making an explosive gesture with his fingers.

'I love Plan B!' said Amy, laughing out loud. 'Yay

for Plan B!'

'So, what now?' said Rory. 'Back in the TARDIS,

short hop across town?'

The Doctor shook his head.

'No?' said Rory. 'No. Of course not. Things are

never that simple.'

'The TARDIS is compromised,' said the Doctor

sadly. 'The hive is almost fully manifested. I can't

risk taking her anywhere now. There are so many

Squall in the vicinity that the hive mind might be able

to assert an influence, altering her course, or worse.'

He walked over to his ship and pulled the doors

to. 'Besides, we can't risk her being inadvertently

sucked into the temporal implosion. We have to

keep her clear of the dimensional rift.'

The Doctor glanced at Angelchrist, and then

turned back to face the TARDIS once more. 'Then

again...' he said, trailing off in thought. He pushed

open the doors and slipped inside. Angelchrist

could hear his footfalls echoing as he ran to the

central console, followed by the sounds of frenetic

button pushing and the cranking of levers. Then,

a few seconds later, he emerged with a smile on

his face, pulling the doors shut behind him with a

flourish. 'Right, where were we?' he said, a little out

of breath.

'Professor, help me with this,' said Arven, and

Angelchrist looked round to see the AI dragging

a tall mahogany dresser across the window. 'We

can make a temporary barricade. It won't last long

but it might give us some time.' He appeared to be

ignoring the talons that were flashing through the

shattered window, rending great clumps of flesh

out of his back.

Angelchrist and Rory fell in, helping to slide the

heavy piece of furniture into place. They pushed

it up against the window with a final, momentous

heave, blotting out the light and casting everything

in inky shadows.

'If we can't use the TARDIS, Doctor, how are we

going to get to the time ship?' said Amy.

The Doctor rubbed a hand over his chin. 'Oh,

plenty of options yet,' he said.

'Forgive me, Doctor,' said Angelchrist, 'but I

can't see how any of us are getting out of this house.

At least not alive. There're simply too many of the

ruddy things.'

'Good point, professor,' said the Doctor, wagging

his finger. 'Very good point. The odds are certainly

stacked against us.' He paused, as if considering.

'But that's never stopped me before. And anyway,

there's one thing we have going for us that the

Squall don't. One little thing that could make all the

difference.'

'What?' asked Angelchrist.

'Your car,' said the Doctor, beaming. 'Wonderful

machine. True vintage. Perfect for a jaunt across

town.'

The dresser by the window shifted suddenly

with an enormous bang, as the Squall began to hurl

themselves bodily at the barricade. 'It won't hold

for very long,' reiterated Arven. 'They'll be through

any minute.'

'Tell me if I'm being stupid, Doctor, but to use

the car, don't we first have to get to it?' said Rory.

'Yes,' replied the Doctor.

'And isn't it parked on the other side of the

street?'

'Yes,' the Doctor repeated. 'Quiet now. Thinking.'

He paced back and forth around the room, looking

faintly ridiculous in his tweed jacket, bow tie and

top hat.

'I'll do it,' announced Arven with sudden

urgency, and the Doctor stopped pacing and looked

up, a concerned expression on his face. 'I'll create a

distraction,' Arven continued. 'If I make a run for

it, they might give chase. At least for a moment. It

could buy you enough time to get to the car.'

The Doctor looked thoughtful. 'No, Arven. I can't

allow you to do that. They'd tear you apart.'

Arven met the Doctor's gaze. 'The long way

home, Doctor,' he said. 'I don't belong here. At least

allow me to help with this.'

- 'No,' said Rory, stepping forward as if to block

Arven's path to the door. 'Doctor?'

The Doctor sighed.

'Doctor! ' said Amy. 'He can't!'

'What choice do we have?' said the Doctor. 'The

professor's right. Unless we can get to that car,

there's no way out of this house. There are too many

lives at stake.' He reached inside his jacket pocket

and extracted his sonic screwdriver. He approached

Arven, running the glowing tip of the sonic over the

AI's chest plate.

'What are you doing?' said the AI.

'Oh, just a couple of minor adjustments. Nothing

to worry about. They'll make it easier for the TARDIS

to home in on you later.'

'Your past, my future,' said Arven, with a crooked

grin. Angelchrist thought it was the first time he'd

seen the artificial man smile.

'Something like that,' replied the Doctor, gravely.

He reached up and patted the AI on the shoulder.

Angelchrist studied the pale figure of the AI as

he turned to Rory and Amy. 'Thank you,' he said.

'For everything.'

Rory stepped forward and took the machine's

hand in his own. 'Until later.'

Amy leapt up and wrapped her arms around

Arven's neck, clutching him to her. 'See you in a

thousand years,' she said.

Finally, the AI turned to Angelchrist. 'It's been a

pleasure, professor.'

'Likewise, Arven,' he replied.

With some dignity, Arven approached the door

and began pulling aside the barricade, attempting

to lift the sarcophagus with one arm. Angelchrist

looked on, stirred by the machine's bravery as Rory

went to Arven's aid, helping him to lift the coffin

away. At that point, the AI seemed more human to

Angelchrist than any number of scoundrels he'd

had to contend with over the years. More human,

even, than the enigmatic Doctor.

The Squall crowding the doorway took

advantage of the sudden break in the defences and

began to force their way in, their claws scrabbling to

find purchase on Arven's artificial flesh. He barely

seemed to notice as he forced his way into their

midst, thrashing out at them, slapping them away

as he fought his way towards the door.

A moment later he was gone, lost amidst a forest

of thrashing grey limbs.

As they'd hoped and anticipated, the Squall in

the hallway rushed after him, creating a momentary

lull in their siege.

'Now!' said the Doctor. 'Make it count.'

Together, the four of them charged out through

the ruins of the laboratory door, Rory still clutching

the Neanderthal's club, Angelchrist still clinging on

to his mace.

'Through here,' called Angelchrist, leading

them on toward the kitchen. 'There's another

way out.' He could hear the Squall chittering and

hissing frantically as they set upon the AI in the

street outside. He cringed at the thought of what

they would do to him. He would do as the Doctor

suggested. He would make Arven's sacrifice count.

Above - them, he could hear the Squall still

banging around on the upper floor, piling in

through the shattered windows, trying to cut off

their escape routes, trying to hem them in. Well,

his old house had a few tricks up its sleeve that the

alien interlopers might not be expecting.

Angelchrist skidded to a halt before a white

wooden door. 'Down there!' he said, flinging it open

and indicating the stone stairwell.

