Juggling is Harder Than it Looks

 Trying to re-establish our  society has been... stressful. 

Anyone who thinks it's easy trying to fill the multiversal void left by the loss of New Gallifrey and many of the Time Lords clearly has never done so.

Okay, that sounded better in my head.

Regardless...

Having finally adapted our capsules to the rift-vents on Oasis, that has freed me up to pursue the next few steps in our societal evolution, which are even more challenging.

First, and foremost, we need a new Eye. Bifrost's unique power source has survived the Time Storm, fortunately, but I can't properly share that out. I am currently working on the required calculations to recreate that source on a scale large enough to power our society, as I have found it much more efficient than the antiquated method used by those fools Rassilon and Omega. Grozit, it's almost as bad as trying to power the Citadel and all capsules on a single lithium-ion battery.

I've discussed this to an extent with... Lord President Auron...

He seems to have some ideas, as well, but, in all honesty, my ability to take his ideas seriously are hampered by the fact he believes in mystical hocus-pocus and, frankly, the idea of powering ANYTHING using card tricks is laughable.

Second, Project Camelot is progressing quite well. The initial engineering of Avalon is, so far, successful. 

Finally, a personal project.

On Oasis, in the safe area we have, essentially, claimed as our domain on the planet, further exploration has let me to an investigation of, what I had initially thought was a simple altar created by the primitives. I was incorrect.

It turns out this is a somewhat limited dimensional gate. Somewhat similar to the personal transduction gate that had previously been in use on Vanishing Point, but able to connect to other such gates throughout SL-Space. The technology of this gate is... unusual.

I haven't managed to recreate this gate identically, as it links through the anomaly at the core of Oasis. 

HOWEVER...

I realized the energy storing and focusing properties of the red crystal used in Morningstar would be helpful in recreating such a gate. Fortunately, no one else seems to have found Metebelis 7, being more side-tracked by the blue crystals of Metebelis 3.

It has taken a large sample, as I had to carve the entirety of the gate from the crystal, but I managed to duplicate the abilities of the gate at Oasis at Vanishing Point. I will discuss the possibility of doing the same at the Temporal Observatory with Auron.

I must keep up the appearance of co-operation, after all.

Earth's Legends Say Merlyn Could See the Future...

 Ever since the harnessing of the rift-vent on Oasis, our society and continued existence has... improved. It looks like we may survive in this new reality to which we are consigned. Still, we are nowhere near at the level of advancement we were at when we knew where New Gallifrey was.

Vanishing Point is, if I do say, a remarkable bit of temporal engineering, being as it was designed without the aid of the knowledge and assistance of New Gallifrey's advanced engineering boards. The Temporal Observatory, likewise, is a marvel, but neither can fully match the abilities of the old Citadel and Panopticon.

While we can, at least for the moment, view potential temporal disruptions from either location, the information gathered is, to put it mildly, EXTREMELY vague. Enough to know of a possible issue within the timeline at a location, but not the actual time locus of the issue, nor what the possible paradox or disruption may be. 

Some of this limitation seems to stem from the fact that both the Temporal Observatory and Vanishing Point exist OUTSIDE of normal space/time. Bringing either location into a prime material existence, however, would, by the very nature of time, cause phenomenal temporal disruptions... Given the still fragile nature of reality since the Time Storm, such disruptions would likely tear reality asunder.

I'm going to repeat that, though as much for emphasis as the sheer amusement of being able to use the phrase...

It would likely TEAR REALITY ASUNDER.

As such, I have initiated PROJECT CAMELOT.

This project is meant to design and build a... remote viewpoint... which can be sent, in normal space-time, to a location we have determined has a potential temporal disruption, and will be able to get a closer look at what may be the actual cause. 

Having that information, we will be able to dispatch TT-Capsules to that point in space-time, where the crews will be able to work toward repairing the time stream.

Wolf-Bunny, Bunny-Wolf... Either Way, I Suppose

 Culculex never disappoints.

If one is looking for stims, Culculex has them all, even ones you've never heard of. 

If one is looking for drink, there are rivers of Votalan wine... LITERALLY.

If one is looking to fornicate with a nine-breasted hermat with half a dozen penises... No judgement, but I know where you can find it there.

And if you're looking for slaves for work, pleasure, or entertainment...

