The Traveller, and anyone else emerging from the TARDIS at the point, realize that the view through the scanner failed to reveal some highly pertinent details of their surroundings.

The sun, or what this place uses for a sun, is shining down from directly above the plaza -- high noon!  But what can be seen around it is anything but blue sky.  It's a view down onto the spires and ceilings of buildings, far far away, with drifting spreads of green floating in the space around it like leafy clouds.  Despite the brightness of the "daylight", the shadows it casts are more diffuse than might be expected.

Too, it is apparent that the ground curves away ever so slightly in every direction.  The plaza is level enough, locally, but the buildings that tower up around it all seem to be leaning minimally inwards, oriented toward the vanishing point of the gleaming light above.  And tower they do -- with walkways and bridges spanning the space between them, wide platforms built around them at various levels.  Their height seems architecturally implausible, and some are even built in more dubious ways, built with corkscrewing helical twists in their levels.

Tiny humanoid forms with gliders or perhaps wings can be see launching themselves from above, flying from building to building.

The onlookers in the plaza part as the uniformed trio approach.  The three appear unarmed (apart perhaps from the rods borne by the redheaded woman) but athletic, and they move with poise and assurance.

The woman's blue eyes flash as she addresses herself to Trav.  "You seem to have arrived at the Habisphere in a highly unorthodox manner," she says levelly.  "Would you please allow us to register you?  I am Janeth, senior lictor for this district -- these are my deputies Halan and Ches -- and as such I am authorized to put you on the rolls on behalf of the praetor.  An accounting will need to be made of any damages made in the course of your arrival, but unless some injury to a visitor has occurred, the additional assessment for your stay should not be severe."

Smoke Alarm footed out of the talkiphone box, outlooking around at the city, impressed but taking it all in a Kang's stride. After all, she'd grown up from smallness in the orbiting arcology of Paradise Towers and had lived in the ringworld city of Arsuran, so she was well used to towers popping out all over the place at funny angles and even upside down above her head. That was the way it was meant to be. It was when it was all flat and spread out with wide open parkland that it was all wrong.

'Build high for happiness.' she greeted the locals making the gesture and rememorising with some embarrassment that it was indeed a standard greeting among Kangs. She outlooked to Traveller, 'Should we how-you-do?'

The Traveller blinks. "Oh, hello. We'll be happy to make good for any damages done to anyone or anything. I am the Traveller, from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterboros. These are my travelling companions - Smoke Alarm of Paradise Towers, Stanley Newton of Great Britain and Kalath of Kestartes Delta. Where are we? We arrived here quite at random. I have just gone through a traumatic physical event, so I may be somewhat... disoriented. That is my ship." She gestures back to Sweet Boy.

"Where and when are we?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:10, Tue 25 Apr 2017.

To Smoke Alarm:"They may not know the how-do-you-do. Let's wait for them to tell us where we are. Saying hello is good for now, but then you can teach then Towers manners."

As Trav runs through the names and places, "Great Britain" gets a flicker of recognition on Janeth's features, but nothing else does.  From out of his uniform, Ches has produced a small slate and notes the information down with a stylus.

Janeth frowns slightly.  "You came here not by your own design, then?"  She grounds the rods she's carrying with a military flourish and clack.  Raising her free hand, she makes a complicated series of gestures with her fingers.  From up above, a tiny device flutters down to hover by her ear, looking for all the world like an iridescent mechanical hummingbird.  Her head inclines to listen to it momentarily.  "I see."

"Then I should tell you that you've arrived in Hathtotep Habisphere, one of the Seven Abodes of Enlightenment.  As the core mission of the Founders does account for the blessing of serendipity, you are welcome to avail yourselves of the opportunities for growth, healing, and stimulation afforded by the facilities and your fellow visitants, if each of you agree to contribute your gifts as assessed."  Her gaze passes over all four of the travelers from the TARDIS.  "May I ask you to state what gifts and talents you are able to offer?"

That was one way of putting it. Stanley had to admit that they even after Arsuran he still wasn't used to places like this. Seeing buildings where the sky should be was somehow less unusual than what looked like green clouds.



"I don't think we are planning on staying here long. We are just tourists..." Stanley says. Unless Trav says he shouldn't, he tells Janeth. "Not that I mind telling you that I am a doctor. "
This message was last edited by the player at 20:46, Sun 23 Apr 2017.

Trav simply says, somewhat sadly - "I am the last Time Lord. In exchange for your generosity, my science, my history, and labor is at your disposal. However, my ship and it's contents are sacrosanct. It is my home, and aside from my loved ones here, all I have left, so I can't give that away."

She brightens a little. "I'm here to help. I'm pretty good at science, and invention, and I've seen a lot of history, and I've lived a few lives. I'm sure that there's something my mind and hearts can offer you. I can also sew and cook. I'm a scholar, by trade. Maybe I can give you copies of volumes from my library? Or tales that I have heard or seen?"

"Stanley Newton is the best medical doctor I know. Stanley, I think that the price for spending time here is a good faith trade of services, goods or skills."

Without a full how-you-do in the offing, Smoke Alarm made do with just a warrior's curtsey, then outlooked rather puzzled at the welcoming mat being given to them by these people. But she caught the offer of healing: mayhaps this was like a Rezzie's holiday home or retirement village and would be a good place for Traveller to sleep-tight and relax on the couch knitting after her big change.

'Things we can do?' Smoke clarified, wondering. 'Well, I can wallscrawl and arrowgun and knowhow and Kang Fu and catch-me-if-you-can...' she listed off on her fingers.

"You have it exactly, ma'am.  The goal of the Habisphere is to serve as a commonwealth promoting the full realization of each visitor's well-being and ability.  To that end each visitor is asked to share the fruit and the philosophy of their particular experience and skills, whether those fall in the spheres of art, science, craft, or simple knowledge.  In the fullest sense of the term Hathtotep is a university."
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:34, Mon 24 Apr 2017.

Trav's eyes light up when Janeth says university.

"Oh goodness. Teaching, research, learning?"

If only I could have been Louise and been here.

"Not this time. Some days, my Sweet Boy lets me steer him. Other days, he steers me."

It appears that Ches is continuing to take down the travelers' information, even if he may not be crystal clear on what wallscrawling or Kang Fu might be.  Meanwhile Halan has moved off to speak privately with a few of the onlookers still standing by, who disperse after he has done so.

"Allow me to suggest that you take the opportunity to explore the district a bit, to find for yourself what the Habisphere can offer you," Janeth says.  "I would particularly call to your attention the Collegium, for those whose interests lie along the intellectual paths; the Circus of Arms, for persons inclined toward pursuits of physical excellence; or there is always the Grand Bazaar, a center for general cultural interchange."

More tiny flying bots descend on the group, one taking up an orbit near each of the travelers.  "If you require any additional guidance or assistance, your familiar should be able to provide it."

'...And skip-hop and wubstep,' Smoke Alarm continued for Ches's benefit, who somehow interested in all she could do. And she could do a lot. 'And lost-and-found and...'

She broke off when the flying robot descended upon her, zipping and circling about her blue head. 'Flying cleaners!' she yelped, ducking and trying to bat the thing away.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:18, Thu 27 Apr 2017.

"Please do not interfere with the functioning of this unit," the buzz-bot accosting Smoke Alarm protests, darting and bobbing out of reach.  "This unit is a navigational and informational aid.  Sanitation, grooming and waste disposal are no part of this unit's functionality."

Smoke Alarm was not reassured, nor listening. 'I don't want any! Go away!'
This message was last edited by the player at 05:19, Tue 25 Apr 2017.

The Traveller shakes her head in worry. "Smoke Alarm is from a place where mechanical devices were hostile. She took a long time to get used to the mechanicals aboard my ship."

"No,no, Smoke - they're like the scutters, they just talk. They're not cleaners, it even said so!"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:45, Tue 25 Apr 2017.

'Mayhaps! But I don't want it flapping 'round me and Puddy!'
This message was last edited by the player at 05:31, Tue 25 Apr 2017.

She growled slightly, tensing up, her spear at her side; but she didn't say anything for now. She was still a bit lost - where was the Citadel?

"This unit apologizes for inadvertently triggering any automaton-specific anxiety disorders," says the bot.  "The Habisphere is a place of personal enrichment.  Exposure therapy is available to assist in treating individuals for a wide variety of common phobias, should assistance be desired."

Ches is continuing to pore over his slate.  "Ah.  I knew something sounded familiar here," he says.  "According to this, a Professor D'jon-jon X!escati, Lecturer-Practitioner in Urban Tribal Esoterica, has scheduled an exhibition of Early Neoclassical Wubstep at the Peremin Conservatory later this evening.  You might be able to assist him in his research, miss!"

'Wah?' worriedly began Smoke Alarm, who had knowhow of mayhaps one word in nine of all this. While the chattering flying cleaner was distractified, she skipped away from it, her attention caught by Ches. Something icehot at last, mayhaps! 'I heared wubstep?'

"What do I call you? Just unit or do you have a name?" Stanley asks the bot that is orbiting him.

"This unit's primary designation is a sixteen-kilobit binary identifier.  This unit is capable of responding to a user-defined designation if one is desired for more convenient disambiguation purposes."

"Indeed, miss."  Ches shows her an image projected on his slate.  It displays a brown-skinned man with small round-rimmed spectacles, a dark formal-looking collarless suit, and amazing long moustaches and dreadlocks.  He's holding something that, while oddly colored and patterned to Smoke Alarm's eyes, has the unmistakable shape and look of a wubble-board.

"The Conservatory can be found... oh... roughly... there...." Ches explains hesitantly, trying to point up through the weird jumble of buildings.  "I'm sorry if the familiars alarm you, but they're the most commonly used guides for getting around.  Routes and paths through the Habisphere can be, well, changeable and they are in constant communication the best sources of information."

Smoke's flybot is hanging back at a distance now that Smoke has made her displeasure with it known.  If it is possible for a tiny hovering bird-bot to appear contrite and dejected, it does.

'Wubstep!' Smoke Alarm gasped in amazement. It was betterer than skip-hop! She took a foot toward the Tower Ches had show-and-telled, then stop-signed, footing back to Traveller's side. 'Um, but I have to outlook for Traveller, coz she's not shape-ship and sound right now...' she began, a bit dejectedly. But it was important that she outlook for Trav and keep her sound-and-safe, more important even than wubstep. It was probably some Inbetween's silly wubstep anyhow.

'And I don't want the bird-cleaner chasing me neither, coz then I have to run from it. If I want knowhow or for it to show-and-tell you-are-here, I'll track back and ask one.' she offered, grudgingly.

"Remembering sixteen-kilobits might be a bit difficult for me." Stanley says. "Let's call you...uh...Tobias. Back when I was still studying to become a doctor, I knew a guy called Tobias, and since this place is a university it is sort of fitting. Is that name okay with you?"

"Entirely salutary, sir," replies Tobias.  "How may I assist or direct you?"

The Traveller digs in her bag, and finds a new-old phone - a worn out Samsung Galaxy phablet of some kind.

"Everyone, test you phones. I think I need a spa treatment, then I am going to give a lecture. Hm. Chibi. Are you there?"

An avatar indeed pops up. But instead of the 2nd Traveller done in kawaii form, the little program looks like a familiar blonde time traveler. "I'm always here, baby!"

The Traveller fondly smiles. "It looks like you changed, too. I hope you're feeling OK with the new integration and upgrade. Can you do me a favor and check the local data infrastructure? If you can get onto what the analogue for social media is here, send out this announcement - "I'M A TIME TRAVELLER AND MY BODY HAS JUST CHANGED. ASK ME ANYTHING." Schedule it for 4 local hours ahead of now, in a free local plaza and ampitheater. And order sangria and tacos. Hm, tacos."

Trav turns to the bird like familiar. "Hello. I've just changed. If at all possible, if you can direct me to a local spa so that I can relax, maybe get some new clothes, and bring a tray with some tools and parts. I feel the twin needs for exfoliation and to create something. In exchange, I'll be happy to give a talk. I've traveled from one end of the time stream to the other. I think I have a few things to offer."

She turns to Stanley. "You're my general practicioner, Stanley. Do you want to give me a once over? I'm mostly... done. Mostly." She cricks her neck.

Trav turns back to everyone else. "So, while I hunt for shiatsu and a makeover, please, enjoy this place, but let's stay in touch with phones, yes?"

After answering questions and chatting with the team, Trav pops back into the TARDIS for a moment. From the wrecked scrap heap she has in her bag her two pistols. She tells her familiar - "These weapons are deactivated, here are their clips. I'm going to be reconstructing them. Please download to my phone your security and weapons policies and send to my associates as well - we want to be good guests."

Hm, already seems like she is settling in.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:01, Fri 28 Apr 2017.

Kalath didn't need any urging to slink off and explore. Of course, she didn't draw attention to the fact she had her spear, if not her bow. She also didn't point out that 'phones' was not something she was familiar with. She knew though that the Citadel had to be around here someplace. Traveller and her friends were just playing some kind of prank on her. But she'd find it, yes she would!

"Kalath!" Trav trots over to her. "Here. I don't want to lose you, like I lost Phillipe. Here, this is a phone. You talk into it, and I can hear you from another one, from far away. This is science." She pauses for a moment.

"Carry this with you, so we can find you, and you can find us. We're a pack now. We can't hunt alone. You're far, far away from home."

She presses a beat up old flip phone into her hand.

OOC: Spending 1 SP for resourceful pockets, for a Kalath friendly phone.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:15, Fri 28 Apr 2017.

"Sure, that might not be a bad idea after such a drastic event, but..." Stanley hesitates. "You should consider getting a second opinion from one of the doctors here. For me, diagnosing and treating non-human species means having to improvise... Okay, I know that is not something you want to hear from a medical professional. It is not that I have absolutely no idea what I am doing. A lot of what I learned back on Earth is transferable to the species we have met so far and the TARDIS has a good library with interesting material I have been studying. That doesn't mean that there is still an awful lot I don't know. Take that transformation of yours... it is very drastic. I can't wrap my head around how it is supposed to work. I am not sure I won't miss something subtle."

"Another example is all that psychic stuff. There might be someone here who can check that the Cheetah..." Stanley stops himself and looks at Tobias. He has to assume that thing is always listening and mentioning some unknown virus is just inviting trouble from the local government. 'Uh, check that that Cheetah attack didn't leave any lasting damage.'

As Kalath looks around to try to properly get her bearings, a couple of things stand out to her.

One is the buildings.  They're different in form than the ones she's familiar with, of course, tall and ungainly and built with all sorts of architectural frippery that looks nearly impossible to properly defend.  And although she's no stranger to building being overgrown with plant life, she's not used to it all seeming so deliberate.  The Stronghold was kept scrupulously clean of anything that might offer cover to lurking Hunters, and untended building were just grown thick with whatever foliage managed to get a figurative foothold.  These buildings looked like they had been hung with vines and flowers on purpose, deliberately tended to some unknown purpose.  Like the people here had for some reason put their greenhouses and gardens on the outside of their structures.

And the people are another thing entirely.  There are so many of them, walking freely in the open and easy, easy prey for any Hunter happening by.  And Kalath is moving among them armed, yet few of them seem to regard her and her weapons as anything but a harmless curiosity.

The feeling of being at the bottom of a bowl is growing stronger to Kalath as she walks farther off: she never quite gets the sense that she is going up at all.  She wanders into an area, another open plaza, that is more shaded from above.  Looking up, she sees that three of the buildings at the edges of this plaza are joined by a broad platform that spans the space between them, maybe a hundred feet up or more.  Railed stairways twist around the outside of the buildings at the platform's vertices.  Perhaps from up there she'll be able to get a better vantage point....

Trav's familiar bobs in front of her, projecting a holographic 3-D wireframe of the local area with a zig-zagging and erratically ascending purple line traced through it.  "There is a low-invasive Recovery Center offering full-spectrum restorative hygiene services up to and including analeptic nanotherapy," it tells her.  "Also offering, I am given to understand, blended fruit drinks with the little umbrellas.  Per your second request, I can enter a summons for a Technical Remediation servicer to meet you at that location."
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:20, Sat 29 Apr 2017.

After making some last double-handed shooing gestures at her familiar, Smoke Alarm footed after Traveller, trying as ever to keep up. She certainly acted and sounded like the other Traveller, life-as-large and a busy-bee and giving away talkiphones.

Keeping her distance from Travellers' familiar, she got her new/old friend's attention. 'Do you want me to play nurse?'

"Little umbrellas! This is true civilization! What is a 'technical remediation servicer', pray tell? Please, my buzzing friend, lead on!"

"No, but once I'm ship shape, we'll run. You can teach me games, yes? Last body was frail like a bird. This one, a little tougher, stronger, more limber. I'm so looking forward to running with you, Smoke Alarm! I'll never be as good as a Kang, but still! You can show me all the places and hidey holes and leaps and jumps, right? That is, if you'll let me." The smile is warm and excited, like someone newly met.

Trav, Stanley and Smoke make their way up from the plaza where the TARDIS arrived.  There are a number of options for making their ascent, long spiral stairways and open-air lifts.  When they've achieved a bit more elevation, they can see long tethers criss-crossing the sky, with lift cages crawling smoothly along them.

They also notice that there is a fairly sharp gradient of decreasing ambient gravity.  Smoke Alarm becomes aware of this first, as she is both the lightest and perhaps the stompiest of the three, and realizes that her more emphatic steps tend to be propelling her upward more than she expects.

After they've reached a more substantial height, they get a better perspective on the green "clouds".  They look like vast leafy thickets, with spaces hollowed through them and some basic, light platforms built in and among them where people can relax.  And now it is also easier to make out the individuals swooping between the towers, and the gardens -- some are using more conventional gliders, but others just have long wings with colorful fabric stretched out between the ribbing, buckled up the lengths of their arms, and odd boots or sandals with affixed steering vanes.

They finally arrive at their designated destination.  It's actually the cap of one of the lower towers, with a broad dome topping a subdivided open-air structure.  The whole dome is mostly ringed in by more floating foliage, which seem to serve as baffles for ambient sound and provide some privacy from external view.

The trio are approached by a tall insectoid creature with huge blue faceted eyes and a truly horrific looking set of mandibles.  It is standing upright and wearing a pastel smock-like uniform; its two left arms are holding and operating a slate device like the one Ches had.

It makes a series of rapid clicking noises with its mouth.  When the travelers don't respond for a few moments, it cocks its head for a moment, then holds its right forearms against each other and starts making an intricate set of coordinated motions with them.

"Your pardon," its arms "say" in a beautiful, humanlike female voice.  "You are the Traveller and party, correct?  Here for special treatment?  How may I serve you?"

'Okay.' Smoke Alarm agreed to show-and-tell the new Traveller the knowhow of hop-skip-jump, making a hopeful half-smile. She tried to be excited with Trav, all icehot and shouty, but she was still too shocked by the re-generation-thingey and worry-warting about her friend. 'I spose you have to foot before you can fly.'

Footing about with the others (and keeping her distance from Trav's and Stan's bird-cleaners), Smoke Alarm made many hops and skips and jumps to test the ever-reducing rate of falling around her. It would make running up and down the city different – tricksier, but also more way more icehot if she could work it out.

She eyespied the cockroach-lady, and 'wared it. Kangs hadn't gained much knowhow from cockroaches and such, except how to play dead, nor had much to-do with them, but insects still provoked an instinctive shiver. She stepped protectively in front of Traveller. 'What kind of special treat?' she demanded.

The Traveller has been hopping and skipping, occasionally doing a handstand, or even  a graceful full gymnastics roll, as if testing out her new form. As she tumbles and lands gracefully, she arrives right in front of the insectoid being. "Hello. Yes, I am indeed The Traveller. This is Stanley and Smoke Alarm, and Kalath is no doubt stalking nearby. I've just undergone a drastic metamorphic change. I'd like a full manicure, pedicure, my hair done, a nice bath and hair treatment, a full spectrum body scan and quantum level physical inventory, with results sent to my physician Dr Newton here, and recommendations and treatments to assist me in harmonizing my new body. I'd also like a full shiatsu massage and accupressure treatment to get my body all nice and aligned, and to see your selection of delightful fruit drinks I've heard of. Please also make my companions aware of your services. I'll be doing some technical work during all of this, if you don't mind. I have some weapons that must change, as I have. That is permitted, yes?"

She turns to her companions. "My beloveds, you don't have to stick around while I get a facial. You have your phones - you might want to go and explore. This place seems marvelous. Go and enjoy yourselves, or stay with me and get the spa treatment if you want. But lets keep an eye on Kalath."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:53, Sat 29 Apr 2017.

