Elona
Location: Rogue planet, between the Outer and Perseus Arms of Mutter's Spiral
Date: 26th June 4031 CE
Timeline: Post–Last Great Time War (Take 2)

As the ship materialised, it got cold. Every groan of the time rotor dropped the temperature by several degrees, until it was bitterly, bitterly cold. Breath misted, noses turned blue, and teeth began to chatter. Even the low Gallifreyan body temperature found it hard going. Soon even ice formed on the console, a light dusting of frost. This was a side-effect of inserting themselves into another environment, materialising around a column of frigid air, snow, and ice, and whatever system normally regulated the temperature differential had evidently, well, frozen. Either that, or Elona really wanted to drive the point home: it was cold outside.

Through the frost on the scanner, they could see an expanse of blue-grey snow, punctuated by massive jagged outcrops of pale blue ice, faintly gleaming in the weak light. It was very dark out there. It wasn't night, though: the sun was a tiny, dim patcher of lighter grey in a howling grey sky.

Some way off, about a kilometre away, was a spaceship, with snow on her wings and four small geodesic domes clustered around, for all the world like a mother duck sheltering her eggs.

Yermak Maru and Archaeologists' Camp
Location: Rogue planet, between the Outer and Perseus Arms of Mutter's Spiral, the Milky Way Galaxy
Date: 26th June 4031 CE

The Yermak had made a smooth jump through hyperspace, soon arriving in the lonely dwarf star system. Finding the rogue planet in an erratic, elliptic orbit, they made their approach to the lost, ice-encased world, finding an unremarkable, rough blue-grey sphere. They made a few rapid orbits so the archaeologists could conduct ground scans, finding a dense mass of metal Ortega excitedly presumed to be a city, buried under the ice. He gave orders to set down on top of it.

They'd glided into the atmosphere, entering blizzard-like conditions. Fortunately, Borys was a skilled pilot and negotiated their descent with only a little cursing. The ship touched down, the landing gear crunching and compressing the snow and ice beneath. Already, the heat of the ship's engines and atmospheric friction melted the ice around, leaving thick slush.

The crew and archaeologists started unpacking and preparing their gear. Archaeologists like Vax and Hali weren't afraid to lend a hand and work hard, though Ortega spent rather more time supervising. Working together, they rolled out of the cargo bay doors four self-erecting geodesic domes. These bounced about, popped open, and settled neatly on the ground, forming four tents from within which they could work outside out of direct exposure to the elements. Heaters would be installed to keep them warm enough inside.

And those elements were intense. A chill wind blew constantly on this planet, a product of one side being warmed by the sun while the other remained in the cold of deep space, causing a temperature differential that drove comparatively warm air around to the colder side, and there was no moon's gravity to provide drag. The temperature was well below zero, survivable with protective gear, but still colder than anyone but Stirix had experienced before. The ground was slush, snow, or ice, but the Martian warned not to expect ordinary water ice: this was frozen air as well: nitrogen, oxygen, and carbon dioxide. Even what seemed to be liquid water could actually be liquid nitrogen. It was all cold enough to burn.

'Icehot.' Sky Light summed up sagely.

Once they were all set up and apprised of the dangers, work began on the archaeology itself. Vax Kent drove around in the all-terrain buggy, performing ground scans that produced some fuzzy maps and shapes only the archaeologists seemed to know how to read. Ortega confirmed his city hypothesis and they selected up likely spots to start their excavations, which necessitated a small relocation of the Yermak and the camp.

Now, the crew had to reorient the engines so they faced at downwards angle and blasted the snow and ice into oblivion, acting as a thermal drill to create their initial borehole. Although the engines could rotate normally as a part of take-off, they weren't designed to fire continuously at that angle, and so required numerous mechanical readjustments to lock them in place and prevent explosions. This didn't seem a big problem, though some might note they wouldn't be leaving in a hurry.

There was also the matter of connecting the plasma torches, via their long flexible insulated tubes, to the engines as well. Its heat output would also power these.

Other labour-intensive tasks included carrying out archaeological equipment, setting up the camp, and mopping away slush.
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:29, Sun 26 July 2015.

With a coil of cabling looped around his shoulder, Trace trudged through the slush. Every couple of steps he dropped loop onto the snow, leaving a cable leading back to the ship.

"Morning Mr Frosty," the boy said to a snow man standing amidst the domes, doffing an imaginary hat. The snowman itself wore a real hat that one of the crew had found somewhere. On its side, a coiled cable resembled a whip on as belt.

He reached one of the domes, darkened unlike the others. Trace pushed open the door and stepped inside. Dropping the cable coil on the floor, Trace picked up the end and pulled it over to a stack of machinery. After some fiddling in the dark, the young mechanic found the plug socket and plugged the cable in.

With a series of clicks, beeps and whirring of fans, the lights, computers and heaters all started up.

Tarys studies the environmental readouts for a moment, and looks up at Axander, puzzled.

"This isn't calibrated to some obscure Earth temperature scale, is it?  Because, if not, it really is astonishingly cold outside."  She winces.  "I'm afraid I did not exactly have a chance to pack for this."

Axander, for his part, is standing by the console with his arms across his chest, hands folded to him as best he can manage. His shivering has dropped his glasses almost to the edge of his nose, and he doesn't appear to be pushing them back into place.

"Y-yes, it is-s quite c-cold. I d-don't sup-p-pose you know how t-to recalibrate the int-ternal environmental regulator?" Apparently he doesn't handle the cold as well as all that.

After connecting the power to the heaters, Trace stood underneath one of the heat lamps. Basking in its warming red glow. He may be wrapped in multiple layers of clothing, wearing the best cold weather gear that the lowest bidder could provide, but the biting cold still wormed its way between the layers. There might be work still to do but for a few minutes at least, he was intent on doing nothing more than getting warm.

Not wanting to get caught time wasting, the boy pushed back his sleeve the reveal the scanner gauntlet on his arm. Hopefully its sensors would let him know if there was anyone nearby and whether or not he could grab a brief rest or not.

There wasn't much for Bluetooth to do right now, at least not in the repair department, so he chose to apply his second function--security. Despite the cold, he was insulated against it to a certain extent, but he put on cold-proof boots even if they did interfere with his claws and a hooded winter parka.

He picked up one of the pulse rifles (a.k.a. 'laser drill') and headed outside, reconnoitering the perimeter of their base. He paid particular attention to the ice underneath the ship. It wasn't likely to give way, but that didn't mean something couldn't cause it.

He made a note of all potential escape routes, which were also  possible vulnerabilities in their defense. He looked for defensible high ground, rocky or icy outcroppings to hide behind, and even small loose stones that could be thrown at an enemy.

Tarys glances across the controls.  The sense of reproof from the time capsule, however, is palpable to a person of Tarys' sensitivity.  "I'm not sure that what we're dealing with is exactly a mechanical fault," she says carefully.  "<purple>In any case, the temperature inside hardly concerns me.  We need to get there--"  She points to the image on the scanner.  "--and I should like to do it without having the blood turn to slush in both our veins.  Do you have any cold-weather gear?  Anything at all?"

"P-perhaps not mechanical, but t-t'would certainly get the point across that we got the p-point..." Axander tries taking a deep breath to clear his head and think, but it just sort of shudders in and out.

"Cert-tainly, wardrobe's-s-s'is way." With that, he starts walking off down the corridors, looking for warmer clothes. His steps are quick, not only trying to get there faster, but trying to stay warm while doing so.

The inside of the ship is still modeled more or less after the mansion it had been, with the console room as part of the basement. Heading back up the stairs to the "ground" floor, the path to the wardrobe doesn't enter any of the more primary rooms, instead winding through far more wood-paneled corridors than had been there before the vessel regained its internal dimensions.

"...going to need more rugs if the weather's going to keep getting in..." Eventually, the pair reaches the room they're looking for on the first floor (second floor to Americans, unless the American author is terribly mistaken).

"Ah, here we are!" It's essentially a walk-in closet that offers a decent selection of clothing, broken into quadrants on multiple levels accessible by a pair of spiral staircases (one leading up, the other down). The Time Lords likely don't bat an eye at the dimension of the room, clearly stretching into the rooms "beside" it in the hallway, up above the top floor of the house, and down into the rooms below. Dimensions within dimensions are child's play for a Gallifreyan craft.

"T-take your p-pick. Winter wear's conveniently enough on th-this level, back and on the right. No stairs while frosty, you know. Might slip. Changing rooms in the cent-ter of each level, should you feel like changing rather than just adding a layer or th-three." Axander offers a smile and lets Tarys in first, still shivering.

TARDIS

Studying the environment readouts, Tarys saw the external air temperature was somewhere around that of Antarctica in winter, around −40 °C on the Earth scale. The air was breathable, but thin and too chilly to breathe without a breathing apparatus. But the ground temperature was far colder, hovering around −200 °C. Strangely, it also read as breathable atmosphere – a frozen atmosphere. It was all nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and water, frozen hard as stone and covered in a layer of snow of the same elements. It would be safe to walk on, though touching it with bare skin could leave some severe burns.

They found the "wardrobe" quite easily, and the cold-weather gear more easily still, ranging from snug, fur-lined coats and things such as Mawson or Hillary might have worn; to advanced Spacefleet-design environmental suits; to hyper-advanced body-hugging skinsuits for those who favoured the near-nude look. All would be sufficient outdoors.


OOC: Just out of curiosity, I rolled for Shifting Structure: 13 against Difficulty 12 or less is a Success, though I don't know how the sliding scale of results would apply.
16:31, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Axander, rolled 13 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 2,2. ingenuity(5) + resolve(4).

But since Elona is Overprotective, when you return to the console room, you also find a first-aid kit suited to cold weather, blankets, a thermos of hot tea, and some books on arctic exploration. :)

Archaeologists' Camp

With the heaters on, the ambient temperature inside the dome rose rapidly, though it was not so much growing warmer as less cold. The frost on Trace's boots melted and evaporated in moments, while the ground turned to a floor of polished ice. Fortunately, they didn't need to equip an air supply as well, as the evaporating snow provided breathable atmosphere inside the domes. Trace didn't even need a breathing mask indoors after a while.

Skiving off and warming up these few moments, Trace enjoyed the less-cold for a while, until his thermal scanner showed someone else approaching.

The outer door soon irised open, admitted another muffled-up figure. They all looked more-or-less the same in their thick thermal jackets, hoods, face-masks, and goggles, but Trace could tell at a glance it was Sky Light – the Red Kang had spray-painted all her gear in red paint, complaining she needed to show-and-tell her red. The girl was staggering under a crate of sensitive archaeological equipment, which she promptly dumped roughly on the ice. Then she quickly dashed under the heat lamp to warm up just as Trace had done. 'You got the heaters on! Icehot!'

*

Despite the rogue planet being supposedly uninhabited or abandoned, and apparently completely lifeless, Bluetooth warily prowled the perimeter like a tiger patrolling its territory. They'd landed the Yermak in a small plain resembling a wide, shallow bowl, ringed around with the jagged fang-like outcrops of harder ice, mostly solid oxygen, looking like frozen waves. The ice beneath the ship and camp had been loose and unstable, and had partially melted from the heat of landing and their subsequent activities, but had soon refrozen even harder from the colder ice beneath, so the scientists pronounced it quite stable.

But getting further away from the camp, plumes of what looked like smoke rose from fissures in the ground. Every few moments, the ground trembled as distant glaciers cracked and quaked.

Bluetooth didn't find any rocks to throw, but the snowballs would pack quite a wallop.
This message was last edited by the GM at 23:39, Thu 23 July 2015.

Pushing his sleeve back over the gauntlet and peeling off his breather, Trace grinned. "First thing on my list?" He said nodding towards the heat lamp.

He stamped his feet and rubbed his hands for a moment. Then looked at the crate. "Should probably put that away before Professor Fancy Pants sees it. Last thing I want is another lecture on how 'lesser minds cannot be allowed to impede the uncovering of history by shirking their responsibilities'" Despite his words, his smiled as he remembered the last lecture Professor Ortega had given to seeing the snowman outside the domes.

"Any ideas where the others have got to?" He added after a second.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:48, Thu 23 July 2015.

'P'fessor Fancy Pants show-and-telled me all about how to pick it up and put it down.' Sky Light pushed the crate with her foot to the side of the dome. 'It outgoes here.' Back in front of the heater, she pulled off a mask, revealing a small grinning face inside a furry hood with red hair peeking out.

She thought for a moment. 'Captain Borys is making fix-its on the engines for the... boring heater stuff. Big pussycat Bluetooth is being outlook for... I dunno, snowmans, mayhaps. Vax Kent is driving around in the go-kart making the, um, ground scans. Hali and Bossyboots Ortega are loitering in the cargo bay where it's toasty warm, show-and-telling me what to take out, and "planning".'

She warmed her boots for a moment, before looking to Trace and saying with a smile 'Captain Borys says not to throw snowballs, 'coz they're icehot and burny. But mayhaps we can make snowmans and snow towers later on?'
This message was last edited by the player at 06:16, Sun 26 July 2015.

Not noticing the cold as much as the others, meant Stirix volunteered to do a lot of the things that required longer exposure to the weather. He wasn't -immune- by any shot, but it certainly wasn't as cold to him. Which was lucky, because that way he didn't hear the discussion about snowballs.

Tarys finds a set of polymesh environmental gear with a close-fitting cowl and snow goggles.  It seems to have enough give that it will afford her relative freedom of movement, and it fits nicely enough over the snug bodysuit she normally wears.

She slings the bundled survival kit across her body, and straps the sheathed Possible Knife on over the cold-weather suit.

She starts for the main level and the TARDIS exit.  "Coming?"

Axander trails along behind Tarys. After she'd picked out her cold weather wear, he grabs a similar outfit from right beside it. The one he picks is a little bit big, but he has a plan.

"Of course, on my way!" The pair head back to the control room, where Axander grabs his psychic encyclopedia and slips that into a pocket, then grabs his leather messenger bag and awkwardly puts that on under his not-quite-parka. As an afterthought, he also goes over to the roundel with the odd book and slips that into his messenger bag, before closing the warm jacket over it to protect his books.

"Alright then. Warm clothing, survival gear, books, key, all check. We have no plan, which is kind of exciting. Making sure not to think too hard before we head out. More check. I suppose that makes it time to go." He takes a deep breath and puts a hand on the door control.

"To adventure?"

TARDIS

Axander operated the control, and the doors swung inwards, assailing them with a gust of even-colder wind, carrying snowflakes and stinging ice that billowed around the console room and settled in the roundels and on the controls. The sense of embarrassment and apology from the TARDIS was almost palpable.

The two time-travellers pushed into the cold and the wind. To adventure they went.

*

They emerged into a bleak and lonely icescape, gazing upon an expanse of blue-grey snow, punctuated by massive jagged outcrops of pale blue ice, like fangs or frozen waves. They gleamed faintly in the weak light of a dim and distant dwarf star in a howling grey sky. A chill, stiff wind blew constantly. Here and there, plumes of what looked like smoke rose from fissures in the ground. Water vapour, condensing in the air. Every few moments, the ground trembled as distant glaciers cracked and quaked, but things seemed stable enough around the TARDIS.

And the TARDIS... It had transformed into a short, tooth-like outcrop of blue ice, with a black fissure to mark the real-world interface. In fact, it was exactly like every other pointed outcrop of blue ice arranged around them. Finding it again would be like finding a needle in a haystack, or an icecube in a whole freezer full of icecubes.

Sometimes, there was something to be said for a malfunctioning chameleon circuit.

But did either Time Lord dare adjust it?

As the ice and wind came through the doors, Axander shielded his face even more than his gear was already doing.

"That's alright! Don't worry, we can fix that later!" Once the wind died down enough to hear clearly, his voice returned to speaking levels as well. His hand went to dust some of the snow from the console.

"First trip after so long and all, I'm actually very impressed so far, myself. We can take care of this when there's time." Mention of time gave the young Time Lord a chuckle. Access to the greatest time travel technology the universe had access to, with no less than two experts on the subject, and yet they were in a hurry. The thought passed and he patted the console.

"Alright, we're off!" Afterward, he bravely stepped out into the cold. Only to immediately regret not having thought to deal with the chameleon circuit issue before leaving. Once both Time Lords were outside and had a good look around, Axander turned to Tarys.

"This might be an issue. Should we make her more conspicuous, or trust ourselves to find her again?"

Tarys keeps her opinions about Axander's enthusiasm over "adventure" to herself.  All she had known in her life was war.  Missions for an Knight-Errant might not all be grinding combat against implacable Daleks and their slave warriors, but they were unrelenting danger and risk, and she didn't know a good way to convey that to the inexperienced Axander without coming across as hardened, or cruel, and oddly it seemed to have become important to Tarys that he not think these things about her.  Strange.

"Don't worry about finding the Ship again.  You have a bond with this vessel and, it seems, it has some empathic concern for you in return; I feel that when we need to find it again, it will make itself known to you."

She looks at the temporal locator as she steps out into the cold.  After their experience with trying to follow its readings into the Vortex, she wasn't sure that anything it might show them would really indicate a viable trace to find their way back to the Temporal Exterminator.  But she did have a strong sense of familiarity about this world -- faces she believes she should know flicker in and out of the edges of her memory: human males, and a Martian, and a felinoform with lots of hair.

"We should be cautious," she adds. "We're intruding into a very inhospitable situation where no one should have a casual reason for just showing up.  Don't be too quick to let slip our true objectives."

Let me know if & when I'm skating too far out on available meta-knowledge.

Axander & Tarys:

Locking the, ah, icicle behind them, Axander and Tarys set off across the snow-field, in the general direction of the spaceship and camp that lay about a kilometre away, shrouded in blown snow and fog. They negotiated the jagged outcrops of frozen oxygen and the cracks in the defrosting ice, but had no serious problems there. Elona had set them down some place reasonably safe.

Unfortunately, she'd rather neglected the problem of distance. They were only a kilometre away, but it was slow-going getting there, trudging through thick snow and negotiating slippery or unstable sections of the ice, dragging their journey time out to about a quarter of an hour. They were relatively snug in their polymesh coats and cowls, but the constant bitter wind still blew inside, and the cold had a way of seeping into their bones. It if had only been a brief walk outside, they might have been fine, but a long hike through sub-zero conditions would test anyone's endurance, no matter how protected.


OOC: Tarys & Axander, please make Strength + Survival checks, plus relevant bonuses, versus Difficult 15, or take 1 damage to Coordination.

That's fine, I should have discussed it with you. I'll PM you next.

Bluetooth & Stirix:

Some might have called Bluetooth paranoid for patrolling the perimeter of the camp on an uninhabited landscape. Indeed, Professor Ortega had called him paranoid. But then, there had been that last "Security" entry in their contracts.

So he might have felt a little vindicated when he glimpsed two dark figures moving through the wind-blown snow and fog, blurring and disappearing. He wasn't sure, though, so he had to wave Stirix over to confirm. The Ice Warrior's arctic-adapted visors more clearly picked out two humanoid forms walking through the snow and wind toward the camp.


OOC:
14:48, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Bluetooth, rolled 9 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 2,1. awareness(2) + resolve(2) + Keen Senses(2).
14:53, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Stirix, rolled 15 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 2,4. awareness(3) + resolve(4) + AoE: Arctic(2).

[This oughta be good. No idea what bonuses the survival gear Elona gave us will have, but here's the base roll:

22:45, Today: Axander rolled 13 using 2d6+3 with rolls of 5,5. Str+Survival.

o_o That was...surprisingly good. Um. Does the survival gear give any bonuses? Say...+2? :D Other than that, I'm happy spending 1 Story Point to bring that up from Failure to Success.]

OOC: I'm not sure, I thought I'd just treat it as a kind of armour reducing the damage, and factored that into the 1 damage above (I figured there should be some risk). But yeah, an extra +2 to Survival (arctic) sounds good. You pass.

"Good eyes. We have company. Should we alert the base, or do you want to find out who they are and what they want first? I'm no good in a fight, but can help you out with the conditions if you wish."

The Ice Warrior was strangely non-commital. He was thinking carefully.

07:05, Today: Tarys rolled 9 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 2,1. Strength(3) + Survival(1) + Arctic Gear(2).

Unsurprisingly, Tarys tanks the roll.  So I guess that will be me spending a story point to not suck.  Did we reset the ones we spent in the prologue?
This message was last edited by the player at 12:08, Mon 27 July 2015.

"Yeah, we should notify the others," Bluetooth replied to Stirix, "just in case we don't survive this encounter."

As he spoke, he crouched down slightly to present a smaller target and moved away from Stirix.

"Don't want us to get taken out at the same time. They don't look like monsters, but then some of the worst monsters look like normal people."

"Can you tell what kind of armor they are wearing?"

"Sure," Trace said to Red, "Mr Frosty could do with some company." Before then though, there was still some work to do. "Maybe later though."

He took a small radio from a suit pocket. "This is Trace, I've hooked up the heaters and lights in the tents. Do you still want me to go out and put the ground sensors out?" The sensors were basically metal spikes that were driven into the ground at various points some distance from the camp. The top contained a radio transmitter and a light beacon, and the bottom contained a seismic sensor that sent pulses of sound into the ground. Arrange in a ring around the camp, they would work together to get a picture the area below the ice, and monitor the changes in its structure as they melted through it. Hopefully giving them some early warning if any geysers or vents were about to open up beneath them.

Trace:

Ortega squawked back, his voice entirely lacking in concern. 'Ah, excellent, very well done... No, no, don't worry the ground sensors at this stage. They'll interfere with Mr Kent's scans. You can install them when he returns. I want you to keep shifting the gear to the tents, There's a finds table here we need in Tent 3. Over.'

Sky Light pouted, then pulled up her mask. She slapped Trace on the shoulder. 'Race you back!' The Red Kang turned and sprinted through the automatic door and out into the snow.

Axander & Tarys & Bluetooth & Stirix:

The two time-travellers endured their hike through the snow and stiff winds. Axander, who'd lived through some British winters, fared well enough, though Tarys, Capitol-raised, was less experienced and found the cold creeping into her limbs, despite her polymesh. She shivered and was slowed, and would have to get in front of a heater to shake it.

After about 15 minutes of walking, they'd come upon the grey domes of the camp, rising out of the heaped up snow, beside a spaceship with its engines being steadily angled downward.

Out the front, they saw a welcoming committee: a clawed felinoid in cold weather gear, furs upon furs; and a massive green armoured reptilian.

*

Stirix and Bluetooth watched the pair approach: they looked like humans, or humanoids, a male and a female, clad in semi-metallic coats that presumably kept out the cold. But they were unarmed and unarmoured.


OOC: I sped you all along to get the groups together. So, say hello. If you like, roll Knowledge checks, Difficulty 12 to ID Stirix as a Martian, and 18 to ID Bluetooth as a Rakshasa (being much more obscure).

"Greetingsssssss." The Ice Warrior was cautious; leaving the more full introductions up to Bluetooth - he was after all, head of Security. Stirix had tagged along to make sure he didn't freeze to death.

It was also very hard not to make his sibilance sound menacing. It inspired many other humanoids fight or flight reaction; so he didn't push it.

THe fact that, due to honor, he was still dressed in a full Ice Warrior's paraphernalia, the armor, the helmet, the nothing but eyes to be seen, possibly didn't help either.

Grinning, Trace pulled on his respirator mask and followed Sky out the door. He ran straight into a barely packed snowball that left him stumbling as he fumbled trying to clear the "snow" from his goggles. "No fair cheating." He yelled out to the laughing Sky as she easily tore ahead.

With the last dregs of slush cleared from his goggles, TRace was about to run after Sky when he noticed 4 figures standing at the edge of the camp. Two of which he didn't recognise. Stealthily, well as stealthily as one could when crunching across snow, he snuck up to the side of the nearest dome and peered round at the newcomers, curious as to who, and what, they were.

His first excited hopes that they were natives, thawed from their millennia of frozen stasis, were dashed when they appeared distressingly human.

Though she feels sapped and numbed by the trek across the ice, Tarys forces herself to stand tall and holds her voice steady.  "Indeed.  Greetings."  She gives the short, ritual bow of equal to equal to the Martian: she has dealt with them before in her journeys, and knows how important it is to establish the proper social relationship straight off.

(She places the felinoform's species as Rakshasa.  Which is strange, because she can't recall that she ever learned this name in her training, nor as part of any briefing or in the course of any mission.  But these faces are coming into focus as familiar, imprinted on her consciousness from that shattering vision back in the TARDIS: perhaps this is a detail of foreknowledge coming "back" to her?  She gives a surreptitious hand signal to Axander, hoping that he will pick up the implied play along.)

