OOC: Yes.

The all-too-briefly bemused and playful aspect of the network's presence shivers in the astral void, and shakes itself all over, and bristles up with something that recalls to Trav something of many of the fine people she has known, of Abe brandishing his axe against the L'Han champion on the Bridge of Fallen Stars, of Zheng Ru calmly reciting the mantra of the Protector of Secret Teachings on the crucible moon of the Embodiment of Gris.

Its regard, its focus turns and turns around the cosmos, and then it orients on the projection of the Beast.  It has not lost a whit of the drives of the hunter, and it has found worthy prey.

Down in the realm of the strictly physical, the many creatures joined by the network get a sense of this changing focus.  Kitlings.  Hunters.  And perhaps most notable, those new to the influence of the Call, but not yet wholly in the grip of it.

Like Kalath.

OOC: I set the network's Resolve at 1, reflecting that it has just suffered a significant upheaval in its character.

21:31, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC Cheetah Gestalt, rolled 9 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 1,1.  Reaction to Trav's influence: Presence(6) + Resolve(1).
10:20, Yesterday: The Traveller rolled 14 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 6,1.  Convince Cheetah Virus to Help - Presence+Science.

With the welcome mat rolled out, Smoke Alarm pushed open the talkiphone box doors and footed inside, a clowder of kitlings all around her. It took great Kangly skill not to trip over that many wandering cats, and Smoke just about managed it. 'All the Hunters and kitlings falled over. Did Trav do her thing yet? What's the comeout?' she asked Stan urgently, hoping her friend was still sound and safe.

Then she eyespied the Us on the console, surprised to eyespy them in the open with the Inbetweens around. 'Us! So you've made how-you-do to Stan now?'

Then the kitlings eyespied the Us... 'No! Us are friends, not food. Zeffy and Tiddles and Mokey and Sunny and Jatson and Muffy, these are Stan and Olyesa, and these are Us and Us and Us and Us, the Usses, and Us.' Smoke Alarm introduced them all, not missing anyone out.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:03, Fri 24 Mar 2017.

The Beast's face is suffused with many raw states of feeling, not all of which match Trav's expectations.  Anger, surely.  But also incredulity, and even bemusement, and his reaction is a sort of strangled laughter.  "What I did to Phillipe?" he cries.  "Oh, Traveller, Traveller, you know nothing!  I did nothing to Phillipe but try to make him into the man he needed to be.  And it did not take, I am very sad to say, and I wasted so many years.  But now, I have truly outgrown him, and you, you've grown not at all.  You--"

Then Trav makes her play for control of the TAROT.  Protocols shift and unlock; she threads through the maze of safeguards and ciphers, recognizing the design of Paltree every step of the way.  She can't help but be appalled by what she finds.  It is a very different entity from the one she first met (though not the other way around) in London.  The TAROT's current master has surely shaped its capabilities and its defenses, and she recognizes it only as one might recognize a lean and deadly mastiff from the pup it once was.

But perhaps somewhere, down at the TAROT's core, that true soul may remain--

Trav feels a psychic shock from just meters away from where she hangs in real space: the anguish of the TARDIS as the very device she is slinking her way inside assaults it, sending N-formed mathematical pincers piercing through Sweet Boy's temporarily reduced defenses at the behest of the Beast.  He is probing his way toward the base operating systems and the telepathic backbone of the TARDIS, trying to find the keys to rewrite it to his own design.

And he becomes aware of her invasion, his snarl of rage shows a violation that seems just as unfeigned as Trav's is.

"How dare you!" he bellows.  "You!  Your people!  You made us for each other!  You do not get to come in at this late day and say, just kidding, we want our dominion back!  I will deny you!"

And as he says this, hidden fail-safes and logical traps burst into action to descend upon Trav's incursion, within the architecture of the TAROT.  It's rather like trying to pick a lock while fishing around inside a recessed space -- which abruptly closes upon one's hand.