Smoke Alarm wasn't at all sure what treats Traveller was asking for here. And who needed a bath anyhow? Whatever it all was, it sounded kind of yawny. But she loitered, filled with loyalty Sereth would be proud of (and a little guilt for running away earlier). 'Mmm, I'll stay. You said I had to outlook for you, to keep you sound-and-safe.'

The attendant consults her (?) slate.  "Yes, your therapy artists have recommended a course including non-invasive, thirty-six point chi calibration, and a full-body, hot pumice slurry exsanguination!"

She pauses a moment, nicitating membranes blinking over her eye clusters.  "Sorry, small mistake.  Exfoliation."

Trav's eyes go wide for a moment.

"Thank you. I've had bad experiences with Haemovores of various kinds before. Please, leave my blood where it is, thank you."

Oh how could she resist? Getting up to the top would give her a great vantage point. And besides, would be aces.

She vaulted towards the stairs, and clambered up them at all speed. All safe speed. Well, relatively safe. What was 'safe' anyway? All speed it is!

As Kalath reaches the platform, she is almost overwhelmed by the array of sights and smells.  Much of what she sees is similar to what Stanley, Smoke and Trav saw as they ascended through the area. But in addition, all over the vast area stretching between the buildings are spread a number of pavilions and tents and different sorts of people wandering about between them.

Many of these stands are stacked and hung with a profusion of goods of all sorts, clothing, tools and craftwork, even one or two that have wares that she's able to readily identify as weapons.  Many more of them seem like they're offering food, some of them cooking their wares over open firepits.  Kalath has never seen this much raw wealth in her life.

As before, Kalath is surprised by the ease and unworried curiosity these people have for her as she walks among them.

As Trav is taken aside to begin her "treament", there is a kchunk! from the rim of the platform surrounding the dome.  The three see that a little powered flyer has clamped on to the rim of the platform, and a device is rolling off of it -- another cleaner! is Smoke Alarm's first reaction.  It's a cheery red color, and it reminds her and Stanley a little of the salesbot, 7152C, that they met on Estanve Gastem.  It's rolling on triangular tank treads, and has stubby little manipulator arms and a wedge-shaped, sad-eyed head.  Its torso section, though, consists of a large number of latched drawers, making Stanley think of someone putting arms and a head onto a big workshop tool chest.

"Servicer Z881N responding to visitor request!" it burbles, its head swiveling to and fro to see who is in need of assistance.

"I think I'll take the chance to explore this place." Stanley says.



"Visitor request?" Stanley looks around to see who has called this robot here.

'’Ware cleaners!' Smoke Alarm hissed warningly as the red robot arrived – something that rolled along with that many arms and drawers outlooked too much like the Cleaners of Paradise Towers. She leaped in front of the new Traveller, determined to protect her. 'We don't want any ’kay-thanks-bye!' she told it hurriedly.

The Traveller bemusedly and gently moves Smoke Alarm to her side. "Thank you for being protective of me. This machine here only wants to make me ship shape and sound. We aren't in the towers and this machine doesn't work for the Great Architect. Please, relax, okay? Just like the scutters."

Trav thinks that these 'cleaners' must have been truly terrifying, like Cybermen or something.

Smoke Alarm was reassured, but not convinced. She still ’wared the scutters, even outlooking for them and their grabby hands thru the corner of her eye. 'Mmm, all-right, but: no ball-games, no fly-posts, no making unalive.' she ordered the red cleaner.

The servicer backs up, head swiveling rapidly between Smoke Alarm and Trav in apparent dismay.  "This unit is neither equipped nor programmed for ball games nor flyposts, and the termination of life forms is strictly contra-indicated by this unit's positronic configuration!" it protests.  "This unit was summoned to provide spares and tools to assist in technical diagnosis and repair."

"Ah, yes. Perfect. Please place the tray here. I'll be working on this as I'm getting my treatment, thank you."

As The Traveller is tastefully disrobed and a towel is placed over her and she lays down on the table, she has in front of her a tray with her beloved turbopistols before her. This wasn't the first time she modified her pieces, but still. These irons started on Rifts Earth. They were Louise's guns. In them were pieces from even before - hilts and chambers and triggers from the 2nd and 1st Traveller's pieces.

"You saved many lives and stood strong against many evils, friends. You will continue, wearing a new shape. Thank you for standing by me." She closes her eyes for a long moment.

Then, from her old bag, she draws out a sleek, black, new looking device. Fans of the the Traveller recognize this as the infamous Rod, the device of terror which the Marshall first used to wage conquest against the Doctor and the Corsair, and then later executed the Time War against the Daleks.

"And as for you, my black beauty, I must make account for you. I am the Marshall, I have always been the Marshall, but now I am the Traveller and that name is my promise. So, the tools of the Marshall are now the tools of the Traveller, and will abide by that name and promise, and make amends for what was done under the Marshall's name. You are my Rod, and I will own what I did with you, and do more just things with you. I have been afraid of what you stand for long enough. The Marshall posed a fearful question. I give the Traveller's answer."

She uses her beat up old sonic, that tool of hers that has never changed. Her glasses are on, and the pistols and the rod start to disassemble. She's starting to make something new, rearranging the old, worn hilts of the pistols with the sleek black parts of the rod.

As the android gives her taps at her meridians with the needles, she ahs and ohs softly, and the sonic whirrs. As hours pass, a hilt is starting to form - the old wood of the turbpistol hilts forming comfortable grips. On one side, two small in-carving of flags - a representation of the original 1776 American flag at the top end of the and at the bottom a red and black anarchist banner. On the otherside, at the bottom of the wooden grip is a small set of Gallifreyan circles and at the top a small Yin-Yang circle.

"Hm. Hm. Yes. Almost done."

"Maybe I will get a tattoo."

As she looks up, The Traveller asks, "Smoke Alarm, dearest beloved." She blows on the hilt, blowing away some dust. "What is a flypost? Why are ballgames forbidden? A wipeout is someone being killed, right? You might have explained this to me in the past, but I've never been to the Towers."

She pauses, as she considers her new creation. "What to call you. Hm. Turboblade sounds like something from a sentai show. Vortex Blade sounds like something from the War. "The Blade" sounds pretentious. Cutter sounds violent. Can opener sounds limited. Sonic Blade sounds like a band."

"American blade, maybe."

"Tobias," Stanley says to his robot guide as he walks away from the recovery center. "The people in this space station expect me to share my knowledge and/or skills, right? In that case, I think I'll try to be useful in a hospital or a clinic. Can you calculate a route or something?"

"Certainly, sir," Tobias says.  "I can guide you to the Aesculapium, if you like.  It is a working infirmary... however, it is also a kind of permanent symposium on comparative medicine.  Physicians from across the spiral arm come to share their techniques and insights.  If I understand correctly, you have first-hand knowledge from the early Humanian Era that some of the practitioners might find highly valuable."

Tobias leads Stanley to a free-standing structure some distance away from the place where he has left Trav and Smoke Alarm, down again on the "floor" or "shell" of the Habisphere.  The attempt at evoking a Classical style is more obvious here than with much of the architecture.  On the facade over the entryway are carved the words:

So, this Traveller worked in the nudd. Okay... Thru all this, Smoke Alarm loitered and outlooked, customarily ’waring all the cleaners and everything else. 'Don't hurt her! She's not a pin cushion!' she squealed when one started poking pins into her. She wondered if she was meant to have pins poked into her too.

'All these things are Not Allowed by Order of the Chief Artchitect... Well, that's what the Caretakers say-so anyhow, but Kangs don't do what they say-so, or what Kroagnon said. We say them to rememorized them, to show-and-tell that no means no.' Smoke Alarm explained, in a way that wasn't really going to elucidate. 'Flyposts are posts with flies on them. We think, mayhaps. Flies are bad...'

'When all the Yellow Kangs were made unalive, the Doctor said they were wiped out. This we had knowhow of, coz Kangs were being wiped out by cleaners like caretakers wiped out our wallscrawls, so it became a Kang word.'

'And ballgames...' Smoke Alarm tugged sadly at a worn and ragged blue netball bib, with the letters WA peeled off long ago. 'No ballgames.' she repeated with numb Kang grief. 'No ballgames...'

Shaking away the rememories, she asked Traveller 'You're making an icehot kitchen knife?'

If this mystifies Smoke Alarm, she may well be further puzzled when nozzles open in the big round basin in the floor and start to fill it with jets of hot water, and she may be downright swoggled when other ports open in the bowl, injecting streams of fine gray particles.  Before too long, the whole thing fills up with a churning, steaming mass of gray and gritty mud.

She realizes that although it may be filled up with rocks for some reason, it's a pool.

A pool in the sky!

Stanley nods. "Let's hope they find it valuable."

He enters the building and searches for where he needs to register.

"I took the liberty of transmitting your details ahead once you were on your way, sir," Tobias says.

Despite the deliberately archaic design aesthetic, Stanley sees as he walks in that the amenities within the building look comfortable and modern enough.  On his left there's a wide curving marble receptions desk, with a couple of attendants standing behind it -- one is a young, unremarkably human man; the other is humanoid, but has canted blue eyes, a pale and wrinkled hairless scalp, and a collection of dangling tentacles where their mouth should be.  The right side of the room is taken up by a selection of padded benches and chairs where a number of people are sitting, plainly a patients' waiting area.

Bracketed between these two areas is an open hallway leading further into the building.  Stanley can see that the passage opens up into a subdivided area, and people are bustling past.  It's so clearly like any number of hospitals Stanley has been in that he feels almost at home despite the strangeness of it.

Coming down that passageway is a person with nearly humanlike features, though with a grayer skin tone and flatter features than any human would have.  Stanley would assume them to be female by their similarity in form to human females, but he's been to enough alien worlds that he knows this isn't necessarily a certain assumption.  A drone similar in form to Tobias is hovering next to her as she walks forward, consulting a data slate.

She looks up and spots Stanley -- and abruptly her expression brightens, and then her features melt and shift, erupting in brilliant blue and green feathers.  Her eyes physically grow wide, and her mouth forms into a sort of short beak.  "Doctor Newton!" she trills.  "It's good to have you visiting us.  Come, we shouldn't waste any time, as we have patients waiting."

Glancing over at the waiting area, she says, "There is a Mr. Vez Serficio here?"  An elderly human with dark skin and elaborate red scalp tattoos stands.  "Excellent.  I am Doctor Mril Astas, and this is Doctor Stanley Newton of Earth.  We're privileged to be your consulting physicians today!"

Stanley can't hide his surprise when the alien's face transforms. She was definitely not human. He nods and focuses on what she is saying. They worked fast here, if they already scheduled patients lined up for him, even with the advance warning from Tobias. "Uh... we have patients?... In that case, let's get started. if there is one thing patients don't like it's waiting. "



"That is right." Stanley smiles friendly at Mr. Serficio. He is still not really sure what is expected of him. Is there a special reason he was assigned to this patient? He looks human, so maybe that is why, but looks can be deceiving. He looks at Doctor Astas. "I assume we'll go to one of the consulting rooms now?"


OOC: Does the old man also have a robot familiar?

Pool in the sky? It was mayhaps the yuckiest pool in the sky she'd ever eyespied. She was no fan of bath-time, but this outlooked like it got the concept completely upside-down. First Traveller was being poked with pins, now this. She'd been loitering for Traveller to show-and-tell what all this was for, but she could loiter no longer. 'Trav! What are we doing here? Are you going to make mud-pies?'

Kalath felt overwhelmed. She continued to explore, her eyes bright with curiosity. How could they have so much wealth? There wouldn't have been that much wealth in her entire home; and yet they took it as a matter of course. They ignored her spears. Did they have security; like the Stronghold? Were they so enmeshed in their wealth they didn't realise what these were?

"Indeed.  Follow me, Doctor; Mr. Serficio, right this way."

Stanley notices that there's another familiar trailing Serficio, but it follows them all at a significant distance, while Serficio moves carefully, holding his left arm firmly with his right hand, and also keeping well clear of Tobias and Mril's familiar as well.  Mril's features, meanwhile, are slowly shifting back toward normal, the feathers and such seeming to be slowly reabsorbed by her skin.

The three (six) of them reach a small cordoned area that is perhaps fix or six meters on a side.  There's an examining bench there, and surrounding it on several sides are what appear to be diagnostic instruments of different kinds -- some obvious in nature, like a lighted magnifier, others that Stanley might be able to puzzle out given a closer look.

"Mr. Serficio, I've asked Dr. Newton to join this consultation because of his extensive practical experience with baseline Terran physiology.  The reason for that will become clearer in a bit... first, why don't you explain the nature of your complaint?"

"That would be my arm, of course," Serficio says.  "About thirty years gone, I was treated for Besine's palsy.  Simple stuff, they said at the time, just a symbiotic nano-colony to arrest the infection in the nerves and build active neuron bridges in order to restore its right workings.  Did well, up until a few months gone.  Of course I didn't think a lot of a little tremor, you don't get up to a hundred and thirty without a few things going off, but, well, now look at this."

He releases his left arm and it starts to make what Stanley would call spasms, except that they're rather too precise and purposeful for that -- a set of regular, sharp twists, flexes and extensions.  They remind Stanley of the motions of assembly-line robot manipulators from back in his own time, acting out a set of programmed motions.

Mril is nodding gravely at this, and seems to not be conscious of the way her skin is reshaping itself into leathery overlapping plates, putting Stanley in mind of the hide of an armadillo.

"I've only read about this," she says, "but it looks like it might be a case of auto-synaptic cascade.  The nanoforms are meant to be adaptive over time, but in rare cases they can evolve their own semisentient programming.  Look at the arm, Doctor -- it looks as if the bots are trying to learn how to work Mr. Serficio's arm.  Rather than helping him to work it as they're meant to."
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:00, Fri 05 May 2017.

As Kalath wanders through the shops and stalls, the funny mechanical bird she was given bobbing alongside, she feels her stomach start to growl at her a little.  It's not a notably predatory feeling, and she does not feel particularly inclined to run and pounce upon passersby; she's just aware that it has been some time since she has eaten anything.  She's not entirely sure what the rules are here -- at the Stronghold, she would normally be permitted to hold back part of any kill she brought home, and she would be issued her daily ration along with everyone else.  But the woman in blue had said something about an "assessment"....

"Hey!  You-girl!"

She looks around to see who has shouted.  In an open space in the middle of a semicircle of booths, there's a small cluster of observers gathered around a blue-skinned, shaven-headed man.  He's stripped to the waist with a wide green belt or sash tied at the top of his trousers, lean and strong-looking but not musclebound.  She'd vaguely noticed him before --
 that skin was unusual, but there were stranger individuals to be seen here -- but hadn't really registered what he was doing.  She sees that in each hand he holds a short, dark, polished wooden baton.

"You-girl makes fighting with long-spear?" he asks.  The question doesn't seem belligerent, more curious and a little eager.  "Me-Sando is Acolyte of the Short Rods, Green Sash; me gives show-how of the Crowning Way, for they-folk.  You-girl gives show-how for-with me-Sando?  Shows you-way, sets against Sando-way?"

"I just went through a big change. The butterfly is pulling herself out of the shell. These folks are helping me get ship shape, and making me feel pretty and nice. The mud pulls bad stuff out. Go ahead, run, skip, explore. You have your phone so you watch me. See?" She sets her own phone into the small stand she carries in her bag and turns the camera on. "See? So you can keep  your eyespy promise. This is like a...hm... like a really big brainquarters for a whole bunch of people, maybe. Does that make sense?"

Nano-colony? A hundred and thirty years old? So much for baseline human.

"I see..." Stanley doesn't know if he agrees with Doctor Astas conclusion that the nanobots are trying to work Mr. Serficio's arm, but it is clear that something is malfunctioning. He wonders how long the warranty on a nanocolony is. "Are you having any other problems like feeling dizzy or headaches? You said this started a couple of months ago with a little tremor, but if you think back did something happen either shortly before or shortly after the tremor that might be connected. Maybe something like an infection or food poisoning? I agree with Doctor Astas that this is probably due to the nanocolony, but I want to rule out some things and maybe find out why the colony would start to misbehave."

He turns to Doctor Astas. "What is the normal lifetime for nanoforms like these? I imagine it is more than thirty years?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:08, Sat 06 May 2017.

'It's a Tower. Lots of towers put altogether. Like Paradise Towers.' And that was why, mayhaps, she didn't feel so sound-and-safe here. She had knowhow it all could all go wrong. 'Or the Draconian brainquarters. I was sposed to be sound-and-safe there, but still I got into a to-do. Traveller the Last made me pinky-swear to outlook for you, and I can't do that shapeship with a talkiphone eyespy. So I won't leave you alonesome here.' she vowed, standing straight and vigilant. Like Sereth would.

But she was also easily bored and figured that she couldn't save Traveller from going gurgling down the plughole (for example) from far outside. 'More, mayhaps I should go with you. Me and Puddy.' She outlooked, mystified, at the mud pool. She didn't knowhow where to stand with pools that made you dirty. 'Um. What do I do?'

She freezes, and raises her spear.

"You... wish to fight? What do I get when I beat you?"

Serficio shrugs.  Carefully.  "Can't think of it, if there was something.  I had finished off an inspection tour for the Data Hive on Etrapsis Minor -- that's my line of work, infotech archiving and infrastructure.  Pretty normal cycle of work, hadn't experienced any sort of medical problems I was aware of.  Maybe was feeling a little down, because the Data Hive switched contractors and I wouldn't be going back to see the folks there any more.  But I see a psychist regular, last check-up was eight months agao, and she gave me a clean bill of emotional health."


"They're meant to be lifelong symbiotes -- the process to infuse them and get them to 'take' takes some time and attention, but after the first year or so one should just be able to forget about the possibility of any complications coming up."

"If spear-girl gets the better of Sando?"

He spreads his arms wide, holding the batons out.  His audience all have perked up at this turn of events, and some more people from the crowd and working the nearby booths have turned to pay attention too.  Sando gives a wide grin.

"Glory."
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:28, Sat 06 May 2017.

"Can we reset their programming?" Stanley asks Doctor Astas. She should have requested an engineer from the company that originally programmed these things. Or maybe they have the facilities here to do adjustments. "I realise that Mr. Serficio will have to retrain the nanoforms, but it sounds like a relatively risk-free option."

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 69):

"That is no reward. -I- already know I could beat you. I am not so weak as I need to prove myself to people who don't even know me."

And she didn't yet wish to descend to eating sentient life. Not... yet.

Mril looks thoughtful... and her features contract and wrinkle up to resemble something like a tortoise.  "I believe the only answer along those lines would be a full purge and reseeding.  Essentially we would have to kill off the colony currently inhabiting Mr. Serficio, flush them from his system, and then repeat the original procedure.  They're not meant to be modified in situ."

Sando shrugs.

"Who-for would spear-girl need to prove herself to, in truth?  People who already know her would know her skill, not like Sando-me nor all people-we, yes?"

But he lowers his weapons to his sides and gives a slight bow to Kalath.  "Stay you watchful-safe and strike well, spear-girl," he says.  The onlookers look disappointed that there apparently isn't going to be an exhibition.

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 73):

"I do not wish to kill you. But I will fight you unarmed; if you tell me what you know of this place. It's customs, explain it's strangeness."

Sando barks a laugh.  "And Sando-me wants not the killing of Sando or of spear-girl!  So bound-in-thought are we, no?"

But he seems to get Kalath's confusion nevertheless.  He slots the batons into snug cloth sheaths sewn to the thighs of his trousers, and ambles over toward her, though he stays well out of a threatening distance.  "See.  The World-Around-A-Sun--"  He gestures widely to indicate not just the bazaar, or the platform, but the whole weird world around them.  "--It was made not for the trading of things, for the making of wealth-in-things, but for sharing of life, of wealth-in-mind, wealth-in-body, wealth-in-heart."  He taps his forehead, his bicep, and his chest in turn as he says this.

He gestures around and this time he does seem to be indicating the people with their stalls and their goods.  "All people-these, they come to bring their wealth-of-hands, their craft, their glory.  People-they don't ask for things of trade, to offer up spice-meat for the belly, bright-silk for the back, tool-of-craft for the hand.  People-they give, to Sando-me, to spear-girl, as testaments of self.  But Sando-me does the same."

He blurs into motion, and has the batons out in a flash, weaving them through a complex pattern that even Kalath's eye can scarcely follow.  And he ends briefly in a martial ready stance, before he sighs and with a flourish, sheathes the weapons again.