"We're sorry to impose upon you," Tarys says.  "Our vessel may have suffered from a severe navigational fault.  The drive deposited us in this system and we've been forced to make a landing here.   We didn't pick up any signs of other ships in this system, and we've had to make a difficult hike just to get here."  Indicating Axander, she adds, "My name is Tarys, and this is Axander."

OOC:

22:52, Today: Tarys rolled 15 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 6,1. IDing a Martian: Ingenuity(5) + Knowledge(3).
22:52, Today: Tarys rolled 20 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 6,6. IDing a Rakshasa: Ingenuity(5) + Knowledge(3).
22:53, Today: Tarys rolled 18 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 4,6. Reroll for Unlucky: Ingenuity(5) + Knowledge(3).
This message was last edited by the player at 01:50, Sat 01 Aug 2015.

Sky Light stopped a short distance ahead of Trace, also spotting the two new arrivals, and watching them warily. 'I'll keep outlook.' She ran ahead to the ship and up the cargo ramp, waving her arms and shouting 'Outlooks we got visitors.' at those inside the cargo bay. Then she turned, bounded onto the rail, sprang up to grab the wing, and swung herself on top with gymnastic agility. Soon she was clambering up the hull, drawing her crossbow. Perched on top, sheltered by a vent, she had a high, dangerous "outlook".

In the cargo bay, in the middle of sifting through sonic trowels, Ortega looked bewildered at Hali after Sky Light's report. 'What?'

*

'I'll be right out.' Borys had commed back to Bluetooth and Stirix.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:40, Sun 02 Aug 2015.

[02:14, Today: Axander rolled 19 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 5,5. Ing+Know for Rakshasa.
02:14, Today: Axander rolled 12 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 1,2. Ing+Know for Martian.

Well that was unexpected.]

The plan had been to talk with these people the whole time. Unfortunately, that was as far as Axander's plan had gone. Tarys seems to have some inkling of how to deal with these people, and so he follows her example when she bows. Being the clever boy he is, he also lets her do the talking. What impresses Axander most is that the things she says sound completely reasonable and plausible, and he quickly realizes they're completely true. His first thought had been to lie to them outright, as he'd been doing for years. This is much better.

Bluetooth was too busy 'stalking' these strange apparitions to bother saying anything. If they weren't hostile, he could talk to them later.

Stirix's simple greeting, however, was enough to prompt a response from them that was... non-hostile.

"We detected no other ships on this rogue world, and none nearby," he responded.

Well, at least they weren't armored, but it was clear that the cold was getting to them. He could see no benefit in withholding his name, nor any benefit they could gain from knowing it.

"I am Bluetooth. Our tents are heated. You may warm yourself there. Perhaps then I may repair your malfunctioning ship."

"A rogue planet, you say," Tarys says.  "I wonder if that could cause interference with a hyperspace jump."  Tarys lets Bluetooth's comment about detecting ships drift discreetly by.

"But the offer is most kind of you.  I hope that we don't disrupt your work here any more than strictly necessary."  If her visions meant anything in the larger picture, then strict necessity might be very disruptive indeed, but....  "Because clearly your expedition is meant to be here for an important purpose.  Do you mind my asking what it is?"

There's a brief moment of hesitation when Bluetooth offers warmth. Axander glances at Tarys, then happily begins toward comfort.

"Heated tents! Many thanks, friend Bluetooth. We do greatly appreciate the hospitality, and we'll certainly stay out of the way as best we can." The offer of help gets no reply. Maybe he'd just prefer to talk it over after tea? Even in the protective gear he's wearing, the young man is clearly having discomfort with his hands, trying in futility to rub them together for warmth through the gloves. At the moment, his top priority is escaping the biting cold.

"You'll have to ask the professor about that," Bluetooth replies to Tarys. "Some sort of ruins were detected below the ice. Not my area of expertise, so I didn't really pay attention."

Stirix, naturally, didn't look ill at ease in the cold, at all. He just watched the other two, and shook his head.

"Oh very well. These two will clearly die if left out here alone, and we can't have that. The commander is on his way out, but they can't be left exposed like this for too long."

"Very well.  We'll wait to speak to your superiors, then.  And thank you, again."

Once Tarys and Axander have been shown to one of expedition's tents and left there to warm up, Tarys fumbles the temporal trace locator from her gear with stiff fingers.  "Here.  See if you can get any sort of reading on this.  I think it's going to be important that we get a proper look into these ruins they're investigating.  There's something I saw during my... episode... that I think is going to be important."  She starts methodically working life back into her extremities, like an athlete, drawing deep breaths to oxygenate her blood.  "The Martian, the Raksasha... I remember seeing them in the vision, and I think they're going to be important in reaching our goal.  There may be one or two others here, as well."

At Axander's look, she adds, "I know how that sounds, but please, try to trust me on this.  My... condition, when it shows me things, they often turn out to be important.  We must be careful, but if the expedition leader is resistant to giving us access to any information... Well.  We must take what measures are necessary."

The look doesn't abate at her explanation, though an eyebrow slowly raises. Axander's hands have no expertise with the trace locator, so he simply holds it and gets used to its weight and shape for the moment. A flicker of that fear she'd seen in the young man's face pulled at his eyes for an instant, before it was replaced with something cold and angry. His voice doesn't carry the anger, but it does have a resolve she hasn't yet heard from him.

"We are not murdering innocent people. That is absolutely not an option, not even to save the Doctor. From what I've learned about him, he would not be proud of that choice, and neither would I. If the being in charge here won't help us, we'll find another way. There are always alternatives." With that said, he turns his attention to the device and starts fiddling with it. His voice loses the edge to it, and simply becomes a distant mumble, trying to identify what the components are doing.

"Proximity to the temporal disturbance should get us a better lock on the signal, once I can figure out how to even read this blasted thing. The Doctor designed this? Hard to believe it even functions... That was a Martian, you said? Human fiction describes them very differently. Though it was speculative, so I suppose the drastic differences can be forgiven. Same author wrote an early work of time travel fiction, if you can believe it..."

Tarys continues to try to counteract her hypothermia symptoms, unperturbed by Axander's response.

She keeps her voice low.  "I hope you realize that I'm not simply using euphemisms to spare your feelings.  I have no intention of killing anyone.  Unlike some people in the Gallifreyan Command I could name, I do not mean to become the Daleks to defeat the Daleks.  Besides, if what I believe about these people is true, violence against their leader, or employer, would be counter-productive in the extreme."

Tent:

Bluetooth and Stirix escorted Axander and Tarys into one of the sturdy domed-tents, out of the bitter wind and the worst of the cold. They gave the two travellers a little time to warm and recover, and to confer, while they fetched those in charge and anyone else who cared to eavesdrop.

Tarys soon warmed up in front of the heater, restoring feeling to her cold, numbed extremities, and stopping the shivering. [No more Coordination penalty.]

It wasn't long before someone in charge came to meet them, stalking through the iris and grumbling irritably. '—too much work to do, and all my crew off playing archaeologist—' Seeing the travellers, he pulled off his mask, hood, and goggles to regard them, revealing a grizzled, tanned, and balding older man. 'Oh. Hi. The name's Borys, captain of the Yermak Maru out there. I heard you jumped here by mistake and had to set down?' He frowned, too experienced a space captain to accept the story at face value. 'You're a long way off the spacelanes – by the Rim, between Outer and Perseus.'

Trace followed Bluetooth and Stirix as they escorted the newcomers to one of the tents. He stayed outside, trying to overhear what they were talking about as the they waited for the others. But they were speaking too quietly and Trace was unable to make out their words.

He was about to see if he could use his Scanner Gauntlet to amplify the words. But before he could do so he spotted Captain Borys approaching the tent so he changed his mind and joined the others in the tent.

Pulling down his hood and removing his mask, Trace stood in the corner and listened.

Axander perks up as more of the expedition crew arrives. The mass of wires and doodads gets set aside as he stands to shake the captain's hand in greeting. He's removed the hood and goggles, leaving his glasses the only face adornment.

"Ah, Captain! A pleasure to meet you. I'm Axander, this is Tarys. We've come a long way, and our navigation system wasn't working how we'd hoped. This planet is quite far off the beaten path, isn't it? We're lucky to have found anyone here! ...Did you say your ship is the Yermak? The Yermak Maru? That's quite an old pair of references, isn't it? Fitting, though, considering the climate."

Tarys gives Axander a look which she hopes Borys will read as long-suffering patience.  Then she turns her full attention on Borys, her voice rising and falling in even, measured tones.

"Yes, I'm afraid that we are a rather long way off the beaten track, Captain.  Perhaps I should explain a little more clearly.

"Axander, here, is a student on sabbatical, a fellow of a highly exclusive academy -- I doubt you'd have even heard of it," she says.  "I am more of a security specialist.  An expediter.  I've taken on the responsibility for keeping him safe and guiding him to the proper destinations, and I'm afraid I'm made a mess of that.  Sometimes, that task needs to be a question of advising one's charges when they are choosing to take risks that are better avoided, or investigating anomalies that are outright hazards.  Have you not found that to be true, Captain?

"We do not mean to be a bother to your crew or this expedition.  We will need to make a proper inspection of our vessel and determine whether it can be made spaceworthy.  If that does not prove possible, than I must beg the use of your communications link to attempt to summon assistance.

"But I do believe we will need some time to recover before we can attempt that journey.  Captain, you have my gratitude for simply allowing us that time."

As she reiterates and embellishes the basic theme that she originally laid out to the pair that first met them, Tarys exerts a mild psychic pressure upon the captain, attempting to lull his suspicions and gain a passive compliance from him.  If a primary authority figure on this expedition accepts their presence, she hopes that most of the rest will fall into line, at least until she and Axander can investigate a bit.  She's not pushing this far or fast, because she knows that other eyes are watching and too blatant an approach will certainly rouse others' suspicions.

'Your transponder's not working either?' Borys supplied, returning Axander's shaken hand. He eyeed the weird gadget before deciding it couldn't possibly be a weapon, or in any way useful. 'That's the name she had when I bought her.' he said, uncuriously.

He listened to Tarys with clear relief, sharing the long-suffering look. 'Another academic, huh? I know the feeling. There must be a convention on.' he said, a wry grin breaking out. His questions about their unheralded arrival faded with Tarys's words. 'Alright, you have our assistance, as per spacefaring law. I can have my mechanic and technician look over your ship, if you like, and can give you a tow if your ship is small enough... But we're real busy here, and on the clock, so you might have to wait a while.'

'Until then, well, is your student interested in archaeology—?'

Just then, the iris burst open again and another man barged into the tent. 'What's this about a student?' he demanded suspiciously, pulling off his gear to show an aggrieved human man in his mid-fifties. He turned the full force of his territorial academia on Axander. 'Who sent you? Mars University? The Braxiatel Collection? Listen, this is my dig-site! I won't have trench-jumpers!'

Trace cleared his throat, hoping to derail the Professor's imminent tirade. "I'd be happy to give your ship a once over, if you think it'd help."

Axander looks a bit sheepish during Tarys's explanation of her duties regarding him. Though it was just a cover story, he couldn't help but feel like his enthusiasm for investigating the landing site in the first place warranted that sort of explanation. His mouth opened to give a reply when Borys asked about archaeology, but the more agitated man interrupted and took Axander aback. There was a brief moment he glanced to Tarys and Borys, but then he took a quick breath, stood tall, and answered.

"Ah, excuse me, you must be the senior researcher here. I can see why you'd be concerned about other scholars taking credit for your discoveries, but let me assure you that my university is quite strict about that sort of thing. Our methods of preventing theft like that is quite ingenious and completely impossible to circumvent, leaving no motive for doing so. Besides, we've no idea what this site even is."

Ortega fumed for a while, regarding the travellers suspiciously and asking various questions, like why they'd come here and why, their fields of expertise, their credentials, to which Axander and Tarys tried their best to give honest or evasive answers to. At last, he'd decided Axander was on the level, at least with regard to not trying to jump his claim. Axander and Tarys had, it seemed, suddenly been thrust into the cut-throat world of interstellar archaeology, full of lost technology and alien hazards, where archaeologists were as much treasure hunters as academics, if not more so, not that they would say as much.

Then he seemed almost glad to have them, with an avaricious gleam in his spectacles. After all, they might be willing to lend a hand and some more academic credentials to his dig. '...Ah, well, this planet doesn't actually have a name. This is a rogue planet, you see, a wanderer across the Milky Way...' Then he launched into his practised presentation.

Ortega explained that a Draconian automated probe mapping this sector of space – a rather sparse area between the Outer and Perseus Arms of the Milky Way Galaxy, on the far side from Earth and close to the outer edge – had discovered a rogue planet. A rogue planet was a world flung by gravitational forces out of its parent solar system, left to wander cold interstellar space. This one was calculated to have been wandering for two to seven million years. But, within the last few centuries, it had encountered a white dwarf star and been caught in an erratic orbit, from which it was likely to be flung out again in another century. All this had been calculated by a Draconian astronomical team.

They'd also detected a signal: faint but regular, and continuing. No one could identify the source, but Ortega theorised this planet had been home to a civilisation once, millions of years ago, highly developed and potentially connected to the ancient history of the galaxy and the powerful elder races that had dominated the stars in those forgotten days, like Osirans and Time Lords. This civilisation would have been lost when the planet was ejected into interstellar space but kept perfectly preserved beneath the ice.

Without a sun to warm it, the planet had frozen over, according to the Draconians. First its atmosphere had cooled to liquid, and then to ice: frozen water, oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide. Ordinarily, this would be too thick and dense to melt or cut through, but the small degree of radiant heating from the white dwarf had begun to thaw the planet out, and at its closest, the world was experiencing the nearest thing to spring after millennia of winter. A breathable atmosphere had returned, and the ice decreased enough to permit excavations.

Ortega's plan was to rotate the Yermak's powerful engines and fire them downward while remaining grounded, using their heat as a thermal drill to cut a large borehole into the ice. Then they would use the engines as generators to power plasma torches, with which they could carve tunnels and trenches and make more precise archaeological excavations – the equivalent of using trowels in soil.

Borys explained the crew's task was to reorient the engines; manage the thermal drilling, power generation, and plasma torches; help in the manual labour of melting tunnels and cutting trenches and shifting blocks of ice. Ortega added they would assist in basic unskilled archaeological work, like sifting through spoil-heaps, moving equipment, and cleaning finds as necessary.

Borys and Ortega introduced the crew and archaeologists, especially those hanging around the tent:

• Prof. Niles Ortega – expedition leader and chief archaeologist
• Scholastor Stirix – xenobiologist, cryologist, arctic safety expert
• Farren – xenoanthropologist, xenotechnologist
• Hali'r'a Plim, B.Sc. (Hons) - archaeologist
• Vax Kent, B.Sc., M.Sc. - archaeologist
• Borys, Bluetooth, Sky Light, Trace - technicians, mechanics, general labourers, security

'You're welcome to hang around here until we can get a look at your ship.'

'...And I'm sure a keen student such yourself would enjoy experiencing real archaeology in action, the process of excavation, discovery, and analysis. Seeing as you're unfortunately marooned here for the foreseeable, you might find it rewarding to help out, get your hands dirty – or chilly, rather.'


OOC: Sorry for the wait, I was busy and ill. I jumped us forward to get on with things.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 06:44, Tue 13 Oct 2015.

Farren had been busying himself here and there following touchdown on the rogue planet and had not been all that eager to step outside to face the harsh chill of the environment.  However, he had been about to "gear up" to step outside when low and behold 2 complete strangers were brought inside.  They appeared to be "human" (or at least human-like) but Farren knew that the humanoid form was one of the most common encountered in the galaxy and there was no telling what species these two beings might actually be (assuming they were not using some sort of disguise to merely appear human).  Their story seemed somewhat implausible considering the circumstances.  Perhaps if this had been a "stable" world in a normal solar system that had regular space traffic, a "crash landing" could be accepted more readily but what were the odds of another ship just happening to land upon a rogue world at the same time as Professor Ortega's expedition.  The probability that this was all simply "coincidence" was likely not very high and Farren did not need a computer to calculate that.

Farren stepped forward and offered his hand for a polite handshake when Professor Ortega introduced him to the pair.  Other than a typical nonchalant "hello", Farren did not have much to say to the pair at the moment.  Instead, he was more interested in studying the pair, looking for any signs of equipment or technology or clothing or symbols that might indicate who they really were and, more importantly, where they really came from.  But Farren was careful not be too intrusive in his observations as he did not wish to make the pair feel uncomfortable or unwelcomed.

Tarys does her best to fade out of the limelight as the confrontational aspect dies down, both because Axander is meant to be her employer in the little scenario they've concocted, and because this gives her a better opportunity to observe, and see who is observing them in turn.  She notes Farren and Trace, both giving her the same resonant twinge from her retrocognitive memory as the first pair did.

She hopes none of them take undue notice of this.  There was a knack to using foreknowledge to one's advantage, one that you learned quickly when you dove into the Time War, and part of that was learning to navigate around predestination loops and Blinovitch eddies.  And this time and place could well have a weight to them all their own, and one of which she had seen nothing.

Axander's attitude shifted quickly from aloof to enthusiastic once Professor Ortega seemed to accept that the pair weren't there to steal his work. He happily met with and introduced himself and Tarys to the rest of the crew, shaking hands and looking quite pleased.

"This planet is absolutely fascinating, I had never thought it possible for an ejected world to end up caught in another star's orbit so smoothly. The odds are certainly not in favor of this kind of event. I'd be quite happy to help in any way I can, Professor. I'm more a historical sociologist than archaeologist, but I've dabbled a bit here and there into the physical remains of history. Where do we begin?"

'Excellent! I'm sure you'll be quite useful to me around here.' Ortega said, equally parts pleased to have a different kind of expert on board and relieved that Axander wasn't going to poach his research. 'You'll probably want to speak with Mr Farren here, our xenoanthropologist. He comes highly recommended by Professor Orla Hadmani of the London University of History and Antiquity. He's also a sociologist.' And any conflict there was not his concern.

'Now, our first task will be to analyse the results of Mr Kent's scans, looking for locations of interest, significant structures, and anomalies. Then I will select suitable sites for digging trenches – or, ah, tunnels, in our case.'

Vax Kent had entered the tent during the lecture, having parked the buggy outside. He and Hali had been busy downloading and processing the data collected in the ice-penetrating radar scans. But now, as if on the professor's cue, they got their computer projecting an impressive 3D display, hanging in the air in the centre of the tent. It was hazy, low-resolution, and pixellated, but the blocky grey shapes were clear enough: stepped pyramidal structures, grand spires, curving walkways, clearly an extensive settlement. The complete ghost of a city hung in the air before them. 'Aha! Excellent! Well done! Now, let me look.' Ortega reached a hand into the image. With common, 3D touch-display gestures, he could rotated or expand the projection as he desired. No one else got to have a go yet.

But, looking down, Vax seemed to realise something and broke off for a moment. Working quietly, he found a mop (just the thing for moving snow and slush, it had transpired), warmed it at the hearer, and then swept away a section of the floor within the tent. Soon, he had the area clean and polished, and crystal clear. 'Have a look.' Looking down, they could see the buildings themselves, wavering and distorted and emerging from shadow. Spires and ziggurats of dark stone spread out before them in all directions, showing a whole city entombed in the ice.


OOC: Roll Awareness + Knowledge/Science/Technology checks, as you like, plus any relevant bonuses, to make findings from the data. Difficulty is 15, with more facts with higher rolls. If you have gadgets with the Scan trait, feel free to use them as well.

Trace wanders over to Vax and looks down to where the man is indicating. He whistles, impressed by the frozen city below. "Okay, I guess that pretty much confirms we found something." The boy says with a grin. Stepping back, he pushes up the sleeve on his jacket and consults the screen on his gauntlet, scanning the city below.

____
15:16, Thu 13 Aug 2015: Trace rolled 15 using 2d6+6 ((3,6)).
Awareness (2) + Tech (4) + 2d6 (9) = 15, 17 with the bonus from the scanner gauntlet

Tarys crouches down by the edge of the cleared space to study the city, making sure that she isn't obstructing anyone with more clear call to be doing so.  She takes in the sweep of the architecture, the look of the materials, and perhaps even the echoes of history laying upon it, trying to pick out any identifying details.

(Her fingers twitch.  She imagines that the Possible Knife might be able to tell her more about the layers of deep time that rest upon this place, but waving a dagger like a madwoman is perhaps not the best way to hide within her assumed role.  She clasps her hands in front of her to still the urge to unsheathe it.)

She remembers the captain's explanation that this world is a rogue planet.  Planets have been made to go missing before, when they proved inconvenient to the great powers, and she wonders whether this might not have been the case here.

Technically a Gadget with Scan, but dowsing with bared steel can wait. :)

Tarys rolled 17 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 2,6. Checking out the city: Awareness(4) + Knowledge(3) + AoE (Ancient Civilizations)(2)

Fascinated by Kent's three dimensional scan of the buried city, Axander was late to notice the view below. Everyone else was already staring and studying by the time he looked down, and was immediately awed.

"My word..." The others appeared to be examining and studying and using their various skills, and the young man realized it was time for him to be useful as well. His messenger bag was under the warm coat he'd worn, and he reached into one of the pockets to draw out a little black computer. More of a book, really. It unfolded and he pushed a few buttons, muttering to himself. Or to it, hard to say.

"Ah, hm. Categorized list of rogue planets, filtered by known habitation..." Being Axander, he was more looking up stories of such places and worlds, and narrowing down from there. This was the sort of event that led to myths and legends, and he felt sure to find something of note.

[21:40, Today: Axander rolled 19 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 6,4. Awa+Know(Lit)+Scan.]

Farren's curiosity was piqued sufficiently that he was willing to divert his attention from the two recently arrived strangers to focus on the incoming data and attempt to analyze the discoveries being made.  Farren tried assessing the information from various perspectives, initially having some difficulty finding the right discipline to apply to gain the best insight into its meaning.

The Ice Warrior gleamed. This was -science-. Not biology perhaps; but science all the same. He examined the information gathering, his keen analytical mind already going over possibilities.

01:31, Today: Stirix rolled 16 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 6,3. Awareness (3) + Science (4).

Rhawn hadn't really been given a chance to use his technological savvy yet. After all, he didn't look like a scientist, now, did he?

Repairing a toaster, even if it was a 41st century toaster, didn't really count.

But, as the others were absorbed in the observation of the image and tried to extract some significant data from it, he also did the same.

04:31, Sun 16 Aug 2015: Bluetooth rolled 14 using 2d6+5 with rolls of 5,4... Awareness (2) + Technology (3).

As fascinating as the image was, he was more concerned about the possible nature of anything that may have actually survived encased in the ice. All it really took was energy. Who knew what source of energy these people had used.

Everyone closely studied what they saw...

[5 blank lines suppressed]

OOC: Some of your findings overlap, but I picked them at random, skewed to what you did and rolled where possible.

"Huh", Trace said, "that's weird." He tapped and swiped at the air above his gauntlet, manipulating the image projected onto the smart contacts he was wearing. Confused over what the scanner was telling him, be rebooted the device and scanned the cityscape again. The same results.

"It's ... like," he said haltingly, unsure as to what he was actually seeing. "Its like the whole city is moving away from us really quickly. Without actually going anywhere of course. The scanners are automagically compensating for a degree of redshift. Which I think that's what it means."

Trace thought about it for a second. "The only other thing I know off that can cause a redshift other than objects moving away is like if something is right on the event horizon of a black hole or something. The object is still moving away, but the time dilation caused by the gravity is so big that it appears to be standing still just getting redder and redder. Saw it happen once, looked really weird."

PM

Axander slowly nodded as he read the electronic book's output, mumbling to himself as he continued typing in more information to refine his search.

"Naturally. Tales of rogue planets are rare enough, and most all of them are horror stories. Only a handful of storytellers in a handful of cultures ever considered writing stories of heavenly delight and paradise on these worlds. Shame, would've been nice to have something friendly to look forward...to...? What is that?" Something below had caught his eye, and the young man adjusted his glasses and knelt down to get a better look. A few more button presses and he waved the book in the city's direction.

"The doors. Most of them are small and round, and don't match the size of the buildings. Clearly the dominant species on this world would have used them, but over there you can see doors meant for galli-- er...humanoid inhabitants. There were two sentient species living on this planet." He glanced over at Trace and tried to add the boy's discovery to his own in his head.

"Curiouser and curiouser." The city seemed like a good place to check with the temporal trace locator, but it would be hard to explain away to the others. Axander stood and backed away from the crowded view, closing his book.

