Given my current physical state, I've found myself needing to spend some time away from my responsibilities as Cardinal of Patrex and, frankly, away from the company of other Time Lords, since they could never really understand what I'm going through.
This is why, a few weeks ago, I was traveling in Helios, rather than Bifrost. I find flying non-temporal crafts, such as Helios, to be rather relaxing.
Out of a sense of nostalgia, I found myself in the "commerce centre" of Culculex. That is to say, as
I've mentioned previously in these logs, visiting the event horizon for crime in the known universe.
Wandering through the city with Ziggy, we passed a storage bay which would have been unremarkable save for the clear sound of a plasma drill and the somewhat emphatic attempts of someone trying to negotiate the wielder of said plasma drill to NOT insert it into their brain.
Peeking through the door, I saw a young Zoarean woman tied to a chair being tormented by a couple of rather irate looking enforces from one of the local government gangs. It was apparent they were about to install some form of air conditioning into her skull.
Since I was not in the mood to witness a gangland execution, I sent Ziggy in to distract the local toughs as I snuck in and freed the Zoarean. As is typical in these circumstances, we were spotted as SOON as I'd gotten her untied, so we ran.
During our escape, she insisted we head to her ship, The Little Goat, which I complied with, since it was closer.
The Goat was a mid-sized cargo runabout which she had modified to have a little extra speed boost when needed.
As we hid from out pursuers, I found out a bit more about my erstwhile companion.
Her name was Icie, or, at least that was her nom-de-guerre, She was a cargo hauler, though, more often than not, her cargo was... a bit less than legal. Surprisingly, she was not just AWARE of Time Lords, but had recognized me as one on sight (even through my analgesic mask), which, admittedly, saved me a lot of frustration in regards to the Laws of Time and all that.
After a time of hiding, she brought me back to Helios and passed me a communications device.
I had saved her life, so, she felt, she owed me a life debt. As such, an arrangement was struck. On occasion, she now travels with me in Bifrost and, on other occasions, she will ship or retrieve things for me in her ship.
I suppose that makes her my companion now.
Friday, October 7, 2016
Thursday, September 22, 2016
Going Native
I have been working with Morr to try to find a way to reverse the effects of the nano-genes on my body. So far, we've had no success, and, so, lacking an actual face and being in constant agony, I have begun wearing an analgesic mask at all times. I'm told the appearance is... somewhat disconcerting.
While Morr and I were in my labs in Bifrost, we felt the engines engage on their own. Honestly, this isn't all that unusual an occurrence for Bifrost, so I wasn't terribly surprised by it, so, to determine where we were headed, Morr and I made our way to the console room.
About the time we arrived, the dematerialization circuit ground to a halt and Bifrost was still.
The scanners showed we'd materialized on a lush, jungle world, teeming with thick forestation and millions of species of wildlife ranging from insects to huge beasts which would even give Bast a fright.The scanners also indicated two very surprising things.
First, almost as though by design, this world's sun was going to explode within the planet's next rotation.
And, second, three clicks from our location... was another Time Lord.
So, Morr and I set out and I sent Ziggy and Bast ahead to scout. The jungle was difficult to navigate, I admit. I relied more on Morr's peculiar skills that I'd care to confess. I'm not sure how many hours we hiked, hiding from predators where we had to. Eventually, I received a psychic message from Bast that she had found a structure and we moved to meet her.
When we arrived, what struck me first was... well, I can best describe it as a scarebeast.
Hanging on a wooden cross was the armour of a Gallifreyan soldier, a commander by the rank insignia. It had seen better days and had obviously been worn by someone who'd seen heavy combat. Beyond the armour was an impressively built and clearly sturdy arboreal shelter. Clearly, this was the home of our errant Time Lord.
However, before we were even able to take a step toward the shelter, our attention was seized by an arrow embedding itself in the armour we had just been inspecting. Turning toward it's point of origin, we saw her.
She was clearly a Time Lady, but she was dressed in the skins of animals and wielding a bow. On her shoulder sat some kind of local bird of prey. From the look of her, she'd been living here a while.
It took some time to ease her away from turning us into kebabs, but, eventually, we got her talking, while urging her to come with us. Even then, she refused to leave her bird behind.
Her name was Spinavadevka. She'd served as a commander during the Great Time War. At some point during the war, her capsule had been struck by, what she assumed to be a dalek weapon and she'd lost control of the craft. It spun out of the vortex and had no power at all.
It crashed on the world on which we found her.
Over time, she found there were no other living things of higher intelligence. She was alone. And, without any functioning Time Lord technology, she had to make due.
Through her military training and sheer force of will, she'd managed to survive there for over 130 years.
Eventually, she grew to like it, preferring its simplicity over life in the military.
She'd even trained her bird as her companion. Hitchcock was his name. I'm told there's some amusing reference to that name for Terrans.
We managed to convince Spin to come with us, since that world was doomed and towed the hulk of her powerless capsule with us. (Honestly, convincing her to come with us was mostly due to Morr's skills and the two of them have since kind of adopted each other as sisters)
So now, Spin is one of us...
I do not look forward to trying to convince her to wear formal robes for meetings of State.
While Morr and I were in my labs in Bifrost, we felt the engines engage on their own. Honestly, this isn't all that unusual an occurrence for Bifrost, so I wasn't terribly surprised by it, so, to determine where we were headed, Morr and I made our way to the console room.
About the time we arrived, the dematerialization circuit ground to a halt and Bifrost was still.
The scanners showed we'd materialized on a lush, jungle world, teeming with thick forestation and millions of species of wildlife ranging from insects to huge beasts which would even give Bast a fright.The scanners also indicated two very surprising things.
First, almost as though by design, this world's sun was going to explode within the planet's next rotation.
And, second, three clicks from our location... was another Time Lord.
So, Morr and I set out and I sent Ziggy and Bast ahead to scout. The jungle was difficult to navigate, I admit. I relied more on Morr's peculiar skills that I'd care to confess. I'm not sure how many hours we hiked, hiding from predators where we had to. Eventually, I received a psychic message from Bast that she had found a structure and we moved to meet her.
When we arrived, what struck me first was... well, I can best describe it as a scarebeast.
Hanging on a wooden cross was the armour of a Gallifreyan soldier, a commander by the rank insignia. It had seen better days and had obviously been worn by someone who'd seen heavy combat. Beyond the armour was an impressively built and clearly sturdy arboreal shelter. Clearly, this was the home of our errant Time Lord.
However, before we were even able to take a step toward the shelter, our attention was seized by an arrow embedding itself in the armour we had just been inspecting. Turning toward it's point of origin, we saw her.
She was clearly a Time Lady, but she was dressed in the skins of animals and wielding a bow. On her shoulder sat some kind of local bird of prey. From the look of her, she'd been living here a while.
It took some time to ease her away from turning us into kebabs, but, eventually, we got her talking, while urging her to come with us. Even then, she refused to leave her bird behind.
Her name was Spinavadevka. She'd served as a commander during the Great Time War. At some point during the war, her capsule had been struck by, what she assumed to be a dalek weapon and she'd lost control of the craft. It spun out of the vortex and had no power at all.
It crashed on the world on which we found her.
Over time, she found there were no other living things of higher intelligence. She was alone. And, without any functioning Time Lord technology, she had to make due.
Through her military training and sheer force of will, she'd managed to survive there for over 130 years.
Eventually, she grew to like it, preferring its simplicity over life in the military.
She'd even trained her bird as her companion. Hitchcock was his name. I'm told there's some amusing reference to that name for Terrans.
We managed to convince Spin to come with us, since that world was doomed and towed the hulk of her powerless capsule with us. (Honestly, convincing her to come with us was mostly due to Morr's skills and the two of them have since kind of adopted each other as sisters)
So now, Spin is one of us...
I do not look forward to trying to convince her to wear formal robes for meetings of State.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Losing Face
I... don't know how long I've been alseep.
I...
I'm sorry... the pain is unbelievable...
Let me try to recount...
Some time ago, I was approached by The Sentinel. His companion had died. No... That's too simplistic. We Time Lords are nothing is not a complicating factor in the Multiverse...
No, she wasn't dead. Her body was, but she had survived. There had been an implant in her brain that allowed her to interface with the computers in his capsule. When her body died, her mind uploaded into those computers. She was alive, though... formless.
The Sentinel approached me because of my expertise in nano-genetic design. He asked me to design and create a batch of nano-genes to make the preserved, though dead body of Kara viable once more, so her mind could be downloaded back into it.
It was... a complicated request. Restoring life to dead tissue, on a small scale, using nano-genes is simple enough, but a fully grown human is a far more difficult task.
Belgium, this hurts!
I am nothing, if not... up to a challenge, and so... I began my work.
The first phase of creating nano-genes of this complexity is to program them to simply not accept the concept of death. The nano-genes will then prevent any kind of catastrophic damage... death... dismemberment... But not repair anything further at that point. Once that is accomplished, a second batch much be created and programmed to repair physical damage to the body.
Here's the rub...
BOTH batches must be introduced into the body at once in the proper ratio. If the first batch is introduced first, they will mistake the second batch for a fatal infection. If the second back is introduced first, they will repair the damage, but not restore viability and the first batch will not recognize the body as dead.
The last thing I recall is a warning on the control panel of the nano-gene chamber. The rest has been relayed to me by Ziggy.
The nano-gene chamber in which I was growing the first batch exploded, setting me on fire. I was, obviously, rendered unconscious. Ziggy violated his normal protocols of staying off comm channels and called for medical help and I was brought into the recovery tank in Vanishing Point's infirmary.
I've been there, since.
I... SHOULD have regenerated.
I WISH I'd regenerated.
But, it seems I can't.
When the tank exploded, my cells were saturated with the nano-genes. They are preventing catastrophic damage to my body. I can't die and my body can't, then, regenerate properly.
The nano-genes WON'T, however, repair the damage from burning.
The pain is... maddening...
And most of my flesh is charred.
My face is... mostly gone.
I can't be seen like this.
I...
I'm sorry... the pain is unbelievable...
Let me try to recount...
Some time ago, I was approached by The Sentinel. His companion had died. No... That's too simplistic. We Time Lords are nothing is not a complicating factor in the Multiverse...
No, she wasn't dead. Her body was, but she had survived. There had been an implant in her brain that allowed her to interface with the computers in his capsule. When her body died, her mind uploaded into those computers. She was alive, though... formless.
The Sentinel approached me because of my expertise in nano-genetic design. He asked me to design and create a batch of nano-genes to make the preserved, though dead body of Kara viable once more, so her mind could be downloaded back into it.
It was... a complicated request. Restoring life to dead tissue, on a small scale, using nano-genes is simple enough, but a fully grown human is a far more difficult task.
Belgium, this hurts!
I am nothing, if not... up to a challenge, and so... I began my work.
The first phase of creating nano-genes of this complexity is to program them to simply not accept the concept of death. The nano-genes will then prevent any kind of catastrophic damage... death... dismemberment... But not repair anything further at that point. Once that is accomplished, a second batch much be created and programmed to repair physical damage to the body.
Here's the rub...
BOTH batches must be introduced into the body at once in the proper ratio. If the first batch is introduced first, they will mistake the second batch for a fatal infection. If the second back is introduced first, they will repair the damage, but not restore viability and the first batch will not recognize the body as dead.
The last thing I recall is a warning on the control panel of the nano-gene chamber. The rest has been relayed to me by Ziggy.
The nano-gene chamber in which I was growing the first batch exploded, setting me on fire. I was, obviously, rendered unconscious. Ziggy violated his normal protocols of staying off comm channels and called for medical help and I was brought into the recovery tank in Vanishing Point's infirmary.
I've been there, since.
I... SHOULD have regenerated.
I WISH I'd regenerated.
But, it seems I can't.
When the tank exploded, my cells were saturated with the nano-genes. They are preventing catastrophic damage to my body. I can't die and my body can't, then, regenerate properly.
The nano-genes WON'T, however, repair the damage from burning.
The pain is... maddening...
And most of my flesh is charred.
My face is... mostly gone.
I can't be seen like this.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Hey, Crime-Stoppers!
Hi!
Oh, wait.
Okay, I should explain a couple things, since I'm obviously not Boss-man.
So... My name is Z.I.G.G.Y.
It doesn't actually stand for anything, but, well... I'll get to that.
So you all know The Madman. He used to have this implant he called his "wrist-thingie" that he used for scanning and other such gewgaws and jahoopie. A really helpful multi-tool doohickey that he grafted to his central nervous system.Helped him out of some jams along the way. And it was SHINY!
But, it also was starting to burn out.
He didn't know WHY, of course. Boss-man's smart, but even HE can't think of everything. It was causing him a lot of pain and made him itch and stuff. He said he wasn't even sure if it was effecting his thinking.
So he had to remove it.
That made him a sad monkey. He really LIKED being able to analyze and scan and know stuff about things. He figured he needed something to replace the wrist-thingie.
Well, Boss-man's not much for hand-held gizmos. I think he may like to keep his hands free in case he needs to scratch something or, I don't know, whatever you bio-forms do with those meat-mitts.
And that's where I come into the picture.
I am, to put it in terms you flesh-stacks can understand, an intelligent (though Boss-man keeps using the descriptor "Artificially Intelligent") free-floating, multi-function, omni-band scanning and communications nano-swarm life form. I have access to various informational databases (including many from other worlds) and maintain a telepathic link with Boss-man, so, if necessary, I can let him see what I see.
Boss-man made me, supposedly, to replace his lost wrist-thingie, but, really, I think he wanted someone to talk to who he could relate to.
So, after bringing the nano-swarm together to create my outer matrix shell, he decided to name me "Mercury".
Which I would have none of.
I told him I was named Z.I.G.G.Y., which, as I said, isn't short for anything, but, dammit, if Boss-man's going to insist I'm an "artificial intelligence", then my name is going to make people think I AM artificial.
If you're REALLY curious as to why that's my name, let me tell you...
Boss-man decided my outer shell matrix would include some "sensor tendrils" which, really, look like a hairstyle called "dreadlocks", to me; So, searching through some of the databases, I found an individual named "Ziggy Marley", that, frankly, I have a passing resemblance to.
