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Lab Record: 04 August 1969
Response perception: intent preconception
Blocking variables: Human vs. automated, randomized time intervals
Confounding mapped perceptions: empathic, tactile
Total Observations: 150
Exploratory Analysis:
Point of Initiation (baseline human, differential):
Correlation coefficient (active response): 0.92
Strong relationship of stimulus across blocking variables to active response
Correlation coefficient (confounded empathic channels): 0.35
SMM Feedback: Weak relationship across blocking variables to measured empathic sensory channels
Intent accuracy (logistic link, baseline neutral human):
Odds ratio (accuracy neutral/negative, human): 1.019
Odds ratio (accuracy neutral/negative, automated): 1.013
No relationship of active response to application of negative reinforcement
SMM Feedback: No relationship of stimulus to measured empathic sensory channels
Notes: Negative reinforcement for this experiment was moderate electric shocks administered through SMM contact point. Following the experiments of Kettridge (1963):
Subject is co-located with an administrator for the duration of the experiment. Blind to the subject, at randomly spaced intervals the administrator is given a directive, A or B, pertaining to a handheld device that controls negative reinforcement. The administrator is instructed to push either button A (labeled "neutral") or button B (labeled "shock"), at a delay of two seconds after receiving the signal. Default probability of label selection for the randomized signal is 0.5.
With no other sensory cues, a subject with traditional empathic perception can determine the moment when the administrator receives and understands the signal (the point of initiation), and will quickly distinguish the intent (negative or neutral) from the administrator's projected response to the cue. Perception can be measured via empathic SMM maps or via directly observable action--the subject involuntarily anticipates the shock when negative reinforcement is selected, and relaxes when neutral action is selected. This basic empathic ability persists across differential sensory expressions of empathy and in highly unbalanced administration profiles (p >> 0.5, p << 0.5).
Empathic subjects can determine neither point of initiation nor intent when the decision process is automated by a switch wired on delay to a computerized random number generator, as opposed to a human administrator.
In curious contrast to traditional empathic perception, subject 36 was able to determine the point of initiation in both human-administered and automated tests. Furthermore, directly observable involuntary response showed that while the subject could always anticipate a decision being made, the subject could not determine intent (negative vs neutral) under either experimental condition, and anticipated shock whether or not it was applied. SMM empathic channels were largely uncorrelated with any of these measured responses. This result again suggests that the subject's unmapped senses are not strongly tied to empathy, and that the confounding along empathic channels is merely the footprint of a different kind of sensory input.
These empathic perception channels continue to defy explanation. For example, the aural/empathic confounded spike (66.54 +/- 9.23 mE above background noise on channel 120.8), that has accompanied the subject's vocal attempts at self-placation during times of high stress since the inception of monitoring, has disappeared completely and abruptly from the channel for all instances occurring on or after 02 August. These "singing spikes" were some of our most steady readings. What happened?
**
They had a good shot if they could make it to the surface, River figured. She set Plan C into motion late that afternoon, heading purposefully for the elevator bay and the wing of offices one floor up from the laboratory.
The subterranean base was modular, which meant that many of the features within the N.R.O. perimeter mirrored ones in the traditional security wing. According to Sergeant James' meticulous reports, the Doctor had used a pipe access cabinet in escape attempt number nine that bypassed the elevators and connected with maintenance corridors leading to the mess on sub-level two. James had locked the panel and set a guard at the entrance in the security wing after that, but once the Doctor was transferred, Major Ogden hadn't bothered to secure the same area at the far end of the laboratory corridors within his jurisdiction. As an added advantage, the Doctor was already familiar with the route, and even blind, his spatial orientation was top notch. It wouldn't take him long to remember his previous attempt and retrieve his mental map in order to help him get his bearings.
She hoped. The elevator door closed. River jabbed the button for sub-level 5, and let a wave of anxiety wash over her.
She would have precious little time to try to communicate with him. He had never taught her a manual alphabet and she wasn't sure what standard he would know, nor how best to study up on one quickly. Instead, she had swiped an introductory Morse Code training card from the comms center the previous afternoon and had committed the dots and dashes to memory. She'd never seen the Doctor use it before, but it was a classic example of human ingenuity--simple, archaic, and brilliant--which meant there was a good chance he would already know it. It might buy them some time.
She hadn't seen the Doctor in over a day. It was necessary, but she hated the fact that running away from him had been easier than staying by his side. He had survived for two months--of course he had; he always survived--and she knew he could fend for himself for a while longer as she planned their jailbreak. But doubt ate at her. River trusted the Doctor with all of her heart, but she knew he wasn't as unbreakable as he'd like either friends or enemies to believe. Was this the time she expected too much from him?
The elevator doors calmly slid open at Level 5 and River forced herself to start moving. There was no denying they would need as much of a head start as they could gain in order to make it to the surface. Which meant changing routines to foster confusion, overpowering a minimum number of people as quickly and quietly as possible, and minimizing time spent under the eyes of the surveillance cameras.
She found Major Ogden in the records room, cross-referencing readouts to audio tapes. He looked up wearily and clicked off the tape player when she came in.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
Quite a bit, she thought.
"I've been called back to Utah," she said. "I'm heading out on the seven A.M. transport tomorrow morning."
Ogden removed his thick-rimmed glasses and rubbed at his eyes, his disappointment clear. "I was hoping to get your help testing those alternative empathic hypotheses we discussed," he said.
"I'm sorry. Doctor Duvall can--" she started, but the Major cut off her comment with a wave of his hand.
"I don't think he's interested," was all he said.
The key to exploiting human assets, River had learned long ago, was to focus their attention on their own insecurities. It was the best lever you could use to cause mis-steps and mistakes. It was something the Doctor understood well, but depending on the face he wore, he would generally start out trying to be nice. River had never mastered that level of patience. She may have misjudged the situation upon her arrival, but now she knew exactly where her assets lay--with a passionately scientific military man who wasn't used to playing second fiddle to anyone, but who wasn't quite sure if his field ops pedigree was good enough to earn true respect from a specialist from the premiere national laboratories.
River smiled sympathetically at Major Ogden. Getting a good head start meant staging their escape from the examination room, where the only cameras were the ones in the adjoining observation room, and where the ever-present scientific and military escorts were divided among that room and the outer corridor.
"Well, we don't have to bother Doctor Duvall about it, do we?" she said. "How long would it take to run the tests now?"
**
What has changed? The subject's routine, mood and demeanor have stayed constant; suggesting that any internal calming effects gained from this exercise have also stayed constant despite the pseudo-empathic drop. Language choice--French, German, Italian, now English--has had no correlation with spike magnitude in the past, nor has tempo, length, volume, precision or recollection (though the latter two can contribute to delay of spike onset). The only obvious difference is that the subject has abandoned operas for what I assume are
Henry Duvall blinked down at his own handwriting, pen poised.