'The cellar?' said Rory, confused. 'I thought we

were trying to get out of here?'

Angelchrist nodded, panting for breath. 'Yes.

There's an access point at the side of the house. It

leads right down to the cellar. We can shimmy our

way up and out.'

'Good!' said the Doctor, thundering down the

steps. 'Excellent!' The others followed suit, and

Angelchrist brought up the rear, pulling the door

shut behind him.

It was dark and dank down there and smelled

of damp earth and mould. The Doctor pulled his

sonic screwdriver from his pocket and held it aloft,

shining it like a torch, lighting their way.

Angelchrist pushed his way to the front, leading

them through a maze of wooden crates and boxes;

more accumulated junk from his old life. He'd

hardly stepped down there for years, and could

barely remember the contents of most of the neatly

stacked parcels. He supposed in a very real sense he'd

moved on from that life of adventure, growing old

and careworn, despite continuing to poke his nose

in the business of the police, despite surrounding

himself with the relics upstairs in the lab.

He was now himself nothing but a relic, an old

soldier, a half-remembered footnote in the stories

of the great men. The Doctor had changed all of

that, though. The Doctor had waltzed into his life

like a bumbling, ungainly teenager, sweeping him

up into his insane adventure, instilling him with

renewed vigour and life. The Doctor had reminded

Angelchrist what it was to be alive. He was damned

if he was going to let a few wretched parasites spoil

that for him now.

'Over here,' said Angelchrist, pointing up to a

small access hatch in the ceiling.

'How are we going to get up there?' asked Amy.

'Pull some of these boxes a bit closer,' said Rory,

grabbing a handful of crates and stacking them

quickly against the wall. Together, the four of them

began piling more and more of the boxes on top

of each other, forming a makeshift platform from

which they could reach the trapdoor above.

The Doctor was first to leap up onto it, craning

his neck so that his ear was close to the wooden

hatch. 'Sounds like they're still busy,' he said. He

gripped the sonic screwdriver between his teeth and

reached up with both hands, giving the trapdoor a

sharp shove. It creaked and gave way, sprinkling

him with a shower of dust and grit.

'Pah!' the Doctor spluttered, rubbing his face in

the crook of his elbow and pulling a dismayed face.

He tapped the fragments from the brim of his top

hat - his best top hat, Angelchrist reminded himself

- and slid the trapdoor slowly to one side. Daylight

slanted in through the small opening.

Without further ado, the Doctor jumped up,

grasped the sides of the hole and pulled himself

through, snaking his hips through the slight

opening. Angelchrist watched from below, waiting

anxiously to see what would happen. He could hear

the Squall from outside, still hissing and wrenching

away bits of his beloved home.

There was no sign of the Doctor. Angelchrist

saw Amy and Rory exchange a worried glance.

Then the Doctor's face appeared in the opening, his

expression reminiscent of an excited schoolboy, and

the sense of relief in the cellar was almost palpable.

'Coast's clear,' he said. 'Well, sort of.' He beckoned

to Amy. 'Come on, Pond.'

Amy scrambled up onto the pile of boxes and

extended her arms toward the Doctor. He reached

down and clasped her around the forearms, heaving

her up with a slight groan of exertion.

'Now you, Rory,' he said a moment later,

reappearing at the hole.

Finally, with one last, mournful glance back at

his home, Angelchrist climbed onto the shaky stack

of boxes and allowed the Doctor and Rory to heave

him up into the dazzling sunshine outside.

The sight out there was horrific, worse than he

could have ever imagined. His house was crawling

with the creatures. They covered every conceivable

part of its surface, relentlessly dismantling it brick

by brick, tile by tile. There were thousands of them.

He could see them forcing their way in through the

windows, prising away the wooden frames and

sending them tumbling to the ground below. They

had smashed a hole in the roof and a torrent of them

was pouring in through the gaping wound, flowing

through into his home, like liquid being poured into

a glass.

Outside, in the street, was Arven, now reduced

to little more than a gleaming metal skeleton, still

thrashing about, still fending them off as more and

more of the creatures leapt upon him, attempting to

pull his remaining arm from its socket.

'Quickly,' said the Doctor. He pointed across the

street to where Angelchrist's vehicle was parked.

Haring over to it, he vaulted up and over the door

and into the driver's seat.

For a moment Rory looked as if he was about

to start forward, to run to Arven's aid, but Amy

grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the

waiting vehicle. They clambered up into the rear

seats, and Angelchrist, distraught and still clutching

his mace, ran around the front and hurriedly gave

the crank handle a sharp twist.

The engine sputtered, but didn't start.

'Oh, you've got to be kidding!' said Amy.

One of the nearby Squall, squatting on a railing,

cocked its head and turned slowly to look at them.

Its beady red eyes flashed in recognition, and it leapt

from its perch, spreading its membranous wings

and gliding toward them.

'Don't look now,' said Angelchrist, 'but it knows

we're here.'

As one, the heads of all the Squall on the side of

the building turned to regard them.

'Go!' Amy yelled.

The Squall that had been squatting on the railing

crashed down onto the bonnet of the car, crumpling

one of the headlights, its talons puncturing the thin

metal hood. Angelchrist stood, swinging his mace at

the monster as it tried to scramble up and over the

windscreen to get at the Doctor. It ducked neatly

out of the way of his blow, cracking the windscreen

with its claws.

'Come on, professor!' called the Doctor.

Desperately, Angelchrist cranked the handle

again. This time the engine took, roaring to life with

a mechanical rattle.

'There's more of them coming!' called Rory from

the back seat.

The Doctor slammed his foot on the accelerator

and the car shot forward, sending the Squall

tumbling over the side, bouncing off the runner

board. Angelchrist dived out of the way, and Rory

leaned over, catching him by the arms as he fell

and hauling him up into the passenger seat as they

roared off down the street.

The creatures were harrying them from all sides

now, and the Doctor weaved the car around erratically

on the road. Whether he was trying to avoid them or

simply throw them off, Angelchrist couldn't be sure.

Either way, it didn't appear to be working.

He glanced back at his house as they barrelled

along the road, to see Arven, finally subdued, being

carried away into the sky by two bickering Squall.

They were tearing indiscriminately at his remaining

limbs in an attempt to rend him apart, allowing him

to dangle by one leg as they swept low over the

rooftops. Angelchrist felt anger welling up inside of

him.

Above, a thickening cloud of Squall had begun

to form in the sky behind them. 'There are scores of

them, Doctor. More. They're giving chase.'