Oh, wait.
Okay, I should explain a couple things, since I'm obviously not Boss-man.
So... My name is Z.I.G.G.Y.
It doesn't actually stand for anything, but, well... I'll get to that.
So you all know The Madman. He used to have this implant he called his "wrist-thingie" that he used for scanning and other such gewgaws and jahoopie. A really helpful multi-tool doohickey that he grafted to his central nervous system.Helped him out of some jams along the way. And it was SHINY!
But, it also was starting to burn out.
He didn't know WHY, of course. Boss-man's smart, but even HE can't think of everything. It was causing him a lot of pain and made him itch and stuff. He said he wasn't even sure if it was effecting his thinking.
So he had to remove it.
That made him a sad monkey. He really LIKED being able to analyze and scan and know stuff about things. He figured he needed something to replace the wrist-thingie.
Well, Boss-man's not much for hand-held gizmos. I think he may like to keep his hands free in case he needs to scratch something or, I don't know, whatever you bio-forms do with those meat-mitts.
And that's where I come into the picture.
I am, to put it in terms you flesh-stacks can understand, an intelligent (though Boss-man keeps using the descriptor "Artificially Intelligent") free-floating, multi-function, omni-band scanning and communications nano-swarm life form. I have access to various informational databases (including many from other worlds) and maintain a telepathic link with Boss-man, so, if necessary, I can let him see what I see.
Boss-man made me, supposedly, to replace his lost wrist-thingie, but, really, I think he wanted someone to talk to who he could relate to.
So, after bringing the nano-swarm together to create my outer matrix shell, he decided to name me "Mercury".
Which I would have none of.
I told him I was named Z.I.G.G.Y., which, as I said, isn't short for anything, but, dammit, if Boss-man's going to insist I'm an "artificial intelligence", then my name is going to make people think I AM artificial.
If you're REALLY curious as to why that's my name, let me tell you...
Boss-man decided my outer shell matrix would include some "sensor tendrils" which, really, look like a hairstyle called "dreadlocks", to me; So, searching through some of the databases, I found an individual named "Ziggy Marley", that, frankly, I have a passing resemblance to.
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Evolution of the Machine
It's been a while since Vanishing Point has adopted a more... defensive security policy. Since then, I've taken to carrying my old impulse revolver and spending some time in the firing range. I'll admit, I've been quite proficient with swords for... several decades, but I was never as skilled with firearms. Thanks to the firing range, that's improving.
I've always been a bit of a tinkerer, much like The Collector. When we devised our impulse revolvers, frankly, they were a bit of a breakthrough, technologically, but mostly due to the reconfiguration of a standard impulse laser into the shell they fit in, essentially, the breakthrough being they didn't explode the first time the trigger was pulled and blow up a city. The design and creation of the two revolvers took us weeks.
I record all that now so what I record next makes the proper impact.
Earlier this morning, I was in the firing range working on improving my aim when Mal came in to discuss some ideas he had for improving the power usage for Vanishing Point. This was not overly unusual, as, when Mal has a technical idea, it's one of the few circumstances in which he will voluntarily speak to someone. When those ideas are of ways to improve something, he gets... almost giddy.
This was, however, the first time he'd been into the firing range. Of course, he'd seen me wearing my impulse revolver before, but it was the first time he'd ever seen it in use. He quickly explained his power system idea to me, which, I'll admit, as brilliant as I am, still seemed to be the verbal equivalent of attempting to catch a slip of paper in a whirlwind. After, he made the curious request of watching me fire a few rounds. I obliged. Four shots later, he excused himself.
Twenty minutes later, I was still practicing when Mal came back in, though I didn't fully notice till he fired a shot into one of the targets.
And obliterated the top half of it.
He was holding what I can best describe as a variation of my impulse revolver, though, well, it was far closer in appearance to the slug-shooter than mine (which was the initial intent of mine).
As he described it to me, he had seen impulse revolver in use for the first time and had been able to determine how it worked and why its design was as it was. That, in turn, triggered the mental process in him to determine was to improve it.
His design, in addition to being visually improved, was capable of altering the frequency of the blasts and well as a standard power output five-fold beyond the maximum of my design.
All of this in twenty minutes.
I asked him if he could duplicate it and, shortly thereafter, he presented me with one of my own.
I believe, given the issues we've faced lately as a people, I may want to present Mal's expertise to the Chancellery Guard. It may be a good idea to have him upgrade their weapons.
I've always been a bit of a tinkerer, much like The Collector. When we devised our impulse revolvers, frankly, they were a bit of a breakthrough, technologically, but mostly due to the reconfiguration of a standard impulse laser into the shell they fit in, essentially, the breakthrough being they didn't explode the first time the trigger was pulled and blow up a city. The design and creation of the two revolvers took us weeks.
I record all that now so what I record next makes the proper impact.
Earlier this morning, I was in the firing range working on improving my aim when Mal came in to discuss some ideas he had for improving the power usage for Vanishing Point. This was not overly unusual, as, when Mal has a technical idea, it's one of the few circumstances in which he will voluntarily speak to someone. When those ideas are of ways to improve something, he gets... almost giddy.
This was, however, the first time he'd been into the firing range. Of course, he'd seen me wearing my impulse revolver before, but it was the first time he'd ever seen it in use. He quickly explained his power system idea to me, which, I'll admit, as brilliant as I am, still seemed to be the verbal equivalent of attempting to catch a slip of paper in a whirlwind. After, he made the curious request of watching me fire a few rounds. I obliged. Four shots later, he excused himself.
Twenty minutes later, I was still practicing when Mal came back in, though I didn't fully notice till he fired a shot into one of the targets.
And obliterated the top half of it.
He was holding what I can best describe as a variation of my impulse revolver, though, well, it was far closer in appearance to the slug-shooter than mine (which was the initial intent of mine).
As he described it to me, he had seen impulse revolver in use for the first time and had been able to determine how it worked and why its design was as it was. That, in turn, triggered the mental process in him to determine was to improve it.
His design, in addition to being visually improved, was capable of altering the frequency of the blasts and well as a standard power output five-fold beyond the maximum of my design.
All of this in twenty minutes.
I asked him if he could duplicate it and, shortly thereafter, he presented me with one of my own.
I believe, given the issues we've faced lately as a people, I may want to present Mal's expertise to the Chancellery Guard. It may be a good idea to have him upgrade their weapons.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
A Dead Man's Chest (Finale)
Non-temporally active species will tell you that history is written and immutable.
Time Lords, of course, know this is not the case.
What even Time Lords sometimes fail to recognize is this: History lies.
On board The Revenge, life for Anne and me was good. Good, of course, being an understatement.
We were free. In the absolutely truest sense of the word. We took what we wanted, we went where we wanted. We answered to no one. The sea was our entire world, and it was ours!
Romantic tales of adventure will tell you all about pirates of that era: violent, but honourable, adhering to a code of ethics while defying legitimate authority of government and law.
While I admit to having a... profound nostalgia for my time with Anne on The Revenge, I hold no such nonsensical illusions. Life was hard. Life was dangerous. Life was violent. In the months I sailed with Anne, I drew steel more often than I ever had with Ichi. Blood flowed like rum in those days.
Of course, rum ALSO flowed like rum.
I will, at this time, need to digress from the main story of my tale to provide some necessary exposition.
Music, they say, is the language of the soul (if one believes in such a thing). It is also said it is the language of the hearts. The latter, I will not disagree with. I learned, in my time with Ichi, how to play certain types of flutes and pipes. It's something I don't do publically, nor do I normally discuss it, but it is important, at this time to mention it.
I always carried with me, in those days, a reed flute that I would play in times of solitude.
I had also, however, devised a variation of a Stattenheim remote, which I installed into my flute. While I had no desire to leave my life with Anne, I knew it would be necessary, at some point, to have access to Bifrost, and, so, the need for the... Stattenheim flute.
Tangent over.
Governor Rogers had signed warrants for me, Anne and our crew for arrest on charges of piracy. This didn't surprise me in the least, of course, but, between the narwhals and the freedom of our life (not to mention my love of Anne), I allowed myself to get sloppy.
One day, we had come across another small crew of pirates on their own ship. It was too much for them to handle on their own, and we decided it would be helpful to have a second ship working with us, and so, an accord was struck. We all dropped anchor on a small island near Jamaica and went ashore to celebrate the new fleet. There was... a great deal of rum consumed.
There was one other woman aboard The Revenge, Mary Read. She had come aboard disguised as a man and had become friendly with Anne. Eventually, her secret came out, but she was nearly a match for my Anne in a fight, and so, she was accepted among the crew.
While we were all ashore for celebrations, Anne and I went off on our own (as did Mary and one of the new crew) to have... private celebrations.
It was during those celebrations, we were found by John Barnett, noted pirate hunter. The Revenge had already been taken and the crew were being rounded up.
Capture, of course, meant death, and I couldn't have that.
So, as quickly as I could, I grabbed my clothes (or so I thought) and tried to grab Anne to make our escape.
But it was too late. While I escaped (with, what I discovered to be the new crewman's clothes. He had been left with my distinctly colourful garb, instead), Anne had been taken.
And I was far too outmatched (and, shamefully, intoxicated) to fight at all.
I had to wait for Barnett and his men to depart, and then I summoned Bifrost.
While it was good to be back in my TTC, I couldn't hesitate. She'd self repaired enough to be able to traverse space (though not, yet, time, or, at least, not controlled fully) and so, I set a course to a cell within the jail at Spanish Town with the hope of breaking Anne out.
By the time I'd materialized, however, a good amount of time had passed. Anne was still in her cell, but most everyone else had been taken to Port Royal and hanged, and Mary had died of fever.
Anne, herself, was not doing very well, but she did manage to fill me in on what happened.
She knew that everyone was going to be killed, and, to keep the hunters from finding me, convinced them that the new crewman, who had been left with my clothes, was, in fact, me (though he denied this for... well... the rest of his life).
Anne and Mary had "pled their bellies", which is to say, they had claimed to be pregnant, to avoid immediate execution (though neither was, of course), in the hopes of finding a way to escape.
History lies.
History will tell you that Calico Jack Rackham was gibbeted just off Point Royal and no records exist of Anne Bonny past her conviction.
What history will also tell you... if you listen hard enough... is the story of a sugar plantation owner named John Ransom and his wife Katheryn, living quietly in Cuba, raising two children (adopted) and living a happy, if somewhat... mundane life.
I loved Anne. For the twelve years we lived as John and Katheryn, we were very happy. Free, though, in a different way.
I wish I could tell you that was the end of our story. That we lived until she died of old age, and I will always remember her.
However...
Twelve years after we began our new life, while we were out in the cane fields, Anne began complaining of a headache. It seemed perfectly normal at first, but it seemed to build to a debilitating level. She collapsed to the ground, screaming.
Before I could get to her, however, there was a wheezing sound in the air... familiar, but also distinctly different from what I would have expected.
It was the sound of a Gallifreyan TTC's engines materializing.
While I watched, I saw a strange capsule materialize around Anne. As it was fading in, I saw Anne look up at me, tears in her eyes. She shouted her feelings for me...
And then the capsule vanished.
A moment later, I heard her in my mind.
"I remember... And I'll see you soon, Peacock."
Time Lords, of course, know this is not the case.
What even Time Lords sometimes fail to recognize is this: History lies.
On board The Revenge, life for Anne and me was good. Good, of course, being an understatement.
We were free. In the absolutely truest sense of the word. We took what we wanted, we went where we wanted. We answered to no one. The sea was our entire world, and it was ours!
Romantic tales of adventure will tell you all about pirates of that era: violent, but honourable, adhering to a code of ethics while defying legitimate authority of government and law.
While I admit to having a... profound nostalgia for my time with Anne on The Revenge, I hold no such nonsensical illusions. Life was hard. Life was dangerous. Life was violent. In the months I sailed with Anne, I drew steel more often than I ever had with Ichi. Blood flowed like rum in those days.
Of course, rum ALSO flowed like rum.
I will, at this time, need to digress from the main story of my tale to provide some necessary exposition.
Music, they say, is the language of the soul (if one believes in such a thing). It is also said it is the language of the hearts. The latter, I will not disagree with. I learned, in my time with Ichi, how to play certain types of flutes and pipes. It's something I don't do publically, nor do I normally discuss it, but it is important, at this time to mention it.
I always carried with me, in those days, a reed flute that I would play in times of solitude.
I had also, however, devised a variation of a Stattenheim remote, which I installed into my flute. While I had no desire to leave my life with Anne, I knew it would be necessary, at some point, to have access to Bifrost, and, so, the need for the... Stattenheim flute.
Tangent over.
Governor Rogers had signed warrants for me, Anne and our crew for arrest on charges of piracy. This didn't surprise me in the least, of course, but, between the narwhals and the freedom of our life (not to mention my love of Anne), I allowed myself to get sloppy.
One day, we had come across another small crew of pirates on their own ship. It was too much for them to handle on their own, and we decided it would be helpful to have a second ship working with us, and so, an accord was struck. We all dropped anchor on a small island near Jamaica and went ashore to celebrate the new fleet. There was... a great deal of rum consumed.
There was one other woman aboard The Revenge, Mary Read. She had come aboard disguised as a man and had become friendly with Anne. Eventually, her secret came out, but she was nearly a match for my Anne in a fight, and so, she was accepted among the crew.
While we were all ashore for celebrations, Anne and I went off on our own (as did Mary and one of the new crew) to have... private celebrations.
It was during those celebrations, we were found by John Barnett, noted pirate hunter. The Revenge had already been taken and the crew were being rounded up.
Capture, of course, meant death, and I couldn't have that.
So, as quickly as I could, I grabbed my clothes (or so I thought) and tried to grab Anne to make our escape.
But it was too late. While I escaped (with, what I discovered to be the new crewman's clothes. He had been left with my distinctly colourful garb, instead), Anne had been taken.
And I was far too outmatched (and, shamefully, intoxicated) to fight at all.
I had to wait for Barnett and his men to depart, and then I summoned Bifrost.