OOC: Bunch of rolls:

21:36, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC The TARDIS, rolled 22 using 2d6+12 with rolls of 6,4.  Resisting the Beast's takeover: Ingenuity(4) + Technology(6) + Support(2).
21:35, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC The Beast, rolled 25 using 2d6+13 with rolls of 6,6.  Inflitrating TARDIS Systems: Ingenuity(6) + Science(4) + Block Transfer Specialist(3).
21:33, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC The TAROT, rolled 24 using 2d6+16 with rolls of 2,6.  Security Protocols: Ingenuity(6) + Technology(6) + Advanced Systems(2) + Support(2).
10:28, Yesterday: The Traveller rolled 26 using 2d6+16 with rolls of 5,5.  Oops, re-roll. Trav Seizes Control of the TAROT from the Beast.

The upshot of this: both Trav and the Beast got marginal successes against their opposite number's craft / companion.  So each has penetrated the defenses, but neither has achieved a complete takeover, and both are constrained by those defenses and can't easily extract themselves.

I'll have to mull over the mechanical implications, but this is shaping up as a fascinating knife fight.

Smoke Alarm has barely finished her extensive catalog of how-you-dos when there's a horrific sound like a mechanical howl, from what feels like far, far below the console room.  The backup lighting in the console room flickers and cuts out as angry reds and yellows spill over the console indicators, and the whole area is left illuminated only by the mauve emergency lights.

Smoke's kitlings react swiftly as well.  They give a loud warning hiss in unison -- not at the Us or the humans, but somehow for them -- and race out away from her, taking perches atop the sofa, armchairs, the hat stand and the central column, outlooking in all directions around them -- not as if they are many kitlings all agitated and fearful, but as if they are one kitling with a dozen eyes, watchful and forthright, and brave and bold as a Kang should be.

'Lights out! What's ongoing?! Is the talkiphone box broke?!' Smoke Alarm shouted in alarm, outlooking for hazards.

"I don't know." Stanley replies. He had noticed the herd of kitlings Smoke had with her, but there are more pressing matters to deal with. "We were monitoring Trav when this mess started. I should say attack, cause that's what it is. The TARDIS is being attacked and it looks like the enemy is winning. I don't need to tell you how bad that is."

He looks again at the cables going through the door. "We did what we could shutting down non-essential systems, but it isn't helping much. The machine outside, the one connected to Trav, is draining a lot, but we can't shut that down...can we?"



Stanley doesn't have the answers. He tries to read the warning messages.

Stanley circles around the console to the sector concerned with diagnostic readouts.  Even after all his time on the TARDIS, he hasn't gained a lot of knowledge of advanced scientific theory outside his own areas of expertise, but he has a good memory for detail, and certainly can recognize the danger zones on all the scales.

He sees that the TARDIS auto-systems have brought a large number of self-repair mechanisms on line, and in fact they're consuming more power than anything else except the psychic jammer and the artron feed to Trav.  It looks like a lot of major systems like the power core, the main telepathic conduits, and the interior architectural stabilizers are registering corruption of their operating software, and purge-and-restore failsafes have engaged on these systems.

He remembers that Trav had mentioned manual backups to the self-repair systems that need to be engaged at various points throughout the ship.  He's not keen on the details of this, as Trav was explaining it in the middle of a breezy discussion of what civilization and period would make the best place to visit for lunch, but he's pretty sure that there are emergency procedure guides that can be called up as long as the vessel itself hasn't crashed.

As he's thinking about this, a panel flips up amid the readouts and it disgorges a small screen that rotates up to face him.  A message appears in glowing block characters.

Doctor Newton.

Remote Direction of Capsule Auto-Repair Facilities Is Impeded.

Disengage Psychic Static Projector To Enable Optimum Auto-Repair.

OOC: Made a roll on Stanley's behalf to judge how well he was interpreting the readouts.  Pretty well, it turns out.

23:36, Today: The Guardian, on behalf of Stanley Newton, rolled 18 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 6,5.  Checking readings: Ingenuity(4) + Technology(1) + Technically Adept(2).
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:00, Sat 25 Mar 2017.

