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eve11Main Post and Chapter Index
**
THIS REEL IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
PROPERTY OF UNITED STATES AIR FORCE
GROOM LAKE EXPERIMENTAL AIRCRAFT AND XENOTECH RESEARCH FACILITY
13 JUNE 1969
14:25
RECORD OF DETAINEE TRANSFER TO N.R.O. CUSTODY
PRESENT REPRESENTATIVE PARTIES:
CALDWELL, COLONEL MARTIN C
OGDEN, MAJOR CHARLES J
DUVALL, HENRY M (SPECIALIST)
SECURITY DETAIL:
JAMES, STAFF SERGEANT KEVIN J
KELLEY, AIRMAN FRANK C
LITZINGER, AIRMAN JOSHUA L
DETAINEE:
DS-#234-8H ALIAS "DOCTOR"
GROOM LAKE FACILITY: INTERROGATION ROOM 3100A
[Colonel Caldwell is seated at the left side of the interrogation room table, his back to the two-way mirror taking up three fourths of the far wall from the door. He is leafing through documents in a manila folder. Major Ogden and Specialist Duvall are stood at the table to his right. Major Ogden holds a briefcase at his side. The detainee is escorted into the room by Sgt. James and two guards. The detainee appears clean-shaven and in good health but has some superficial scratches on his face and bruising under his right eye. He is restrained by a straight jacket, augmented at the waist with a multi-use leather transport belt with two handcuffs affixed to it.]
CALDWELL: Sit him down.
[The detainee does not resist when seated at the chair bolted to the floor at the right side of the table, facing Colonel Caldwell. He is flanked by the two guards, who secure the cuffs of the transport belt to two rings on the chair, located where the seat meets the back. Sgt. James affixes two straps attached to the front legs of the chair across each of the detainee's legs, then stands and salutes and is instructed to stand at ease.]
DETAINEE: Colonel Caldwell. I can't say I'm pleased to see you again.
[Major Ogden places the briefcase on the table and opens it briskly.]
OGDEN: Are all those restraints required?
[Specialist Duvall retrieves a flash camera from the briefcase and takes several pictures of the detainee during the ensuing conversation.]
CALDWELL: Major, I informed Security to use whatever means necessary for containing the prisoner.
OGDEN: Yes, sir. Understood. [To Sgt. James] Does that include roughing him up?
JAMES: Sir, those injuries were sustained during the detainee's most recent escape attempt.
DETAINEE: To be precise, it was afterward--
DUVALL: Hold his head still.
[Airman Kelley stabilizes the detainee's head while Specialist Duvall focuses the camera on his injured eye and snaps a picture. The detainee grimaces at the flash and does not struggle, but blinks rapidly when his head is released.]
OGDEN: Go on, Sergeant.
JAMES: The detainee was apprehended at the south perimeter, a quarter mile from the fence. Airman Chavez brought him down with a tranq, sir. He sustained the injuries from a fall onto rough terrain.
OGDEN: He got that shiner from a fall?
JAMES: Yes, sir.
[Specialist Duvall finishes with the camera and sets it on the table.]
DUVALL: What kind of tranquilizer was used?
JAMES: It was one of the adaptive rounds your agency sent.
DUVALL: Good.
DETAINEE: And what agency is that?
[Sgt. James takes a threatening step toward the detainee but is waved off by Major Ogden.]
OGDEN: Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all for now. Dismissed.
JAMES: Yes, sir.
[James and the security detail salute and leave the room.]
CALDWELL: I'll see that they receive the proper security clearance compartment briefing to continue supporting your mission.
DUVALL: They should have had it already.
CALDWELL: With all due respect, they were busy making sure you didn't come all the way out here for nothing.
DETAINEE: Long trip, was it?
[Colonel Caldwell arranges the papers back into the file and signs the document at the top of the stack. Major Ogden signs as well, and nods to Specialist Duvall, who retrieves a thin electronic data pad from the briefcase and uses a stylus tool to turn it on and enter some settings.]
OGDEN: All right, gentlemen. The transfer is now official.
DETAINEE: Transfer to whom? For what purpose?
[Major Ogden removes a small, black, conical object from the case. The detainee's demeanor changes visibly from calm to nervous when he sees it. He straightens in the chair, rattling the cuffs against the metal supports. Specialist Duvall sets the data pad on the table facing the detainee and comes around to the far side of the table.]
DUVALL: Subject thirty-six is Air Force detainee two three four eight dash H. The subject has been categorized as an extra-terrestrial species with unknown origin, intent, and abilities.
DETAINEE: Origin--Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterberous. You won't have heard of it.
CALDWELL: What is that device? Does he recognize it?
OGDEN: The device is based on xenotech, so he may have encountered something similar. [He holds the small black cone up to the light and addresses the detainee] Do you know what this is?
DETAINEE: At a guess I'd wager brutal, invasive and unnecessary. I know your sort. My intent--
[Major Ogden nods at Specialist Duvall, who forces the detainee's head forward, exposing his neck. The detainee starts to struggle but has little room to move and is held easily in position.]
DETAINEE: My intent right now is to avoid coming into contact with it!
OGDEN: You should also know that this will be less painful for you if you choose not to resist.
[Specialist Duvall studies the data pad as Major Ogden places a finger on the base of the device and puts it point down against the detainee's neck. The device begins to emit a high-pitched whine.]
DETAINEE: I'm not resisting. I'm telling you what you want to know. Origin, intent, abilities--abilities, well naturally I'm good at transcendental maths, football--ah, I suppose it's called soccer in America isn't it?--but don't ask about dancing; everyone tells me I'm rubbish at dancing--
DUVALL: Locked.
[Major Ogden releases the base of the device. The detainee stiffens and screams in pain as the cone unravels into a series of tiny wires that burrow down into the skin, until only the circular base is visible. It settles and the whining stops. The detainee stops screaming but stays bent forward in the chair, breathing heavily and spasming every few seconds. The data pad emits a quiet diagnostic ticking pulse. Specialist Duvall looks over at the data pad.]