Farren nodded his head in agreement as Trace pointed out the mysterious red shifting that Farren had also noticed.  Then Farren pointed to an area at the outer edge of the scan as he said, "Trace, what do you make of this rather large "blank area" at the edge of the scan?  Upon closer examination, it appears to be the sides of some kind of circular pit, like a deep well or mine shaft.

Everything just sort of drops out of sight, apparently going straight down past the limits of the scan.  If that is some kind of mine shaft, it would have to be exceedingly, almost unimaginably, deep.

But... you mentioned that this kind of redshift is typically linked to the event horizon of a singularity?  However, if there was a black hole close enough to be causing this level of redshift distortion, would not its extreme gravitational field have been noted during our approach of the rogue planet?"

Farren glanced over at Axander, noting that the young man seemed to catch himself and correct himself to say humanoid.  Hmm... so what or who are "galli" or "galli-er"?

Farren asked, "Did you notice any potential clues that might indicate if one set of doors was older than the other?  While it is possible that two different types of sentient species may have existed on this planet, there is the possibility that they did not co-exist at the same time.

Perhaps a later species originated after or even evolved from the former?  Or perhaps one species died out, maybe after the planet was knocked out of its system orbit and went rogue, and a different species visited the planet later, making the most of the facilities already constructed & established?"

Stirix paused, then murmured, pointing out a hand towards the hologram, as he hissed.

"A shaft. Intensely deep - so deep it goes beyond the areas of the scan. That's deep - an underground area might be able to be investigated if it goes -that- deep."

For the most part, Bluetooth just kept in the background and listened while the others discussed things waaaaaay over his head. However, at the mention of round openings, it made him think of something specific.

"Round openings always remind me of spaceships," he offered. "Could these round openings be hatches on a spaceship? It's a function of technology, not necessarily a function of biology."

Tarys keeps silent as the others all float their observations and theories.  She is reluctant to speak up and offer her insights, lest she give away her assumed role before she's ready.

But she steps closer to Trace and Farren as they discuss the red shift.  "You make a good point about the gravity -- it seems like most of the conventional causes of that kid of effect are ruled out by the circumstances," she says. "Is there any sort of unconventional cause that you can think of?"

Trace shrugged. "I'm no astro-whatsit. I don't know if there's anything else that could cause a shift like that." Except maybe a time-dilation field, he thought. But he probably should mention something like that. As far as he could remember, the dominant human culture of this era had no knowledge or experience with such technology.

"But you're right. We'd have detected anything like a black hole before now. I guess we really need to get down there now." He added with a curious and excited grin.

As the others put forward their observations and discussed their findings, the three archaeologists conferred amongst themselves, with Ortega conveniently coming to all the same conclusions. Well, it was nice to have professional confirmation. The professor smiled condescendingly to the less-qualified and said 'Very good analysis, we'll make archaeologists of you yet! Of course, we'll verify things ourselves in the excavations.' He seemed really very pleased with himself to have found his lost city.

'Borys, if all is ready, please engage the thermal bore. We'll melt down past the ice crust to form our initial trench, then use plasma torches to cut through to specific parts of the city.'

'Alright, stay away from the engines, else you're barbecue.' The captain exited the tent and returned to the ship.


OOC: Before we go on to the next phase, please go ahead with any conversation, investigation, or whatever you have in mind.

Farren looked from Trace to Tarys as the question of "unconventional answers" hung in the air.  When Trace seemed unable to come up with any ideas, Farren glanced from Tarys to Axander as he said, "Can either of you think of an "unconventional cause" for the red shift effect observed, something other than the extreme gravitational effects of a singularity?

Perhaps whatever caused this surprising red shift effect might also be responsible for the trouble you both had with your own vessel?"

"Perhaps."  Tarys considers the question carefully.  "I should not claim anything more than a layman's understanding of the problem, of course.  But if you break the question down, all we really know is that we see a longer apparent wavelength.  If the wavelength is constant and the distance scale rules out some effect of relativity, the only remaining part of the equation would be a change in the rate of time."  She gives Farren a serious look.  "However that might be caused.  I would think that a closer investigation needs to be carried out very carefully."

Conversation descended into technical matters and broke apart by topic, before they saw a general return to work and research. The two newcomers were permitted to wander the archaeological camp, provided they didn't stray into hazardous areas like the thermal bore site, nor interfere with archaeology. And if they hung about too long, they would soon be recruited into the scientific grunt-work of processing data, cutting through ice, and setting up equipment.

It wasn't long before Borys was ready to fire up the Yermak Maru's engines. Everyone outside had to wear protective goggles against the glare, and stay away from the aft end of the ship. Inclined toward the ice-sheet, the rocket thrusters unleashed a searing gout of fire and superheated gas. The whole ship strained and groaned, its landing gear bolted to the ice, not designed to fly like this anyway. But she was a tough ship, and she held.

The thermal bore drilled through the frozen atmosphere like, well, a blowtorch through an icecube. Ice flowed into liquid evaporated into gas, lost in the flame. They couldn't see the hole itself being bored, but knew it was descending in a matter of seconds.

After several seconds of this, Ortega called a halt, they waited a few long minutes, and Vax conducted some scans. At Ortega's word, Borys fired up the engines again, and so they steadily crept closer down to the buried and frozen alien city they'd all glimpsed through the ice.

Eventually, Vax and Ortega deemed they were close enough, the engines were shut down altogether to cool in the chilly air. A perfectly round shaft had been cut into the ice, the angle steep but enough to walk on. It descended into the earth, first in the weak daylight, then shadowed eerily by light refracted through the ice, before disappearing into an blackness. Misty vapours rose out of the hole, and icy stalactites had begun to reform on the top lip, for all the world like the gaping mouth of some buried behemoth.

Now they waited for the ice walls of the borehole to refreeze, forming their own structural supports.



Now it was time for the workers to set up plasma torches. Without firing up the thrusters, heat from the ship's engines would be channelled down insulated tubes to the plasma torches, which would be used for finer cutting through the ice. They would also need to set up heaters to warm up and expand ice caves beneath the surface. Those who would go down the hole hauled on protective suits, pulled on sturdy friction boots, and helmets with mounted cameras.

Vax Kent and Hali Plim were to be the first to go down the borehole, though anyone could choose to accompany them, whether for technical work, scientific consultation, or just the thrill of being among the first to enter a lost alien city. Professor Ortega had, at great reluctance, elected to stay topside and supervise the initial foray via communicator, watching what would take place over the helmet-mounted cameras. He'd emphasised that the newcomers would be most
useful if they put on protective suits and help Vax and Plim tunnel.

And, after all, who wouldn't want to squeeze into a cramped, heavy suit, then wriggle down through nearly two kilometres of narrow icy tunnel, dragging a metal tube behind you all the way, and then finally stand there blasting plasma energy at a wall of ice, completely surrounded by roaring jets of high-pressure gas? It's for archaeology!

As they waited, Vax waved Trace and Sky Light and whoever cared to join them to a pool of clear liquid nearby, the run-off from the borehole. Misty vapours rose off the softly bubbling liquid. 'Hey, look at this. Liquid nitrogen, mostly. Boils at minus 196 degrees C. Cold enough to burn.' He dipped his sonic trowel into the pool, provoking furious bubbling and a gust of vapour.

'Icehot!' Sky Light declared.

'Icehot, yep. What would happen if you stuck your hand in there?' Vax wiggled his gloved hand over the surface, apparently making a safety demonstration.

When Ortega calls for volunteers, Tarys gives Axander a meaningful look.  "I'd be happy to assist.  Unless you think we should both stay out of harm's way, sir."

In point of fact, she's thinking that it's an opportunity to make a closer inspection of the anomaly and the structures, away from quite so many prying eyes.  She's not quite sure how to open the subject of their real mission as yet, but if she can learn more, closer to the source, there's a far better chance that the Time Lords' specialized knowledge will lead to an opportunity.

When the time came to set up the "base camp" at the bottom of the shaft, Trace jumped at the chance. An opportunity to be among the first to explore a frozen alien city, sealed away for millenia? You bet he was going to volunteer for that!

Strange anomolies and the prospect of hard work in freezing temperatures momentarily forgotten. The young mechanic buttoned up his cold weather gear and made ready to join the others at the bottom of the icy shaft.

Axander was impressed at how much the group could accomplish in such a short time, and without even proper equipment. Jury-rigging a ship's thrusters to bore their tunnel was particularly exciting, and he complimented the crew on their ingenuity. Once it came time to decide who would accompany the team going down, Axander nodded his agreement to Tarys.

"I'm certain that city there has some connection to how we ended up here in the first place, as Farren suggested. Not only can we help these fellows out in return for giving us shelter, but maybe we can discover what brought us to this planet. Besides, it'll be exciting to be part of history being rediscovered, won't it?"

Farren knew that one often had to be bold when it came to intelligence gathering.  While the "safe" move would be to remain topside and allow others to brave the initial dangers, it would also mean that the initial impressions of the lost city would be "filtered" through the point team's POV.  There was nothing quite like getting a first hand, "eyes on" perspective of an initial find.  Also the further he was from the "action" the greater the chance that someone might "pocket" something without being observed and deny him the chance to study a piece of alien technology.

With this in mind, Farren readily volunteered to join the first wave point team to work on the tunnel and make their way to the lost city.  Farren seemed relatively unconcerned about the environmental hazards and, despite his usual discipline, Farren was hard pressed to conceal his enthusiastic piqued interest in the discovery.

For some reason, this ice bore made him think of another cave he'd been in once before... the memory was tugging at the back of his mind but he couldn't quite get a grasp on it.

"I'm going," he announced. It wasn't a request, nor was it quite a volunteering. He'd been hired just for this very thing. Well, that's what he thought at any rate.

He promptly geared up with any equipment he thought he might need... rope, pitons, hammer, torch, etc.

When it looked like everyone was ready, he took the lead.

Hali had joined him, but Vax was a bit disappointed that no one else had taken up interest in his demonstration. He carried on explaining to Sky Light. 'Freezy-peasy.' she decided knowingly.

'Uh, yes. That's right. I think. Watch.' He dripped a stretchy rubber gromit in, to the same bubbling effect, then removed it a few seconds later. He demonstrated it was frozen hard, then shattered it into pieces with a good whack from his trowel. Sky Light laughed in delight.

That much was well known from horror-vids and such. But Vax pulled his glove off and held his bare hand over the bubbling liquid nitrogen – then dipped his hand right in!

Hali squealed in shock and Sky Light gasped, as Vax removed his hand moments later, holding it quite still. Then he wiggled his fingers, showing he was completely unharmed. 'Leidenfrost effect. Your body is so hot in comparison that the nitrogen just boils off on contact, and you're protected by a sheath of gas. For a second or two, anyway. Gets very cold very quick though, and you don't want it pooling in your clothes or fur. Remember that if you ever have to steal from a Proamonian.' Intrigued, Sky Light removed her glove and dipped each of her fingers in very fast, before they got too cold to risk it, and she hurried off back to work.

Soon after, the whole expedition team gathered at the mouth of the ice tunnel. Stirix would be accompanying as well, of course, as he was the team's cryologist, who would ascertain the safety of the ice structures and tunnels they encountered. Hali and Vax would examine and conduct archaeology, while Farren and Axander made initial xenoanthropological assessments. Bluetooth, Trace, and Tarys got to carry the heaters, lamps, heat-conduction tubes, plasma torches, and other equipment.

'Good luck, all of you. I'll be watching over the cameras, and will remain in constant contact over the communicators. Let's hope we find something glorious. History will be discovered and history will be made!' Ortega enthused.

That was it. Moving cautiously, Vax approached the mouth of the tunnel, finding a cool wind seemed to blow out of it, like a slumbering giant exhaling. Just evaporation, he told himself, but couldn't shake the feeling of trepidation. After a last look back at the ship and the sky, he stepped over the lip of the tunnel, pressing his boot to the ice, finding it still runny with liquid and flecked with loose snow. Suddenly he slipped, a alarming jerk backwards, but was caught by the others before he could fall and slide all the way down. Once they got their footing and moved further in, they found the floor more sturdy, the ridges left by the thermal bore providing friction that gave them good traction. And so, advancing two-by-two, they journeyed down the cool, dark tunnel, into the heart of the frozen world. 'The laser-measure reports a distance of two klicks to the end. Long way down.'

It also grew increasingly cramped as the tunnel narrowed slightly, and the curve didn't offer a lot of footing. The eight of them (perhaps a few too many) had to jostle shoulder to shoulder, but at least they could catch each other when they slipped. Behind them, Bluetooth and Trace unrolled the heavy metallic tubes that would conduct heat and power down the tunnel, always unrolling and laying out straight and trying not to get them tangled.

The walls changed gradually from a translucent blue to something too dark to see through, with shades of pink here and there, resulting from a different crystalline phase of solid oxygen, Stirix could report.

And the ice groaned and creaked constantly, occasionally dislodging small stinging chunks, reminding them that this planet, as a whole, was a slowly defrosting and coming back to some semblance of life.

Wearing a head mounted light, Trace slowly moved down the tunnel, digging his feet into the ice to steady himself. "Wouldn't want to go sliding down two kilometers of ice on my butt.."

Every 10 meters or so, he took a metal spike out of a bag and stabbed it into the ice. Slapping the end caused it to light up illuminating the tunnel.

Stab, slap, shuffle, unroll conduit, repeat.

Trace got in to a routine, operating almost on autopilot. Before he realised, it, he had reached the bottom of the shaft.

The shaft ended in a rounded-out wall of ice, too hazy and rough to see through. Vax consulted his archaeological scanner. 'There's an open space about two metres ahead. Looks to be an air cavity, or it could be part of a structure. We'll tunnel the rest of the way.'

They connected the heavy plasma torches up to the metallic conduction tubes. As the others moved back to make space, Vax and Hali (or whoever volunteered in her place, as furry Pakhars weren't the best for such hot and heavy industrial work) stood against the ice wall, lowered protective visors, and called for Borys to switch the engines on, channelling superheated plasma down the tubes. The cables grew warm, but were insulated and safe to touch with gloves. Finally, focused jets of plasma impacted the ice wall, causing instant evaporation.

For several minutes, they blasted at the wall, eroding the ice. Gusts of gases and water vapour rushed back at the team, turning the tunnel dangerously foggy and uncomfortably warm for the first time of this frozen world.

Then at last the ice cracked and quaked alarmingly, and suddenly the whole section of wall in front of the diggers gave way, collapsing back into an open space. With the plasma torches switched off, they saw a large cave in the ice. Torchlight cut through the inky darkness, revealing a sight theorised to have been hidden for untold millions of years: weird alien structures emerging from the slowly melting ice.

'Ha ha! I knew it! A lost alien city! We'll be on the lecture circuit forever!' Ortega whooped over the comms. Hali squeaked in glee, while Vax calmly stepped forth into the cavern, the rest of the team filing in afterward.

Stirix hissed.

"Be careful. Whilst -deliberate- freezing for preservation is still unheard of in my experience, I have first-hand knowledge that accidental ones, with the right circumstances, can happen. And do not forget what happened when humanity first thawed -my- people."

He gazed at the melting ice, conflicting feelings of exhiliration and concern. The Ice Warriors had made great strides in peace in the years since that first contact; but they were a proud warrior race, and things had been very tense for a while. Melting of ice was fraught with dangers; Stirix knew that better than most.

Bluetooth assisted Vax with the heavy plasma torches to cut through the ice to reach the ice cave beyond. The warmth from the ensuing steam was actually a relief from the bitter cold.

As the fog finally dissipated revealing the alien structures, he took a moment to look them over in more detail, trying to determine something about the people who built them.

"Not surprisingly, I can say with conviction that I've never seen that style of architecture before... though it does kind of resemble the architecture of the Ardanians' ancient god-city. This would appear to be much, much older, though, and I don't see how the two could be connected."

"Does anyone spot a doorway?"

Bluetooth looks for something that might be a door or other way into the inside of one of the structures.

'The Thousand Day War.' Vax supplied in answer to Stirix, his tone grim through the helmet. Numerous small groups of Martians had been defrosted over the centuries of early space exploration, most believing themselves to be the last of their kind and launching face-saving attacks on Earth, until being defeated or corrected. The Thousand Day War of the 2080s had been the greatest, bloodiest such conflict, ending in a humiliating defeat for the Ice Warriors and the full-scale human colonisation of Mars. So, there was that.

'Or the Cyber-Tombs on Telos.' Hali added helpfully.

'I said not to mention those.' Ortega hissed warningly down the line to the two archaeologists, perhaps missing that it wasn't a private channel.

The archaeologists moved further into the ice cave, panning their torches across the chamber. It seemed large enough to encompass much the city, the roof supported by

 The beam refracted through the ice, illuminating the still-entombed dark stone structures of the alien city, offering tantalising glimpses of spires and ziggurats, curious pictograms, and statues of disturbing outlines.

Vax felt a strange chill, one that had nothing to do with the kilometres of supercold ice all around him. A chill that went right down to his bones, and to his souls. A chill he'd not felt since... 'Set up the heaters, start defrosting this place. We'll look around, try to identify some structures, then begin excavations with plasma torches.'

Bluetooth saw numerous doors, albeit small, round holes only about a metre high. Only Hali could walk inside one with any comfort. Many seemed open, lacking even doors, but the buildings were full of ice, and dark inside. If he wanted in, he would have to tunnel in with a plasma torch.

Hali fell in beside Bluetooth. 'Ardanians? I didn't know you had an interest in archaeology?' she asked while scrutinising one frozen structure.


OOC: Roll skill checks and make scans as you explore the ice cavern to begin identifying structures. You can look for something specific seen in the scans earlier, or just see what you get lucky on. There are currently three structures that are close enough to study by eye through the ice.

Axander kept well away from the pair cutting through the ice. He went over similar situations in his head, wondering which civilization they'd be likely to find on this rogue world. It had to be someplace the Doctor had gone, or Elona wouldn't have brought them here. Was it one of the incidents discussed at the Academy? Something else altogether? When the wall gave way, the wave of heat suddenly stopped and turned back to cold, and Axander was pulled from inside his own head. The view was spectacular.

Stirix's warning gave him pause. He'd been thinking similar thoughts, but forgot that the people of Mars had been involved in similar situations. The reminder was a little uncomfortable. When Hali mentioned the Cyber-Tombs, Axander nodded and took a deep breath. Anything could be down there. Something about Ortega's chiding struck Axander as odd, but he rationalized it away as not wanting his team to demoralize each other in the face of potential danger.

The first order of business was to pull out a scanner and try to determine just where in the city they were. Closer to the center and they'd be likely to find libraries, hospitals, and political centers. Further out and they were more likely to find homes. Beyond that, centers of industry. He was hoping for libraries, naturally.

[Scanning with the Psychic Encyclopedia. Hopefully it'll give some good info here.

14:36, Today: Axander rolled 12 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 1,3.  Awa+Tech+Scan.

Heh. That's two games today in which the die roller has mocked me. I'm willing to spend Story Points to bring that up to a Success if necessary.]

Once she has finished helping the others get the gear into position -- doing her best to play at grunt labor, fitting her assumed "bodyguard" role -- Tarys gives the others a short time to distract themselves with their own investigations, and then she draws the Possible Knife.

She carefully slices it into the ice covering one of the circular portals, sinking it in hilt-deep as she cuts.  Closing her eyes, she focuses on the ripples that curl out around it and the pattern of vibrations leading back into the story frozen within the ice.  Perhaps this can help her glean some clue as to the nature or the proximity of the temporal anomaly's source.

21:07, Today: Tarys rolled 18 using 2d6+11 with rolls of 6,1.  Testing the ice with the Possible Knife: Awareness(4) + Ingenuity(5) + Scan(2).

Trace hopped from foot to foot. Not to keep warm in the chilled air, but from excitement. As soon burners melted their way through, Trace was eager to explore. He pulled back his sleeve and started to use his scanner gauntlet. "I wonder how far we are from that anomaly." Unconsciously, he began to wander further into the ruins as he swept the scanner from  side to side.

______
Awareness+Tech+Scan+2d6 = 15
22:29, Today: Trace rolled 15 using 2d6+8 ((3,4)).

OOC: Axander, for obtaining a map, the 12 is fine. You lot don't need to be too successful, let's keep mystery. ;)

Tarys, I included FtTotU and a hidden circumstance bonus. ;)

Axander:

The Psychic Encyclopaedia returned a decent map of the alien city, closely matching what the archaeologists' scans had revealed earlier, though perhaps more refined with proximity and Gallifreyan technology. The virtual shapes showed a collection of squat mounds (quite a lot of those, so they were probably residential), pyramidal shapes, and taller spires. Quite a lot seemed to have been crushed, likely under tonnes of ice. In fact, all the structures they could see and access here were only the upper levels; the lower levels and small buildings all still lay buried under the ice, beneath their feet.

But there was no sensible arrangement, no streets or quarters; they were scattered around at random. Perhaps it meant the aliens had a decentralised society or authority. But it meant Axander couldn't even guess at the purpose of any significant building, from either its shape or location.

The Psychic Encyclopaedia also tried to harvest information from the city, both written, digital, and mental, the same way the TARDIS learned local languages and idioms for the translation systems. Some of the buildings received weird pictogram labels: C-, S- and U-shaped squiggles with little protrusions around the sides in a range of colours, like beige and puce. Unfortunately, it was still too alien, too context-dependent, for the TARDIS to provide any kind of translation.

Tarys:

The Possible Knife cut in the hard-frozen ice better and faster than even the plasma torches could have managed. As Tarys sought out the temporal anomaly, the knife suddenly jerked hard, smacking her knuckles into the ice, until the blade pointed almost directly downward, pointing arrow-like to the temporal anomaly. It was buried deep, deep beneath the ice.

And almost all the time-lines in the city, all that she could sense, ran down there and ended at the anomaly. It was at the end of everything. And one line of continuity crept back up, and connected to her.

Trace:

Using his gauntlet, Trace discovered far beneath the ice what seemed to data conduits leading between various buildings. Periodically, very rarely, there was a flicker of data along them, and Trace recalled the faint signal that had drawn them here, so clearly something was still active, if dormant. All the conduits led to, or radiated from, a large dome. The electromagnetic field and frequencies from the place were too strong for it to be anything but some kind of computer centre.

He also detected a high level of radiation emanating from an imposing ziggurat, currently trapped behind a wall of ice.

"Cool!" Trace said watching the readouts on his gauntlet. "Ancient Alien Internet!" The network was quiet, only the odd flicker of data showed that it was still alive. Perhaps from automated systems periodically checking in or downloading status reports. The fact that these systems were still operating after millions upon millions of years was amazing.

He turned and looked at the ziggurat. "Probably want to be careful about that building," he yelled to others, pointing at the building, "there's a lot a rads coming from it. Maybe an ancient reactor's blown a seal?"

Trace returned his attention back to the dome. "I think there's, like, alien computers in there that are still working." Eagerly, he took off running towards the dome.

OOC: Sorry, Axander I missed some bits:

In addition to the random collection of buildings that formed the larger settlement, the map revealed another area adjoining it, forming a distinctly separate district. This other suburb was all angular buildings and flat walkways, all neatly arranged. Beyond that was the very, very deep circular hole that plunged deep into the heart of the planet. The Psychic Encyclopaedia found no labels for any of these.

Suddenly the TARDIS found a translation for one of the pictograms in the larger settlement, two squiggles under an chevron: Shelter. This corresponded to a large pyramid, quite close by.

*

'Or it could be a lab, hospital, weapons store, materials dump...' Vax suggested, coming over to check it out. He added warningly. 'Assumptions can be a killer.'

The archaeologist was more intrigued by Trace's other find. 'Computers? We may be able to hack into them if we can break in.'

The entrances to the dome were frozen over, however, and it would probably be a day's work melting their way in.


OOC: The excavation mechanic is as follows. Every structure defined in the module requires a certain number of Excavation Points, from 5 to 15. In one day's work, using the plasma torches to melt the ice (or something else with the right gadget), make a Strength + Technology check, Difficulty 12, to apply 1 to 3 EPs per day to a structure. Hali and Vax will average at 2 EP per day. General heating will add d6 EPs to each structure.

Currently known/accessible/interesting buildings/areas and their required EPs are:
Shelter: 5
Computer Core?: 5
Unidentified building #3: 5
Angular Quarter: 7
Radiation Source Building: 7
Deep Well: 15
Temporal Anomaly: 15
This message was last edited by the GM at 10:00, Mon 12 Oct 2015.