'Can we? Has Trav finished her thing?' Smoke Alarm wondered, footing up to the console and circling it with Stan. She eyespied the picturespouts and puters, trying to get the knowhow of what they meant, how to make the talkiphone box shapeship and sound. But it was all just numbers and funny circles to her; it was worse than trying to read. 'If the talkiphone box is being attacked, we should run!' she declared boldly. 'And if we can't switch the machine off, let's take it with us!'


OOC: Smoke does much less well. And with Tech Level differences, she's at −1.
14:31, Today: Smoke Alarm rolled 9 using 2d6+4 with rolls of 4,1. ingenuity(3) + technology(1).

"Running away won't work, Smoke. Only Trav can fly this thing and we can't abandon the TARDIS now. If they get their hands on the TARDIS, they could follow us everywhere."



Stanley reads the message again and shakes his head. "We have to do something. Smoke, Olyesa, can you work with the little aliens to shutdown the machine. I'll go outside, so that I can do something in case turning of the machine has... negative effects on Trav's health."

OOC: I feel I should clarify: the "psychic static projector" is one mode of the TARDIS force field, which Trav had engaged to block teleporting Hunters; the artron feed is an entirely different component that is driving the power to Trav's device.  Neither of these is Trav's actual machine.

FWIW, moving Trav's machine -- lock, stock, and Trav -- is also entirely feasible, It's big and heavy, but not much more of a struggle than shifting a kitchen fridge around.  Mind, the entire point of it being outside the shields is that the shields would block her astral projection.

'They're not aliens, they're Us!' Smoke returned, but was already footing fastly around the console, outlooking for anything that outlooked like it might off-switch the mechinery and Trav's scrapheap. She hoped Trav would be sound-and-safe, so she kind of wanted to switch it off anyhow. She picked up an Us to eyespy the picturespout under its tummy. 'Us, do you knowhow to off-switch the machine out there?' she asked her furry friend. 'Can't we just pull the big plug?' That was her first thought, but she knewhow things got electricky when you did that.


OOC:
09:08, Today: Smoke Alarm rolled 16 using 2d6+4 with rolls of 6,6. ingenuity(3) + technology(1).
Or a 6 after the Tech Level penalty.

The Us, who Smoke Alarm recognizes as the brave patriarch she met during her very first encounter with the little creatures, seems quite upset and agitated, though whether this is from the present Kang-handling he is experiencing, or the perfectly understandable agitation of being asked to provide technical support on impromptu Gallifreyan engineering when his brain has roughly the volume of a peach pit, is very hard to say.

"Meep?  Meep meep meep meep meep meep meep meep....."

You ask Us?  Us don't know how the Thing's things work; Us teach Us for all time not to chew on big black ropes, is nothing good inside.  No snacks, no Treasure.  Sometime blue fire that burns Us dead.

The Us is plainly unhappy, probably at not being able to help Smoke Alarm very much.

As Smoke starts hunting on her own for what might turn off the power, Olyesa jogs her arm.  "Smoke Alarm, look.  This was supposed to show whether the power was, steady, I think."  She shows her a scrolling graph of vertical bars, set amid a set of controls including some impressive-looking lever switches all in the UP position.  The bars are green and are pretty consistently near the top of the display, but when Smoke jiggles the switches slightly, she sees the level dip slightly.  So mayhap if they just threw all of the switches DOWN, that would make it safe to pull the plug.  It's an idea with some evidence behind it, at least.

"Meep."  The Us puts its paws up to its head as it peers at Smoke Alarm..  "Meep, meep meep meep meep, meep?"

Hurts in the heads of all of Us.  Since the lights went away.  Makes it hard for Us to think with Us.

Who is hurting Us?  How do they do it?  Can Smoke Alarm make the hurt stop?
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:43, Sun 26 Mar 2017.

Kalath howled, and she sprung into her action, her eyes flashing. This entity, this creature she saw in her mind's eye, that was the enemy. That was who was trying to control her, make her lose focus. She snatched up her spear, shook it about, she growled and tried to corner him, go to him, attack him, bring him down. Whether physically she could so, or she lapsed into something else, was pretty unclear, but she would start off by doing it physically. The thing. The whats-it. Where this Traveller was. That was where it was... she just knew it.