"But that's a construct," he said into his empty office. "It can't . . . it's not--"
He shoved notebook and pen quickly aside in favor of vigorously unfurling the afternoon's data readouts across his desk and peering myopically at the background noise on channel 120.8. Was it really background noise? And what was that soldier's name, the one who he'd heard humming the same tune at his post later in the day . . .
He snatched the readout up into an untidy accordion of creases and folds under one arm, crammed the notebook alongside as an afterthought, and pushed his way emphatically through the office door into the anteroom.
"Page Airman Kelley to the records room," he said to the startled soldier on afternoon desk duty. "And find me an encyclopedia!" he added a moment later, pausing at the corridor doorway only long enough to see the kid pick up the desk phone and give a distracted thumbs up in acknowledgement.
**
It was nearing six o'clock when they reached the cells. The timing was no accident; River had indulged Ogden's need for some preparation time, had done some preparation of her own, and then had dragged her feet until the time was right. Now, the security detail was at a lull, and there was only one guard with them, a small but thickset Hispanic man with hard eyes and the name CARILLO stenciled across the pocket on his BDUs. He was just coming on to his shift, and this was likely the first time it had involved anything other than monitoring the Doctor's locked cell. Ogden keyed the cell code and the airman peered past the opening door, shifting his stance from foot to foot.
"Nervous?" asked River.
"Yes Ma'm, I almost never even seen him move," he answered. "They say he reads minds."
"Not right now, he doesn't," said Major Ogden. "Settle down, Airman."
The Doctor was on the bunk when they entered, his eyes closed, his arms folded across his upper body which was propped against the corner wall, his legs stretched out over the sheets and crossed at the ankles. He didn't so much as twitch when they entered. It took River too long to realize why; he found it too painful to lie flat, but even he needed to sleep from time to time. She started to warn Major Ogden, but by then Carillo had already grabbed the Doctor's near hand, with the intent of cuffing him for the trip to the lab.
The Doctor started awake with a gasp, bending his knees and pushing himself back toward the corner, his hands reflexively searching for purchase against the walls. He slammed Carillo's knuckles against the concrete and the airman let out an explosive curse. In two seconds flat the stronger soldier had hauled the Doctor off the bunk onto his shins, the offending hand twisted up behind his back and a knee thrust down between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the floor.
"Easy!" Ogden boomed as the Doctor roared a cry of fear and frustration, his eyes shut tight against complete disorientation. And for one bare, furious second, River abandoned her plan. They didn't need the examination room. They didn't need stealth; she could take on the guard and Ogden right here, commandeer a weapon and blaze their way out, cameras be damned. With Ogden barking orders and Carillo threatening to break the Doctor's arm, she surged forward into the cell.
"What? What, River--no!" The Doctor lifted his head as much as he could. "No, no, no, calm down!" he shouted, awake but not fully aware. His eyes nearly focused on her, imploring her to stop, and River froze. She saw the moment he realized his slip--a split second of terror writ across his face before he forced his head down again. He got a knee ground into his spine in response, positioned dangerously close to the device on his neck. His next words were rushed and imprecise. "I'm not resisting! No violence!"
She heard a questioning "Sir?" from behind her and turned to see the cell block guard standing warily in the doorway, his rifle not yet aimed but at the ready. She had completely forgotten about him. They would have walked right into him if River had tried anything.
"Enough," Ogden ordered, dismissing the guard at the door with a wave and then turning to Carillo. "That prisoner's worth more than you are. Follow the protocol for God's sake, so you don't damage him."
"Hands off!" the Doctor slurred, and Carillo reluctantly loosened his grip. "Let me up, let me up, I'm not--" when the airman removed his knee, the Doctor tried to sit up, off-kilter, and crashed to the floor again. "--resisting. Just. Surprised."
He calmed, enunciating the last two words very slowly and clearly as his hands quested in front of him. Ogden signaled River and the airman to stand back.
"Leave him to it," he said.
The Doctor found the bunk frame and guided himself along the floor over to a wall. By the time he gained his feet, he had gone haltingly through four rambling bars of Norwegian Wood, and had recovered enough balance to stand unassisted, his face impassive and inscrutable once again.
"I should like to be informed in advance of any further change in plans," he announced flawlessly, and held out his hands for the cuffs.
**
04 August 1969
Scratch notes
**
"All right." Major Ogden led the way into the observation room, then tapped some parameter options into the data pad and handed it to River. "Let's get started."
River busied herself flicking several A/V switches on the control panel, and when Ogden took a moment to study his test subject through the glass, she quickly switched off internal surveillance.
"He's unusually quiet, isn't he?" Ogden remarked. River looked up, following his gaze. The Doctor was staring grimly into the empty room, practically vibrating in concentration; his jaw tight, his breaths even, and his usually restlessly drumming fingers resting lightly against the chair arm. It was obvious he knew something was in motion, even if he wasn't sure exactly what it was.
"That's a blessing, at least," she answered aloud.
Silently, she wondered what it felt like--to sense the potential of a moment, to feel the swelling chords of branching alternative timelines that signaled a major change point and to know, unequivocally, which ones were resonant or discordant to established history, which decisions were fixed points, or which ones would cascade into paradox if chosen. She understood the mechanics of it, and had even felt timescapes on her own, but only ever briefly, and only ever when the TARDIS was nearby, singing through her thoughts. For a moment, looking at the Doctor, she realized why he had so vehemently drilled the importance of 'spoilers' into her head back when she had been far too young to understand or care about the consequences. The fact that these days, the tables were turned, hardly mattered. For a moment, she understood how utterly blind she still was.
She turned her attention back to the data pad in her hand, studying it intently. "I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. "Which channel was it again?"
"One-thirty-two." Ogden leaned his tall frame over her in the cramped space, pointing out a series of charts on the screen. "Here."
"Of course. Thanks." River turned and slammed the heel of her hand up into Ogden's jaw, finishing him off with a fist to his temple as he crumpled backward. Thirty seconds later Major Ogden was out for the count, gagged with an Air Force issue necktie and bound to a support pipe under the control panel with the cuffs River had pocketed after assisting with transferring the Doctor to the laboratory chair.
One escort down, one to go--Carillo standing guard in the corridor. River patted Ogden's cheek, collected the data pad from off the floor where it had fallen and stowed it in a large trouser pocket, and swung through the door into the examination room without a backward thought.
**
Exploratory Analysis:
Serial lag correlation of residuals vs. fitted is not evident (0.12): a single slope suffices across the independent variable gap.
