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eve11Main Post and Chapter Index
**
THIS TRANSCRIPT IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
PROPERTY OF UNITED STATES AIR FORCE
GROOM LAKE EXPERIMENTAL AIRCRAFT AND XENOTECH RESEARCH FACILITY
SUPPLEMENTAL EVIDENCE
COLLECTED AND SUBMITTED BY E CURTIS ON BEHALF OF C OGDEN, N.R.O.
05 AUGUST 1969 0430 HOURS
INVESTIGATIVE DEBRIEF
SANDIA, AIRMAN MARK C
BUILDING 6: INFIRMARY, ISOLATION ROOM 241A
PRESENT PARTIES
CURTIS, CAPTAIN EDWARD M, AFMS PHYSICIAN
CALDWELL, COLONEL MARTIN C
JAMES, STAFF SERGEANT KEVIN J
[The tape clicks on.]
COL. CALDWELL: --something I should see. Doctor, is that a tape recorder?
DR. CURTIS: Yes, sir. Major Ogden and Doctor Duvall requested audio records of all pertinent interviews and data gathering while they were still indisposed in sickbay.
COL. CALDWELL: Now they're all about procedure, after their prisoner's put my whole base on alert all night.
DR. CURTIS: Should I turn it off, sir?
[A siren is heard in the distance.]
COL. CALDWELL: (sighs) No. Leave it on. But Sergeant, make sure it makes it into the Controlled Information Archive.
SGT. JAMES: Yes, sir.
DR. CURTIS: Regarding procedures, sir. Since Sergeant James was cleared for duty, I think we can clear the rest--
COL. CALDWELL: Sergeant James was released under my authority for mission critical operations. Also under my authority, the N.R.O. can cool their heels in isolation until we get their mess contained. [the next words are spoken closely into the recorder] And you can quote me on that.
[there is the sound of a door opening]
SGT. JAMES: So, let's see this 'anomaly'.
DR. CURTIS: Mark, how are you feeling?
AMN. SANDIA: Much better--what do you mean, anomaly? Oh, god. God, Colonel Caldwell, sir . . . Sir, I--
COL. CALDWELL: At ease. Don't stand on my behalf.
AMN. SANDIA: (taking short breaths) Anomaly, sir, is that bad? Am I gonna--?
DR. CURTIS: Calm down, Airman. You're going to be fine. They just want to ask you some questions.
AMN. SANDIA: But I heard about--
COL. CALDWELL: We're not here to discuss what you heard, son. We want to know what you saw.
AMN. SANDIA: Saw, sir?
SGT. JAMES: On patrol. At about twenty-fifteen hours this evening. We have reports that you had an unusual encounter when you were coming back to base.
AMN. SANDIA: Yes, sir. I told Paulie--
COL. CALDWELL: Who's Paulie?
SGT. JAMES: Airman Dennis, sir.
COL. CALDWELL: The patrol partner?
SGT. JAMES: Yes, sir.
COL. CALDWELL: Is he here?
SGT. JAMES: No, sir.
DR. CURTIS: He had moderate symptoms and was cleared for active duty six hours ago. As I told Major Ogden, sir, and he found it significant enough to draw your attention: Airman Sandia is the only soldier with severe symptoms who wasn't also in the direct vicinity of the East Laboratory bubble at any point this evening.
COL. CALDWELL: Right. The bubble.
AMN. SANDIA: I didn't--pardon me, Colonel, but I didn't see any bubbles.
COL. CALDWELL: So, Airman, tell us what you did see.
AMN. SANDIA: I told Paulie--Airman Dennis. He didn't see anything but it was there, driving like a bat out of hell. Clear as day, and then it was gone, like--I'm not crazy, sir. Like it was invisible.
COL. CALDWELL: Invisible. An invisible vehicle?
SGT. JAMES: Security reported all classified land and air prototypes are accounted for, sir.
AMN. SANDIA: Classified? Classified--no, no. It was old. Rusted.
COL. CALDWELL: Was it--wait a minute. What? What did it look like?
AMN. SANDIA: Colonel, it looked like an old truck. Like from the decommissioned lots.
SGT. JAMES: Twenty-fifteen was a half-hour before we saw any movement in the bubble. There's no way--
COL. CALDWELL: We know jack-all about the god damned bubble or what it was capable of. What I want to know is, has anyone checked the unclassed vehicles against inventory yet?
SGT. JAMES: I--I don't know, sir.
COL. CALDWELL: All right, enough with interviews--
[The tape clicks off.]
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
The Doctor's assessment had been right on target; when River finally got a look at the ambulance's internal workings, she discovered that some form of temporal corrosion had disintegrated the wiring for the starter system. It took precious hours for her to rebuild it, salvaging intact wires from the lights and non-essential instruments, stripping sheaths and twisting the exposed copper filaments together with cold-stiffened fingers. She spent the night in a slow cycle of diagnostics and adjustments, either leaning over the engine block under the truck's open bonnet, or stretching across the driver's seat to examine the tangle of cords and couplings ferreted out from under the dash. The detail work itself was manageable, but anything requiring strength or flexibility sent jolts of pain down her bad arm.
Dawn tinged the sky by the time the ambulance responded to its bare-bones ignition switch, the engine shuddering to life with a low, guttural growl. The transmission was still in gear from the night before, and although River still had a foot on the brake pedal, it didn't stop the chassis shaking as the gears ground. It was accompanied by a crash and a muffled shout from the back compartment. Startled, River killed the starter switch. The engine sputtered to stillness just as the connecting door to the back was thrust emphatically open.
"Oi!" The Doctor appeared at the door frame--first his hand gripping the edge, and then his face, looking pallid and cross in the dim light. "Give us a warning next time!"
"You're awake," River said. "Can you understand me?" She put her hand over his on the door frame. He flinched but cocked his head toward her. "How are you feeling--?"
"Stop talking," he interrupted with a scowl. "And stop asking questions! Bubble burst, I'm recovering but the damage is done; I've no idea what you're saying, and I don't like . . . guessing." He frowned in distaste at the word, waving a hand at her before adding sharply, "So stop talking!"
