Meanwhile, Rory Williams—posing as doctor—and company had been waylaid by a door.

With River's orders and encouragement, it had taken only minutes to break down the prisoners' camp inside the walls. But that fragile discipline was already cracking without a strong personality to hold it together; and when Rory understood that he was supposed to be that strong personality, it was all he could do to keep from gibbering.

He did not like to think of himself as a weak man. In his life he had faced down many enemies and stood witness to the wax and wane of Time. If he ever got a moment to pause for breath, he might even be proud of himself. The trouble was... the trouble was, that is to say, when he sidled right up to it, the trouble was... at heart Rory was an ordinary person. His life had made him a little sharper on his pins than usual, but other than that he was absolutely nothing to write home about. He was not particularly clever or witty. He was not very ambitious. He had never made decisions. He liked football and beer and little villages; he was afraid of terrorism; he found politics alternately dull and alarming; he believed in God but never attended church. Even the wax and wane of Time had failed to make a deep impression. The best anybody could say about Rory—including Rory himself—was that Amy Pond had liked him enough to marry him. The worst that anybody could say was that he meant well.

Life was something that happened to people like Rory. It was not a quest, but a series of unexpected events. He did as he was told and tried to stay out of trouble, and that was his complete philosophy and approach. Mostly it had worked. Even out here in the universe, it had worked. It's very difficult for fate to trip up a man who had no plans.

But somehow it manages, he thought, staring at the door.

It wasn't really a door; it was more of a hatch. There was a heavy metal cover over it, and through the slats Rory could see another set of anonymous prison hallways. It was set about waist-height into the wall, and it was absolutely imperative that Rory find a way through. This was the problem. Rory could not even see how it was secured, much less how to release it. And then of course they'd be back among the mechanical guards and the Scarecrows and god-only-knew-what-else.

Every few minutes Rory would get up from his crouch, and the whole group behind him would gasp and step back, as if he were about to do a dangerous magic trick. Then Rory would settle down to stare at the hatch from a different angle, and there would be a collective sigh, partly of relief and partly of disappointment. Rory imagined that the proportion of disappointment to relief increased every time he failed to act.

Patrick the computer expert had explained it to him. Stormcage was made up of several levels, stacked on each other like a set of stacked levels (here Patrick had gestured, showing two imaginary wheels on top of each other). They were on the top level; if they wanted to get to the prison's energy core, they'd have to cross at least one corridor, which meant leaving the relative safety of the ventilation system.

How many levels are there, Rory had said.

Patrick said, we were hoping you'd know.

I thought it was something like that, said Rory.

The erstwhile mechanic, carrying a heavy pack of wires and equipment, tapped Rory on the shoulder and said, "Sir, we are a bit pressed for time..."

Rory wondered what the Doctor would say. Probably something like, shut up, I'm thinking.

"Shut up," said Rory. "I'm thinking."

He thought mostly about what would happen if he put the kibosh on the whole operation and let somebody else solve the bloody door. He spared a little time on how the Doctor had got off easy by slipping into a coma, and then weighed the relative merits of banging on the door till someone came to arrest him. But then his brain tortured him with questions of what Amy would say, and what River Song might think of him, and he shifted his weight and dropped his chin into his hand and thought very hard about how to move forward.

There was a little gasp and a sigh from the two-dozen thieves and murderers standing just behind him. It was almost all disappointment now. Maybe a little frustration.

"Doorways," he murmured. It seemed like he'd spent his whole day getting locked in and out of places he didn't want to be in the first place. It was all doorways and passages. For a moment he seemed to be on the verge of a truly significant insight, but it began and ended with doorways.

"You might try your magic wand, there, sir," Patrick prodded.

Rory blinked. "What?"

"Your sonic screwdriver, sir. It'd do a number on the sonic screws."

"Sonic screws," Rory repeated.

"That are all round the hatch, sir?" The mechanic nodded, in case Rory had forgotten which hatch they were talking about.

"Oh, the sonic screws," said Rory. "Right." He nodded authoritatively and patted the door. "Completely sonic, no doubt about it." He reached into the pocket of his raincoat—he'd never taken it off, it was still damp enough in the shafts—and took out the Doctor's screwdriver. He stared at it as if it were a completely alien piece of technology.

"Lovely little piece, if I may say so, sir," said Patrick, leaning close and peering over Rory's shoulder. He spoke with an engineer's casual pride. "If you did up the customizations yourself, you're not bad."

In fact, it was a nice little gadget, if you were the sort of person who went in for that sort of thing. It had a comfortable warm weight. Rory was pretty sure he knew which end to hold. He wondered if Patrick knew how to use it. For all Rory knew, Patrick had written the manual on sonic screwdrivers, but Rory but couldn't think of a safe way to ask him.

"Why do you do that, Patrick?" he said, without looking up.