"Sando-me has wealth-of-skill to share and show, but most of people-they, they will see it and know it poorly, unless they see it as-for-use.  Sando-me asked for spear-girl to join him, to share her wealth, for the knowing of glory-hers.  If spear-girl had not this knowing, Sando craves her pardon."

"Difficult, but doable. Let's keep that option in mind." Stanley says. It sounds less than ideal for the patient, but so are the spasms. "Wait... something, some process modified them to cause this. They have the ability to learn, right? Can't we somehow teach them to function normally again. Intensive physical therapy or something? That would be less drastic than a purge."

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 75):

"I will fight, if that is what you wish. But how you heal from a spear's thrust? It takes many days; whilst my fists will not be as bad."

"In theory, that's possible... they are meant to 'train' themselves through patient exercises and the like.  Like any life form, they are the product of their mechanical makeup, and learned responses from the environment.  If you've noticed, that's why the familiars are keeping their distance -- they need to keep their network traffic clear of the space where Mr. Serficio's symbionts would pick it up; there's no telling how it might interact with their modified behavior."

"If spear-girl worries on such," Sando says, "spear-girl would know well who has won, when the winning is done, before her long-spear splits flesh for-true.  Sando-me would know.  But.  If spear-girl would be -- spearless-girl?-- with Sando-me instead...."  He bows low at the waist arms spread back.  "Sando-me accepts."

He turns his back and takes a few strides away, swaggering as he pulls his batons again and lofts them carelessly into the crowd, where a surprised young woman who has been watching catches them out of the air.  Sando turns into a slight crouch, balancing on the balls of his feet, and hold his arms out toward Kalath, palms up.

"Ready!  Bring Sando-me your battle, spearless-girl!"

Kalath grins; jamming her spear into the ground; raising her fists. This was as good a test as any; could she resist the urge, with the changes that had been made, when fighting?

She danced forward, and her fist lashed out; whilst using her abilities to try to keep out of his reach.

OOC:
14:05, Today: Kalath rolled 15 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 6,1.  Dodging: Co-ordination + Fighting + Unarmed - 2(second action) .
14:05, Today: Kalath rolled 18 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 3,5.  Co-ordination + Fighting + Unarmed.

Sando tries to spin past Kalath's guard, but he seems to have slightly misjudged her speed.  He gets his guard up to block, but it's a solid blow to his forearm  nevertheless, and his counterstrike whistles past Kalath as the two fighters disengage.

The audience gasps as one.  Sando's face splits into a big smile and his eyes light up; he seems positively delighted that Kalath is going to be a real challenge for him.  "Hey-hey!" he shouts.  "Spearless-girl not so much worried about not having her long-spear, Sando sees.  Excellent!"

OOC:

22:18, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC Sando, rolled 10 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 1,3.  Attacking Kalath: Coordination(4) + Fighting(4) -2 (second action).
22:17, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC Sando, rolled 15 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 5,2.  Dodging Kalath: Coordination(4) + Fighting(4).

Sando's got Tough as Kalath does, so he soaks the half damage from Kalath's strength.  He's definitely not got the edge here, though....

"Read a book with me, while I get scrubbed down. I'm sorry for boring you while I get made ship shape.  Maybe comics or something else. And thank you for keeping your promise. While I may look all relaxed right now, I'm still not sure who I am yet. Like, right before you became a Blue Kang. You were frightened, right? I'm still not all the way done baking yet."

A grunt; this was going to be tough. She slammed another punch hard and fast, whilst continuing to attempt to deflect his blows.

OOC:
07:21, Today: Kalath rolled 17 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 4,3.  Fighting + Co-ordination + Unarmed. Attacking.

07:22, Today: Kalath rolled 13 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 2,3.  Fighting + Co-ordination + Unarmed -2 (second action). Dodging.
This message was last edited by the player at 21:27, Thu 11 May 2017.

This time as Kalath lashes out, Sando doesn't try to evade her strike, so much as absorb it to try to get inside her reach.  She recognizes that he's trying to bind her up in an arm lock, and while he does get a grip, he isn't able to complete the hold.

Kalath, on the other hand, gets a solid blow through his guard, tagging him hard on the jaw, hard enough to break the skin.  Blood sprays and trickles from the side of Sando's mouth, a darker hue than Kalath recognizes as blood.

But it smells just as sweet as she would expect....

Sando gambled on being able to cut her Coordination and lost.  Meanwhile he takes 2 wounds, so you can decide where that goes from his characteristics.

Also, you can make an Ingenuity + Resolve (Normal - 12) to see if the Call affects you now.

21:46, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC Sando, rolled 11 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 4,1.  Taking the blow: Coordination(4) + Fighting(4) -2.
21:45, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC Sando, rolled 15 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 1,6.  Trying for an arm lock: Coordination(4) + Fighting(4).

She smelled the blood, and her eyes flashed for a moment, but she held herself in check. She knew she shouldn't have but... she needed to finish this. Her foot lashed out, trying to kick him down; hoping it wouldn't draw more blood this time.

"Give up. Before it's too late for both of us."

OOC:
13:20, Today: Kalath rolled 12 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 3,3.  Resisting the call: Ingenuity + resolve. Just!
13:23, Today: Kalath rolled 15 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 3,2.  Co-ordination + Fighting + Unarmed - Attack.
13:24, Today: Kalath rolled 16 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 4,4.  Co-ordination + Fighting + Unarmed -2 (second action). - defense.
Taking wounds off co-ordination.

Eyespying the mud-bath with the same unboldness as she'd eyepy a regular bath, Smoke dropped her packback and began to strip off her blue and black clothes, at least down to her blue boxers. If Traveller would do this, then so would she! Brave and bold as a Kang could be! Underneath, she was pale and scrawny, built like a whippet, with the bites of one or another breed or dog down her right leg. Curiously, the Kangs hadn't known where to stop when it came to dyeing their hair: armpits and legs were also blue, and mayhaps more.

Shyly, she crossed her arms over her chest (despite having nothing to hide in the first place) and dipped a toe in the mud. Finally she slipped inside the oozy, warm goop and sunk inside. Okay... Mayhaps this wasn't so bad...

'You're you.' she said confidently to Traveller. 'When I became a Blue Kang, we had a Picking. The big girls picked us, calling out names for red and blue and red and blue and red and blue. I knewhow they were going to pick me last, coz I was small and quiet and a slowpoke. So I felt unbold and unwanted like rubbish, and I didn't know what I was going to be. And they did pick me last.' she show-and-telled sadly. 'But I think mayhaps you picked you first.'

Sando tries to keep his hold on Kalath, but she snaps a side kick that tags his knee joint and spins him away from her.  He starts to rise -- and she sees that the knee is not holding him, not well enough that he has any real shot at continuing the fight.

Instead, he sinks to kneel on his good knee, and bows his head to Kalath while spreading his arms wide.

When he looks up, though, despite the bit of blood on his face.  "Magnificent," he booms, and the crowd roars.  It has all happened in little more than a minute.  "It has been a privilege, spearless-girl!  A true pleasure!"

OOC: Well, that was a little underwhelming from a drama perspective.  Shrug.  Not the point.

21:59, Today: The Guardian, for the NPC Sando, rolled 8 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 1,1.  Defending against Kalath: Coordination(2) + Fighting(4).

Trav was expecting it, but Smoke Alarm is startled as something start to agitate and churn the gritty water she's now immersed in.   She feels the tiny particles scour her skin, not in a really painful way, more like she's getting a really good and satisfying all-over skritching.

This message was deleted by the player at 12:13, Sun 14 May 2017.

"It's not quite like that. It's part me, but all the old memories and dreams and troubles and problems and what I'm trying to say to myself. There's lots of me's in here, Smoke, and we're all trying to say things to each other. A lot of the time, I can't figure it out."

She sighs, as the mud surrounds her. "A lot of the time, I feel like unbold and rubbish. But you picked me. Like right now. You're staying here, with me, in mud, even. You picked me first. You don't know how important that is."

"Most of the time, the people who run with me choose to go. They leave me, instead of me leaving them. That's ok, but. And they have to go. It's right and good that they find their places."

Stanley nods. "I suggest, if we have the facilities here, to apply a nerve block. If we temporarily interrupt the nerve signals from Mr. Serficio himself we can study the behaviour of the nanoforms without input. That means we can rule out another infection and determine if physical therapy would be effective or we need a complete reset."

He turns to Dr. Astas. "What would you suggest?"

'Ah, so you're like a whole team of Kangs inside? Shouting and playing and having to-dos!' Smoke Alarm surmised with a grin. 'But now another Trav in the gang gets to be big girl and team leader and say how-you-do to visitors.'

She kicked the rising mud, trying vainly to push it away with her feet, but it was futile. 'Well, I don't knowhow it works, but I pinky-sweared to Trav the Last to be a helping-hand for you, and I knowhow you need a helping-hand, so I will and here I am. You're my friend, and though you changed all around, mayhaps different, mayhaps the same, I know you're still there...' She looked dismally into the swelling mud pool. 'Um, I'm sorry I ran away, at first. I was unbrave and unbold. I, I had to be sad first. To say goodbye afore I could say how-you-do... But I tracked back to you.'

Then the muddy water began to churn and swirl, like a giant washing mechine. 'Ee! Oh! Um!' Frowny-faced, Smoke Alarm quivered uncertainly at this strange, rough treatment. It was like she was getting a rub-a-dub scrub in a tub... She was! She was getting a rub-a-dub scrub in a tub! And there were cleaners everywhere! 'We're being taken to the cleaners!' she yelped at Trav in sudden alarm. 'Foot it! All speed!' she urged, clambering around to jump right back out again, wearing nothing but mud.

Dr. Astas is shaking her head as Stanley explains his proposal.  "No, using a neurostasis field generator to suppress the signals would interrupt the processing of the nanoforms and make them dormant, as well--"

She breaks off as Stanley, initially puzzled by her response, realizes that she's headed down the wrong track; she can see it on his face.  Stanley has seen one of these devices in his inventory of the TARDIS sickbay and its equipment; it's a very sophisticated device that can accomplish the same task non-invasively, unlike 21st Century techniques -- but apparently, it has its own set of limitations.

"Oh!"  Astas' features undergo another sudden metamorphosis, until they're covered in a fine layer of brilliantly patterned membranes, like butterfly wings in white and violet and scarlet.  "You mean, old style, chemical neurotransmitter suppression.  That could work!  We should be able to synth up the specific agents on site.  Doctor, if you're familiar with the process, please let me know the requirements, and I'd recommend that you handle the actual procedure in that case.  I can get the proper materials and instruments organized, and I'd be honored to assist you."

OOC: This will take a little while to carry out.  But you can then make a Medicine check.  It will be Hard (18) but I would say that this falls under your Disease specialty, and you would also get a +2 for an assistant.

Kalath stepped back now, the call receding.

"Is... this common here? You fight for... fun?"

Sando carefully levers himself up to his feet and one of the watchers comes over to help him.  "Fun?  Well, surely it is joy to do what one is best at.  No?  There are not many whose wealth-in-skill is in battle, of those who visit the World-Around-A-Sun.  But that is why people-we come to see: it is a thing to witness and take with us."

Some of the crowd are gathering closer around and their questions start to come at Kalath.

"What's your name?  Or do you really just go by Spear-Girl?"

"What system are you from?"

"You're so fast!  Are you Terran-descent?  Or cryptimorph?"

Sando waves his hand around at the others.  "People!  Sando-me has been bested soundly and truly!  Pester not the victor save she wish it!"

A short stumpy non-human is approaching through the crowd.  He has short reddish fur, folded floppy ears and a short snout.  He's carrying a tray with two tall glasses on it: they're brimming with some deep greenish liquid with bubbles rising through it, and each contains a fizzing gold lump of... something.  He proffers the tray to Kalath.

"A Sunburst Mist for the winner, miss, with my compliments!  Catalyzed fresh this morning!"

She looked confused at Sando's questioning.

"I am Kalath, of the People. I do not know these Terrans, or Cryptomorphs, or 'system' you talk about." As the non-human approaches, she grabs the glass, but looks even more confused. "Catalyzed?"

"Brewed. Concocted? Crafted."

Sando, for his part, takes the other glass and drains back a quarter.  "Is safe, if your blood is red like all of these."  He waves around at several bystanders, who to Kalath at least look like People, even if (to judge by the Traveller) those appearances can be deceptive.

Kalath catches a whiff of the effervescing spray from the glass in her hand, and it smells not unlike the scarce fruit from the Stronghold's one lonely orange tree.

She drinks delicately, but suspiciously. This was all so strange!

The drink is tart and tangy in Kalath's mouth as it goes down... and as it does, the residue left behind in her goes icy-cool, leaving a fading taste of mint as the sensation dies away.

The short furry person cocks his head and looks up at her expectantly.

She licks her lips, and nods quietly.

"Is good. Is there a good place to have some food as well?"

She couldn't remember the last time she ate. And she feared what would happen if she didn't take advantage of people's seeming respect of her now.

People point off every which way, offering up a flurry of suggestions.

"Grilled razorwing kebabs!"

"Lemon spielsnape curry!"

"Barbecued fluffbat drumsticks!"

Some of the nearby hawkers start to call out to talk up the praises of their wares as well.

OOC:

Kalath will find that not just the purveyors of food, but other goods as well, are eager to have her accept a gift from them.  If you can come up with an interesting piece of gear that would attract Kalath's attention, someone in the area will offer it to her.

Despite the massive amount of offers, Kalath restrained herself to only one or two.

She then turned to Sando, looking curious. For years her life had revolved around feeding the Stronghold; and one day, maybe, finding a mate. Now? She didn't know what her life consisted on for now, but she did pick the spear up out of the ground.

It was hard getting used to an alien species that constantly changed their face. Stanley wondered how much control Dr. Astas had over the process. If he had time later he might ask her about it, but for now he had to focus on treating the patient.

"Yeah, I meant chemically. I am familiar with the procedure, but it has been a while." It made sense that this neurological suppression field would also work on the nanoforms or at least that they respected it. The question was how they would react to a chemical agent.

OOC: Medicine + Ingenuity or just medicine?
20:57, Today: Stanley Newton rolled 23 using 2d6+12 with rolls of 6,5.  Neuroblockers: Ingenuity(4)+Medicine(4)+Disease(+2)+assistance(+2).
 

Kalath has never heard of razorwings before, but whatever they are, they must be delicious.  When she has polished off the skewer of spicy meat and juice-soaked broiled vegetables, she finds that Sando is just finishing his Sunburst Mist.  He has put on a shirt in an arresting red-and-blue pattern, and there's a young man who is fitting some kind of device around his damaged knee -- it appears to be just a metal brace at first, but as he gingerly tries a step on it, there's some sort of whirring sound that comes from it, and it appears to support him better than Kalath would have expected.

"There is something else that Kalath-girl would have the seeing or the knowing of?" he asks.  "Sando-me does not fail to honor any wager fairly won."

Dr. Astas leads Stanley and Serficio from the examination space to a somewhat larger area with a more extensive array of equipment, also including a more sophisticated operating table with restraints to immobilize Serficio's arm.  She gives Stanley a brief introduction to the micro-injection apparatus they'll be using, and helps him prepare the appropriate sequence of neuro-suppressant chemicals to load the injectors.

While they're about this task, several additional familiars enter the theater to join Tobias and the others.  The air around each of them shimmers and projects a holographic image of a floating head.  "When we registered this procedure with the Aesculapium, there were several requests to observe it," Astas tells Stanley.  "These are Doctor Iscarin, Healer-ja Ssetaras, and Doctor Rufarcorr."  Iscarin is a fairly normal human-looking individual, if you discount the green hair and what looks like some implanted electronics.  Ssetaras, on the other hand, is a dead ringer for the Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Rufarcorr has a long-muzzled, canine-like appearance not too dissimilar from a wire-haired terrier.

As Stanley prepares to work, Tobias flies close and clips to his ear.  "I can provide real-time diagnostics and enhanced endoscopic imagery, sir,"  As promised, as Stanley carries out the painstaking task of performing the multiple injections and manipulation of the injector probes to the key nerve clusters in Serficio's arm, Tobias projects a heads-up display helping Stanley to maneuver the probes to the correct locations.

He loses track of how long it all takes, but eventually each probe has delivered its payload of drugs and the scan Tobias is providing of neural impulses show them gradually slow and stop, deadened by the inhibitors.  Now the only activity showing on the scan is the electrochemical traffic passing through the nanobot colony.

"Sir, my pattern recognition functions are detecting anomalous ordered patterns," Tobias tells him.  "They appear to display more complex organization than normal autonomous neural transfer activity, more similar in some ways to fragments of embedded microcontroller code."

This new Traveller smiles delightedly. "Sort of. Kind of. Yes. Sometimes. You're closer than you know. More like when you're playing ball and the team is working together. The one you see here - she's not the captain but she is holding the ball. I'm all here though."



Trav-The-Now extends her hand and squeezes Smoke Alarm's. "You're here. You're making me feel safe. I'm feeling very unbold now, but less, because you're here. It's OK, because that scares everyone. It's... It's..." It's almost like she wants to say Oh Smoke baby, it's okay, I was like on fire and shit and changing, but she can't talk like and her thoughts and feelings can't form like that because that Traveller is gone. Smoke Alarm might even see the features and words trying to form on this new Traveller. She sighs, and chooses to reply as this Traveller - "As far as I am concerned, Smoke Alarm, you kept your promise to the Traveller. It's important to understand, I'm me. I'm the person you made the promise to, and the person here." She's run into before this before - when Al Capone roared at the Second Traveller that he wanted the woman he fell in love with back, and how she cried back that she was standing right in front of him.



The 6th Traveller leans back. "We're not being taken to the cleaners, but we are being cleaned. These aren't the towers. We're fine. Hmmmm." It felt delightful, as she slowly felt herself finally settling in. This new personality and these new thoughts. What new adventures and new ideas would they bring? She holds Smoke Alarm's hand, comfortingly, as this powerful, wise new Traveller took her seat.

Trav holding her hand was the only thing keeping Smoke Alarm in the scrubber-tub, and not footing all-speed thru the carrydoors and getting mud everywhere. She sat and trembled and whimpered, like a dog having an unwanted wash. 'But cleanering is what Cleaners do at the cleaners!' she complained, utterly distraught. 'Their claws snip-snip off your wearing-clothes and hold you tied-and-true and they squirt you with soaps and put you thru the cleaner-wash and blast you with high-pressure watering hoses and scrub you with big whirly-brushes and whoosh you with hot air and wrap you up in fluffy towels and comb your hair and take away your colours and force you into a silly frilly pink dress and put a pretty bow on your head and make you a Kang no more!' she wailed.


OOC: Given that, maybe I should invoke Past Trauma. :)
This message was last edited by the player at 02:42, Fri 19 May 2017.

Stanley greets his 'colleagues' or at least their holographic avatars. It is not unheard of to have fellow doctors attend operations, especially if it is not a routine procedure. It was unusual for the guest to not be in the OR, but even back on Earth things seemed to be moving that way, albeit without the fancy holograms.

He doesn't mind the audience and it might even be somewhat reassuring that there are a couple of ...maybe not experts, but people with different, maybe more relevant experiences, in the room.



"That confirms that they are malfunctioning." Stanley frowns and asks Tobias. "Can you tell if it consistent with the spasms the patient is suffering from? They were very regular... can you analyse them or have you analysed them for a certain duration and see if they change over time?"

"A moment, sir," says Tobias.  "Analyzing periodic reference data...  Cross-referencing against remote catalogs of standard protocols.  Working...  Working...  Working..."

The little projected heads-up display adds a progress bar slowly filling from left to right across Stanley's field of vision.  It reaches about 2/3 of its width and another flashing message comes up saying PROTOCOL MATCH.  As the bar continues on toward 100%, an additional graphic shows up as a line graph.

"I think this should not be here, sir," Tobias says.  "It appears to be some sort of external code fragment incorporated into the nano-cluster base code."

The display starts rolling up long sequences of encoded data, the nature of which Stanley can't really guess at, but he does pick out understandable words embedded in the machine code.