"Feeling better, then," River said to herself, studying him in the twilight. He had a death grip on the thin metal door frame. The hours of rest had helped him to concentrate on speech again, obviously, but his body language was tense and unsure. She tried to take his free hand in order to talk with him, but he moved it away, scrubbing a knuckle at his face. Light glinted with the movement--he was holding something, but it was too dark to see clearly what it was.
"Damage done," he muttered to himself, and then turned his head toward her position. "Beards. Rubbish! And then you scare the daylights out of me. Am I bleeding? Can you see?"
That caught River's attention and in one swift move she'd swept the torch up from the floorboards, where it had been set to light the spaghetti strands of cords, to point at the door frame instead. The Doctor didn't so much as blink when the light hit his eyes, and River filed that simple, horrible fact away with all the other incentives she had for making every last person at Area 51 pay for what they'd done. She got a better look at him in the light. He was holding a small pair of steel scissors, she realized, from the first aid kit she'd nicked for the supply pack. They were closed and he held them firmly by the blade. She saw a small scratch on his cheek--no hint of blood there or on his hands, but in the light she could see that something looked different. It took her a moment to figure out what it was.
"Are you shaving?" she asked. "In the middle of our brilliant escape?"
"Yes. No? What did I just say about questions!" He scratched at the newly trimmed hair on his chin with the scissors handle and squinted at her.
"Sorry, sweetie," River said, reaching gently for his wrist. "But I can't talk properly if you keep your hands to yourself."
He sighed, relinquishing the scissors to her and opening his palm. Despite his obvious fatigue, his hand was steadier than it had been the night before. The tremors in his fingers had subsided.
NO CUTS, she tapped, and he relaxed against the door.
"Good," he said, blinking into the darkness before closing his eyes.
When he didn't elaborate, River tapped the scissors handle to his palm and asked about them: HELPS HEALING?
"Keeps the nervous system disciplined," he confirmed. "Can't go into a trance; can't feel the systems properly. But a meditation--a simple physical task, helps." He straightened up again, focusing on the wall behind the driver's seat. "How far is she?" he asked.
They had swerved during the crash and were facing nearly southeast, but the Doctor's sense of direction was unerring. River set the scissors aside on the dash and tapped a longer message. TARDIS 15 MI. STILL FEEL HER?
"Dim but clear. She's the only thing that is." He released the door frame, tried to gain his bearings, and renewed his grip, shaking his head in disgust. "How long has it been since we crashed? I can't tell. No time--it's all hollow. Empty. I--I can't . . ."
He stopped, suddenly short of breath, and pulled his hands away from her before River could tap out an answer. His agitation grew, and the space seemed to constrict at the same time; too cramped and small for his limbs, full of obstacles and strange angles. He brushed the side of the passenger seat, his hand tangling in the seatbelt, and recoiled against the back of the cab. River tried to steady him but he just groaned.
"Out," he said desperately, and she was already moving--heading them both through the compartment to the back door, working the latch and kicking it open as he spoke. "Out! No walls, no straps! Please, River, get me out of here. Now!"
His last plea echoed out across the open desert. The cold air hit them and he shook off River's touch, stumbling forward but keeping his feet to escape the shadow of the ambulance behind them. In front of them the sky washed out to light blue over the eastern hills. The rock and brush stretched away for miles, the colors suffused with gray in the morning light. The Doctor took three steps into empty space and sunk to one knee, head down, steadying himself with a hand on the ground and trying to catch his breath.
River left him be, and went back into the truck for the water canteen. He was still gaining his bearings, straightening up with his feet underneath him when she jumped down from the back compartment to the ground. Still in a crouch, he turned in her direction, a curious expression on his face. Then all of a sudden he fell forward to knees and elbows, his hands splayed widely on the ground.
River dropped the canteen and hurried to his side. "Are you all right--?"
"Stop talking!" he hissed, and pressed his cheek to the gravel.
She reached for his hand, but he kept it firmly on the ground. She tried to see what was wrong, but it was then that she recognized the problem. Not by sight. By sound. A distant, thudding pulse of blades beating the air. And if there was air support, there likely was also--
"Why do I feel an engine?" The Doctor finally clamped a hand around her wrist. "River, didn't you turn the engine off?"
"Do we have enough petrol?"
Amy was nearly back to the control room with her supplies, one hand clutching a paper shopping bag, and the other pulling at the handle of a dusty green wagon she'd found to help transport the heavier items. She couldn't reach the radio at her belt, so she let the question stand. A second query came just as she reached the outer door.
"Repeat, how are we on petrol? And did you get more water? Ah, over?"
She set down her burdens, unlatched the door and poked her head out. Rory was a few feet away, radio in hand. He had backed the truck up to the TARDIS and was standing beside it, assessing its positioning relative to the blue box. He had just started to flick the radio button on again but turned around instead when Amy opened the door the rest of the way.
"I filled the canteens." She swung their two camping canteens by their straps onto the ground beside the door before turning back to the wagon. "And I found a petrol tank," she called, lugging a vintage steel gas can out into the campsite. The sun was still behind the hills, and the morning chill hadn't quite left the shade of the small copse of trees surrounding the TARDIS. It wasn't that much cooler than the control room, but Amy still shivered a bit.
Rory frowned at the rusting, five-gallon canister that Amy plunked onto the gravel. "Will that get us far enough?"
"No, I mean, I found a tank. Attached to its own pumping station, in a garage with a motorbike, three boats and some kind of pod car." She opened the door the rest of the way, revealing the wagon full of five more mismatched canisters, spanning approximately eight decades of automotive history among them. "Help me with the rest of these."
"Well, that's a good sign, isn't it?" Rory gave the TARDIS an appraising look before lending a hand with the rest of the canisters. "Do you suppose she's trying to be helpful again?"
"Helpful, how?" Amy set another can down and stopped, letting Rory take the last two. She fished in the pocket of her windbreaker until she retrieved the sonic to wave at him. "I had to use this to open every door."
