Trav learned how to do this long chain human genome analysis not from anyone at the Prydonian academy on Gallifrey. She owes <a href=http://robotech.wikia.com/wiki/Emil_Lang/>Doctor Emil Lang</a>, the human father of Robotechnology, with whom she worked on proving the Zentraedi were indeed truly human. In 1999, she should be working with him on Macross Island and finishing deciphering the Zor's encryption of his master matrix. Breetai's fleet was on it's way with Dolza's much larger Armada behind them, and the UN Security Council of that world had given them permission to crack Zor's master matrix. She was of course doing this all under the nose of the Time Lords. It was the last great heroic act of the 1st Traveller and what had gotten a first exile from Gallifrey.

OOC: I'm more interested in whether or not Phillipe is originally an Earth native, if he's genetically Terran or Gallifreyan, and if he's James and Marianne's kid, taken away and changed, and given back, or a Gallifreyan native like Trav. Also, dammit, I can never make links work right in RPOL.

Trav casually asks, "Hey Smoke. Mister Boots - he's a good cat and your friend, right?""

Trav thinks that she and Mister Boots need to have a conversation, but that it will probably be on Mister Boot's terms.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:23, Sun 26 Apr 2015.

Smoke Alarm was outlooking at Marianne and the dolly-baby. So that was Phillipe and Fortuna and Evers. And Warlock. It wasn't what she'd been expecting. She'd been expecting some kind of very small Warlock, or mayhaps an octopuss, but it was just a little dolly baby. That baby couldn't be the Chief Architect of the Fists, could it? It was too small and floppy. It probably couldn't even run. It was hard to make the two match up. It was hard to blame the baby for what it would do.

Smoke shrugged. 'I spose so. You have to ask him. But Boots tried to warning-sign me about the rats. He's wise. He's like Puddy.' Smoke Alarm fluffed up the cat, and mewed 'Can you be talky with Traveller? Miao?'


OOC: Links never seem to work right in RPOL.

Trav squats in front the cat while Trav joins Smoke in scritching him. She makes a low whine-growl, having learned Cat during the Invid occupation of Garuda. <<"You're a very special cat, Mister Boots. Mind telling me a bit more about yourself?">> It was hard when you didn't have a tail.

<OOC 09:19, Today: The Traveller rolled 14 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 3,2. Trav talks to Mr Boots - 3 Presence+2 Convince+2 Charming+2 Psychic.>
This message was last edited by the player at 13:24, Sun 26 Apr 2015.

Delving further into Phillipe's genetics, Trav believes that she has confirmed that he's much more a human with enhancements added from Time Lord material, than vice versa.  She still can't remember ever discussing with Paltree or the other members of the War Council any project that would result in someone like him, but, she supposes, Phillipe's genetic composition would stand up under casual scrutiny: the Daleks, for instance, engineered a great many seek-and-destroy genetic weapons keyed to attack Gallifreyan DNA, but she believes any but the most sophisticated of those would have passed by Phillipe and left him unscathed.

OOC:

"Earth native" is a wildly open question here, but it definitely looks like his makeup is Earth-human based.  A comparison against the Collinswoods shows that Phillipe does not really seem genetically related to them, although his various superficial characteristics match up to theirs closely enough.

Boots gives a start and backs up a step.  He looks at Traveller.

<<"I'm caught, then, am I?  If you're using Language then you must know me for what I am.">>

He glances at Smoke Alarm.

<<"Well.  I knew that trying to warn your kitling away from the Qplotl might come to this.  Understand that I mean no harm to the humans here-and-now.  This is a deeply disturbed region of 4-space and I was sent here to observe, under Article 8, Section 7 of the Shadow Proclamation.">>

Smoke Alarm watched amazed as Traveller made cat noises – and the cat talked back. 'Traveller! You talky cat?'

Trav rolls over on the ground, like a cat exposing it's belly. She nods to Smoke, as she mewls like a cat in a sunbeam, she opines, "<<So noted. I'm the Traveller, of Gallifrey. A pleasure to meet you, and I mean you no harm. Please, don't run away. I'm here to clean up. Who sent you to observe? For saving my kitling, I'm indebted. Please introduce yourself fully? Unless you prefer 'Mister Boots'. Can you speak primate, so Smoke Alarm can join us? She's young, but an adult of her species, Kang, a subgenus of homo sapiens, very wise and clever.>>" Trav half expects the cat to run away - the Traveller is just as terrifying to some people as the Marshall was.