Yes, there are slave markets on Culculex. You don't even really need to seek them out. They are usually lit by bright, blazing halogen signs advertising what species and races are up for sale at any given time. Hawkers out on stages with beings of varying genders in various states of undress, all outfitted with obedience discs at the back of their necks, most having given up any attempt to struggle in the pain of the neuro-shocks said discs provide.

Normally, I avoid these markets. They are somewhat depressing to me. I don't generally judge. There are, after all, species who require enslavement for survival, and others, well... 

Since the last mission to Oasis, I needed to clear my head, as I've previously recorded, and, so, I'd been spending some time on Culculex, sampling the various vices on offer there, and largely losing myself in the debauchery. I have always lived by the philosophy that nothing clears the head like fogging the brain.

One evening (if one can actually discern between night and day on a world so choked with upper atmospheric advert-drones that no solar light can penetrate, leaving the sky a constant low glow of dark green) I happened to have stumbled into the slaver district inadvertently. The din of the hawkers largely bleeding into each other creating a dull buzz of nothingness, easily ignored, as I stumbled from block to block, barely glancing up on occasion to avoid running into anyone or anything until a single word, coughed out in a deep, guttural croak...

"WHIFFERDILL!"

That word hit me like a smack in the face. 

I was, of course, familiar with Whifferdills, at least via reputation. Shape-changers with a reputation for thievery and various other criminal endeavours (a reputation which may or may not be earned, I will admit) but also a species which did NOT have a reputation for enjoying any form of captivity. 

I traced the voice to a rather beefy-looking Torglund, heavily tattooed on each of his four arms, standing on a stage, his associate holding a stun-stick goading a female creature to center-stage.

She was humanoid... kind of. 

While mostly humanoid, she bore the distinctive ears and tail of a Terran Lepus, but bearing highly pronounced canine teeth at her captors. Between the jolts from the stun-stick and the obedience disc, I could almost feel the agony she was fighting against. 

I have no Gallifreyan idea WHY I acted, but I did.

I sent Z.I.G.G.Y. up to quickly short out the Whifferdill's disc and pulled the Morningstar off my belt, leaving it inactive for the moment. 

The Whifferdill wasted no time, whirling about and biting the throat of the one who had been prodding her, then grabbing his stun-stick and hitting the Torglund...

Well, constipation will never be an issue for that, particular Torglund ever again.

She spun toward me, next, but recognized me as the one who had sent Z.I.G.G.Y., so she stood down. I grabbed her arm, however and ran.

There is one actual crime on Culculex, you see: never interfere.

So, I dragged her down an alley and whistled for Bifrost. When she materialized, I pulled the young Whifferdill in and we made our escape.

When I asked her where she wanted me to take her, she just shrugged, indicating she really didn't have anywhere to call home and asked if she could stay with me.

Turns out, she... Jenny... wasn't overly welcome with other Whifferdills, as she not only suffered from mono-morphia, preventing her from changing forms, but it came upon her suddenly, freezing her between three forms: humanoid, rabbit, and wolf. 

So, now, it seems, I have a new traveling companion. 

She's potentially dangerous, as is evident from how she handled herself on Culculex, but, well...

She's also kind of adorable.

Oasis, Dee, Oasis, and Oasis

 As I discusses in the previous log entry, Oasis has now become a somewhat regular stop off for our people, as we have now altered our fleet of TTCs to be able to gain an artron charge from a rift-vent. This will allow us to continue our civilization, though in a somewhat... limping fashion. In the meanwhile, Lord President Auron and I will be drawing up plans for a new, proper Eye to serve as power source for, well, EVERYTHING in our society.

There are other things regarding Oasis, however, I should record here.

The rift-vents, as we have taken to calling them, are not rifts unto themselves. They are more areas where the massive temporal anomaly at the core of this strange world has broken through the mantle of the planet. I suppose a Terran would equate it with a natural gas vent, but one that leaks time rather than methane... But, Terrans are somewhat stupid in temporal matters.

The rift vents, located at various places across the planet, are like nothing we've dealt with in the past. They are going to require much more study. Their behaviour has produced some interesting anomalies.

On our first excursion to Oasis, we discovered a wounded TTC along with her pilot, one Delphine, a previous member of New Gallifrey's Chancellery Guard, who has now joined our ranks and again serves with the guard. It's always good to find another New Gallifreyan survivor.

Additionally, however, there was another Time Lady in that region. One going by the name "Dee". I have checked her bio-signature and... she's not from New Gallifrey. There's some interesting fluctuations within her genes which I am hoping to get studied. I will need to discus this with our medical team.