Correlation coefficient (age ~ spike): 1.0
"Do you need any more recording dates?" Frank Kelley paged through his vinyl collection, that had been carted quickly in his Air Force issue duffel from his locker in Building Two over to the East Laboratory records room. When the orders to report here had first come through, he'd thought he was going to get demerits for having too many unnecessary personal items brought on base. He'd been ready to argue--it had taken almost two weeks before base security cleared them through. Really it was only the essentials, and he wasn't going to leave them behind; not after Ray Spellman had let slip that the enlisted rec hall had a turntable out here in the Southwest Desert Resort a billion miles from anything. What good was a turntable without tunes?
But the spook from D.C. had only been interested in trivia.
"Sir?" Kelley asked again when he didn't get an answer. His fingers skimmed automatically over all the well-worn spots on the spines of cardboard covers. "There's some more liner notes--"
He looked up to see Doctor Duvall already at the open doorway, waving his notebook in hand, open to a scribbled sheet of scratch paper.
"Bingo," the other man said, and disappeared into the corridor.
Kelley had absolutely no idea what the spook was going on about, but from the way he'd sped out, it was probably something the Sarge should know about. He had never seen so many equations in his life.
"Far out," he said, and followed the action, leaving the albums behind in the empty room.
**
"Now, that--!" the Doctor exclaimed loudly, and gave River a blind icy stare when she put a finger to his lips, but continued in a harsh whisper. "Don't 'shush' me! That was violence! What did you do?" She unstrapped his head and he craned his neck, flicking his gaze back toward the observation room as though he could see it. "Have I taught you that?" he continued, hardly stopping for breath. "No, never mind, don't tell me. Spoilers. River, you're improvising, I can tell. I don't like it! You're not good at improvising--"
"Doctor!" River whispered amidst his words. But it was even harder than usual to get a word in edgewise with him when he couldn't hear it. Instead, as soon as she had freed one of his wrists, she clasped his hand between hers, precious seconds ticking by as she just held on to him.
After a few moments, his stream of consciousness trailed off. He closed his eyes and a wave of emotion washed over his face. He reached up, finding her nose, brow, cheek, and the loose curls that had escaped her bun at her temple.
"It is you," he said. "I knew it. I knew it was, but . . ." He choked out a laugh of relief when he felt a smile spread across her cheek, and the hint of her next words on her lips.
"Hello, sweetie," River said, stubbornly fighting the break in her voice. "We really don't have time for this right now."
"River--" he started, but stopped when she gently brought his arm back down. Then, all business, she tapped a quick alternating dot-dash sequence with two fingers against his palm.
I SUBDO HALL GARD. WE RUN.
The Doctor leaned his head back against the chair and gave her a devastated smile. "Oh River, you are clever," he said. "So clever. But, how do you plan to subdue so many guards?"
Her stomach turned. "What? How many?" she hissed, gripping his hand hard enough to make him wince. And now she could hear them: loud voices echoing outside in the corridor. Her heart sped up, her mind reeled, and she scanned the room for something--anything--she could use as a weapon or a distraction or--
"River," the Doctor said. "I have to tell you--" But the voices were right outside the door now. There was no time for anything. He leaned up to her, his hand cradling the back of her head, and touched his forehead to hers. "Stay close. Please," he urged. "Tell them nothing."
The door crashed open and the Doctor shoved River aside with sudden strength. She fell to the floor, hearing a yell of surprise from one of the newcomers and the sounds of an abbreviated struggle. Duvall's voice echoed in the room--"Halt the experiment!"--and then Sergeant James was offering her a hand up.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "How did he get loose?"
"I--I don't know," River said, her vision jittering and jumping from person to person like a camera view zoomed in too tightly to its surroundings. She quickly took the data pad from her pocket, hoping James was too distracted to notice she had stowed it. "I just went to check a reading, and--"
"I told you to watch out for him," said James. She looked over his shoulder to see Carillo and the cell block guard tightening the straps against the Doctor's head and wrist again, under the armed watch of a third soldier she vaguely recognized. She saw Specialist Duvall catch sight of her. Focusing on the data pad in her hand, he made his way straight to her.
"It's not empathic!" He snatched the data pad away and started punching in parameters. "It's not empathic, it's definitely physical. And the strange thing is, it's age. More than that, it's got to be relative, temporal creation. You know the literature. Age is a construct, we hardly test for it because you don't sense age; you sense its effects." He looked up, staring intently at the Doctor, who had fallen completely silent, gripping the chair with white knuckles. "Unless you're him," Duvall finished quietly. "How the hell could someone physically sense the . . . the history of--" He paused, looking anew at the room, and turned to River.
"Where's Major Ogden?" he asked.
"Sarge!" came a startled cry. Every head that could do so turned to the source of the sound. Carillo stood at the far wall, his shocked expression mirrored in the glass window, with one booted foot propping open the observation room door.
James and the guards didn't need to see into the room to guess what had gone down. River put on her best charming smile as every gun in the room was suddenly trained on her.
"Who are you?" James asked.
She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, now that would be telling."
At the sergeant's nod, the two airmen at his side stepped forward and secured her arms, pulling her away from the center of the room until her back was against the observation glass. She chanced a look at the Doctor, but his face was drawn and grim. He didn't say a word. Carillo emerged from the observation room a moment later, supporting a swaying but stoic Major Ogden, who glared at her.
"Hell of a right hook you have there, Doctor." He nearly spat the last word.
"Who do you work for?" James continued his interrogation. "Who are you, really?"
"You'll never guess." River was all cheek and bravado on the outside, and inside, she felt perched on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. Turning to this persona was both freeing and horrifying, like plunging down with nothing to catch her, knowing that this time the impact would be unavoidable. And, as if on cue, it came.
"I think he knows her," Duvall said, turning his attention to the examination chair and pointing at the Doctor.
"Yeah?" said James, never taking his eyes off River. "What do you say, 'sweetie'? If you won't talk, do you think he will?"
"He doesn't have to talk. If he senses history, he can show us," Duvall said, holding up the data pad. "Let's see what this can map, now that we can give it enough context to go on."
"No," River whispered. "No, please--"
"Major," Duvall said, checking numbers from his notebook against those he was swiftly entering into the data pad. "You're going to want to see this."
He gave the data pad one last emphatic tap with the stylus, and handed it over to Ogden as the disc on the Doctor's neck started to whine. River watched, helpless, as a set of wires unraveled from its base, questing blindly outward. The Doctor tensed against the restraints, his muscles cording with effort to stay calm, his breaths quick and ragged.
"Don't," he gasped, "tell them"--gleaming filaments twirled and untwined and straightened--"any--"
The wires plunged down into his skin, ripping a scream from his throat that overwhelmed any more words. River screamed with him, a wordless cry of horror that filled the windowless room. She kicked and struggled against the soldiers' hold to no avail. The disc wailed, stronger and faster and the Doctor's coarse cries built again, but they were soon undercut by the abject awe in Ogden's voice as he monitored the data.