"Oh, it's only a passing interest," Bluetooth answers Hali. "In my youth, I went on a couple of looting raids. One of them was to Ardania. That's why I know about them. First hand experience."

"You kind of have to get to know the people that built these places in order to understand the buildings. Archaeology tends to work the other way--learn the structure and architecture to understand the people."

"So how did you get interested in archaeology?"

'Looting?' Hali repeated under her breath, suddenly concerned. Looters were the last thing archaeologists wanted in ruined cities, after all. She rubbed her paws together in nervousness. 'Oh, well, um, I guess I just always had an interest in history, and had a knack for it. I met Professor Ortega when he came to Pakhar seeking the ancient Diadem. He helped me win a scholarship to Luna University. It was that or the work-wheels for me. I owe him everything. He's a great man.' she ended in awe, with a clear case of hero worship.

As discussions begin about getting the excavation under way in earnest, Tarys finds a moment to pull Axander aside.

"You may have already guessed this," she says, "but I have discovered something fairly unsettling.  My Knife is able to trace flows of probabilistic potentional, and I was able to read a flux line leading to the source of the anomaly, far down there."  She indicates the direction of the source.  "It is far more than just a freak dilation source.  There's a trace pulling between it and us, to the mission.  I can't tell exactly what it is yet, but I believe it connects to the same convergence that destroyed the Doctor."

She glances around at the others.  "I don't want to tip our hand to who we are and why we're here just yet.  But I think that time is coming on soon.  Once we have something definite we can tell these people."

"Exactly what I was thinking," he said to Vas as he peered at the building through the ice."Time to melt us some ice!" Trace returned to the shaft to collect a plasma burner and immediately set about spraying the wall with liquid fire.

_______
18:39, Strength 2 + Technology 4 + 2d6 (4+2) = 12

'Stop him!' Ortega yelled over the comms.

'Wait a minute.' Vax followed wearily. Then shouted over the sound of the torches 'Stop! Be careful, slow down. Someone could get hurt, trust me.' His voice held regret, like he spoke from experience.

'While I appreciate your enthusiasm, boy, this is an archaeological expedition. We can't just go burning into things willy-nilly! We will carefully examine the site, choose appropriate locations for investigation, then cut neat trenches for systemic excavation. And I will decide where we dig!' the professor declared with all the superiority he could muster.

He softened, and added in more conciliatory, yet still patronising, tone 'An exciting  first job for the amateur archaeologist is the vital task of sifting through the spoil heap – in our case, melting snow and ice blocks under a heat lamp and sieving out debris, fragments, and trash.' Exciting!

'Now, first impressions of the site, everyone. What have you found?'

'There's a ziggurat over there, sir. It seems to be covered in pictographs, so it must have some cultural significance. Could be a a temple or archive or government building.' Hali suggested.

'And I think I saw a statue over there. It's toppled and broken, but perhaps could be reconstructed. It shouldn't take long to defrost.'

'Ah, excellent. And the rest of you?'
This message was last edited by the player at 02:02, Mon 28 Sept 2015.

Trace pouted and reluctantly switched off the plasma  burner. Sifting through dirt, exciting? He thought derisively. You and me have use a different spellchecker 'cos that ain't the definition of "exciting".

"These guys were slick with tech," he says look around, "I mean, they got data lines running between all these buildings and that dome. And its all still working."

"Except maybe that stepped pyramid place," he added pointing at the ziggurat, "that place is leaking rads like a leaky reactor. Then again, this place is like eon-ancient, surprised its still got enough juice to make rads."

Axander gave Vax a nod in understanding, and continued to make basic labels as best he could, including marking the pictograms for further study.



The news about Tarys's discovery put concern into Axander's voice, which he kept low.

"A connection between us and it could mean anything at this point. I wouldn't worry about it." Though he clearly was. "We may lose their trust if we make them think we've been lying, which we technically have been. I just hope we've been going about this the right way."



Axander cleared his throat and gave his own report.

"Ah, yes. I've managed a more detailed scan of the surrounding area, and put together a map. The only labels I've managed to place have been these strange pictograms, as it seems the city is built in an arrangement completely alien to my experience. Fortunately, we should be able to sort things out through context and further investigation. Also, there are two separate sections of this city, with one quite different from the other. That has been marked as well. Awaiting your direction, professor."

The Martin hissed.

"I will help where needed. It is not the melting of the ice that is my specialty."

"I find it best to save these revelations for a time just after one has saved a number of lives...."

'Just lingering charges in the system, I'm sure.' Ortega dismissed confidently. 'And many radioactive materials have half-lives on the order of a hundred thousands or a million years. This world has been frozen for several million years, so we should still expect to see some material remaining.'

Vax looked over Axander's map, and through the mounted cameras, so did Professor Ortega. 'You believe this translates to "Shelter"?' Ortega wondered, suddenly intrigued. 'Very interesting. The inhabitants must have constructed it to protect themselves from the cold of interstellar space. I believe we should begin our investigations there.'


OOC: If you want to focus excavations on another building, argue with Ortega and roll a suitable check, opposed by his stubbornness.

"Shelter" (pyramid): 5
Computer Core? (dome): 5
Important-looking building (ziggurat): 5
Radiation-source building (ziggurat): 7
Angular quarter: 7
Deep well: 15
Temporal anomaly: 15
This message was last updated by the player at 02:30, Mon 28 Sept 2015.

A shrug, and he grabbed a plasma torch, and moved over to the pyramid. It would be strange, being on the other side - last time he'd dealt with thawing; he'd been the one being thawed.

OOC: 12:48, Today: Stirix rolled 13 using 2d6+5 with rolls of 4,4.  Str + Tech.

The dice in this game like me better.

Chewing his lip, Trace held his tongue for as long as he could. "Lingering charge? I may know nothing about digging through the dirt, but you clearly know nothing about tech. These EMF readings, and these periodic data transmission mean that whatever this system is, its clearly active. For all we know, it might be a security system. And can you think of a place that would be alarmed more and secured more than a bunker?"

____
Presence 3 + Convince 0 + 2d6 (4,4) = 11
Might be 4-6 points higher if Trace can substitute Tech/Computers in place of Convince since he's trying to use his technological knowledge here.

As Stirix began setting up a plasma torch to work at the pyramid, Trace tried to protest.

After some long, long minutes, Ortega eventually replied over the comms, 'Yes, I can: a weapons store or authority centre. And Mister Axander translated the pictograph as "shelter", not "bunker". If the original inhabitants sought long-term shelter there, we may find them in some form of suspended animation. They may even still be alive!' His voice grew excited and eager, quite forgetting his earlier poohpoohing of that possibility. 'Discovering and potentially reviving this lost people must be our first priority. We— They won't get this chance again. And just think! We could be the first to awaken a sleeping people, make first contact with a long-lost culture...' After some reconsideration, perhaps on the possibility of alarms and defensive security systems, the professor added as though challenging a student 'Unless someone else can think of a better idea, hmm?'


OOC: Sure, you can use the Technology skill, since it's a science-based argument. I won't take AoE: Computers know, as you don't exactly know a computer is involved. That takes your roll to 15. That's still a Failure against Ortega's 18, I'm afraid. So, No, you don't dissuade him, But... I'll give someone else a second chance, should you wish it.

17:47, Today: Niles Ortega rolled 18 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 4,6. Resolve + Knowledge.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:46, Tue 13 Oct 2015.

Stirix looked up at that, and eyed Ortega.

"Be the first to awaken a sleeping people, be the first to revive a lost culture? Now, where have I heard that before?" A sardonic smile. "I hope your people are better prepared this time, Professor."

Trace looked at the comm with an expression of extreme frustration. "I would reserve the right to say I told you so. But since we're down here and you're all the way up there sitting in a nicely heated, safe escape vehicle, if the crap hits the fan down here 'cos you didn't want us to take the time the investigate the sitch before pressing the figurative red button, I doubt we'll have time to get back so I can say it."

The young mechanic switched off his comm. "It's all right for him, we're the ones taking the risks down here. I wanna see what's inside as much as him, I just wanna make sure that whatever, or whoever, is inside ain't gonna vape us 'cos we disturbed their slumber is all." He said to those down in the cavern with him. Trace picked up the melter and set to work on the shelter, as instructed.

____
OOC: I rolled earlier for the melting but the roll never got used.
18:39, Sat 26 Sept: Trace rolled 12 using 2d6+6 with rolls of 4,2.  Str 2 + Tech 4 + 2d6

They could almost hear Ortega rubbing his hands together, and not to keep warm. 'Of course, of course. We've had centuries of experience at it now. And we have two trained xenoanthropologists to handle the specifics of introductions.' he declared confidently, little knowing that both trained xenoanthropologists were, in fact, fakes.

'And I heard that, young man. You are down there to, ah, "take the time to investigate the sitch", as you say.'

Vax Kent had more caution, and approached to ask 'Do you detect anything dangerous?'


OOC: Melting the ice will be hours of work before much of interest happens, so I'll cover the results after a time skip.

Axander made no attempt to help the excavation work with the torches. He was much likelier to burn a hole in his protective gear, which would naturally also put a hole in himself. Instead, he simply kept up his scans and attempts at translation, taking information from the others' work to try and make a more complete map and infographic of the place. It would certainly be much easier once they got to libraries, computer databases, or living beings, but he had this terrible feeling that any living beings they discovered wouldn't be friendly.

The Doctor had been down there. There was no telling how long ago, but he was there. That was exciting. It was also terrifying. Axander tried to pass off his anxiety as simple nerves over the excavation, but anyone skilled with people could likely tell the difference between worry over damaging relics and outright fear.

No one had any better ideas, or at least none that would sway Professor Ortega from his course. Taking turns, working two on, two off, Vax, Hali, Stirix, and Trace set to work on the so-called Shelter, blasting the dense walls of ice with high-energy jets of plasma, soon engulfed in roaring jets of gas and irritating noise, and sweltering in the heat and effort despite the ever-present cold. It was a tedious, time-consuming task too. Though the ice melted and evaporated easily beneath the high-temperature plasma, there was an awful lot of it, and clinging liquid had a habit of quickly refreezing. The slow pace of an archaeological excavation also didn't help.

It was not unlike defrosting the worst old fridge ever.

Cut-out blocks of ice were stacked in what the archaeologists termed a spoil-heap, everything that was dug and presumed to be empty waste, but would be inspected anyway. This involved defrosting the blocks in a contraption with a large sieve they could rock, under the glare of a heat lamp. Shifting and defrosting the spoil was the task for any unlucky helpers who weren't working with the plasma torches.

These efforts turned up the first finds: greenish brown, bloated, soggy masses, but unmistakably the remains of plant life. These seemed to be proof that this planet had once orbited a star, and harboured life.

With the heaters turned on, and the heat of the star on the rogue planet, the whole ice cavern began to defrost, slowly but inexorably. Soon, there was a constant and maddening drip, drip drip from the ceiling, in different places and at different rates, while the ice ceiling itself began to creak and groan ominously.

Meanwhile, as Axander took notes and recorded details of the expedition, he couldn't get past one odd discrepancy. They'd all come down the ice tunnel in pairs. He'd started eight entries on members of the expedition. And yet, when he came to fill them out, he only had seven names: he and Tarys, Hali Plim and Vax Kent, Trace and Bluetooth, Stirix and... no one else. Only seven of them had come down the tunnel. There were no other scientists on the expedition. No one was missing. Axander realised no one was missing because... someone was missing. There'd been another. And now they were gone. And now they never were. What's more, he had a curious sense of déjà vu – or rather, the reverse déjà vu Time Lords, verra à nouveau.

And Tarys felt it too, through her more instinctual means.


OOC: Combining your Strength + Technology rolls (the module says to use co-operation rules), you get a total of 15, giving you 1 EP. Hali and Vax do 2, so the Shelter is at 2/5 after a day's work. After which I'll roll a random gain to represent defrosting.

Please roll some Awareness checks, and state what actions you wish to take during the work and what tasks you will work on if not already stated.

Axander and Tarys realise that Farren has been removed from the timeline.
20:30, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Tarys, rolled 15 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 1,5. awareness(4) + ingenuity(3) + FtTotU(2)
20:29, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Axander, rolled 16 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 5,1. awareness(3) + ingenuity(5) + FtTotU(2).

OOC: 22:24, Today: Trace rolled 16 using 2d6+8 (6+2+AWR3+ING5)

Tarys' hand clamps on Axander's forearm like a vise, and she pulls him out of earshot of the others.

"Could you feel that?  Someone was just unwritten.  This is exactly what will happen to everyone, back before you and I will meet on Earth.  Ιτ μαψ ονλψ βψ τεμποραλ φαλλουτ νοω.  Βυτ σοον ιτ ωιλλ ξονσυμε εϝερψτηινγ."

Tarys draws a deep breath.  She'd lapsed into Old High Gallifreyan, and that wouldn't do: just speaking that tongue sent echoes out in all three temporal dimensions.  "Apologies.  But I think our window of anonymity is running short.  I'm going to try to narrow in on where it's emanating from.  Perhaps it's not just the anomaly itself causing it: perhaps they're getting close to some control mechanism or focusing element.  We'll have to continue to assist, if they're uncovering something truly dangerous, we need to know that before it's too late."

She returns to the tasks that the archeologists and riggers running the torches are setting her to -- hauling away spoil, as they're more experienced with the excavation equipment.  While she's trying to avoid obvious loitering in hauling away the spoil, she's trying to steal extra time in hopes of spotting something significant on the areas of the Shelter now being cleared of their cover.  She puts the Knife away and keeps it there for now -- if there's some sort of unstable temporal trigger around, she doesn't want to cause any more disturbance than necessary, lest it cause more parts of the timestream to drop out.

I'd like to make this an Awareness + Knowledge (Ancient Civilizations), if that's feasible.

21:57, Today: Tarys rolled 13 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 1,4.  Awareness (4) + Ancient Civilizations(4).
This message was last edited by the player at 03:04, Tue 20 Oct 2015.

Bluetooth worked the plasma torches or the slag heap as needed. He kept glancing around as if looking for someone. He could have sworn that they'd agreed to send everyone down in pairs, for safety reasons. Yet, there were only seven of them. When did that get changed? Maybe it had to do with the eighth person not wanting to join them. But who would that have been?

He knew they were getting closer to the 'shelter', to finding the sleeping race that had built this. Or had they? Couldn't it have just been something found by another species? Or maybe it was a trap?

"We sure could have used an eighth person down here," he commented to the others. "How much longer do you think it's going to take?"

"For that matter, have we gotten any closer to figuring out who or what is here? Could someone really be alive after all this time? Or is it just the structure that's old, and the occupants considerably less old?"

He was really starting to feel like he was in over his head.

The understanding that someone had just been eliminated from reality itself hit Axander like an icepick to the gut. He nearly dropped the psychic encyclopedia, which found itself with a new listing under the Fear entry. It wasn't until Tarys started speaking with him that he snapped out of it, and nodded his understanding.

"If we can slow this process, all the better. There is something very wrong with this place, Tarys. Be careful." Once he was able to return to his senses, Axander took a deep breath and returned to his scans of the sifting ice blocks. He couldn't risk going and finding any further clues himself without arousing suspicions. Bluetooth's musings about an eighth crew member put his mind back to that horrible sensation, and he couldn't hide the despair in his face thinking about it. Fortunately, the Rakshasa changed the subject quickly.

"Still haven't found what people had been living here. The closest we have is that most of the architecture appears suited for one morphology, and a smaller section suited for another. Certainly at least two peoples lived here, but without more information, we can't know if they were contemporaries or separated by some expanse of...time... Er, excuse me. Yes, it's entirely possible we may uncover some newer species inhabiting old structures, but someone must have built them in the first place, wouldn't you say?"

Tarys circled the pyramidal Shelter during an off-moment, trying to inspect the dark stone walls through the ice. It was thick but translucent, and offering tantalising glimpses of the structure inside. Unfortunately, it was almost bare of inscription and signage, perhaps a sign of having been constructed in a hurry to seek shelter from the encroaching ice.

But absolutely nothing about it or anything else in this entombed city reminded her of any of the known ancient cultures of the Galaxy. The Osirans built pyramids like these, certainly, but the doorways were much taller to accommodate their heads.

*

Trace had been working for several hot and hard hours, his arms growing sore and his face sweaty under the mask. After he cut down one great slab of ice, watching it fall away from the door and slam into the ground, cracking into several large chunks, he switched the plasma torch and stepped back for a quick breather. Meanwhile, the archaeologists scurried in (and Hali sure could scurry) poring over the chunks and the revealed ice-face, seeking archaeological evidence buried in the ice before it was taken away as spoil.

He happened to look back, seeing the others confer, melt spoil, loiter nearby for a closer look, and generally wait for something interesting to happen. Then he saw the pipe trailing from his plasma torch.

The plasma tube was made of an expanding, flexible metal mesh in a highly insulating plastic, able to resist intense heat and contain intense pressure, and feel only warm to the touch. But it had its limits. And right now, beginning not more than two metres from him, it was ballooning to thrice its normal thickness, some way past its safety margin, looking for the would like a python had swallowed a child. The ballooning section was glowing cherry red and slowly sinking into the melting ice.

And very soon it would explode.


OOC: Ortega's been pushing the digging too fast, the machinery had been pushed past its limits, and now there's a plasma build-up, which may explode.

Trace froze for second, his brain processing the imminent threat. Then, jumping up from where he was sitting, he grabbed his radio. "SHUT DOWN THE PLASMA FLOW TO THE CAVERN!" He yelled in to the mike. "Conduit 2's about to breach!" To the others in the cavern he yelled "Everyone get back, the pipe could blow!"

Knowing that every second counted, Trace ran forward and grabbed his torch. He switched the flow regulator to maximum, sending a full force flow of plasma streaming out the business end. He hoped that the message had got through, and that the crew still up top shut off the flow of plasma. With the flow shut off, and the torch on max, the plasma still in the system would drain off at a rapid rate, bleeding off the pressure in the pipe. At least, that was the idea. Of course, if it didn't work, he'd soon know. Trace started sweating; and not just from the heat.

OOC: Oh, wow, I was going to explain there were two solutions: the slow, safe way that would set you back; or the fast, dangerous way Ortega would push for. And you chose exactly that. Excellent PC! :p

Please make an Ingenuity + Technology roll, Difficulty 15, or risk burns or explosion.

OOC There was a safe way? Lol.

13:23, Today: Trace rolled 21 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 6,6.  Ing5+Tech4. 23 with Technically Adept.

With quick thinking and even quicker reactions, Trace expelled the excess plasma through the torch, spewing a fierce jet of glowing superheated matter at the ice.

Amidst some furious Russian cursing down the comms, Borys had yelled 'Shutting down plasma flow!' That didn't get rid of what was in several klicks of pipe however, and it would take otherwise hours for Borys to pump it all back up.

Trace wasn't clear yet though, nor safe. Behind him, the ballooning section shuddered and finally seemed to swallow, as a lump of cooled matter finally broke and passed through the pipe. The torch hiccuped alarmingly in Trace's hands, but he held it firm and kept the plasma stream directed at an empty section of ice.

That happened to be the wall of the ice pyramid, which sizzled and melted under the bombardment. Whole ice sheets melted and avalanched off, crashing in chunks around the base.

Finally the plasma stream slowed, sputtered, and petered out. The tube behind had shrunk back to its normal size, and was cooling. Crisis averted.

Vax, Hali, and Stirix had all raced away from the pyramid at Trace's warning. The archaeologists watched on, too much in shock to worry about the destruction of their ice cores.


OOC: I'll take the Technically Adept, and add the AoE: Repair to make that 25 and a flat-out Fantastic/Yes, And... roll, giving an extra EP on the Shelter excavation (1/5).

Plus you can have a Story Point for going for the dramatic solution. :D
This message was last edited by the GM at 08:04, Sat 31 Oct 2015.

The plasma stream sputtered and died. Trace, drenched in sweat with his face reddenned from the heat, dropped the cutter and sat roughly on the semi frozen ground.

"That was close," he said between pants, "is everyone okay?"

Axander stared at the whole business from his place sifting and recording the empty ice blocks, having totally forgotten his job in the far too exciting moment. What had nearly become an explosion of plasma was instead a harmless shower of quickly melting ice. That solution was brilliant. The young Time Lord noted the boy for when things took a turn for the worse. He was clearly able to handle himself in a crisis.

There was a chorus of murmured acknowledgements and nodded heads; everyone was okay. 'We're all fine. You saved us.' Hali Plim squeaked in awe. Vax Kent just stared in blank horror, clearly shaken by the close brush with disaster. It was an old shock though, like he'd been here before.

Soon after, Borys commed in with the same request 'Are you all alright?' to a similar response. 'Cruk, kid, that was risky. Damn fine work though. Now don't you ever do something like that again.' But it was clear from his voice that he was just scared and relieved, not angry, or at least not angry at Trace. 'I could've just pumped the plasma back up and flushed the system. It's safest, and it'd only take a couple of hours—'

Suddenly Ortega's voice cut in. 'What? No! I can't afford to lose even one day's work. This planet will begin to refreeze in a week. Young man, I commend you for your dedication to the expedition—' The two voices furiously spoke over each other. 'You've been pushing them too fast! The plasma pump's past its limits. It's an accident waiting to happen! And it happened—' 'And it was dealt with. I'm not paying you for technical failures. See that the equipment functions as required for the expedition, as we agreed.'

'It doesn't matter now, Professor Ortega,' Hali interjected in a quiet squeak. The Pakhar was watching the pyramid, as a last slab of ice sheeted off and broke apart around the base. Behind it was exposed bare, dark stone inscribed with the strange pictograms over a circular, tunnel-like entrance. 'We've opened the Shelter.'

'I'm coming down!'

Trace looked up as the last ice sloughed off the entrance to the shelter. I hope this is worth it, he thought to himself, and we're not about to open Pandora's Box.

The young mechanic got up and walked to the entrance. Decoding ancient pictograms was an archeologists job, not his. Nonetheless, he stroked the stone around the entrance before peering down into the tunnel with his headlamp lit, wondering just how far it went.

The dark-grey stone was quite sturdy to Trace's touch, not crumbling or weakened by its long entombment within the crushing atmospheric ice. The rounded tunnel extended deep into the heart of the pyramid, the light of the headlamp falling well short, unable to pierce the gloom.

For all his eagerness, Ortega took his damn sweet time coming down, perhaps fussing over what equipment to bring; or negotiating the long, slippery ice borehole; or just preparing his speeches for official tomb opening, to the revived aliens, and to the inevitable press.

In the mean time, the ambient warmth of the excavation and the heaters had done its work on the other builds, with the ice growing thinner and the whole chamber expanding. Puddles of supercooled liquid now lay about the ice cave, and there were several persistent drips from the ceiling. They had a lucky break when the ice around the dome Trace had identified as a computer centre could no longer support itself and sloughed away, exposing the entrance. That left them with two buildings to explore.

There was even enough warm breathable air in the ice cave that they no longer needed masks or breathing apparatus. Taking them off, they found the air cool, thin, and musty, but bearable.


OOC: After a day's work and ambient heating, the excavations stand as follows (after rolling for the melting effect):

• "Shelter" (pyramid): 0/5
• Computer Core? (dome): 0/5
• Important-looking building (ziggurat): 3/5
• Angular quarter: 6/7
• Radiation-source building (ziggurat): 2/7
• Deep well: 9/15
• Temporal anomaly: 13/15

The Shelter and Computer Core are now accessible. Let me know which you wish to explore and we can split up.

At last Ortega came hurrying down, and slipping and sliding, down the ice tunnel. 'Wait for me!' he urged the others, bursting into the scene and gazing lovingly upon the exposed pyramid. 'Aha! Excellent work, everyone. Thanks to your hard work, dedication, and young Trace's clever quick thinking, we have opened this shelter to an ancient people lost to time. Now we may know them again. History is made this day. There shall be a place for all of you in my book... Now, the serious archaeological work begins – exploring this structure and meeting this lost people.'

He beckoned Vax and Hali to accompanying him, then bravely led the way into the gaping tunnel of the pyramid, followed by any others who cared to join the party. They were soon swallowed up by darkness, torchlight flickering up and over the pictogram-covered stone walls of the tunnel. Those outside could almost wait for screams to echo back, but none came, only Ortega's muttered words of awe and self-congratulation.

It was incredible. Like a time capsule (the Earth version, anyway), the structures seemed to be perfectly preserved. Axander couldn't keep himself to the busywork of sifting ice blocks for the potential of maybe finding some old bowls or spoons locked away. No, he fully intended to go with the group. One of them, at least. With two options to explore, he was hard pressed to decide where to go. Naturally, he moved to consult with Tarys, though prying his eyes away from where Ortega had gone was difficult.