'Oh,' said the Doctor, reaching up and triggering

something beneath the brim of his hat, 'that's just

the beginning, professor.'

Chapter

13

London, 17 October 1910

Rory couldn't believe the sheer speed that the

Doctor was managing to wring from the ancient,

open-topped vehicle. Appearances, it seemed, could

be deceptive. It looked more like a black, motorised

carriage than a car - which, he supposed, it was -

but whatever the Doctor was doing, it was charging

along at a fair lick.

He supposed the vehicle itself was probably

relatively new, even though the technology was

now considerably outmoded. At least, it would be

a hundred years from now. He wondered if the

Doctor had used his sonic screwdriver to tinker

with it earlier, making a few casual adjustments to

improve its performance. It wouldn't have surprised

him: the thing was charging along nearly as fast as

his Mini.

Rory himself was currently kneeling on the

back seat beside Amy, clutching the wooden

Neanderthal's club he'd taken from the professor's

laboratory and warily eyeing the skies.

Behind them, the vast cloud of Squall was like

an oil slick across the sky. To Rory it looked as if

the heavens themselves had opened to spew forth

multitudes of the parasites, pouring them out

into the sky. They were everywhere he looked,

thousands of them, streaming toward the vehicle -

and more specifically the Doctor - on their fleshy

wings. Even the sunlight itself had taken on a hazy,

grainy quality, as if the sky had suddenly become

overcast with dark, pregnant rainclouds.

The Doctor, it seemed, was barely in control

of the vehicle. It slewed crazily from side to side,

sliding around corners, tipping up on two wheels

as he tried to manoeuvre it around the winding

streets. The engine was protesting loudly at this

mistreatment, and Rory feared that at some point

soon it was going to give up on them. He hoped

they'd be able to make it to their destination before

it came to that.

Maddeningly, the Doctor himself seemed to be

enjoying the whole experience, a broad grin on his

face, one hand clutching the top hat to his head to

ensure that it wasn't swept away in a sudden gust.

'Hold her steady,' Rory called to the Doctor, as

an errant Squall lurched out at them from its perch

atop a lamppost, baring its fangs and hissing as it

swept low as if aiming to snatch Rory from his seat.

He scrambled to his feet, balancing precariously

on the seat and swinging the Neanderthal's club for

all that he was worth. It connected with a resounding

thud, striking the creature in the chest and causing it

to buckle over, dropping to the ground and spinning

away as the car shot off into the distance.

Rory dropped back to his knees, his heart

pounding.

'Oooh, caveman. Who'd have thought it?' said

Amy, pouting provocatively. 'Rory Williams going

all primal and protective on me.'

Rory felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

He thought about trying for a witty response, but his

brain failed to provide him with anything suitably

roguish.

Seconds later he was grabbing her by the head,

shoving her down into the seat to avoid the sweeping

talons of another Squall.

The Doctor, realising they were in trouble, spun

the wheel and sent the vehicle careening down

a narrow alleyway. Rory had to lean in to avoid

bashing his head on the wall as the side of the car

scraped loudly against the brickwork, sparks flying.

The side lamp went pinging off into the air, and

the Squall was left rolling in the gutter far behind

them.

'Sorry, professor!' said the Doctor, cringing,

as they juddered along the cobbled road. A flurry

of Squall shot through the narrow passageway in

pursuit, chittering and screeching angrily.

They burst out of the alleyway a moment later,

right into the path of oncoming traffic. The car

bucked and swerved, and there was a scream from

somewhere to Rory's left. He looked round to see a

young woman with a pram, diving out of the way

of the onrushing car.

' Whhhooooaaaaa!' called the Doctor, steering

hard to the right and bouncing them up over the

curb and onto the pavement. Pedestrians scattered

every which way with a flurry of curses and

protestations.

'Sorry!' called the Doctor at the top of his lungs,

as he bounced the vehicle back down onto the road.

People continued to scatter, screaming in sheer

horror, and for the slightest of moments Rory was

left wondering why the Doctor's driving - as terrible

as it was - had spooked them quite so dramatically.

Until the dark shadow of the Squall spread once

more overhead, that was, and he looked up at the

awe-inspiring sight above.

'Take the wheel!' he heard the Doctor shout to

Angelchrist, and turned to see the him grappling

with a Squall that had managed to drop down onto

the bonnet and reach over, wrapping one hand

around the Doctor's throat.

The Doctor, however, wasn't standing for

any nonsense and pulled the creature over the

windscreen and into the car, where it squirmed and

fought, causing Angelchrist all manner of difficulties

as he leaned over and tried desperately to operate

the controls of the vehicle.

Amy reached over, grabbed for the professor's

mace - which he'd abandoned on his seat while

he grappled with the steering wheel - and struck

the Squall squarely and efficiently on the head. A

second later it stopped writhing, out cold, and the

Doctor lifted it and tossed it over the side of the car.

It landed heavily on a fruit stand by the side of the

road, scattering crates full of oranges and lemons

across the pavement. Rory watched them roll across

the cobbles like colourful marbles.

Checking his hat was still in place, the Doctor

gave Amy an impish grin, and then dropped

back into his seat and reclaimed the controls from

Angelchrist.

The sky now was full of the creatures, forming a

vast, intricate canopy across the city, and Rory could

almost have believed they were actually trapped

inside a huge, fleshy dome. All he could see across

the rooftops were legions of Squall, stretching into

the distance as far as the eye could see.

'I can't believe there're so many of them,' he said,

to no one in particular. He leaned forward, calling

to the Doctor. 'Do you know what you're doing,

Doctor?'

'I hope so, Rory!' came the disconcerting reply.

'I've got to stop doing that,' said Rory, cursing

himself.

'What?' asked Amy.

'Asking him questions when I really don't want

to know the answers.'

Amy laughed, her eyes sparkling. He realised

then that she, too, was enjoying herself. Despite

the threat, despite whatever terrible things might

happen to them and however scared she was, Amy

was relishing every single moment.

'I love you, Amy Pond,' he said, but her reply

was lost to the wind.

Rory hefted his club, returned to his position on

the back seat and continued to survey the sky. In the

front, Angelchrist was doing the same.

'We're nearly there,' said Amy a moment later,

raising her voice over the noise of the engine. 'I

recognise this street. This is close to where we first

arrived.'

'I'm not going to have time to stop and open

the gate,' said the Doctor, twisting in his seat and

shouting to make sure he could be heard over the

noise. 'The moment we slow down the Squall will

be all over us, and I need to get inside that time

ship.' He paused for a moment as he swung the car

haphazardly around a horse and cart, startling the

animal and causing it to whinny and bolt. 'I want

you to brace yourselves,' he continued, 'and when

we finally come to rest I want you out of the car and

taking cover. You got that?'