"But you did get them open," Rory tried, setting the last canister down and wiping his brow. "It's like, before, if I wanted tea in the middle of the night--it might take a few tries to find the kitchen, but the first cupboard I tried would have a box of assorted flavors. Like that."
Amy reached through the doorway and swiped the shopping bag from beside the empty wagon, rattling its meager contents. "I searched four pantries for something we could take for the road, and all I found was a box of granola bars."
"So that's everything?" Rory asked, shouldering the canteens.
"It's all I could find," Amy said, cross. "I didn't want to go on a quest."
Rory looked in on the empty control room, and drew the doors together. He ran one hand down the left door's edge, his other lingering on the handle, before closing up the TARDIS with a soft click of the lock. It was a move Amy had seen the Doctor do a hundred times on their travels, and it made her chest ache. She turned away to start hefting the canisters toward the truck. Rory's next words were directed more at the box than at Amy, anyway.
"I'm sure granola bars will do nicely," he said.
The TARDIS was having none of it, it seemed. She had apparently lapsed from eccentric to outright contrary overnight, because when the time finally came for them to get going, she wouldn't budge. For the cross-country trip, they had wedged the jack from the truck's spare tire kit under the TARDIS' front side, cranked it up to tilt the ship on one edge and then guided it down to cantilever against the lip of the back end so they could push it into the delivery compartment, face up. This time, they couldn't even get the jack under the foot of the blue box.
Rory had his back against the TARDIS' door, legs straining to lift the frame even a fraction of an inch so Amy could position the jack underneath for leverage. Amy was giving it her all, but there was not even a crack of space between the blue wood and the dirt. It was like the ship had grown up out of the ground.
Rory gave a final shove before collapsing against the door. "It's no good," he said through heavy breaths. "I can't move her."
"We got it out of the truck when we got here." Amy chucked the jack aside to make room and joined him, both of them sitting knees up with their backs against the TARDIS. "We must have left out a step. Maybe River did something with the controls."
"Maybe the TARDIS just wants to stay put," Rory countered.
"No. Not now. Not after everything. . ." Amy trailed off. She wasn't going to give in to a Time Machine that didn't ever want to travel again, even if it was only in the back of an old delivery truck.
"What's different from last time?" Rory looked up, studying the deadened windows. "What do you want, eh?" he asked.
"Stop being nice." Amy stood up and rapped on the door. "Hey you! TARDIS! Get your act together because we're leaving for Salt Lake City, this morning, and you're coming with us. Lighten up! Don't make me come in there and--"
"Oh," said Rory, quickly gaining his feet.
Amy turned. "Oh, what?"
"'Lighten up'," Rory repeated. "Last night, how did you turn the gravity on?"
"With the zig-zag plotter," Amy answered. "The Doctor showed me ages ago. Fifth position, from the left side, two hands--"
"Right, right," Rory interrupted. "Do you think you could turn it back off again?"
River had them up and moving immediately. She couldn't be gentle about it; when the Doctor swayed after leaping to his feet with her, she just placed his hands at her shoulder and elbow and set off, trusting him to find his balance as they headed for the truck.
"They'll search from the air," he announced in her ear, deaf to the pulses River had already identified as a lone scout helicopter--likely the Cayuse they'd been forced to leave behind. "Support for patrols. We need to stick to the hills as long as possible. How far is the motorway? Is it morning? What's our--"
She had to change her stride, veering to close the ambulance's open back door, and the Doctor cut off with a shout of surprise. He lost his footing and let her go, stumbling two steps and slamming an outstretched hand into the side of the truck. His momentum carried him the rest of the way and he jarred a shoulder hard into the sheet metal above the wheel well. River quickly elbowed the back door shut and helped him lean back against the body of the truck, grasping at his hand at the same time he was trying to shake the pain out of his fingers.
"I'm all right!" he said, pushing away her attempts to communicate. "You can't--you, you don't need--" He grimaced and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath and swallow his rising panic, before trying again. "Do what you have to. No time for me, for questions, for this!" He spat the last word, gesturing toward the back of his neck before putting a hand out to her, trying to regain his bearings.
He was right, of course. In the flat, featureless desert, they'd soon be in view of their pursuers. There was no time for even a veneer of control on his part. River was the only thing standing between him and total disorientation, and her choice now was explain or escape. It wasn't any kind of choice, obviously, but she hesitated, just for a second. Once they started out, there was no communication until they reached the TARDIS. If they reached her. If not. . .
One second. Half a breath. So much she needed to say.
"Sweetie--" she started, in the same moment he found her hand. He twined their fingers.
"I trust you." He brushed a clumsy kiss on her knuckles and squeezed her hand. "Time to run!" he told her, and their second was gone.
River hurried them both toward the passenger door, working the latch and yanking it open. A scowl flashed across his face when she guided his hands past the seat belt straps, but his thoughts were his alone. She made sure he found a hold on the door frame, and then sprinted for the driver's side. By the time she had rounded the vehicle, hauled herself in and started the engine, the Doctor had strapped himself in, two feet and a world away.
She cranked the truck into gear and rumbled off, gathering speed for the last leg of their escape. In the side mirror, she caught a sign of their pursuers; small dust clouds puffed against the backdrop of the far hills, the rocks behind them reddening in the sunrise. The re-worked engine groaned and ground over the rough terrain around the foothills ringing the valley they'd crossed overnight, but soon they were speeding as fast as they could go. The passenger side window had cracked in the crash, and air streamed with a staccato pulse through the eccentric gap in the glass.
"So! You seem well traveled!" the Doctor shouted over the noise. "Do you know this one?"
River chanced a look at him. He was still holding on for dear life but had his head up, feeling the wind on his face as he continued on in a barely controlled, terrible tune.
"Weeell, I'm getting bugged driving up and down the same old strip! I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip..."
She tightened her grip on the wheel, her eyes flicking back to the mirrors. "Working on it, my love," she said under her breath.