"Well, it seems we're making progress. What we chiefly need is information, and if the boy is right about that other landmark, it's likely to contain much of it. I don't suppose you'd care to accompany the good professor and keep him sensible? This place is amazing, but gives me such dread."

[I'm leaning towards sending Axander to the computer core, if there are no objections.]

The Ice Warrior hissed quietly.

"I will go to the Pyramid. If it is right about being a ssshelter, you will need my expertise to examine it."

Trace wandered over to the two "tourists" that had accidentally joined the expedition. "I forget, either of you speak ancient 'alienese'? I figure Ortega and co have the spooky shelter covered. But I reckon that if the dome contains computers or something similar, its probably going to be programmed in pictographs or sommat."

"That seems wise.  I can't say that what we have seen here has matched up at all well to anything I've encountered before, but it does seem likely that if there is an horrific mistake to be made here, Ortega will be the one making it."

Tarys moves to follow Ortega.

"I expect Axander will be of more use than I would.  Most of my experience with these subjects is on a more specific and practical level; analysis and theory are what are needed to decipher any unknown text symbols.  Until we know what we have found, the chances of being familiar with the exact form of language in use here would be vanishingly small."

OOC: Time for a dungeon crawl! :D It looks like the parties are as follows. I moved Vax to even things out and put an NPC on each team, and I assume Bluetooth will go on the second.

Shelter:
Prof. Ortega
Hali Plim
Stirix
Tarys

Computer Core:
Vax Kent
Axander
Trace
Bluetooth

Please state what actions and precautions you take in the exploration, and roll the appropriate checks, including Awareness + Ingenuity for keeping an eye/ear out for things.

Shelter

Stirix and Tarys followed the archaeologists into the circular tunnel that led deep into the heart of the pyramid. It wasn't straight, but coiled gradually. Almost immediately, they were swallowed up darkness. Only their torches cut faint, cold beams through the gloom, but the light was almost immediately absorbed by the dark stone. It was a darkness so thick it seemed almost tangible. If Ortega was right, this alien pyramid hadn't seen the light of day in millions of years, and that seemed the stuff of lurid horror stories. Even Ortega seemed quieted by the eerie atmosphere. Vax soon excused himself, saying something about how those breaking into the computer dome would need an archaeologist to supervise.

The torchlight picked out the pictograms etched into the dark stone walls. Arcing over the surfaces were winding, branching lines of the little bristling curves and squiggles. As the torchlight played over, making shadows in the indentations, they seemed almost to ripple, to creep, like lines of marching insects.

Stirix, well versed in the cryogenic freezing of whole peoples and examining thermal scans, was able to identify key features in the structure. The pyramid shape itself reduced the ratio of surface area to volume, limiting radiated heat and thus allowing the building to retain more. Only a sphere was better, and they were hard to build. Thus the pyramid was slightly warmer inside than out. Meanwhile, the points of the pyramid, still embedded in ice, were cooler than the central surfaces and core, and heating elements ran all through the pyramid, channelling heat away from certain areas and conducting it into others, forming a passive heating/cooling system. There were faint energy signatures, suggesting systems in place to maintain this balance and monitor the preservation.

The archaeologists moved slowly, constantly scanning and mapping the structure and taking pictures and notes of all they surveyed. 'This is all quite extraordinary.' Ortega began eventually, in search of something to say, 'It all appears almost perfectly preserved. Look, there's very little erosion or decay in these walls. It could have been built only years ago.'

Hali fell back to beside Stirix, wondering 'Aren't there pyramids on Mars too? Is this how the Martians preserved themselves?'

Computer Core

The supposed computer core was a much smaller dome, and definitely the nexus for the buried data conduits in the city. A short flight of stairs, sunk below the surface of the ground, led down to a thick security door embedded in the side. There were no windows in the squat, compact dome. Obviously this was a very important building, perhaps government or military.

Getting in would be a trick. For one, there was no door handle, but rather four levers arranged in a square. Beside the door was a keypad-like panel, comprising forty little toggle switches marked with alien squiggles, arranged four across and ten down, with two extra at the bottom.

Vax Kent surveyed the expansive keypad. 'If we can break in, hack into their computers, we might learn about their culture, what happened to them... This is a strange interface though.'

While scanning it and processing data, he looked across to Trace. 'I... I wish you'd been more careful with that plasma torch.' he said. 'A friend of mine once did something like that, and he, well, he died.'
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:28, Sat 28 Nov 2015.

Tarys catches the comment, but schools her features before any reaction gives her away.  Surely not.  Not them.

The Martian will doubtless be able to correct the misapprehension, and it isn't as if the architectural form has only one possible explanation.  Still, Tarys realizes, it is wise to remember that there are older, stranger, and more deadly things than Daleks in time and space.

Axander glanced to Vax as he made the comment to Trace, but made no reply, simply deciding to listen. This would be a good chance to get to know the two better. Meanwhile, he drew out his psychic encyclopedia again and started looking up various entries cross-referencing architectural design with security interfaces similar to the keypad.

"Ah, lovely. Having general silhouettes to work from is one thing, but studying a user interface directly may narrow down where we are and who lived here. Assuming this data ever made it to common knowledge."

[12:00, Today: Axander rolled 22 using 2d6+11 with rolls of 5,6.  Ing+Know+Scan.

To be clear, I'm trying to do quick research based on the info we have so far to get closer to pinpointing what planet we're on, what alien species we're dealing with, and thus what to expect moving forward. If it helps getting past the door, that'd be fantastic.]
This message was last edited by the player at 21:16, Tue 24 Nov 2015.

Trace glanced at Vax. "I didn't have time to think." He said shrugging. "I saw the problem, saw what could happen and saw a way to stop it. Didn't think about much more than that." Moving over to the door, Trace took a closer look at the panel. "A code lock?" He asked turning to Axander.

Taking out his gauntlet, he started to scan the panel, hoping to get a picture of the internal workings and circuitry. "You seen anything like this before?"

OOC: Awr (4) + Tech-Comp (6) + Scan (2) + 2d8 = 20
20:54, Today: Trace rolled 20 using 2d6+12 ((6,2))

As she continues to follow, Tarys keeps a close eye on Ortega, watching out for what catches his interest.  So far most of what they have come across has run outside of her direct experience, but in a place like this anything could be lethally dangerous.  She is confident that Ortega's poor impulse control will get the better of him if she's not careful to watch for trouble, either from Ortega meddling with objects he doesn't understand, or perhaps from genuine security devices left behind in this place.

22:33, Today: Tarys rolled 16 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 6,3.  Watching out for traps and scanners and such (Ingenuity + Subterfuge).
22:30, Today: Tarys rolled 17 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 5,3.  General watchfulness on Ortega and company. (Ingenuity + Awareness)

The Rakshasa trailed along behind the others, feeling more and more out of his depth. He felt more like he was functioning as a bodyguard for the others. As unreasonable as it was, he thought everyone was expecting something nasty to jump out of the woodwork... or stonework... or whatever the dome was made of. He kept having to remind himself that this was an alien race... well, they assumed it was. For all they knew, it could have been their ancestors. That didn't keep them from being alien, though, and that meant they probably didn't think the way any of them did.

While the others were studying the access pad, Bluetooth had an idea.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of chalk, one of the odds and ends that tended to accumulate in his pockets from various tasks that he did.

He went over to the pad and used his knife to start scraping off chalk dust and blowing it onto the keys/switches.

It was a longshot, but it was still possible that the dust would stick to the switches that had been used the most. There could be several billion possible combinations, especially since they didn't know if it was a 3-digit code, a 10-digit code or anything in between.

"It could be a sequence, but can any of you think of some alternative to that?" he asked. "I don't know how to phrase it, but it just seems like this is too mundane. Then again, maybe it's a logical system for an intelligent species."

Shelter

Branching off from the central tunnel at random points were smaller tunnels that would require some negotiating to enter. Each was wide, but had a very low arch, suggesting the creatures who'd built it had been a very short species or else of a very non-humanoid form. Eager to find something, Ortega directed the group into the next, saying 'These should lead to subchambers of the shelter, with individual hibernation centres.' 'Sir, but site investigation protocol says...' Hali squeaked, unheard, before abandoning her concerns.

Tarys and Ortega had to walk stooped, while bulky Stirix was almost bent over. The Martian might remove his armour, but Hell would have to defrost first. Only Hali, the diminutive Pakhar, could walk comfortably. These tunnels, too, wound erratically through the pyramid, suggesting a more organic design.

Ortega suddenly stopped, examining the walls closely, craning his neck around to peer at the arched ceiling. 'Look, the stonework has changed. Out there, the walls were smooth and carved with those pictograms. They may have been slogans, directions, or information for the creatures taking shelter... But these walls are rougher, bare, lacking in pictograms. The work is unfinished. They must have had to go into the shelters sooner than expected...' he surmised, showing he was in fact a skilled archaeologist after all. 'Wow. That's a brilliant deduction, Professor Ortega.' 'Oh, of course, of course.' Ortega failed to dismiss the praise.

With skills in a whole different department, Tarys found no sign of security devices, not traps or surveillance. They certainly had the technology, if Trace's computer network was anything to go by. If Ortega was right, and the pyramid was unfinished, then security devices may not have been installed yet. On the other hand, with civilians potentially rushing in, or wandering out after awaking from a cryogenic stupor, then security may have neglected for safety purposes.

She also scrutinised the two archaeologists (Stirix, in his Martian armour, was of course inscrutable). Hali was just what she seemed to be, an intelligent, enthusiastic, and dedicated student, set on doing things properly. Judging by the way she kept scurrying after Ortega, assisting him and praising him, she looked up to him. That was something Ortega clearly welcomed. He seemed a competent archaeologist, and genuinely interested in the field, but too eager and too willing to cut corners, hurry things along, and make a great discovery.


Computer Core

'The professor doesn't need any more help hurrying things up down here.' Vax murmured, not pressing his concerns further.

He joined the others before the door and keypad, surveying the vast array of switches. 'These symbols are all different. They could be numbers or letters or pictograms... No, wait, there's ten kinds of squiggles, with one, two, three, or four sticks coming off them. Ten by four, it's a base-40 numeral system!' Vax whistled, impressed by the complexity of the system. 'This security isn't advanced, but the sheer range of potential combinations more than makes up for it.'

Axander knew most cultures developed their counting systems off the parts of their bodies they would use to count with: the ubiquitous base-10 system came from most humanoids having ten fingers and thumbs. Humans had at times employed base-20 by adding their toes at well, or base-12 by counting fingerbones. The Sumerians and Babylonians of Earth had gone all the way to base-60 by multiplying twelve fingerbones on one hand by five fingers on the other, which survived in the form of seconds, minutes, and hours of time, and in degrees, minutes, and seconds in angles. Meanwhile, the six-tentacled Alpha Centaurans had a simple base-6 counting system. Although Axander could imagine how a typical humanoid hand could produce a base-40 system, the four door-levers suggested something stranger: four limbs, at least. Plus, they seemed to prefer switches and levers to buttons and knobs. All this had been built by a very non-humanoid species.

So it wasn't surprising that the TARDIS had had difficulties translating the language, it having come from a very alien mindset. But this discovery would help in that area. Now Elona could work out the numbers, and the extra two buttons on the keypad could mean "zero", "cancel", "forget", "remember", or the like. It was a start to translating the language and learning about these aliens.

Scanning the keypad and door, Trace found internal circuitry connecting the keypad to the locking mechanism. Clearly a code had to be entered to unlock the door. He observed four magnetic tumblers inside, indicating it was a four-digit code. The four levers on the door could then be manipulated to open it.

Bluetooth's chalk dust drifted over the panel of switches. The dust stuck more to some than others, onto the residue of ancient alien skin oils. He picked out four switches that seemed to have been used more than any others.

'That's, uh, 2,560,000 combinations.' Vax reported, calculating 40 to the power of 4 on his computer.


OOC: There was a typo in my last post. The door has four levers, not four levels.

Tarys turns about to look back behind them, continuing to walk backwards and keep pace with the others for a dozen paces, before she turns back forward.

"I suggest we all remain alert," she says.  "I believe something was moving, back there.  I can't say with certainty what it was.  But this is not my first time exploring a structure that has gone untouched for ages... Mr. Axander's curiosity has been known to lead him into exceedingly strange places.  And sometimes, places like this are inhabited, by things that sleep a sleep beyond death... until something intrudes to wake them again."

"Yes, that would be the permutations if all 40 switches were in play," Bluetooth replies to Vax, "but as I've just demonstrated, only four of the switches were used a lot. That reduces the possible combinations to 256. Much more manageable."

Bluetooth reaches out and tries pushing the upper left switch as long as that wasn't one of the used switches. He was trying to determine if these were momentary switches, or if they reset after a few seconds.

Computer Core

Vax looked across to Bluetooth's handiwork, discovering the four likely switches. 'Ah, clever... We're lucky they didn't change the codes regularly. Though it's odd that body grease should remain after millions of years. We'll take samples later...' He made some more calculations, noting 'Four switches and four places suggest a non-repeating code. That means four-factorial... only 24 permutations. Even more manageable.'

Vax's smile turned to horror as Bluetooth pressed the switch. 'Don't touch it—' he yelped, scrambling to shove Bluetooth away and get out of the area himself. But nothing happened. Ashen-faced, he explained his fear 'There could be traps.'

The switch had reset after only a moment, returning to its default position, up.

Shelter

At Tarys's warning, Hali frantically checked her scanning device. 'There's nothing on life-signs.'

'It's probably just wind and snow, as air returns to parts of the pyramid.' Ortega decided confidently, then chided Tarys 'And there's no need for space horror stories, miss. Of course this place is inhabited, by sleeping creatures we are here to wake up.'

The corridor soon came to an end, opening out into a vast chamber. The four explorers ventured within, panning their torches across the walls and distant ceiling. Stacked against every surface were revealed strange bulbous shapes. Their torches settled on the nearest, illuminating ovoid pods, crafted of a dull grey plastic with a porthole in front, with a lever beside it. Strange organic shapes could be glimpsed within, distorted weirdly by the curved glass.

'And here we are, the hibernation chamber itself!' Ortega announced triumphantly.
This message was last updated by the GM at 02:58, Fri 04 Dec 2015.

"It is, of course, only paranoia up until the moment that it kills you," Tarys murmurs.

"Only 23 left now." Trace said hesitantly, looking around in case any booby traps suddenly sprung from the surrounding walls.

"I'm not seeing any interface ports, or wireless transfers on my scan, looks to mostly be a mechanical locking mechanisim. Short of demagnetising the tumblers, punching in each code is probably the best solution so far."

"It doesn't necessarrily have to be body grrease," Bluetooth replies. "In any case, the frrigid temperrature kept the substance frrom decaying, even afterr all this time."

The cold was finally getting to Bluetooth a bit, making his speech sound a little more gruff than usual.

"It would be a fourr-factorrial as long as no switch was used twice. I do not see any indication that one was used morre than than once, though."

"The only concerrn now is whetherr therre is a lockout or alerrt afterr so many wrrong trries. Does anyone have a memorry that can keep trrack of the ones we used, or should we be wrriting this down?"

Axander was not well suited to this particular portion of their excavation, right up until Bluetooth's suggestion.

"Ah, I have both a decent memory and a means of notation at hand. It would be less risky if there were a way to ensure there was no alarm system, of course, you're quite right there. Without certainty our only hope is to get it right in short order or discover there is no such issue. There's no obvious means of an inherently dangerous security system that we've seen, and certainly no room to hide a giant granite ball." It was exactly that kind of reference that made the newcomer to the group far more pleased with himself than was actually warranted.

"If there are no further objections, Mr Kent, our only options do appear to be to press on or turn back. Until we can translate the language, it won't be possible to completely remove the possibility of danger. We can prepare ourselves, though, can't we? ...Er...to run, I mean."

"That should do admirrably," the Rakshasa replies to Axander.

"I would suggest we designate the fourr switches as 1, 2, 3, and 4."

"As forr the language, we don't know if it is pictogrraphic orr symbolic, orr anything else. Each of these symbols could rreprresent a single numberr, orr an entirre concept."

Shelter (Stirix, Tarys)

No dozily awoken aliens rose to greet the great Professor Ortega. No alien mystics of the ancient past stood waiting to pass on their knowledge and wisdom to him. There weren't even any reporters, let alone publishers with book deals. Undeterred, he marched proudly and confidently up to the nearest pod, declaiming 'At last, after millions of years, this long-lost race shall be revived, awoken, and returned to the galactic community, to share their ancient knowledge and wisdom. And I shall be their guide, and the one to introduce them. My fame and posterity shall live as long!'

'Uh, Professor...?' Hali began, unheard.

Heedless, Ortega threw the lever down. The pod shuddered, jets of gas hissed from around the porthole, and the door chunked open. Gas clouded out, along with a hideous stench of putrefaction that had them all coughing and choking and retching. Assorted body parts plopped out of the pod, accompanied by a slow-dripping foul slime.

Hali scurried quickly away to escape the smell and the horror, throwing up in the corner. Ortega, a hanky clasped over his mouth, stared forlornly down at the remains, finding them as shattered and broken as his dreams.

As the explorers recovered their wits and their stomachs, they regarded the remains, identifying insectoid body parts with pale-blue exoskeletons: segmented thoraxes, thin limbs with four-part pincers, wicked mandibles, antennae, compound eyes that reflected their disgusted faces a dozen times over. They all seemed to belong to a centipede-like creature. 'What happened to them?' Ortega mournfully asked Stirix.

The answer seemed clear to the cryogenicist. There seemed up to a dozen heads – suggesting a dozen individuals rather than one dozen-headed creature – and no spare space in the pod. Stirix guessed they'd overcrowded the pod and it had shut down with insufficient resources.

Tarys had come face to rotten exoskeletal face with these ancient aliens, and didn't recognise them. She'd studied all the great, ancient races, but couldn't place these within that context, not within the two to seven million years ago period estimated by Ortega. They certainly didn't look like Wirrn. Nor did they look like Tractators, but one could imagine an offshoot race. It was said that, over twelve million years ago, the Osirians had advanced a race of giant green mantis-like insects on Mars, before growing bored of them. The pyramids here suggested a connection, so it seemed plausible. But the Fendahl had annihilated the lot of them, or so the Time Lords had thought. Later, the black-shelled, also mantis-like, eight-dimensional Scourge had begun to manifest and feed on depression, fear, and doubt, but they wouldn't be threatened by a mere ice age. The closest might be the terrifying I, centaurid insectoids with light blue carapaces, who'd once seized a TARDIS escape pod and looted all its technology, including the eyes of its pilot, the Time Lord Savar, to operate the retinal interfaces. However, they'd not been spacefaring at this time. Hopefully they weren't I.

But centipedes, nope.

Computer Core (Axander, Bluetooth, Trace)

'But there's four magnetic tumblers in Trace's scan, indicating four places in the code. If one was repeated, there'd be only three commonly used switches. Each of these four switches has to be used on only one tumbler, so there's four-factorial permutations.' Kent explained to Bluetooth.

'I believe these represent numbers. Look, first line: straight line, one branch; straight line, two branches; straight line, three branches; straight line, four branches. Second line: bent line, one branch; bent line, two branches; bent line, three branches; bent line, four branches. It's a clear progression, implying a counting system.'

The archaeologist closely inspected the panel and door, inspecting the door-frame and seams of the panel as well, with the expert eye of a thief. 'I don't see any traps... Still, uh, maybe the rest of us will stand back?'

He frowned at the bodies.

"For whatever reason, they had too many bodies in here. Not enough to sssssupport them. Whatever ancient race thissss wassss, they did not know much about the type of technology required."

Tarys would like to think that any weakness betrayed in her reaction was a strict physiological response, not any sort of moral failure.  This was far from the most horrific thing she had ever seen, and she doesn't want to show any weakness before these others.

"That is certainly one interpretation," she replies to the Martian's observation.  "Another is that they knew it was a bad decision and did not care, because their other choices were all worse.  Desperate circumstances make for desperate choices."

She studies the pod.  "I'm not familiar with the equipment.  Is it of a sort that could be engaged on short notice?  My supposition of an emergency may fall apart, if it would have taken extended preparation to doom themselves like this."

He turned to Tarys.

"What could possssssibly be worsssse than dooming your entire race to death?" The Martian shook his head. "And even if it were a case of a fate worse than death, as humans keep on ssstating, there are eassssier ways to die."

The cryogenic pod was of a very simple design: closing the door triggered a fast-freezing process, and pulling the lever opened the door and defrosted the contents. It was intuitive and basic, with no documentation or further controls for customisation. It was the kind of thing one would mass-produce for unskilled beings to use on their own. It certainly could have been used in moments.

Cleaning her whiskers and fur, Hali returned slowly to the group. 'That would fit what we observed outside, the unfinished stonework,' she noted, before looking to her supervisor, 'Wouldn't it, Professor? That they went in sooner than planned?'

'Hmm? Yes, yes, it does.' Ortega murmured, still in shock.

Hali rubbed her paws together nervously. 'They seem, uh, very well preserved, if the process failed.'
This message was last updated by the player at 07:00, Sun 13 Dec 2015.

Kent's explanation was spot on, and Axander did his best to nod like a novice barely following along rather than someone who'd already done that math. He wasn't very good at it, and his impatience was starting to show.

"Archaeologists often go on about there being plenty of information one could gather just from studying numbering systems alone. Number of digits or manipulators, relative age of a civilization, what they held valuable. Our problem now is that we don't have enough information to decipher what the door code would be based on, so all we have left is the hope that trying all the combinations will net us results that won't try to kill us. Ah, of course that's also assuming that whatever security measures once existed are still as operational as the power Trace detected. Fantastic job with that, by the way." He gave the young engineer a quick smile before returning his attention to the electronic book he carried and the door before them.

"Even so, there's no detectable dangers here except the door remaining locked, and the Professor's likely going to want to hear some sort of 'we decided to endanger everyone's lives to make you rich and famous' explanation rather than 'the exact opposite of the other thing we'd have told you which you didn't hear because it was in the alternative explanation.' If none of you can detect a good reason to the contrary, I really rather think we ought to start pulling levers and see what happens. With an escape plan if anything starts getting cross with us."

Vax smiled at Axander and his too-accurate description of his professor. 'Oh, good, you get it.' With a last look at the door, he nodded, saying 'Let's try it. There don't look to be any traps I can find, so the worst that can happen is that the door seizes up for a day.' He looked uncertainly and reluctantly back at the door nevertheless, adding 'Uh, who wants to do the honours?'


OOC: Please make an Ingenuity + Technology roll, plus whatever you feel is relevant and assist bonuses, at Difficulty 15 (picking a lock is 18).

Trace smiled at Axander's compliment and laughed at his impression of the "over-enthusiastic" archeologist.

"Oh, let me!" He said excitedly when it came to opening the door. Pushing his way to the front, the boy raised his gauntlet and starting scanning the inner working of the mechanism as he worked at the lock. Hoping that seeing the insides as he worked would give him a clue how to open it.

OOC: 11:51, Today: Trace rolled 17 using 2d6(4,2) + Ingenuity(5) + Tech (4)+ Scan(2)

The more he thought about it, the more ludicrous the idea of a trap was. Such a thing would only be used if the people who made it were totally paranoid or irrational, and from what he's seen of this place so far, the architecture and layout didn't support either of those.

Nevertheless, Bluetooth moved forward next to Trace, prepared to pull the youth out of harm's way if it became necessary... even step/jump in front of him of that was necessary.

Bluetooth wasn't as familiar with Humans as he could have been, so while he understood Trace to be a 'youth' of that species, he wasn't quite sure what that meant. He was still considered a youth by his species, yet he was fully grown physically.

"Go ahead, Trace. I've got your back," Bluetooth said. In Rakshasa culture, that meant he'd fight to guard Trace's back in combat; he hoped in meant the same thing to him.

While scanning the inner workings to observe the results, Trace began flicking the four chosen switches in each of the twenty-four possible combinations. Up, up, up, up. Up, up, up, down. And so on. After a combination had been entered, Bluetooth and Vax had to try the four door-handle levers; they remained locked and immobile with each failed attempt.

After four attempts, Trace realised the system had reached some kind of limit. There was a nasty clack-click from inside, and a nozzle protruded from the wall above the door. Some sickly yellowish ice blocks fell out, and sizzled in the snow. Totally paranoid indeed.