During the latest mission to Oasis, we DID as previously noted, obtain a sample of... THAT substance, which is how we are now able to gather energy, but the rift-vent there was ready to surprise us further.

While the rest of the team was searching for the required sample, I was studying the rift-vent. Readings were, frankly, seeming random, which did make any kind of analysis exceptionally difficult. That was not the more interesting thing, however.

While the others were in the crypt trying to locate the sample, yet another Time Lady... well... fell out of the vent.

Unlike Dee, this Time Lady DID register with certain signatures indicating a previous life on New Gallifrey, though her identity has been, as yet, unable to be determined. On a personal note, there IS something somewhat familiar about her, but I can't quite place it. 

This new arrival has some kind of... attache case that seems attached to her... actually ATTACHED in some metaphysical way. She has no active memory, however. She doesn't know her identity, nor the purpose of this case. For now, it's been decided that she will also use the name Oasis. (At this time, I request all TT Capsule pilots ensure they differentiate between the PLANET Oasis and the INDIVIDUAL Oasis within their navigation systems.)

Possibly, however, the most troublesome discovery was within the crypt. The team discovered highly temporally unstable pieces of dalek technology. Fortunately, nothing active or alive, but... it's worrying.

I am, I think, going to need to clear my head to think on this. There is only one place I think I can do that...

Culculex.

Time is Relative, but the Kind of Relative You Don't Invite to Supper

I know full well that anyone accessing this log will find a tremendous amount of time has passed since my previous entry. I wish you truly had an understanding of how much.

Actually, I wish I had any true understanding of how much time has passed.

Let me try to start at the... well, new beginning, I suppose.

New Gallifrey, such as it was, was largely slothful. Our Lord President was, on the rare occasion he would emerge from his... WHATEVER sanctuary he spent his time... was obsessed with little more than pomp and ceremony, largely being ineffectual. 

Most of the High Council followed his... lack of leadership... though a few exceptions did exist. The Chancellor was largely concerned with trying to make sure things ran in the President's general lack of... existing, and, therefore, most of his duties were taken up by The Gold Usher, who did an admirable job.

This leads me to, well, me. 

Eventually, I was elected to the post of High Cardinal: a kind of liaison between the general public and the High Council.  Under normal circumstance, this would be a great honour. In these circumstances, though, it was really more a curse.

For most of the five hundred plus years I served in my office, what the public saw was very different than what was actually happening in the halls of governance. I likely shouldn't even be recording this here, as no one likes to know how the sausage is made, but, frankly, for the large majority of those centuries, the functioning government of New Gallifrey, on a whole, consisted of two people: myself and Gold Usher Rowan. As brilliant as the two of us can be at times (well, always, but why sound egotistic?) even we couldn't keep everything together.

Eventually, an AI based on Morbius took over the Matrix on the Homeworld. It took the combined abilities of all the Time Lords on New Gallifrey to... well do SOMETHING. To this day, I don't believe any of us know exactly what they did, but it triggered The Time Storm.

There's really no other way to describe it. I was, fortunately, on Vanishing Point at the time, and, therefore, outside of the effects of the storm, but most weren't. Describing what transpired next is impossible to do in any proper language, and, when I initially tried, I did so in Ancient High Dalthorian... If you've never heard of Ancient High Dalthorian... that's why. I broke it.

I digress.

Reality and time suddenly became so tumultuous, all history and reality began rewriting itself every instant. The vortex looped back in on itself, then snapped in multiple pieces, regrouped, dissolved, became sentient, wrote a television series, failed to win an Emmy after several nominations, decided to hang it all, then finally, began to settle.

During the "time" (a word which has no meaning in regard to this event) this happened, any Time Lords in the vortex found a deeply buried emergency protocol in their TTCs to send them to the closest viable safe port.

As it turned out, there were two: Vanishing Point and The Temporal Observatory. 

What I've just explained took place in what can only be described as "The instant of billions of years". During that time, the citizens of Vanishing Point, as we all now were, began to form a society of our own from the ashes of New Gallifrey (which had disappeared during the Time Storm), trying to rebuild what remained of our technology and some form of proper civilization while we waited out the storm. I was chosen as their governor, and we survived. I presume those at the Observatory have similar tales.

As the Storm calmed, I had our engineers strip some of Vanishing Point down to create a smaller station we could use as an anchor to observe the new SL-Space. It was via New Providence Station we were able to make initial contact with the other survivors. Eventually, a treaty was forged.