"Unbelievable!" the major exclaimed. "Location, position, discrimination of human versus inanimate . . . "
"I told you it wasn't empathic!" Duvall said, but Ogden ignored him.
"Reference points, November 24th, nineteen twenty two . . ."
Duvall's eyes flicked back to his colleague, who was pointing at him in fascination, before indicating the others in the room in slow progression.
" . . . April 11th, nineteen fifty one . . . September 26th, nineteen forty three . . ."
"That's my birthday," James said, stunned.
"Stop!" River said, finally finding words through her panic. "You have to stop!"
In the chair, the Doctor shuddered and cried out anew, his bound hands clawing stiffly at the metal arms. The data pad started emitting a series of steady electronic pulses.
"We're getting an active response!" Ogden said. "He's trying something. The device is compensating, trying to dampen the sensory ability--"
"No!" River kicked out against the guard and a hand twisted through her hair, threatened bone-crunching force against her neck with any more movement. "No! It doesn't work that way!"
"And what do you know about it?" Duvall snapped. River forced her eyes away from the sickening view of the Doctor--blood staining the corner of his mouth as he thrashed against the strap holding his head in place, his back arched in agony--to the man who was passively observing this torture as nothing more than a footnote to scientific curiosity. Duvall just sneered at her. "Did you have fun watching us scratch our heads over your friend here for the past three days?"
"You monster!" River cried. She slipped the chokehold and lunged at Duvall. But the guard caught her arms, his grip wrenching tears from her eyes when she couldn't get her hands on the scientist. "What you're reading," she implored, "It's hard-wired into every cell in his body. You can't categorize it, you can't separate it or control it. Please!" She turned her attention to Major Ogden, who was still blinking blearily from the blow she'd given him, trying to make sense of the information streaming across the data pad. The device whined in fits and starts; when she looked back, the Doctor was rigid against the restraints in the chair. He couldn't have meant for her to stay silent as they did this to him. He couldn't. "For God's sake," she said, "you're killing him!"
"Henry, we're missing something," Ogden warned. "According to these readings--"
"We're not missing anything!" Duvall countered with sudden emotion. "Not anymore! This temporal element is the exact principal component we've been searching for! Perfect correlation extrapolated across the entire data range!"
"The entire data range?" Ogden jabbed the stylus onto the screen. "But if that's true, why does he think she's three--no, negative?" He looked up at River in utter confusion, his deep voice booming over the chaos of sound in the room. "Why does he think she's negative three thousand years old?"
With a look of stricken incredulity, Duvall whirled around and snatched the data pad from his colleague--just as the sickly, keening whine from the device on the Doctor's neck spun to a halt. Like a soldier shot in the midst of battle, the Doctor strangled a last agonized cry and fell bonelessly back against the chair. His head slumped forward, free of the strap that had loosened during his struggles, and his face relaxed into a mask of macabre calm.
"Doctor!" River finally wrenched free of the guards' hold and threw herself toward him. Someone tried to pull her away and she hurled a blind elbow backward, knocking them into an equipment cart with a crash. She grasped the cold metal chair arm to gain purchase and swung around to face him, knee to knee.
"Restrain her!" Ogden ordered. But his apprehension undermined the authority in the command, and the guards hesitated.
The moment seemed drawn out in an arc of parabolic time, tuned to the pulse of the data pad, slowing like a dying clock in the room. River reached a trembling hand under the Doctor's chin, gently lifting his head. She smoothed her fingers over the sallow skin, the rough beard, the trace of his prominent cheekbone and jaw. The data pad's pulse hitched and settled again, its pace just fractionally faster, its tone rising like an unanswered question.
"Oh, sweetie--" she choked out.
Suddenly, the Doctor jolted awake beneath her. His head snapped up out of River's hold, and his eyes flew open. His pupils were dilated and unfocused, his attention miles away.
"Simple, little linear insect," he breathed. "Gotcha."
With preternatural speed, he turned his gaze to where River's arm brushed his bound wrist, and seized her hand in an iron grip. The blips from the data pad immediately surged in pace, faster and faster, and River heard a rushed directive from Sergeant James--"Secure the prisoners!"--setting the soldiers moving at a blur of camouflage and barking orders all around her. Duvall dropped the device in the commotion and it clattered to the floor, sputtering from a panicked heartbeat through to a steady uncomprehending screech that filled the room.
Digging his fingers into her wrist, the Doctor let out a triumphant whoop that cut through the fray, coalescing into words. "Hold on!"
Someone grabbed River by the shoulder and jerked her backward. Instinctively she set her feet and channeled the momentum into a vicious backhand strike aimed at her assailant's carotid artery. She connected with less force than she anticipated, and then the soldier pulled her the rest of the way back against her heels. Her arm twisted awkwardly where the Doctor held her fast, and she cried out in pain in the midst of the chaos--but all at once . . .
All at once, something unfathomable was happening.
The air was suddenly too dense to accept any sound. The dead scream stuck in her throat; the thickening atmosphere pressed against her skin, suffocating and strange. She watched the soldier's grip slip free of her, falling away in dreamlike slow motion. Above her, the Doctor's words cut impossibly through the amber air.
"Hold on! Don't let go!"
Head pounding, eyes streaming, River heard muffled shouts and alarms, saw glass lightbulbs smashing to pieces as the laboratory walls seemed to flex inward, pulling taut, groaning and screeching like a ship running aground. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think while all around her--
time juddered
and
stopped.
Then the room thunng-ed outward again--like the loudest, deepest cloister bell in the universe--and River blacked out.
**
Part 3 | Interlude II
Lab Record: 04 August 1969
Response perception: intent preconception
Blocking variables: Human vs. automated, randomized time intervals
Confounding mapped perceptions: empathic, tactile
Total Observations: 150
Exploratory Analysis:
Point of Initiation (baseline human, differential):
| Variable | Estimate | StdErr | T | Pr(>|t|) |
| T(response - signal) (s) | 0.021 | 0.005 | 4.200 | 0.000 |
| automated | -0.442 | 1.764 | -1.178 | 0.803 |
Correlation coefficient (active response): 0.92
Strong relationship of stimulus across blocking variables to active response
Correlation coefficient (confounded empathic channels): 0.35
SMM Feedback: Weak relationship across blocking variables to measured empathic sensory channels
Intent accuracy (logistic link, baseline neutral human):
| Variable | Estimate | StdErr | Z | Pr(>|z|) |
| Intercept | -0.023 | 0.028 | 0.821 | 0.411 |
| Negative reinforcement | 0.019 | 0.016 | 1.188 | 0.234 |
| Negative reinforcement * automated | -0.006 | 0.005 | 1.200 | 0.230 |
Odds ratio (accuracy neutral/negative, human): 1.019
Odds ratio (accuracy neutral/negative, automated): 1.013
No relationship of active response to application of negative reinforcement
SMM Feedback: No relationship of stimulus to measured empathic sensory channels
Notes: Negative reinforcement for this experiment was moderate electric shocks administered through SMM contact point. Following the experiments of Kettridge (1963):
Subject is co-located with an administrator for the duration of the experiment. Blind to the subject, at randomly spaced intervals the administrator is given a directive, A or B, pertaining to a handheld device that controls negative reinforcement. The administrator is instructed to push either button A (labeled "neutral") or button B (labeled "shock"), at a delay of two seconds after receiving the signal. Default probability of label selection for the randomized signal is 0.5.