While it was good to be back in my TTC, I couldn't hesitate. She'd self repaired enough to be able to traverse space (though not, yet, time, or, at least, not controlled fully) and so, I set a course to a cell within the jail at Spanish Town with the hope of breaking Anne out.
By the time I'd materialized, however, a good amount of time had passed. Anne was still in her cell, but most everyone else had been taken to Port Royal and hanged, and Mary had died of fever.
Anne, herself, was not doing very well, but she did manage to fill me in on what happened.
She knew that everyone was going to be killed, and, to keep the hunters from finding me, convinced them that the new crewman, who had been left with my clothes, was, in fact, me (though he denied this for... well... the rest of his life).
Anne and Mary had "pled their bellies", which is to say, they had claimed to be pregnant, to avoid immediate execution (though neither was, of course), in the hopes of finding a way to escape.
History lies.
History will tell you that Calico Jack Rackham was gibbeted just off Point Royal and no records exist of Anne Bonny past her conviction.
What history will also tell you... if you listen hard enough... is the story of a sugar plantation owner named John Ransom and his wife Katheryn, living quietly in Cuba, raising two children (adopted) and living a happy, if somewhat... mundane life.
I loved Anne. For the twelve years we lived as John and Katheryn, we were very happy. Free, though, in a different way.
I wish I could tell you that was the end of our story. That we lived until she died of old age, and I will always remember her.
However...
Twelve years after we began our new life, while we were out in the cane fields, Anne began complaining of a headache. It seemed perfectly normal at first, but it seemed to build to a debilitating level. She collapsed to the ground, screaming.
Before I could get to her, however, there was a wheezing sound in the air... familiar, but also distinctly different from what I would have expected.
It was the sound of a Gallifreyan TTC's engines materializing.
While I watched, I saw a strange capsule materialize around Anne. As it was fading in, I saw Anne look up at me, tears in her eyes. She shouted her feelings for me...
And then the capsule vanished.
A moment later, I heard her in my mind.
"I remember... And I'll see you soon, Peacock."
Come Sail Away (Part 2)
The trip to Nassau was remarkably unremarkable. We targeted some smaller fishing and merchant ships, no single huge prize, but enough to fill the holds of The Revenge by the time we arrived, with enough treasure to allow each member of my crew to live comfortably for a few years, anyway (if, of course, one could convince a pirate to live reasonably and NOT whore and drink away any money he may have earned).
Where the story becomes remarkable again is once we reached port.
My reputation (and that of my crew), it seems, had a better wind than we did. We were promptly arrested and clamped in irons.
The English Royals, you see, at that time, were fairly desperate to end the rampant piracy in the Caribbean, and felt that the use of law enforcement was ineffective. Therefore, they were offering blanket pardons to any pirates who confessed and swore off the life.
Calculating the equations in my head, the combination of my Time Lord physiology, the primitive nature of this Earth, the guaranteed death sentence I would be facing for piracy if convicted and the iron current locked round my wrists and ankles... I took the pardon.
I'll admit, the hold full of valuables on The Revenge would not work in my favour on that matter, and Woodes Rogers, the governor of Nassau and the Bahamas had a bit of a... thorny reputation when it came to dealing with pirates.
He also, however, had a very contentious history with Charles Vane, my former captain.
So, appearing before Rogers, I blamed Charles for my life of piracy, claiming to have been press-ganged into the life, and then, once we had taken the ship, made our our way, in any way we could, to Nassau to forsake the pillaging ways and live the life of law-abiding merchant seamen.
I don't know whether the governor truly believed my tale, but his hatred of Charles held enough sway over his ability to think logically that he issued the pardon (and pardons for my crew), and so, I was released. The following morning, the cargo aboard The Revenge would be unloaded and confiscated.
Since it was just past sundown, however, I had a chance to gather some things before the governor's men got their chance.
I made my way to the main docks with the intention of taking a longboat out to The Revenge and loading it up with whatever it could carry, taking it down shore to a less populated area, unloading it, and then returning before sunrise. I had planned for every contingency.
Save one.
When I arrived on the dock, which would normally have been abandoned by this time of night, on the edge, there was a woman.
She was, to put it simply, picturesque. Clearly a woman of high birth, dressed in expensive clothes, her firey hair tied loosely back, standing with a poise the bespoke nobility and elegance, and, yet, there was something more.
There was, emanating from her, an energy and barely contained fury, like a caged Terralean lynx. Something in her knew there was more to her life than the existence of a lady of breeding in a colonial township. And she clearly wanted to escape that.
And she made my hearts stop.
She was exquisite, in every way. Beautiful in body, mind and spirit. In that moment, there was nothing in this universe... no ship, no treasure, no Bifrost... Just her.
"And what are you staring at, Peacock?"
It was a moment after hearing her voice asking me that, that I had realized I'd been staring fixedly at her.
"I'm fairly sure... an angel" The answer I gave was, to use a more modern colloquialism, cheesy, I know, but... honestly, it was the only thing I could conceive of saying. She had me completely dumbstruck.
And that's how it began.
Her name was Anne. Anne Bonny. From that moment on, we began an affair. I'm not embarrassed to say... it was rather amazing.
Unfortunately, her husband, James, didn't agree with that description.
And James was friendly with the governor.
And so, for our crimes, Anne was sentenced to be whipped. (Did I mention this was a primitive society?) I couldn't stand by and allow that.
First, I followed the local law and attempt to obtain for Anne a "divorce by purchase"... in other words, buy her from her husband.
When Anne found out, well, I've never been hit so hard in my life. I can say that even without my memories from N-space because if I HAD been hit that hard before, trust me, I'd have remembered.
That left me with no other choice.
The Revenge had been sold, after her confiscation, to a merchant by the name of John Ham. On the night before her sentence was to be carried out, I broke Anne out of her cell, and we stole The Revenge back with a small crew.
For the next few months, Anne and I sailed The Revenge, taking small ships for their prizes, adding to our crew, and living in pure freedom.
She was amazing. The very definition of savage beauty.
And savage, she was. Anne Bonny was easily the most vicious fighter during battle, as skilled with knives as I had become with a sword in three decades of training under Ichi.
And she had come by it naturally.
In the months we sailed on The Revenge, we had gained a reputation to be feared.
And our love grew stronger.
We had become inseparable, and we worked in perfect unity.
We would take prizes, and then we would celebrate.
And Anne and I would celebrate in... vigorous ways.
That, sadly, would be how things would eventually go wrong...
Where the story becomes remarkable again is once we reached port.
My reputation (and that of my crew), it seems, had a better wind than we did. We were promptly arrested and clamped in irons.
The English Royals, you see, at that time, were fairly desperate to end the rampant piracy in the Caribbean, and felt that the use of law enforcement was ineffective. Therefore, they were offering blanket pardons to any pirates who confessed and swore off the life.
Calculating the equations in my head, the combination of my Time Lord physiology, the primitive nature of this Earth, the guaranteed death sentence I would be facing for piracy if convicted and the iron current locked round my wrists and ankles... I took the pardon.
I'll admit, the hold full of valuables on The Revenge would not work in my favour on that matter, and Woodes Rogers, the governor of Nassau and the Bahamas had a bit of a... thorny reputation when it came to dealing with pirates.
He also, however, had a very contentious history with Charles Vane, my former captain.
So, appearing before Rogers, I blamed Charles for my life of piracy, claiming to have been press-ganged into the life, and then, once we had taken the ship, made our our way, in any way we could, to Nassau to forsake the pillaging ways and live the life of law-abiding merchant seamen.
I don't know whether the governor truly believed my tale, but his hatred of Charles held enough sway over his ability to think logically that he issued the pardon (and pardons for my crew), and so, I was released. The following morning, the cargo aboard The Revenge would be unloaded and confiscated.
Since it was just past sundown, however, I had a chance to gather some things before the governor's men got their chance.
I made my way to the main docks with the intention of taking a longboat out to The Revenge and loading it up with whatever it could carry, taking it down shore to a less populated area, unloading it, and then returning before sunrise. I had planned for every contingency.
Save one.
When I arrived on the dock, which would normally have been abandoned by this time of night, on the edge, there was a woman.
She was, to put it simply, picturesque. Clearly a woman of high birth, dressed in expensive clothes, her firey hair tied loosely back, standing with a poise the bespoke nobility and elegance, and, yet, there was something more.
There was, emanating from her, an energy and barely contained fury, like a caged Terralean lynx. Something in her knew there was more to her life than the existence of a lady of breeding in a colonial township. And she clearly wanted to escape that.
And she made my hearts stop.
She was exquisite, in every way. Beautiful in body, mind and spirit. In that moment, there was nothing in this universe... no ship, no treasure, no Bifrost... Just her.
"And what are you staring at, Peacock?"
It was a moment after hearing her voice asking me that, that I had realized I'd been staring fixedly at her.
"I'm fairly sure... an angel" The answer I gave was, to use a more modern colloquialism, cheesy, I know, but... honestly, it was the only thing I could conceive of saying. She had me completely dumbstruck.
And that's how it began.
Her name was Anne. Anne Bonny. From that moment on, we began an affair. I'm not embarrassed to say... it was rather amazing.
Unfortunately, her husband, James, didn't agree with that description.
And James was friendly with the governor.
And so, for our crimes, Anne was sentenced to be whipped. (Did I mention this was a primitive society?) I couldn't stand by and allow that.
First, I followed the local law and attempt to obtain for Anne a "divorce by purchase"... in other words, buy her from her husband.
When Anne found out, well, I've never been hit so hard in my life. I can say that even without my memories from N-space because if I HAD been hit that hard before, trust me, I'd have remembered.
That left me with no other choice.
The Revenge had been sold, after her confiscation, to a merchant by the name of John Ham. On the night before her sentence was to be carried out, I broke Anne out of her cell, and we stole The Revenge back with a small crew.
For the next few months, Anne and I sailed The Revenge, taking small ships for their prizes, adding to our crew, and living in pure freedom.
She was amazing. The very definition of savage beauty.
And savage, she was. Anne Bonny was easily the most vicious fighter during battle, as skilled with knives as I had become with a sword in three decades of training under Ichi.
And she had come by it naturally.
In the months we sailed on The Revenge, we had gained a reputation to be feared.
And our love grew stronger.
We had become inseparable, and we worked in perfect unity.
We would take prizes, and then we would celebrate.
And Anne and I would celebrate in... vigorous ways.
That, sadly, would be how things would eventually go wrong...
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Dead Men DO, Apparently, Tell Tales (Part 1)
I've chronicled some of my past...escapades... with The Collector. As I've said, we weren't always on the right side of local law enforcement. During my time running with her, we were separated for a few decades.
While traveling in Bifrost, and following her in Ned, my TTC developed a fault in the temporo-spatial navigation systems, sending me spinning out of the vortex, materializing on an island in a somewhat tropical environment known as New Providence. While I was unable to leave the area until the navigation system self-repaired, I was able to tell the local era was what was referred to as 1717. Specifically, Tuesday.
I had, once again, found myself on Earth. Or some facsimile thereof (I'm told, for some reason, Earth doesn't PROPERLY exist in SL-space, at least as a singular world, but is, instead, replicated multiple times in multiple locations, often going by differing OFFICIAL designations, but, most often called by its locals "Earth")
After wandering about the local town, getting my bearings (and, admittedly, stealing some clothes which were, I must say... colourful, but more era-appropriate than my usual garb), I ventured into the local drinking establishment.
I'd been to some very raucous pubs in the past. I usually enjoy that type of atmosphere, but THIS one was different. There was an air of barely-contained violence and anarchy here, the likes of which I'd not remembered ever encountering. Everyone here seemed like a seafaring sort or women of, shall we say "paid company"and a few "merchants" (by which I mean to imply licensed thieves)
Among this rabble, I stumbled... quite literally... into a man with a rather hardened look to him. His face bore the texture of worn leather from wind, salt air and sun, which made him have a constant scowl. He immediately drew a pistol on me, prepared to shoot me on the spot. There was one thing I could do.
I reached over the bar top, grabbed a bottle of rum and handed it to him.
With this, the silent tension that had fallen when the man had turned to me changed to a hearty laugh from all present.
The man and I sat at a table and split the rum. And we talked.
His name was Charles Vane. He claimed to be the captain of a ship called The Ranger and was looking for a new quartermaster, implying he was offering the job to me.
Naturally, I needed to have a name in order to function here, as "The Madman" wouldn't serve me well here. I introduced myself as "Jack", followed by a cough, which Charles took to sound like "Rackham". Due to the colourful nature of my clothes, he immediately gave me the nickname "Calico Jack".
Since I had no idea how long I would be stranded here, I took Charles up on his offer and became quartermaster for The Ranger. As it turned out, however, Charles Vane wasn't a... legitimate captain. He was, in point of fact, a pirate.
Now, I've said before that I've not always been on the "right" side of the law. As such, the idea of sailing with a cut-throat crew did not bother me a wit. To be completely candid, I enjoyed it. Blame it on some of the narwhals, if you like. I really don't know. I DO know that I truly felt alive on that ship. At least, until we encountered that man-o-war.
Off the coast of New York, we encountered a French man-o-war, which was, yes, more than twice the size of The Ranger, but also clearly loaded with treasure. Charles panicked and ordered a retreat. Most of the crew felt he was being cowardly.
To this day, I'm not sure my thinking at that moment. It doesn't seem like me. Maybe it was the narwhals taking hold, but, once we were out of range of the man-o-war, I called for a mutiny vote. Fifteen men supported Charles. The rest chose me as the new captain.
Having come, a bit anyway, back to my senses (such as they were at the time), rather than strand Charles or kill him, we set him and his supporters off in our other captured sloop, and that was the end.
I continued to captain The Ranger, taking small ships for their prizes, adding the sailors of those ships to my crew and things were good until The Kingston.
The Kingston was one of the biggest prizes in the sea at the time, a merchant ship so heavy with treasure it was nearly the first Terran submarine. The temptation was too great, and we took it.
The Kingston was a prize we fought hard for and when we had her, we had to celebrate. We didn't realize, at the time, however, that we had taken her within site of Port Royal, and the governor... didn't take to kindly to my crew snatching such a high-profile ship within sight of the citizenry. Hunters were hired and sent after us.