4c6f72656d 697073756d 646f6c6f72 736974 616d65742c 636f6e7365637465747572 61646970697363696e67 656c Entrapsis Data Interchange Handshae 6f72656d2e 536564 Negotiate Protocol  6d617373612c 6e6f6e 70656c6c656e746573717565 6d617373612e 50656c6c656e746573717565 6574 74696e636964756e74 746f72746f722c 6174 74696e636964756e74 6d61757269732e 50686173656c6c7573 696e74657264756d 657374 6578 Transfer Begins 63756c6973 697073756d 68656e647265726974 65742e 41656e65616e 746f72746f72 6e6973692c 66696e69627573 6174 6e756c6c61 717569732c 68656e647265726974 616c6971756574 61756775652e 4675736365 6c6163696e6961 6578 6c656f2c 7574 66696e69627573 746f72746f72 706c616365726174 74696e636964756e742e 4e756c6c61 76656c 656c656d656e74756d 7475727069732e 416c697175616d 766172697573 6c6f72656d 6174 656e696d 68656e6472657269742c 736974 616d6574 6661756369627573 6d69 756c7472696365732e0d0a0d0a53757370656e6469737365 766573746962756c756d 66656c6973 736974 616d6574 73617069656e 656c656d656e74756d2c 65676573746173 637572737573 616e7465 7661726975732e 4675736365 747269737469717565 6e69736c 736564 756c747269636573 616c69717565742e 4d6175726973 6d69 6573742c 636f6e76616c6c6973 71756973 746f72746f72 6e6f6e2c 696d70657264696574 616363756d73616e 6d657475732e 496e74657264756d 6574 6d616c657375616461 66616d6573 6163 616e7465 697073756d 7072696d6973 696e 66617563696275732e 437572616269747572 747572706973 66656c69732c 636f6e677565 696e 6e756c6c61 61632c 7068617265747261 616c6971756574 6d61676e612e 457469616d 71756973 6c6f626f72746973 6c696265726f2e 44756973 6672696e67696c6c61 626c616e646974 73617069656e 6964 636f6e7365717561742e Transfer Ends 656e64 6d6174746973 6d6178696d75732e 50726f696e 65676574 617563746f72 76656c69742e 536564 6d6174746973 6c6f72656d 736564 6567657 Termination Sequence c6573756164612e

"Is it a virus?... I mean a computer virus." Stanley asks Tobias. "The patient did visit some place to inspect data infrastructure for his work. This was shortly before the symptoms started. I suspect  the nanoforms picked up the code fragment during or shortly after the inspection."

"Smoke Alarm. They can never take away our blue. While there can be virtue in dirt and hard work, it can be just as nice to be spic spanking clean. And you've been in a pretty princess dress before. Being pretty makes one no less a Kang, no less fierce or bold." She stands in the swirling mud, and sprays down herself and Smoke Alarm. A graceful hand reaches for and gently wraps herself and Smoke in seperate towels. "You deserve a pretty blue dress with a pretty blue bow and a comfy pair of sneaks so you can sneak and climb and run and fly like a good Kang should! Pretty doesn't mean unfun or unkang."

As she takes a seat, wrapped up in robe, she urges Smoke Alarm to sit in front of her. There, she gently, carefully combs out the tangles after toweling her hair dry. "A Kang's hair should be free, yes? Is that how they wear it in the towers? Does it need more blue dye?" Nothing more is done unless Smnoke Alarm requests it. The Traveller's touch is light and minimal, careful.  She knows how Smoke Alarm is about being touched, about staying safe.

"You're being here makes me feel safe, Smoke Alarm. This next part, it's very important."

Blue-17 whirls nearby - in response to a phone signal. He drops a tote, with some clothes. "Thank you, sweet."  She strokes the machine affectionatley. The word sweet came out kind of like a purr, but also kind of like how the 5th Traveller would say baby.

The bundled up clothes are a pair of low-heeled boots. They're somewhat scuffed and worn, to the knee but rolled down - could probably go to the thighs if rolled out. Matching black jeans, that are worn low on the hip. A mock turtleneck is black. A matching black jacket, again worn with care.  "Hm. One of his jackets, from the war." A moment's consideration. "Yes."

And on top of the pile, the hat, restored to its usual look.

"A mirror, please?"

A snap, and the hat becomes a brilliant blue scarf.  It flutters around her shoulders and neck.

"Not too bad, don't you think?"

"Invasive data-forms are not my specialty, sir...." Tobias replies uncertainly.

"Can I have a look at that?" Serficio asks.  When Tobias obligingly angles the projection so the man can see, he frowns.  "That's no malware.  Ordinary network interface code.  Though what it's doing in my arm...."

"Ah-harhummph, if I may?" interrupts Rufarcorr's projection.  "I've something of an interest in symbioadaptive nanoforms.  It's likely that the colony, ah-hrrrm, 'caught' the code while you were there.  Not clear to me why it would be causing neural integration breakdown, mind."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:07, Thu 25 May 2017.

Trav's familiar buzzes close to attract her attention. "Pardon me, ma'am.  Your lecture has been rescheduled to the Antarses Oratorium, owing to insufficient capacity at the original venue."

OOC: Are we done here or is there more we want to do before moving on?

Trav hms. "Stage fright. How could I have been so crazy bold with blond hair. Ah well. You've faced down the Lord of Deeval and the Invid Regess, woman, you can lecture this crowd." She tells herself this in the mirror.

The beat up old sonic is tucked into the jacket. And the new weapon.

"Step back."

It activates with a thought. From the worn wooden handle, a VREEM-HMM emerges, similar to how the old turbo pistols sound. But this time, from the handle erupts a sheering plane that's a crystalline distortion in space. "Not quite the Possible Knife, but it will do. This is pure mathematics. The blade is comprised of block transfer equations. It will reprogram computers, spatial structures and machines on contact. It can touch and manipulate hyperdimensional entities and constructs, to sunder or mend. Like my old pistols, it can make and seal holes in objects in walls. It does a good number on spatial rifts. But it doesn't harm, doesn't kill, doesn't, doesn't maim, except for Daleks and Cybermen and those like them. The worst it will do to a person is stun them. And it can block things. This is my blade mathematical, until I think of a better name, or until the Disney lawyers come." She smiles, pleased.


She spins and takes Smoke Alarm's hands. "I hope I can be as brave and bold as you. Thank you for staying with me. Now, it's story time. I'm fully me now. Do you want to come with? I hope you like the new me."



"Please, lead on."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:51, Tue 23 May 2017.

'Being clean's less itchy, anyhow.' Smoke Alarm admitted, however reluctantly. 'Not so many nits neither. I just don't like Cleaners cleanering me with their oltrimotive bi-curval scraping blades.' she show-and-telled, hugging herself unbravely against the rub-a-dub action of the mud tub.

At last it stopped, and Smoke Alarm squealed in glee as Traveller hosed her down (more icehot fun than high-pressure water jets!) then wrapped her up in a fluffy towel.



She sat and let Traveller comb her hair, making her blue hair all runny and soft. It was nice and relaxing, like when Door Knob and other girls would lend a helping-hand making her hair blue and comb it for her, chasing out the nits. Doctor Sam had show-and-telled that grooming was an important social bonding and high-jeans ritual, but she was yawny like that. Still Smoke Alarm was bepuzzled by all this – it wasn't at all like being taken to the Cleaners, much. 'No, some Kangs put their hair up or down or curly or straight or spiky or flat... When we all outlook like some want to be different. You can make it different if you think it would outlook icehot. Mayhaps I can change how I outlook like you?' she suggested, twisted around to outlook at Traveller's new face with a smile. She was certainly up to letting Trav give her a makeover, at least within the Blue Kang's blue-and-black recycle-bin aesthetic.



'Icehot!' Smoke Alarm cheered, 'High fabshion!'



'Mayhaps.' Smoke Alarm said with a cheeky smile that said the answer was really "yes!" 'I'll tag along with you. More, there's a wubstep show-and-tell laterer me and you can go to.'
This message was last edited by the player at 23:57, Tue 23 May 2017.

Trav is shocked at that. "I'd be honored. Later. We're on a schedule. But you are beautiful right now. Here. Minmay and I used to do this for each other. How about this." She quickly gives Smoke Alarm two big, fun pony tails. "How does that look?"






"Such praise!"





"Wubstep? Dance. Dancing. I haven't danced with these legs yet. Oh yes, that sounds like fun."

As they follow the familiar, Trav gets a serious look. "Also, we need to see Sereth. I'm finally ready to be his student, now."

Finding a mirror, Smoke Alarm giggled to eyespy her new ponytails, and bobbed her head down and up to make them bounce. 'Icehot!'

Dressing and footing after Traveller, Smoke Alarm cheered 'Sereth!' She'd be happy to how-you-do her old friend again. 'You can show-and-tell him what you outlook like now.' Then she wondered 'Student? I didn't knowhow he was a teacher. Trav, aren't you too much of an... oldster for school?'

"Never. We must never stop learning, nor teaching. I've been learning from you ever since I first climbed up top sweet boy to join you. Sereth is a large reason why I am how I am now. All of the people who run with me, teach me. They're always with me."

Trav follows the familiar. "Make sure that there are plenty of tacos, for everyone, please. And sangria, and comfortable seating."

The Traveller and Smoke Alarm proceed over big arching sky-bridges from tower to tower until Trav's buzz-bot leads them up to a big aerial cable-car arrangement that carries them off.  (Smoke Alarm is likely doubtful about this, at first, although she sees that there are lots of other passengers already, so at least there'll be help when if the cleaners try to eat them.)

Thankfully, nothing of the sort occurs.

Their destination is a tower with a sort of double-hemisphere dome atop it, reminding Trav of a cross between the Space Needle and a colossal hamburger.  The "meat" portion of the "sandwich" is a hollow bowl with comfortable rows of seats, slowly filling up with sapients of various shapes and sizes, hundreds of them.  There's a queue waiting for admission at the door, with attendants in the blue-robe uniforms making note of each attendee.  As elsewhere, many are human or humanoid, but Trav spots a Veltrochni carrying a big easel pad and a cluster of excited Pakhar chattering to each other among the other species she can put a name to.

'Oh, you want us to show-and-tell you our knowhow. Then when you use the knowhow you rememorise us again and again. I stand under.' Smoke said wisely. 'Well, when you're ready to run and to hop-skip-jump, I'll show-and-tell you too.' After all, Kang knowhow was best taught on the move. 'Laterer, though. There's all-ways tick-tocks to foot it!' she added a great grin.

For her part, Smoke figured she could probly foot it over this city and between the towers fasterer than the way the buzz-bot took them (and stay sound-and-safe too), but she stayed by Traveller's side. She even went up the big alleviator, though it had no shaft or tower to keep it in place.

She outlooked around... "the atre", more curious than unbrave by all the not-Kangs. The Veltrochni were very fierce-looking, but Smoke had eyespied they were all-okay back in her time. She ducked past some dataxe-wielding squid-faced Grel burbling with interest about "new facts" and "good facts", and asked Traveller 'So you're going to do a big show-and-tell?'

Trav um hms. "On social media, there's this thing called AMA, or "Ask me Anything." It's kind of like a show and tell. In exchange for these wonderful people being kind to us, I'm going to tell them some of my stories."

Trav asks the Familiar, "can I have a stool, please? and make sure that there are plenty of tacos for everyone, hard and soft, and other food if you have it, and sangria, but not too much.  Thank you so kindly." Once said stool has been provided, she takes a seat, crossing her legs. Hm, nicer legs this time around. Overall a nice package.

As people assemble, she calls out, "Hello, hello, hello. Can you all hear me? This is as new for me as it is for you. I'm the Traveller. I'm the Last Time Lord. I am from the constellation of Kasterboros, from the Planet Gallifrey. If any of you want to kill me, or want to the location of Zor's battlefortress, or the sequences key to the Shedraya Time Lock, or want to kill or romance me,  you'll have to wait until after my talk. I want to thank the administration of the Hathtotep Habisphere for sponsoring this presentation. I've just changed, and this will help me discover myself as it will be entertaining for you. So, let's get started! But, we must go over some ground rules."

"First, I can only answer questions in accordance with the local laws of the Habisphere. I am a guest. So, no formulas to mimetic plagues or or secrets that will start interstellar wars or other unpleasantness. I kindly ask my hosts to intervene if I unknowingly overstep politeness or reasonability, of which I have a reputation for disrupting."

"Second, I reserve the right to secrets. Everything you hear up here will be truth, but it may not be fact, as I have seen and done things that are terrible. Further, what I say here is rumor and hearsay and recollection, and is not to be taken as testimony or any kind of evidence that can be entered into any court of law. These are folklore and reminiscence."

"Finally, if I find that anyone here has used what I share here to violate the Laws Of Time, I will be very cross, I will find you, and things will not go well for you. I am a Time Lord, and always will be. Please, be nice."

"So! Shall we start?"

'So, we ask you anything. Okay.'

Smoke Alarm took a taco – soft, so she could fold in the bottom and eat it on the foot, if need be. After all, Kangs were connoisseurs of street food, both eaten on and found on. Of course, after the jalapeño incident on Dallas (probly a planet), she made surely that it had no green fruits or sprinkles or hot red sauce. Then she found a chair; being Trav's helper meant she got a front-row seat and didn't have to outlook over a big helmeted Martian.



Smoke's hand shot up, the one not holding a taco. 'Ooh! Ooh!' she urged. As much as she'd run away from the school, she'd been an eager student nonetheless. 'How did you stop Dalek the Last making a talkiphone call when we was on Australia in 55 millions bee see ee?'


OOC: Chosen totally at random. :D
link to a message in this game
Post #395
This message was last edited by the player at 02:29, Thu 25 May 2017.

"Everyone, this is Smoke Alarm, of the Blue Kang tribe, of Paradise Towers, an eminently civilized tribe of women. Remember, Blue Kangs Are Best. Smoke Alarm, I did not stop Dalek The Last, we stopped Dalek The Last."

"You were there, bluest of girls. My Sweet Boy sang so loud and sad that the shriek of the monster was drown out so that he could not call for any of its brethren across time or space. Not that it would found have any - I saw to that. While we hope that it was the last one, we mourn that it was. Even the twisted children of Davros have free will, and we hope that one day they can know beauty, and art, and love. On that day, I'd certainly forgive them, and hope they would forgive me."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:38, Wed 24 May 2017.

"The company behind these nanoforms clearly failed to do sufficient testing, if these things can pick up random code." Stanley says.


OOC: Actually I am not really sure what Rufarcorr means/is referring to with

quote:

'caught' the code while you were that.

Is there a word missing?

OOC: "While you were there."  Apologies.

Dr. Astas looks thoughtful.  "Well.  They are designed to sync up to ordered patterns of meaning in their environment.  The question is why that pattern, and what can we do about it now."

At the Oratorium, a young woman raises her hand and stands, about a dozen rows back.  She is dressed in a loose-draped silk dress and veils of violet and charcoal gray; her fine-boned features are pale, and dominated by wide dark eyes and stylized tattoos of the characters Α and Ω.

"If you do not mind addressing a theoretical question or two," she says in a smoky voice, "which do you find more aesthetically satisfying: the ontological paradox, or the grandmother paradox?" she asks.

"And what is your opinion of the possibility of applyng self-referential causal tensors as the basis for a sustainable energy source?"

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 104):

She frowns.

"I no know what is this place? Where is it? The..." she gestures around "People are odd. Where does one hunt for food?"

"I find most paradoxes aesthetically displeasingly, because they imply a view that the cosmos that is inherently in conflict. That's nonsense. Something is a paradox if it's only limited by a rules set that demands that two elements must conflict and can not abide by one another. I dealt with two groups that adored paradoxes - one, a particularly artless bunch of masked hooligans who thought they were oh so clever by deliberately causing paradoxes and making things miserable for everyone. The other were a species who sought to exist entirely without consequence, but sought to subject those consequences on everyone else. They made me create them. I also destroyed them. Sometimes information simply is and we have to be satisfied that not everything has a cause and effect. That's what Lao Tse calls Wu Wei - success without effort. How can someone succeed at an action without acting? That is a paradox that resolves conflict and one which I find superior to the other two. I find that paradox the most aesthetically pleasing, as it implies a universe of peace not war."

Trav holds up her sonic. "Consider the Orobourous, the serpent which devours itself and eats its own tail." A holo image of the Corsair's trademark symbol appears. "I reject that I must choose whether or not something is aesthetically pleasing all the time - depending on the situation, one or another paradox may be appropriate or pleasing for a particular kind of nonsense, especially when dealing with time travel. But be warned that time follows it's own whim, and it's fluid. What appears to be a paradox to us may make perfect sense to time. What may appear to be two paradoxes may actually be an interlocking narrative. This is especially true as you study physics up through the dimensions - concepts which appear paradoxical in 3 dimensions make fine sense in 8."

"I would offer that things only appear to be paradoxes depending on your point of view, and you can change the rules by changing your perception. Change the world by changing you."

"As for your second question - anything is possible, my young familiar looking lady. Look at the energy in a narrative, in poetry. See how the emotional energy between two story lines works, how two histories work together. Do they fight for supremacy, or do they support one another? To one point of view, universes and poetic cycles are circles. To other eyes, they're spirals, especially when they are self referential." She runs her fingers around the floating Ourobourus. "Your causal tensors lie in myth and saga."

"Next question!"
This message was last edited by the player at 16:51, Thu 25 May 2017.

Smoke stood and waved to the crowd, beaming like floodlights. 'Blue-Kangs-Blue-Kangs-Blue-Kangs-Are-Best!' she worked in quickly.

But Smoke Alarm was feeling a little bit lost in all the rest of the show-and-tell; she was still trying to work out what so special about a pair o' docks. Still, she was making notes in her drawing book like some others were doing; in it, she actually scrawling doodles. Tracking back, she brought it back down to floor level. 'Where did you put the blueberry jam on Fursday?' Smoke Alarm liked blueberry jam, mostly on aesthetic grounds. And if she had to ask Trav anything...

Trav waggles her eyebrows and rubs her tummy. "YUM," she says. Now that was the old blonde showing through, or any of the others.  Indeed, it was probably the blonde who killed that last bottle of Smuckers.  "Let other people ask some questions, Smoke Alarm. Next!"

"Could it be that they picked it up just because it was there and was erroneously classified as meaningful. Maybe to their metaphorical eyes, network activity looks like nerve signals. There is probably a part sending signals, trying to make contact and a part waiting for feedback. An easy mistake to make." Stanley suggests. "So how are we going to correct this."

Stanley thinks for a moment.

"We prefer not to purge the colony and keeping the patient's arm sedated semi-permanently is not practical. The symptoms got worse over time, so waiting this out is not going to work." Stanley pauses. "Instead of trying to somehow remove the code, we need to convince the nanoforms that these code fragments are meaningless.  One way to do that, in my opinion, would be to increase the strength of the patient's normal neural signals. An enhanced learning process to teach the nanoforms to listen to the patient instead of the random code. Something like physical therapy combined with some chemicals that activate nerve cells or increase the amount of neurotransmitters. The complete opposite of what we are doing right now. I admit this would be something I am not really familiar with and I can imagine that getting the dosage right would take some work, but theoretically it should be possible... Do you agree or is there something I am missing?"

He looks around the room to see if anyone replied.

Smoke outlooked around the huge room; there were lots and lots of people who probly had questions too. 'Okay!'

The observing physicians ponder Stanley's proposal.

Iscarin looks hesitant to respond, but Rufarcorr is nodding slowly, and Ssetaras hisses, "It ssoundss like a brute forcce approach, but it hass the potential for ssuccesss.  Would you like our asssissstancce in conssulting the literature for the likely agentss to introducce to the patient'ss perssonal biome?"

OOC: This will again be a Hard (18) Ingenuity + Medicine (Disease) roll for assistance; you will need to try to make a Tricky (15) Ingenuity + Science check.  For both of these you can get a +2 for assistance.  If you make the Science check you will get a bonus to the Medicine check depending on what level of success you reach.

"Oh," Sando says breezily, "this World-Around-A-Sun is no place one needs to be hunting, just to have food; Sando-me believes there are small preserves here, for folk that would do it for the sport or the showing.  It is what all this place is!  Folk come and leave their lives behind, to enjoy or to learn or to teach.  They do not live in this world; that is all back where they came from."

He shrugs.  "Is why all sorts of folk are here together."  He starts to point out different weirdly shaped creatures -- even weirder than he, who is merely blue and almost comprehensible once Kalath gets the hang of his speech.  "Do not be getting the thought, that just because a person has not the two arms and two legs and head, or has fur or scales for skin, that they are beasts and not people.  Kalath-girl would be a fierce hunter of them, but they are their own thinking persons!"

Sando walks and explains different types of alien, or other artifacts and devices to be seen in the bazaar, for as long as Kalath will put up with him.  She realizes that although she gave his knee a near-crippling strike, the brace is some kind of device that is actively assisting him to walk, though she doubts he could run or strain it now.