DUVALL: It's calibrating. [To Colonel Caldwell] He'll be out of it for a little while until the branching stops. It usually takes about an hour for the SMM to map out regions of sensory input processing in the brain. More if there are any active abilities involved, tied to a perception like telepathy.
CALDWELL: English, please. SMM? Was that covered in the SAP brief?
OGDEN: No, but it's need-to-know now for anyone in contact with the subject. Sensory Monitoring and Manipulation is the standard procedure for an uncatalogued xenobiological specimen in a possible foothold situation, mainly to protect against psychic threats. We'll soon get an idea of what kind of information he can interpret, and how to control it.
CALDWELL: I see. Should we move him back to his cell?
OGDEN: Not yet. Brief your men. We can monitor him from the observation room next door until then.
CALDWELL: It's your show, gentlemen.
[Colonel Caldwell turns to leave.]
OGDEN: One more request, sir?
CALDWELL: What is it, Major?
OGDEN: I'd like to get a handcuff key from Sergeant James. I think we can do away with those restraints, now.
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
THIS REPORT IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
NATIONAL RECONNAISSANCE OFFICE: DIRECTORATE OF APPLIED EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL RESEARCH
INTAKE REPORT: SUBJECT 36 ALIAS "DOCTOR"
14 JUNE 1969
AUTHOR: DUVALL, HENRY M (SPECIALIST)
EXECUTIVE SUMMARY:
Nearly twenty hours have elapsed since the Sensory Monitoring and Manipulation (SMM) device was implanted in the alien subject 36, and the perception map is not yet complete. The subject has been under constant surveillance but has not been observed tampering with any equipment, and the data feed from the device has remained uninterrupted and clear.
Initial readings indicate higher than human acuity across the board in receptive senses with the common factor-analytic breakdown of vision, audition, tactician and olfaction/gustation. Observed conditional factor loadings (0.633, 0.205, 0.112, 0.050) across perceptive processing of these senses in the brain are similar to human subdivisions. The subject also has a low-level telepathic sense confounded with tactile input, and a dedicated set of locked empathic receptors associated with fixed, long-range psychic channeling. The subject's interoceptive senses are nearly as sophisticated as the external senses. Similar levels of internal acuity are seen in species that possess fine-tuned control of neurological and vascular systems, as a sense of vulnerability or harm in these systems informs the ability of consciously directed healing.
Identification and suppression of any active telepathic communication vectors or interoceptive abilities that could interfere with the SMM functioning was achieved within nine hours of device implantation. Despite this, there are several peculiarities in the raw data feed that, at present, the SMM has been unable to disambiguate. We have detected anomalous signal fluctuations that occur simultaneously across all known and categorized perception vectors. If the readings are accurate, they suggest the presence of sensory receptors in the brain that we have yet to physically identify. We observe these "ghost receptors" through their interactions with categorized perceptions, but they may represent a new kind of sensory perception, independent from anything that has been observed in the past.
Further research is imperative. Exploration of telepathic/empathic abilities in alien specimens has advanced our understanding of human perceptions considerably, and has opened the door to research in augmenting human senses to include these more sophisticated and alien perceptions. But if subject 36 is any indication of the broader spectrum of sense abilities, we have only begun to scratch the surface of what is possible.
PLEASE SEE ATTACHED TECHNICAL NOTES FOR DETAILS
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
Six floors below ground, River sat back from the oval oak table in front of her, and let the weight of the empty conference room settle silently across her shoulders. High-backed, wheeled chairs, designed with the comfort of dignitaries in mind, stood out starkly black against the gray walls. Two flags hung in dead air against their poles at the front of the room--one recognizably the US stars and stripes, one an indistinct design on a blue background. Industrial lights shadowed the corners, failing to compensate for the lack of windows.
Two months of hell were laid out before her, in technical reports, archive tapes, briefings and memos. She needed to process them quickly and impersonally, but the more she read, the more she realized that time was running short for her bluff.
She closed her eyes. The room felt like a prison; dense, strange, and oppressive. The feeling wasn't tied to sights or sounds, and she couldn't imagine how much worse it felt for the Doctor. To think of him waiting in that cell for weeks on end for an ally, finally within arm's reach but shuttered off from her so completely--
"Doctor Hamilton. Ma'am?"
The world snapped back into focus, and River looked up to see Major Ogden at the doorway, his hands full with a large sheaf of papers. "Yes, what is it?" she asked. She couldn't hide the fatigue in her voice, but Ogden just gave her a quick, sympathetic smile.
"It's a lot to go through, I know," he said, coming into the room. "Your clearance should have come through earlier so you could get a full off-site briefing. But I trust you're coming up to speed?"
"Just about." River collected the most recent documents she'd been studying and set them aside.
"I see you've read the diagnostics reports. You're familiar with the basic xenotech?"
"Sontaran," she confirmed. "Though I must admit I'm more experienced with Rutan derivatives. Where did you get it?"
"That shuttle crash in Idaho in forty-seven. We thought the passengers were all Sontaran but it turns out it was a prisoner transport of Rutan infiltrators."
"Shapeshifter spies," River surmised.
"Yes, Ma'am. From what we could tell, the SMM tech was used to sever the prisoners' connection to the Rutan Host and keep them in their current form. Took fifteen years to re-engineer the ones we salvaged. What's your assessment of its functioning?"
This was a delicate decision. She could try siding with James and the security personnel, and attempt to strong-arm the N.R.O. into deactivating and re-evaluating their device on security grounds. But it was increasingly clear from the reports that James' position was untenable, and the plan could backfire quickly if the N.R.O. decided they didn't need Groom Lake or its consultant anymore. Ogden and Duvall were the keys to getting close to the Doctor and to the SMM tech. On the one hand, it was easier to pass herself off as an expert if that expert happened to say the things the real experts wanted to hear. On the other hand, she had neither the expertise nor the time to play a long game.
