"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?'