They are interrupted by the noise of a POP! and a hissing sizzle.  When Kalath turns to look for the source of it, she realizes that everyone else has similarly stopped -- this, apparently, is not normal, even for this very strange place.  She sees what looks like a rectangular hole, or door, appear some four meters off the ground; it is about two meters by three, perfectly parallel to the immense platform the bazaar sprawls across.  The surface is a fathomless black, but the edges of it glow blue, and continue to make a fizzing, spitting sound.

An individual in what looks like a snazzy casual suit, with a furry and somewhat droopy, ursine appearance, stands and waves for Trav's attention.  "Ma'am.  I'm a graduate student in mega-scoped political structures and systems.  Apologies if this is an offensive question, but can you give us your justification for why advanced technical capability in chronometry and temporal manipulation is a sound basis for aristocratic feudal power structures?"

Realizing that he might have lost half the audience with his buzz-phrases, he adds, "Ah, in short, why 'Time Lords'?  And do you aspire to overlordship yourself?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:23, Fri 26 May 2017.

"Thank you, young man. First, a few things."

Trav snaps her scarf, and now it's a fan. She fans herself, the Gallifreyan Ourobouros present.

"First, my people didn't practice fuedalism. At least, not as a time faring culture. Feudalism doesn't make sense when you're a post scarcity culture. Feudalism is normally on most worlds and times a method of apportioning out limited resources by way of dividing fiefdoms in sworn military relationships between soldiers and rulers. My people had infinite resources, and were so powerful that no one represented a military threat, until the end."

"Second, my people were not aristocratic, they were democratic. All of our leaders were elected. Our governing bodies were colleges of scholars that could be joined by anyone, provided they passed the rigorous years long entrance examinations. On Gallifrey, if you wanted political power, you needed to be a scholar of the highest caliber. Politically, we weren't aristocrats, we were essentially communists, although my people could have done with more readings of Proudhon and Murray Bookchin. I myself am a Democratic Confederalist, which is the closest to how Gallifrey worked, although there was *way* too much statism."

She purses her lips, and considers. "The term 'Time Lord' is a function of the phonetics of the selection of your languages, not mine. You see, you can't fully pronounce it unless you're telepathic and can perceive the Time Vortex. It's in our language a gender neutral term. Notice that I don't call myself a Time Mistress or Time Lady, because it's not a gendered term. However, you folk have adopted the term in its masculine form. Since we people from Gallifrey can change gender throughout our lives, we're not bothered overmuch by how you use the term in your languages. It's not like we're around to be bothered anyway."

"Consider it a term more like the Portuguese mandarin. The authority of a Time Lord is more like that of a scholar-official or a bureaucrat, who keeps the whole thing running in the background so that everyone else can do about their daily lives. My people weren't kings or knights. They were scholars and functionaries, content to watch and occasionally nudge so that things kept running smoothly."

"About 'Lordship'. The reason my people, before the Last Great Time War, reluctantly exerted authority over the Time Vortex was because there was no one else at the time qualified. You see, we had the policy of never interfering. That was good for us, and good for you. It allowed your histories to proceed unimpeded, and it kept the universe safe. You see, we were a post scarcity society. We had all the power we could ever possibly need, until the very end. We had no need to exert authority over other people because no one represented a threat to us and no one had anything we wanted. Until the end, anyway. When fledgling civilizations took their first steps into time, we made sure that everything stayed safe. We didn't even stop people from travelling time - it would have been futile, anyway. No, we simply made sure that history proceeded as it should. You see, to me, the most sacred thing that exists is choice. Being able to choose to do a thing or not is what sets us apart from rocks or space or lichen or nuetrinos. Life is sapience and self awareness. My people, the Time Lords, enforced the sanctity of the Time Vortex for some very selfish, practical reasons - it was the universe they lived in and kept their stuff in, after all - but not interfering was also an ethical stand. They did it because they respected all of you, and trusted you to conduct your own affairs until the near the end, when they failed. They chose not interfere not because they felt you were children, but because they felt that all of your cultures were adults."

She taps her chin with her sonic (something Blond Trav would occasionally do) and looks thoughtful for a moment.

 "I *was* an overlord, once. But all it did was bring me and others heartache and misery. Trust me - all that discipline and order that is not consented to brings ashes and dust. All I want now is freedom and love. For anyone, that's more than enough, I think."
This message was last edited by the player at 03:51, Fri 26 May 2017.

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 135):

She tenses up; though she does ask Sando one question during their time exploring.

"Who defends the people? Who makes sure that Hunters do not eat?" The slight emphasis on Hunters may be imperceptible to one one who did not know Kalath.

When the thing appeared, spitting like some kind of creature, she leapt down to it; both out of curiosity and a desire to protect Sando. She poked her spear at it; not in an attack, but more the way she might poke her spear when exploring the lands back home, in case of quicksand or the like.

OOC: You didn't really think she was going to ignore that, right?

"Thank you, I will not say no to such an offer. That would be incredibly helpful." Stanley replies. The future must have a truly astronomical amount of scientific papers to search through, so it helps for someone to already be somewhat familiar with the matter. "Brute-force is a good way to describe it. It lacks sophistication and there may be a better way, but that is sort of how we approach a lot of things back where I come from. If I didn't think this could work, I would not have suggested it."

OOC:
22:12, Today: Stanley Newton rolled 18 using 4d6+6 with rolls of 3,5,3,1.  Science roll: Ingenuity(4)+Science(2)+assistance(+2)+SP(+2d6).
22:12, Today: Stanley Newton rolled 21 using 2d6+12 with rolls of 4,5.  Ingenuity(4)+Medicine(4)+Disease(+2)+assistance(+2).

This message was last edited by the player at 22:13, Fri 26 May 2017.

Stanley and Dr. Astas release Mr. Serficio from the restraints on the table while they and the other physicians get to work finding the stimulant agents that will provoke additional nerve traffic and, it is hoped, help retrain the nanoforms to disregard the infectious code.

Stanley loses track of time, a bit.  Once he and the others start to dig into the available research databases, the wealth of information there is a continuous temptation to go off and start pursuing other, less immediately relevant areas of knowledge.  He suspects that he could spend years with this information and never really come to the end of new techniques and knowledge to take in.

But in the end, the five of them have put together what feels like the right treatment.  Dr. Astas suggests that they can administer a time-released implant for the drugs that can serve as a persistent delivery system until Serficio can return to his home world with instructions for his regular physician to take up the work.

After the work of coming up with the procedure, actually performing the implants turns out to be a task Stanley can handle with relative ease -- it requires a painstaking hand, but no more than that.

"Well," Dr. Astas says at last, "a job well done, Dr. Newton.  I'm grateful for the chance to have worked with you."

"...Hunters?" Sando asks in response to Kalath's question.  "Why would keeping your hunters from eating be a thing that is done....?"  But that is almost the exact moment that the strange apparition materializes over the bazaar.

As Kalath comes nearer the rectangle, she realizes that the thing is incredibly thin -- the shifting perspective makes it clear that it's no thicker than a sheet of paper, perhaps even less.

Just as she is making her experimental probe at the shape, though, something even less probable occurs.  A form drops down out of it, and Kalath's primed reflexes nearly jab to spit it before she realize it's a person.  It's a man, perhaps a little older than she is, with extravagantly patterned clothing of a sheer shiny material, and an extravagant dark mustache and a red bandana covering his head.  Startled, he falls backward away from Kalath, rolling to his feet with surprising agility.  He clutches a bulging satchel that hangs from a strap across his body and looks around wildly.  "Wh-?  Where am I?" he stammers.

"I've got a question."  The speaker is a rumpled-looking young man in a shabby duffel coat.  He holds up what looks like a phone or personal comm, and clicks a switch.  The device projects a holo of the TARDIS tumbling through the sky and crashing through one of the flying gardens that Trav and Smoke have seen, and Trav realizes it must be footage of their unplanned arrival in the Habisphere.

"Why do your people's travel capsules all look like big blue boxes?"

He clicks the switch again, and the holo shifts to a static scene, with another battered phone box fading into existence.  Trav's hearts skip -- this one has the St. John's Ambulance badge on it, not Sweet Boy's Stars and Stripes.

That's odd. I can meet prior incarnations of the Doctor briefly because he is part of my personal time. Also, he used that decal at the very beginning. This will bear investigating.

"Let me show you why. I can only speak for myself, and the Time Lord who was my colleague, best friend, brother and briefly beau." She aims her sonic at the image of the Doctor's TARDIS.



"That is why. I help. That is part of the promise of my name. He is gone now, and I must keep that promise. He saved all of us, here and everywhere. There are no others, now."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:57, Sat 27 May 2017.

"I see."  The fellow nods, perhaps slightly chastened.  "Well, ah, thank you, ma'am."

He sits again, and just as the door of the TARDIS displayed in the holo starts to open, the projection winks out.

"If I may... where and when did you take that image?"

'The talkiphone box!' Smoke Alarm exclaimed in awe from her place in the seating. 'It's a talkiphone coz it lets you reach out and touch someone.'
This message was last edited by the player at 02:41, Sun 28 May 2017.

"Oh, it's not mine, ma'am.  This is just archive vid from the dataverse on Stradifex Nine, from right around the time of the Carnivomeme Plague.  Project Blue Box is just one of my hobbies, you might say.  Getting live footage of your, ah, 'landing' has made my whole vacation!"

Smoke Alarm thought about the viddies on the picturespout, announcing 'All tick-tock-tripping talkiphone boxes outlook like big blue portaloos. But I've only eyespied three.' She counted; yep, three. 'If it's the Doctor's, it mayhaps has my wallscrawl on the roof: "Smoke Alarm was here". If Old Girl wants to show-and-tell it, that is.'

"I should thank you for allowing me to work in this clinic, Dr. Astas." Stanley replies. "And for presenting me with such an interesting case."

"I see. Thank you! Glad that Sweet Boy and I have made your holiday memorable. Next question, please!"

As Trav continues to respond to questions from the attendees, she notices a group of late arrivals that make their way to file into a vacant box at the upper echelon of the Oratorium.  Several of them are in the blue outfits that Lictor Janeth and her group were wearing, and one of them is indeed bearing the fasces.  However, they appear to be escorts for a woman of striking appearance, dark-haired and wearing a similar dress all in black, as well as a corona civica of silver and a scarlet sash bearing a silver badge.

An individual floats up from its chair.  Trav can't fit a name to its species off the top of her head: it has a globular jellyfish-like body with a profusion of descending tentacles and prehensile eyestalks that seem to be scanning around in all directions.  However, its speech, or perhaps that produced by some hidden translator unit, is perfectly comprehensible, even urbane.

"Ma'am, I don't mean to nick your trade secrets, but as a professional in the field of mixology I'd appreciate it if you could shed some light on a possible urban legend.  Is it true that you were once able to configure a quantum accelerator, a Heisenberg vector plotter, and an industry standard Fizz-Ade dispenser to produce a beverage that was greater than one hundred percent alcohol?"

"Indeed, it's the mission of the Aesculapium not just to serve those in need, but to widen the horizons of the physicians who come to visit it."  Astas' features again shift to a more colorful, avian physiognomy as she escorts Stanley around to meet other doctors at the facility.

Some time later, Tobias discreetly clears its throat.  "Ah, sir," it murmurs.  "I thought you might want to be made aware that one of your compatriots has involved herself in a small disturbance, at the Grand Bazaar."

"That, my new friend, was exactly how Abraham Lincoln and Chibi were able to tell me from a Zygon infiltrator. My personal agent and the Railsplitter did indeed configure such a device. Normally, you can't get Zygons drunk on alcohol. But somehow Chibi and the 16th US president were able to modify the Fizzade machine I kept down in my lounge to create something like that. Said device is in storage in my Vault, because such items of power must be carefully guarded. And no, I have no idea how it works. So, I can't take the credit for that one. I was in a Zygon stasis tube at the time." The little blonde hologram waves rapidly, smiling. "When I asked my dear Abe how he did it, he and Chibi here went shhhh. It's a secret, and I respect my loved ones. I may bring you in if we need to save the universe with such fantastically powerful libations. Next question!"

Trav stops for a moment. Three?

"Smoke, you know Sweet Boy, my talkiphone box, and Sexy, the Doctor's. What was the third?"

Outlooking bepuzzled, Smoke Alarm counted them off on her fingers. 'The Doctor's and the Traveller's and the Other Doctor's...' Then she rememorised the one word in the last show-and-tell she stoodunder and asked worrisomely 'Um, wait, what's wrong with the Fizzade mechine? Is it sound-and-safe to drink?'

This would bear investigating.

"Dont worry about the Fizzade machine in the lounge, smoke, that one is fine. The one in the vault is a different one."

'Yes, the one next to the "Z-Bomb – Do Not Touch!"' Smoke had to confirm.


OOC:
http://tardis.wikia.com/wiki/Z-Bomb
This message was last edited by the player at 01:15, Sat 03 June 2017.

"Well, it was only a matter of time. I think I'd better get there while it is still a small disturbance." Stanley sighs. He gets up and apologises to the Dr. Astas and the other doctors. "It has been very interesting and I wish I could have stayed longer, but I need to leave now. "

After exiting the clinic he looks around for a sign pointing to the bazaar, before remembering he could just ask Tobias.  "Tobias, what is the shortest route to the Grand Bazaar?"

The questions to Trav keep coming, from queries ranging from esoteric points of mathematical theory to fashion tips to politics of the Eighth Margrud Empire, from the ridiculous to the sublime.

A silver-haired human lady dressed to the nines asks Trav, cheekily: "Between a Sontaran field marshal, a Nestene swarm leader, and a Judoon provost-general, which would you snog, which would you marry, and which would you kill?"

An ascended self-aware sorting algorithm residing in a maintenance hoverbot asks: "Why is such a wide array of technology, from mechanical locks to force fields to sophisticated computer software, somehow equally susceptible to being manipulated by a utility sonic projector?"

A monocular tentacled green Alpha Centauran asks: "Is there a reason why the physiognomy of so many species, presumably independently evolved, matches up to the Gallifreyan form rather than a sensible and versatile hexapodal body plan?"

Through the long barrage of questions, the woman in the box watches Trav thoughtfully.

Some hours have gone by when one of the Oratorium attendants, who has been thoughtfully providing Trav with fresh sangria, or water, as requested, comes to hover next to her.  "I'm afraid we will need to draw the presentation to a close now, to clear the chamber for the next scheduled event.  However, I have a special request to pass on to you."  She hands Trav a folded slip of paper.

It reads:

I beg the indulgence of your attendance, that I might consult you about a singular artifact that has come into my possesion.

Praetor Nerynthes Rael, Provincial Deputy for Hathotep Habisphere, Sword of the Great and Bountiful Empire.

As Kalath stands trying to figure out how to cope with someone asking her about this mad place, the man looks up, startled, and Kalath realizes it's because the hanging void that he dropped out of has shimmered and pulsed all over.

"They're after me!" the man shouts.  He scrambles to his feet and almost trips over them again as he starts to pelt away from Kalath into the crowd.  "One side!  Gangway!  Coming through!"

Then another man drops out of the rectangle.  This one lands ninbly.  He has sandy hair, and is dressed in gray all over, including an old-fashioned half-cape.  In his hand he raises a short, steel-blue metal rod and aims it up at the void.  Immediately a broad green ray erupts from the end of the rod, and a shimmering green cone of energy plays over the void while two more people dressed like this gray man also drop out of it, a young man and woman, also carrying rods.  They pause just a moment to get their bearings, then start off in pursuit of the fleeing man.

"Get clear!" the man with the active rod shouts, not to Kalath specifically but to the crowd around them.  "I'm holding it for the moment, but the portal could destabilize any time now!"

OOC: Apologies for cutting inside your opportunity to respond to the man, you can back-fill that exchange if you wish.  But I had intended this would happen, unless you did something like spear him or tackle him.

"This route will work," Tobias explains, showing a 3D model with a snaking upward path. "But if we head two hundred meters east by northeast, we can reach a terminal to catch a VertiShuttle.  That is likely to be quickest, if you'll follow me, sir?"

As the tick-tocks rolled on, from long hands to middle hands to short hands, Smoke Alarm started to get yawny and stretchy. It had after all been a long day, the same day as the last to-do with the Cheetah People. Just this morning she'd been running and fighting with Hunters and rallying kitlings. Traveller had gotten a new body and a long nap-time after that, but Smoke Alarm had stayed up, building her scrapheap and outlooking for Traveller. Then they'd comeout to Habisphere and footed around some more. It was time-travel lag.

Now, after a warm bath and a long show-and-tell, with things she didn't have knowhow of and a bit yawny besides, Smoke Alarm just couldn't hold her head up. But she wouldn't be outgoing some place else, she had to loiter and keep outlook for Trav. She couldn't do that all yawny neither. So she nodded off and went nigh-nighs, curling up asleep in her theatre seat and hugging her Puddy.

While Trav is responding to questions and notices this, one of the Oratorium attendants sneaks out to the front row to gently cover Smoke Alarm in a nice new blue blankie.

OOC: D'awww.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:06, Sun 04 June 2017.

Trav snaps a pic on her phone, and then announces, "We have reached our Smoke Alarm yawniness limit. Thank you all for coming! I occasionally am on social media. Follow me on the latest iteration of Twitter as @gallifreytrav. Everyone, please, quiet. Shhhhh."

She then carefully approaches Smoke Alarm. Having raised 4 children herself, she knows how to do this - she carefully, slowly picks the wrapped up Smoke Alarm in a fireman's carry, and carries her out, heading back to the TARDIS.

OOC: The image of 6thTrav carrying a bundled up Smoke Alarm out of the auditorium is so adorable to me.

"Let's do that." Stanley replies as he follows Tobias. "Not that I mind walking."

Stirred, as is inevitable when moving anyone asleep, be they small child or, in this case, small adult, Smoke Alarm half-woke and murmured sleepyheadedly 'Mmm, Trav? Is your show-and-tell all-over red-rover?'

"If the chemistry was there, all three, but I would want to be woo'ed. I've been in polyamorous quads before. The chemistry and long term commitment would have to be there with the emotional commons. My silver haired friend, neither neither sex nor love is zero sum - only life is. So, no killing unless there's no other choice."



"It's not the tool, it's how you use it, friend. Those things aren't susceptible to sonic technology, they are susceptible to *me*.



"I do agree that a hexapodal body plan is sensible. But did it ever occur to, my monocled friend, that we on Gallifrey were matching up to these species, instead of them matching up to us? You sensible, beautiful form does stand out and it makes it easier for us to be simply left alone if we looks like other humanoids. Although I must say that I do adore the shade of green on your tentacles."



Trav jots down a reply:

"Praetor Rael, after I check in with my companions, I'd be happy to. Here is a com code that my phone can be reached at. Please forward to me a good location and time."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:34, Mon 05 June 2017.

"For now, yes."

Using the com function on her glasses, she pings Stanley. "Doctor Newton. I'm heading back to The Lad now. How are you doing?" She also uses the telemetry on the phone she gave to Kalath.

'Oh.' Smoke yawned, then tried nuzzling her head into Traveller's warm chest, like she sometimes rememorised with mummy. But that wasn't really possible, she was way too big. She wasn't little any more. And she couldn't sleep any more anyhow. 'Aww! I missed it. Even the yawny bits. You should've wakey-wakeyed me!' she chided, annoyed at herself, and hopped out of Trav's arms.

"No problems here. On my way to the Bazaar." Stanley replies.

Stanley follows Tobias to the terminal.  A VertiShuttle turns out to be an open circular platform with recessed seating able to accommodate a dozen people, reminding Stanley somewhat of a great stainless-steel dog food bowl.  One is floating down as Stanley arrives, and it doesn't seem too hazardous, given that Stanley has flown a loop-the-loop on the back of a dragon in the skies of Arden.  "Boarding for the Grand Bazaar!" calls the operator when the passengers have filed off.

The vehicle has filled with occupants and the operator is just about to lift off when a voice calls, "Hold that shuttle!"

Stanley recognizes Lictor Janeth, followed by a half dozen other officers. "We need this shuttle cleared of guests for official conveyance to the Bazaar," he hears Janeth explain to the operator.  "There's a developing security situation there, possible trans-singular incident apparently, and we'll need you to take us up there at once.  Until we've established the particulars, we can't risk taking any more people into harm's way."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:14, Thu 08 June 2017.

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 160):

She frowned and stepped forward, looking curiously at the portal.

"Where have you come from? And what are you doing here?"