"I'd like to run some more field tests to confirm it," she said. "But from what you've documented here, the anomalies don't appear to be artifacts of a device malfunction."
"That's what we've been trying to tell Command." Ogden used a foot to coax the chair beside her out from the table, depositing his sheaf of papers in front of them as he sat down. "I'll see about setting up some diagnostic sessions for you. Though," he sighed, "I hope for your sake you're not an opera fan."
"Pardon?" asked River, but Ogden had already moved past the point.
"Maybe Command will listen if it comes from their own people. In the meantime, if I may?" He unrolled an incongruously contemporary paper readout in front of them, given the common standards of alien tech River had seen so far, and pointed out several spikes in a grainy dot-matrix trend line. "What do you think about these readings? If you do a factor rotation, they fall out similar to what we see with telepathic projections, echolocation sonar, or other actions facilitated by passive senses. Doctor Duvall thinks it's possible we're dealing with an active ability tied to this new perception."
For a moment, River let her finger trace the trend, ignoring Ogden's commentary. What stimuli had created these patterns, she wondered. Was this jump due to probability or pain? Was the response confusion? Hope? Perhaps it was rage, inked across this sheet of paper as indelibly as it coursed through her veins. She chased the thought away with a cough and cleared her throat. Emotion wouldn't serve a rescue; she needed information. "You mean these aren't telepathy traces?" she asked innocently.
"No, those are here. Look." Ogden repositioned the readout, giving it a brusque shake to discourage wrinkles, and unrolled a new section. He pointed out a time series at the top of the readout. It was labeled "ESP#12C-LAMBDA-CTRL=-0.20", and the trace was a completely flat line. "The device forces telepathic eigenvalues to zero by default, along with any other active abilities that might interfere with its functioning. Touch-telepathy like what we see in this subject is harder to get a hold of, but previous studies have shown us how to disambiguate it from simple tactile and balance senses."
"I see," River said. The dormant psychic switch buzzed at the back of her mind. It needed a telepathic differential in order to activate. The only way she could get it past the facility's brainwave scanners was to bury it too deeply in her subconscious for her to retrieve it on her own. It would be completely useless to them if the Doctor couldn't feel how to transfer or trigger it.
At her side, Ogden continued. "No, this activity is something different, and it's a startling volume of sensory input. I was hoping you might have some insights."
River knew exactly what their sense maps were missing, of course.
Once, when she was much younger and more audacious than she was now, she had informed the Doctor that she had "a very well-developed sense of time." "I'm not just another companion you can summon to some galactic co-ordinates and then wait to show up whenever you damn well please!" she'd asserted, furious at him. The Doctor was not the gawky, bow-tie-clad youth who had clashed with her in Berlin, but it was nonetheless a familiar face from her University days. That incarnation was older but still ageless in a way, his gray hair and serious gaze offset by a penchant for flamboyant waistcoats. He was quicker to laugh--genuinely, laugh--than any incarnation she'd since known. Or, maybe she'd only seen it that way because he'd known her so well. But laugh he did. River glared at him and he busied his hands, smoothing dust from his clothes. Metallic purple silk adorned with silver yin-yang patterns flashed from beneath his dark jacket. He took her anger just as seriously, it seemed.
"A human--even you--informing me of their well-developed sense of time," he said. "It's like--it's like a lima bean informing you that it's gained an appreciation of the works of Shakespeare."
"I'm a lima bean, am I? I waited two weeks for you to show your face, and now I'm a lima bean?"
"In this respect? Well, yes, I'd say a legume is not far off."
"And maybe this 'legume' has decided it doesn't need to spend the rest of its lifespan traipsing after you!" She stormed off toward the abandoned dig site, orange mud caking her workboots. "So just hop back into your box and sod off, if that's all you think I'm worth. I don't need either of you."
"River," he called, catching her stride. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm not just some bloke who found himself a time machine and decided to take it for a jaunt, is all."
She whirled on him. "Really? Because sweetie, my research on your origins says otherwise. And don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, and don't say--"
"Spoilers?" He winked impishly and she hated him for a good ten seconds after that. He continued anyway. "You may have some residual capacity from your . . . origins. But I was born out of the ancient Looms of Gallifrey. Time sensitivity is literally woven into my genetic code. Gradient potentials, fixed points, temporal schisms, paradox, all of it. I can feel it as easily as you can see me or hear my voice. I can massage it, stretch it, flex it like a finger or an arm . . ." A frown ghosted across his features and he stopped short for a moment, but then dove back in before she could say a word. "There, you see what I mean? And of course you don't, blasted repeats! Anyway, the point is, you can't waltz up to a Time Lord, tell them you understand the fabric of their being better than they do, and--" He took a breath, finally noticing the tightness in her jaw for what it really was. "And, and, and. . . and I'm sorry. I did try to come sooner."
"Try harder," she said, fighting to hold on to her anger. She'd killed him and saved him already, this man whose faces she hardly knew, and she was still learning the lessons of Rule One. "I thought . . . whatever's gone before, time can be rewritten. I thought you'd left me behind."
"I wouldn't ever, not after--hang on," he said, scrutinizing her face with a furrowed brow. "Are you still at university? So we haven't--oh, never mind. Shall we go?" He waved airily and set off for the TARDIS on nimble feet, navigating the muddy ground with ease and not bothering to look back as he called out, "We'll have to make a quick stopover before Bessa Prime; I've an appointment to keep!"
Of course, she had followed. She always would.
River looked up from the readout to focus on Major Ogden's hopeful expression. She figured she had less than two days before her cover was blown, leaving her in as much need of rescuing from this man as the Doctor was.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm as much in the dark as you are," she lied.