I had ordered both ships to an island near Cuba. The Ranger needed to be careened and, so, it was a good place for us to celebrate the taking of The Kingston as well. At sundown, however, we saw a pair of Spanish ships: a ship of the line and a sloop of war.
Tide was low, but we had clearly been spotted, as the ships anchored at the mouth of the inlet we were in, waiting for the tide to be with them so they could attack.
Being a Time Lord, it would stand to reason I would not wish to be executed by a primitive culture, as regenerating in front of them would throw their entire society into chaos. Seeing as piracy, at the time, was an automatic death sentence, it also stands that I would need to avoid capture and arrest. It was due to this that I hatched a plan.
After the sun had set, I commanded my crew to swim to the Spanish sloop, as it would have a much smaller crew. We arrived without having alerted anyone on either ship.
At this time, I must admit some guilt in the fact that my crew and I did kill the dozen men aboard the sloop we'd just boarded.
Come sunrise and high tide, the Spanish warship opened fire on both The Kingston and The Ranger, severely damaging both...
And being completely unprepared for us, aboard the newly commandeered sloop, to open fire upon them from the rear, damaging them enough that they couldn't pursue.
Angry over what had happened, I christened my new ship The Revenge, and we set sail for Nassau.
It was there that I met Anne...
While traveling in Bifrost, and following her in Ned, my TTC developed a fault in the temporo-spatial navigation systems, sending me spinning out of the vortex, materializing on an island in a somewhat tropical environment known as New Providence. While I was unable to leave the area until the navigation system self-repaired, I was able to tell the local era was what was referred to as 1717. Specifically, Tuesday.
I had, once again, found myself on Earth. Or some facsimile thereof (I'm told, for some reason, Earth doesn't PROPERLY exist in SL-space, at least as a singular world, but is, instead, replicated multiple times in multiple locations, often going by differing OFFICIAL designations, but, most often called by its locals "Earth")
After wandering about the local town, getting my bearings (and, admittedly, stealing some clothes which were, I must say... colourful, but more era-appropriate than my usual garb), I ventured into the local drinking establishment.
I'd been to some very raucous pubs in the past. I usually enjoy that type of atmosphere, but THIS one was different. There was an air of barely-contained violence and anarchy here, the likes of which I'd not remembered ever encountering. Everyone here seemed like a seafaring sort or women of, shall we say "paid company"and a few "merchants" (by which I mean to imply licensed thieves)
Among this rabble, I stumbled... quite literally... into a man with a rather hardened look to him. His face bore the texture of worn leather from wind, salt air and sun, which made him have a constant scowl. He immediately drew a pistol on me, prepared to shoot me on the spot. There was one thing I could do.
I reached over the bar top, grabbed a bottle of rum and handed it to him.
With this, the silent tension that had fallen when the man had turned to me changed to a hearty laugh from all present.
The man and I sat at a table and split the rum. And we talked.
His name was Charles Vane. He claimed to be the captain of a ship called The Ranger and was looking for a new quartermaster, implying he was offering the job to me.
Naturally, I needed to have a name in order to function here, as "The Madman" wouldn't serve me well here. I introduced myself as "Jack", followed by a cough, which Charles took to sound like "Rackham". Due to the colourful nature of my clothes, he immediately gave me the nickname "Calico Jack".
Since I had no idea how long I would be stranded here, I took Charles up on his offer and became quartermaster for The Ranger. As it turned out, however, Charles Vane wasn't a... legitimate captain. He was, in point of fact, a pirate.
Now, I've said before that I've not always been on the "right" side of the law. As such, the idea of sailing with a cut-throat crew did not bother me a wit. To be completely candid, I enjoyed it. Blame it on some of the narwhals, if you like. I really don't know. I DO know that I truly felt alive on that ship. At least, until we encountered that man-o-war.
Off the coast of New York, we encountered a French man-o-war, which was, yes, more than twice the size of The Ranger, but also clearly loaded with treasure. Charles panicked and ordered a retreat. Most of the crew felt he was being cowardly.
To this day, I'm not sure my thinking at that moment. It doesn't seem like me. Maybe it was the narwhals taking hold, but, once we were out of range of the man-o-war, I called for a mutiny vote. Fifteen men supported Charles. The rest chose me as the new captain.
Having come, a bit anyway, back to my senses (such as they were at the time), rather than strand Charles or kill him, we set him and his supporters off in our other captured sloop, and that was the end.
I continued to captain The Ranger, taking small ships for their prizes, adding the sailors of those ships to my crew and things were good until The Kingston.
The Kingston was one of the biggest prizes in the sea at the time, a merchant ship so heavy with treasure it was nearly the first Terran submarine. The temptation was too great, and we took it.
The Kingston was a prize we fought hard for and when we had her, we had to celebrate. We didn't realize, at the time, however, that we had taken her within site of Port Royal, and the governor... didn't take to kindly to my crew snatching such a high-profile ship within sight of the citizenry. Hunters were hired and sent after us.
I had ordered both ships to an island near Cuba. The Ranger needed to be careened and, so, it was a good place for us to celebrate the taking of The Kingston as well. At sundown, however, we saw a pair of Spanish ships: a ship of the line and a sloop of war.
Tide was low, but we had clearly been spotted, as the ships anchored at the mouth of the inlet we were in, waiting for the tide to be with them so they could attack.
Being a Time Lord, it would stand to reason I would not wish to be executed by a primitive culture, as regenerating in front of them would throw their entire society into chaos. Seeing as piracy, at the time, was an automatic death sentence, it also stands that I would need to avoid capture and arrest. It was due to this that I hatched a plan.
After the sun had set, I commanded my crew to swim to the Spanish sloop, as it would have a much smaller crew. We arrived without having alerted anyone on either ship.
At this time, I must admit some guilt in the fact that my crew and I did kill the dozen men aboard the sloop we'd just boarded.
Come sunrise and high tide, the Spanish warship opened fire on both The Kingston and The Ranger, severely damaging both...
And being completely unprepared for us, aboard the newly commandeered sloop, to open fire upon them from the rear, damaging them enough that they couldn't pursue.
Angry over what had happened, I christened my new ship The Revenge, and we set sail for Nassau.
It was there that I met Anne...
Monday, July 4, 2016
Grozit, I DESERVE A Little Relaxation!
Things have been stressful, which, if I'm honest, is an understatement. Between the loss of Dracony and Henry, Kat being MIA now, the destruction of Vanishing Point, the having to fill out the ranks of Patrex a second time, the disappearance of the Gold Usher, Ned's little solo adventure, the Wild hunt...
I could go on. And I may at some point.
Regardless, I decided I needed a space completely of my own that I didn't need to argue with. Bifrost is a brilliant TTC, but she and I have our disagreements.
So, I started a personal project.
Having been to the drifting fleet we discovered while searching for the Gold Usher once, I decided to go back and scavenge some parts and see what I could do with them.
Yes, I know... I already have a personal runabout, Helios, but... Have you ever tried to holiday in a runabout? It's CRAMPED.
So, I set about work on an old fashioned star cruiser.
Nothing fancy in terms of systems. She's capable of light-speed, of course, but I didn't over-power them. Basic scanners, simple probes. Low-yield impulse lasers in case of asteroids. In essence, she's everything The Prometheus isn't.
Where she gets fancy is in the amenities.
She's a yacht. Plain and simple. I built her with a mind of a place I can ignore anything else in the universe and just relax.
And I will not put her in House service.
Oh, no.
The Athene is STRICTLY off the books.
Sorry, Collector, I may have named you Commodore of the Patrexe Fleet, but Athene isn't PART of that fleet.
I could go on. And I may at some point.
Regardless, I decided I needed a space completely of my own that I didn't need to argue with. Bifrost is a brilliant TTC, but she and I have our disagreements.
So, I started a personal project.
Having been to the drifting fleet we discovered while searching for the Gold Usher once, I decided to go back and scavenge some parts and see what I could do with them.
Yes, I know... I already have a personal runabout, Helios, but... Have you ever tried to holiday in a runabout? It's CRAMPED.
So, I set about work on an old fashioned star cruiser.
Nothing fancy in terms of systems. She's capable of light-speed, of course, but I didn't over-power them. Basic scanners, simple probes. Low-yield impulse lasers in case of asteroids. In essence, she's everything The Prometheus isn't.
Where she gets fancy is in the amenities.
She's a yacht. Plain and simple. I built her with a mind of a place I can ignore anything else in the universe and just relax.
And I will not put her in House service.
Oh, no.
The Athene is STRICTLY off the books.
Sorry, Collector, I may have named you Commodore of the Patrexe Fleet, but Athene isn't PART of that fleet.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
I'm Out a Bottle of Votalan Wine
In my last entry, I mentioned Mal. His assistance on the design and build of The Prometheus was invaluable, honestly. I've said it before and likely will repeat myself, his ability to work with machines, engines and just about anything else mechanical is bordering on the supernatural
His ability to deal with sentient life forms, however...
Well, it's a bit like watching a silicon-based life form in a time-stasis field try to tap dance, which is to say... awkward.
Sometime after returning The Prometheus to dry dock, it dawned on me that Mal is most comfortable and relaxed when dealing with his machines or discussing them.
It also dawned on me that, in the history of most of the universe, there is one substance which will aid in a person's ability to socialize, no matter how shy or bashful. (I will note here, however, that the use of this substance to aid in socialization is not, necessarily, always a good thing)
That substance is wine.
I'm not like Nataleigh.
In most occasions I've worked with her on acquiring a piece for her collection (or, on rarer instances, acquiring one for someone else's) I've rarely felt the urge to keep any souvenir, myself. It's just not really my style
The exception to this, however, is when it comes to potable spirits.
I have, aboard Bifrost, a monumental collection of spirits.
Wines, whiskeys, ales, liquors and several imbibible inebriants which defy description in any known language.
Amoung them is a collection of several vintages of Votalan wine.
For those who may be accessing this log and are unfamiliar with Votalan wine, the drink can best be described as a twelve hour orgy with one hundred of the most beautiful women in history...
Followed by a twelve hour beating at the hands of their jealous husbands...
In a glass.
So it came to my mind that, in order to try to coax Mal out of his shell, a wager may be an order.
I bet him a bottle of my most valuable Votalan wine that he could not design and build a star fighter within forty eight hours. I refused to give him any, specific parameters, other than to impress me.
Thirty six hours later, I was standing in one of the landing bays on Vanishing Point, looking at not one, but two different types of prototype star fighters (admittedly, not much use in any potential battle including anything approaching the level of technology used in our battle capsules). each unique and completely different from each other.
And out one bottle of Votalan wine.
His ability to deal with sentient life forms, however...
Well, it's a bit like watching a silicon-based life form in a time-stasis field try to tap dance, which is to say... awkward.
Sometime after returning The Prometheus to dry dock, it dawned on me that Mal is most comfortable and relaxed when dealing with his machines or discussing them.
It also dawned on me that, in the history of most of the universe, there is one substance which will aid in a person's ability to socialize, no matter how shy or bashful. (I will note here, however, that the use of this substance to aid in socialization is not, necessarily, always a good thing)
That substance is wine.
I'm not like Nataleigh.
In most occasions I've worked with her on acquiring a piece for her collection (or, on rarer instances, acquiring one for someone else's) I've rarely felt the urge to keep any souvenir, myself. It's just not really my style
The exception to this, however, is when it comes to potable spirits.
I have, aboard Bifrost, a monumental collection of spirits.
Wines, whiskeys, ales, liquors and several imbibible inebriants which defy description in any known language.
Amoung them is a collection of several vintages of Votalan wine.
For those who may be accessing this log and are unfamiliar with Votalan wine, the drink can best be described as a twelve hour orgy with one hundred of the most beautiful women in history...
Followed by a twelve hour beating at the hands of their jealous husbands...
In a glass.
So it came to my mind that, in order to try to coax Mal out of his shell, a wager may be an order.
I bet him a bottle of my most valuable Votalan wine that he could not design and build a star fighter within forty eight hours. I refused to give him any, specific parameters, other than to impress me.
Thirty six hours later, I was standing in one of the landing bays on Vanishing Point, looking at not one, but two different types of prototype star fighters (admittedly, not much use in any potential battle including anything approaching the level of technology used in our battle capsules). each unique and completely different from each other.
And out one bottle of Votalan wine.
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Big-Arsed Ship!
Project Aeropagus, which I will now fully declassify, is my blanket project for experimental starship development. The debut result is the advanced bowship The Prometheus.
As a Time Lord, one would likely expect I would have no use, in general, for conventional modes of transport, and, I suppose, that individual would be right, to an extent. In a culture that produces TT-Capsules and Time Rings and has the ability to easily travel to anywhere and anywhen in existence (give or take) the use of conventional, three dimensional transports seems superfluous.
However, thinking in that manner is highly short sighted.
First, not all travel requires the use of a TTC. In situations which travel can be accomplished via conventional means, especially when there may be species and races who have no concept of practical time travel, arriving in a TTC, even with a functioning chameleon circuit and perception filter, might not be the best idea ever.
Second, Not all races who may think to threaten our world have any idea what level our technology actually sits at. Having a ship like The Prometheus actually serves two functions for that. As a visual deterrent, there is little more intimidating to lesser advances species than running up against a gigantic, heavily armed intergalactic starship. Also, it is said, if you are attacked by a barbarian with a club, it is best not to shoot at him, as then you've proven the existence of gun powder.
Finally, yes, a battle capsule is far more technologically advanced than The Prometheus (though she's orders of magnitude more advanced than previous bowships), and more effective in an even battle.
Remember, however, many of our previous adversaries are familiar with our battle capsules and have been working on defences for them.
The Prometheus is an unknown quantity to them.
In other words, if your opponent knows you always carry a gun, they're not going to be prepared for you to stab them.
As a Time Lord, one would likely expect I would have no use, in general, for conventional modes of transport, and, I suppose, that individual would be right, to an extent. In a culture that produces TT-Capsules and Time Rings and has the ability to easily travel to anywhere and anywhen in existence (give or take) the use of conventional, three dimensional transports seems superfluous.