Stanley gets up, but doesn't move away from his seat. If the Lictor and company couldn't wait for the next VertiShuttle then neither could he. What did it even mean that they were getting involved? They had sent more people for this than for the emergency landing of the TARDIS.

"Hello Lictor Janeth, do you remember me?" Stanley puts on a friendly smile and waves to get the attention of the Lictor. "I know I am just a guest, but can you make an exception for me? I was on my way to the incident, because I might be able to help. Not only because I am trained medical professional, but also because there is a possibility that one of my friends is involved."

OOC: Is that in response to the first man to drop through the portal, or the one from #160 who is now standing there?

Janeth folds her arms and looks levelly at Stanley.  She clearly remembers him.  "My Graces, but I am shocked."  Her wry tone implies that she's anything but.

But there's a buzzing from her familiar, which is presently folded around her left ear as a sort of headset.  She tilts her head, listening.  After a moment a slight look of surprise passes over her features, and her regard has a different, appraising quality.  "Mm.  According to OMNIS, you have accrued quite a stock of talents in the short time you've been here, with several individuals giving affirmations.  Very well; I suppose I had best keep you close, in any event."

She nods at one of her subordinates, a man some years younger than Stanley.  "Shenxiao, you look after Doctor Newton.  Keep him out of mischief and keep mischief out of him."  He responds with a nod and a hand-over-fist salute.

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 174):

OOC: The second one.

The man doesn't stop to look at Kalath -- he glances back and forth between the portal, and a tiny window on his device where shapes are dancing back and forth -- they might be numbers and letters; they're too small for Kalath to make out clearly.

"We are agents of the Chamber," he says, "they are chasing a thief who has stolen a very dangerous thing, and I am trying to dissipate an unstable time-space fissure before it rips apart the histories of everyone here.  Or, you know, just rips them apart, period.  You need to get as far from it as possible!"

She just looked strangely at him, as well as the portal.

Where to start?

"The Chamber? Time-space fissure? You talk funny. Kinda like the Traveller and her companions come to think of it."

"Thank you." Stanley replies when Janeth allows him to come along. He doesn't mind that she appointed Shenxiao to be his babysitter. It was completely logical. "I must say that mischief has a tendency to look for me instead of the other way around, but I'll try my best to keep out of trouble."

Stanley sits back down. After a second, he motions for his familiar to come closer. "Tobias, the Lictor said something about an OMNIS score or something. Can you tell me what her score is or is that a restricted database?"

Trav takes out her phone, as she and smoke make their way to the TARDIS.

"Doctor Newton, where are you? We're at the Lad. The talk went delightfully."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:31, Thu 08 June 2017.

"Yes, yes, if the Traveller was here I'm sure she could sort this out in a snap, but we're running short of legendary Time Lords in these parts.  You're stuck with us.  Did I not mention that if you don't get away you are really likely to die?"

Smoke Alarm called into the talkiphone, coz why not share the line? 'It was a big show-and-tell! We outlooked at talkiphone boxes and it was Trav what ate all the blueberry jam.' she reported, in case Stanley had been wondering. 'We're outgoing to the wubstep sing-song next. Aren't we?'

There's a pulse of force from beneath the VertiShuttle, and it accelerates upward, navigating through the maze of walkways and greenery suspended through the air and angling toward the broad shadow of an immense platform.  Stanley can feel the platform pressing up beneath him, noticeable but not uncomfortable, like an express elevator.

Tobias lights on Stanley's shoulder as the platform ascends.

"OMNIS is the Oversight Monitoring Neoheuristic Intelligence System.  It is an apprentice worldmind tasked with the operation and routine maintenance of all the vital systems of the Habisphere," it says.  "OMNIS maintains a social credit rating for all persons resident in the Habisphere.  This is not used for strict regulation of access to goods or services for visitors; it is not 'money' as such.  Scarcity is not imposed in the Habisphere except in cases where visitors abuse the principles of the place.  But as a deputy of Imperial authority and a peace officer, Lictor Janeth has access to your rating, as knowledge assisting her duties.  As a visitor, I am afraid you do not enjoy a reciprocal privilege.  My apologies, sir."  Tobias pauses for a moment, then adds, "However.  As she is a dedicated and efficient public servant, it should not surprise you that Lictor Janeth's credit is considerable."

The VertiShuttle draws level with the platform, and Stanley is able to see out across it.  He's not too surprised to see the wide array of little stalls and shops and the crowds.  His attention is drawn to the fact that the people are mostly scattering from the rough center of the platform, where there is some dark shape hovering flat a short way above the platform.  Stanley can see some kind of glowing green beam stretching down from it, but he can't see what's at the bottom of that beam.

He can also see a secondary disturbance in the crowd, moving in a general path out from the first object he noticed, toward the platform's perimeter.  As he watches, a couple of bursts of violet energy burst outwards along that path, leaving fading golden afterimages on Stanley's vision.
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:02, Fri 09 June 2017.

"Makes sense that visitors don't get access. Ah well, was worth a try." Stanley says.




"Huh? Is Smoke Alarm there?" Stanley sounds confused. "I thought...okay, that doesn't matter. We,  I mean the Lictor, a couple of her officers and me, have almost reached the Bazaar. There is some sort of incident here. Must be pretty serious if they send so many people, but I am not sure what exactly."

Stanley pauses. "Wait...Tobias said it was one of us, so if you didn't cause it, and I know I didn't, then it must be Kalath. I hope she is not in any trouble."




"Oh, now I am pretty sure that my friends didn't do this." Stanley says. He hadn't expected energy weapons or whatever those lights were. No wonder Licotor Janeth had wanted to keep people away from here.

"What do we do?" he asks Shenxiao. "Do you have energy shields or something like that?"

Trav is striding into Sweet Boy. So much for vacation. "Stanley, we're coming to pick you up, and then onto Kalath. Stand by. Also, use your phone. Show me what's happening." Energy bursts. This place struck her as a peaceful place. She hopes she didn't bring trouble to it.

One may notice that this Traveller is taking actions smoothly, not rushing, with a liquid precision, unlike the blonde who was perpetually at high speed.

If the Scutters have cleaned up the trash heap, the first thing is that Trav is pinging the phone that she gave to Kalath, to determine her location. She also pings Stanley. Then, once everyone is inside, including the Hathtop familiar, she starts the dematerialization sequences for a short range transit.

"My little hummingbird friend. Please let your superiors know that I am transmatting to pick up Doctor Newton, and then to pick up Kalath. Please advise the Lictor that I am on hand to assist. Chibi, give the familiar outside communications access, please."

And then, she pulls over the viewer. What is happening?

Two actions - Transport roll to go get Stan, and a sensors roll to check out space time distrubances in the Habisphere. Taking the -2 penalty for two actions on the 2nd action (the hop to Stan).
18:22, Today: The Traveller rolled 16 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 4,4.  Transport to Stanley - 2d6+Coordination 4+Transport 4+Old Tardis 2-2 Multi Action.
18:21, Today: The Traveller rolled 15 using 2d6+11 with rolls of 1,3.  Tardis Sensors - Awareness 3+Science 6+Research TARDIS 2.

This message was last edited by the player at 02:25, Mon 12 June 2017.

"Afraid not, no..." Shenxiao says.  "We need to keep our heads down, but get a better look at what is happening."

With sharp gestures, Janeth divides her force into two units.  The portion that includes Shenxiao (and Stanley, by concatenation) she directs off on a interception course, towards where Stanley sees the energy bursts, while she leads the other group toward the hovering shape.

Shenxiao lets the other lictors in his trio lead the advance, trying to keep Stanley from running ahead of him if it proves necessary.  They're heading straight into the face of the general dispersal of people from that area, so progress is difficult.  However, as the intervening crowd starts to become thinner, Stanley notices two things.

The first thing he sees is that, through the general pandemonium of people trying to clear the area, there are several people he sees standing stock-still -- absolutely motionless, sometimes in awkwardly untenable running postures.  There are even some inanimate objects that look like they're frozen in place in impossible ways: a half-tipped table with stacks of folded textiles falling from it, but suspended in mid-topple, for instance.

Then among the racing figures he spots two that he recognizes, in type if not as individuals.  The pursuers in the chase are wearing a version of the gray uniforms he remembers from the very first day he met the Traveller, on 2013 Earth -- the agents of the Chamber of Time Unwrought.

As the TARDIS starts its short hop through the Vortex, Trav is expecting a quick in-and-out transit, like popping into a still pond for a quick dip and back out again.  She does not expect the Type 50 to shudder and shake like it was plunged through a seething maelstrom.

The sensor displays, too, erupt into chaos and flashing mauve alert lights while the TARDIS is in flight.  Trav is able to pick out two distinct types of temporal event from the readings:

One, a discontinuity through 4-space like a one-way wormhole to here/now, from some other point in the continuum.  It's like the gap punched through reality by a vortex manipulator, except that it's too large to close on its own in any controlled way.  Someone, it seems, is trying to apply a crude form of temporal isometry to hold it stable while the gap diminshes and time and space heal around it, but it looks to Trav like they're having a very difficult time of it, as their tools are neither powerful nor precise enough for the job.

The other events are minor in comparison -- small temporal stasis bursts in one sector of the TARDIS' landing zone.  These seem like they're relatively low powered and should resolve themselves naturally in a short amount of relative time.

The TARDIS materializes with some unexpected lateral motion, and Trav and Smoke Alarm can hear a sickening SKREEE from the outer shall as the TARDIS spins and skids to a halt.

While Kalath and the man in gray are trading miscomprehensions with each other, she suddenly hears a familiar wheezing, groaning sound.  The Traveller's blue box fades into existence some fifty meters away -- and, alarmingly, it is spinning and sliding across the ground in the pair's general direction!

It scrapes safely to a halt before it reaches them.  The man, for his part, goggles at the box, then at Kalath, then back at the box.  "You--  It--" he stammers.  He gulps and tries again.  "So you actually know the Traveller, you weren't just making some wild statement about who you thought we'd need to solve this?"

The blue box tumbles, skids, and rolls lengthwise across the grounds. BUMP BUMP BUMP BANG BANG BUMP. It lands on it's side! Then, it hops back up, straight.

Of course, inside, Trav is wrestling with The Lad. The machine is bucking like a bronco, and she didn't expect THIS to be the case. "Smoke Alarm, hold on! Sweet boy is outgoing on a wave with much to do!"

Outside, the audience sees The Traveller poke her head out, blue and black hair mussed. "Someone just ruined my lovely vacation. Stanley, I'm here! And hello, I'm the Traveller! How can I help?"
This message was last edited by the player at 23:53, Tue 13 June 2017.

'What about the wubstep?' Smoke Alarm wondered as she found herself footing back into the talkiphone box already. She didn't want to miss the muzak show-and-tell later. Some lairy-hairy inbetween needed her knowhow so they could stay as visitors as these towers. And staying here seemed to be good for Traveller's fixiting, so Smoke Alarm was determined to make sure all was shapeship with the local caretakers (as much as she wanted to run-a-muck around them and their cleaners instead).

But the talkiphone box transit was much less sound-and-safe than she liked. 'I am holding on!' she cried, 'To you!' Indeed, Smoke had one arm around the Traveller to stop her falling heels-over-head, and the other hand clutching the console in white-knuckled terror. 'You know what we need? Seat belts!'

At last, and to great relief, they stopped spinning, but the Kang didn't. It was going to be very hard to keep the Traveller sound-and-safe.

"Shenxiao, stop. Someone is messing with time." Stanley tries to warn him when he realises what they are up against. "I don't think this is something you can handle. We need to wait for The Traveller to get here. She will sort this out."

At that moment the TARDIS appears and...crashes again. Great, this version of the Traveller can't safely land the TARDIS. That is going to be a problem in the future. Hopefully she hasn't forgotten how to fix temporal anomalies.

Trav marches out of the TARDIS, right to Stanley. She gives him one of those I landed fine, I'll talk to you later looks. Then she sighs. No doubt the familiar is buzzing outside.

To Shenxiao: "So, you're with the local authorities? I'm the Traveller. Please show me what the trouble is. I'm here to help."

Trav shouts back to Smoke Alarm - "I wanted to hear the Wubstep too. Whoever is making this time space mess is going to hear it from me."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:56, Tue 13 June 2017.

"Show you the trouble?  Take your pick!"

He points to and fro.  "Your choices today are, armed chase with weird time-stopping weapons, or, hovering portal that drops said armed chases into your market district."

OOC: Science + Ingenuity for the portal.

"It's a trouble smorgasbord. Let's deal with the portal first, so the chasers can't get reinforcements. Can you show me where this portal is?"

Presuming Shenxiao shows them the portal, Trav looks at it with her scan glasses for a detailed analysis.

OOC: Ingenuity+Science+Glasses to check out the portal?

Kalath frowned, and looked confused at him.

"What's a... timelord? The Traveller and her friends just picked me up; said something about saving my people or what-not."

The Traveller can clearly see the portal in the air, as she can see the green dimensional refraction beam that someone on the ground beneath it is trying to use to hold it stable.

As the data scrolls over her glasses, she's surprised -- this may be something she's heard of, but always thought was theoretical Academy nonsense.  While it seems as if the continuum is always developing little rips and tears when exceptionally energetic events or deliberate attempts to breach the Vortex occur, this one may be what the armchair theoreticians called a forever window, propagating forward in time from the birth of the universe toward its end.

Some of the researchers believed one could create a model to protect the motion of these gaps forward through time and space, and transit through them without the use of a TT capsule.  Of course, when one does has the capability to build and use TT capsules, the existence of a "forever window" would be just the kind of academic trivia those types had specialized in.

OOC: 23:00, Today: The Guardian, on behalf of The Traveller, rolled 26 using 2d6+14 with rolls of 6,6.  Scanning the portal: Ingenuity(8) + Science(6).
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:18, Wed 14 June 2017.

"Wait, what?  So you're saying you actually know the Traveller, and weren't just wishing out loud for an improbable savior to show up?"  The man looks inexpressibly hopeful all of a sudden.  "Can you comm her?  We need her here!"

At just that moment, the roaring of the Traveller's blue box cuts over the developing cacophony, and it appears, crashing down into the Bazaar a hundred meters away or so.

"...Well never mind then...." the man trails off.

Exiting the talkiphone box, Smoke Alarm footed after the Traveller, on the outlook for to-dos and trubble. Mayhaps the cleaners and caretakers of these towers had show-and-telled their truthiness at last. But, so far, so goody-two-shoes they were, so far. And no other problems she could eyespy. There was a door in the sky, but that didn't seem all that remarkable anyhow.

She skidded to a stopsign before Stanley. 'There you are! Have you gotten into a to-do again?'

She pulls up her glasses. "What? That's absurd! Those don't occur in nature at this scale! We have to get that closed!"

She's using the range finding on her glasses. How high up is that window? "Smoke Alarm, Let's go. If I jump into your hands, can you boost me?"

Out comes the mathematics blade, activated for the first time. Already, she's programming it.

OOC: Please give me Coordination+Athletics? You're going to like this. And how would getting a boost from Smoke work?

Smoke was a bit dubious. 'Are you sure? Mayhaps I can hop-skip-jump up there, but you, well, couldn't walk earlier.' she rememorised for Traveller. 'Mayhaps you're not ready-steady...'

OOC: You don't actually need my permission if you're planning on some strange alley-oop.

If Smoke Alarm can be persuaded to boost you, take a +2.

As Smoke gives her warning, Trav backs up. "I'm going to run up your back and then into your hands! Get ready!"

She starts an all out parkour run, with that weird cat-like gait, partially imitating the way she's seen Smoke Alarm run. Flip, flip, flip she goes, like a gymnast, building up speed. The old BlondeTrav could never do this.

Right before she gets to Smoke Alarm, she does an end over end flip, hopefully within range, so that Smoke Alarm can get her feet and push her up to the open gate! As she spins through the air, she attempts to strike the hole in space with the mathematics blade, reconfiguring and stabilizing the rift, closing the breach, taking into account and adding to the Chamber's efforts! Does she hit?

OOC: Two actions. I should be running at 7 SP (base of 6 because of the 1 perm SP award for last arc, and my claiming Eccentric earlier.) Spending 1 SP on each of these rolls.

1st roll - Coordination+Athletics to leap up into range of the Forever Window for a strike. If Smoke helps out, add a +2.

2nd roll - Coordination+Fighting or Science -2 to close the gate safely with a blade strike. Take that, Luke Skywalker.

11:40, Today: The Traveller rolled 19 using 4d6+8 with rolls of 4,2,1,4.  2d6+Coordination 4+Athletics 2+Smoke Alarm 2+2d6 - Leap up to gate w/Smoke's help.
11:41, Today: The Traveller rolled 22 using 4d6+11 with rolls of 2,1,4,4.  2d6+Coordination 4+Fighting 5+Math Blade 2+2d6 - Close The Gate. Should be 20 w/Multi action penalty

EDIT: I hereby claim an SP for Impulsive.


This message was last edited by the player at 21:03, Wed 14 June 2017.

"I am only here because I got the news that one of us was in trouble." Stanley replies, keeping one eye on the chaos on the plaza. "I didn't know it was this bad."

Unboldly, Smoke Alarm didn't think this was an icehot idea, but Traveller was all-ready flipping out and footing at her all-speed. So she got ready-steady, crouching and making a step with her hands and then, when Traveller put her foot in it, she rose and jumped and tossed her high up into the air, eyespying whatever happened up above.

As Trav hurtles past Janeth and the lictors closing on the portal, she leaps at it.  Smoke Alarm, giving her a surprisingly powerful alley-oop, loses her balance in the course of the unaccustomed maneuver, and winds up on her bottom.  The Chamber agent working to stabilize it yelps in terror, and he dives for the nonexistent cover, throwing his arms up over his head.

Unexpectedly, Trav's blade snags in the humming surface of the portal, and her momentum pulls it through the medium like she is dragging it through flesh.  As her leap carries her through its arc, the port shimmers again, and seems to melt apart.

Evaporating fragments of the material spatter down around everyone in close proximity -- no one is hit, but it is well that they aren't, because the fading fragments seem to burn through the pavement of the platform, the smaller ones leaving deep divots, and a few leaving sizzling holes clear through before they finally evaporate in the open air beneath.

OOC: Sure, you can have that story point back.

And she lands on one knee, arms apart, circles of gallifreyan text running up and down the blade. She looks about, scanning the area, making sure that the anomaly is safely and truly closed.

Presuming that the local time-space is secure:

"My apologies. That was sloppy of me. I need some more training. I could have gotten people hurt with my action, so I owe the Habisphere service."

"My my. And I thought I would be less reckless with this new body, didn't I."

Out comes the sonic, as she scans the area, standing next to the Chamber agent. "Hello. I'm the Traveller. You're with... the Chamber of Time Unwrought. I've been meaning to come by and say hello. Would you mind being a dear and helping me make sure everything is all clean, hm?"

And as she inspects, She spins on her heels and speaks to the Lictor. "Lictor Janeth. My apologies for my reckless method of dealing with this anomaly. The Praetor sent me a note about my inspecting a singular type of artifact, hm? Have you folk been playing with it? Because what just happened does not normally occur in nature. I think that I and my companions and my friends from the Chamber need to meet with her, immediately."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:27, Thu 15 June 2017.

Once he picks himself up off the ground, the man has adjusted something on his rod device and is playing a flashlight-like beam of sparkling white across the ground with a worried expression.  "Checking..."  He glances at Trav.  "The briefings do not do you justice.
 You realize, that was exactly what I was trying to keep from happening?  Well... the version with a lot more people maimed and bisected by fractal dimensional sharding, admittedly."

As he scans, he raises his other arm and speaks into a bracelet-like device on his wrist.  "Vessis, Tedaia?  Status?"


Janeth, though, doesn't stop to talk to Trav.  She turns to one of her subordinates and snaps, "Watch over these people; we'll need them."  And then she is moving away, racing to catch up to the disturbance still progressing toward the edge of the platform.

Smoke, perhaps less absorbed by the details of this to-do, notices a bald-headed man with pale blue skin limping over in Kalath's direction, and calling to the Kestarten girl.  "Spear-girl has taken no harm from this strangeness?  Does she know these people?"

Stanley, for his part, has Shenxiao trying to pull him in the direction of the chase that was under way.  He can't see to the edge of the platform through the crowd, but it looks like whatever was going on there might have already run its course, as the wave of people moving away from it has diminished.