Rory glanced at Amy and they both nodded their

assurances to the Doctor.

'You too, professor.'

'Very well,' said Angelchrist, 'I'm ready.'

Glancing back at the road, the Doctor peered

over the top of the shattered windscreen and then

forced the vehicle into a hard right turn, keeping his

foot flat on the accelerator and causing the back end

to skid out wildly into the street. One front wheel

bounced over a curb, jolting them painfully in their

seats, and then they were charging along another

narrow alleyway, the sides of the car rebounding

from the walls. Rory felt like his stomach was

somewhere in his chest.

'Get ready!' the Doctor called. 'Here it comes...'

'Oh no,' said Rory in dismay. 'He's not...'

'He is,' said Amy, grinning. 'He's going to drive

straight through...'

Rory covered his head and braced himself as

the Doctor turned the wheel sharply, sending them

careening toward the back gate of the terraced house

where the time ship had originally deposited them

in London.

'We're going to die!' called Rory. 'We're all going

to die!'

' Geronimooooooo!'

There was an enormous crunch as the wooden

gate exploded in a shower of splinters and the car

burst through, tumbling down the stone steps in a

riot of tortured metal. Seconds later it slewed to a

stop, a hair's breadth from the wall, half on its side,

the front passenger wheel buried amongst a patch

of begonias.

The Doctor was up and out of his seat in a matter

of moments, charging toward the abandoned time

ship and diving in through the open hatch.

'Come on!' said Rory, grabbing Amy by the

arm and dragging her free of the wrecked vehicle.

He looked at her questioningly and she nodded,

looking a little dazed.

'Are you hurt, professor?' he called to Angelchrist

as he dropped over the side of the wreck.

'No,' replied Angelchrist. 'No, I'm all right,' he

said, levering himself out of the crumpled nose of

his car.

Overhead, the swarm was already descending,

spinning out of the sky in a great funnel, a torrent

of deadly Squall. It was like being trapped in a

perpetual twilight, like being outside at the moment

of a solar eclipse, a sudden darkness descending

upon the world.

'DOCTOR!' The voice of the Squall boomed like

a detonating thunderclap high above the city as a

thousand or more of the drones spoke in unison.

'WE HUNGER.'

'Get behind the car, now!' shouted Rory, diving

over into the flowerbed and crouching down

behind the vehicle. One of the rear wheels was still

spinning slowly and he could smell oil seeping out

of the cracked engine housing.

Amy and Angelchrist hunkered down beside

him, watching in horror as the Squall rained down

upon the time ship. They forced their way in through

the open hatchway, filling the sky in a blizzard

of talons and wings. The noise was horrendous, a

cacophony of screeching and wailing, and Rory,

Amy and Angelchrist covered their ears, trying to

blot it out.

'Oh, Doctor...' said Amy.

Rory didn't know what to do, what to say to her,

so instead he simply watched, waiting for something

to happen, waiting for the Doctor to do his work.

'Oh, no!' Angelchrist cried a second later, as the

limp form of the Doctor appeared in the hatchway,

clutched in the claws of one of the Squall. He was

hanging slackly, like one of Amy's Raggedy Doctor

dolls from her childhood. The top hat had fallen

from his head, and his jacket had been shredded on

his back.

'Doctor!' called Amy, climbing to her feet.

'Doctor!' She started forward but Rory caught her

around the waist, dragging her back behind the

relative safety of the ruined car. She drummed her

fists against him in frustrated rage.

Angelchrist, however, was on his feet too. 'Get

back!' he called to the Squall, charging forward and

swinging the mace in a series of wide arcs, sending

Squall reeling with every blow. He leapt forward,

grabbing for the Doctor, just as the Squall encircled

him, blotting them both entirely from view.

There was a sound like rending metal, like the

universe itself was screaming in abject pain.

Everything went white.

Chapter

14

London, 17 October 1910

Rory couldn't see a thing.

He had the notion he was lying on a bed of damp

soil, his arms splayed. He scrunched up his fingers

and felt them sink into the moist earth. His head

was swimming.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and immediately

wished he hadn't. He spent a moment picking at

the mulch he had inadvertently spread over his

face. He felt disorientated, and he had the sense that

something momentous had happened, but for the

life of him he couldn't quite remember what it was.

Peeling open his eyes he saw the overturned

wreckage of Professor Angelchrist's car and the

gaping hole in the wall of the house, and everything

came back to him in a flood.

Rory got to his feet, searching for Amy. She was

sitting slouched against the wall and rubbing the

back of her head. She looked up at him with bleary

eyes as he approached.

'What happened to your face?' she said.

'Oh, you know. The explosion...' he said, as if

that would explain the streaks of mud around his

eyes. He watched her eyes widen in horror as the

realisation of what had happened suddenly dawned

on her.

She scrambled to her feet, looking around

frantically for the Doctor and Angelchrist. 'They're

gone,' she said, her voice breaking. 'They're gone!'

Rory watched as she picked her way out from

behind the wreck of the professor's car, her boots

leaving deep impressions in the muddy loam. He

followed behind her, feeling numb.

He glanced up at the sky. There was no sign of

the Squall. He could see nothing but a smattering

of wispy clouds in an otherwise blue sky, a flock of

starlings turning wheels in the distance. Everything

seemed inordinately quiet after the chaos of a few

minutes earlier.

Was that it? Was it over?

Rory approached the hole in the wall where the

nose of the time ship had been embedded. Through

it he could see into the kitchen. The dresser was

stacked high with ornamental plates, the table still

dressed for dinner. It was like a moment frozen in

time, as if someone had been suddenly interrupted

and had never made it back to what they were

doing.

He ran his hand around the edges of the hole.

They were glassy and smooth, as though someone

had used a power tool to cut a perfect circle in the

brickwork and then buffed the rough edges until

they were polished and slick. Other than that, a

few broken flagstones and a deep furrow in the

flowerbed were all that was left to show where the

wreckage of the time ship had been.

The Doctor and Angelchrist were nowhere to be

seen.

'Where is he?' said Amy, her voice edged with

panic. 'Where's the Doctor?'

Rory took a deep breath. He'd been dreading

a conversation like this. He'd feared that one day,

travelling with the Doctor, he might find himself

in this position. And now it was here. 'I think he's

gone, Amy.'

'Well I can see that,' she snapped. 'But where?'