Trav rolls up onto her knees and makes a purrr, arching her back, wiggling her butt. <<"I've been away for a while. What is the Shadow Proclamation?">>

Trav looks sideways at Smoke - "I'm asking Mister Boots if he speaks english or Kang."
This message was last edited by the player at 22:57, Mon 27 Apr 2015.

Boots regards the Traveller patiently.

<<"Please, Traveller.  Such formality is not necessary, and, even if it were, we are peers; the Ninth Ritual Abasement might be considered ostentatious flattery.">>

He considers.  <<"I am afraid my larynx isn't properly constructed for English; however, if I align my perception properly....">>  There's a pause.  "Mew."  There.  I should be attuned to the paratelempathic translation field transposed from your time capsule now, so your fellow primates--  He notices Sereth observing the exchange.  "Ffft."  A thousand pardons: your fellow bipeds should be able to understand me tolerably, now.

(Smoke Alarm is momentarily surprised.  This is like how the Us talk!)

"Mrrrrrr...."  Now.  As I said, I am an agent and an observer from the guarantors of the Shadow Proclamation.  This compact was assembled by significant polities in the aftermath of what our collected apocrypha name The Last Great Time War, and while it undertakes a number of preventive measures to reduce conflict and harm to unspoiled cultures, its primary aim is to forestall the revival of forces with the power to threaten the continuum itself.  Boots eyes the Traveller sharply.  As such, extradimensional incursions and pseudo-temporal anomalies are of primary importance to our mission.  I'm sure you'd agree, on those grounds, that this particular family of livestock breeders merits close attention.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:55, Mon 27 Apr 2015.

Trav rolls over onto the grass. She nods. "I'm down with these efforts. I'm working on a parallel project, called the Parliament of Time. Please communicate to this 'Shadow Proclamation' these things - first, this family, and this planet, are under my protection. Neither are to be messed with." She lets that hang in the air for a moment.

Trav continues, after a beat. "Secondly, I'm fine with being a good neighbor, and I applaud leaving unspoiled cultures alone. I'm happy to help out. I'm sure most of your member polities probably want to kill me, but I'm still willing to abide by the local traffic laws. Can you transmit the Proclamations ordinance's to this device? I don't want to get any more people pissed off at me than I already have." She kippups and digs into her bag, getting out her Ipad. She reminds herself to have sharp words for Desryn and sharper words for Dorium Maldovar. They both certainly knew of the Proclamation and both had chosen not to tell her about it.

She sighs."Just so we're understood - I have no designs on conquering the universe or becoming a warlord. I just want to be allowed to travel in peace and to lend a hand where I'm needed. However, I claim exclusive right to deal with anything from Gallifrey or the Time War. My people are dead, and are to remain that way. I locked it all away, and my punishment for my crimes is to make sure that the Time War never occurs again. I'm your Proclamation's best pal."

"As for the temporal spillage, my people were responsible for the the mess that resulted in the Qplotl causing trouble. So, it's my responsibility to clean it up. I'm going to be cleaning up that up and reinforcing the perception screen around here. It's in our joint interests that these people in particular and humanity in general be left alone, yes? Also, I'm asssuming that discrete cleanup efforts are in line with the Proclamation's mandate. So, any data you can pass me on the local temporal spillage and 4th dimensional toxicity levels would be much appreciated."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:39, Tue 28 Apr 2015.

Smoke Alarm laughed out loud to eyespy Traveller being talky with the cat in all the catty ways. Then the talkiphone box gave her the knowhow of cat talk. It was like how the Us talked, she realised. After all, that was talkiphone boxes did, let people be talky with each other. Smoke Alarm kept laughing, finding this all completely funny.

But her laughs dried up as the talk got serious and yawny. Smoke grew concerned. That many big words from big fancypants bosses and architects about taking care of things was never a good sign. 'Are the Shadow Pro-clay-mation caretakers?' she wondered to Traveller.

Trav replies to Smoke: "Seems like." She sits cross legged on the ground, chin in palms, waiting for the reply of Mister Boots.

Is that a bad thing?  Boots looks at Smoke Alarm.  I am sorry I did not do a better job of keeping you out of harm's way.  It did take me some time to realize that you were a time traveler, and would naturally attract the Qplotl.

James appears back in the hallway from the kitchen.  "Got some burgers grilling and a salad together, if anyone's...."  He blinks.  "Ah... what is it that I've missed?"