For all their xeno-technology and scientific method, the National Reconnaissance Office's Directorate of Applied Extra-Terrestrial Research were still legumes when it came to understanding a Time Lord's perception of time.
THIS REEL IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
NATIONAL RECONNAISSANCE OFFICE: DIRECTORATE OF APPLIED EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL RESEARCH
SUPPLEMENTAL EVIDENCE FOR DATA ANALYSIS DELAYS: SUBJECT 36 ALIAS "DOCTOR"
FILM ARCHIVED BY DUVALL, HENRY M (SPECIALIST)
21 JUNE 1969
17:25
AREA 51 EAST LABORATORY
[The laboratory is brightly lit, dominated by a high-backed metallic chair that is currently adjusted to a seated position. Several experimental devices are positioned on swivel-arms about the chair, but none appear to be in use. The recording is taken from behind an observation window, showing the chair side on. The subject is seated in the chair, restrained by the wrists and ankles to its arms and legs. His head is strapped to a stabilizing support extending up from the top of the chair, leaving the SMM device at back of his neck accessible. His eyes are closed and he looks exhausted, but he appears to be murmuring something softly under his breath.]
OGDEN (off camera): Italian again?
[A hand (Specialist Duvall, who is holding the camera) reaches out to flick a switch at the wall, and sound from the next room is piped in through an intercom. The subject is humming to himself, not entirely on key, interspersed with a few vague words and phrases.]
DUVALL (oc): German, I think. Anyway, it's mapped for now. It shouldn't confound the visual baseline.
OGDEN (oc): Are the inputs ready?
[The camera pans down, showing the SMM data screen. Stacked time series charts scroll jumpy lines of green readings across the window. Specialist Duvall reaches down with a plastic stylus to tap the screen. One line of what looks like a basic white noise pattern thickens and turns red.]
DUVALL (oc): Ready.
OGDEN (oc): Begin visual baselining.
[Another tap of the screen sets the red line from a noisy time series to a smoother series of stair-step patterns. The camera pans quickly back up to the subject. He has squeezed his eyes shut tightly and starts singing louder and more forcefully--O welche Lust in freier Luft . . . in freier Luft, Den Athem einzuheben!--apparently trying to distract himself from some level of discomfort.]
OGDEN (oc): No good. The signal's still confounded. Variance is point-seven-five.
DUVALL (oc): Fascinating. What the hell else is he seeing?--Wait!
[The camera pans with a quick movement to Major Ogden, who has picked up the data pad and is striding purposefully into the main laboratory.]
DUVALL (oc): You're going to contaminate the perception feeds!
OGDEN: They're already contaminated! I'm going to find out why.
[The camera follows Major Ogden as he rounds the front of the chair. The subject stops singing and tries to move his head to follow the sound of Ogden's footsteps. His eyes remain closed but he smiles grimly when Ogden stops in front of him.]
SUBJECT: Hello--well, I never did get your names, did I? Not fans of Beethoven? That's a shame, Beethoven is cool. Or maybe you object to the subject matter.
OGDEN: Have you had enough?
SUBJECT: What's that? Have you decided to talk to me? It's rather difficult to concentrate with all these test patterns flashing across my visual cortex.
[Major Ogden discontinues the baseline pattern on the data pad, and then reaches up and unstraps the subject's forehead. He rolls his head and blinks his eyes, focusing quickly in on Major Ogden.]
OGDEN: You've been in this chair for eight hours straight. You've been awake for five days. Don't you want to take a rest?
SUBJECT: Oh, yes. I've tried. A healing trance would be best, but your little torture device won't let me do that.
OGDEN: We can relax the controls, if you co-operate.
SUBJECT: Co-operate? With you?
OGDEN: Your sensory input is confounded in ways we've never seen before. Give us some context for the data we're seeing. You can make this process easier for both sides.
[The subject gives a short laugh and leans his head back against the chair.]
SUBJECT: I could easily lie.
[The view jitters as the camera is repositioned.]
DUVALL (oc): With all due respect, Major Ogden, this is getting us nowhere.
[Major Ogden continues to address the subject.]
OGDEN: We can easily test your assertions empirically. Just tell us what we're missing. Otherwise, we could be here for weeks. We might damage you unknowingly.
[The subject suddenly sits forward, eyes intent at the camera and directing his statement to Specialist Duvall.]
SUBJECT: You wouldn't allow that to happen, of course. Pain, surely. Humiliation. But not damage.
DUVALL (oc): Major, this is costing us time. Look at the current readings; are they even significant at point zero five anymore? Point one? We've already spent five--
[The subject tugs at the restraints on his wrist in an abortive attempt to raise a hand.]
SUBJECT: Five days. I've gone through three and a half librettos, I'm so bored. But you're not bored, are you? Quite the opposite. Five days of impeccable experiments, precise procedure, and flawless documentation. You know, I once spent an entire decade nearly bored to tears--a long time ago now, and of course they changed the requirements for philosophy of non-interference seminars for the following cohort, lucky devils--but it didn't make me pedantic; it made me sloppy. And you? You're just getting started. It's against your nature to break something before you've figured it out.
OGDEN: If we can't baseline your mapped perceptions, the next step is to shut them all down.
[The subject ignores Major Ogden and continues to address Duvall.]
SUBJECT: And what happens to the riddles you finally unravel? Are they worth nearly as much to you, I wonder?
OGDEN: Total sensory isolation. Nobody wants that. I think you'll find it's in your best interest to co-operate.
[The subject turns to face Major Ogden.]
SUBJECT: Do you think so? Do you want to know what I think?
OGDEN: I'm giving you fair warning--
SUBJECT: I think it's in my best interest to remain unsolved.
[The subject sits back and starts softly humming bars of Beethoven again. The camera jostles, taking the subject out of frame and then is abruptly turned off.]