With no other sensory cues, a subject with traditional empathic perception can determine the moment when the administrator receives and understands the signal (the point of initiation), and will quickly distinguish the intent (negative or neutral) from the administrator's projected response to the cue. Perception can be measured via empathic SMM maps or via directly observable action--the subject involuntarily anticipates the shock when negative reinforcement is selected, and relaxes when neutral action is selected. This basic empathic ability persists across differential sensory expressions of empathy and in highly unbalanced administration profiles (p >> 0.5, p << 0.5).
Empathic subjects can determine neither point of initiation nor intent when the decision process is automated by a switch wired on delay to a computerized random number generator, as opposed to a human administrator.
In curious contrast to traditional empathic perception, subject 36 was able to determine the point of initiation in both human-administered and automated tests. Furthermore, directly observable involuntary response showed that while the subject could always anticipate a decision being made, the subject could not determine intent (negative vs neutral) under either experimental condition, and anticipated shock whether or not it was applied. SMM empathic channels were largely uncorrelated with any of these measured responses. This result again suggests that the subject's unmapped senses are not strongly tied to empathy, and that the confounding along empathic channels is merely the footprint of a different kind of sensory input.
These empathic perception channels continue to defy explanation. For example, the aural/empathic confounded spike (66.54 +/- 9.23 mE above background noise on channel 120.8), that has accompanied the subject's vocal attempts at self-placation during times of high stress since the inception of monitoring, has disappeared completely and abruptly from the channel for all instances occurring on or after 02 August. These "singing spikes" were some of our most steady readings. What happened?
**
They had a good shot if they could make it to the surface, River figured. She set Plan C into motion late that afternoon, heading purposefully for the elevator bay and the wing of offices one floor up from the laboratory.
The subterranean base was modular, which meant that many of the features within the N.R.O. perimeter mirrored ones in the traditional security wing. According to Sergeant James' meticulous reports, the Doctor had used a pipe access cabinet in escape attempt number nine that bypassed the elevators and connected with maintenance corridors leading to the mess on sub-level two. James had locked the panel and set a guard at the entrance in the security wing after that, but once the Doctor was transferred, Major Ogden hadn't bothered to secure the same area at the far end of the laboratory corridors within his jurisdiction. As an added advantage, the Doctor was already familiar with the route, and even blind, his spatial orientation was top notch. It wouldn't take him long to remember his previous attempt and retrieve his mental map in order to help him get his bearings.
She hoped. The elevator door closed. River jabbed the button for sub-level 5, and let a wave of anxiety wash over her.
She would have precious little time to try to communicate with him. He had never taught her a manual alphabet and she wasn't sure what standard he would know, nor how best to study up on one quickly. Instead, she had swiped an introductory Morse Code training card from the comms center the previous afternoon and had committed the dots and dashes to memory. She'd never seen the Doctor use it before, but it was a classic example of human ingenuity--simple, archaic, and brilliant--which meant there was a good chance he would already know it. It might buy them some time.
She hadn't seen the Doctor in over a day. It was necessary, but she hated the fact that running away from him had been easier than staying by his side. He had survived for two months--of course he had; he always survived--and she knew he could fend for himself for a while longer as she planned their jailbreak. But doubt ate at her. River trusted the Doctor with all of her heart, but she knew he wasn't as unbreakable as he'd like either friends or enemies to believe. Was this the time she expected too much from him?
The elevator doors calmly slid open at Level 5 and River forced herself to start moving. There was no denying they would need as much of a head start as they could gain in order to make it to the surface. Which meant changing routines to foster confusion, overpowering a minimum number of people as quickly and quietly as possible, and minimizing time spent under the eyes of the surveillance cameras.
She found Major Ogden in the records room, cross-referencing readouts to audio tapes. He looked up wearily and clicked off the tape player when she came in.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
Quite a bit, she thought.
"I've been called back to Utah," she said. "I'm heading out on the seven A.M. transport tomorrow morning."
Ogden removed his thick-rimmed glasses and rubbed at his eyes, his disappointment clear. "I was hoping to get your help testing those alternative empathic hypotheses we discussed," he said.
"I'm sorry. Doctor Duvall can--" she started, but the Major cut off her comment with a wave of his hand.
"I don't think he's interested," was all he said.
The key to exploiting human assets, River had learned long ago, was to focus their attention on their own insecurities. It was the best lever you could use to cause mis-steps and mistakes. It was something the Doctor understood well, but depending on the face he wore, he would generally start out trying to be nice. River had never mastered that level of patience. She may have misjudged the situation upon her arrival, but now she knew exactly where her assets lay--with a passionately scientific military man who wasn't used to playing second fiddle to anyone, but who wasn't quite sure if his field ops pedigree was good enough to earn true respect from a specialist from the premiere national laboratories.
River smiled sympathetically at Major Ogden. Getting a good head start meant staging their escape from the examination room, where the only cameras were the ones in the adjoining observation room, and where the ever-present scientific and military escorts were divided among that room and the outer corridor.
"Well, we don't have to bother Doctor Duvall about it, do we?" she said. "How long would it take to run the tests now?"
**
What has changed? The subject's routine, mood and demeanor have stayed constant; suggesting that any internal calming effects gained from this exercise have also stayed constant despite the pseudo-empathic drop. Language choice--French, German, Italian, now English--has had no correlation with spike magnitude in the past, nor has tempo, length, volume, precision or recollection (though the latter two can contribute to delay of spike onset). The only obvious difference is that the subject has abandoned operas for what I assume are
Henry Duvall blinked down at his own handwriting, pen poised.
"But that's a construct," he said into his empty office. "It can't . . . it's not--"
He shoved notebook and pen quickly aside in favor of vigorously unfurling the afternoon's data readouts across his desk and peering myopically at the background noise on channel 120.8. Was it really background noise? And what was that soldier's name, the one who he'd heard humming the same tune at his post later in the day . . .
He snatched the readout up into an untidy accordion of creases and folds under one arm, crammed the notebook alongside as an afterthought, and pushed his way emphatically through the office door into the anteroom.
"Page Airman Kelley to the records room," he said to the startled soldier on afternoon desk duty. "And find me an encyclopedia!" he added a moment later, pausing at the corridor doorway only long enough to see the kid pick up the desk phone and give a distracted thumbs up in acknowledgement.