They skirted the eastern hills for as long as possible, trying to keep out of sight. But they couldn't stay hidden forever; the foothills were too rocky to navigate in a dilapidated cast-off. It was a tradeoff of stealth versus what speed they could muster on the open road. River did the maths in her head, calculating velocities and accelerations, estimating the change point--where the helicopter would pick up their trail, and when the trucks would change course to follow--weighed against their added speed to optimize the angle they should take to reach the road. Nothing added up, so she summarily ignored all of the numbers, chose a vector, and made a run for it, a clattering last dash for the exits.
The Doctor was just starting in on what sounded like a progressive rock anthem in 7/16th time, when they hit the large jolt and smooth sailing of the asphalt road. He cut off abruptly.
"What? Motorway, already?" he stammered, his voice loud in the sudden absence of terrain. River reached for the gearshift and his searching hand brushed her wrist. He caught her hand, the grip too tight to be anything but terror. "Too far away," he said hurriedly. "Too soon, we'll be seen! "
"Too late for that." River glanced at the side mirror, tracking the glint against the sky. The helicopter had picked them up before they hit the highway. She couldn't tell him that it had been there for the better part of three minutes already, and while it was holding back, the trucks crossing the valley were steadily gaining on them. She shifted gear and the engine surged.
"Faster," the Doctor urged. "We need--" Without warning, he fell hard against her hold on the gearshift, knocking it out of position. The truck lurched and stuttered, gears grinding with a terrible choking noise as River fought with the clutch to keep them moving. Pain lanced down her bad arm, and the Doctor's hand fell away.
"What the hell was that?" she shouted before she could stop herself. Of course she received no answer from the Doctor. He was cradling his head, holding one hand out for balance even though the truck was righted and their trajectory was smooth again. She had no time for diagnostics or concern. She kept moving.
"Turning? Why are we turning?" the Doctor asked, the words slurring to the point that River wasn't sure he realized he'd spoken aloud. Then he swayed again, clutching at the seat. "Can't you drive this thing straight?" he demanded.
"Sweetie, I'm driving straight," River countered immediately. She jammed her foot on the accelerator in frustration, checking her mirrors. The convoy was moving faster. Four minutes passed, and she could make out the silhouettes of the soldiers in the lead truck tailing them. There were snatches of three other vehicles: two jeeps and another artillery truck snaking behind, weaving in and out behind the lead along the roadway. The helicopter swung low, speeding up nearly to their position, and then fell back again.
River catalogued her assets. A nearly empty tank of petrol attached to a dinosaur of an ambulance that had been ready to rust into eternity before they'd stolen it. A pair of scissors on the dash. The Doctor reeling beside her, holding his head and trying not to fall over in his seat. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shut tight in equal parts concentration and terror; but his sense of balance and direction seemed completely lost.
"Turning… No, not--not turning, it's something else!" he hissed. He tried to sit up and fell hard against the seat, jarring his neck and stifling a gasp of pain. His hand searched for purchase on the dash and he growled, "I don't like this!"
"Neither do I," River said to herself. The chopper pulsed noisily above them again, and dread ate at the pit of her stomach. Assets…. she kept churning through the list of assets in her head, as though there was simply something they had missed that would solve everything. They had no weapons; only the supply pack and some heavy torches. The only advantage they were gaining was the terrain, which grew rockier when they hit the highway's pass over the last set of foothills between them and the lake. They were still miles away from the TARDIS.
The road rose and curved ahead, disappearing into swells of hills. There was a chance for some cover if they could open a wider gap on the convoy among the turns. But they had no chance of losing their tail as long as the helicopter stayed in the air. It would be a standoff at best. They had to gain some distance--
A loud pop cracked the air outside, and the whole chassis jolted down hard. River ducked away from the window and cried "Get down!", although she really didn't need to; the Doctor couldn't hear her and couldn't keep his head above the dash if he tried. The truck careened sideways.
"I think we lost a tire!" the Doctor shouted. Outside, the sound of metal screeching on asphalt drowned out the helicopter blades. River chanced a look through the mirror; the rear driver's side tire was shot and shredded. They were driving on the rim. She hardly had time to compensate before there was another burst, and another hard jolt downward.
"And another one!" the Doctor added helpfully.
The whole back of the truck sledged behind them, a dead weight on the engine. River ground the accelerator to the floorboard and took the first smooth curve into the hills at speed, blown rims screeching protest on the asphalt. Through the mirror, she watched a jeep peel off from the convoy, accelerating easily toward them, trying to flank them and get a clear shot at the cab. She swerved hard across both the highway lanes in a last ditch effort to keep them behind her. It was a miscalculation; the turn was too sharp for their momentum even with the rims dragging at them in the back. The wheels locked and instead of straightening, they started in on a sickening skid. The back end dragged and sparked and the front tires burned against the pavement, filling the cab with heat and noise and the smell of burnt rubber. They reached the edge of the road and the truck teetered, its momentum pushing them up on the right side wheels, heading at a cockeyed slant for the stone wall cut into the hill to make way for the road.
Adrift in the tumult, the Doctor cried out beside her--"River!"--her name half a plea and half a scream in reaction to the force of gravity from the turn. The front tires lost the road, jolting them downward and slamming the front grill into the wall, metal scraping against stone. The spin continued and the passenger side mirror twisted and broke against the hill. The window shattered. The engine coughed and churned and then cut out completely.
Ignoring the glass and dust, River reached for the Doctor's hand. They'd made it so far, but it wasn't far enough. It wasn't good enough, and now everything was spinning out of control. I'm sorry, Sweetie, she tried to say, I'm so sorry.
But those words didn't come.
You don't fail, Melody.
Kovarian's voice shook her to the core, even if it was just an old echo of a memory. But River couldn't stop it resurfacing, and with it the tactics and training she'd spent a lifetime trying to forget.
You don't fail, Melody. You weren't bred for that. You only--
The truck's back end finally met the wall. The impact threw them apart, hurling both River and the the Doctor hard into the restraints, and then everything came to a dead, silent stop.