The Temporal Observatory, for those who aren't familiar with this history, was the domain of Lord Auron, who had, long ago, been my Castellan when I was the Cardinal of Patrex. He had become the governor of the survivors there.

Per the treaty, the new government of the Refugees of New Gallifrey was formed. Auron stands as our Lord President and I, as High Chancellor.

Sometime later, I had New Providence re-integrated into Vanishing Point, and we discovered Oasis.

Oasis is a very strange world, which has contained within it, a highly unstable temporal anomaly. The anomaly creates major fluctuations in time and often presents eruptions from the planet in the form of what we refer to as "rift-vents". Unfortunately, we have been, as yet, unable to properly use the energies of these rifts as a power source for any TTCs, though we HAVE discovered a reaction of a local crystal element (which I REFUSE to repeat the name of anymore) which restores hope, at least in my mind, that we may be able to make use of it. 

There are a few other details about Oasis which I will elaborate on in another entry.

GROZIT!

James Lonefeather is easily the most disagreeable man I've ever known.

Let me start at the beginning

After my injury aboard The Vengeance, I decided I needed a bit of a holiday. Being as my right hand was now made of obvious nano-technology, that was a little problematic. Fortunately, there was a viable technological solution to conceal this affliction: gloves.

I decided to stay off the seas for a while, and, so, I found myself in Earth once more in the city of San Fransisco, local time of 1888.

The city was mostly a civilized affair, though it was clearly a city of unfettered capitalism (which is to say largely controlled by those who had, through largely criminal endeavours, amassed the funds to, for all intents and purposes, own everyone else.). Even with that, however, it was a city where... most... of the crime went on outside of the average persons field of vision. In essence, it was a somewhat veiled imitation of the Nassau from my past.

I spent a bit of time wandering the city, which had the familiar feeling of optimism found any time a world or civilization was approaching the dawn of one of their arbitrarily decided new eras, as was the case here, being a mere twelve years before the beginning of their twentieth century (the idiocy of their numbering system stemming from the birth of a largely fictitious baby forty five hundred years prior, yet, for some reason this date was changed by fifteen hundred years on the orders of a number of rich, bald men in shabby robes.)

On the outskirts of the city, I happened upon the ranch and estate of a man named Emerson. He was, likely, the wealthiest citizen in town, as he owned all the local banks in San Francisco and the surrounding towns. In short, it was said that he owned everything.

As it happened, that afternoon, two of his ranch hands were preparing to shoot a young, though clearly angry black stallion who was in a corral with what HAD been a third man... or what was left of him. Not wanting to see whatever tragedy had occurred be multiplied, I interceded, stopping the two ranch hands. A scuffle erupted, which attracted the attention of Mr. Emerson.

"Mr.?" He began.

"Warital," I half-lied, "Donovan Warital"

"Mr. Warital, that horse seemed like a good investment at the time for three hundred dollars, as you can see he's strong and fast as The Almighty, himself. Trouble he's one crazy mean sumbitch. Hal went in there to try and break him and the damned beast struck like thunder! Kicked poor ol' Hal's head near off. Killed him instant. We got to put that beast down 'fore he kills again."

"I can calm him down so he won't be any more trouble, Mr.," I said, certain I was correct.

"Mr. Warital, if you can calm that devil down, you can HAVE him!" he laughed, "Hell, I'll even give you my best saddle to go with him."

I, of course, had to take the challenge, since I never could stand to see animals of instinctual intellect suffer. Mind you, it really was no challenge. A small, low amplitude, sub-audible gravetic pulse from my gravetic screwdriver, targeted to the horse's medulla provided an instant attitude adjustment, making the horse docile in my presence.

Clearly astounded, Emerson kept his word, giving me his saddle and the newly affectionate (at least to me) Thunderstrike, as he had been dubbed. I was also offered a job as a "freelance security expert" for the banks, which I took to provide some money to live in this era.

It was in this capacity that I met James Lonefeather.

James Lonefeather is easily the most disagreeable man I've ever... I've... already said that.

A bank in the Nevada territories had been robbed by a gang of outlaws lead by someone named Big Smith. Emerson sent me out to find and capture them. Nothing unusual in that, given my employment at the time.

The problem is that Smith had a three thousand dollar bounty on his head and Lonefeather was a bounty hunter.