**
It was nearing six o'clock when they reached the cells. The timing was no accident; River had indulged Ogden's need for some preparation time, had done some preparation of her own, and then had dragged her feet until the time was right. Now, the security detail was at a lull, and there was only one guard with them, a small but thickset Hispanic man with hard eyes and the name CARILLO stenciled across the pocket on his BDUs. He was just coming on to his shift, and this was likely the first time it had involved anything other than monitoring the Doctor's locked cell. Ogden keyed the cell code and the airman peered past the opening door, shifting his stance from foot to foot.
"Nervous?" asked River.
"Yes Ma'm, I almost never even seen him move," he answered. "They say he reads minds."
"Not right now, he doesn't," said Major Ogden. "Settle down, Airman."
The Doctor was on the bunk when they entered, his eyes closed, his arms folded across his upper body which was propped against the corner wall, his legs stretched out over the sheets and crossed at the ankles. He didn't so much as twitch when they entered. It took River too long to realize why; he found it too painful to lie flat, but even he needed to sleep from time to time. She started to warn Major Ogden, but by then Carillo had already grabbed the Doctor's near hand, with the intent of cuffing him for the trip to the lab.
The Doctor started awake with a gasp, bending his knees and pushing himself back toward the corner, his hands reflexively searching for purchase against the walls. He slammed Carillo's knuckles against the concrete and the airman let out an explosive curse. In two seconds flat the stronger soldier had hauled the Doctor off the bunk onto his shins, the offending hand twisted up behind his back and a knee thrust down between his shoulder blades, pinning him to the floor.
"Easy!" Ogden boomed as the Doctor roared a cry of fear and frustration, his eyes shut tight against complete disorientation. And for one bare, furious second, River abandoned her plan. They didn't need the examination room. They didn't need stealth; she could take on the guard and Ogden right here, commandeer a weapon and blaze their way out, cameras be damned. With Ogden barking orders and Carillo threatening to break the Doctor's arm, she surged forward into the cell.
"What? What, River--no!" The Doctor lifted his head as much as he could. "No, no, no, calm down!" he shouted, awake but not fully aware. His eyes nearly focused on her, imploring her to stop, and River froze. She saw the moment he realized his slip--a split second of terror writ across his face before he forced his head down again. He got a knee ground into his spine in response, positioned dangerously close to the device on his neck. His next words were rushed and imprecise. "I'm not resisting! No violence!"
She heard a questioning "Sir?" from behind her and turned to see the cell block guard standing warily in the doorway, his rifle not yet aimed but at the ready. She had completely forgotten about him. They would have walked right into him if River had tried anything.
"Enough," Ogden ordered, dismissing the guard at the door with a wave and then turning to Carillo. "That prisoner's worth more than you are. Follow the protocol for God's sake, so you don't damage him."
"Hands off!" the Doctor slurred, and Carillo reluctantly loosened his grip. "Let me up, let me up, I'm not--" when the airman removed his knee, the Doctor tried to sit up, off-kilter, and crashed to the floor again. "--resisting. Just. Surprised."
He calmed, enunciating the last two words very slowly and clearly as his hands quested in front of him. Ogden signaled River and the airman to stand back.
"Leave him to it," he said.
The Doctor found the bunk frame and guided himself along the floor over to a wall. By the time he gained his feet, he had gone haltingly through four rambling bars of Norwegian Wood, and had recovered enough balance to stand unassisted, his face impassive and inscrutable once again.
"I should like to be informed in advance of any further change in plans," he announced flawlessly, and held out his hands for the cuffs.
**
04 August 1969
Scratch notes
| Source | Origin | Age (Yr) | Spike (mE) |
| . . . | |||
| Fidelio | November, 1805 | 163.71 | 59.74 |
| La buona figliuona | February, 1760 | 209.48 | 76.48 |
| Alceste | December, 1767 | 201.71 | 73.64 |
| L'isola disabitata | December, 1779 | 189.72 | 69.27 |
| Don Giovanni | October, 1787 | 181.80 | 66.37 |
| Il mondo della luna | August, 1777 | 192.01 | 70.11 |
| . . . |
**
"All right." Major Ogden led the way into the observation room, then tapped some parameter options into the data pad and handed it to River. "Let's get started."
River busied herself flicking several A/V switches on the control panel, and when Ogden took a moment to study his test subject through the glass, she quickly switched off internal surveillance.
"He's unusually quiet, isn't he?" Ogden remarked. River looked up, following his gaze. The Doctor was staring grimly into the empty room, practically vibrating in concentration; his jaw tight, his breaths even, and his usually restlessly drumming fingers resting lightly against the chair arm. It was obvious he knew something was in motion, even if he wasn't sure exactly what it was.
"That's a blessing, at least," she answered aloud.
Silently, she wondered what it felt like--to sense the potential of a moment, to feel the swelling chords of branching alternative timelines that signaled a major change point and to know, unequivocally, which ones were resonant or discordant to established history, which decisions were fixed points, or which ones would cascade into paradox if chosen. She understood the mechanics of it, and had even felt timescapes on her own, but only ever briefly, and only ever when the TARDIS was nearby, singing through her thoughts. For a moment, looking at the Doctor, she realized why he had so vehemently drilled the importance of 'spoilers' into her head back when she had been far too young to understand or care about the consequences. The fact that these days, the tables were turned, hardly mattered. For a moment, she understood how utterly blind she still was.
She turned her attention back to the data pad in her hand, studying it intently. "I'm sorry," she said sheepishly. "Which channel was it again?"
"One-thirty-two." Ogden leaned his tall frame over her in the cramped space, pointing out a series of charts on the screen. "Here."
"Of course. Thanks." River turned and slammed the heel of her hand up into Ogden's jaw, finishing him off with a fist to his temple as he crumpled backward. Thirty seconds later Major Ogden was out for the count, gagged with an Air Force issue necktie and bound to a support pipe under the control panel with the cuffs River had pocketed after assisting with transferring the Doctor to the laboratory chair.
One escort down, one to go--Carillo standing guard in the corridor. River patted Ogden's cheek, collected the data pad from off the floor where it had fallen and stowed it in a large trouser pocket, and swung through the door into the examination room without a backward thought.