However, thinking in that manner is highly short sighted.
First, not all travel requires the use of a TTC. In situations which travel can be accomplished via conventional means, especially when there may be species and races who have no concept of practical time travel, arriving in a TTC, even with a functioning chameleon circuit and perception filter, might not be the best idea ever.
Second, Not all races who may think to threaten our world have any idea what level our technology actually sits at. Having a ship like The Prometheus actually serves two functions for that. As a visual deterrent, there is little more intimidating to lesser advances species than running up against a gigantic, heavily armed intergalactic starship. Also, it is said, if you are attacked by a barbarian with a club, it is best not to shoot at him, as then you've proven the existence of gun powder.
Finally, yes, a battle capsule is far more technologically advanced than The Prometheus (though she's orders of magnitude more advanced than previous bowships), and more effective in an even battle.
Remember, however, many of our previous adversaries are familiar with our battle capsules and have been working on defences for them.
The Prometheus is an unknown quantity to them.
In other words, if your opponent knows you always carry a gun, they're not going to be prepared for you to stab them.
Monday, June 6, 2016
The Machinesmith
Project Aeropagus is nearing completion. The time has come to show it to Phaon and prepare to ask forgiveness for not following proper channels on this. No matter. I'd never have gotten this completed as quickly, nor with these capabilities without Mal.
Yes, it's time for another stroll down amnesia lane.
During my recent time as a renegade after the... unpleasantness of Tethseram... I made the acquaintance of a number of other unaffiliated Time Lords, many of whom I invited into Patrex and many of whom joined us.
Then, there is Malachi.
Malachi Janus is as unique a Time Lord as I have ever met.
When I met him, he was living on a disused space station on the outskirts of a system long devastated by galactic war. He had his TTC parked in one of the station's storage bays and was trading parts of the station with parts of his capsule improving both in the process. It was, to some extent, like watching an ant farm of one: constantly busy, only half acknowledging my presence.
It was almost impossible to get a word from him in casual conversation, though he'd often... converse... with whatever machine he was engaged with at the time.
Now, I've said in the past that I work on conventional space vessels as a hobby.
I'm very good at this, to be honest. I've built inter-galactic tachyon pulse drives from the ground up.
I say this so what I am about to say makes the proper impact.
Watching Mal work, I realized I was nothing more than a monkey pounding on an engine with a plumber's mallet.
What I do is a hobby.
What Mal does is... art.
When I was tasked with inviting new members into the House, I approached Mal. He declined my offer, though, as, in his words "There are too many people in a House. They don't make sense. Machines, I like. They're... civil...I like how they talk."
I left it there.
Until I began Project Aeropagus.
When I began this project, I realized there was one person capable to helping me not just realize my plan, but improve it by several orders of magnitude.
So Mal has been working with me on this.
And, again, making me feel a bit monkey-like, but that's a small sacrifice for the goal here.
And, as we've worked... i think I may be wearing down his resistance to joining Patrex.
Time will tell.
Yes, it's time for another stroll down amnesia lane.
During my recent time as a renegade after the... unpleasantness of Tethseram... I made the acquaintance of a number of other unaffiliated Time Lords, many of whom I invited into Patrex and many of whom joined us.
Then, there is Malachi.
Malachi Janus is as unique a Time Lord as I have ever met.
When I met him, he was living on a disused space station on the outskirts of a system long devastated by galactic war. He had his TTC parked in one of the station's storage bays and was trading parts of the station with parts of his capsule improving both in the process. It was, to some extent, like watching an ant farm of one: constantly busy, only half acknowledging my presence.
It was almost impossible to get a word from him in casual conversation, though he'd often... converse... with whatever machine he was engaged with at the time.
Now, I've said in the past that I work on conventional space vessels as a hobby.
I'm very good at this, to be honest. I've built inter-galactic tachyon pulse drives from the ground up.
I say this so what I am about to say makes the proper impact.
Watching Mal work, I realized I was nothing more than a monkey pounding on an engine with a plumber's mallet.
What I do is a hobby.
What Mal does is... art.
When I was tasked with inviting new members into the House, I approached Mal. He declined my offer, though, as, in his words "There are too many people in a House. They don't make sense. Machines, I like. They're... civil...I like how they talk."
I left it there.
Until I began Project Aeropagus.
When I began this project, I realized there was one person capable to helping me not just realize my plan, but improve it by several orders of magnitude.
So Mal has been working with me on this.
And, again, making me feel a bit monkey-like, but that's a small sacrifice for the goal here.
And, as we've worked... i think I may be wearing down his resistance to joining Patrex.
Time will tell.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Memories of the Gun
The recent incidents with the Wild Huntsman and the narrowly missed hostilities with the Kal have caused me to amend Vanishing Point's fire arm prohibition allowing certain authorized members of House Partex to carry side arms on the station. While I tend ot abhor the use of firearms, I do have some experience with them. In fact, I own two: a standard snub-nose impulse laser, which I used to wear sometimes in my duties as Castellan of the Jade Dreamers. The other, I hadn't even taken out of storage in a long time.
I've recounted, previously, that The Collector and I have a bit of a history predating our discovery of the people of New Gallifrey. We... weren't always keeping the most reputable of company.
About a year after we began traveling together, we found ourselves... let's say "guests" of the local constabulary on a world called Browdley, apparently named for the man who "discovered" it. It was still largely a colony-type of civilization: prefabricated structures, largely lawless unless one had the money to buy the authorities, etc.
We had fallen afoul of a local gang who had decided they wanted to keep possession of something they called "The Vapour"; a semi-solid, mist-like energy shield that would atomize any solid, non-living matter which attempted to pass through it. It was the ultimate military defense on a world that didn't possess any energy-based weapons. It gave this gang far too much of an advantage, allowing them to, essentially, rule as they liked. While we may have, technically been rogues, we did (and still do) believe that those who seize power by force RARELY deserve it. We decided to remove The Vapour from the Browdley equasion. Since any standard energy weapon (the only thing capable of penetrating The Varpour) would have stood out, the two of us designed a pair of impulse laser pistols modeled after the standard repeating slug-shot pistols used on Browdley.
To make a long story short, unable to take The Vapour, we had to destroy it. A... slight miscalculation... in the amount of energy required to permanently disable it resulted in a massive shock wave, annihilating every solid, non-living matter within two townships. The law... didn't take kindly to that.
After a few days in our... lovely accommodations, we were taken from our cell to meet with one of the elite of Browdley; a man calling himself Jacob Bligh.
He was a blue-skinned, somewhat corpulent man in clearly expensive clothing with a sheen to him as though he'd been dipped in cooking oil.
In the interest of brevity, I will skip the verbal dance of the conversation and skip to the important points.
He was one of three major crime lords on Browdley. This is a fact he made no attempt to hide. It gave him the money and power to offer us our freedom in exchange for a job suited to our talents.
He told us the story of how a rival crime lord had abducted his unhatched daughter and was holding her egg as a way to dismantle Bligh's organization.
Not wanting to remain incarcerated, and not wanting to see an innocent pre-hatchling used in a gang war, we agreed to the job.
Infiltration of the rival's home proved to be remarkably easy, as it turned out. Extricating ourselves with the egg was a bit more problematic. I'll admit to having taken a few slugs while running, but I managed to avoid a regeneration.
We brought the egg to Bligh and we left.
While this tale may seem unremarkable in its telling, that is simply because I haven't finished telling it. I'm the only one who knows the true ending.
When I took my impulse revolver out of storage, it got me thinking about Browdley. I decided to go back to see if things had changed at all.
It had.
Bligh was now in total control of Browdley. I decided to see how his daughter was, since she'd have certainly hatched long ago.
I was surprised to find that Bligh never had any offspring. His mate was barren and always had been.
Bligh's rival, on the other hand, DID have a daughter, who disappeared before ever hatching...
I wonder if The Collector remembers Browdley.
I've recounted, previously, that The Collector and I have a bit of a history predating our discovery of the people of New Gallifrey. We... weren't always keeping the most reputable of company.
About a year after we began traveling together, we found ourselves... let's say "guests" of the local constabulary on a world called Browdley, apparently named for the man who "discovered" it. It was still largely a colony-type of civilization: prefabricated structures, largely lawless unless one had the money to buy the authorities, etc.
We had fallen afoul of a local gang who had decided they wanted to keep possession of something they called "The Vapour"; a semi-solid, mist-like energy shield that would atomize any solid, non-living matter which attempted to pass through it. It was the ultimate military defense on a world that didn't possess any energy-based weapons. It gave this gang far too much of an advantage, allowing them to, essentially, rule as they liked. While we may have, technically been rogues, we did (and still do) believe that those who seize power by force RARELY deserve it. We decided to remove The Vapour from the Browdley equasion. Since any standard energy weapon (the only thing capable of penetrating The Varpour) would have stood out, the two of us designed a pair of impulse laser pistols modeled after the standard repeating slug-shot pistols used on Browdley.
To make a long story short, unable to take The Vapour, we had to destroy it. A... slight miscalculation... in the amount of energy required to permanently disable it resulted in a massive shock wave, annihilating every solid, non-living matter within two townships. The law... didn't take kindly to that.
After a few days in our... lovely accommodations, we were taken from our cell to meet with one of the elite of Browdley; a man calling himself Jacob Bligh.
He was a blue-skinned, somewhat corpulent man in clearly expensive clothing with a sheen to him as though he'd been dipped in cooking oil.
In the interest of brevity, I will skip the verbal dance of the conversation and skip to the important points.
He was one of three major crime lords on Browdley. This is a fact he made no attempt to hide. It gave him the money and power to offer us our freedom in exchange for a job suited to our talents.
He told us the story of how a rival crime lord had abducted his unhatched daughter and was holding her egg as a way to dismantle Bligh's organization.
Not wanting to remain incarcerated, and not wanting to see an innocent pre-hatchling used in a gang war, we agreed to the job.
Infiltration of the rival's home proved to be remarkably easy, as it turned out. Extricating ourselves with the egg was a bit more problematic. I'll admit to having taken a few slugs while running, but I managed to avoid a regeneration.
We brought the egg to Bligh and we left.
While this tale may seem unremarkable in its telling, that is simply because I haven't finished telling it. I'm the only one who knows the true ending.
When I took my impulse revolver out of storage, it got me thinking about Browdley. I decided to go back to see if things had changed at all.
It had.
Bligh was now in total control of Browdley. I decided to see how his daughter was, since she'd have certainly hatched long ago.
I was surprised to find that Bligh never had any offspring. His mate was barren and always had been.
Bligh's rival, on the other hand, DID have a daughter, who disappeared before ever hatching...
I wonder if The Collector remembers Browdley.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
That... Could Have Gone Better
Well, the trail I picked up on the entity that absconded with Lady Rowan... did not lead where I expected.
I suppose I should start at the beginning.
The team gathered at Vanishing Point at the appointed time. Some familiar faces; Lord Rasa, Lady Tammy, Mirage (The Gold Usher's assistant), The Collector (I must say, even after all these years, I can't understand why she accompanies me on these... adventures, but, honestly, I feel much better that she is), And a few I've not met before.
After a short pre-mission briefing, we all boarded Bifrost and I set her to follow the energy trail. All fairly standard at this point, of course.
Bifrost materialized in the cargo hold of a derelict star freighter. No discernible atmosphere and minimal gravity. We all donned our respective hard suits and disembarked.
The first thing we noticed, as it was fairly obvious, was the freighter was abandoned. No signs of life anywhere to be found. Most of the ship's systems were offline. It was decided we should split up and search the ship for any clue as to what had happened and why the trail led here.
Some of our party entered one of the crew cabins and, outside one of the view ports, we got the indication that something was even further amiss than we had initial realized.
This freighter was part of a larger fleet of some eight ships, all adrift in some manner. Smaller ships, perhaps runabouts or yachts spun and flipped in the void while a few larger cruisers and freighters hug more or less motionless, perhaps due to their more powerful inertial dampeners having functioned long enough to prevent the gravity-less dance of their smaller siblings. If pushed to fully describe the situation, the only words I would be able to come up with would be "ghost fleet" The number and distance between the ships made me glad I'd insisted our team bring some form of personalized propulsion along. Even still, navigation between the drifting hulks was hazardous, as we would soon find out.
After the freighter we arrived in, we moved on to a small cargo vessel. During this trip to the second ship, Lady Tammy miscalculated her entry trajectory and hit her head on the hull of one of the ships at speed. No one was aware of how serious her injury was at that time.
It was on the third ship we investigated, a larger star-cruiser, we got our only clue as to what happened on this fleet and to our Gold Usher.
An investigation of the star-cruiser's bridge, we discovered the "black box" flight recorder. It showed us... something. I downloaded the footage for study.
Yes, that is the same entity. It also appears to be Lady Rowan. I'm still examining this recording, and every detail to see what in it might help to recover our Gold Usher.
Once we had this footage, we returned to Bifrost and I set her to return us to Vanishing Point.
It was at this point, the severity of Lady Tammy's injuries became evident, as she began regenerating. Fortunately, we were able to get her to my Zero Room to help stabilize her.
So, in summary, we had the regeneration of one of our Cardinals, found evidence of the destruction of a fleet and the various crews thereof and we STILL haven't recovered the Gold Usher.
I suppose the only truly POSITIVE thing to come from this experience is my resolve to complete Project Aeropagus is much more hardened.
I suppose I should start at the beginning.
The team gathered at Vanishing Point at the appointed time. Some familiar faces; Lord Rasa, Lady Tammy, Mirage (The Gold Usher's assistant), The Collector (I must say, even after all these years, I can't understand why she accompanies me on these... adventures, but, honestly, I feel much better that she is), And a few I've not met before.
After a short pre-mission briefing, we all boarded Bifrost and I set her to follow the energy trail. All fairly standard at this point, of course.
Bifrost materialized in the cargo hold of a derelict star freighter. No discernible atmosphere and minimal gravity. We all donned our respective hard suits and disembarked.
The first thing we noticed, as it was fairly obvious, was the freighter was abandoned. No signs of life anywhere to be found. Most of the ship's systems were offline. It was decided we should split up and search the ship for any clue as to what had happened and why the trail led here.