She was still searching the garden frantically, as if

she expected him to just pop up at any moment.

'No. No, Amy,' he said, his voice level. 'I mean

gone.'

She turned to him, her eyes pleading. 'Don't say

it. Don't say it, Rory.'

'I think he and the professor must have been

caught up in the implosion,' he said, his voice barely

above a whisper. 'They went with the ship, sucked

through the rift.'

A single tear rolled down Amy's cheek, and he

could see that she was holding back a flood. He

thought that his heart might break at any moment.

He went to her, snatching her up in his arms, and

she squeezed him tightly, her head resting on his

shoulder. 'It'll be OK,' he said. 'We'll be OK.'

They stood for a moment, holding each other in

silence, both of them numbed by the gravity of what

had occurred.

There were worse places to be stuck, Rory

supposed, than London in 1910. The two of them

could make a life here. They could settle down, start

a family. They could —

Rory felt a gust of wind stir his hair, causing him

to blink, and he turned to see fallen leaves dancing

around their feet as if stirred by an invisible stick.

'Hold on,' he said. 'Hold on!'

The air was rent by the sudden, wheezing roar

of the TARDIS's engines, as the blue box folded into

reality with a resounding clang a few metres from

where they were standing. Amy swiftly disentangled

herself from Rory's embrace, pushing him back.

'Doctor?' she called, and he could hear the hope

in her voice. 'Doctor?'

There was no reply.

She ran to the TARDIS, throwing open the doors.

'Rory! Quickly!' she called, disappearing inside.

Rory rushed after her.

The scene in the TARDIS was one of devastation.

The floor was covered with the scattered remnants

of the time ship. Bits of it were strewn everywhere,

and Rory had to fight his way in through the door,

stepping over bits of jagged metal and trailing wires.

A curved piece of the ship's hull, like the shattered

ribcage of a huge, metallic beast, lay resting against

the central dais. Smaller fragments of metal plating,

loops of cable and broken circuit boards formed a

sea of ruination.

It was as if the fragmented components of the

time ship had been scooped somehow from within

the heart of the implosion.

At the centre of this mess, the Doctor and

Angelchrist lay still and unconscious.

Amy ran to the Doctor's side and Rory went to

Angelchrist, dropping to his knees and checking for

a pulse. 'He's still breathing,' he called to Amy.

Amy was cradling the Doctor's head in her lap.

He looked pale and drawn. His hair was mussed

and dark streaks covered his cheeks where the

Squall had caused him to weep blood. His jacket

was torn, his shirt had been pulled open and his

bow tie was askew.

'Is he alive?' asked Rory, urgently. He wasn't

sure he wanted to hear the answer.

'I think so,' said Amy. 'I think so.' She brushed

the Doctor's hair back from his face. 'Doctor? It's

time to wake up now, Doctor,' she said, in her 'I'm

not putting up with this any longer' voice.

Rory made sure Angelchrist was stable and then

picked his way through the wreckage towards her.

He looked down at the Doctor. He looked peaceful,

almost serene, lying there in Amy's arms. 'Doctor?'

said Rory, softly.

The Doctor's eyes blinked open with a sudden

start. He glanced up at Rory in surprise, and then

sat bolt upright, almost sending Amy flying. He

looked around, as if startled to find himself there, in

the TARDIS, surrounded by a sea of debris.

'Right. Yes. TARDIS,' he said, although the

expression on his face betrayed his disorientation.

He looked at Amy and then Rory in turn. 'Right.

Let's check. Legs, hands, head, fingers, ears.

Excellent! You're both still in one piece.' He frowned.

'Although, really, Amy. You're covered in mud. Just

look at the state of your knees.'

Amy rolled her eyes and made a sound that was

halfway between a sob and a laugh. She threw her

arms around the Doctor's neck and planted a huge

kiss on his cheek.

Rory looked on with a crooked smile, as the

Doctor patted her awkwardly on the back. 'OK.

Right. Things to do,' he said, getting to his feet.

'Have the Squall gone?'

Rory gave a nod of confirmation. 'Yes. Gone. All

of them. It worked.'

'It worked!' echoed the Doctor, as if surprised

by the very idea of it. He gave Rory an affectionate

punch on the arm. 'Excellent. Good job. Best just

check the scanner to make sure that rift has closed.

Then we can think about tidying up this mess.'

He stopped as he glanced round at the wreckage,

his eyes settling on the prone form of Professor

Angelchrist, still lying atop a bundle of severed

cables. 'Oh dear,' he said.

The Doctor dashed over to the old man, lifting

his head. 'Help me get him outside.'

Rory helped the Doctor carry the professor out

into the late morning sun, laying him softly on the

flowerbed beside his car.

'Give him a moment,' said the Doctor. 'He'll be

fine. The fresh air will do him the world of good.'

He stood back, dusting himself down as if the action

would make any difference at all to the state of his

shredded jacket.

'So, Doctor... How did you...?' said Amy,

glancing over at the TARDIS.

'Oh,' said the Doctor. 'Yes, that. Simple, really. I

programmed the TARDIS to home in on my psychic

signal at the moment of the implosion, scooping me

out before I was dragged through the rift along with

the Squall.'

'But how?' said Rory? 'I thought you said you

couldn't risk the TARDIS getting caught up in the

implosion.'

The Doctor gave him a sly grin. 'The hive sees

all. The hive knows all,' he parroted. 'The hive

mind was listening, Rory. It was in the TARDIS's

telepathic circuits. If it knew what I was going to do

it really would have tried to interfere with the old

girl's dematerialisation.'

'So you were bluffing?' said Rory.

The Doctor grinned. 'Bluffing? Me?' He looked

down at the sound of Angelchrist stirring amongst

the begonias. 'Ah, professor. Hello!'

Angelchrist slowly opened his eyes and looked up

at the three of them standing over him. He seemed

startled. 'Doctor?' he said, perplexed. 'You're alive.'

'Yes,' said the Doctor, laughing, 'and so are

you.'

Angelchrist pulled himself into a sitting position

and patted himself on the chest, as if he didn't

really believe what the Doctor was telling him. 'Yes,

it rather appears I am,' he said brightly, dusting

himself off.

Rory reached down and helped the professor to

his feet.

'Is it over?' said Angelchrist, staring at the

enormous hole in the side of the building. 'Did I

miss it? Have they gone?'

'Yes, it's over,' said the Doctor. He put his hand

on the wheel of the partially overturned vehicle

beside him, patting it ruefully. 'Although I'm afraid

it looks as if you might be needing a lift home.'