**
Part 9 | Interlude IV
**
THIS TRANSCRIPT IS CLASSIFIED *TOP SECRET//BOARDWALK MISTLETOE//NOFORN*
PROPERTY OF UNITED STATES AIR FORCE
GROOM LAKE EXPERIMENTAL AIRCRAFT AND XENOTECH RESEARCH FACILITY
SUPPLEMENTAL EVIDENCE
COLLECTED AND SUBMITTED BY E CURTIS ON BEHALF OF C OGDEN, N.R.O.
05 AUGUST 1969 0430 HOURS
INVESTIGATIVE DEBRIEF
SANDIA, AIRMAN MARK C
BUILDING 6: INFIRMARY, ISOLATION ROOM 241A
PRESENT PARTIES
CURTIS, CAPTAIN EDWARD M, AFMS PHYSICIAN
CALDWELL, COLONEL MARTIN C
JAMES, STAFF SERGEANT KEVIN J
[The tape clicks on.]
COL. CALDWELL: --something I should see. Doctor, is that a tape recorder?
DR. CURTIS: Yes, sir. Major Ogden and Doctor Duvall requested audio records of all pertinent interviews and data gathering while they were still indisposed in sickbay.
COL. CALDWELL: Now they're all about procedure, after their prisoner's put my whole base on alert all night.
DR. CURTIS: Should I turn it off, sir?
[A siren is heard in the distance.]
COL. CALDWELL: (sighs) No. Leave it on. But Sergeant, make sure it makes it into the Controlled Information Archive.
SGT. JAMES: Yes, sir.
DR. CURTIS: Regarding procedures, sir. Since Sergeant James was cleared for duty, I think we can clear the rest--
COL. CALDWELL: Sergeant James was released under my authority for mission critical operations. Also under my authority, the N.R.O. can cool their heels in isolation until we get their mess contained. [the next words are spoken closely into the recorder] And you can quote me on that.
[there is the sound of a door opening]
SGT. JAMES: So, let's see this 'anomaly'.
DR. CURTIS: Mark, how are you feeling?
AMN. SANDIA: Much better--what do you mean, anomaly? Oh, god. God, Colonel Caldwell, sir . . . Sir, I--
COL. CALDWELL: At ease. Don't stand on my behalf.
AMN. SANDIA: (taking short breaths) Anomaly, sir, is that bad? Am I gonna--?
DR. CURTIS: Calm down, Airman. You're going to be fine. They just want to ask you some questions.
AMN. SANDIA: But I heard about--
COL. CALDWELL: We're not here to discuss what you heard, son. We want to know what you saw.
AMN. SANDIA: Saw, sir?
SGT. JAMES: On patrol. At about twenty-fifteen hours this evening. We have reports that you had an unusual encounter when you were coming back to base.
AMN. SANDIA: Yes, sir. I told Paulie--
COL. CALDWELL: Who's Paulie?
SGT. JAMES: Airman Dennis, sir.
COL. CALDWELL: The patrol partner?
SGT. JAMES: Yes, sir.
COL. CALDWELL: Is he here?
SGT. JAMES: No, sir.
DR. CURTIS: He had moderate symptoms and was cleared for active duty six hours ago. As I told Major Ogden, sir, and he found it significant enough to draw your attention: Airman Sandia is the only soldier with severe symptoms who wasn't also in the direct vicinity of the East Laboratory bubble at any point this evening.
COL. CALDWELL: Right. The bubble.
AMN. SANDIA: I didn't--pardon me, Colonel, but I didn't see any bubbles.
COL. CALDWELL: So, Airman, tell us what you did see.
AMN. SANDIA: I told Paulie--Airman Dennis. He didn't see anything but it was there, driving like a bat out of hell. Clear as day, and then it was gone, like--I'm not crazy, sir. Like it was invisible.
COL. CALDWELL: Invisible. An invisible vehicle?
SGT. JAMES: Security reported all classified land and air prototypes are accounted for, sir.
AMN. SANDIA: Classified? Classified--no, no. It was old. Rusted.
COL. CALDWELL: Was it--wait a minute. What? What did it look like?
AMN. SANDIA: Colonel, it looked like an old truck. Like from the decommissioned lots.
SGT. JAMES: Twenty-fifteen was a half-hour before we saw any movement in the bubble. There's no way--
COL. CALDWELL: We know jack-all about the god damned bubble or what it was capable of. What I want to know is, has anyone checked the unclassed vehicles against inventory yet?
SGT. JAMES: I--I don't know, sir.
COL. CALDWELL: All right, enough with interviews--
[The tape clicks off.]
*END OF CLASSIFIED MATERIAL*
The Doctor's assessment had been right on target; when River finally got a look at the ambulance's internal workings, she discovered that some form of temporal corrosion had disintegrated the wiring for the starter system. It took precious hours for her to rebuild it, salvaging intact wires from the lights and non-essential instruments, stripping sheaths and twisting the exposed copper filaments together with cold-stiffened fingers. She spent the night in a slow cycle of diagnostics and adjustments, either leaning over the engine block under the truck's open bonnet, or stretching across the driver's seat to examine the tangle of cords and couplings ferreted out from under the dash. The detail work itself was manageable, but anything requiring strength or flexibility sent jolts of pain down her bad arm.
Dawn tinged the sky by the time the ambulance responded to its bare-bones ignition switch, the engine shuddering to life with a low, guttural growl. The transmission was still in gear from the night before, and although River still had a foot on the brake pedal, it didn't stop the chassis shaking as the gears ground. It was accompanied by a crash and a muffled shout from the back compartment. Startled, River killed the starter switch. The engine sputtered to stillness just as the connecting door to the back was thrust emphatically open.
"Oi!" The Doctor appeared at the door frame--first his hand gripping the edge, and then his face, looking pallid and cross in the dim light. "Give us a warning next time!"
"You're awake," River said. "Can you understand me?" She put her hand over his on the door frame. He flinched but cocked his head toward her. "How are you feeling--?"
"Stop talking," he interrupted with a scowl. "And stop asking questions! Bubble burst, I'm recovering but the damage is done; I've no idea what you're saying, and I don't like . . . guessing." He frowned in distaste at the word, waving a hand at her before adding sharply, "So stop talking!"