Some of our party entered one of the crew cabins and, outside one of the view ports, we got the indication that something was even further amiss than we had initial realized.
This freighter was part of a larger fleet of some eight ships, all adrift in some manner. Smaller ships, perhaps runabouts or yachts spun and flipped in the void while a few larger cruisers and freighters hug more or less motionless, perhaps due to their more powerful inertial dampeners having functioned long enough to prevent the gravity-less dance of their smaller siblings. If pushed to fully describe the situation, the only words I would be able to come up with would be "ghost fleet" The number and distance between the ships made me glad I'd insisted our team bring some form of personalized propulsion along. Even still, navigation between the drifting hulks was hazardous, as we would soon find out.
After the freighter we arrived in, we moved on to a small cargo vessel. During this trip to the second ship, Lady Tammy miscalculated her entry trajectory and hit her head on the hull of one of the ships at speed. No one was aware of how serious her injury was at that time.
It was on the third ship we investigated, a larger star-cruiser, we got our only clue as to what happened on this fleet and to our Gold Usher.
An investigation of the star-cruiser's bridge, we discovered the "black box" flight recorder. It showed us... something. I downloaded the footage for study.
Yes, that is the same entity. It also appears to be Lady Rowan. I'm still examining this recording, and every detail to see what in it might help to recover our Gold Usher.
Once we had this footage, we returned to Bifrost and I set her to return us to Vanishing Point.
It was at this point, the severity of Lady Tammy's injuries became evident, as she began regenerating. Fortunately, we were able to get her to my Zero Room to help stabilize her.
So, in summary, we had the regeneration of one of our Cardinals, found evidence of the destruction of a fleet and the various crews thereof and we STILL haven't recovered the Gold Usher.
I suppose the only truly POSITIVE thing to come from this experience is my resolve to complete Project Aeropagus is much more hardened.
Monday, May 23, 2016
Trail of Breadcrumbs
You know, I've never understood using the expression "following a trail of breadcrumbs", since, in the fairy story that comes from, the characters were able to follow a trail of pebbles. When they had to use breadcrumbs, they got lost because breadcrumbs are a stupid thing to use to make a trail through the forest.
I'm digressing before I even start. That's probably not a good sign. Project Aeropagus has been exhausting, I admit, but also critical.
But, now, I find, I need to halt my progress on it.
As I've mentioned before, I have been in an active search for our Gold Usher and the alien entity with whom she is traveling, likely against her will, regardless of how it appeared at Beltane. I've had Isaac coordinating with the systems aboard Bifrost scanning time and space for any trace of the "Wild Huntsman's" energy signature. The search has been slow, due to the entity's unique and fluctuating signature. Frustration has become quite friendly with me lately.
The search seems to have paid off, however.
Recently, Isaac managed to detect a trace of the energy and is currently triangulating the location.
This seems a promising sign, but...
Okay, I'm no Seer.
I've got enough odd issues in my brain without having to deal with prophesies and the like.
That said, there is something inside my mind that is screaming that, once the location is triangulated, I must proceed with caution.
And not alone.
Call it worry on my part, I suppose, but dealing with an entity that, if I am correct, was able to mentally dominate one of the Sisterhood, DOES indicate the need to have some level of numbers on my side, should a confrontation become necessary.
So I'm going to need to try and recruit some others to join me. Since I'm not sure what we're heading into as yet, we're going to need to be prepared for anything.
I'm digressing before I even start. That's probably not a good sign. Project Aeropagus has been exhausting, I admit, but also critical.
But, now, I find, I need to halt my progress on it.
As I've mentioned before, I have been in an active search for our Gold Usher and the alien entity with whom she is traveling, likely against her will, regardless of how it appeared at Beltane. I've had Isaac coordinating with the systems aboard Bifrost scanning time and space for any trace of the "Wild Huntsman's" energy signature. The search has been slow, due to the entity's unique and fluctuating signature. Frustration has become quite friendly with me lately.
The search seems to have paid off, however.
Recently, Isaac managed to detect a trace of the energy and is currently triangulating the location.
This seems a promising sign, but...
Okay, I'm no Seer.
I've got enough odd issues in my brain without having to deal with prophesies and the like.
That said, there is something inside my mind that is screaming that, once the location is triangulated, I must proceed with caution.
And not alone.
Call it worry on my part, I suppose, but dealing with an entity that, if I am correct, was able to mentally dominate one of the Sisterhood, DOES indicate the need to have some level of numbers on my side, should a confrontation become necessary.
So I'm going to need to try and recruit some others to join me. Since I'm not sure what we're heading into as yet, we're going to need to be prepared for anything.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
PROJECT AEROPAGUS - CONTUNED - CLASSIFIED
FILE CLASSIFIED
EYES ONLY
PROJECT AEROPAGUS
... the work on Project Aeropagus continues, though it's difficult to continue this without exposure to... prying eyes from other Time Lords.
I realize this sounds like I am trying to hide what I'm doing, and, I am. I also realize that, given my recent troubles, it make be reasonable to presume I am working on this project for nefarious reasons, but that cannot be further from the truth.
In reality, I am merely working on Project Aeropagus in secret for one reason...
This is far too important to New Gallifrey to be languishing in committee.
In other words, it is better to ask forgiveness then to file forms in triplicate and wait for the subcommittees to convene and make a motion to consider meeting to take a poll to determine if there is enough consensus to hold a vote.
EYES ONLY
PROJECT AEROPAGUS
... the work on Project Aeropagus continues, though it's difficult to continue this without exposure to... prying eyes from other Time Lords.
I realize this sounds like I am trying to hide what I'm doing, and, I am. I also realize that, given my recent troubles, it make be reasonable to presume I am working on this project for nefarious reasons, but that cannot be further from the truth.
In reality, I am merely working on Project Aeropagus in secret for one reason...
This is far too important to New Gallifrey to be languishing in committee.
In other words, it is better to ask forgiveness then to file forms in triplicate and wait for the subcommittees to convene and make a motion to consider meeting to take a poll to determine if there is enough consensus to hold a vote.
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
PROJECT AEROPAGUS- CLASSIFIED
FILE CLASSIFIED
EYES ONLY
PROJECT AEROPAGUS
In the recent history of our people, we have experienced hostile incursions from a number of species within our borders ranging from the Chronarchs to The Abbott. While some of these species have since been deemed more benevolent, it is my belief that such potential benevolence cannot be assumed from all potential adversaries throughout time and space.The recent revelation of the continued existence of the vampires within mad-space as well as the abduction of the Gold Usher from the Citadel of the Jade Dreamers (not to mention the Cyberiad incident on the original Vanishing Point), I have come to the realization that we, as powerful as we are due to our temporal sensitivity, still require... something more.
To this end, I have begun Project Aeropagus.
In the interest of heightened security.
The technology involved seems easy enough. At least, the base technology.
I just need to add some... spice... to it.
EYES ONLY
PROJECT AEROPAGUS
In the recent history of our people, we have experienced hostile incursions from a number of species within our borders ranging from the Chronarchs to The Abbott. While some of these species have since been deemed more benevolent, it is my belief that such potential benevolence cannot be assumed from all potential adversaries throughout time and space.The recent revelation of the continued existence of the vampires within mad-space as well as the abduction of the Gold Usher from the Citadel of the Jade Dreamers (not to mention the Cyberiad incident on the original Vanishing Point), I have come to the realization that we, as powerful as we are due to our temporal sensitivity, still require... something more.
To this end, I have begun Project Aeropagus.
In the interest of heightened security.
The technology involved seems easy enough. At least, the base technology.
I just need to add some... spice... to it.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
The Seasons of Wither
Well, the Beltane ritual was... unsettling to be honest.
To begin at the beginning, as I discussed previously, I was invited to be a participant in the ritual/celebration personally by Lady Rowan. I believe, or did at the time of the invitation, that this was done as a courtesy, possibly as a way to mend some fences, or a reciprocity of my invitation for her to have a satellite office on Vanishing Point. It now seems there was, perhaps, a deeper purpose in the invitation.
I will not recount much of the arcane details of the ritual, itself, as I couldn't possibly do such.... hocus pocus justice in my words, especially since I have little understanding, or patience, for that matter, on the mystic rites of the Sisterhood. I won't deny their abilities, as I have seen them first hand, however, I have no trust of that which I cannot quantify scientifically. To my mind, there is no such thing as unknowable... simply unknown.
The ritual did appear, at first, to be proceeding as expected, though that is merely supposition on my part, as I had no idea what was ACTUALLY expected.
There were fancy, flowery words said, drums beaten and dancing, which, while clearly part of an arcane rite, I will admit, i found enjoyable, though, clearly, Bast wasn't very amused.
It was during the dancing that several, indescribably energy emanations began to form which were dramatic and all, but, mostly a light show.
It was the sudden appearance of an abstract entity in the form of some kind of faun-god that caused things to go pear-shaped, at least as far as I could tell.
The entity claimed to be Sernünnos, the mythological aspect of the wild huntsman and embodiment of chaos. I can't discount the possibility that this is his true identity, but I am skeptical. I don't have faith in the existence of such higher order (no pun intended) beings.
The entity proceeded to rage and bluster at the Pythia before eventually calming... to a degree.
At this point, I must concede the fact that my mind was mostly preoccupied with calming Bast as much as I could, as the overwhelming thought in her mind was the urge to blindly attack. I find that perhaps as disturbing as what happened next in the Sanctum, as Bast has not once, since her evolution, felt the pull of her more base instincts.
However, I was aware enough of the situation in the Sanctum to see that Rowan, after conversing with the entity, took it upon herself to leave with it.
I am not unfamiliar with matter transference as a mode of transit, and, while not having run a scan on my wrist thingy, I am quite certain that's what we witnessed. The end result, however, was as intended, I'm sure, by the entity.
They both vanished.
I have a history with the Sisterhood. I do know they function, essentially, on a different level than most Time Lords. Tuned into a different frequency, to, again, inexplicably borrow a Terran parlance. I don't pretend to understand them.
I do know, however, that I cannot trust things that occur within that Sanctum at face value.
The appearance of an "embodiment of chaos"... The disappearance of the Pythia... The arrival of the wild huntsman...
It is claimed by the Dreamers that this was prepared for by Rowan.
I cannot help but think, however, I was personally invited to this occurrence as a way of delivering some kind of veiled message to me.
It is clear that there must be a way of tracking her. Since I don't believe it wise to hold as much faith in the arcane as the Sisterhood does, I'm going to... try to keep an eye on her from Vanishing Point.
To begin at the beginning, as I discussed previously, I was invited to be a participant in the ritual/celebration personally by Lady Rowan. I believe, or did at the time of the invitation, that this was done as a courtesy, possibly as a way to mend some fences, or a reciprocity of my invitation for her to have a satellite office on Vanishing Point. It now seems there was, perhaps, a deeper purpose in the invitation.
I will not recount much of the arcane details of the ritual, itself, as I couldn't possibly do such.... hocus pocus justice in my words, especially since I have little understanding, or patience, for that matter, on the mystic rites of the Sisterhood. I won't deny their abilities, as I have seen them first hand, however, I have no trust of that which I cannot quantify scientifically. To my mind, there is no such thing as unknowable... simply unknown.
The ritual did appear, at first, to be proceeding as expected, though that is merely supposition on my part, as I had no idea what was ACTUALLY expected.
There were fancy, flowery words said, drums beaten and dancing, which, while clearly part of an arcane rite, I will admit, i found enjoyable, though, clearly, Bast wasn't very amused.
It was during the dancing that several, indescribably energy emanations began to form which were dramatic and all, but, mostly a light show.
It was the sudden appearance of an abstract entity in the form of some kind of faun-god that caused things to go pear-shaped, at least as far as I could tell.
The entity claimed to be Sernünnos, the mythological aspect of the wild huntsman and embodiment of chaos. I can't discount the possibility that this is his true identity, but I am skeptical. I don't have faith in the existence of such higher order (no pun intended) beings.
The entity proceeded to rage and bluster at the Pythia before eventually calming... to a degree.
At this point, I must concede the fact that my mind was mostly preoccupied with calming Bast as much as I could, as the overwhelming thought in her mind was the urge to blindly attack. I find that perhaps as disturbing as what happened next in the Sanctum, as Bast has not once, since her evolution, felt the pull of her more base instincts.
However, I was aware enough of the situation in the Sanctum to see that Rowan, after conversing with the entity, took it upon herself to leave with it.
I am not unfamiliar with matter transference as a mode of transit, and, while not having run a scan on my wrist thingy, I am quite certain that's what we witnessed. The end result, however, was as intended, I'm sure, by the entity.
They both vanished.
I have a history with the Sisterhood. I do know they function, essentially, on a different level than most Time Lords. Tuned into a different frequency, to, again, inexplicably borrow a Terran parlance. I don't pretend to understand them.
I do know, however, that I cannot trust things that occur within that Sanctum at face value.
The appearance of an "embodiment of chaos"... The disappearance of the Pythia... The arrival of the wild huntsman...
It is claimed by the Dreamers that this was prepared for by Rowan.
I cannot help but think, however, I was personally invited to this occurrence as a way of delivering some kind of veiled message to me.
It is clear that there must be a way of tracking her. Since I don't believe it wise to hold as much faith in the arcane as the Sisterhood does, I'm going to... try to keep an eye on her from Vanishing Point.
Friday, April 29, 2016
Fleet Week
I have mentioned before (as did the Gold Usher in her communique to me) my penchant for restoring and flying conventional spacecraft. A hobby, of course, but something I've become quite skilled at.
I've previously talked about Asteria, my first full-sized starship, and Helios, my private "yacht", as well as Asteria's shuttle, Konshu. But these are not my only ships.
Over the years, I have found and rebuilt numerous classic spacecraft and kept them either in my personal employ, given them to friends, of kept them in the service of Patrex.
I've found these derelict hulks adrift in various sectors, in various states of repair (or lack of repair) but always abandoned. No crew, no sign of what happened to them, just... floating through space. There seems to be nothing linking them in terms of location, etc...