Landing hard on her bottom, Smoke Alarm rolled that way and this to evade the raining chunks of something all around her. One melted a hole into the floor right between her legs! 'R'memorise to land!' she yelled to Traveller as she fell back down. 'Not on your knee!' She flipped onto her feet, then made sure all her everything was still there.

Outlooking around for more to-dos, she eyespied Kalath and with him— Blue! A blue man. He was blue. And icehot outlooking. And blue... Um. The Blue Kang went a little bit pink.

"Yes. I am new to Kang Fu. We will be visiting Zheng Ru and Sereth to get me ship shape, later."

Trav sees Smoke Alarm's reaction to the Blue Man. Not bad at all.

"Well, go on, say hello to him!" Trav smiles delightedly.

"And remember what I said to you about the birds and the bees."

"Lictor, when you have a moment. I think I need to make some introductions for you. I am also prepared to make good on your damaged property. I think we need to brief, and debrief, and make introductions."

"Hrm. Yes, I did make a mistake. Yes, you can record that in your holy writ. Note another difference between myself and the Doctor - I *admit* to them. Can you please forward me the data on this phenomenon to my phone, and what you know, so we can work together?"

"I'd also advise that you walk gently here. The Praetor and her people, no matter how dire the circumstances, won't take kindly to you Chamber types rolling in here and wrecking the place. I'd advise that you may find it much easier to deal with this issue by gaining the local's cooperation than by just barging in."

Trav stands and smiles benignly as everyone rushes around her, to and fro, as she plays with her phone.

OOC: Ingenuity+Science roll to more thoroughly analyze the Forever Window phenomenon based on feedback from the Mathematics Blade, so that when she hits it next time, it won't hurt anyone.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:35, Thu 15 June 2017.

She nodded to Sando.

"No harm. Just... confusing." She barely even realised that the rest were there yet - she had been enjoying herself away from them after all.

"Yeah I know them well enough."

Smoke Alarm didn't want to rememorise anything about birds and bees right now. Hopping over potholes left by fractal dimensional shards, she footed over to Kalath and the blue man. 'Kalath!' she called with a wave. 'Are you sound-and-safe?'

Arriving before the duo, she eyespied the blue man, both 'waring and cat-curious. He seemed a bit like Pex the Brave, all strong and muscley. But blue, and not normally a scaredy-cat. 'How-you-do.' she greeted.

Trav smiles as the group is reunited with their handsome new blue friend, but is still working. Something is still going on, but she wants to get cracked how to safely deal with these forever windows first. That wasn't an ordinary space-time distortion. It was a straight window into the Time Vortex, almost. She still fiddles with her phone, working with the data that her glasses and the sword picked up.

"How does Sando do?" the man replies.  "Sando does brilliantly!"

He points to his knee, which looks like it is fixed in some sort of semi-mechanical brace. and beams.  Despite the seeming injury he bows almost double to Smoke Alarm.  "If a trifle hobbled by the magnificent fisticuffs of spear-girl-when-she-was-being-spearless-girl.  Comrades of spear-girl Kalath must be heroes of legend!  They sail down from heaven on great wheel-less wing-less chariots of blue and they duel weird doors of the sky and they slay them!  Wondrous!"

"My name is Peltaven, and yes, I am a Keeper of the Chamber.  But I think you have the wrong end of the stick.  We didn't make the window and we didn't barge in, we were in hot pursuit of a thief."

His bracelet warbles at him, and a tinny voice speaks.  "Keeper, I'm afraid we lost him.  He absconded with some sort of ultralight jet-glider craft, and as we were trying to find one of our own to, ah, commandeer, the locals showed up.  They're not best pleased, I'm afraid... and they're insisting we hand over our manipulator rods, instead of rechronologing the bystanders we'd stasised trying to catch him."

Peltaven grimaces and swears under his breath.  "Stay put, and don't give any trouble," he says, and presses a switch.  "Cadets," he mutters, giving Trav a lopsided kids, what can you do about them? look.

Trav rolls her eyes in sympathy.

It seems that the Chamber hasn't changed.

"How are Evers and Desryn, by the way?"

"Again, I urge you to walk gently. This is not your home, and the person who you call a thief may be one of their own. I was asked to inspect a singular artifact, and it might be what you're seeking. Also, a warning - if this item has anything to do with the Time War or Gallifrey, it's my responsibility to deal with. Learn about the Habisphere and it's laws. Did you brief on what this place is, and how it functions? You are not the law, here."

"Also, these people are from the 57th century. Turn your rods over to them. I will release the bystanders. Be good guests, and use detective work and work with the locals. Show good faith. There's a lot you can do without gadgets." She nods to Smoke Alarm, Stanley and Kalath. She nods in approval as Peltaven reigns his zealous cadets in.

Trav sends to Peltaven's comm a precis on the Habisphere and it's rules from her phone.

"Now, if you would please tell me about what was stolen, maybe I can help."

She's rifling her own memory for knowledge of any artifact that could open something like a Forever Window, aside from obvious magical devices from Rifts Earth.

And while chatting with Peltaven, she's typing off a quick text. "Dear Familiar," she says the hummingbird device. "Please communicate this to the Lictor and the Praetor immediately?" Included is a brief file on the Chamber Of Time Unwrought, and a promise that if they don't trust the Chamberites using their rods, that she herself will release any trapped civilians from stasis, with an offer to act as an arbiter between the two parties so that issues can be resolved.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:44, Fri 16 June 2017.

'I spose.' Smoke Alarm shuffled her shoes, somewhat embarrassed by the extra praise than usual. She wasn't even sure what they'd achieved yet; it was like being thanked for something she hadn't done, and she hadn't done more than give Traveller an alley-oop up there anyhow. 'But it's just a door.' she said, playing it cool. 'I break-in doors all the time.' She pointed to the talkiphone box, adding 'And that's a talkiphone box, he doesn't need wheels or wings coz he rolls and flies himself.'
This message was last edited by the player at 07:08, Mon 19 June 2017.

Over the next half hour or so, order is gradually restored to the Bazaar.  Several of Janeth's lictors join the reunited collection of travelers, escorting a young man and woman in Chamber gray, who Peltaven identifies as Wessis and Tedaia, respectively.

Studying the bystanders unlucky enough to get caught in the path of the Chamber cadets' weapons, Trav finds that they've been hit with a sort of temporary temporal stasis effect, shutting down their connection to the time stream until the effect decays in a couple of hours of objective relative time.  It's an elegant form of nonlethal pacification, unlikely to have major long-term effects, but is nonetheless a fairly irresponsible thing to be discharging into a crowd on an indiscriminate, spray-and-pray basis.

After Janeth gives her grudging assent, Trav has little trouble in canceling the effect on those affected.  Going over the victims one by one does take her some time, though.  By the time she has returned to the group, she find Peltaven trying to give his explanation to the Lictor.

"So you see -- Traveller!  Traveller, I was explaining to Lictor Janeth, here.  The thief we were pursuing had managed to penetrate the Vault Temporal of the Chamber itself; the isolation repository for the most dangerous artifacts -- or the unknown ones, the potential dangers.  He had stolen the Map of Forever.  It's a four-dimensional monitor, able to track Forever Windows down the time stream; with a sufficient grounding in relative temporal dynamics, one would be able to navigate and transit between thousands of different space-time intersections.  We're working out how he reached the Chamber in the first place, but he timed his theft for the arrival of a window on the Chamber -- once escaping the Vault, he was able to reach the window and transit away.  My team and I were the only ones who managed to follow him through the window before it had passed the interface point at the Chamber, and we've been on his trail ever since."

"The Map Of Forever." Trav scowls.

This was a heist. This was something that would have tickled the Corsair. She purses his lips. Already, how destructive this thing could be is racing through her mind.

"Lictor Janeth. I'm sorry that my... friends> are rather frightened because what was stolen is a gigantic threat. That thief is here for a reason. I also apologise for their mistaken use of subdual weaponry. It will not happen again."

A horrible notion that occurs to her is that this is one of the very few things that might be able to slip past the Time Lock. She should know - she set that very thing in motion.

Check to see if Trav has ever heard of The Map Of Forever? Ingenuity+Knowledge.

Maybe not.
03:10, Today: The Traveller rolled 18 using 2d6+14 with rolls of 2,2.  2d6+Ingenuity 8+Knowledge 6 - Remember details about the Map of Forever.

This message was last edited by the player at 10:20, Mon 19 June 2017.

"He was already able to predict this window thing arriving and planned a whole heist around it? Why does he even need the map in that case?" Stanley asks.

Trav taps her sonic against her chin. "They may have had someone on the inside. And the map may have been the key to something bigger. Lictor, when will we be able to see the Praetor? I received an invitation to speak to the Praetor personally. I'd like to speak with them and see how this all connects."

"He needed to steal the map so he could tell himself when to steal the map, in all likelihood," Peltaven observes.  "A relatively responsible act for a fundamentally irresponsible person.  Easier on causality than using a map that you never actually get around to stealing, to be sure."

"I am given to understand that she has been working to clear her schedule," says Janeth.  "We have an all-points search under way, but nothing has turned up yet; somehow, this person is managing to keep themselves hidden even from OMNIS.

Her familiar chirps in her ear.  "Ah, there we go.  A shuttle is on its way to convey you all to the praetorial palace."

"Ah. Perfectly sensible."

As they wait, The Traveller comments - "One thing I need to comment on - using a map for space-time travel isn't the fastest means, but it is the quietest and one of the least disruptive. Stan, you've seen Time Bandits, right? It's perfect for a time travelling thief."

"If my beloved Corsair wasn't gone, I'd immediately suspect her - except a Time Lord wouldn't need a map. We intuitively know of disruptions in space time and could do this walkabout ourselves. We're just too impatient and use time capsules instead."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:56, Tue 20 June 2017.

"Least disruptive?" Stanley has to remind himself that it wasn't the window, but the Chamber that had frozen the people. "You mean no crash landings. Yeah, I can definitely see why a thief would want that."



"But the map makes it easier, right? I don't know if I am picturing right, but if you can always find the nearest train station, a map of the rail network would still be useful for planning a long trip."

Trav hmphs. "When you've been mostly everywhere, you don't need a map. Maps are for tourists. Travellers have usually already been there and love visiting again. Besides, sometimes the fun is in not knowing where you're going!"

She clucks her tongue. "Also, I already have a plan to catch our thief. But I want to speak to the Praetor, first. And boys..." She turns to regard the Chamberites:

"I fully expect you to say I'm sorry, and offer to help out around here, as according to your skills and specialities. Basket weaving, painting, volley ball, disco dancing. This place is a university, and the best way to can make amends is to add to the happiness here." The look on her face is that she is not to be contradicted. "Would that be acceptable, Lictor Janeth? My Chamber comrades have many adventuresome tales to tell, and are brave, good folk at heart."
This message was last edited by the player at 23:29, Tue 20 June 2017.

Janeth looks at Trav, and then at Peltaven.  "Justice isn't mine to decide -- only to discharge.  We will, as you say, see what the praetor makes of them."

Peltaven holds up his hands.  "I have, I am afraid, forgotten to pack my harmonica.  I mean to catch a thief, and if that does not balance the harm that we've caused here, then we will do what we can."  He glances at Vessis and Tedaia.  "I can promise you the enthusiastic cooperation of two hard-working young time officers who are very contrite for their indiscriminate actions."

The pair of them wilt fractionally under his gaze.

At that moment, a largish blue air-car closes slowly over the Bazaar, and as space is made for it, it descends, with no visible propulsion that anyone can see until it has almost touched down, at which point powerful ground-effect jets kick in.  Janeth points out a pair of lictors to pile in along with her, as well as the Chamber agents, Trav and her friends.

When the car lifts off, it accelerates up at an angle.  It's an open-air vessel; wind whips at everyone's hair as it follows a curving path more or less tangent to the arc of the Habisphere's shell.

Eventually it draws near to a particularly improbable looking structure among the many odd ones to be seen within the Habisphere.  This is another spheroid form, this time of interlocking strips and arcs with inner bracing towers and columns, drifting slowly through the Habisphere's sky.  The air-car matches its path and its slow rotation, oriented with the structure "above" it, and then "ascends" through a gap in the discontinuous shell.

A short walk away from the landing pad where the car settles down is another building in the faux-classical style that Stanley noted at the Aesculapium.  Gravity appears to be playing by its own rules here, as the travellers' feet rest firmly at Earth-normal gravity as they walk along the surface, just as much as the reflecting pool leading up toward the steps and columns of the building's entrance somehow neglects to spill out of its sides despite the slope and curve.

OOC: I'll leave it there for the moment.  Assumed that everyone would follow along this far, having not heard any vehement new directions.

Janeth is neither explicitly including or excluding Sando, so it's up to PCs whether they want to say farewells or not.

Not having knowhow of half this tick-tocksy stuff, Smoke Alarm had loitered and footed about in quiet-time, occasionally eyespying Kalath's friend Sando. Why was he blue? Why didn't he wear a shirt? Why did eyespying him make her feel warm and funny? She shook her head, trying not to outlook.

On the matter of the Map of Forever, Smoke Alarm was rememorised of floor-plans show-and-telling where doors stood and carrydoors went. Mayhaps it had a You-Are-Here too? 'Mayhaps he looked it up on another map?' she suggested.

'Icehot!' Inside the flotating ball tower, Smoke Alarm immediately cut loose, fun hopping and skipping and jumping, testing the different way of falling here. Used to such stunts as running up and down walls and flinging herself across gaps between buildings, the Kang was not put off by the funny gravity. She just accepted the new perspective on the world and went for it. She'd already leaped over one gap between strips, upside down and risking falling away sideways and upwards.

Stanley doesn't share Smoke Alarm's enthusiasm for this unusual gravity, though the curved pool looks nice. If he didn't know better he would say it was some sort of optical illusion.

"Smoke Alarm brings up a good point. Again, good thieves usually have a crew and support. Having been... an observer to a few heists, such as when the Callistran Kleptocracy misplaced a certain pulse, the best thefts are mostly carried out by teams. Mostly. But not always." She smiles a crooked smile.

Janeth and the lictors escort the group up the front steps of the palace, through a vestibule and an expansive atrium, and forward through a set of bronze-bound hardwood doors.  The palace is a busy place, with an open, airy feel to it -- the decor continues the classical theme, with advanced technology such as view panels and discreetly placed security sensors integrated in a way that complements the design rather than overwhelming it.  The uniforms of the functionaries and officials moving about on their own business also continue the theme.

The space where Janeth leads them is fairly large, wider than it is deep, and arranged around a long table that looks like it could seat twenty.  On the far wall, a raised dais holds what can only be called a throne, although it is of tasteful design and has an obvious infosystem built into one armrest.

The dark-haired woman in black and red who Trav remembers from her talk, however, is not seated on her throne: she's at the center of the table opposite the travelers as they enter.  Perched on her shoulder is her familiar, in the form of a small eagle in metallic red.  The table is set with a variety of light dishes, some of which even Trav does not recognize, and pitchers of drink as well.

The woman stands as several of the escort fan out to take up positions around the room, and Kalath notes at once that the red sash draped over her black gown is functional as well as decorative -- a sheathed short sword hangs from it.  Janeth steps ahead of the group, inclines her head, and gives the same hand-over-fist salute that Stanley saw Shenxiao use earlier.  She turns to one side, takes three paces back.  "Praetor Nerynthes Rael, Sword of the Great and Bountiful Empire."

"Welcome," she says in a clear, rich alto.  "Thank you for coming to attend me.  We have a great deal to discuss.  Please, be seated and refresh yourselves."

The Traveller bows her head for a moment, respectfully. History has changed since the end of the Time War, with the Time Agency now gone, and certainly, this 3rd Great And Bountiful Human Empire is, at this moment, vital and good. She knows it's future, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't deserve it's present, that should not be disturbed. And a time travelling thief shouldnt be allowed to disturb it. Further, more is afoot.

"I thank you for giving me hospitality during these first few steps for me. I stand at your pleasure, Praetor. I am the Traveller. What can I do for you?"

Footing up to the big fancy-pants building, Smoke Alarm eyespied the curved mirrory pool, exclaiming 'A great pool in the sky!' Mayhaps not the Great Pool in the Sky, of course, but not a bad one. She leaned over it, outlooking into the water and eyespying her face outlooking back, new blue pigtails bobbing and dark eyes eyespying her back, like another Kang in the water. Mayhaps not so far from the Great Pool in the Sky after all...

Entering the building itself, however, Smoke Alarm was subdued and wary, knowing she was a visitor to the local caretakers' brainquarters. ''Ware caretakers.' she whispered to her friends before they footed up to the big desk, feeling like they'd been called up to face the teacher or the judge.

Not willing to risk embarrassing himself by trying the salute Janeth did and looking at how Trav had greeted their host, Stanley also briefly bows his head. He takes a seat at the long table.

Rael nods to Trav and indicates to everyone that they should be seated.  Her scrutiny sits on Peltaven and the other Chamber agents a bit longer than on anyone else, but it's primarily to Trav that she speaks.

"As you will have gathered from my message, I had meant to consult with you on a curiosity that has come into my possession... but it seems that rather more immediate events have transpired, for which I am bound to find an explanation.  What can you -- any of you -- tell me about the disturbance in the Grand Bazaar?"

"These folk here are from an organisation known as the Chamber of Time Unwrought. Certainly, in your position, with the fall of the Time Agency, you know of the terrible aftereffects of the Last Great Time War. It speaks to the graciousness and wisdom of your great empire that I was allowed to even give a talk, instead of being strung up. These folk here were pursuing a criminal who has stolen a very special map that can threaten all of time and space, by using naturally occurring windows in the warp and weft of time that enables time travel. This Map of Forever reveals Forever Windows, which can be quite destructive. Even I did not know of their rather dangerous effects, and I am a Time Lord, and my people devised most known methods of time travel.My friends from the Chamber were in hot pursuit of this criminal who used this map to steal flee here, causing the disturbance in the Bazaar. While the junior agents were somewhat... enthusiastic, thankfully, no one was hurt."

"The Chamber has taken up the task of securing dangerous artifacts and phenomena from across time and space and securing them so that they do not harm anyone... Keeper Peltaven, do correct me if I speak for you incorrectly. With the end of the Time Agency and the fall of Gallifrey, they do what only a few others like myself do. I've worked with them before, I can vouch for them. I hope that this can serve as an introduction. You may find a brief mention in the ancient records between the 35th century UNIT organization under one President Khebares of United Earth and some other instances. Working together to keep preserve people's choices without the meddling of time travellers I feel is in everyone's best interests, no?"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:35, Sun 25 June 2017.

Smoke Alarm didn't sit, but rather loitered protectively behind Traveller's chair with arms crossed defiantly, rather like a bodyguard. A small, scrawny bodyguard with pigtails and a stuffed cat toy, but a bodyguard nonetheless.



'We broke a flying door, it was icehot.' she answered, with a tone that said "wanna make something of it?"

OOC: How about a Presence + Convince from Smoke Alarm?

OOC: 11:15, Today: Smoke Alarm rolled 8 using 2d6+3 with rolls of 3,2.  presence(1) + convince(2).

Peltaven nods at Trav's summation.

"Ave, Praetor.  Yes, the Traveller's account is substantially correct.  I accept full responsibility for any side effects or incidental damages caused by my cadets' pursuit: plainly I have failed to draw an adequate distinction between non-lethal and safe in their weapons and tactics training.  I do want to reiterate that the portal would have transited your habitat whether we had come through it or not, though I appreciate that you've only our word and the Traveller's on that.

"I'm concerned about what subsequent harm the fugitive might cause while he is in your jursidiction, though, ma'am...."  Peltaven's wrist bracelet starts to warble at just that moment.  "Pardon me.  I'm getting a data retrieval through now."  Moments later, the warbling stops, and Peltaven studies the readout on his wrist.  "Ah.  Our analysts have sourced records that identify this thief as going by the name of Sairen the Uncatchable and we show him operating in a number of non-contiguous time zones.  He's likely to have access to other tools and devices of exotic technology, and thus be capable of a considerable amount of disruption for one individual."

Peltaven glances off at Janeth for a moment.  "We can offer you imaging and biometrics that may help your constabulary and your surveillance system identify him, if that would be useful.  Also, although I will grant you that we are not off to a stellar beginning in terms of courteous cooperation, I'd like to offer my team's assistance in apprehending him"

The Chief Caretaker (for that is what Smoke Alarm has correctly identified the lady in black-and-red to be) smiles indulgently at Smoke.  "Ice... hot," she says slowly, as if working her mouth around the concept.  "I see.  Well, I certainly thank you for your help, Ms. Alarm.  I'm sure the door would have caused real trouble if you'd not helped to break it."