**
| Source | Origin | Age (Yr) | Spike (mE) |
| . . . | |||
| Ticket to Ride | April, 1965 | 4.33 | 1.56 |
| A Hard Day's Night | April, 1964 | 5.30 | 1.95 |
| Rocky Raccoon | August, 1968 | 0.96 | 0.36 |
| Elanor Rigby | April, 1966 | 3.30 | 1.20 |
| Yellow Submarine | May, 1966 | 3.22 | 1.19 |
| Strawberry Fields Forever | November, 1966 | 2.72 | 0.99 |
Exploratory Analysis:
Serial lag correlation of residuals vs. fitted is not evident (0.12): a single slope suffices across the independent variable gap.
| Variable | Estimate | StdErr | T | Pr(>|t|) |
| Intercept | 0.022 | 0.021 | 1.021 | 0.337 |
| age (years) | 0.365 | 0.002 | 2233.153 | 0.000 |
Correlation coefficient (age ~ spike): 1.0
"Do you need any more recording dates?" Frank Kelley paged through his vinyl collection, that had been carted quickly in his Air Force issue duffel from his locker in Building Two over to the East Laboratory records room. When the orders to report here had first come through, he'd thought he was going to get demerits for having too many unnecessary personal items brought on base. He'd been ready to argue--it had taken almost two weeks before base security cleared them through. Really it was only the essentials, and he wasn't going to leave them behind; not after Ray Spellman had let slip that the enlisted rec hall had a turntable out here in the Southwest Desert Resort a billion miles from anything. What good was a turntable without tunes?
But the spook from D.C. had only been interested in trivia.
"Sir?" Kelley asked again when he didn't get an answer. His fingers skimmed automatically over all the well-worn spots on the spines of cardboard covers. "There's some more liner notes--"
He looked up to see Doctor Duvall already at the open doorway, waving his notebook in hand, open to a scribbled sheet of scratch paper.
"Bingo," the other man said, and disappeared into the corridor.
Kelley had absolutely no idea what the spook was going on about, but from the way he'd sped out, it was probably something the Sarge should know about. He had never seen so many equations in his life.
"Far out," he said, and followed the action, leaving the albums behind in the empty room.
**
"Now, that--!" the Doctor exclaimed loudly, and gave River a blind icy stare when she put a finger to his lips, but continued in a harsh whisper. "Don't 'shush' me! That was violence! What did you do?" She unstrapped his head and he craned his neck, flicking his gaze back toward the observation room as though he could see it. "Have I taught you that?" he continued, hardly stopping for breath. "No, never mind, don't tell me. Spoilers. River, you're improvising, I can tell. I don't like it! You're not good at improvising--"
"Doctor!" River whispered amidst his words. But it was even harder than usual to get a word in edgewise with him when he couldn't hear it. Instead, as soon as she had freed one of his wrists, she clasped his hand between hers, precious seconds ticking by as she just held on to him.
After a few moments, his stream of consciousness trailed off. He closed his eyes and a wave of emotion washed over his face. He reached up, finding her nose, brow, cheek, and the loose curls that had escaped her bun at her temple.
"It is you," he said. "I knew it. I knew it was, but . . ." He choked out a laugh of relief when he felt a smile spread across her cheek, and the hint of her next words on her lips.
"Hello, sweetie," River said, stubbornly fighting the break in her voice. "We really don't have time for this right now."
"River--" he started, but stopped when she gently brought his arm back down. Then, all business, she tapped a quick alternating dot-dash sequence with two fingers against his palm.
I SUBDO HALL GARD. WE RUN.
The Doctor leaned his head back against the chair and gave her a devastated smile. "Oh River, you are clever," he said. "So clever. But, how do you plan to subdue so many guards?"
Her stomach turned. "What? How many?" she hissed, gripping his hand hard enough to make him wince. And now she could hear them: loud voices echoing outside in the corridor. Her heart sped up, her mind reeled, and she scanned the room for something--anything--she could use as a weapon or a distraction or--
"River," the Doctor said. "I have to tell you--" But the voices were right outside the door now. There was no time for anything. He leaned up to her, his hand cradling the back of her head, and touched his forehead to hers. "Stay close. Please," he urged. "Tell them nothing."
The door crashed open and the Doctor shoved River aside with sudden strength. She fell to the floor, hearing a yell of surprise from one of the newcomers and the sounds of an abbreviated struggle. Duvall's voice echoed in the room--"Halt the experiment!"--and then Sergeant James was offering her a hand up.
"Are you all right?" he asked. "How did he get loose?"
"I--I don't know," River said, her vision jittering and jumping from person to person like a camera view zoomed in too tightly to its surroundings. She quickly took the data pad from her pocket, hoping James was too distracted to notice she had stowed it. "I just went to check a reading, and--"
"I told you to watch out for him," said James. She looked over his shoulder to see Carillo and the cell block guard tightening the straps against the Doctor's head and wrist again, under the armed watch of a third soldier she vaguely recognized. She saw Specialist Duvall catch sight of her. Focusing on the data pad in her hand, he made his way straight to her.
"It's not empathic!" He snatched the data pad away and started punching in parameters. "It's not empathic, it's definitely physical. And the strange thing is, it's age. More than that, it's got to be relative, temporal creation. You know the literature. Age is a construct, we hardly test for it because you don't sense age; you sense its effects." He looked up, staring intently at the Doctor, who had fallen completely silent, gripping the chair with white knuckles. "Unless you're him," Duvall finished quietly. "How the hell could someone physically sense the . . . the history of--" He paused, looking anew at the room, and turned to River.
"Where's Major Ogden?" he asked.
"Sarge!" came a startled cry. Every head that could do so turned to the source of the sound. Carillo stood at the far wall, his shocked expression mirrored in the glass window, with one booted foot propping open the observation room door.
James and the guards didn't need to see into the room to guess what had gone down. River put on her best charming smile as every gun in the room was suddenly trained on her.
"Who are you?" James asked.
She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, now that would be telling."
At the sergeant's nod, the two airmen at his side stepped forward and secured her arms, pulling her away from the center of the room until her back was against the observation glass. She chanced a look at the Doctor, but his face was drawn and grim. He didn't say a word. Carillo emerged from the observation room a moment later, supporting a swaying but stoic Major Ogden, who glared at her.
"Hell of a right hook you have there, Doctor." He nearly spat the last word.
"Who do you work for?" James continued his interrogation. "Who are you, really?"
"You'll never guess." River was all cheek and bravado on the outside, and inside, she felt perched on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. Turning to this persona was both freeing and horrifying, like plunging down with nothing to catch her, knowing that this time the impact would be unavoidable. And, as if on cue, it came.
"I think he knows her," Duvall said, turning his attention to the examination chair and pointing at the Doctor.
"Yeah?" said James, never taking his eyes off River. "What do you say, 'sweetie'? If you won't talk, do you think he will?"
"He doesn't have to talk. If he senses history, he can show us," Duvall said, holding up the data pad. "Let's see what this can map, now that we can give it enough context to go on."
"No," River whispered. "No, please--"
"Major," Duvall said, checking numbers from his notebook against those he was swiftly entering into the data pad. "You're going to want to see this."
He gave the data pad one last emphatic tap with the stylus, and handed it over to Ogden as the disc on the Doctor's neck started to whine. River watched, helpless, as a set of wires unraveled from its base, questing blindly outward. The Doctor tensed against the restraints, his muscles cording with effort to stay calm, his breaths quick and ragged.