"Our barn cat is also a space alien," Marianne informs him.

That's a somewhat parochial way to frame the matter, Boots points out.  I am also a five-dimensional intelligence officer, but I do try to fulfill my barn cat duties as well.

Meanwhile, Boots is putting his forepaws on Trav's iPad, for all the world looking like an ordinary cat doing a keyboard dance.  You have what you asked for, he says.  You may not have known of us, but we know of your history.  He gives Trav a meaningful look.  All of you, that is.  We look forward to responsible cooperation in the future.  Well.  And the past, of course.

A grunt.

"It appears, this place is already protected. Do what you came here to do; and let's go on. I don't fancy trying to talk around the next group of people if we get into trouble again. From what I understand, alien contact still has not happened."

'Well, mayhaps if you'd been talky then, I could've wared the rats more.' Smoke Alarm pointed out. It was different when Boots was only a cat, but since Boots was a cat who was not a cat but a five-dimensional intelligence officer, she had to wonder if mayhaps he could've tried harder.

She jumped up at James's announcement, exclaiming 'Hamburgers!'

Trav smiles as she stands up. "Thank you, Mister Boots. May the rats you catch be plump and fat, but be merciful." Any time problems were solved without fighting was a win. "I still have to do clean up here, Sereth, but I'd be delighted to have dinner. I think you'd be delighted that things were solved in a dignified and diplomatic manner without yelling and screaming. Yes, hamburgers! You'll get to experience terran beef, no doubt farm raised and free ranged. After dinner, I'll make things so that there aren't any more brainy monsters, and James and Marianne can raise their son in peace."

Trav snorts when Sereth makes his comment about "alien contact." "Sereth baby, this place is crawling with "aliens", as she makes quotation marks with her fingers. "The 21st century, which is only 7 years away from here, is when everything changes. This Earth is famous for it's extraterrestrial expat population. If you weren't up to anything bad, a photo of you would be written off as a bad made for TV movie and UNIT would just give you a stern talking to and then leave you be."

Trav smiles as she examines with her IPad the information that Mr. Boots has given her. She opens up another window.


This message was last edited by the player at 02:59, Wed 29 Apr 2015.

"I guess that UNIT is also very good at covering things up. Before I met Trav, I never would have believed someone claiming that there are aliens living on Earth." Stanley remarks. "Maybe those aliens are very good at hiding or camouflaging themselves. Like Mr. Boots or Sereth's holographic disguise."

James' hamburgers turn out to be even more delicious than Smoke Alarm expected.  She suspects that they might not have been made with dog and mouse, like the ones that Safety Rail used to make for everyone back in the Towers, but maybe even with real hams.

Trav's scans suggest to her that the dimensional instability left in the wake of the original Qplotl incursion (and, according to the Collinswoods, the Doctor's effort to lure them away) might require some equipment from the TARDIS or perhaps a phased projection of Sweet Boy's shields to further stabilize.  The group has spent long enough checking over Phillipe and discussing matters with Boots that the sun has gone down, in a magnificent violet display, by the point that it's time to think about heading back into Livingston.

One other thing Trav notices when she checks what she can do about the perception filter is that it's not being generated near the ranch: the epicenter of the field is back in town somewhere.

'Ham!' Smoke Alarm squealed as she got her hamburger, a product of watching Ponyo and other Studio Ghibli films in the TARDIS rec room. Then she took the top off the burger, using her fingers to steadily dismantle it layer by layer, so she could eyespy inside, to be sound and safe. She took a tiny bite of each piece too. The Rezzies had gifted the Kangs with foods, some mayhaps being friendly, but some had contained rat sprinkles that left a Kang feeling tummy-ached, or yawny, or unalive and ready-steady for the cook-pot. They'd learned to 'ware all strange foods that they'd not scavenged or shoplifted or shot themselves.

Finally deciding the burger was shapeship and sound, she reassembled it and tucked in, satisfied as to its genuine yummyness. 'Ham!'

Trav takes a moment with Marianne and James, outside, as the sun gloriously sets. "I am so sorry that my people's trouble and war have intruded into your lives, but The Doctor wouldn't have left Phillipe in your hands unless he felt that this was absolutely the best place for him to be. I've seen the evidence of the absolutely great job you guys do - he does go through some hard times, but he holds, he doesn't break. He's going to do amazing, great things for people." Indeed, if not for the moral center that Marianne and James gave him, the encounter with Warlock may have gone much, much worse.