Smoke Alarm's impression is that the Chief Caretaker reminds her of the teachers they'd tried to stick the Kangs with, who never took Kangs seriously and tried to bend their talking all out of shape.  And she said she was with an Umpire, but she was certainly nothing like Sereth's friend, the Draconian Umpire.

'It would've eaten up your towers.' Smoke Alarm returned defiantly, quickly eyespying the Pratter's patronising attitude and not liking it one little bit. It was that outlook, from Teachers and Caretakers, from Fists and Judges, that Kangs were somehow less than others, that really annoyed her.

Trav asks, "Peltaven, send me those biometrics as well, please? I can also use atron signatures as well. As someone who was the lover of the greatest pirate the time vortex ever knew, this so called 'uncatchable thief' may find himself caught very soon."

She sends the lockdown signal to Sweet Boy and Chibi. Two fluid link capsules in the console immediately drop out in response, the controls freeze, and the entire data system goes on lockdown. Having endured nearly constant theft attempts on Rifts Earth of Sweet Boy, she's a touch paranoid about TARDIS theft attempts.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:44, Sun 25 June 2017.

Peltaven punches a few buttons on his bracelet.  Warble warble warble.  And then there is the characteristic ding! from Trav's phone.  (She's got stuff!)

"Now," Rael goes on, "there is also the matter that I wished to consult you about separately.  One of my side pursuits, when I can afford the attention, is as a student of antiquities.  I confess that I am little more than a dabbler in the field; however, my position gives me connections to discoveries being made all over the Empire, and of course, here at the Habisphere I have an ample degree of access to some of the most knowledgeable experts in the relevant disciplines.  Some months ago, one of my procurers acquired for me a singular artifact, which seems to be a capsule or container of some sort.  Transporting the item proved to be a problematic task in its own right, but even after achieving that, I have been unable to find anyone who can identify it, nor decipher the inscriptions on it.  I was hoping that your breadth of experience might be the solution that I have been looking for, Traveller."

"Well. I'd be more than happy to examine the object, Praetor, on one condition. If this antiquity represents a threat to time and space at large, this locality, or to those who my name represents my responsibility to protect, will you let me secure the item? It's fine to collect archaeological relics to preserve them for reasons academic or for posterity, but singularly dangerous items should be kept in such a way where they don't represent a threat to anyone. I don't care who owns the item - simply that it's threat, if any, be neutralized. I also find it really suspicious that this knick knack enters my life at the same moment that Sairen The Uncatchable does. Again, let me make it clear - I don't want it. Heavens knows I'm enough of a pack rat as it is."

Back on Rifts Earth, this is what she and her husband did for a living. It could have been worse - Rael could have called the likes of Song in on this.

She makes a mental note to refer Benny Summerfield to this woman.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:05, Mon 26 June 2017.

"Sorry, I have a question." Stanley shares Trav's suspicion that Sairen is after this item. "Why was transporting the item so problematic? Is it very large?"

"Size is not the issue -- not as such.  The canister's properties seem to make it insubstantial under ordinary circumstances, difficult to get a physical hold on.  It took some work and technical research to devise a transport frame that would allow anyone to shift it."

"Maybe it was difficult to move because its creators did not want it to be moved from its location. Where did you recover it from?"

Rael regards the Traveller.  "Mmmm.  Possible.  However, I do not expect its original owners to come looking for it.  It was located by a prospector fleet working the fringes of the Calixis Drift, skimming for exotic matter -- antihydrogen, positronium lithides -- and running free neutrino sweeps.  They did not expect to come across actual salvage."

Peltaven twitches when Rael mentions the Drift.  Trav recognizes the name, and fears she can intuit the tale -- she remembers the Calixis Accord, an allied multi-system stellar cluster, that attempted to construct an interstellar transduction shield to ride out the Last Great Time War.  She never heard what became of the Calixis Bastion, but she suspects it went the way of all third powers in that conflict.

A look of profound sadness and guilt comes over the face of the Traveller, as if she were looking at evidence of one of her own crimes - like one of the stanzas of the Singing Plague.

She remembers them begging for her to stop so they could evacuate. She remembers Destri holding a weapon to her head, and then the Possible Knife being held to Destri's throat, as she stood impassively before the Well, the countdown for the Vortex Wave continuing, and her replying to Destri with a simple "hmph", and then confirming the order with a nod.

She never heard of what happened to the Calixis Bastion because she never bothered to follow up. Arcadia happened soon after. If the Vortex Wave was powerful enough to breach the defenses of the Dalek Emperor's fleet core, it would certainly be able to sweep aside an imitation transduction shield constructed by bystanders in the Time War.

Memories.

Back to business. She slides up her glasses. "Very well. Can you show me the object?"

OOC: I'd like to claim an SP from Last Of My Kind. I'll be happy to take a die penalty for the remainder of the scene.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:20, Wed 28 June 2017.

Rael nods.  "It is, after all, why I first requested your attendance."

She rises smoothly, and gestures to indicate the spread at the table.  "Your associates are welcome to accompany us, or stay and enjoy the refreshments if they wish.  Or if they would care to see some more of the palace, I am certain that Lictor Janeth can assign an officer to escort them."

Peltaven rises.  "I'll leave my own agents to debrief your security, Praetor, but I think it would be best if I came to look at this artifact as well.  It could be a great coincidence, but it also might be the case that Saerin is working to a plan and arranged to transit to the Habisphere here and now on purpose."

"Very well."

Rael looks questioningly at Stanley, and Kalath, and Smoke Alarm.

As talky-time turned to yawny matters, Smoke Alarm had already sidled off and was hoeing into the food, sampling everything with rat-like sniffs and nibbles here and there, and often putting it back. 'What?' she said, word muffled by a mouthful of horse-doovers, when eyes turned to the refresh-mints.

'I don't think it's sprinkled.' she quietly advised her friends, footing and all-ready to join Traveller on the show-and-tell.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:00, Fri 30 June 2017.

The Traveller gets a sharp look.

"If this is an artifact from the Last Great Time War, it is my responsibility, and mine alone." She's not looking at Peltaven, but the tone of her voice is clear that she will not be contradicted. That same look when dealing with the Mailman or and the Last Dalek comes onto her face.

"And Praetor, thank you. I go where my companions do, and and vice versa."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:16, Thu 29 June 2017.

"I would very much like to see the object." Stanley says. "If Sairen is after this object, I think it would be useful to know what it looks like and where it is kept."
This message was last edited by the player at 16:05, Thu 29 June 2017.

A somewhat reduced collection of outsiders, and their blue-robed escorts, follow Rael as she leads the way out of the audience room, through a side hallway off the atrium and deeper into the palace, eventually reaching a lift that takes them up two floors.

The path from the lift to the chamber she finally takes them to is lined on both sides with a modest assortment of objets d'art.  Stanley is struck by the eclectic collection of styles; Trav recognizes that their origins span a pretty fair timeframe -- some contemporary to the Empire, some dating back before Armstrong walked on the moon.

Finally they arrive at a door with a lictor on guard.  Rael's familiar flutters close to the door and gives a tiny hunting cry, and there's the mechanical sound of a lock disengaging.  The lictor pulls the door open for everyone to pass inside.

The room is fair-sized, more utilitarian in design than the other areas of the palace than the travellers have yet been in, and occupied by several people: another guard, a human woman of middle years wearing a white lab coat, and a scarlet-skinned non-human with a feathered crest atop his scalp.  Also sitting on a table next to where the woman is working is a white cat pawing at a tablet computer, wearing a tiny, incongruous pair of round-rimmed spectacles.  Different pieces of bulky scanning and recording equipment are emplaced around the room, and the white-coated woman is adjusting the controls of one of them that ends in a big parabolic dish.  The non-human, by contrast is sitting in a chair with a big easel pad in hand, sketching the object that is clearly the focal point of the room.

A large, cubical steel framework sits at the center of all this.  Affixed to the edges of the open framework are what Trav recognizes as phased force beam projectors, all aimed inward.  They seem to be holding an object suspended in midair -- a bronze-colored cylinder a half meter long and perhaps twenty centimeters in diameter.  Seams around the circumference are visible at either end, and there are angular characters of some kind along and around its length.  The sharp-eyed Kalath can see from here that these characters are actually shifting and changing as the cylinder slowly tumbles end over end in midair.

After shoplifting some horse-doovers for ron, and stuffing two or three into her mouth for now, Smoke Alarm hastened after her friends. As they footed thru the carrydoors, Smoke Alarm outlooked around, eyespying the palace and all its ways, trying to rememorized them so they could track back if they needed to. She rememorised the chase through the Draconian Umpire's palace, and was rightly 'waring a repeat here.

Then, in the lab, she eyespied the whatsit the local chief caretaker had wanted to show-and-tell.

Smoke Alarmed gasped.

Then: 'That's it?' she moaned. 'Yawny!'

The Traveller pulls her glasses up to the top of her head, and squats, looking at the characters. What language are they in? What do they say?

There are more people here than Stanley had expected. It is not just a vault with some guards, but the object being hard to move probably also makes it hard to steal. And it makes sense that they would study the object, but he can't see why they would bring a painter here.

"Sorry to interrupt and this might be a stupid question, but wouldn't it be easier to just take a photograph?" Stanley asks the scarlet-skinned alien.

"It's symbols..." snap snap snap go her fingers. "They're always changing. It's like this thing is an uncertainty. An incomplete sentence."

Normally, The Traveller pokes her sonic in any available space. But she's walking around it, surveying this object, her eyes blazing with intensity.  She comes around to the person who is sketching, and checks their version of it.

She just looked from the Traveller to the other one, and just blinked. This was weird. Maybe Sando had some other stuff to show her? Looking about for him, if she saw him, she'd incline her head to the side, gesturing. If she didn't, she snuck off to go find him.

OOC
09:47, Today: Kalath rolled 17 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 6,1.  Stealth + Co-ordination.
Insatiable curiosity FTW. Not claiming a story point for it though; just playing the character.

"It is not a foolish question," says the red man in a soft-spoken voice, "foolishness is to not know and not to ask."

He continues to sketch as he speaks, still focused on the object.

"An exact representation is not the point of art: as you say, mechanical imaging may reproduce it down past the limits of any sapient to perceive.  The purpose of art is to capture the effect of experience upon the seeing, the thinking, the feeling.  Praetor Rael wished a study to be made of the physical, tangible, scientific properties of her possession.  She also wished a study to be made of its impact upon a soul.  This is my vocation and this is why she summoned me.  It is a privilege, though I hope I betray no arrogance to say I think she chose me well."

Trav watches the symbols as she stalks around the cylinder and its containment unit, with a growing, crawling sensation prickling at the base of her skull.  The symbols can't be language, or the TARDIS would be translating them for her, wouldn't it?

As she circles, she passes behind Stanley and the artist, and gets a look over his shoulder at his work.  There are just the faintest impressions of the cage drawn around the thing, but the rendering of the cylinder itself seems to tense and shudder: the partially captured symbols there are hard to focus on, as if they too are not fixed in one shape, despite being charcoal on parchment.

Trav glances back at the cylinder for another comparison.

OOC: You can make an Ingenuity + Science roll; you should also make a Resolve + Strength.

Smoke Alarm eyespied the whatsit until her eyes hurt, then outlooked away, blinking. She'd been getting the knowhow of reading, and the talkiphone box helped by moving the letters around, changing them, and and show-and-telling her what the words meant. But these letters just kept moving and changing. 'Can't Sweet Boy work out the letters?' she asked Trav, concerned for the talkiphone box.

She joined Stanley with the red man, interested in his scrawls too. 'Like wallscrawls, they show-and-tell what you're outlooking at and show-and-tell the you-are-here.' She checked the drawing against the reality, and figured it could use more Kang styling. 'Does it outlook the same each time you scrawl it?'
This message was last edited by the player at 02:27, Sun 02 July 2017.

The weird flying building, or city, that they'd all been brought to was nothing remotely within Kalath's experience, and from the way Sando reacted to it he wasn't much more at ease with it.  He'd followed along through the explanations and discussions around of this strange object the chief woman, Rael -- she seemed to be like an Elder although she hardly appeared of an age to be one, she surely hadn't seen much in the way of hunting or fighting at all.

Her blue warriors seemed much of a kind with her, although they plainly did move in ways that spoke of long training.  Perhaps it was this place.  Strangers would walk up and give you food, and everyone seemed completely oblivious to the threat of Hunters.  Bizarre.  When she gave the head-shake to Sando, he joined her in slipping off to a side passage, before the others went into the steel sliding door and vanished, and no one even missed them.

Sando glanced around to check that they weren't under observation.  "Spear-girl Kalath has the knowing of the ways and wisdoms of the Traveller.  Does Kalath savvy half of what was said?  What knowing has the Traveller, and why does Rael-of-the-Empire seek it of her?"  He looks around worriedly.  "Sando is far from certain that Rael and Rael's fighters mean well to all.  Yet now we are here, in the sky-palace with no way off but jumping.  Is there sense in this?  What should Sando-and-Kalath do?"

OOC: It was a little confusing as to your intent but I decided to retcon it as both Kalath and Sando having been taken along with the others, but after the "debriefing" they've managed to jointly separate from the group.  Good?

"Hmm... I see."

At first all the talk about soul and feeling sounded a bit too vague and pretentious for Stanley, but in a universe with all sorts of psychic phenomenon and, more importantly, an object with shifting inscriptions he can see why a subjective view of the object could be useful. For all he knows it is the only way to truly capture the nature of the cylinder.

"It is angry," he says quietly.  "Some days, it is angrier than others."

Looking at the scrawl, Smoke Alarm sees what he means.  The image is like a pack of dogs, wanting to tear itself off the page and leap at her.  She's not sure how a picture makes her feel that way when the real thing doesn't seem the same, scary to anyone who was not brave and bold as a Kang should be.

"It may be a sapient language."


OOC:14:35, Today: The Traveller rolled 22 using 2d6+14 with rolls of 5,3.  Ingenuity 8+Science 6 - Examine Artifact.
14:35, Today: The Traveller rolled 14 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 6,1.  Strength 3+Resolve 4.

"Is your vocation to be an artist, or is it your vocation to sacrifice your soul for a leader?"

More bitter memories. Her Exigents, the Krayloss.

The Blonde speaks - Don't hate her yet, babe.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:40, Sat 01 July 2017.

Smoke Alarm eyespied the angry scrawl, worried and confuzzled, wondering if he just wasn't a very good scrawler, and wondering too if he was quite sound-and-safe. The barrel didn't look like that, and didn't make her feel the same way. But she wasn't sure what to think of a yawny barrel. 'Mayhaps.' she ventured, footing away from the snappering scrawl and its troubled artist.

But the idea was a clever-clogs one, and Smoke Alarm was an artist herself. She crossed the labrador-tree to a yawny blank wall behind a table, then climbed on top. While fishing out her spraycans and textas, she outlooked back at the barrel, and she eyespied the barrel, opening herself up to whatever it might make her feel.

Then she closed her eyes and began to scrawl, pouring thoughts and feelings onto the wall, the you-and-here and the outlook and the eyespy, just letting the concept of the barrel flow through her and onto the wall. Jets of paint added bursts of colour, defined with streaks of thick black marker pens, all in wild Kangly graffiti style. In time, an image took form...


OOC: Smoke Alarm will try to wallscrawl the barrel too: what it is, the effect it has on her, and see if its different from the artist's drawing, and hopefully reveal a clue. I figure Awareness is the most appropriate attribute. I'll also drop a Story Point on it (because graffitiing the lab and getting nothing won't go down well). Result: 18.
10:48, Today: Smoke Alarm rolled 18 using 4d6+6 with rolls of 1,3,6,2. awareness(4) + craft(2) + SP.

She ignore the internal voice for the moment. "You're very brave. I should like to know you after this. Just please be careful. What we learn and the art we touch changes us, as we change it, which I'm sure you know." She places her hands on his shoulders, squeezing. Yes, he was attractive. More guilt - she used art as a weapon, both against the Daleks and the Time Lords. But then, she's reminded - Dekultcha. Art is love and salvation.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:09, Sun 02 July 2017.

In reply to The Guardian (msg # 266):

She shook her head at Sando. "They are strange. Very strange. They trust too much in their words, and the knowings, and not enough suspicion and mistrust." She eyed him carefully. Was Rael a Hunter of a sort? "We must be wary, and see what we must do."

That question does break the artist's concentration, and he stops his sketching and turns to Trav.

"Ma'am, I am not certain what you think is going on here.  Praetor Rael offered me the opportunity to use my talents to unravel an enigma.  You may find her interest in approaching the question from both a scientific and an artistic direction to be unconventional; scientists often do.  But does it surprise you to find that a person who oversees a place like the Habisphere, where all disciplines of endeavor are welcomed and celebrated, should also approach the problems she aims to solve in an holistic fashion?"

He bobs his head, an odd bit of body language Trav doesn't immediately recognize.  "Certainly, when one opens oneself to any sort of artistic inquiry, there is a spiritual hazard to be run.  But it is no different than meeting a new stranger or learning a new love.  I fear you may have taken my words more literally than they were meant, as if my soul were something to be decomposed, sifted, sorted and counted."

Another head-bob.  "Let me assure you, then, that as surely as I am named Zham Zhiran Zhefirry, I am neither bullied, coerced or cajoled into this, and I undertake this study only to learn and to know it."

As Smoke Alarm starts to scrawl, there's an immediate reaction from others in the room -- the white-coated woman and the nearest of the lictors both give a startled gasp and the lictor takes a few steps in her direction -- but almost at once, Rael gives a "Hsst!" and holds up a hand to stay the officer from interfering.  She herself circles around Smoke, giving the Kang plenty of space but watching the work develop intently.

Despite herself, when Smoke Alarm gives herself over to the feelings the cylinder gives her, the results come out more jangly and vibrant than she'd quite intended.  Like Zham Zhiran Zhefirry's work, Smoke's rendition seems to be projecting out of the space of the wall.  Her version of the scrawl-within-a-scrawl seems to shift as she's making it, like she was writing a word someone was saying, that changed halfway through the copying of it.

But the rest of the picture doesn't have quite the same threat within it that Zham's sketch did, exactly.  Perhaps it's because Smoke herself can make herself be unafraid of the glorified Fizz-Ade can.  Instead, though, something makes her scrawl little nested shadows of the can inside of it, like a can within a can within a can....

It reminds her, now that she thinks of it, of what happened one day when she tried to scrawl a scrawl of the talkiphone box!

As Trav watches and puzzles over the cylinder and the symbols running across it, she realizes in a flash what this reminds her of -- patterns and values, shifting and changing according to ordered rules.  It is a language, or the product of a language.  It may or may not be sapient in itself -- it may merely be a highly sophisticated and complex artifact -- but what it almost certainly is, is a process.

A program!

With that realization -- and the immediate leap to the questions, what is it executing, and what is it for, the prickling sensation catches up to Trav, and she feels ice stabbing at her mind, trying to find a weakness.

Trav reels and stumbles back from the cage....

OOC: Consider this to be slightly reshuffled in time as you made several posts: you had the exchange with Zham, then Smoke did her thing, then this happens.

Sando continues to scan the area, tensing a little more at the last.  "Sando relies on his skill and his body and his senses, though perhaps he is not so quick to see menace as Kalath may do.  What happens is what happens, and if it is danger then one reacts, no?"

But he nods.  "What does Kalath think then?  Shall Kalath and Sando search this place to find what dangers unseen may be hiding?  Kalath bested Sando; though he would be willing to take that as an ended thing, a contest fought fairly and in even comradeship, it is proof enough that Sando has things yet to learn from Kalath.  He is willing to take her guidance and lend her what help his hands and eyes may do."

"Praetor. These symbols are code. It's currently executing something, but I'm not sure what. I'll need some time to deciper it. It is trying to attack my mind, because I am probably the only person intelligent enough here to decipher it. In the meantime, I'd recommend clearing the area."

She sits down cross legged, rests her hands in her lap, closes her eyes, and meditates.

Yes, very unlike the Blonde Traveller.

OOC: 22:52, Today: The Traveller rolled 19 using 2d6+12 with rolls of 6,1.  2d6+Resolve 4+Science 6+Artron Battery 2+Indomitable 2
Added in Artron Battery because that Good Quality helps with psychic defenses and operations. If that is incorrect then reduce down to 17. I can't find my Time Traveller's Companion so I'm not sure if I am using it correctly. Trav is attempting to neutralize and section off the code in her own mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:56, Mon 03 July 2017.