Angelchrist laughed. 'Actually, Doctor, I was

wondering if, before I head back to that dreary old

house of mine, you might humour an old man with

a favour?'

The Doctor's face split into a wide Cheshire grin.

'Name it,' he said.

'Just once, I'd dearly love to see the stars. See

them as they were meant to be seen, from up there,'

he glanced up at the sky. 'Do you think that might

be possible?'

'I think, professor, that anything's possible, if

you put your mind to it. Anything at all.' He put

his arm around Angelchrist's shoulders and led him

in the direction of the TARDIS. 'But first there's the

matter of all this junk to get rid of. I know just the

place. Only a short hop away...' The Doctor's voice

trailed off as they disappeared inside the TARDIS.

Amy, laughing, skipped into the ship behind

them.

Rory stood for a moment in the garden, glancing

from the wreckage of the professor's car to the

hole in the side of the house. He shook his head in

disbelief. Even now, after all the time he'd spent

with the Doctor, he still had to pinch himself from

time to time to remind himself it was real. Every day

with the Doctor was another madcap adventure, a

day filled with hair-raising escapades or glimpses

into the distant future, a day filled with aliens made

of wool, with vampire creatures from the stars or

exploding nuclear bombs.

He, Rory Williams, the plain old nurse from

Leadworth, had not only got the girl, but she'd taken

him on the trip of a lifetime, too. And he loved every

minute of it.

Grinning, he went to join the others.

Chapter

15

London, 10 June 2789

Angelchrist stood by the open doors of the TARDIS,

clutching the wooden frame and peering out in

wonder at the magnificent vista beyond. To him, it

was as if he were seeing the universe properly for

the first time, the sheer scale of it, the beauty. He'd

always wondered what it would be like, but even

in his wildest imaginings he had never come close

to the truth. So much colour, so much vibrancy, so

much life. He could barely take it all in. He gazed

out into the depths of space, at the millions of

shimmering stars, prickling the canopy of black

like diamonds strewn across a blanket; at distant,

twirling nebulae; at the stately dance of a gas giant

slowly revolving around its sun.

'All those worlds... it's dazzling,' he said.

Things for Angelchrist would never be the same

again, not after this. All those petty concerns, all

those fears about the future, about being left behind

on the shelf, they amounted to nothing when held

up against the backdrop of the universe. The Doctor

had shown him wonders. The Doctor had changed

his life.

He felt tears welling in his eyes, but fought them

back. Now wasn't the time. Tears would only spoil

the view.

'All those years, Doctor. All those years working

for the British government, defending the realm

against alien incursions. It seemed so important, so

big. But I could never have imagined the sheer scale

of this. The immensity of it.'

. The Doctor, leaning on the opposite side of the

doorframe in his shirtsleeves and braces, smiled.

'Yes. It's a wonderful place, this universe of ours.

For all the monsters and the madness, all the

horrors and the wars, there are moments like this.

The universe finds a balance.'

Angelchrist was almost lost for words. 'Thank

you, Doctor,' he said. 'Thank you. You've saved an

old man from himself.'

'No, not at all, professor. You did that entirely on

your own.'

Angelchrist turned back to the view.

'Arven would have loved it up here,' said Rory

a moment later, his voice tinged with sadness.

Angelchrist felt a momentary twinge of loss for the

artificial man.

'Arven!' said the Doctor. 'Of course!' He ran over

to the console, punching in coordinates. 'We have a

date to keep!'

'A date?' said Amy. 'What kind of date?'

'A date in the twenty-eighth century,' said the

Doctor, moving around the console, his fingers

dancing over the controls. He clicked his fingers and

the TARDIS doors snapped shut. 'Sorry, professor,'

he said. 'Places to go, people to see.'

Angelchrist stepped away from the doors,

moving to stand by a guard rail. He was still

feeling overwhelmed by the momentousness of the

occasion.

The central column burred and sighed, and a

few moments later the engines shuddered with a

pneumatic wheeze and the TARDIS came to a stop.

'Now, listen,' said the Doctor, wagging his finger

at Amy. 'This is very important. No wandering off.

Stick together. It's absolutely essential that we're not

seen.'

Amy put one hand on her hip, and frowned.

'What are you up to, Doctor?'

'Fulfilling a promise to a friend,' he said,

beckoning them toward the door. 'Prepare yourself,

professor,' he said, as they stepped out into the

bright sunshine.

They were standing on the bank of a river,

looking out over the immense sprawl of a city. Huge

glass domes nestled amongst ancient ornamental

buildings. Towers of metal and glass shimmered

in the reflected sunlight, scraping the underside of

the clouds. The river buzzed with life; strange little

boats that shot up and down the waterways leaving

trails of white spray in their wake; tiny skiffs and

enormous, sleek-looking tankers; yachts and ferries.

Angelchrist gaped. 'Is this... Is this London?'

The Doctor smiled but didn't say anything.

'I've never seen anything like it,' Angelchrist

continued.

'This spot seems very familiar,' said Amy, leaning

on the Doctor as she peered out over the river.

'Hang on a minute,' said Rory. 'Look, that's us!'

'Shhh!' chided the Doctor. 'Keep your voice

down, Rory! I told you, it's vital that they don't

notice us.' He put one hand on top of Rory's head

and the other on top of Amy's, and pushed them

both down until they were all crouching behind a

railing, out of sight.

Angelchrist, bewildered, watched the Doctor,

Amy and Rory - alternate versions of the Doctor,

Amy, and Rory - strolling merrily along the

embankment no more than fifty metres away. They

were heading toward a group of people dressed

in what he imagined to be diving costumes. They

appeared to be lifting something out of the river.

'This looks spectacularly interesting,' said the

other Doctor, and the Doctor beside Angelchrist

cringed in embarrassment.

'Do I sound like that?' he asked Amy.

'Yes,' she said, laughing heartily. 'That's exactly

how you sound.'

'I thought I was being watched,' said Rory. 'I

knew it!'

'What is this, Doctor?' asked Angelchrist, his

voice strained. 'Who are those people?'

'That's us,' said the Doctor. 'Us four days ago,

when we first arrived in London.'

'But how can that be? How can you be in the

same place twice over?'

'And I thought we weren't supposed to cross our

own timelines?' added Amy mischievously.

'Yes, well, questions, questions,' said the Doctor

with a wave of his hand. 'Always questions.'

Rory was leaning out through the railing,

watching the proceedings on the embankment with

interest. 'We never did work out what brought us

here in the first place,' he said, peering down at his

doppelganger. 'What caused the TARDIS to bring

us here, to this exact time and place.'