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
**
Part 1 | Interlude I
**
THIS REEL IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
PROPERTY OF UNITED STATES AIR FORCE
GROOM LAKE EXPERIMENTAL AIRCRAFT AND XENOTECH RESEARCH FACILITY
13 JUNE 1969
14:25
RECORD OF DETAINEE TRANSFER TO N.R.O. CUSTODY
PRESENT REPRESENTATIVE PARTIES:
CALDWELL, COLONEL MARTIN C
OGDEN, MAJOR CHARLES J
DUVALL, HENRY M (SPECIALIST)
SECURITY DETAIL:
JAMES, STAFF SERGEANT KEVIN J
KELLEY, AIRMAN FRANK C
LITZINGER, AIRMAN JOSHUA L
DETAINEE:
DS-#234-8H ALIAS "DOCTOR"
GROOM LAKE FACILITY: INTERROGATION ROOM 3100A
[Colonel Caldwell is seated at the left side of the interrogation room table, his back to the two-way mirror taking up three fourths of the far wall from the door. He is leafing through documents in a manila folder. Major Ogden and Specialist Duvall are stood at the table to his right. Major Ogden holds a briefcase at his side. The detainee is escorted into the room by Sgt. James and two guards. The detainee appears clean-shaven and in good health but has some superficial scratches on his face and bruising under his right eye. He is restrained by a straight jacket, augmented at the waist with a multi-use leather transport belt with two handcuffs affixed to it.]
CALDWELL: Sit him down.
[The detainee does not resist when seated at the chair bolted to the floor at the right side of the table, facing Colonel Caldwell. He is flanked by the two guards, who secure the cuffs of the transport belt to two rings on the chair, located where the seat meets the back. Sgt. James affixes two straps attached to the front legs of the chair across each of the detainee's legs, then stands and salutes and is instructed to stand at ease.]
DETAINEE: Colonel Caldwell. I can't say I'm pleased to see you again.
[Major Ogden places the briefcase on the table and opens it briskly.]
OGDEN: Are all those restraints required?
[Specialist Duvall retrieves a flash camera from the briefcase and takes several pictures of the detainee during the ensuing conversation.]
CALDWELL: Major, I informed Security to use whatever means necessary for containing the prisoner.
OGDEN: Yes, sir. Understood. [To Sgt. James] Does that include roughing him up?
JAMES: Sir, those injuries were sustained during the detainee's most recent escape attempt.
DETAINEE: To be precise, it was afterward--
DUVALL: Hold his head still.
[Airman Kelley stabilizes the detainee's head while Specialist Duvall focuses the camera on his injured eye and snaps a picture. The detainee grimaces at the flash and does not struggle, but blinks rapidly when his head is released.]
OGDEN: Go on, Sergeant.
JAMES: The detainee was apprehended at the south perimeter, a quarter mile from the fence. Airman Chavez brought him down with a tranq, sir. He sustained the injuries from a fall onto rough terrain.
OGDEN: He got that shiner from a fall?
JAMES: Yes, sir.
[Specialist Duvall finishes with the camera and sets it on the table.]
DUVALL: What kind of tranquilizer was used?
JAMES: It was one of the adaptive rounds your agency sent.
DUVALL: Good.
DETAINEE: And what agency is that?
[Sgt. James takes a threatening step toward the detainee but is waved off by Major Ogden.]
OGDEN: Thank you, Sergeant. That will be all for now. Dismissed.
JAMES: Yes, sir.
[James and the security detail salute and leave the room.]
CALDWELL: I'll see that they receive the proper security clearance compartment briefing to continue supporting your mission.
DUVALL: They should have had it already.
CALDWELL: With all due respect, they were busy making sure you didn't come all the way out here for nothing.
DETAINEE: Long trip, was it?
[Colonel Caldwell arranges the papers back into the file and signs the document at the top of the stack. Major Ogden signs as well, and nods to Specialist Duvall, who retrieves a thin electronic data pad from the briefcase and uses a stylus tool to turn it on and enter some settings.]
OGDEN: All right, gentlemen. The transfer is now official.
DETAINEE: Transfer to whom? For what purpose?
[Major Ogden removes a small, black, conical object from the case. The detainee's demeanor changes visibly from calm to nervous when he sees it. He straightens in the chair, rattling the cuffs against the metal supports. Specialist Duvall sets the data pad on the table facing the detainee and comes around to the far side of the table.]
DUVALL: Subject thirty-six is Air Force detainee two three four eight dash H. The subject has been categorized as an extra-terrestrial species with unknown origin, intent, and abilities.
DETAINEE: Origin--Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterberous. You won't have heard of it.
CALDWELL: What is that device? Does he recognize it?
OGDEN: The device is based on xenotech, so he may have encountered something similar. [He holds the small black cone up to the light and addresses the detainee] Do you know what this is?
DETAINEE: At a guess I'd wager brutal, invasive and unnecessary. I know your sort. My intent--
[Major Ogden nods at Specialist Duvall, who forces the detainee's head forward, exposing his neck. The detainee starts to struggle but has little room to move and is held easily in position.]
DETAINEE: My intent right now is to avoid coming into contact with it!
OGDEN: You should also know that this will be less painful for you if you choose not to resist.
[Specialist Duvall studies the data pad as Major Ogden places a finger on the base of the device and puts it point down against the detainee's neck. The device begins to emit a high-pitched whine.]
DETAINEE: I'm not resisting. I'm telling you what you want to know. Origin, intent, abilities--abilities, well naturally I'm good at transcendental maths, football--ah, I suppose it's called soccer in America isn't it?--but don't ask about dancing; everyone tells me I'm rubbish at dancing--
DUVALL: Locked.
[Major Ogden releases the base of the device. The detainee stiffens and screams in pain as the cone unravels into a series of tiny wires that burrow down into the skin, until only the circular base is visible. It settles and the whining stops. The detainee stops screaming but stays bent forward in the chair, breathing heavily and spasming every few seconds. The data pad emits a quiet diagnostic ticking pulse. Specialist Duvall looks over at the data pad.]