If either of them are carrying a 90s style clamshell phone, she asks to see it. She takes out her sonic, and makes the appropriate adjustments. "There. If you need me, don't hesitate, call."

Trav looks a little nervous, as she smiles, shyly. "May I hold him, please?"

Marianne looks a little apprehensive for a moment, but then she smiles, and carefully passes baby Phillipe over to Trav's arms.

As Trav holds the little form, she can feel a hint of the history and the future stretching out around him: the inheritance of eons passed on to this one tiny life and bound up in such potential -- potential for good or, she has to admit, for evil.  She has a few more pieces of the puzzle, but not so much about the why.  What was Paltree thinking?  Why did he pick Earth's children to carry that legacy ahead?  Why not invest in the Draconians, the Silurians, perhaps the Martians?

On the other hand, there was the Doctor.  And that, at least, was so like him: handing a child with such great importance off to two essentially random humans -- and all because, on a wet and gloomy night, they had shown themselves to be kind.

Perhaps that is all the answer that is needed.

Now the baby was being passed around, Smoke Alarm hopped up eagerly and outlooked over Traveller's arms, eyespying the tiny little dolly-baby with wide, amazed eyes. It really was very small and floppy, and Smoke Alarm sposed it would take a very long time to crawl through the air-conditioning ducks. It couldn't stand or jump or shoot an arrowgun. But it still seemed a bit too big to fit inside anyone's tummy. And yet, as small and as feeble and as alien as the baby was, it was so cute and adorble, like a puppy or kitten. The Kang was fascinated by this dolly-baby. She reached over to touch the tiny little fingers, with the itty-bitty fingernails. 'This will be Warlock?' she asked, frowning.

Of course, because the Traveller had visited several Earths, she knew that this particular thread of homo sapiens were indomnitable. Their rise from the ashes on Rifts Earth, their unimaginable bravery and goodness during the Robotech wars. Zor had trusted them with the unimaginable power of Protoculture and Robotechnology. Trav even suspects that Paltree may have accessed the APC net and had gotten hold of some of her and the Doctor old records. No, there was absolutely no question as to why these people were worthy, nor this couple - Trav had seen the first hand evidence, in the weird time wobbly way. Boobie had made absolutely the right decision.

She kisses baby phillipe on the forehead. "Auntie will be seeing you." She wrinkles her nose. "And someone needs changing!"

In response to Smoke Alarm's question: "This is Warlock. Now you know why we had to not throw punches and fight with peace back there? Here, hold him like this. Be careful now you do so, put your left arm around him like this, and hold his head like so, that's it. You were once like this. If you find someone you care for, you can have a child like this. I was a mommy, Smoke Alarm, and you can be one too. Phillipe, this is auntie Smoke Alarm. Please grow up to be as brave and bold and good as she is!"
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Sun 03 May 2015.

What? Smoke Alarm was startled and, well, alarmed as Traveller passed the baby onto her. Stiff-armed and not feeling very brave and bold at all, Smoke Alarm did exactly what Traveller showed her, cradling the little round head in her left elbow, and putting her right under the body. The baby was so fragile, like a china vase. Smoke felt so very unbrave; what if she had to jump or run, or dropped him? But, mayhaps, they were sound-and-safe here. She'd already grabbed up Puddy to show-and-tell the baby to, so the worn and ragged stuffed cat outlooked in on the dolly-baby. And then, the baby smiled like a mouse. 'He smiled!' Smoke Alarm cheered, heart jumping. It was weird; just outlooking at the baby made her feel all tingly inside. The baby didn't do anything, but was so fascinating anyhow.

'I can be a mummy? Have a dolly-baby?' she wondered, hardly believing it. She wasn't sure she wanted one, but didn't think it would be so bad now. If only she had the knowhow what to do with one. 'Wait, you can change him? Like how he changed into Warlock? Like Time Lords change?'

Trav passes Phillipe back to Marianne. "Well, babies change all on their own, it's called growing up. That's what everyone does, you and I were like this." Trav carefully deflects that whole thing - that's business between Phillipe and his folks. "We can go all over that back at Sweet Boy. Now, I think we've bothered Marianne and James long enough, they've been fantastic hosts. I think we're done here. Marianne, James, thank you for everything." She carefully hustles her crew out, looking to Sereth for help mostly with  Smoke Alarm.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:02, Sun 03 May 2015.