"Feeling better, then," River said to herself, studying him in the twilight. He had a death grip on the thin metal door frame. The hours of rest had helped him to concentrate on speech again, obviously, but his body language was tense and unsure. She tried to take his free hand in order to talk with him, but he moved it away, scrubbing a knuckle at his face. Light glinted with the movement--he was holding something, but it was too dark to see clearly what it was.
"Damage done," he muttered to himself, and then turned his head toward her position. "Beards. Rubbish! And then you scare the daylights out of me. Am I bleeding? Can you see?"
That caught River's attention and in one swift move she'd swept the torch up from the floorboards, where it had been set to light the spaghetti strands of cords, to point at the door frame instead. The Doctor didn't so much as blink when the light hit his eyes, and River filed that simple, horrible fact away with all the other incentives she had for making every last person at Area 51 pay for what they'd done. She got a better look at him in the light. He was holding a small pair of steel scissors, she realized, from the first aid kit she'd nicked for the supply pack. They were closed and he held them firmly by the blade. She saw a small scratch on his cheek--no hint of blood there or on his hands, but in the light she could see that something looked different. It took her a moment to figure out what it was.
"Are you shaving?" she asked. "In the middle of our brilliant escape?"
"Yes. No? What did I just say about questions!" He scratched at the newly trimmed hair on his chin with the scissors handle and squinted at her.
"Sorry, sweetie," River said, reaching gently for his wrist. "But I can't talk properly if you keep your hands to yourself."
He sighed, relinquishing the scissors to her and opening his palm. Despite his obvious fatigue, his hand was steadier than it had been the night before. The tremors in his fingers had subsided.
NO CUTS, she tapped, and he relaxed against the door.
"Good," he said, blinking into the darkness before closing his eyes.
When he didn't elaborate, River tapped the scissors handle to his palm and asked about them: HELPS HEALING?
"Keeps the nervous system disciplined," he confirmed. "Can't go into a trance; can't feel the systems properly. But a meditation--a simple physical task, helps." He straightened up again, focusing on the wall behind the driver's seat. "How far is she?" he asked.
They had swerved during the crash and were facing nearly southeast, but the Doctor's sense of direction was unerring. River set the scissors aside on the dash and tapped a longer message. TARDIS 15 MI. STILL FEEL HER?
"Dim but clear. She's the only thing that is." He released the door frame, tried to gain his bearings, and renewed his grip, shaking his head in disgust. "How long has it been since we crashed? I can't tell. No time--it's all hollow. Empty. I--I can't . . ."
He stopped, suddenly short of breath, and pulled his hands away from her before River could tap out an answer. His agitation grew, and the space seemed to constrict at the same time; too cramped and small for his limbs, full of obstacles and strange angles. He brushed the side of the passenger seat, his hand tangling in the seatbelt, and recoiled against the back of the cab. River tried to steady him but he just groaned.
"Out," he said desperately, and she was already moving--heading them both through the compartment to the back door, working the latch and kicking it open as he spoke. "Out! No walls, no straps! Please, River, get me out of here. Now!"
His last plea echoed out across the open desert. The cold air hit them and he shook off River's touch, stumbling forward but keeping his feet to escape the shadow of the ambulance behind them. In front of them the sky washed out to light blue over the eastern hills. The rock and brush stretched away for miles, the colors suffused with gray in the morning light. The Doctor took three steps into empty space and sunk to one knee, head down, steadying himself with a hand on the ground and trying to catch his breath.
River left him be, and went back into the truck for the water canteen. He was still gaining his bearings, straightening up with his feet underneath him when she jumped down from the back compartment to the ground. Still in a crouch, he turned in her direction, a curious expression on his face. Then all of a sudden he fell forward to knees and elbows, his hands splayed widely on the ground.
River dropped the canteen and hurried to his side. "Are you all right--?"
"Stop talking!" he hissed, and pressed his cheek to the gravel.
She reached for his hand, but he kept it firmly on the ground. She tried to see what was wrong, but it was then that she recognized the problem. Not by sight. By sound. A distant, thudding pulse of blades beating the air. And if there was air support, there likely was also--
"Why do I feel an engine?" The Doctor finally clamped a hand around her wrist. "River, didn't you turn the engine off?"
"Do we have enough petrol?"
Amy was nearly back to the control room with her supplies, one hand clutching a paper shopping bag, and the other pulling at the handle of a dusty green wagon she'd found to help transport the heavier items. She couldn't reach the radio at her belt, so she let the question stand. A second query came just as she reached the outer door.
"Repeat, how are we on petrol? And did you get more water? Ah, over?"
She set down her burdens, unlatched the door and poked her head out. Rory was a few feet away, radio in hand. He had backed the truck up to the TARDIS and was standing beside it, assessing its positioning relative to the blue box. He had just started to flick the radio button on again but turned around instead when Amy opened the door the rest of the way.
"I filled the canteens." She swung their two camping canteens by their straps onto the ground beside the door before turning back to the wagon. "And I found a petrol tank," she called, lugging a vintage steel gas can out into the campsite. The sun was still behind the hills, and the morning chill hadn't quite left the shade of the small copse of trees surrounding the TARDIS. It wasn't that much cooler than the control room, but Amy still shivered a bit.
Rory frowned at the rusting, five-gallon canister that Amy plunked onto the gravel. "Will that get us far enough?"
"No, I mean, I found a tank. Attached to its own pumping station, in a garage with a motorbike, three boats and some kind of pod car." She opened the door the rest of the way, revealing the wagon full of five more mismatched canisters, spanning approximately eight decades of automotive history among them. "Help me with the rest of these."
"Well, that's a good sign, isn't it?" Rory gave the TARDIS an appraising look before lending a hand with the rest of the canisters. "Do you suppose she's trying to be helpful again?"
"Helpful, how?" Amy set another can down and stopped, letting Rory take the last two. She fished in the pocket of her windbreaker until she retrieved the sonic to wave at him. "I had to use this to open every door."