DUVALL: It's calibrating. [To Colonel Caldwell] He'll be out of it for a little while until the branching stops. It usually takes about an hour for the SMM to map out regions of sensory input processing in the brain. More if there are any active abilities involved, tied to a perception like telepathy.
CALDWELL: English, please. SMM? Was that covered in the SAP brief?
OGDEN: No, but it's need-to-know now for anyone in contact with the subject. Sensory Monitoring and Manipulation is the standard procedure for an uncatalogued xenobiological specimen in a possible foothold situation, mainly to protect against psychic threats. We'll soon get an idea of what kind of information he can interpret, and how to control it.
CALDWELL: I see. Should we move him back to his cell?
OGDEN: Not yet. Brief your men. We can monitor him from the observation room next door until then.
CALDWELL: It's your show, gentlemen.
[Colonel Caldwell turns to leave.]
OGDEN: One more request, sir?
CALDWELL: What is it, Major?
OGDEN: I'd like to get a handcuff key from Sergeant James. I think we can do away with those restraints, now.
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
THIS REPORT IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
NATIONAL RECONNAISSANCE OFFICE: DIRECTORATE OF APPLIED EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL RESEARCH
INTAKE REPORT: SUBJECT 36 ALIAS "DOCTOR"
14 JUNE 1969
AUTHOR: DUVALL, HENRY M (SPECIALIST)
EXECUTIVE SUMMARY:
Nearly twenty hours have elapsed since the Sensory Monitoring and Manipulation (SMM) device was implanted in the alien subject 36, and the perception map is not yet complete. The subject has been under constant surveillance but has not been observed tampering with any equipment, and the data feed from the device has remained uninterrupted and clear.
Initial readings indicate higher than human acuity across the board in receptive senses with the common factor-analytic breakdown of vision, audition, tactician and olfaction/gustation. Observed conditional factor loadings (0.633, 0.205, 0.112, 0.050) across perceptive processing of these senses in the brain are similar to human subdivisions. The subject also has a low-level telepathic sense confounded with tactile input, and a dedicated set of locked empathic receptors associated with fixed, long-range psychic channeling. The subject's interoceptive senses are nearly as sophisticated as the external senses. Similar levels of internal acuity are seen in species that possess fine-tuned control of neurological and vascular systems, as a sense of vulnerability or harm in these systems informs the ability of consciously directed healing.
Identification and suppression of any active telepathic communication vectors or interoceptive abilities that could interfere with the SMM functioning was achieved within nine hours of device implantation. Despite this, there are several peculiarities in the raw data feed that, at present, the SMM has been unable to disambiguate. We have detected anomalous signal fluctuations that occur simultaneously across all known and categorized perception vectors. If the readings are accurate, they suggest the presence of sensory receptors in the brain that we have yet to physically identify. We observe these "ghost receptors" through their interactions with categorized perceptions, but they may represent a new kind of sensory perception, independent from anything that has been observed in the past.
Further research is imperative. Exploration of telepathic/empathic abilities in alien specimens has advanced our understanding of human perceptions considerably, and has opened the door to research in augmenting human senses to include these more sophisticated and alien perceptions. But if subject 36 is any indication of the broader spectrum of sense abilities, we have only begun to scratch the surface of what is possible.
PLEASE SEE ATTACHED TECHNICAL NOTES FOR DETAILS
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
Six floors below ground, River sat back from the oval oak table in front of her, and let the weight of the empty conference room settle silently across her shoulders. High-backed, wheeled chairs, designed with the comfort of dignitaries in mind, stood out starkly black against the gray walls. Two flags hung in dead air against their poles at the front of the room--one recognizably the US stars and stripes, one an indistinct design on a blue background. Industrial lights shadowed the corners, failing to compensate for the lack of windows.
Two months of hell were laid out before her, in technical reports, archive tapes, briefings and memos. She needed to process them quickly and impersonally, but the more she read, the more she realized that time was running short for her bluff.
She closed her eyes. The room felt like a prison; dense, strange, and oppressive. The feeling wasn't tied to sights or sounds, and she couldn't imagine how much worse it felt for the Doctor. To think of him waiting in that cell for weeks on end for an ally, finally within arm's reach but shuttered off from her so completely--
"Doctor Hamilton. Ma'am?"
The world snapped back into focus, and River looked up to see Major Ogden at the doorway, his hands full with a large sheaf of papers. "Yes, what is it?" she asked. She couldn't hide the fatigue in her voice, but Ogden just gave her a quick, sympathetic smile.
"It's a lot to go through, I know," he said, coming into the room. "Your clearance should have come through earlier so you could get a full off-site briefing. But I trust you're coming up to speed?"
"Just about." River collected the most recent documents she'd been studying and set them aside.
"I see you've read the diagnostics reports. You're familiar with the basic xenotech?"
"Sontaran," she confirmed. "Though I must admit I'm more experienced with Rutan derivatives. Where did you get it?"
"That shuttle crash in Idaho in forty-seven. We thought the passengers were all Sontaran but it turns out it was a prisoner transport of Rutan infiltrators."
"Shapeshifter spies," River surmised.
"Yes, Ma'am. From what we could tell, the SMM tech was used to sever the prisoners' connection to the Rutan Host and keep them in their current form. Took fifteen years to re-engineer the ones we salvaged. What's your assessment of its functioning?"
This was a delicate decision. She could try siding with James and the security personnel, and attempt to strong-arm the N.R.O. into deactivating and re-evaluating their device on security grounds. But it was increasingly clear from the reports that James' position was untenable, and the plan could backfire quickly if the N.R.O. decided they didn't need Groom Lake or its consultant anymore. Ogden and Duvall were the keys to getting close to the Doctor and to the SMM tech. On the one hand, it was easier to pass herself off as an expert if that expert happened to say the things the real experts wanted to hear. On the other hand, she had neither the expertise nor the time to play a long game.