'Okays, so if we off-switch these...' Smoke Alarm began flicking the switches to the off (or at least down) position, one by two by three, eyespying the comeout on the picturespout...

But outlooking up at the Us, Smoke Alarm worried about what was making them sick. 'I'll try. And so will Doctor Stan. But what lights went away? How does it hurt?'

Kalath finds her path taking her back in the direction of the laboratory and the Traveller's weird blue box, but as her footfalls settle into a steady stalking rhythm, she also feels herself, in some way, high above herself, in a place where she is striding through fields of stars.  The battle-scarred older Hunter, Ulvar, is matching her stride for stride through the halls of institute, but in this other place it feels more like he is inside her head, and she inside his, and echoes of other strangers' souls as well.

And in this place, two figures are striving against each other.  One she recognizes as the Traveller, or more precisely an exaggerated, fanciful vision of the Traveller in heroic proportions and clothing, overlaid with images of other women.  The other is male, his build more physically powerful, his features decked with beast's horns and presently twisted into an expression of savagery.  The two seem to Kalath to be grappling hand to hand, with the Traveller's right hand plunged into a writhing pattern of images worn on the man's left like a shield.  The man's other hand looks like it is caught fast in a shape that the Traveller's left is holding up against him with the lightest touch of her fingertips: this has the appearance of a set of blue boxes overlaid on each other, each of varying heights, widths and depths, also shifting and changing as they struggle.

Kalath, in this heightened state, hears something very like the Call singing to her, but this is not the near-total craving and compulsion she has experienced before.  It's more like the absence of any compulsion, and instead just the truth about this figure the Traveller is opposing.  It shows her the man's own hunger -- it too is no merely physical need, but stinks of bitterness, isolation, burdens unasked-for and powers calling to be exercised.  And it seems clear enough to Kalath: like a feral Hunter at its worst, the mix of weapons and weaknesses bound up in the man make him a continual threat to people just trying to survive, free from the danger of the hunt.

"Meep, meep!"  Just now, when the lights went away from the World!

OOC: For a snap theory based on what he has already observed, Stanley might make an Ingenuity + Science (Exobiology) + Technically Adept.

Even before the Call had claimed her, even before she started slipping into the path of the Hunter, she had been a protector. A killer of sorts - that is why the Call could get a purchase on her. And so, seeing this.... this threat, this predator even, she snapped into action the only way she knew how.

She exulted, and leapt into action, her spear flashing down on him. She could not blame this on the Call. This was all her, acting in the way she knew how.

OOC: 15:37, Today: Kalath rolled 21 using 4d6+9 with rolls of 3,2,4,3.  Co-ordination + Fighting + Story point. Impulsive?

OOC:
20:21, Today: Stanley Newton rolled 16 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 2,4.  Theory based on observations: Ingenuity(4) +Science(Exobiology) (2+2) + Technically Adept(2).

A moment of consideration. Yeah. This is how it should end. It'll rock.

Oh, stop it, you coward. I feel the hesitation, and the uncertainty. Deep down, you know you're wrong. I can feel the guilt and the cowardice twisting in your gut like a snake. You wanna play chicken? Lets play chicken. You are dealing with the fucking Traveller. You knew that your entire thing was for your own personal glory. I don't know your story yet - you may be a version of Phillipe that creates himself. But I will not have you threaten this TAROT, Phillipe in any of his incarnations, or my Sweet Boy or my family down there. The difference between you and me is the difference between the Doctor and the Master - I am not afraid at all of making a sacrifice. I have no fucks to give, now. I DON'T WANT TO RULE THIS UNIVERSE, YOU ASSHOLE. I WON'T LET YOU BECOME THE NEW RASSILON. HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT I WANT TO RE-ESTABLISH THEIR DOMINION - I KILLLED ALL OF THEM.

You are the Devil Card, but I am not the Queen of Wands.

I am the fucking Tower.

and I am CHANGE.