But there IS something that has been nagging at me.
These ships all seem to have been constructed using a unified philosophy. Tachyon pulse drives of various sophistication or ion drives. Nearly identical navigation systems. Even the hull configurations bear an almost familial connection in their elegance.
It causes me to wonder...
Is there, somewhere, a space-bourne society from whose fleet these ships hail?
And, if so... Will they come looking for them?
I've previously talked about Asteria, my first full-sized starship, and Helios, my private "yacht", as well as Asteria's shuttle, Konshu. But these are not my only ships.
Over the years, I have found and rebuilt numerous classic spacecraft and kept them either in my personal employ, given them to friends, of kept them in the service of Patrex.
I've found these derelict hulks adrift in various sectors, in various states of repair (or lack of repair) but always abandoned. No crew, no sign of what happened to them, just... floating through space. There seems to be nothing linking them in terms of location, etc...
But there IS something that has been nagging at me.
These ships all seem to have been constructed using a unified philosophy. Tachyon pulse drives of various sophistication or ion drives. Nearly identical navigation systems. Even the hull configurations bear an almost familial connection in their elegance.
It causes me to wonder...
Is there, somewhere, a space-bourne society from whose fleet these ships hail?
And, if so... Will they come looking for them?
Tuesday, April 19, 2016
New Beginnings, Bridge-Building, and Unexpected Missives
It is official.
A bit over three years of my own (and The Collector's) relative time, several near design disasters and several hammer-smashed thumbs later and Vanishing Point II (I'm going to stop with the pretentious "II". It just annoys me) is up and running and accessible by the Time Lords and Ladies of New Gallifrey.
The station's A.I. (whom I have named Isaac) keeps the stations systems running well, though I do need to tweak his interpersonal systems a bit.
As fresh and clean and new and shiny as the station is, I will admit, it doesn't yet feel like home.
It will take time, I suppose.
In other news.... Bloody Earth culture... Not sure why it invades my vernacular so often. As far as I remember, I've only been there a few times...
Regardless.
Aside from the completion of Vanishing Point, I have also been attempting to build a few bridges with the government of New Gallifrey. Since I'm technically a part of it, I suppose it's time I start living up to that responsibility.
I sent a hyper-cube to the Gold Usher and now.... Pythia? (I may have been a member of the Jade Dreamers in the past, but I never did get the hang of the mystic side of them. Not sure I ever will) inviting her to have a kind of... satellite office... on Vanishing Point, since, even though the station is the Patrexe chapter house, it is still New Gallifreyan soil.
This morning, I received the following reply:
It intrigues me that Rowan has accepted my offer and has made one of her own.
Is she up to something?
I really don't know. She's always been inscrutable.
But I do know I will be welcomed to participate in the Beltane rite without being obliterated.
Or imprisoned.
Or forced to dance the Daltharan Polka for six thousand years.
That's something, anyway.
A bit over three years of my own (and The Collector's) relative time, several near design disasters and several hammer-smashed thumbs later and Vanishing Point II (I'm going to stop with the pretentious "II". It just annoys me) is up and running and accessible by the Time Lords and Ladies of New Gallifrey.
The station's A.I. (whom I have named Isaac) keeps the stations systems running well, though I do need to tweak his interpersonal systems a bit.
As fresh and clean and new and shiny as the station is, I will admit, it doesn't yet feel like home.
It will take time, I suppose.
In other news.... Bloody Earth culture... Not sure why it invades my vernacular so often. As far as I remember, I've only been there a few times...
Regardless.
Aside from the completion of Vanishing Point, I have also been attempting to build a few bridges with the government of New Gallifrey. Since I'm technically a part of it, I suppose it's time I start living up to that responsibility.
I sent a hyper-cube to the Gold Usher and now.... Pythia? (I may have been a member of the Jade Dreamers in the past, but I never did get the hang of the mystic side of them. Not sure I ever will) inviting her to have a kind of... satellite office... on Vanishing Point, since, even though the station is the Patrexe chapter house, it is still New Gallifreyan soil.
This morning, I received the following reply:
Lady Pythiaremystrætoriaquintafeiraiovisea
Gold Usher to the High Council of Time Lords
Great Mother and High Cardinal to the Chapterhouse of Jade Dreamers
Office of Gold Usher
The Panopticon
City of Lethe
New Gallifrey
19/04/16
T-T Capsule Comm: rowan.thursday
Lord Akbalrajulbindarkowaritalsahib
Commanding Officer and Governor of Vanishing Point
High Cardinal to the Chapterhouse of Patrexes
Vanishing Point Temporal Station
My Lord High Cardinal,
Formally, as Gold Usher of the Panopticon, I express that body's congratulations to you on the timely re-establishment of your Chapterhouse. A polite nothing you might think, but on deeper consideration a thought perhaps to be re-evaluated. We are both, in a sense, Housekeeper and mouthpiece to the sentient architecture, and such architecture is perforce symbolically attuned to its nestlings. The Citadel of the people of New Gallifrey greets its kin restored.
I am sorry that my warning words did not altogether preserve the folk of your Chapter from harm. What could be said, was said. Relations between my Chapter and yours have been wary for some time, since before you joined it. Did I not prophesy once that you had a long journey to take? The shadow of that future which you fear has overcast much. You must know, I think, that your own fate is uncertain but still in jeopardy - indeed I do not see your path ahead clearly. There are roads ahead which lead to ruin, others which seem brighter, but whether or which among they point to absolution from your blighted destiny, or merely postponement; no prophecy yet says. Perhaps you will think that that is well. What manner of man would choose to know the hour, minute, and manner of his final dissolution unto dust? Only he who would seek to cheat the clock - and that man stands thricefold slain, in some secret vault. Seek not his road, my friend!
Let us turn now from this dreary matter, upon which it is no hard thing to say too much.
Upon the matter of representation and access to the ceremonial rites, aboard Vanishing Point, I gratefully accept your invitation and concur, it would be appropriate that the Ceremonial Office of Registry, over which my state office administrates, should have some representation, in a sizeable community of ordained citizens such as yours. The Wild Cat is a K-Series Mobile Administrative Domicile - limited sentience, but she will serve perfectly appropriately in both spatial and secretarial terms as the representative facility of the Office of Gold Usher aboard Vanishing Point, if you are satisfied with her conduct. Please don't be overly surprised if she takes on the form of one of your private collection of vintage craft before too long - her neural matrix is young, and her chameleon circuit instincts seem to have a passion for discretion and propriety that befits this department almost to the point of parody. I occasionally suspect Nereid of spreading a certain subversive influence around the department's technology; it's the sort of thing she would find amusing. In any event, all being well I shall arrive personally to ensure that the Wild Cat has settled herself in and ordered herself appropriately, once time permits me absence from certain other duties.
In turn, I should like to formally extend to the kith and kin of your House and Chapter, and to yourself, invitation to attend the rites of the Sabbath of Beltane, held within the Sanctum of the House of Jade Dreamers, at month's end. You are aware I think, of certain legal penalties under House Law, which did hang upon you should you enter that jurisdiction, following your enforced departure therefrom. To claim that all is forgiven and forgot would be folly; the wise do not forget their lessons, and to forgive implies a prior intent of vengeance, whilst, in truth, who may yet know the measure of the threat we both guard against - least of all yourself, perhaps? Yet Beltane is a festival of energy and rebirth, new life - indeed the root in ancient tongue, belátanna, bears striking similarities to the Old High derivation væillattanü , that is, 'regeneration', and old soup should not be retained ever more unconsidered.
At my invitation you may enter in safety and with the surety of the word of the Pythia that such ongoing legal ramifications, rather than yourself, if you will forgive the pun, will be suspended in consequence, and that the watchful vigilance of the House shall preserve all as it should be.
Though Lords of Time, we can none of us erase that which is already written upon the passages of the celestial clock; nor unwind the centuries until those days ere the old Panopticon fell - or since blood and false nobility tore down the House of Prydon and set in motion this change in all our fates- but we may, I think, indeed, I believe it is the very purpose of the Great Discourse of the Titans, which is history, that we must learn from each turn of the wheel; for what is Time, but that we bear witness and set order upon it? The Wild Hunt is nothing without reason, experience, and understanding- its counterpoints and paramours in the Great Work.
Yours Sincerely,
High Cardinal Pythiaremystrætoriaquintafeiraiovisea
Gold Usher
Is she up to something?
I really don't know. She's always been inscrutable.
But I do know I will be welcomed to participate in the Beltane rite without being obliterated.
Or imprisoned.
Or forced to dance the Daltharan Polka for six thousand years.
That's something, anyway.
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Time Keeps on Slipping
If my calculations are correct, in the standard timeline, roughly two weeks have passed since the destruction of Vanishing Point... well, the OLD Vanishing Point.
That is the interesting thing about this bubble of non-space-time. Since there is no time here, it seems to pass at differing rates. It almost seems to expand or contract as to suit the needs of those within it, though that it most likely my imagination.
Regardless, while roughly two weeks may have passed OUTSIDE the bubble, The Collector and I have been hard at work WITHIN the bubble for just over three years.
And I can say that the construction of Vanishing Point II is nearing completion.
The design and technologies of the new time-space station are vastly different and improved over the previous one, with all systems having undergone a MASSIVE upgrade, from the transmats to the food machines all the way up to communications and secondary Temporal Control.
The last systems to be put into place will be Isaac, the A.I. Rasa designed for the station, and the new dimensional transduction gate.
I've run some tests on Isaac and, while he is able to run the station very well and perform all necessary tasks... his interpersonal skills are... well, let's just say I'm hoping he learns quickly. Still, being the Time Lord designed "brain" of the new Vanishing Point, his presence will prevent the possibility of a repeat of the fate of the old station.
And, just in case, I'm going to keep a few extra... protective measures.
That is the interesting thing about this bubble of non-space-time. Since there is no time here, it seems to pass at differing rates. It almost seems to expand or contract as to suit the needs of those within it, though that it most likely my imagination.
Regardless, while roughly two weeks may have passed OUTSIDE the bubble, The Collector and I have been hard at work WITHIN the bubble for just over three years.
And I can say that the construction of Vanishing Point II is nearing completion.
The design and technologies of the new time-space station are vastly different and improved over the previous one, with all systems having undergone a MASSIVE upgrade, from the transmats to the food machines all the way up to communications and secondary Temporal Control.
The last systems to be put into place will be Isaac, the A.I. Rasa designed for the station, and the new dimensional transduction gate.
I've run some tests on Isaac and, while he is able to run the station very well and perform all necessary tasks... his interpersonal skills are... well, let's just say I'm hoping he learns quickly. Still, being the Time Lord designed "brain" of the new Vanishing Point, his presence will prevent the possibility of a repeat of the fate of the old station.
And, just in case, I'm going to keep a few extra... protective measures.
Saturday, April 9, 2016
If I Only had a Positronic Neural Net
The design work and planning for the new Vanishing Point has begun. It's surprising how many improvements I'm able to incorporate now that I have the ability to build it from scratch using proper Time Lord technology.
The main systems are all a quantum super-leap over the previous station. Sensors, communications, temporal back-up... all thousands of years more advanced than the earlier incarnation. Even the transmat system has been improved to the point that the old one might as well have been a covered wagon.
The non-time-space bubble in which the previous Vanishing Point was situated has finally stabilized, and so construction will be there.
Early in the planning phase of this project, I realized the true advantage of the upgraded systems. Artificial Intelligence.
I realize that some may think this idea foolish, given the fate of the earlier station, however, the is, dare I say, method to my madness (at least in this instance).
The Cyberiad code which had infested Vanishing Point I had proven completely incapable if infecting the Time Lord components of the station. This station will be composed entirely of said components. An artificial intelligence designed with Time Lord technology and systems would be equally impervious to that code. It would also give the station the ability to actively fight back against any such digital incursion.
Also, any remnant of the Cyberiad code was obliterated when Vanishing Point I was destroyed, but that's a different matter.
So, I am going to install an advanced AI on Vanishing Point II.
There is, however, one small hitch to my plan.
My skills with designing and creating artificially intelligent systems is slightly superior to my skills with weaving straw into planet-destroying super weapons, which is to say... non-existent.
So, I have been in contact with Rasa, from Arcal. The creation and programming of AI are amoung his specialties. I will admit, I contacted him based on reputation, as I have not encountered his expertise in this matter, myself. I can only hope it's not on par with his TT Capsule piloting. (Rasa, if you've accessed these logs, I kid.)
My hope is that Rasa with be able to design an AI capable of running the station autonomously, keeping life support, gravity, etc running while making any adjustments necessary to the trans-dimensional anchor keeping the station stable in its non-time-space bubble.
And to serve drinks.
The main systems are all a quantum super-leap over the previous station. Sensors, communications, temporal back-up... all thousands of years more advanced than the earlier incarnation. Even the transmat system has been improved to the point that the old one might as well have been a covered wagon.
The non-time-space bubble in which the previous Vanishing Point was situated has finally stabilized, and so construction will be there.
Early in the planning phase of this project, I realized the true advantage of the upgraded systems. Artificial Intelligence.
I realize that some may think this idea foolish, given the fate of the earlier station, however, the is, dare I say, method to my madness (at least in this instance).
The Cyberiad code which had infested Vanishing Point I had proven completely incapable if infecting the Time Lord components of the station. This station will be composed entirely of said components. An artificial intelligence designed with Time Lord technology and systems would be equally impervious to that code. It would also give the station the ability to actively fight back against any such digital incursion.
Also, any remnant of the Cyberiad code was obliterated when Vanishing Point I was destroyed, but that's a different matter.
So, I am going to install an advanced AI on Vanishing Point II.
There is, however, one small hitch to my plan.
My skills with designing and creating artificially intelligent systems is slightly superior to my skills with weaving straw into planet-destroying super weapons, which is to say... non-existent.
So, I have been in contact with Rasa, from Arcal. The creation and programming of AI are amoung his specialties. I will admit, I contacted him based on reputation, as I have not encountered his expertise in this matter, myself. I can only hope it's not on par with his TT Capsule piloting. (Rasa, if you've accessed these logs, I kid.)