'Oh no, Rory. That was me,' said the Doctor.

'What do you mean, it was you?'

'Back at the professor's house. Before Arven

was taken by the Squall, before he dismantled the

barricade, I made a few... modifications. Gave him

a little tweak. I fiddled with his energy signature

so that the TARDIS would fix on him when he was

pulled out of the water.'

'Like a distress beacon,' said Amy.

'Precisely!' said the Doctor.

'But that doesn't make sense,' said Rory. 'Cause

and effect. The TARDIS heard his distress call before

you ever met him.'

'Pah! Cause and effect?' said the Doctor, grinning.

'Noodley soup, remember?' He wiggled his fingers

as if to illustrate his point.

'You did something else, too, didn't you?' said

Amy. 'To Arven, I mean. That's why we're here.'

The Doctor gave her a coy smile. 'Ah, look, we're

leaving,' he said, pointing to the group of people

down by the river. The other Amy had looped her

arm through the other Rory's and was dragging him

off along the embankment.

'I'm pleased to report that the city conservation

board are satisfied with everything you're doing

here. Please do carry on,' called the other Doctor

to a smartly dressed woman, who watched him,

perplexed, as he hared off towards his waiting

TARDIS.

'Right,' said the Doctor, emerging from behind

the railing. 'Come on then.' He led the four of them

down towards the water's edge. Angelchrist tried to

drink it all in, soaking up the sights of this strange,

futuristic version of his city as he ambled along

behind the others.

'Hello!' said the Doctor amiably, as they

approached the woman in the blue suit. 'Patricia,

isn't it?' She turned to look at the Doctor, a look

of confusion on her face. 'Didn't you just go that

way?'

'Um, yes. Sort of,' said the Doctor. 'Long story.'

He fiddled nervously with his bow tie. 'Anyway,

enough of that.'

'You look different,' said the woman, ignoring

him. 'Have you changed your jacket?'

The Doctor gave her a charming grin. 'Yes, well.

A change is as good as a rest, as they say. All very

jolly. Nice to see you again and all that. Thing is,

there's something I forgot. With the AI. Terribly

important.'

'Oh yes?' said the woman, leadingly. 'For the city

conservation board, is it?'

'Exactly that,' said the Doctor, clicking his

fingers.

'Be my guest,' she said with a sigh, stepping to

one side to let the Doctor pass.

The group of men behind the woman were

carrying something on a pallet. Angelchrist assumed

it was the thing he'd seen them dredging the river

for just a few moments earlier.

'Sorry, chaps,' said the Doctor. 'I won't be a

moment.' He approached the pallet, and Angelchrist

watched him with interest. The men lowered the

pallet to the ground with a few mumbled words of

protest, which the Doctor studiously ignored.

The thing on the pallet was a great hunk of rusting

metal, the remains of some complex machine that

had clearly been dumped in the water some years

earlier. Angelchrist couldn't make head or tail of

what it might originally have been. Neither had he

any idea what the Doctor might want with it.

'Oh, Arven,' said Amy, looking sadly at the

object.

'Arven?' exclaimed Angelchrist loudly, and the

five men who'd been carrying the pallet all looked up

to see what the fuss was about. Angelchrist ignored

them. He looked again, realising that the object on

the pallet was actually the skeletal remains of an

artificial man. It was badly decomposed, pitted and

scarred, and most of its rubbery flesh had long since

been stripped away. It was missing an arm and part

of its left leg.

'Arven,' he said, in disbelief. 'It really is, isn't it?

Is that what becomes of him? What became of him

after the Squall?'

Rory nodded. 'I'm afraid so, professor. They

ditched him in the river over a thousand years

ago.'

'Ah, but...' said the Doctor, and Angelchrist

looked over to see him using his sonic screwdriver to

pop open a small panel in the side of Arven's chest.

'Those minor modifications I was talking about...'

He stuck his fingers into the hole, grimacing as he

fished out a small metal cylinder about the size of

Angelchrist's thumb. It was attached to the internal

workings of the AI by three small wires, which the

Doctor yanked free, before holding the object up to

the light and squinting at it with one eye. 'Might just

mean that this little object here contains everything

we need to bring him back,' finished the Doctor,

glancing at Rory with a triumphant expression on

his face.

'What is it?' said Amy.

'Backup memory,' said the Doctor. 'Ancillary

storage. I made a copy of Arven's consciousness,

locking it inside this tiny memory cell. It has its own

residual power. With any luck it'll have survived a

thousand years in the River Thames, too.'

'You mean you can bring him back?' said Rory

hopefully.

'I mean exactly that,' replied the Doctor. 'A quick

trip to Villiers Artificial Life laboratory in Battersea,

and we should be able to upload the contents of this

little beauty into a spanking new body.' He glanced

down at the rusted remains on the pallet. 'The long

way home,' he said, quietly.

'You're a remarkable man, Doctor,' said

Angelchrist warmly.

'Oh, I don't know about that,' said the Doctor,

grinning, 'but I'd be a pretty useless magician if I

didn't have at least a few tricks up my sleeve.'

He pocketed the memory cell and put a hand on

Angelchrist's arm, leading him away toward the

TARDIS. 'Now. I think, professor, it's about time we

were getting you home.'

Angelchrist sighed. Yes. Home. For once, the

idea filled him with a sense of wellbeing rather than

abject dread. 'You're right, Doctor. And besides, I

rather imagine I'll have some tidying up to do.'

'What about Arven?' said Rory, falling into step

as they drifted away from the remains of the AI,

leaving a baffled Patricia Young staring after them,

shaking her head.

'Oh, he's waited a thousand years, Rory,' said

the Doctor. 'A few more hours won't make any

difference to him now.'

Nodding, Rory dropped back, waiting for Amy

to catch up. Angelchrist watched them as the Doctor

fished for the TARDIS key in his jacket pocket. They

were quite a couple, accompanying the Doctor on

all of his wild adventures. He didn't think he'd

have the pace to keep up with them for very long,

anyway. Not with all that running.

He saw Rory take Amy's hand. 'Are you ready?'

he said.

'I love you, Rory Williams,' came her reply. She

had a playful gleam in her eyes.

'I'll take that as a yes,' said Rory, and together,

with Angelchrist, they followed the Doctor into his

magical blue box.

Epilogue

London, 23 October 1921

Angelchrist drained the last dregs of his tea and

reached over, placing the empty teacup on the table

beside his upturned copy of The War of the Worlds.