In this last gambit, with her and Sweet Boy's metaphorical hand at the heart of Beast and his weapon, the Traveller triggers her regeneration in order to give her the power set at least this instance of the TAROT and her TARDIS free. Certainly, the Beast may still be a threat. For all she knows, he may other instances of this device enslaved, he will certainly still be a threat. But here, now, to free this instance of the TAROT, and start the road to the final showdown with the Beast? Yeah, baby. This is how Blondie rolls.

And, further, she rewrote the Time Lock itself and is every bit Paltree and the Master's colleague. She's even now using her intimate connection with her own TARDIS to seal off and immunize the old, wise time machine from attack, literally interposing her own ancient psyche in the way, while forcing the TAROT to roll back to an earlier version, using her superior security protocols. Regeneration is necessary. He may be a custom designed weapon, but he is not a Time Lord. He made this poor being his slave. She's unlocking the collar around this mastiff's neck and burning away the evil in it's soul to the goodness she knows is there, and with the artron energy flooding like fire through her own psyche and body, is giving her life to burn off the claw he is extending into her sweet boy, and to burn away the schackles which he is using to enslave this particular manifestation of the TAROT. If he gets her TARDIS, her friends and the Cheetah Virus and everyone else she loves are doomed.

Some things are worth dying for.

OOC: The goal - make him release sweet boy, and make him release the TAROT, in that order. Also, I hope BlondeTrav can hold her current appearance long enough so as to have a fitting good bye scene before the golden explosion and the appearance of the New Traveller. I should be sitting on two new SP from Impulsive and Protect The Weak I claimed in that earlier turn.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:03, Sun 26 Mar 2017.

Seeing the distress of the almost comically adorable creatures, Stanley comes back to his inward question about how they are capable of communicating on an abstract and rational level, albeit one with a fairly simplified world view.  They're plainly making vocalizations of a type typical of sub-sapient animals, but at the same time they're making their meaning perfectly clear to the humans in the TARDIS.  With what Stanley has learned of biology beyond the confines of 21st century knowledge, that suggests that their intelligence and their ability to communicate may both be tied to some degree of evolved telepathic connection.

And the TARDIS is supposed to have some low-level telepathic capability, that supports its translation abilities and its threat detection systems.  If that is being interfered with enough to be hurting telepathically sensitive beings within, that suggests that current attack is at least in part an attempted psychic infiltration of its systems.

Which means that shutting down any psychic interference screens being maintained by the TARDIS is probably a very bad idea indeed.  If that's the case, though, why would the TARDIS be showing him a message telling him to do just that?

Watching the power indicators with Olyesa at her side, Smoke Alarm flips down the switches that seem to be controlling the flow of power out of the TARDIS and into Trav's device.  At once, the bars on the display showing the outbound power start to dwindle and drop down to zero.

When that happens, a second set of indicators nearby, one that Stanley had noted as tracking the TARDIS' overall power output and usage, shows an immediate response as well.  This had been showing available reserves down well below the red line, erratic and struggling to supply the demands of the external feed, the shields, and the auto-repair systems.  The bars start to climb into the yellow, though they continue to stutter and dip against the strain.

Several things happen at once:

The lights and the erratic hum of the straining TARDIS blaze to full strength; the central column extends to full height and stays there, spilling a burning white light.  The bars on the reserve monitor slam to full capacity, while the flow monitor that Smoke has been watching flips over and also leaps up to its highest value: instead of power getting sucked out of the talkiphone box, it is flooding in.  Overloaded circuits in the console blow under the strain, throwing showers of sparks and blowing out indicator lamps.

The holo-dome also comes back to life, heedless of the disengaged power.  It shows the encroaching patterns that were blanketing it like a besieging army, shattering and tumbling apart like debris blown away in a gale.

And outside the TARDIS, in the lab, there is also a sudden flare of light and the crackle of connections burning through.  Stanley and Smoke and Olyesa (and the kitlings and the Us) all look that way.  They see Kalath and Ulvar pelting back into the area, and they see Trav outlined by golden spirals of energy, writhing around her where she hangs in the projection cage.

