The ship shudders from an invisible impact and another veil of sparks flares downward. Rush retreats, free hand pressing to the side of his head, unable to suppress the frustrated, tearing sound in the back of his throat. Any and all attempts to divert either of them have simply made them more determined to act otherwise.

There is one other tactic he could, potentially, attempt based on his knowledge of their interpersonal relations. It would approximate deception and it would approximate irrationality and it would not be keyed to the same logical thought progression he has been adhering to but - they would have no means for assessing the veracity of his statements.

"What about the angels," he rasps. "The TARDIS. They need warning. They need someone - who can get them out."