After seventeen attempts of the theorised twenty four, and no more traps, Trace at last hit upon the right combination: up, down, up, down. Vax and Bluetooth levered the door open, cracking the ice that had sealed it into the frame, revealed a short, dark, antechamber.

Moving through, the explorers found themselves in a strange, alien control room, blue and yellow lights winking in the darkness. Diamond-shaped screens, large and small, were set into the walls, some just above eye level, others much higher for the whole room to view. All were dark, reflecting only the lights of the explorers, but had the dim, grey glow of a computer system only sleeping, not dead. The keyboards beneath them were arrays of tiny switches and toggles marked with the odd hieroglyphs. They were arranged vertically, like the keypad outside, and lay against steep-sloping desks, making them very difficult for humanoid hands. Perhaps an interface could be rigged up to operate the alien computer system.

Vax touched a switch, and the computers crept sluggishly back to life, screens gradually brightening, systems growling into action before settling into a dull whine. Programs activated, and the diamond-shaped screens were filled with the strange alien script, scrolling lists of data, maps of the city, star-charts, targeting systems, flight controls. It resembled a military command centre.

Leaving the others around the pod and its grisly contents, Tarys starts to pick her way around the outskirts of the chamber, looking for signs that anyone, or anything, may have attempted to disturb the occupants or the pods: scratches or dislodged connections, anything of the sort.

"Exactly how stable is the environment on this world known to be?" she asks.  If she can't find any signs of a physical threat that prompted the creature's hasty hibernation, perhaps it was a rapidly developing environmental threat instead.

Ortega beckoned Hali to answer, and the Pakhar consulted her notes and findings. 'Well, we can't say for sure, but, based on the plant matter we found, this world appears to have been mostly Earth- or Pakha-like, before it was ejected from its orbit and froze over. That would have been the greatest environmental catastrophe, of course. The frozen atmosphere is high in oxygen, which would support the oversized insectoid lifeforms here.'

Tarys found that quite a lot of the pods bore furious scratch marks around the doors and levers – the Time Lord could almost see the insectoids desperately trying to force their way into already closed pods, before making their way to the next, and the next, until they finally found one they could take shelter in. Or whatever it was they'd been fleeing from caught up with them.

She only had to follow her nose into another, neighbouring chamber, finding another collection of cryogenic pods. Some of these were already open, and more rotting insectoid body parts had fallen out of them.

There were only six heads in the last, whereas most had numbered eight to twelve. Disturbingly, the thoraxes had been cracked and smashed, leg pieces broken, as if by their own mandibles.

[Computer Core]

Trace looked over around the newly revealed antechamber with barely concealed responsibility. It was only because of the ancient acid spray trap that he restrained himself from pushing the nearest buttons.

He gasped in surprised as the various systems and displays awoke from their long, long slumber, amazed that it was all still working. After detecting the data flow in the conduits leading to the core, he had theorised that some sort of automated system had survived, but not something like this. However, one thing confused him. "Why does a building need flight controls?" He asked out loud.

'Flight controls?' Vax wondered, surprised. He came over and peered at the display, but the sets of arrows linked to trajectories on the starcharts certainly seemed to resemble flight controls. 'These could be for managing automated probes.' he suggested.

'All these systems will take too long to operate using these switch-panels, let alone analyse their functions. Are you able to rig up an interface system?' the archaeologist asked Trace and Bluetooth hopefully.


OOC: With the Boffin trait and an Ingenuity + Science check, Difficulty 15, you may assemble an interface to let you use the computers in a sensible way.

From the moment the fourth failed attempt set off a noise in the building, Axander tensed and watched. He tried to say something when the nozzle protruded, but whatever words he'd been thinking of were as frozen as the block of acid. Fingers hovered over the screens of his electronic book and he simply stared blankly at the sizzling death. His only reaction when Trace finally got the door open was to crack a small smile, eyes darting to the new opening before settling back on the trap.

That could have been much worse.

Once inside, he was pleased to see Trace's restraint, visible and understandable.

"Hm. With a system as sophisticated as this, one might imagine they had manned flight as well. Directing defense systems? The star charts here might imply... not defense. But then if they went about attacking other star systems, we might imagine knowing a bit more about this world from surviving peoples. Colonists, deployed military, that all might have been the sorts who'd talk about having lost a whole world, eh? I'll see about working on more translation before we discover any more surprises, shall I?"

The Martian hissed.

"Panic. Pure panic. In their panic, they doomed their race to death. They were meddling with a science they were not up to."

Whilst the Ice Warrior-Scientist liked to pass off that his people knew all about cryogenics; and whilst it was true that he knew a fair bit; more than most, it was also true that it was only since their re-awakening that his race really had any idea about the science. A vast majority of Ice Warriors freezing and then thawing was through luck; though their resistance to cold weather may have also had something to do with it.

He did look about for any signs of -what- they were running from - at least if it was some sort of creature.

Trace cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, I think I can do something about that." The boy moved towards the computer systems and scanned them with his gauntlet. After a few minutes of probing the circuits and program pathways, he believed he figured out a way to construct an interface with the parts and tools they had at hand.

OOC
22:37, Today: Trace rolled 27 using 3d6+5+6+2 with rolls of 6,2,6.  Ing+Comp+TechAdept.

Shelter:

There seemed to be absolutely no trace of what had so terrified the centipede-like aliens (or rather, decipedes, as they appeared to have ten legs). No footprints on the hard stone, no scorch-marks of energy weapons, no damage to the stonework. But, closely inspecting the floors, Stirix did spot several previously overlooked patches of grey dust, scattered here and there all the way back to the entrance. They'd been strewn about a bit by the breeze caused by reopening the pyramid, but they remained fairly compact, roughly the size and shape of one of decipedes. It wasn't stone dust, either, but appeared to be carbon, iron, and other organic residues. Like they'd been vaporised.

Tarys and Stirix both returned from their explorations and their gruesome finds. Ortega was despondent and disappointed with the state of the Shelter; first contact with a long-lost race now looked like uncomfortable like an autopsy of a long-dead one. Oh, there could still be good discoveries to be made, but it seemed much less likely and exciting. 'Well, I believe we are done here. Let's leave this tomb, finish work for the day, and write up our finds.' he decided, noticeably subdued.

Computer Core:

OOC: It looks like you rolled an extra d6 by mistake; I ignored the last 6. Your result is 21, which is still a Good result. The Boffin trait was also called for in the module; Bluetooth has that, so the device can be completed.

While Vax conducted the kind of minute inspection and investigation archaeologists were known for, the others got to work on constructing an interface to allow them to operate and understand the alien controls.

By examining the labels on the controls for the door and other systems, as well as linking text to images on the screens, Axander – and, through him, Elona – were able to garner much more context and meaning for the alien language. Starting with numbers from 1 to 40; to basic concepts and directives like "yes", "no", "enter", "exit"; to more advanced concepts like aspects of flight control, navigation, and space combat. From there, Elona took over, using the arcane powers of TARDISes to begin translating the rest of the alien language. It remained crude, lacking in refinement and subtlety and especially grammar, but it was enough to go on and get the gist of things.

Meanwhile, Trace and Bluetooh worked on building an interface. Trace determined the codes necessary for each key and operation. Bluetooth found a spare keyboard – or rather, switchboard – and prised it open to access the electrical terminals underneath. Working together, Trace programmed a humanoid-friendly interface while Bluetooth working on wiring and soldering it together. In the end, they had two 41st-century Earth keyboards wired and taped to a single alien switchboard. It was clunky, but it worked, and they didn't have to spend hours working out switch combinations.

With Axander's "translation program" installed and running, the systems in the computer core started to make a lot more sense. What was immediately apparent was that this place was indeed much more like a military command centre than anything else. There were quite a lot of systems dedicated to target acquisition and fire control. There were definitely also flight controls for some kind of spaceship, though it was not apparent where the spaceship was.

The first thing they were able to find was a map of the city, applying names to places previously only guessed at and still entombed in ice. Close by in the ice cavern was an Archive, the strange deep shaft was called the Rocket Shaft, and the area with different architecture translated to, oddly, the Not-Enemies Nest.

There were several other Shelters located throughout the city, like the one recently excavated. Readings from that one were all flat-lined, however, suggesting all the hibernating aliens were now deceased. However, the other Shelters, those still under the ice sheet, produced many active readings, suggesting many still had functioning life support. There were also an absurd number of Weapons Depots like the one nearby currently emitting radiation.


OOC: With names, the list of accessible (plot-relevant) buildings and their Excavation Points is:

• Shelter (pyramid; all dead?): 0/5
• Computer Core (dome; a military command centre): 0/8
• Archive (ziggurat): 3/5
• "Not-Enemies Nest" (angular quarter): 9/10
• Weapons Depot (ziggurat; radiation source): 3/10
• "Rocket Shaft" (deep well or pit): 9/15
• Temporal anomaly (not on the aliens' map): 13/15

This message was last edited by the GM at 07:29, Sun 28 Feb 2016.

"Is anyone else getting a really bad feeling about this place?" Trace asked as they identified military structure after military structure. "The prof thinks he's found a lost civilisation. This is starting to look like a military force in deep freeze."

Thrilled at the progress, Axander leaned over Trace's shoulder to see the fruits of their labor. As he read more and more entries on the map, his excitement died down back to that same dull horror he'd been feeling on walking in.

"It certainly does look like they were very well prepared for war, yes. If that place is labeled as 'Not-Enemies', what would that make us if Professor Ortega does discover survivors? On the other hand, this planet is beginning to thaw without our help. I imagine it would be dangerous to let these people awaken without any explanations or connections to the outside worlds. Disorientation, memories of war, and this much firepower could be a disastrous mix. Should we call the professor to join us, or...hold off on that?"

"Unless anyone's got a better idea, I say we head topside and grab something to eat where its warm. We can give the prof the good news that he's found a hibernating army over dinner."

OOC: Does anyone have anything they want to do or examine further? Or do you want to meet up again and move on?

"Hmm. Thissss.. archive. Might be worth invessstigating. Might have more of a clue as to what this is really for."

OOC: Archives intrigue me.

Tarys pauses for a moment before the group departs this macabre scene, to softly sing for the desperate, dead creatures a bit of the Dirge for Time Denied, leaving her own event of remembrance in this place.

Axander -- to say nothing of these other humans and Martians and such -- might misunderstand her pragmatism about these things, to their place in history and in the war, as meaning that she did not feel and care for the dead.  When you had seen so much of death through the history of the universe and when your senses sometimes sent it rushing in on you unasked-for, it might seem easy to dismiss any one small death or even such a collection of it as they had found here.  But that was a mistake.  Having the occasional look into the whole larger scope of things did not make the individual moments or people and smaller.

Though what truly bothered Tarys right now was the unperceived story of what had caused this and what its greater import might be.  The empty space gnawed at her, like a missing tooth, a thing that one can't help but explore for its absence.

When she has done this, Tarys follows silently in the wake of the others in the group.

Although he was fascinated with the place, most of it seemed to be way over his head. He grasped the idea that this was a military facility (maybe), but it could just be defensive. Perhaps they'd been trying to build a shelter from radiation.

He'd helped Trace build the interface with the alien computer. That part had almost been fun. It certainly gave him a small amount of satisfaction and pride when it was all done and actually worked.


"So you are saying these gray smudges on the floor are vaporized Decipedes?" he asked.

"Does that mean some enemy attacked them? Or could it have been a natural phenomenon... some sort of disaster?"

"Does anyone know of any species that has weapons that can do this? And why would the Decipedes want to climb into the freeze chambers like that to escape an enemy? Doesn't make sense to me. A disaster, sure, but then how did they get vaporized?"

"And for that matter, how did this planet go rogue? Could their sun have gone nova and blasted them out of orbit?"

Not unlike the professors, he now had more questions than he did answers.

OOC: Bluetooth and Stirix, you're in the wrong buildings. :) Anyway, adjusting...

Computer Core: (Axander, Bluetooth, Trace & Vax)

'Yes, it's organic matter consistent with what Hali has reported finding in the Shelter.' Vax Kent explained to Bluetooth, after he had identified the dust in the command centre and conferred with his colleague over the communicator. 'It could have been some sort of disruptor or blaster weapon. Lots of militaries have the capability. Concentrated fire will disintegrate a body...' Bluetooth's other questions would, for now, how to go unanswered.

He frowned at his scanning device, muttering 'Well, carbon dating's a bust...' He closed and pocketed the device.

Meanwhile, the TARDIS suggested an alternative translation for the angular quarters: "Frenemies".

Frozen City:

Ortega, Hali, Stirix, and Tarys exited the huge pyramidal shelter, having found it contained nothing but death. Ortega remained subdued, trying to find something else to spark his interest after the sad and disappointing demise of the lost alien race. It didn't take him long. Stirix had expressed an interest in the Archive, but it was still frozen over. 'Yes! Of course! This Archive is bound to hold their records, their ancient knowledge, their scientific secrets. It shall be the focus of tomorrow's excavations.'

Across the frosty landscape of the ice-cave and frozen city, they saw Axander, Bluetooth, Trace, and Vax emerge from the dome-shaped Computer Core. They started walking over.

'Wow! Icehot towers!' Sky Light exclaimed, appearing at the ice tunnel, looking around in amazement at the icebound city.

"Computers are up," Trace called out as the two groups approached each other. "Some real interesting stuff on there. Although I'm not sure these guys are going to welcome us with open arms, claws, tentacles, whatever." He added.

It looked like the others were heading up top as well. Trace decided to make sure the equipment was all properly stowed away before joining them. He checked the lights and heaters, double checked the wiring. Then he moved to collect the Plasma Torches. He needed to make sure they were properly deactivated and disconnected.

That's when he discovered a problem. "Hey, we're missing a plasma torch. We should have two, but there's only one here."

'Have you counted them?' Hali asked, then quickly thought better of it.

'Perhaps you already moved it, young man?' Ortega inquired blithely. 'In preparation for my work tomorrow, of course, good forward thinking. Perhaps you simply forgot in all the excitement?'

"No." Trace said firmly. "It's gone. You don't just loose track of a plasma-powered flame thrower." He looked around, glancing apprehensively at the slowly thawing alien city. "Either it grew legs and took a walk by itself. Or ...."

'Or?' Ortega pressed, before looking sidelong at Sky Light, who was gazing up in awe at the icebound pyramid, perhaps wondering if she could climb it. He lowered his voice, suggesting 'Ah, perhaps that girl took it, hmm?'

Sky Light ran and jumped up the pyramid, making a good distance before sliding back down again. 'Whee!' she cried, before falling into the snow.

Trace cocked his head in thought. It was a possibility, he considered, a better one than the alternative. "Hey Sky? Did you take one of the plasma torches?" Trace called out as she reached the bottom of her slide.

Axander breathed a sigh of relief on seeing Tarys and the others well, and partially at the Professor's disappointment. It meant they hadn't found anything too terribly dangerous yet.

"Well, that was far more exciting than I remember archaeology being. I'd suggest we head back topside to discuss our respective findings, but..." He took a moment to watch Sky Light playing with the ice, then turned to the Professor's team again. "...I think your crew needs a moment. How are things, Professor?"

'Good, good, my expedition is going perfectly.' Ortega answered with an air of great satisfaction and optimism. 'The aliens didn't survive their cryogenic hibernation, which is quite unfortunate but is only to be expected after such a long period of time, the limited technology, and unstable planetary conditions.' He sounded as if he'd expected this all along. 'With your translation program, we should be able to easily examine their Archives tomorrow... Tell me, how did you manage the translation so quickly? It normally takes years for such a result...'

Meanwhile, Sky Light stared puzzled at Trace's question, answering 'Nope... Oh! Captain Borys wants to know why you're still drawing plasma. He says it might blow up again...'

"Um, we're not. I mean, we're not supposed to be. The cutters are meant to be shut down." Trace looked worried. He looked around the cavern. "We should follow the plasma conduits, it should lead us straight to the other torch." Did someone leave it on? Or is are the city's inhabitants not quite as deep frozen as they had believed.

With no other input, Trace went in search of the second plasma torch, Sky Light by his side. Following the conduit led them through the frozen city, around the squat, ziggurat-like structure Axander had identified as a Weapons Depot and which looked now a lot like a bunker.

The plasma torch lay there on the ground, switched off. It was still warm.

Picking up the still-warm torch, Trace looked around. No one was supposed to cutting over here, were they? He took the radio out of his pocket. "Was anyone working with a cutter around the Ziggurat looking building earlier." Trace transmitted to the others. He hoped someone said yes. If they said no, then it meant that they weren't alone down here. Whatever that might mean.

While he waited for a response, he slowly walked towards the building, wondering if an entrance had been uncovered.

Trace's communication came through his team's radios, though the newcomers didn't have them. Axander looked to Vax's radio, the closest nearby, and his attention was pulled from Sky Light's antics. That didn't sound right. He addressed Ortega again, trying not to jump to the worst possible conclusions with so little information.

"Professor, not to assume you would give anyone orders without informing the rest of your team, but my companion and I aren't in fact part of your group and shouldn't expect to be kept abreast of everything that goes on. Did we have someone cutting at that building? I thought we'd planned to avoid it until later due to the radiation."

Trace:

The immediate round of silence that answered Trace's call also answered his question for him – apparently not, or at least not that anyone would admit to.

He ventured closer to the weapons depot, with the just-as-unwisely curious Sky Light by his side. One of the iced-over entrances bore a concave depression, similar to what he'd cut out of the front of the pyramid. Of course, no one had explored this side yet, so Ortega might say it had always been like that, perhaps as a result of natural heating caused by radiation from inside the structure. It seemed like something he would say.

*

The rest:

Back at the front of the site, Ortega shook his head at Axander's question. 'No, no, I'm site coordinator, no one should have been cutting at that building yet. I gave no such orders... Though I do appreciate the initiative and efficiency of whoever did do it to advance my expedition. Kent? Plim?' The two students were left with the choice of accepting the blame for extra credit, but ultimately muttered their denials.

'Stirix? Tarys? You separated from the pyramid group for a while, hmm?' he hinted.

A shake of his head.

"No. Not yet. It wassss to be held for later."

Tarys regards the expedition leader coolly.

"Certainly not.  No emergency has yet come to light that has called for approaching your investigations in anything but a planned and methodical manner."

She frowns.

"I suggest that we might, again, reconsider the possibility that something with an agency of its own is abroad within this site.  Chance has afforded you extra eyes and ears.  If anyone wishes to assist, I volunteer to make a more thorough search to try to resolve that question."

'It still could have been that Red Kang, they're natural scavengers. No?' Ortega rubbed his chin in thought, reaching for another possibility. 'It could have drifted over there, perhaps, on a mobile ice sheet. This stuff may be a bit unstable.' He trapped the ice with the toe of his boot, but found it inconveniently solid.

'Well, anyway, we've had a long day's work. Let's return to the ship and rest. Maybe this mystery will all make sense come morning... Besides, night should be falling soon, and temperatures will be dropping fast. If we don't leave now, we're staying the night.' He commed to Trace, 'Okay, please head back now, you two.'

Looking wistfully at the depression, Trace sighed. "On our way." He says over the comm. "Come on, we probably don't want to be caught down here overnight. The cold might be the least of our problems." Trace said to Sky.

Tarys stands unmoving and unblinking, watching Ortega, for quite some time.  Childish human fool.  Which was not, she supposed, very fair to humans as a species, but a fool was a fool no matter what star had birthed their constituent particles.

She is very tempted to pull Axander aside and to leave Ortega and his hapless colleagues to whatever doom they are blundering into, but the echoes of her vision remind her that there is a far greater concern to solve, and that for that to happen, it is vital that many of these people survive.

She does, however, find some consolation in the thought that Ortega is not necessarily among them.

'Nope. And there isn't even a box to sleep-tight in.' Sky Light remarked cheerily. As Trace started walking back to the entrance, she looked up, her keen Kang senses pricked, yet she spied nothing on the icy ceiling of the cave. Shrugging, rubbing her red mittens together against the biting cold, she followed after her friend

And, from above, eyes red and distorted watched the two humans go...

Back at the entrance, the team packed up, ready to leave the ice cave and its frozen buildings for the next day's excavation. Trace and Bluetooth thoughtfully packed up the wandering plasma torches and conduits, to bring them back to the ship, even if Ortega protested there was no need to go to the effort of carrying such heavy devices back and forth. Hali and Vax soon followed suit, taking their own archaeological equipment with them, leaving only crude, cumbersome contraptions like the spoil-sifter.

Behind them, those eyes gazed back to the city, and ventured down...

They hiked back up the long ice-tunnel, returning to the surface, and hurried across the ice. As the dim and distant sun sank at last below the jagged horizon, the dark sky above grew darker, with full night falling with surprisingly speed. Scant few stars shone through the black patches between the clouds though; this world was too far out from the galactic arm for that. And as night fell, so did the temperature, dropping ever colder. Puddles froze over, slush turned to snow, and snow froze hard into ice. Snow fell, as breathable atmosphere precipitated. They could hear the world crunching and cracking, freezing over again. It wasn't wise to linger here at nightfall, lest their boots freeze into the ground.

At last, the whole team was back in the blessed warmth and shelter of the Yermark Maru, gathering around the tables in the common room as Borys and Sky Light worked on a hot dinner. It didn't include rat, this fact was made very clear. The archaeologists conferred on the day's findings, arguing complex topics, but there seemed to be a bit of disagreement.
This message was last edited by the GM at 07:21, Wed 27 Apr 2016.

Axander ate quietly, looking to the others while trying to hear what the argument was about. He certainly didn't want to be the one to tell the Professor about their military findings. At least not until they were able to power down any more security devices or worse, massive weaponry.

Maybe it wasn't as dangerous as he thought, but the Doctor had been here some time ago, and he remembered stories about the renegade's antics. And then there was the missing plasma cutter. Something was already happening. The narrative had begun, but he couldn't see what he needed from inside the story.

Tarys takes her seat next to Axander.  Like him, she is trying to focus on what the others have made of what was uncovered during the day.

When she thinks that enough discussion is being made to cover it, though, she leans closer to Axander. "Remember, you bear no responsibility for advice that is willfully ignored," she says.  "Having said that.  Is there anything I should be aware of?"

In his quest for academic fortune and glory the professor was pushing the team, ignoring concerns and dismissing dissenting opinions. But that wasn't what kept Trace distracted during dinner, pushing the food around on the plate. The overtly militaristic nature of the computer centre, the ominous bunkers and shelters, the wandering plasma torch that no one seemed willing to admit was moved by someone who didn't arrive here on a ship ... something was going on but no one was willing to admit it.

What they needed was proof. Proof that they couldn't deny.

A plan began to form.

The travellers tried to eavesdrop on the archaeologists. Hali was saying '...There's clear cellular damage, as expected from freezing. But the plant matter isn't nearly as decayed as I expected—'

Naturally, Ortega cut her off, seemingly already knowing the answer. 'Well, the ice would have had a cryogenic effect, which will preserve the vegetation we collected.'

'But after seven million years?' Vax hissed. 'It should be mummified, fossilised even.'

'We should consult with Mr Stirix.'

'Now, now, I don't think we need to bother him.'
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:12, Fri 22 Apr 2016.

Axander was coming to similar conclusions as Trace, though his own response was to eat more rather than less. The conversation between the researchers was not at all what he was hoping to hear.



Axander nodded to Tarys, still looking down at his plate. He kept his voice down as best he could, but there was no telling whether those not engaged in the argument could hear him.

"It was a military complex. A live one, active security, missiles, star maps and all. These people were either in the middle of a war or about to start one. If we don't move quickly, I don't know how we'll find what we're looking for before it all becomes fully operational in a very bad way. You?"

Yermak Maru
Location: Rogue planet, between the Outer and Perseus Arms of Mutter's Spiral, the Milky Way Galaxy
Date: 27th June 4031 CE

The archaeologists descended into bewildered muttering, while the crew and travellers were left worried about the course of this dubious expedition, assailed by very real doubts and nameless fears. Over his protein-1 stroganoff, Captain Borys glared suspiciously at a blithe and oblivious Ortega.

Outside, a thin wind whispered and howled, and the Yermak Maru creaked and groaned as the warm ship contracted in the intense cold – in practice, outside was colder than space, as vacuum permitted no convection or conduction of heat. Sleep came fitfully, and was plagued with troubled dreams.

*

Borys couldn't sleep – he had too many memories of the war, and of too many wars. Too many friends lost, too many bodies seen, mangled by strange alien weapons and claws. Daleks might be the worst of them all, but they weren't the nastiest, not to a soldier doing the fighting and the dying. He'd take a quick death-ray any day, compared to venomous pincers that left a woman dying in pain for hours.