"What's that, sir?"

"Call me sir," said Rory. He rolled the screwdriver between his fingers. There was a tiny button, and some things that might be dials, or just decoration.

What was the last thing the Doctor sonic-ed? Had it been a lock?

"It's polite, sir. Dr. Song said you were a lord."

"That can hardly matter, down here," said Rory, who wasn't anything close to a lord.

"It matters more, sir," said Patrick, with such innocent sincerity that Rory revised his age downward a few years. How such a young man had ended up in serious prison was a question that gave Rory a little bit of pause. Especially since Patrick seemed determined to stay right as his elbow, basically worshipping him.

It might have been a lock. Might've been.

Rory leveled the pointy end of the screwdriver at the door. He felt the other prisoners take in a deep breath. With out looking back he heard them whisper, felt them nudging each other.

Rory looked at Patrick, who was staring at the door like he could bring it down by stare. "What did you do, Patrick? How'd you get in here?"

Patrick flushed as if Rory had asked him about his first kiss. "Oh, the usual, sir." He grinned. "Usual for me, anyway. Identity theft."

Rory coughed, fumbled the screwdriver, but got a better grip on it. His thumb naturally rested on a little silver button. He depressed it a little, and the screwdriver hummed. Rory felt in his teeth.

"No big deal," said Patrick. "Saving he was a peer. A lord, actually. Like yourself, sir."

"Really." There was a sharp tingle in Rory's hand. He gripped his wrist like he'd once seen a man hold a gun in a TV show. To steady it. The hum got louder.

"But you've got nothing to fear from me, sir," said Patrick. "I'm reformed. Anyway, I can't imagine what the sentence would be for stealing your identity, Doctor." The young engineer chewed his lip thoughtfully, imagining the ramifications.

Rory bit his tongue. He pressed the button harder than he'd ever pressed a button before.

"Life would be too good for him, don't you think, sir?"

The sonic screwdriver screamed.

It was not the screwdriver's normal cheery whistle. It was rather sharper. Quite a bit sharper, in fact. A wave of energy seemed to jump for Rory's hand to the door. The groups lanterns and torches dimmed. People clamped their hands to their ears and saw stars. Rory saw all the colors of the rainbow and tasted ozone.

The metal grate vibrated, then shattered.

Rory gently lifted his thumb from the button. "Wow," he said. He wiped a bit of sweat from under his nose and discovered that it was blood. He sniffed and swallowed. The screwdriver had never done that before. It was hot in his hand. "Wow."

The sentiment seemed to be a common one.

Doorways and passageways. Rory remembered who he was supposed to be. He sucked down his awe and fear, and tucked the screwdriver in his pocket as if he did this kind of thing every day. He dusted off his hands. "See?" he told Patrick in a thin, reedy voice. "Your basic sonic screws, there."

"No kidding," said Patrick politely. He hefted his pack. "Now, we'd better—"

They heard a sound like something small and solid, falling from a great height, some distance behind them.

Rory's stomach twisted. "Amy," he said.

But before the true horror of the moment could settle on his shoulders, a much, much louder sound crashed through his psyche. It was the echo of shattering metal, combined with the scrape of stone on stone, and the moan of mechanics pushed to their absolute limits, and the roar of a shuttle hitting atmosphere, and it was none of these things. It was something entirely new that Rory had never heard before. It came from high above them. The whole prison shook. The band of prisoners were rocked against each other. Something was coming.

###

Amy opened her eyes and was very surprised to learn that she was alive.

She'd slipped, she'd fallen, but she'd never hit the ground. The story of her life, since she'd started traveling with the Doctor. Her limbs were caught in a nest of wires, several dozen feet below River. She felt relatively secure, if a bit shaken and bruised, but was afraid to move.

Everything was shaking. At first she thought it was just her. Then she realized that her that horrible sound was not inside her head, but some ways above them. The sound was so loud that it caused everything to shake. River, who had been trying to make her way back to Amy, was forced to stop. River was yelling, her voice muted by the noise.

River pointed at Amy, then at the hole they'd been climbing toward. Now, River's lips read. Right now. Go! Go! Then with a look of worry and regret, she turned away from Amy and began to climb frantically up.

That noise! It was the loudest thing Amy had ever heard. Louder than thunder. And it was getting closer.

Amy was up with a speed that would have impressed anyone who hadn't spent the last year of her life running through corridors. This time she did not stop to think about anyone. She went up like a bird. She let gravity make its own decisions.

Something was coming. And if they wanted the Doctor back, they had to beat it there.

###

Something was coming.

It was the Gorgoran ship, ready to claim all its prizes: prison, storm and blue box. It was coming.

And then it was here.

The story concludes in "Stormcage" (Part 2). Before you go, I hope you'll take a minute to share your review! Thanks for reading. It's been a blast. -N