"I'd like to run some more field tests to confirm it," she said. "But from what you've documented here, the anomalies don't appear to be artifacts of a device malfunction."
"That's what we've been trying to tell Command." Ogden used a foot to coax the chair beside her out from the table, depositing his sheaf of papers in front of them as he sat down. "I'll see about setting up some diagnostic sessions for you. Though," he sighed, "I hope for your sake you're not an opera fan."
"Pardon?" asked River, but Ogden had already moved past the point.
"Maybe Command will listen if it comes from their own people. In the meantime, if I may?" He unrolled an incongruously contemporary paper readout in front of them, given the common standards of alien tech River had seen so far, and pointed out several spikes in a grainy dot-matrix trend line. "What do you think about these readings? If you do a factor rotation, they fall out similar to what we see with telepathic projections, echolocation sonar, or other actions facilitated by passive senses. Doctor Duvall thinks it's possible we're dealing with an active ability tied to this new perception."
For a moment, River let her finger trace the trend, ignoring Ogden's commentary. What stimuli had created these patterns, she wondered. Was this jump due to probability or pain? Was the response confusion? Hope? Perhaps it was rage, inked across this sheet of paper as indelibly as it coursed through her veins. She chased the thought away with a cough and cleared her throat. Emotion wouldn't serve a rescue; she needed information. "You mean these aren't telepathy traces?" she asked innocently.
"No, those are here. Look." Ogden repositioned the readout, giving it a brusque shake to discourage wrinkles, and unrolled a new section. He pointed out a time series at the top of the readout. It was labeled "ESP#12C-LAMBDA-CTRL=-0.20", and the trace was a completely flat line. "The device forces telepathic eigenvalues to zero by default, along with any other active abilities that might interfere with its functioning. Touch-telepathy like what we see in this subject is harder to get a hold of, but previous studies have shown us how to disambiguate it from simple tactile and balance senses."
"I see," River said. The dormant psychic switch buzzed at the back of her mind. It needed a telepathic differential in order to activate. The only way she could get it past the facility's brainwave scanners was to bury it too deeply in her subconscious for her to retrieve it on her own. It would be completely useless to them if the Doctor couldn't feel how to transfer or trigger it.
At her side, Ogden continued. "No, this activity is something different, and it's a startling volume of sensory input. I was hoping you might have some insights."
River knew exactly what their sense maps were missing, of course.
Once, when she was much younger and more audacious than she was now, she had informed the Doctor that she had "a very well-developed sense of time." "I'm not just another companion you can summon to some galactic co-ordinates and then wait to show up whenever you damn well please!" she'd asserted, furious at him. The Doctor was not the gawky, bow-tie-clad youth who had clashed with her in Berlin, but it was nonetheless a familiar face from her University days. That incarnation was older but still ageless in a way, his gray hair and serious gaze offset by a penchant for flamboyant waistcoats. He was quicker to laugh--genuinely, laugh--than any incarnation she'd since known. Or, maybe she'd only seen it that way because he'd known her so well. But laugh he did. River glared at him and he busied his hands, smoothing dust from his clothes. Metallic purple silk adorned with silver yin-yang patterns flashed from beneath his dark jacket. He took her anger just as seriously, it seemed.
"A human--even you--informing me of their well-developed sense of time," he said. "It's like--it's like a lima bean informing you that it's gained an appreciation of the works of Shakespeare."
"I'm a lima bean, am I? I waited two weeks for you to show your face, and now I'm a lima bean?"
"In this respect? Well, yes, I'd say a legume is not far off."
"And maybe this 'legume' has decided it doesn't need to spend the rest of its lifespan traipsing after you!" She stormed off toward the abandoned dig site, orange mud caking her workboots. "So just hop back into your box and sod off, if that's all you think I'm worth. I don't need either of you."
"River," he called, catching her stride. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm not just some bloke who found himself a time machine and decided to take it for a jaunt, is all."
She whirled on him. "Really? Because sweetie, my research on your origins says otherwise. And don't tell me I don't know what I'm talking about, and don't say--"
"Spoilers?" He winked impishly and she hated him for a good ten seconds after that. He continued anyway. "You may have some residual capacity from your . . . origins. But I was born out of the ancient Looms of Gallifrey. Time sensitivity is literally woven into my genetic code. Gradient potentials, fixed points, temporal schisms, paradox, all of it. I can feel it as easily as you can see me or hear my voice. I can massage it, stretch it, flex it like a finger or an arm . . ." A frown ghosted across his features and he stopped short for a moment, but then dove back in before she could say a word. "There, you see what I mean? And of course you don't, blasted repeats! Anyway, the point is, you can't waltz up to a Time Lord, tell them you understand the fabric of their being better than they do, and--" He took a breath, finally noticing the tightness in her jaw for what it really was. "And, and, and. . . and I'm sorry. I did try to come sooner."
"Try harder," she said, fighting to hold on to her anger. She'd killed him and saved him already, this man whose faces she hardly knew, and she was still learning the lessons of Rule One. "I thought . . . whatever's gone before, time can be rewritten. I thought you'd left me behind."
"I wouldn't ever, not after--hang on," he said, scrutinizing her face with a furrowed brow. "Are you still at university? So we haven't--oh, never mind. Shall we go?" He waved airily and set off for the TARDIS on nimble feet, navigating the muddy ground with ease and not bothering to look back as he called out, "We'll have to make a quick stopover before Bessa Prime; I've an appointment to keep!"
Of course, she had followed. She always would.
River looked up from the readout to focus on Major Ogden's hopeful expression. She figured she had less than two days before her cover was blown, leaving her in as much need of rescuing from this man as the Doctor was.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm as much in the dark as you are," she lied.