"But you did get them open," Rory tried, setting the last canister down and wiping his brow. "It's like, before, if I wanted tea in the middle of the night--it might take a few tries to find the kitchen, but the first cupboard I tried would have a box of assorted flavors. Like that."
Amy reached through the doorway and swiped the shopping bag from beside the empty wagon, rattling its meager contents. "I searched four pantries for something we could take for the road, and all I found was a box of granola bars."
"So that's everything?" Rory asked, shouldering the canteens.
"It's all I could find," Amy said, cross. "I didn't want to go on a quest."
Rory looked in on the empty control room, and drew the doors together. He ran one hand down the left door's edge, his other lingering on the handle, before closing up the TARDIS with a soft click of the lock. It was a move Amy had seen the Doctor do a hundred times on their travels, and it made her chest ache. She turned away to start hefting the canisters toward the truck. Rory's next words were directed more at the box than at Amy, anyway.
"I'm sure granola bars will do nicely," he said.
The TARDIS was having none of it, it seemed. She had apparently lapsed from eccentric to outright contrary overnight, because when the time finally came for them to get going, she wouldn't budge. For the cross-country trip, they had wedged the jack from the truck's spare tire kit under the TARDIS' front side, cranked it up to tilt the ship on one edge and then guided it down to cantilever against the lip of the back end so they could push it into the delivery compartment, face up. This time, they couldn't even get the jack under the foot of the blue box.
Rory had his back against the TARDIS' door, legs straining to lift the frame even a fraction of an inch so Amy could position the jack underneath for leverage. Amy was giving it her all, but there was not even a crack of space between the blue wood and the dirt. It was like the ship had grown up out of the ground.
Rory gave a final shove before collapsing against the door. "It's no good," he said through heavy breaths. "I can't move her."
"We got it out of the truck when we got here." Amy chucked the jack aside to make room and joined him, both of them sitting knees up with their backs against the TARDIS. "We must have left out a step. Maybe River did something with the controls."
"Maybe the TARDIS just wants to stay put," Rory countered.
"No. Not now. Not after everything. . ." Amy trailed off. She wasn't going to give in to a Time Machine that didn't ever want to travel again, even if it was only in the back of an old delivery truck.
"What's different from last time?" Rory looked up, studying the deadened windows. "What do you want, eh?" he asked.
"Stop being nice." Amy stood up and rapped on the door. "Hey you! TARDIS! Get your act together because we're leaving for Salt Lake City, this morning, and you're coming with us. Lighten up! Don't make me come in there and--"
"Oh," said Rory, quickly gaining his feet.
Amy turned. "Oh, what?"
"'Lighten up'," Rory repeated. "Last night, how did you turn the gravity on?"
"With the zig-zag plotter," Amy answered. "The Doctor showed me ages ago. Fifth position, from the left side, two hands--"
"Right, right," Rory interrupted. "Do you think you could turn it back off again?"
River had them up and moving immediately. She couldn't be gentle about it; when the Doctor swayed after leaping to his feet with her, she just placed his hands at her shoulder and elbow and set off, trusting him to find his balance as they headed for the truck.
"They'll search from the air," he announced in her ear, deaf to the pulses River had already identified as a lone scout helicopter--likely the Cayuse they'd been forced to leave behind. "Support for patrols. We need to stick to the hills as long as possible. How far is the motorway? Is it morning? What's our--"
She had to change her stride, veering to close the ambulance's open back door, and the Doctor cut off with a shout of surprise. He lost his footing and let her go, stumbling two steps and slamming an outstretched hand into the side of the truck. His momentum carried him the rest of the way and he jarred a shoulder hard into the sheet metal above the wheel well. River quickly elbowed the back door shut and helped him lean back against the body of the truck, grasping at his hand at the same time he was trying to shake the pain out of his fingers.
"I'm all right!" he said, pushing away her attempts to communicate. "You can't--you, you don't need--" He grimaced and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath and swallow his rising panic, before trying again. "Do what you have to. No time for me, for questions, for this!" He spat the last word, gesturing toward the back of his neck before putting a hand out to her, trying to regain his bearings.
He was right, of course. In the flat, featureless desert, they'd soon be in view of their pursuers. There was no time for even a veneer of control on his part. River was the only thing standing between him and total disorientation, and her choice now was explain or escape. It wasn't any kind of choice, obviously, but she hesitated, just for a second. Once they started out, there was no communication until they reached the TARDIS. If they reached her. If not. . .
One second. Half a breath. So much she needed to say.
"Sweetie--" she started, in the same moment he found her hand. He twined their fingers.
"I trust you." He brushed a clumsy kiss on her knuckles and squeezed her hand. "Time to run!" he told her, and their second was gone.
River hurried them both toward the passenger door, working the latch and yanking it open. A scowl flashed across his face when she guided his hands past the seat belt straps, but his thoughts were his alone. She made sure he found a hold on the door frame, and then sprinted for the driver's side. By the time she had rounded the vehicle, hauled herself in and started the engine, the Doctor had strapped himself in, two feet and a world away.
She cranked the truck into gear and rumbled off, gathering speed for the last leg of their escape. In the side mirror, she caught a sign of their pursuers; small dust clouds puffed against the backdrop of the far hills, the rocks behind them reddening in the sunrise. The re-worked engine groaned and ground over the rough terrain around the foothills ringing the valley they'd crossed overnight, but soon they were speeding as fast as they could go. The passenger side window had cracked in the crash, and air streamed with a staccato pulse through the eccentric gap in the glass.
"So! You seem well traveled!" the Doctor shouted over the noise. "Do you know this one?"
River chanced a look at him. He was still holding on for dear life but had his head up, feeling the wind on his face as he continued on in a barely controlled, terrible tune.
"Weeell, I'm getting bugged driving up and down the same old strip! I gotta find a new place where the kids are hip..."
She tightened her grip on the wheel, her eyes flicking back to the mirrors. "Working on it, my love," she said under her breath.