So he'd come down to the cargo bay to stock-take, which was like counting sheep to a space freighter camp. When he dragged one old barrel aside, a nest of little Draconian wigglers scattered, seeking darkness. Borys screamed and screamed, stomping his boots down upon them, as the deck clanged and shook. By the time he got his breath, by the time he could see truly again, he'd crushed a half-dozen into yellow paste. He shifted the next barrel, and for the next ten minutes dedicated himself to stamping out multi-legged bugs. The last he crushed and ground into the deck plate until he was finally spent. He'd have to get Sky Light onto pest control.

*

Elona
Outside time and space

The woman with the four-o'clock flower on her suit checked her wristwatch and frowned; events really should be moving along faster, if not to schedule, then at least for drama. 'Don't you agree?' she asked Elona, and listened for an answer. 'Well, it's not like we can warn them any better. It's in our nature to be obtuse.' She ran her fingers across the spines of the growing library in the TARDIS control room, from books on arctic exploration, military histories of 41st century, to Harry the Poisonous Centipede. 'We just have to trust that things will work out. In time.'

*

Ice Cave
Date: 27th June 4031 CE

Early the next day, they were back at work in the ice cave, awaiting them another round of cutting into ice-faces with plasma torches, taking blocks away to melt under sunlamps, sifting through the run-off for archaeological remains, and examining such detritus for its significance.

Ortega ordered Trace and Bluetooth to begin excavating the structure labelled Archives; he hoped they'd gain access today. It was of course the target of his search and he expected to discover the forgotten lore and ancient secrets of the aeons-old galaxy.

But those who wandered past the Weapons Depot saw that the once melt-smooth ice wall over the entrance was covered all over with furious scratches.
This message was last edited by the GM at 02:48, Thu 28 Apr 2016.

"Okay that does it; if this is a dead frozen world, then what's carving those scratches? Ghosts? I'm telling you people, we're not alone here." He said, pointing at the scratches.

'Heat.' Ortega answered decisively, adjusting his spectacles yet still peering myopically at the ice-face. 'We know the structure emits radiation, which will heat it from within. The building expands during the day, then contracts during the night. The compressive forces on the ice here cause these fractures. It's really quite simple. Ice moons like Europa are covered with them.

"Large numbers of long-dead inhabitants, who had attempted to crowd themselves into cryostorage facilities that were not adequate to their numbers.  Disturbing, the more one lets oneself think about it."  Tarys glances at Ortega, before adding in her low conversation with Axander, "Not that everyone here was over-concerned with doing such thinking."

Tarys steps up next to Ortega, moving inside his space with an utter disregard for the respect supposedly due to him.  She trusts her manner alone to cause him to give way, as she examines the marks and tries to estimate the physical characteristics of the organism -- or the mechanical implements of a tool-using being -- that would be necessary to make them.

"Everyone," she says, calm but firm, "I appreciate that I am an interloper here and that I have no proper place in your expedition, or your scientific work.  However.  I take no false pride in telling you that an understanding of devices and methods meant to cause harm is among the skills I have studied and practiced for a very long time.  I can not assure your safety, but I can assert that I will make every effort to accurately assess and counter any threats that I find in this place.  After your team took my associate and I in out of the elements, I feel obliged to it."

"I dunno," Trace said to Ortega as he scanned the marks with his gauntlet, "they don't look like stress fractures caused by cyclical thermal changes. They're only on the surface and don't penetrate down to the base like a fracture should. Totally surface scratches caused by something gouging at the ice." The boy looked at the professor as if to say your move.

He turns to Tarys. "At least someone else is taking this seriously. Can't claim fortune and glory if the ice monsters from planet X eats us all."

OOC: I wasn't sure what to roll for you, Tarys, but this seemed appropriate.
13:38, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Tarys, rolled 17 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 4,6. awareness + fighting.


Ortega was about to launch into bluster and indignation when Tarys pushed past him. There was something about her manner – like she might be as cold as the ancient ultra-cooled ice all around them.

She examined the scratched-up ice face. The furrows were too rough and shallow to be from a tool, and, if Ortega was even remotely correct, too randomly distributed to caused by natural forces. The closest match might be a claw.

After hearing from Trace, Ortega recovered his bluster. 'Yes, well, I might wait for Scholastor Stirix's final report... We know the builders are deceased, and we haven't seen any animals yet, but I suppose it may be possible that some polar lifeform evolved in these ice-caves. Likely feeding on extremophile bacteria.' he conceded, yet somehow didn't. 'If you are that worried about it, I suggest you all take care. Perhaps you can have your good captain break out the weapons, hmm?' He nodded to Tarys's promise. 'Thank you, madame. Perhaps you can stand guard for the young man?'

'Now, I do believe that's enough speculation and lollygagging. We have vital archaeology to do! I think we can be into the Archives before the end of the day, if you put backs into it!' He chop-chopped his obedient archaeologists into action, herding them away from the curious Weapons Depot.


OOC: A reminder of the excavation mechanic. Every structure defined in the module requires a certain number of Excavation Points, from 5 to 15. In one day's work, using the plasma torches to melt the ice, make a Strength + Technology check, Difficulty 12, to apply 1 to 3 EPs per day to a structure. Hali and Vax will average at 2 EP per day. Natural defrosting will add d6 EPs to each structure by the end of the day. (My EP totals have been changing because the book gives three different sets of values; I've now changed these to the smallest values each to get this advancing faster.)

• Shelter (pyramid; all dead?): 0/5
• Computer Core (dome; a military command centre): 0/5
• Archive (ziggurat): 3/5
• "Not-Enemies Nest" (angular quarter): 6/7
• Weapons Depot (ziggurat; radiation source): 1/7
• "Rocket Shaft" (deep well or pit): 4/10
• Temporal anomaly (not on the aliens' map): 8/10

This message was last edited by the player at 01:45, Mon 02 May 2016.

Stirix pushed himself forward at that point.

"Dr. Ortega; you would be wise to listen to others. You may know more about everyone about archaeology, but you recruited a team purely because otherssss know more than you about some thingsssss. I will invesssstigate; but you need to promisssse that when I make my judgement, you will accept what I have to ssssay."

Niles adjusted his spectacles, something of a nervous habit. 'Yes, of course, Scholastor Stirix. I eagerly await your findings.' Which was more credit than he gave to Trace, but he clearly didn't trust the academic credentials of a kid on a tramp freighter. Even if he was paying him to fire plasma torches at his dig site.

There was clearly something trying to make its way into the building marked as a weapons depot. As Ortega tried to rationalize it away, Axander stared at him in disbelief. Trace, Tarys, and Stirix all had plenty enough to say on the matter, so the student simply took a deep breath and cast an apologetic smile at Trace.

He'd established that he was no good with a plasma cutter, so Axander instead moved to get the ice sifting site prepared. He had no intention of letting the weapons depot entry out of his sight, though, and was preparing things accordingly.

Grudgingly, Trace took up his plasma torch and set to work.


At first, he helped the others melt the ice away from the site marked "archives". But as soon as he had a chance, he moved back to the weapons depot. If he could find whatever was in there that their "guest" was after, maybe he could stop them from taking it.

Axander got to work on the ice-sifters, placing the heavy blocks of ice in the big sieve under a heat-lamp. The ice soon melted, with water, liquid atmosphere, and gases given off in turns, with detritus collected in the sieve. The archaeologists wanted this stuff collected, recorded, and stored in special containers for later analysis, but Ortega hadn't paid a lot of attention to such mundane archaeology.

Mostly it just grit and stones, but occasionally some organic matter appeared, preserved in the cryogenic temperatures. Mostly this was plant matter: leaves, roots, and weeds, all dead and sodden, crumbled to bits. Axander noted they were brown with decay, a result of cellular damage by the subzero temperatures, freezing the water and causing cells to expand, shatter, and die. But many parts were still green. Hali and Vax had been right, last night: this stuff should be fossilised, not looking like it just come out of the freezer in his kitchen.

*

With all his attention on the Weapons Depot, Trace's progress on the Archives was minimal – enough to get Ortega off his back, not enough to give him what he wanted right now.

Surveying the Weapons Depot, he saw the ice had melted further, exposing parts of the building, but the entrance itself was still trapped in the ice. The scratched-up surface had now been melted smooth by ambient heat. They were so close, he could almost see inside. There was a dim, eerie, and sickly yellow light within...

Then he heard a sound, a cold metallic bleek. Beside him, he saw, emerging from the snow, a small gleaming sphere. Then, incredibly, it rolled toward him. He was wondering what it was, when, with a snap, wicked-looking spikes protruded from every side.


OOC: 16:04, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Trace, rolled 16 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 3,5. awareness + ingenuity.

Action Round: Trace vs Sphere.
Fight: Sphere attacks.
Trace, please roll Coordination + Fighting, Difficulty 15, to avoid the attack.

On the excavation front, an assistance roll for Trace would knock another point off the Archive.

• Shelter (pyramid; all dead?): 0/5
• Computer Core (dome; a military command centre): 0/5
• Archive (ziggurat): 2/5
• "Not-Enemies Nest" (angular quarter): 6/7
• Weapons Depot (ziggurat; radiation source): 1/7
• "Rocket Shaft" (deep well or pit): 4/10
• Temporal anomaly (not on the aliens' map): 8/10

This message was last edited by the GM at 11:06, Thu 12 May 2016.

"What the..." Trace said as the sphere emerged, his curiosity quickly turning to shock as it attacked.

OOC: Sorry if it wasn't clear, but since you were aware, you have a chance to Talk/Move/Do before the Fight action. Anything you want to try?

OOC: Run away! For which I have a bonus :-) whilst yelling for help if it chases me if I get the chance.

OOC: I don't think the system adjudicates how much talk you can do in a Talk action. But as your third action, I imagine it's some kind of wordless cry. :) As for your second, running should make you harder to hit, but a +2 won't shift you out of the Bad outcome.

Hoping to evade whatever the barbed ball did, Trace ran, fast as he could across the ice and snow. He heard a fwit! sound, felt a sharp pain in his leg, and could only cry out briefly as he stumbled and fell into the snow.

*

The others heard a cry, from somewhere around the building marked as a Weapons Depot. It sounded like Trace – and Trace was nowhere to be seen.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:11, Fri 13 May 2016.

"Ssssstupid boy."

He then moved towards the sound of the cry.

Staggering to his feet, Trace's face was a mask of concentration; beads of sweat formed on his forehead despite the biting cold. He walked jerkily over to the discarded plasma cutter and picked it up. Awkwardly he turned to the Weapons Depot and aimed the plasma at the ice.

After her lecture to Ortega (well, technically, near Ortega) Tarys had abandoned her pretense of trying to seriously assist with the archeological work going.  Instead, she had spent the time circulating between the disparate teams: although she certainly lent a hand when she found one of the groups engaged at something that required a little bit of immediate assistance, her main goal had been to keep moving, and to keep a watch for anything dangerous to make its presence known.

She wasn't too surprised when Trace raised the alarm.  She found herself moving that way rapidly, with the Knife in her hand and no clear memory of drawing it.

Stirix and Tarys were the first on the scene, finding Trace starting on the Weapons Depot. The plasma torch began to slow melt the ice. There was nothing else around.

Certainly no murderous silver spheres...

Axander had been expecting trouble from the area of the Weapons Depot. That was why he'd set up his little ice sifting operation to face that way in the first place. He didn't even say anything when he'd seen Trace sneaking off in that direction (certainly Ortega wouldn't have given him that order, but then again if he had he likely would have foregone giving the boy escort). Even without any surprise, the young student still hesitated and had to take a deep breath before running across to where the sound had come from.

He showed up well behind Tarys and Stirix, and immediately moved toward Trace.

"Trace! Are you alright? Did something happen?"

Trace didn't look away from his work; although the plasma flow faltered for a second. "I'm fine," he croaked, "I just tripped." He rubbed the back of his leg where his cold weather trousers had a small tear.

If the cry hadn't summoned Ortega, then the lack of work certainly did. Eventually Niles came storming around the ice-bound structure, hotly demanding 'What's going on here?' He soon took in Trace firing the plasma torch at the Weapons Depot entrance, entirely against his instructions. 'What in space are you doing, boy? We're excavating the Archives! Not this so-called Weapons Depot. You could be destroying valuable archaeology. Now leave it alone and return to the Archive dig-site.'

Caught between a rock and a hard place. Trace hadn't really understood that cliché until now. Without deviating from his work, he looked over at the others. "I can't. I've got orders." He said with a faint look of panic.

'What orders? I never gave you any such orders.' Ortega seemed too egocentric to consider that someone else might have given orders contradictory to his, or that this was anything but foolishness on Trace's part.

He hissed.

"He sssseemssss to be hiding ssssomething. Hold him."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:36, Sat 21 May 2016.

Tarys considers for a moment.  She glances to the tear on Trace's clothes.  Then she smoothly sheathes the Knife, and in that motion holds up her hands: one to Ortega and one Stirix.  "Wait.  Listen.  "

She lets her senses expand, alert for any unknown presence, even as she focuses on Trace.

"Trace.  Look into my eyes.  Concentrate on the sound of my voice.  I need you to stop what you're doing and speak with us."  She concentrates on holding a steady, even tone.  "No one does anything without a reason.  No one follows an order from no one.  I need you to tell us who gave you the orders to cut through this ice."

If there is indeed an outside influence acting on Trace, reaching out to his mind like this may alert it that there is a Time Lord at work here.  But Tarys is starting to get the sense that the time to drop her mask is near.


12:42, Today: Tarys rolled 11 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 1,1.  Get Trace to stop and respond: Presence(4) + Convince(3) + Hypnosis(2).

Let me know if a roll for Psychic is also appropriate.

He didn't want to say, didn't want to risk angering ... it. Maybe if he pretended to do what Ortega wanted, he could sneak back later. Maybe it would understand.

Trace lowered the plasma cutter and turned to face the others, ready to acquiesce to the professors demands. Then he saw Tarys' look; and saw her eyes. He wanted to answer, and despite every effort to prevent it, he did. "The alien centipede told me to ... or it would kill me if tried to tell."

OOC: Rolled an 11 to resist, not enough to beat the diff set by Tarys.

'Alien centipede?' Ortega laughed in derision. 'They're all dead. Have been for millions of years... I think the cold is getting to you, boy, or deep-space madness, giving you this strange obsession with this building. I think we know now who moved the plasma torch yesterday, who chiselled away at the surface.' he declaimed, quite confident that he'd solved the puzzle at last. 'Now, enough of this nonsense! If you cannot, or will not, do the work, then return to the ship. We'll complete the work ourselves. Or you can send down that Red Kang girl, she seems a hard worker.'

Stirix frowned.

"It would be wise not to ignore the idea that a powerful alien could be involved. They should all be dead you say?" He turned his head sharply towards Ortega. "Ssssso humanity sssssaid about my people when they were firsssst discovered."

A nod.

"However, if he could be persuaded to come with me, I can run some scans just to be sure it is not some kind of illness, or even madnesssss."

He was. Then he wasn't. Then he was again. Somehow, it had felt like he was fading out of existence... and then faded back in.

He didn't understand anything about time, but he'd heard enough snippets of conversation from the others to get the gist of Time being something more than just numbers on his chronometer.

Was that what was happening to him? Time passing him by? Oh, he'd heard any number of wild speculations about the problems of time travel, but they were always based on some imaginative or theoretical definition of time. Actual time travel should create paradoxes, thus making time travel impossible. So the imaginative parts were always trying to explain a way around the paradoxes.

So, had something happened to him that altered his very existence? Could someone or something have gone into the past, and performed some action that kept him from ever being born? But then how had he faded back in? Something else had restored the timeline. Perhaps one of his companions had been able to travel back in time and stop the person who'd... erased him? A paradox of a paradox! That was like a 'double negative'! Wasn't it?

He had no idea what had happened while he was... gone. Or had he been gone? Really. Maybe his mind was just being affected. That made more sense than time travel!

Yet, given where he was, with the centuries of time hanging over these ancient 'ruins', somehow time travel made sense, too.

Axander's eyes narrowed as he tried to process what Trace said.

"Alien...centipede? That's not what they described in the stasis chambers. Odd." And the student-like charm came back on to soften Ortega's reactions and try to get him back out of the way.

"Professor? Would you mind letting Trace go with Doctor Stirix? We can keep things moving out here of course. Bluetooth, would you mind taking Trace's plas--" As Axander turned to their feline companion, he stopped mid-sentence, and his polite smile shattered into wide-eyed horror.

"Ta...Tarys? Could you...? Please? Here?" He glanced back to Trace and the plasma cutter, then turned to Bluetooth again. After shutting his eyes and taking a single deep breath in and out, Axander brought his expression back down to simply extreme concern.

"Bluetooth, good. You're back. I mean here. You're...do you have a minute?"

"Of course I have a minute... maybe. Or an eternity. I keep getting those two things confused," he replies to Axander, though he couldn't quite figure out why he'd said that.

"So. I wasn't here after all. Or did you mean I was... um, elsewhere? Elsewhen maybe, as you seem to imply. Back on the ship... though I don't know what it was I was doing there. The obvious answer would be getting warm, but, as you can see, I come with my own fur coat."

Tarys carefully reaches out to Trace, attempting to gently relieve him of the plasma cutter.  High-energy tools are not a thing you want left in the hands of people receiving external psychic direction for their actions, although she remains mindful of the young man's distracted state... just in case he gets some new instructions.

She is rather more disturbed by Bluetooth's confused turns of phrase.  Tarys is well acquainted with nonlinear temporal shifts, perhaps even more so than the average Gallifreyan.  But usually, people from species that lack innate time sensitivity won't notice these thing, sometimes even when they are themselves the spatiotemporal elements shifting between different interfaces.  Tarys starts to get an uneasy feeling that the spatially problematic shaft at the excavation site has been ignored for far too long....

Ortega took a while to answer Stirix and Axander, perhaps distracted or deep in thought. At last, he waved Trace toward the Martian. 'Yes, yes, certainly. Examine the lad, make sure he's well. It could just be the stress of the work, of course, but every avenue must be explored.'

He seemed surprised to see Bluetooth, then adjusted his spectacles to peer disdainfully at him. 'Ah, there you are at last. Yes, take Mr Trace's place, will you? I want to be in the Archives today, so no more dilly-dallying!' The drama over, the archaeologists returned to their work, leaving the others a brief moment to confer.

With a panicked look, and nervously squriming as he felt the interlopers move within him, Trace began to back away from Tarys. He clutched the cutter protectively almost as if it was a life preserver. "What part of 'I'll die if I don't do what it says' wasn't clear enough?"

"You said it threatened to kill you if you told anyone what had happened, and that plainly has not come to pass," Tarys points out.  "How do you expect it to kill you?  When we know that, we will know how to protect you, and I promise you, I will do all I can.  Very dangerous enemies have attempted to get past me before.  And failed."

The Martian was not happy, but he still not remove his helmet.

"Come now lad, I just want to check you over. Make sure you are fit, and healthy enough to carry out their wishes. It does them no good if you fall over due to exhaustion, now doessss it?"

With great reluctance, Trace surrendered the cutter. He knew there was no way he could continue excavating now and he hoped that the aliens understood this.

Once he surrendered the cutter, the Ice Warrior stepped forward. It was a somewhat menacing sight, and for those that knew their history, might be even more concerning. However, Stirix was merely concerned about Trace's wellbeing, and he looked him over, examining him carefully for anything not quite right, making sure he was healthy and so forth.

OOC:
13:38, Today: Stirix rolled 17 using 2d6+8 with rolls of 4,5.  Awareness + Medicine?

Stirix looked Trace over, the powerful and inscrutable Martian cyborg seeming almost as disturbing as the giant centipede that had jumped on him earlier.

Apart from the signs of recent (and current) terror, namely high adrenalin and heart rate, Stirix found a clear puncture wound in Trace's leg, his pupils were widely dilated, he had low blood pressure, and he suffered erratic nerve activity, causing paresthesia – commonly known as pins-and-needles.

That made him suspect an external cause, and conducted a chemical analysis of blood and breath. The tests showed signs of psychotropic chemicals, ones that would induce fear responses, lower will power... and cause hallucinations.


OOC: That's fine, a Good success.

A deep breath. Tarys had calmed him down before.

"Tarysssss, if you would attend here for a moment."

Well, the good news was he'd found the cause.

Tarys frowns, fractionally.  She steps to Axander, mindful that they really need to address the greater issue here, and hands him the cutter -- she has rather more faith in another Time Lord's ability to resist any influence like the one affecting Trace.  But she gives him a look that says, Later.

Turning and moving back to Stirix and Trace, she raises an eyebrow.  "Yes?"

He pointed at the puncture wound.

"He isssss under ssssome kind of influence; but I believe it to be chemical, rather than psychic, in nature."

A nod to Tarys.

"Which meansssss, we must watch carefully. I can identify the symptoms once they are obvious, and I may be able to do ssssomething about them. Once I'm aware."

OOC: GM, any way we can.. I dunno... expunge the chemicals from Trace?

OOC: According to the module, treating the poison will be an Ingenuity + Medicine check at Difficulty 18.

Having said that, Stirix bent over Trace, using his skills to try to extract and remove the poison.

"Thissss might hurt. Just a little."

OOC: Okay, no story points. I have a decent chance of making that.

12:38, Today: Stirix rolled 16 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 2,4.  Ingenuity (5) + Medicine (5).
Close, but not cigar...
 

"Ah..."

Axander kept trying to talk to Bluetooth. This whole situation was just not right. Especially the part where Bluetooth recognized what was happening. He shouldn't even have been aware of his missing time. And then he was back, and there was no way Ortega's team could even know anything was wrong, but if Bluetooth could, then maybe the others from Tarys's vision could. And Bluetooth had vanished when Trace was in trouble, and had reappeared when he was stopped from opening that building...

"Bluetooth...?"

It was a circle of thoughts that kept circling in his head over and over, but it was only a split second. By the time he'd formed words and was about to say them, the others had gotten the plasma cutter away from Trace and passed it to Axander.

"Right. Okay. My friend, I think--" He was quite surprised to have it, and blinked over at Tarys. Then he saw what was going on with Trace and passed the cutter over to Bluetooth.

"Just a moment, don't go anywhen. Where. Anywhere. You heard me say where, of course. I, er...Back in a tick!" Half flustered again (only half by now, thank goodness), Axander went to go provide his services as best he could to the doctor.

"Sir, while not a medical professional, I've read quite a bit about human and some non-human anatomies and medical procedures. May I offer my modest services?"

[I'll assist Stirix with my Medicine 1 skill, enough to provide the +2 cooperation bonus. That should bring his total from 16 to 18, just enough.]

He turned and regarded Axander for a long moment.

"Oh very well. I just need to make sure I get the dosage for this right...."

Axander had handed the cutter that had been taken from Trace to Bluetooth... for safekeeping, although the professor wanted him to use it... right away. But, with Trace's condition, was that wise? There was clearly a cause for Trace's behavior and until they figured out that was, continued action was ill-advised.

At the mention of some sort of chemical inside Trace, Bluetooth stepped a bit closer and took a sniff. His sense of smell was quite good, and whatever was coursing through Trace's bloodstream might have caused other physical conditions.

17:36, Today: Bluetooth rolled 10 using 2d6+4 ((1,5)). Awareness (+2), Keen Senses (+2)

Bleh. I think I got the roll right. Spend a story point if necessary!

Bluetooth picked up a faint scent of poison... not so much the poison itself but the effect it produced. It reminded him of the sand-spiders of the desert!

17:50, Today: Bluetooth rolled 14 using 2d6+7 ((3,4)). Awareness (+2), Survival desert (+5)

A shudder ran through him at the memory, and he quickly glanced around to make sure there weren't any sand-spiders in the area!

"I may have something to help him," Bluetooth said as he rummaged around in his pockets.

17:53, Today: Bluetooth rolled 9 using 2d6 ((6,3)). Resourceful Pockets

((Not sure how/don't remember how Story Points work, but, if possible, spend another story point to come up with a poison antidote!))

Trace squirmed under the attention of multiple people.

Thissss might hurt. Just a little.

"YEOWW!" He yelped as Stirix attempted to remove the poison they said was in him. "A little?"

"You know, I'm pretty sure I didn't imagine that spikey death ball that shot me in the leg. Perhaps you should be more worried about that than academic fortune and glory."

Axander kept focused on his work, which included talking to Trace as a form of monitoring him.