For all their xeno-technology and scientific method, the National Reconnaissance Office's Directorate of Applied Extra-Terrestrial Research were still legumes when it came to understanding a Time Lord's perception of time.
THIS REEL IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
NATIONAL RECONNAISSANCE OFFICE: DIRECTORATE OF APPLIED EXTRA-TERRESTRIAL RESEARCH
SUPPLEMENTAL EVIDENCE FOR DATA ANALYSIS DELAYS: SUBJECT 36 ALIAS "DOCTOR"
FILM ARCHIVED BY DUVALL, HENRY M (SPECIALIST)
21 JUNE 1969
17:25
AREA 51 EAST LABORATORY
[The laboratory is brightly lit, dominated by a high-backed metallic chair that is currently adjusted to a seated position. Several experimental devices are positioned on swivel-arms about the chair, but none appear to be in use. The recording is taken from behind an observation window, showing the chair side on. The subject is seated in the chair, restrained by the wrists and ankles to its arms and legs. His head is strapped to a stabilizing support extending up from the top of the chair, leaving the SMM device at back of his neck accessible. His eyes are closed and he looks exhausted, but he appears to be murmuring something softly under his breath.]
OGDEN (off camera): Italian again?
[A hand (Specialist Duvall, who is holding the camera) reaches out to flick a switch at the wall, and sound from the next room is piped in through an intercom. The subject is humming to himself, not entirely on key, interspersed with a few vague words and phrases.]
DUVALL (oc): German, I think. Anyway, it's mapped for now. It shouldn't confound the visual baseline.
OGDEN (oc): Are the inputs ready?
[The camera pans down, showing the SMM data screen. Stacked time series charts scroll jumpy lines of green readings across the window. Specialist Duvall reaches down with a plastic stylus to tap the screen. One line of what looks like a basic white noise pattern thickens and turns red.]
DUVALL (oc): Ready.
OGDEN (oc): Begin visual baselining.
[Another tap of the screen sets the red line from a noisy time series to a smoother series of stair-step patterns. The camera pans quickly back up to the subject. He has squeezed his eyes shut tightly and starts singing louder and more forcefully--O welche Lust in freier Luft . . . in freier Luft, Den Athem einzuheben!--apparently trying to distract himself from some level of discomfort.]
OGDEN (oc): No good. The signal's still confounded. Variance is point-seven-five.
DUVALL (oc): Fascinating. What the hell else is he seeing?--Wait!
[The camera pans with a quick movement to Major Ogden, who has picked up the data pad and is striding purposefully into the main laboratory.]
DUVALL (oc): You're going to contaminate the perception feeds!
OGDEN: They're already contaminated! I'm going to find out why.
[The camera follows Major Ogden as he rounds the front of the chair. The subject stops singing and tries to move his head to follow the sound of Ogden's footsteps. His eyes remain closed but he smiles grimly when Ogden stops in front of him.]
SUBJECT: Hello--well, I never did get your names, did I? Not fans of Beethoven? That's a shame, Beethoven is cool. Or maybe you object to the subject matter.
OGDEN: Have you had enough?
SUBJECT: What's that? Have you decided to talk to me? It's rather difficult to concentrate with all these test patterns flashing across my visual cortex.
[Major Ogden discontinues the baseline pattern on the data pad, and then reaches up and unstraps the subject's forehead. He rolls his head and blinks his eyes, focusing quickly in on Major Ogden.]
OGDEN: You've been in this chair for eight hours straight. You've been awake for five days. Don't you want to take a rest?
SUBJECT: Oh, yes. I've tried. A healing trance would be best, but your little torture device won't let me do that.
OGDEN: We can relax the controls, if you co-operate.
SUBJECT: Co-operate? With you?
OGDEN: Your sensory input is confounded in ways we've never seen before. Give us some context for the data we're seeing. You can make this process easier for both sides.
[The subject gives a short laugh and leans his head back against the chair.]
SUBJECT: I could easily lie.
[The view jitters as the camera is repositioned.]
DUVALL (oc): With all due respect, Major Ogden, this is getting us nowhere.
[Major Ogden continues to address the subject.]
OGDEN: We can easily test your assertions empirically. Just tell us what we're missing. Otherwise, we could be here for weeks. We might damage you unknowingly.
[The subject suddenly sits forward, eyes intent at the camera and directing his statement to Specialist Duvall.]
SUBJECT: You wouldn't allow that to happen, of course. Pain, surely. Humiliation. But not damage.
DUVALL (oc): Major, this is costing us time. Look at the current readings; are they even significant at point zero five anymore? Point one? We've already spent five--
[The subject tugs at the restraints on his wrist in an abortive attempt to raise a hand.]
SUBJECT: Five days. I've gone through three and a half librettos, I'm so bored. But you're not bored, are you? Quite the opposite. Five days of impeccable experiments, precise procedure, and flawless documentation. You know, I once spent an entire decade nearly bored to tears--a long time ago now, and of course they changed the requirements for philosophy of non-interference seminars for the following cohort, lucky devils--but it didn't make me pedantic; it made me sloppy. And you? You're just getting started. It's against your nature to break something before you've figured it out.
OGDEN: If we can't baseline your mapped perceptions, the next step is to shut them all down.
[The subject ignores Major Ogden and continues to address Duvall.]
SUBJECT: And what happens to the riddles you finally unravel? Are they worth nearly as much to you, I wonder?
OGDEN: Total sensory isolation. Nobody wants that. I think you'll find it's in your best interest to co-operate.
[The subject turns to face Major Ogden.]
SUBJECT: Do you think so? Do you want to know what I think?
OGDEN: I'm giving you fair warning--
SUBJECT: I think it's in my best interest to remain unsolved.
[The subject sits back and starts softly humming bars of Beethoven again. The camera jostles, taking the subject out of frame and then is abruptly turned off.]
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
**
Part 1 | Interlude I
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