As Kalath leaps in to strike, she sees the man's regard snap full on to her, and white flashes from his eyes: it's as if a wall of briars and knives springs up between them.  But she has chosen, she has dared.

For Trav's part, as she sets the match to her life that is and cracks the door to the life that will be, she sees the Cheetah gather itself and charge and spring: now a lean and powerful feline bounding ahead on four legs, now the form of an athletic young woman bursting with strength and confidence, whirling up a long spear to drive into the heart of the Beast.

And as Kalath's strike carries home, she sees the form of the Traveller shiver and burst into golden flames.  The shimmering blue boxes on the Traveller's hand, she tears out of the grip of the Beast and sends spinning away free.  The two are joined at the shimmering shield, turning in the void like dancers.

Kalath's blade slashes through the barrier of sharp edges like flimsy worn linen and she sails through it, driving her weapon into the Beast, and she exults not just in the joy of battle, but in the feeling she can only name as righteousness.

Trav, with Sweet Boy pulled safely beyond the Beast's reach, strains out and tries to clear the way toward the deep heart of the TAROT, breaking away the traps and the pitfalls.  There, just at the edge of her consciousness, its voice comes to her.  It's older than she remembers from when she spoke with it in London, back on the day she met Stanley, more mature and assured, and it doesn't sound frightened or abused at all.

Friend.

I am honored you would sacrifice so much to free me, but you do not understand.

I am his and he is mine, and there is no parting us.

If as you think he is mis-using me, then know too that I am trying to guide and nurture him.

I do as I must to keep alive the legacy of your people, the good that they have done to preserve the universe and not only the ill born of their arrogance and their fear.

As does he in his way.

It may be that there is healing to be had for him.  There may be a place for him that is not swallowed in his pride and his ambition.  But such a place must have a place for me as well.

If you can help us to find it, please do.  I will be there to help you.

Until that day, I shall remain.

And with that, Trav feels the power sustaining her projection begin to fade, the fingertip touch to the TAROT's soul slip away from her.

Staggered by Kalath's blow, the Beast topples away into starry nothingness, the patterns of the TAROT swirling up and wrapping him up to catch him like a cradle.

Trav falls.

Kalath feels herself crashing fully back into her own body, finding herself in the laboratory.  Ulvar is next to her, and the two of them start to stumble and fall.  In falling, though, they catch each other and keep their feet, and Kalath has a chance to take in the details of her surroundings.

The Traveller is still hanging in the machine she built.  But the device itself is wrecked, little flames burning on it here and there, with an acrid smell rolling off of it.  Wisps of the same golden light that suffused the Traveller in the void are still clinging to her, chasing each other around her body, and they don't look like they are going away.

'Electricky overload!' Smoke yelped in dismay as everything suddenly went backwards on her, the console shorting and zapping like someone had stuck a bit of metal in a power point. In fact, she was rememorized of some of Power Point's experiments with the Tower's electricky supply: lights going on and off, sparks from the plugholes, red hair standing on end. Smoke sucked her finger after taking a burning shock or shocking burn on one panel, and shouted 'Something's charging up the talkiphone box! Too much too much.'

But instead of electricky things, she thought of taps and stopped drains and sinks overfilling. She had to keep the water moving, keep bailing out the sink into the bathtub. 'We have to on-switch everything! Use up the power!' she told Olyesa, now flicking all the switches back up.

Then she outlooked thru the talkiphone box doors and eyespied Trav on her scrapheap, flickering golden flames around her. 'Trav!' she screamed, trying desperately to catch her friend's attention, wherever she'd outgone. She was already footing out, all speed, to her. Smoke – this time from burnt insulation and plastic – was curling up from the console and mechinery, and the other Smoke began to emit a piercing beeping alarm, adding to the general cacophony.


OOC: Trying to use up and redirect the excess input power. 13, or 3 after the TL.
14:50, Today: Smoke Alarm rolled 13 using 2d6+4 with rolls of 4,5. ingenuity(3) + technology(1).
This message was last edited by the player at 14:03, Mon 27 Mar 2017.