"Don't," he gasped, "tell them"--gleaming filaments twirled and untwined and straightened--"any--"
The wires plunged down into his skin, ripping a scream from his throat that overwhelmed any more words. River screamed with him, a wordless cry of horror that filled the windowless room. She kicked and struggled against the soldiers' hold to no avail. The disc wailed, stronger and faster and the Doctor's coarse cries built again, but they were soon undercut by the abject awe in Ogden's voice as he monitored the data.
"Unbelievable!" the major exclaimed. "Location, position, discrimination of human versus inanimate . . . "
"I told you it wasn't empathic!" Duvall said, but Ogden ignored him.
"Reference points, November 24th, nineteen twenty two . . ."
Duvall's eyes flicked back to his colleague, who was pointing at him in fascination, before indicating the others in the room in slow progression.
" . . . April 11th, nineteen fifty one . . . September 26th, nineteen forty three . . ."
"That's my birthday," James said, stunned.
"Stop!" River said, finally finding words through her panic. "You have to stop!"
In the chair, the Doctor shuddered and cried out anew, his bound hands clawing stiffly at the metal arms. The data pad started emitting a series of steady electronic pulses.
"We're getting an active response!" Ogden said. "He's trying something. The device is compensating, trying to dampen the sensory ability--"
"No!" River kicked out against the guard and a hand twisted through her hair, threatened bone-crunching force against her neck with any more movement. "No! It doesn't work that way!"
"And what do you know about it?" Duvall snapped. River forced her eyes away from the sickening view of the Doctor--blood staining the corner of his mouth as he thrashed against the strap holding his head in place, his back arched in agony--to the man who was passively observing this torture as nothing more than a footnote to scientific curiosity. Duvall just sneered at her. "Did you have fun watching us scratch our heads over your friend here for the past three days?"
"You monster!" River cried. She slipped the chokehold and lunged at Duvall. But the guard caught her arms, his grip wrenching tears from her eyes when she couldn't get her hands on the scientist. "What you're reading," she implored, "It's hard-wired into every cell in his body. You can't categorize it, you can't separate it or control it. Please!" She turned her attention to Major Ogden, who was still blinking blearily from the blow she'd given him, trying to make sense of the information streaming across the data pad. The device whined in fits and starts; when she looked back, the Doctor was rigid against the restraints in the chair. He couldn't have meant for her to stay silent as they did this to him. He couldn't. "For God's sake," she said, "you're killing him!"
"Henry, we're missing something," Ogden warned. "According to these readings--"
"We're not missing anything!" Duvall countered with sudden emotion. "Not anymore! This temporal element is the exact principal component we've been searching for! Perfect correlation extrapolated across the entire data range!"
"The entire data range?" Ogden jabbed the stylus onto the screen. "But if that's true, why does he think she's three--no, negative?" He looked up at River in utter confusion, his deep voice booming over the chaos of sound in the room. "Why does he think she's negative three thousand years old?"
With a look of stricken incredulity, Duvall whirled around and snatched the data pad from his colleague--just as the sickly, keening whine from the device on the Doctor's neck spun to a halt. Like a soldier shot in the midst of battle, the Doctor strangled a last agonized cry and fell bonelessly back against the chair. His head slumped forward, free of the strap that had loosened during his struggles, and his face relaxed into a mask of macabre calm.
"Doctor!" River finally wrenched free of the guards' hold and threw herself toward him. Someone tried to pull her away and she hurled a blind elbow backward, knocking them into an equipment cart with a crash. She grasped the cold metal chair arm to gain purchase and swung around to face him, knee to knee.
"Restrain her!" Ogden ordered. But his apprehension undermined the authority in the command, and the guards hesitated.
The moment seemed drawn out in an arc of parabolic time, tuned to the pulse of the data pad, slowing like a dying clock in the room. River reached a trembling hand under the Doctor's chin, gently lifting his head. She smoothed her fingers over the sallow skin, the rough beard, the trace of his prominent cheekbone and jaw. The data pad's pulse hitched and settled again, its pace just fractionally faster, its tone rising like an unanswered question.
"Oh, sweetie--" she choked out.
Suddenly, the Doctor jolted awake beneath her. His head snapped up out of River's hold, and his eyes flew open. His pupils were dilated and unfocused, his attention miles away.
"Simple, little linear insect," he breathed. "Gotcha."
With preternatural speed, he turned his gaze to where River's arm brushed his bound wrist, and seized her hand in an iron grip. The blips from the data pad immediately surged in pace, faster and faster, and River heard a rushed directive from Sergeant James--"Secure the prisoners!"--setting the soldiers moving at a blur of camouflage and barking orders all around her. Duvall dropped the device in the commotion and it clattered to the floor, sputtering from a panicked heartbeat through to a steady uncomprehending screech that filled the room.
Digging his fingers into her wrist, the Doctor let out a triumphant whoop that cut through the fray, coalescing into words. "Hold on!"
Someone grabbed River by the shoulder and jerked her backward. Instinctively she set her feet and channeled the momentum into a vicious backhand strike aimed at her assailant's carotid artery. She connected with less force than she anticipated, and then the soldier pulled her the rest of the way back against her heels. Her arm twisted awkwardly where the Doctor held her fast, and she cried out in pain in the midst of the chaos--but all at once . . .
All at once, something unfathomable was happening.
The air was suddenly too dense to accept any sound. The dead scream stuck in her throat; the thickening atmosphere pressed against her skin, suffocating and strange. She watched the soldier's grip slip free of her, falling away in dreamlike slow motion. Above her, the Doctor's words cut impossibly through the amber air.
"Hold on! Don't let go!"
Head pounding, eyes streaming, River heard muffled shouts and alarms, saw glass lightbulbs smashing to pieces as the laboratory walls seemed to flex inward, pulling taut, groaning and screeching like a ship running aground. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't think while all around her--
time juddered
and
stopped.
Then the room thunng-ed outward again--like the loudest, deepest cloister bell in the universe--and River blacked out.
**
Part 3 | Interlude II
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2015-10-12 02:42 am (UTC)I do so love top-notch writers - thank you!!
no subject
Date: 2015-10-12 06:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-12 06:27 pm (UTC)(and I should really change the analysis a bit because despite the scientists' assurance that they can fit a single line to those points with a huge gap in the middle, the gap certainly contributes to the standard errors of the estimates and to the strength of the correlation. Probably should have fit two separate models and then done a hypothesis test to see if intercept and slope was equal in both. I was too lazy to rewrite it though, simply because it really is all window dressing)
I have been bouncing up and down in my seat waiting to share this part with everyone, so I'm glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2015-10-12 06:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-10-12 08:26 pm (UTC)