He'd enjoyed a relaxing, lazy afternoon, snoozing in

his chair and dipping in and out of Mr Wells's novel.

It had always been a favourite of his, ever since he'd

seen the author speak about it at a bookshop on

Charing Cross Road over twenty years earlier. The

events it described were in no way a reflection of

Angelchrist's own experiences of alien incursions,

but it was, he supposed, a work of fiction, intended

to provoke the mind and entertain the spirit. In

that respect, it was an utter triumph. Absently, he

wondered what the Doctor would have made of it.

It had been some time since he'd thought about

the strange man and his cabinet of tricks. Over a

decade had passed since they'd met by the river on

Cheyne Walk, since the Squall had attacked the city

and practically pulled Angelchrist's house to pieces.

Much had happened in the intervening years. War

had come and gone, for a start. The world was

changing all around him.

The years had slid by and Angelchrist had filled

them well, he thought, involving himself in the

machinations of the secret service or aiding Scotland

Yard when they needed his particular brand of

specialist assistance. He'd rebuilt his laboratory and

had continued to indulge his passion for invention.

He'd heard occasional reports of the Doctor, too,

over the years, some of them stretching back years

into the past. Just before the outbreak of the Great

War he'd spent some time digging around in the

government archives, finding mention of the Doctor

in a plethora of obscure reports; a sly reference in a

footnote or a scrawled note in a margin. It appeared

as if the Doctor had made walk-on appearances

at many of the crucial events of the last hundred

years.

Slowly, Angelchrist had been able to build a

picture. It seemed the Doctor sometimes wore

different faces and travelled with different

companions. The descriptions he had found were

unclear on this point. Sometimes the Doctor was

described as a tall, thin man with long hair and a

frock coat. Other times he was all teeth and curls,

a long woollen scarf draped around his shoulders.

Other times still he wore a black leather jacket and

spoke with a Northern accent, or a pantomime coat

of many colours. Always, however, he travelled in a

remarkable blue box, appearing as if out of the ether

to aid in whatever crisis was ongoing.

Then, of course, there was his Doctor. Angelchrist's

Doctor, the man in the tweed jacket, bow tie and

braces, the awkward one who stumbled about the

place, tripping over himself as he set about saving

the world. Angelchrist had never filed that report.

He wondered how many other people had done the

same, how many times the Doctor had stepped in to

save the Earth and then slipped away again in the

dead of night, his passing unrecorded.

Sighing, Angelchrist reached for his book.

Another chapter, he thought, before he'd head to

the kitchen and make a start on his supper.

Just as he was settling back into his chair, there

was a loud rap on the door. Angelchrist groaned in

frustration. No. They could ruddy well go away. He

was tired, and he wanted to enjoy his book. Didn't

they know what time it was? He turned to the correct

page and scanned the first line.

There was another knock, this time more

insistent.

Cursing, Angelchrist slammed his book down on

the arm of his chair and pulled himself up out of his

seat. 'Yes, yes!' he called, resignedly. 'I'm coming.'

In the hallway he could hear voices from outside,

talking urgently in low tones. He hoped they weren't

going to attempt to sell him something.

He crossed to the door, slid the chain off the

latch and pulled it open. He glared out with what

he hoped was a withering stare. His eyes widened

in shock, however, when he saw three familiar faces

beaming back at him.

'Hello, professor!' said the Doctor, grabbing

Angelchrist's hand and pumping it furiously.

'Sorry to be a pest. Slight issue. You see, I think I left

something here the other week. It's a wrench. Sonic

one. Got a problem with a Sarkovian warlord and

that wrench could be the key to...' He trailed off, a

look of concern on his face. 'Oh. Have I got it wrong

again? Haven't we met yet?' He stepped back,

looking Angelchrist up and down appraisingly.

Angelchrist stared at the Doctor, unsure what to

say. He looked exactly the same as he had all those

years ago.

Angelchrist's mouth moved but no sound

came out. The Doctor raised his eyebrows in

encouragement, urging him on. 'But Doctor... it's

been ten years!' he finally managed to blurt out a

moment later.

'Ten years!' said the Doctor. 'Oh dear...'

'He's always doing that,' said Amy knowingly.

'Not looking good for the wrench, then,' said the

Doctor with a sigh. 'Still, could be worse. It could be

the entire galactic arm under threat, rather than just

one little part of it. Besides, there's another reason

we're here. I hope you don't mind - I brought a

friend.' The Doctor beckoned off to his left, and a tall

figure stepped into view from around the comer.

The man was at least two metres tall, with pale flesh

and a smooth, bald head. He was wrapped in a long

winter coat. Angelchrist felt his spirits lift as he

recognised the familiar, placid face.

'Arven!' said Angelchrist in delight.

'Hello, professor,' said the artificial man. He

stepped closer, and Angelchrist saw that his

face - once so damaged - was now perfect and

unblemished. 'It's good to see you again after all

this time.'

'So you were true to your word, Doctor. You found

him a new body. I never doubted you would.'

The Doctor beamed. 'Thing is, professor, Arven's

got nowhere to go. His former employer is dead,

and artificial people won't be granted their liberty

for at least another century or two after Arven's

time. So we got to thinking...' The Doctor glanced at

Amy and Rory, and then at Angelchrist once again,

'... about you, rattling around in this big house of

yours, and how you could probably do with some

company.' He paused for a moment, grinning. 'So,

what do you say?'

'Well, I...' Angelchrist stammered, momentarily

taken aback. But then he allowed a broad grin to

break out on his face. 'I'd be honoured,' he said,

looking over at Arven, who was smiling in the

watery evening sunlight.

'Good. That's settled, then.' The Doctor patted

Arven on the shoulder. 'Oooh,' he said suddenly,

leaning forward and peering into the house. 'Is that

a fresh pot of tea I can smell?'

Angelchrist, shaking his head in disbelief, stepped

back into the hallway, ushering them inside. 'Yes, it

is, Doctor. I suppose you'd better come in. Only, try

not to wreck the place this time. It took me years to

put it right again.'

'Excellent!' said the Doctor, hopping up onto the

step. 'You grab the teacups and I'll fill you in about

those pesky Sarkovians.'

Angelchrist watched as the Doctor, Amy,

Rory and Arven filed in from the cold, tramping

through noisily into the drawing room. He stood

for a moment in the doorway, glancing up at the

twinkling stars, and laughed.

Acknowledgements

With special thanks to Kat and Justin for connecting

the dots. Also to Paul, Stuart, Mark and Cav for their

continued friendship and support.