"Making sure that spikey ball of death doesn't kill you is more important, my boy. I fear this mission has become far more dangerous than any of us could have imagined. Are you feeling any better? Doctor, if Trace is alright, do you think you could look over Bluetooth? I think...well, I think you'll find absolutely nothing, but I also think you may find something odd." The fact that Bluetooth realized he had stopped existing for a moment was most troubling, and was pushing Axander's personal timetable forward. Almost as an afterthought, he remembered that Stirix had disappeared the previous day, though not for very long.

"How are you feeling, Doctor? Just curious. I'm feeling fine, myself, but we don't know what else may be...er...active? Active's a decent word. Doing things to us." Fantastic conversationalist, that one.

With the assistance of Bluetooth and Axander, and with no small amount of debate, Stirix was able to extract the poison from Trace. How exactly wasn't clear, but certainly it had hurt. Maybe he'd sucked it out? Maybe Trace wouldn't want to know? In any case, they didn't have to remove the leg after all.

Afterwards, Trace's head was clearer and the centipedes crawling beneath his skin didn't feel as bad or as itchy. Gone was his chemically induced fear of the giant centipede monster, leaving only a perfectly natural fear of giant centipede monsters. And a sharp pain in his leg.

Now it was Axander's turn to babble with paranoia...

*

Red eyes watching from the dark amidst the ice, a low hiss of anger...

"If its alright with you," Trace said getting to his feet unsteadily and limping slightly. "I'd rather work up top on the surface for the time being." There were limits to foolish courage and curiosity. And with the adults of the seeming to treat what had happened lightly, the young engineer didn't feel safe in the ice cavern at that moment in time.

Having treated the venom that had so affected Trace, and shared some distinctly cryptic forebodings, the team returned to the main dig-site.

Under Ortega's micromanagement, Hali Plim and Vax Kent had finally broken through into the ziggurat-like Archives building. The last of the ice melted and flooded out, revealing a wide business-like entrance. Inside, computer screens glimmered in the darkness, casting rippling light upon the pictoglyphs and bas-reliefs. They seemed to writhe and creep in disturbing ways.

'At last! We have accessed the alien archives themselves! All their history, their technology and sciences, all their ancient secrets will be laid bare! Uncovering lost knowledge is where we shall find profit.' He was rubbing his gloves hands together, and not for the cold.

'Professor?' Hali asked, whiskers twitching wonderingly.

'Of course, the preservation and propagation of knowledge is the only true profit.' Ortega clarified, adjusting his spectacles. 'Now let's get inside.'

But all ignoring this and Ortega's contradictory calls to come back and help for academic discovery, Trace started for the entrance, the gaping borehole tunnel that led back up to the surface, to light and open air, without all the feelings of things creeping at his back...

Looking up at the ominous sound above, Trace squinted at the ceiling of the cavern for a few seconds before shrugging and limping off towards the tunnel. Just the normal sound of ice...

KRACK-creeaaAAKKK!

Trace looked back up at the ceiling. A crack in the ice was visible; flakes of ice drifting down from the ceiling. As he watched, the crack lengthened. The ceiling was about to come down, he realised with a start.

"Hey!" He called out, gesturing to the ceiling, "the ice ceiling! Its about to fail!"

At the sound of cracking ice, followed by Trace's warning, Bluetooth dashed forward to grab anyone who might be in harm's way from a collapsing ceiling and carrying/dragging them back to safety.

It was only after everyone was clear that he paused and looked back. Was the archive an open-air facility? Or was the walls and ceiling of the room constructed of ice? He knew about ice caves, but he'd never heard of anyone making a building out of ice.

Or was something else going on here? His curiosity was getting the better of him.

'It's just natural settling—' Ortega dismissed, right before great chunks of ice and lethally pointed stalactites started to rain from the ceiling like giant hail. They fell a bit slower than expected in the lighter gravity, but still hit the snow-covered ground hard with heavy thuds, throwing up sprays of stinging snow and exploding into sharp shards of ice.

The Archive was a stepped pyramid built all of stone; it would shoulder the weight of any amount of ice. Reacting first, Bluetooth began shoving the startled archaeologists inside. Those further away had to run and dive for cover.

Stirix, the classic lumbering Ice Warrior, couldn't move far or fast enough. He hurled himself forward as a massive lump of frozen oxygen as hard as iron slammed into the snow-packed ground behind him.

When the dust settled, when he'd recovered his bearings, Stirix found he couldn't rise or crawl away – his leg was pinned beneath the ice boulder. He was half-buried in snow too. Thankfully, the classic lumbering Ice Warrior armour was designed for this: it would stave off the cold, and he might have nothing more than slight bruising in his leg.

Saved only by the forewarning, Trace had had a hard time dodging the collapse; it seemed to be concentrated by the tunnel entrance. When he looked back, he saw it completed blocked by ice boulders. No one was getting back to the surface now.


OOC: Chosen at random, Stirix is hit by an ice boulder. Dodging is Coordination +
Athletics, Difficulty 12.
11:10, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Stirix, rolled 11 using 2d6+3 with rolls of 6,2.  coordination + athletics.
A minor Failure, Stirix take 3 damage, which is entirely absorbed by armour. That only leaves him pinned.

Axander had calmed himself in the time it took for Ortega to oversee the final excavation into the Archives. He was worried what they might find in there, but he was doubly worried about leaving plasma cutters behind with something trying to carve its way into the weapons depot. That wouldn't go well for any of them. And Bluetooth...

"You've had a difficult time, Trace. You should get some rest, and stay safe." He'd nearly been killed, and it seemed as though that had directly caused their catlike friend's removal from existence. It was dangerous to let him out of their sight, but likely worse to keep him close. That centipede creature was certainly not friendly.

Just as the outsider was preparing to explain his ramblings to Stirix, and at least reveal his understanding of odd temporal phenomena, fate intervened. The ceiling creaked, broke, and then came crashing down! In haste, Axander rushed for the pyramid entrance, only looking back once he was safely inside. Stirix hadn't been so fast, and the Martian was pinned by ice, but at least looked unharmed.

"We need a lever..." Thinking quickly, he tried to find something that could be used to lift that chunk of ice and free Stirix. Bare hands certainly weren't going to do it.

I think I got lost there for a second...


So, we bored a tunnel through the ice to reach the Archive. Once we reached the Archive, the tunnel collapsed.

Presumably we bored through the ice to reach the step pyramid hopefully where there was a door. Or doorway?

Is the door inset into the building?

Is the door open? I don't believe we've opened it yet. But if it's a door and not just a doorway, we don't have a whole lot of space after the collapse.

Bluetooth was vaguely aware that Stirix wasn't affected by the cold, but he wondered now if he had an equal tolerance for... heat.

"Try to keep still, Stirix. I'll see if I can't reduce some of that ice that's pinning you down."

The cutter, slung over a shoulder, had been dangling at his side when he move the archaeologists out of the way of the collapsing ice. He now brought it to bear on the ice boulder that had Stirix pinned down.

As he did so, he checked to see how much charge the cutter had left. Assuming there's any left, he directs the cutter above the boulder and slowly works his way down until enough of the boulder is vaporized so that Stirix can get free.

OOC: The tunnel was bored from the surface down to this ice cave. All the buildings are in the ice-cave, free but iced over. (I got the description wrong from the module, which was a bit vague; it seems tunnels were needed to reach all the buildings.) The ceiling of the ice-cave has partially collapsed, blocking the tunnel back to the surface.

We've de-iced the Archive, exposing the entrance. I forgot to mention the door or whatever. Let's say the door was broken by the ice and/or plasma torches and there is no barrier to entering the Archive.

*

Axander found suitable levels in good supply: the archaeologists had brought some shovels and crowbars. A smaller boulder would make a good fulcrum.

Bluetooth switched on the plasma torch, but nothing came out. It had no charge itself; instead, superheated plasma was channelled from the ship and through insulated tubes running down the tunnel and connected to the butts of the torches.

Insulated tubes currently pinned under a ton of ice boulders, Trace realised with alarm. Insulated tubes that would explode in searing hot plasma if blocked. Insulated tubes that would explode in a couple of seconds if Bluetooth kept firing them.


OOC: And now we have another plasma burst problem. Manual venting is no longer a possibility; you'll need to contact Captain Borys and have him spend a few hours pumping out the system, meaning you're trapped for the foreseeable.
11:06, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Bluetooth, rolled 6 using 2d6+4 with rolls of 1,1.  awareness + technology.
11:08, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Trace, rolled 18 using 2d6+7 with rolls of 6,5.  awareness + technology.

But Bluetooth can have a Story Point for being Impulsive. :)

OOC: Oh crap?

As Bluetooth was quickly discovering that they hadn't seen the last of their problems with plasma flow, Axander approached with a shovel and a crowbar, passing one to the Rakshasa before using the other to scoot a boulder over toward the massive chunk of ice.

"Back to basics, Bluetooth. Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world." With that, he got to work trying to free Stirix.

Trace picked himself up off the floor, shaking off the dusting of ice crystals which covered him. When his ears stopped ringing, he started towards Axander to help him free Stirix. As he did, he saw Bluetooth trying to use the plasma torches to no avail. "They'll be no good, the plasma line are gonna be blocked by the collapse." Then the implication of the scenario hit him. "If you don't quit firing, the backed up plasma could rupture the lines and explode!" Without waiting for Bluetooth to respond, the young mechanic reached for his radio. "Cap'n, we've had a collapse. The plasma lines are blocked. We need the shut the system down and purge the plasma."

Furious Neo-Russian cursing came back down the communicator, as Bluetooth sheepishly shut off his plasma torch. It was still emitting a desperate whine, which eventually wound down as Borys switched off the system at the other end. 'Right, plasma flow's shut down. I've started to pump it back up and purge the system. It'll be a couple of hours though...' he answered in emergency-controlled calm, before exploding now it was safe to do so, 'Of all the crukking things! What's that damn stupid professor done now?' At least he wasn't blaming Bluetooth.

While Axander and Bluetooth switched to trying to lever boulders safely off their Ice Warrior friend (a Time Lord might wonder what would happen if Stirix briefly ceased to exist right now – his timeline could well simply cut off at this point of potential death), wild cries emerged from the Archive building. They weren't of terror and pain, however. 'Ha ha! At last!' Ortega was heard to cheer.

*

Tarys had found herself sheltering in the Archive with the archaeologists, who'd soon been distracted from what had happened outside by what they'd found inside.

'We've found it, the lost records of the alien race!' Ortega exclaimed, passing his torch over the friezes and pictoglyphs that were carved into the walls of the entry hall of the Archive. Under shifting torchlight, the centipede-like pictoglyphs seemed to creep and wriggle strangely on the walls, an effect that disturbed a humanoid really more than it should. They remained hard to read; what words were known or helpfully translated by the TARDIS gave the context and gist of the images.

The frieze told in visual form the story of the decipede people, ten-legged centipedes with great mandibles on their heads and pincers on each of their legs. They saw tribes of decipedes marching from primeval forests. Brave decipede warriors battling giant fire-breathing snails. Decipedes working the fields, herding slugs, sharing bounties of food with family and friends. Sagely decipede teachers instructing little larvae. Teams of decipedes building great mounds that grew into cities. It was all very inspiring and something to be proud of.

Tarys pores over the pictograms carefully, looking for patterns, or perhaps more precisely, for discontinuities or gaps in the patterns.  If these were the people that had built this complex, had they somehow made or unleashed the anomaly, or had they merely uncovered it and set out to study it?  Was the history shown here stable and intact, or was it melting away under the temporal stress that she and Axander had traced here?

Or having rough chunks torn through it by ham-fisted meddlers, she muses, eyeing Ortega and pondering how much like and unlike a Dalek he was.

Patterns, shapes, form, clues.  Tarys takes it in and tries, if nothing else, to feel the shape of it.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the plasma flow was shut down, Trace to help the others free Stirix. "Professer wasn't to blame this time, probably." He said into the radio as he grabbed one of the levers. "Maybe the heat from the torches weakened the cieling. Maybe the death ball or the alien centiepedes weakened the roof to stop us escaping." Trace winced when he realised be probably shouldn't have said that.

Trace rolled his eyes when the Proferssor exultedly cheered. "What now." He muttered.

Tarys, Ortega, Vax, Plim:

The archaeologists steadily took holoimages of the frieze for their records and made various scans, as Ortega repeated things like 'Quite remarkable.' and 'Extraordinary!' which seemed to be overselling it somewhat.

'This building seems to have some cultural importance. These creatures wanted to preserve their history.'

To Time Lord eyes, the history seemed as stable as the stone it was carved into. None of it seemed in flux or missing or diverging, except where these decipedes might be naturally biased or forgetful. The stone hadn't been eroded or weathered, nor cracked or damaged in any way; the carvings seemed so fresh they could have been made in the last few decades. There'd been no tampering with time here whatsoever.

OOC: 15:11, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Tarys, rolled 18 using 2d6+9 with rolls of 5,4.  Awareness(4) + Ingenuity(3) +FtTotU(2).

Further down, Vax was running his fingers around one of the frieze panels, looking a lot like a thief checking for traps or secrets. 'Professor, this one's loose.'

'Aha! Excellent!' The obvious thing for Ortega to do at this point might have been to steal it, but to his credit the archaeologists had something else in mind. Plim donned infrared goggles over her fur and produced a gadget with a cone projecting from the end. They started turning out the lights, and in total darkness, Vax levered the panel out as Plim could pressed the cone to the wall behind.

Tarys could hear Ortega's smug smile in the dark. 'Luminescence dating, my dear. Ionising radiation causes a charge to accumulate in minerals. This charge is released upon illumination or heating, but, if we keep the sample in the dark, we can measure the charge and so estimate how long it's been since it was last illuminated or heated.'

Plim's device hummed as it illuminated the wall inside the hood, then beeped. Vax replaced the wall panel, and the lights came back on while Plim made calculations.

'This will tell us how many millions of years old this structure is...'

'Eight,' said Plim, and Ortega smiled with satisfaction, 'Years.'

'You mean millions.' Ortega corrected still smiling, tightly.

'No, just years. See, sir? Give or take, ooh, point six of a year.'

Ortega peered closely at the display, adjusting his spectacles as if it might shift the decimal point or make six more zeroes appear. 'Well, it's not calibrated, of course. The cosmic rays this world has encountered on its long journey through the stars will also affect the results. The true age could be much greater than the valid range of the device. We need more samples deeper inside the structure, sheltered from cosmic rays.'

With the lights back on, more of the frieze could be seen. It had taken a darker and more violent turn. Stocky humanoid warriors in rounded helmets – unmistakeably Sontarans – were blasting the hell out of the poor defenceless decipedes.

The frieze extended deeper into the building, into the darkness. Clearly, the history continued...


OOC: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luminescence_dating

The archaeologists seemed too distracted by their discoveries inside the Archive to actually come out and help or otherwise react to the disaster.

Working together, Axander, Bluetooth, and Trace tried to lever the boulder off of Stirix. Bluetooth applied his raw strength to pushing the shovel down, as Trace tried to use a crowbar to keep it moving up, and Axander the whole assembly steady. Working for several minutes, they got the boulder rocking, forward and back, up and down over Stirix's leg, but couldn't quite push it enough to roll it right off the armoured Martian. Every time they rocked it forward, it rolled right back.

Then needed help, another pair of hands or some other technique.

16:22, Today: GM BadCatMan, on behalf of Bluetooth, rolled 16 using 2d6+10 with rolls of 4,2.  strength(3) + athletics(3) + cooperation, DC 18.
("Difficulty 18: Lift twice your own weight" seems appropriate.)

Meanwhile, it had begun to rain. Ultra-cold drops of water and liquid nitrogen were falling from the ceiling. Warm air, producing by the breathing humanoids, their plasma torches, and other devices, had previously mostly escaped out the cave mouth. That was now blocked, so the heat was trapped in the ice cave. The temperature had risen, no more than a few degrees and still well below zero, but enough to cause the melting to accelerate. Very likely, the Weapons Depot would soon be exposed.

But if it continued much longer, Stirix would be trapped in a puddle of freezing liquid nitrogen, and even Martian cryo-armour couldn't withstand that.

• Shelter (pyramid; all dead?): 0/5
• Computer Core (dome; a military command centre): 0/5
• Archive (ziggurat): 0/5
• "Not-Enemies Nest" (angular quarter): 2/7
• Weapons Depot (ziggurat; radiation source): 0/7
• "Rocket Shaft" (deep well or pit): 0/10
• Temporal anomaly (not on the aliens' map): 3/10

[Since I am aiding Bluetooth, is it possible for me to spend one of my Story Points to turn that failure into a success? I imagine placing down another object to hold the boulder in place for a split second would be the most reasonable use of it.]

OOC: Hold that thought. ;)


'Stop!' hissed a fierce voice from the shadows. Around the wall of the cave there came scuttling a ten-legged centipede-like creature, with a segmented body armoured in a puce red-brown shell. Dropping off the wall, it crept rapidly along the ground toward the explorers, before surging atop the ice boulder, where it reared up on some of its hind legs, front legs becoming arms ending in four-part pincers. Staring down at them was an inscrutable insectoid face with beady eyes, twitching antennae, and long gnashing mandibles.

'Hazard! Dig not do! Gas kk'lik!tat holds this. Explode will it!' the creature warned.

But it was all too horribly familiar to Trace.

  OOC: Trace, please attempt Resolve + Ingenuity + Brave vs Difficulty 16 or be terrified.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:24, Fri 26 Aug 2016.

16:29, Today: Trace rolled 10 using 2d6+7 ((1,2)).

Startled by the strange voice, Trace looked up towards the source. Standing before them was a creature straight out of his recent "nightmare". Now, Trace was a brave kid; he had face adversity many times before. But the (re)appearance of the alien centipede, coupled with the memory of the threat it had made last time, was too much.

The boy screamed in terror and began to back off, scambling backwards away from the creature.

OOC: Trace, have a Story Point for basically having a temporary Phobia (Centipedes). :o (You did cure the effects of the drug though, so you're not bound to obey it.)


As Trace scrambled desperately away, the centipede thing shouted, voice clicking and hissing, 'Cubling your hold! Dangerous not am I.'

The creature startled Axander, but he held onto the lever he'd made to try and keep the shifting rock from crushing the Martian's legs. A quick glance to the side as Trace scrambled away, and Axander looked to the alien.

"Y-yes, well excuse us if we're a bit skeptical, but our young friend here was just poisoned and threatened by one of your number, not exactly a way to make friends. And we aren't going to leave Stirix here, so, if you'd be so kind, what exactly do you propose?" His voice came through quicker and a little higher than usual. That would be the fear added in.

'No! It threaten not did I. Defences armoury into stumbled it. It warn to tried I, late too was it but, hallucinations seeing was it.' the decipede protested valiantly.

Tarys follows the record further in.  For now, she is being careful to avoid interfering with what the archeologists are doing, even Ortega, as she remains aware that she is involved in this investigation largely on sufferance, and a woman of her experience was well acquainted with the notion of picking only those fights that were important to win.

Still, she grimaces a bit at seeing Sontarans enter the picture.  She can scarcely imagine what willful misinterpretation the professor is likely to place on this evidence.

That was odd. Axander looked over the alien speaker, deep in thought for the briefest of moments, then glanced to Bluetooth. He was still trying to hold the ice boulder off of Stirix as best he could.

"Our host has no good reason to lie right now, and we don't have time to argue." Turning to the centipede again, Axander gave a quick nod.

"Fine fine, you can explain it all later. Can you help us get our friend to safety? I'm sure he doesn't fancy exploding."

Axander, Bluetooth, Stirix, Trace:

'Help can I, yes. Depot equipment the to go. Ice last the melt must you. Lifter gravity a is there. Prongs three has it. Safely boulder this lift will it. Quickly me to it bring!' Toz Raz explained urgently, if not entirely comprehensibly.

Tarys, Ortega, Vax, Hali:

Ortega had his hands on his hips, wordlessly examining the carvings on Sontarans. 'Well, we know Sontarans have been an interstellar power for untold thousands of years, no doubt even longer. Plus, they're a temporally active species, so they could have been around even earlier.'

Moving on, examining another section of the frieze, they found the decipedes had at last turned the tables on the Sontarans. Carvings depicting them pouncing on the backs of the stocky warriors, bearing them to the ground, and stabbing their pincers into the probic vents. Fair enough, perhaps, but the art tended to toward the gruesome: decipedes using their mandibles to snip the limbs off Sontarans during the bloody fighting.

The next panel showed the decipedes had won victory, but their cities were in ruins, their people slaughtered. Long memorials to the fallen followed, followed by vows to rebuild, to defend, to never let this happen again.

The suddenly appearance of the decipede startled Bluetooth, but it didn't scare him. In spite of what one of them had apparently done to Trace, Bluetooth thought he could handle the beast. Creature, he revised his thoughts when it spoke.


He couldn't determine if he was hearing things wrong or if the TARDIS was having problem translating it. Or maybe this creature was... ummm, insane?

Wait. Where did that thought come from? For that matter, what the frell is a TARDIS? Ah, yes... must be some sort of translation device that one of the others mentioned.

Bluetooth thought that he got the gist of what the creature was saying.

"There's some sort of equipment depot here... have we found it yet?" he asked Axanar.

"There's a gravity lifter there, but we have to melt through the last of the ice there."

But the captain just shut off the plasma feed. Was there, perhaps, enough left to get the job done?

Now he just had to get to this depot.

OOC: I have no idea if we found the depot or not, or where it is. :-(
This message was last edited by the player at 20:33, Sun 18 Sept 2016.

OOC: You realise the decipede is probably referring to the Weapons Depot.

Axander sighed and tried to adjust his hands on the makeshift lever without slipping and dropping the thing back onto Stirix.

"Splendid. Door's over there, Trace is understandably frightened and I'm stuck holding this up. If he's telling the truth, either we act now and save Stirix or we hesitate and this explodes, killing all of us. If he's lying, we act now and supply him with weapons to kill us all with, or we hesitate and Stirix is crushed. Logically speaking, we have one decent option. Bluetooth, think you can get that open with whatever plasma's left? My arms are getting a bit wobbly."

"I'll ... I'll do it," Trace said. Anything to get away from that thing. He warily got to his feet and quickly backed away, heading towards the indicated depot.

The decipede's gaze was inscrutable as the shell-less four-legs came to a decision and the cubling crept away. 'World our to come you have why?' it demanded of them.

*

Trace retreated to the Weapons Depot that had been the cause of so much recent trouble, and was disturbed to find it already open. It seemed today's heating and the recent catastrophe had accelerated the defrosting process, and though the entry way was still thick with ice, there was now an elliptical gap he was small enough to slip through.

Sliding between the cold walls of ice, Trace was able to make his way inside. Concerns that the doors themselves would be locked were abated – the expanding, freezing ice had warped the heavy defensive door, pushing it inward and breaking rusted hinges, leaving enough space to move through.

Inside... The decipede had said "equipment depot", but "weapons depot" had been an accurate translation after all. Too accurate. All around him, Trace saw racks upon racks and vault after vault of weaponry. There were several models of bizarre handguns suited to the pincers of the decipedes. They were many deadly rifles that would fit around their carapaces, and even some that could be mounted on a decipede's back, turning it into a scuttling tank. Bombs of all kinds were stacked and ready. Vials of strange and unnaturally coloured chemicals stood ready on shelves. The vaults no doubt held worse sights.

But there was a three-pronged, carapace-mounted affair that had to be the gravity lifter, stored in the corner. It was probably used for shifting the larger missiles.
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:40, Thu 27 Oct 2016.

Axander watched Trace head to the building, then returned his attention to helping hold up the ice boulder so it wouldn't crush Stirix, not to mention the insectoid hopefully trying to help them.

"Ah, well you see, this is an archaeological expedition. A researcher is hoping to uncover this world's secrets, write papers about it, and become rich and famous. You seem to be particularly not-dead, however, so maybe we can convince him to pack up and go home. Doubtful. Pardon me, but we do seem to have some time. Why aren't you dead, if you don't mind my asking?" After he'd asked, it struck him as odd to be having such a polite conversation while holding a boulder in place. He rationalized to himself that perhaps it was his way of coping with the stress, since all they could do now was wait for Trace's return.

So Bluetooth had headed over to the weapons locker with Trace. There were far too many weapons there for it to be anything other that a weapons locker.

When Trace indicated the grav lifter, Bluetooth just grabbed it and began hauling it back to the other room.

The alien had said he could operate it, but he hoped Trace was studying it along the way just in case.

"Holy hell," Trace muttered seeing the contents of the depot. "There's enough firepower here to start a war. Several wars even." He stared at the arsenal for a few moments before reluctantly turning to follow Bluetooth back to the others.