They skirted the eastern hills for as long as possible, trying to keep out of sight. But they couldn't stay hidden forever; the foothills were too rocky to navigate in a dilapidated cast-off. It was a tradeoff of stealth versus what speed they could muster on the open road. River did the maths in her head, calculating velocities and accelerations, estimating the change point--where the helicopter would pick up their trail, and when the trucks would change course to follow--weighed against their added speed to optimize the angle they should take to reach the road. Nothing added up, so she summarily ignored all of the numbers, chose a vector, and made a run for it, a clattering last dash for the exits.
The Doctor was just starting in on what sounded like a progressive rock anthem in 7/16th time, when they hit the large jolt and smooth sailing of the asphalt road. He cut off abruptly.
"What? Motorway, already?" he stammered, his voice loud in the sudden absence of terrain. River reached for the gearshift and his searching hand brushed her wrist. He caught her hand, the grip too tight to be anything but terror. "Too far away," he said hurriedly. "Too soon, we'll be seen! "
"Too late for that." River glanced at the side mirror, tracking the glint against the sky. The helicopter had picked them up before they hit the highway. She couldn't tell him that it had been there for the better part of three minutes already, and while it was holding back, the trucks crossing the valley were steadily gaining on them. She shifted gear and the engine surged.
"Faster," the Doctor urged. "We need--" Without warning, he fell hard against her hold on the gearshift, knocking it out of position. The truck lurched and stuttered, gears grinding with a terrible choking noise as River fought with the clutch to keep them moving. Pain lanced down her bad arm, and the Doctor's hand fell away.
"What the hell was that?" she shouted before she could stop herself. Of course she received no answer from the Doctor. He was cradling his head, holding one hand out for balance even though the truck was righted and their trajectory was smooth again. She had no time for diagnostics or concern. She kept moving.
"Turning? Why are we turning?" the Doctor asked, the words slurring to the point that River wasn't sure he realized he'd spoken aloud. Then he swayed again, clutching at the seat. "Can't you drive this thing straight?" he demanded.
"Sweetie, I'm driving straight," River countered immediately. She jammed her foot on the accelerator in frustration, checking her mirrors. The convoy was moving faster. Four minutes passed, and she could make out the silhouettes of the soldiers in the lead truck tailing them. There were snatches of three other vehicles: two jeeps and another artillery truck snaking behind, weaving in and out behind the lead along the roadway. The helicopter swung low, speeding up nearly to their position, and then fell back again.
River catalogued her assets. A nearly empty tank of petrol attached to a dinosaur of an ambulance that had been ready to rust into eternity before they'd stolen it. A pair of scissors on the dash. The Doctor reeling beside her, holding his head and trying not to fall over in his seat. His brow was furrowed, his eyes shut tight in equal parts concentration and terror; but his sense of balance and direction seemed completely lost.
"Turning… No, not--not turning, it's something else!" he hissed. He tried to sit up and fell hard against the seat, jarring his neck and stifling a gasp of pain. His hand searched for purchase on the dash and he growled, "I don't like this!"
"Neither do I," River said to herself. The chopper pulsed noisily above them again, and dread ate at the pit of her stomach. Assets…. she kept churning through the list of assets in her head, as though there was simply something they had missed that would solve everything. They had no weapons; only the supply pack and some heavy torches. The only advantage they were gaining was the terrain, which grew rockier when they hit the highway's pass over the last set of foothills between them and the lake. They were still miles away from the TARDIS.
The road rose and curved ahead, disappearing into swells of hills. There was a chance for some cover if they could open a wider gap on the convoy among the turns. But they had no chance of losing their tail as long as the helicopter stayed in the air. It would be a standoff at best. They had to gain some distance--
A loud pop cracked the air outside, and the whole chassis jolted down hard. River ducked away from the window and cried "Get down!", although she really didn't need to; the Doctor couldn't hear her and couldn't keep his head above the dash if he tried. The truck careened sideways.
"I think we lost a tire!" the Doctor shouted. Outside, the sound of metal screeching on asphalt drowned out the helicopter blades. River chanced a look through the mirror; the rear driver's side tire was shot and shredded. They were driving on the rim. She hardly had time to compensate before there was another burst, and another hard jolt downward.
"And another one!" the Doctor added helpfully.
The whole back of the truck sledged behind them, a dead weight on the engine. River ground the accelerator to the floorboard and took the first smooth curve into the hills at speed, blown rims screeching protest on the asphalt. Through the mirror, she watched a jeep peel off from the convoy, accelerating easily toward them, trying to flank them and get a clear shot at the cab. She swerved hard across both the highway lanes in a last ditch effort to keep them behind her. It was a miscalculation; the turn was too sharp for their momentum even with the rims dragging at them in the back. The wheels locked and instead of straightening, they started in on a sickening skid. The back end dragged and sparked and the front tires burned against the pavement, filling the cab with heat and noise and the smell of burnt rubber. They reached the edge of the road and the truck teetered, its momentum pushing them up on the right side wheels, heading at a cockeyed slant for the stone wall cut into the hill to make way for the road.
Adrift in the tumult, the Doctor cried out beside her--"River!"--her name half a plea and half a scream in reaction to the force of gravity from the turn. The front tires lost the road, jolting them downward and slamming the front grill into the wall, metal scraping against stone. The spin continued and the passenger side mirror twisted and broke against the hill. The window shattered. The engine coughed and churned and then cut out completely.
Ignoring the glass and dust, River reached for the Doctor's hand. They'd made it so far, but it wasn't far enough. It wasn't good enough, and now everything was spinning out of control. I'm sorry, Sweetie, she tried to say, I'm so sorry.
But those words didn't come.
You don't fail, Melody.
Kovarian's voice shook her to the core, even if it was just an old echo of a memory. But River couldn't stop it resurfacing, and with it the tactics and training she'd spent a lifetime trying to forget.
You don't fail, Melody. You weren't bred for that. You only--
The truck's back end finally met the wall. The impact threw them apart, hurling both River and the the Doctor hard into the restraints, and then everything came to a dead, silent stop.
**
Part 9 | Interlude IV