I met Lonefeather en route to the town of Poker Flats. He was a wall of muscle in an old, but fairly well kept Union army uniform (though worn in a VERY casual manner) , carrying a double-barrelled shotgun slung over his shoulder and a cavalry peacemaker on his hip as well as a number of VERY large knives.

And a bowler hat.

He had the temperament of a starved, caged animal... very angry and very dangerous.

I told him my assignment, which didn't sit too well with him.

"Listen, fool!" he bellowed, "I don't care who signs your vouchers. Smith and his gang are worth forty five hundred dollars and that bounty is MINE. You get paid either way, but I don't and I've been doing this since I was fourteen, so out here, I'm the boss."

Laughing to myself, I replied "Whatever you say 'Lord Bowler'." my mocking tone was lost on him.

"I like that... Lord Bowler..." He smiled.

As we got closer to town, we got sloppy. Smith and some of his gang managed to get the drop on us in a valley. It was like being in a shooting gallery. Lonefeather got away.

I was not so lucky. I took three shots to my left heart and two to my throat. Thunderstrike took two shots to the neck.

I was fortunate that Smith's gang took off after Lonefeather because it didn't take me too long to reach the threshold of regeneration.

As I've discussed before, I take precautions for regeneration. I carry a vial of my blood with me, into which I channel the excess energy beyond the actual healing of wounds.

Of course, the regenerative process caused me to grow a new right hand, rending the nano hand I'd been using useless in that regard, however, there was enough excess energy from my regeneration to reprogram the nano-genes which made the hand up, allowing me to command the nano-swarm to repair what could be repaired in Thunderstrike and replace what couldn't.

I was, understandably, a bit confused, given the distance between myself and Bifrost, and so I mounted Thuderstrike and let him mostly lead the way.

Two days later, as luck would have it, we stumbled across the camp of Lonefeather, who was. once again, on the trail of Smith. I said the only thing that came to mind in my post-regenerative crisis.

"Bowler..."

With that, he leaped to his feet and spun toward me, a look of terror on his face.

"YOU! You're.... Get away from me, devil!" He shouted "I saw you die! You can't have my soul!"

For someone so huge, Lonefeather is incredibly fast. Before I could react, he had pulled out one of his knives, cut me deeply across the right side of my face, slicing my eye, and then got on his horse and ran into the darkness.

The shock of it all, however, was enough to bring me back to my senses. I pulled out my Stattenheim flute and summoned Bifrost, entering it with Thunderstrike.

Unfortunately, I was beyond the first eighteen hours of regeneration.

This will leave a mark.

Grozit! That was my favourite eye.

What was Lost is Found, What was Always There is Gone

Nothing is ever simple. That is, of course, a universal truth, but it goes double for Time Lords, it seems.

So, the intrepid, if amateur crew of The Vengeance set sail to investigate the rumored "sirens" of the Caribbean in 1718. They performed admirably (though I must speak with someone about teaching agents and guards the difference between a topsail and a topgallant) and our voyage was, in the early part, fairly uneventful.

We did not, however, make it to the region we were going to search.

We happened upon The Howling Tide, the ship of the notorious pirate captain known as "The Fox", and he wasn't going to take chances about being taken in, so they opened fire.

The Vengeance, however, far outgunned The Tide and we were able to disable the ship fairly quickly. That, however, is where things become strange.

"The Fox", as it turned out, was someone familiar to me. And not from my time under the black.

It seems, so long ago, when the original Vanishing Point fell victim to the cyberiad and was destroyed, the TTC carrying two of my Ordinals, Dracony and Henry was lost in the vortex. We searched, of course, but no sign was to be found.

Somehow, and the details are still very sketchy, Dracony had been deposited in the late 17th century on Earth and had made a life for himself in piracy as "The Fox". Mainly due to not actually knowing who he was.

So I invoked parley, having recognized my old friend, and hoped to determine what was going on. Icie and JennieLynn boarded The Howling Tide with me and, during the discussion with Dracony, a member of his crew got... twitchy and severed my favourite hand, which is now... somewhere in the Caribbean. Under the Code of the Coast, of course, that crewman had to die and Dracony did his duty in that regard.

To make a long story short, Dracony is currently under my jurisdiction on Vanishing Point as we try to reawaken his memory and re acclimate him to New Gallifreyan society.

In the mean time, I am attempting to construct a prosthetic hand...

... with one hand.

A conundrum I must admit.

Father never had to deal with this kind of thing, I'm sure....