My hope is that Rasa with be able to design an AI capable of running the station autonomously, keeping life support, gravity, etc running while making any adjustments necessary to the trans-dimensional anchor keeping the station stable in its non-time-space bubble.
And to serve drinks.
Monday, April 4, 2016
Dwindling Numbers and Homelessness
Recording this from Bifrost now. An odd feeling, since it's been a long time since I've done that.
I've had a few days to let sink in all I've lost recently.
Two of my Ordinals are missing. SOMEWHERE in time and space, since Studera was materializing when Vanishing Point detonated. We have had no contact from them, no response to our hails, and no trace of the TT Capsule at all.
Then, there's Vanishing Point.
As I've said before, I SHOULD have wanted to obliterate the place straight off. For some reason, though, I grew attached to the place. A part of me broke when I had to blow the place. It was also Patrex's chapter house. Now it's gone. For the nonce, we are using Asteria. A bit ... cozy, but she'll serve.
And, finally, Ned.
Okay, that's really more a loss for The Collector than for me, but, still, it's a loss.
So now I'm left trying to pick up the pieces.
I've asked The Kat to search for Dracony and Henry, which she's now off doing. No idea when she'll be back, or if she'll be back with them.
I'm preparing for the inevitable investigations, interviews and inquests that will follow. Given my past, I'm fairly certain they will be thorough, decidedly uncomfortable and likely involve microscopes inserted in places microscopes are not designed to go. Regardless, I'm prepared for them. In this particular case, I am innocent.
Nataleigh, having lost Ned, has been traveling with me for a time. I'll admit, it does make me nostalgic for our earlier escapades, which, being a respectable Cardinal now, I will NOT relate here.
We are running scans for both Studera and Ned (And Idare, which either ran away with Ned or vice versa. It's hard to tell, given everything else running through my brain.) and I am planning.
Specifically, as I said previously, I am going to build a new time-space station. I am working on designs and systems for the new station.
If I wasn't still stinging from my recent losses, I would likely be feeling like a Dh'rchk during a feeding frenzy.
Vanishing Point was built quickly by a megalomaniac and slave labour out of technology which was of a lower level than that of Time Lords. It always felt like it was going to fall apart any moment and I often had to hit things with a spanner to get them to function properly.
This time, I'm designing it and will be in charge of the systems and construction. This time, it will be built using technology that is considered cutting edge by the Time Lords.
We still have access to the bubble that Vanishing Point sat in, though scans have shown it to be somewhat unstable at the moment. I believe it is still experiencing shock waves from the destruction of Vanishing Point. Bifrost is continuing to monitor. If it stabilizes, we will build the station there. If not, I will request permission to create a new bubble.
If there was anything that could even be REMOTELY considered a slight positive to come out of my experiences with my future incarnation, it's that I've had time to study the engineering used to create the bubble and I THINK I can replicate it.
As for the new station, I have decided I will call it Vanishing Point, like its predecessor, though for my own reasons.
It is where, I promise, my previous destiny vanished.
I've had a few days to let sink in all I've lost recently.
Two of my Ordinals are missing. SOMEWHERE in time and space, since Studera was materializing when Vanishing Point detonated. We have had no contact from them, no response to our hails, and no trace of the TT Capsule at all.
Then, there's Vanishing Point.
As I've said before, I SHOULD have wanted to obliterate the place straight off. For some reason, though, I grew attached to the place. A part of me broke when I had to blow the place. It was also Patrex's chapter house. Now it's gone. For the nonce, we are using Asteria. A bit ... cozy, but she'll serve.
And, finally, Ned.
Okay, that's really more a loss for The Collector than for me, but, still, it's a loss.
So now I'm left trying to pick up the pieces.
I've asked The Kat to search for Dracony and Henry, which she's now off doing. No idea when she'll be back, or if she'll be back with them.
I'm preparing for the inevitable investigations, interviews and inquests that will follow. Given my past, I'm fairly certain they will be thorough, decidedly uncomfortable and likely involve microscopes inserted in places microscopes are not designed to go. Regardless, I'm prepared for them. In this particular case, I am innocent.
Nataleigh, having lost Ned, has been traveling with me for a time. I'll admit, it does make me nostalgic for our earlier escapades, which, being a respectable Cardinal now, I will NOT relate here.
We are running scans for both Studera and Ned (And Idare, which either ran away with Ned or vice versa. It's hard to tell, given everything else running through my brain.) and I am planning.
Specifically, as I said previously, I am going to build a new time-space station. I am working on designs and systems for the new station.
If I wasn't still stinging from my recent losses, I would likely be feeling like a Dh'rchk during a feeding frenzy.
Vanishing Point was built quickly by a megalomaniac and slave labour out of technology which was of a lower level than that of Time Lords. It always felt like it was going to fall apart any moment and I often had to hit things with a spanner to get them to function properly.
This time, I'm designing it and will be in charge of the systems and construction. This time, it will be built using technology that is considered cutting edge by the Time Lords.
We still have access to the bubble that Vanishing Point sat in, though scans have shown it to be somewhat unstable at the moment. I believe it is still experiencing shock waves from the destruction of Vanishing Point. Bifrost is continuing to monitor. If it stabilizes, we will build the station there. If not, I will request permission to create a new bubble.
If there was anything that could even be REMOTELY considered a slight positive to come out of my experiences with my future incarnation, it's that I've had time to study the engineering used to create the bubble and I THINK I can replicate it.
As for the new station, I have decided I will call it Vanishing Point, like its predecessor, though for my own reasons.
It is where, I promise, my previous destiny vanished.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Vanished Point
I should have seen it coming.
Seriously.
It's not like I didn't know the Chronarchs had incorporated Cyberiad technology into their own.
I was held prisoner on that station for over a century. Once freed, and having taken possession of it for New Gallifrey, I restored the systems myself, patching in Time Lord technology where I could.
I SHOULD have seen it coming.
Okay, let's start where I left off...
I locked Vanishing Point down because of this virus. I couldn't trust it to not cause harm, or worse, somehow infiltrate a TT Capsule. It was bad enough that it had taken over so much of Vanishing Point, a time-space station siting at the nexus of two distinct universes. Giving it domain over time, as well would be cataclysmic.
And so, I gathered a team of those specializing in robotics, artificial intelligence, as well as telepaths, an agent from the Celestial Intervention Agency, and, through sheer happenstance, a Constable with the Chancellery Guard, who had been tasked with bringing a shuttle craft in for me to examine and, if necessary, repair.
I'll note, at this time, that both Dracony and Henry were aboard Studera and en route. I received communication that Studera seemed to be refusing to approach the station.
We gathered at Vanishing Point after I reopened the dimensional transduction gate and began a sensor sweep of various systems, starting with Temporal Control to see if it had managed to infiltrate any of the Time Lord systems. It hadn't, but we still found some odd and unexpected things.
The Collector managed to find traces of some kind of silver dust that seemed to exude trace energy, the likes of which none of us were familiar. It was... no help.
Our next stop was ops. An area which was largely still built with Chronarch systems, hence, far more vulnerable. It was here that things began going wrong.
Our sensors and scanners indicated we were surrounded by this code. REDACTED theorized this silver dust we found may have been the actual code and that we weren't dealing with a mere program, but possibly a physical presence. Even at this point, I don't know if that theory was right, wrong, or somewhere in between.
Regardless, though, some members of the team displayed signs of agitation and wanted to get out of ops. I'll admit, if this behaviour had been displayed by anyone else, I'd have suspected the virus had somehow made the jump to biological entities, but, given who was displaying these behaviours, I knew, instead, we were definitely dealing with a sentient bit of technology.
During our investigation in ops, our Constable triggered some kind of feedback in one of the control terminals which caused the virus to flee the chamber and my wrist thingy traced it to the medical level. Rather intense worry began to swell in me upon finding this out. We hurried to that level.
It was here that my worst fears were realized.
It was clear the code had made its way to the nano-gene lab. I am cursing myself for not upgrading the lab to match the one in Bifrost. There just... seemed to be more priorities, and the lab was always something of a back up in my mind. But I should be BETTER than that.
When we arrived in the nano-gene lab, the main chamber was already active, the nano cloud roiling about a vaguely humanoid form.
When it was scanned, it became clear what we had been dealing with...
A Cyberiad base code.
The beginnings of a new Cyberiad.
And it had found a way to start its army.
In the chamber was... well... I'm not sure how to describe it.
It was almost a proto-Cyberman, but not solid. It was almost gaseous.
And it was composed of millions of individual nano-genes, each with a full copy of the code. Each one capable of fully converting a life form into a full Cyberman, infused with nano-genes with the same, self-replicating code.
A nearly unstoppable army the size of a single man.
While I don't know for sure, I theorize the only reason we survived was due to it not having a full understanding yet of its true nature.
REDACTED and I tried to hold this... thing off as it approached, while the Collector led the rest of the team to Asteria and the shuttle the Constable had brought in for study and Nataleigh's own ship, Tinkerbell.
Some people may question why TTCs weren't brought in.
Those people are, frankly, idiots.
We couldn't risk that thing or its code gaining control of a time travel device.
So the shuttle and Tinkerbell launched. Asteria couldn't be powered up in time, but she was undocked and her shields raised.
REDACTED and I then transmatted to Helios.
There was... no choice.
I had to trigger Vanishing Point's self destruct.
It was at this point, we lost all contact with Studera. I can only surmise the blast blew the TT Capsule, and my Ordinals off course. For now, they are lost.
The three ships were flown through the debris field to a temporal gate, leading us to SL space...
And Vanishing Point was gone.
I will reiterate here what I told the gathered (and shaken) members of my team once we landed by the Eye of Orion.
New Gallifrey needs a time-space station.
Vanishing Point fell into our laps, but we made it work for us.
Now, it's gone.
But I will rebuild.
A new Vanishing Point, constructed of proper Time Lord technology.
Seriously.
It's not like I didn't know the Chronarchs had incorporated Cyberiad technology into their own.
I was held prisoner on that station for over a century. Once freed, and having taken possession of it for New Gallifrey, I restored the systems myself, patching in Time Lord technology where I could.
I SHOULD have seen it coming.
Okay, let's start where I left off...
I locked Vanishing Point down because of this virus. I couldn't trust it to not cause harm, or worse, somehow infiltrate a TT Capsule. It was bad enough that it had taken over so much of Vanishing Point, a time-space station siting at the nexus of two distinct universes. Giving it domain over time, as well would be cataclysmic.
And so, I gathered a team of those specializing in robotics, artificial intelligence, as well as telepaths, an agent from the Celestial Intervention Agency, and, through sheer happenstance, a Constable with the Chancellery Guard, who had been tasked with bringing a shuttle craft in for me to examine and, if necessary, repair.
I'll note, at this time, that both Dracony and Henry were aboard Studera and en route. I received communication that Studera seemed to be refusing to approach the station.
We gathered at Vanishing Point after I reopened the dimensional transduction gate and began a sensor sweep of various systems, starting with Temporal Control to see if it had managed to infiltrate any of the Time Lord systems. It hadn't, but we still found some odd and unexpected things.
The Collector managed to find traces of some kind of silver dust that seemed to exude trace energy, the likes of which none of us were familiar. It was... no help.
Our next stop was ops. An area which was largely still built with Chronarch systems, hence, far more vulnerable. It was here that things began going wrong.
Our sensors and scanners indicated we were surrounded by this code. REDACTED theorized this silver dust we found may have been the actual code and that we weren't dealing with a mere program, but possibly a physical presence. Even at this point, I don't know if that theory was right, wrong, or somewhere in between.
Regardless, though, some members of the team displayed signs of agitation and wanted to get out of ops. I'll admit, if this behaviour had been displayed by anyone else, I'd have suspected the virus had somehow made the jump to biological entities, but, given who was displaying these behaviours, I knew, instead, we were definitely dealing with a sentient bit of technology.
During our investigation in ops, our Constable triggered some kind of feedback in one of the control terminals which caused the virus to flee the chamber and my wrist thingy traced it to the medical level. Rather intense worry began to swell in me upon finding this out. We hurried to that level.
It was here that my worst fears were realized.
It was clear the code had made its way to the nano-gene lab. I am cursing myself for not upgrading the lab to match the one in Bifrost. There just... seemed to be more priorities, and the lab was always something of a back up in my mind. But I should be BETTER than that.
When we arrived in the nano-gene lab, the main chamber was already active, the nano cloud roiling about a vaguely humanoid form.
When it was scanned, it became clear what we had been dealing with...
A Cyberiad base code.
The beginnings of a new Cyberiad.
And it had found a way to start its army.
In the chamber was... well... I'm not sure how to describe it.
It was almost a proto-Cyberman, but not solid. It was almost gaseous.
And it was composed of millions of individual nano-genes, each with a full copy of the code. Each one capable of fully converting a life form into a full Cyberman, infused with nano-genes with the same, self-replicating code.
A nearly unstoppable army the size of a single man.
While I don't know for sure, I theorize the only reason we survived was due to it not having a full understanding yet of its true nature.
REDACTED and I tried to hold this... thing off as it approached, while the Collector led the rest of the team to Asteria and the shuttle the Constable had brought in for study and Nataleigh's own ship, Tinkerbell.
Some people may question why TTCs weren't brought in.
Those people are, frankly, idiots.
We couldn't risk that thing or its code gaining control of a time travel device.
So the shuttle and Tinkerbell launched. Asteria couldn't be powered up in time, but she was undocked and her shields raised.
REDACTED and I then transmatted to Helios.
There was... no choice.
I had to trigger Vanishing Point's self destruct.
It was at this point, we lost all contact with Studera. I can only surmise the blast blew the TT Capsule, and my Ordinals off course. For now, they are lost.
The three ships were flown through the debris field to a temporal gate, leading us to SL space...
And Vanishing Point was gone.
I will reiterate here what I told the gathered (and shaken) members of my team once we landed by the Eye of Orion.
New Gallifrey needs a time-space station.
Vanishing Point fell into our laps, but we made it work for us.
Now, it's gone.
But I will rebuild.
A new Vanishing Point, constructed of proper Time Lord technology.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Shutting the Door
That infernal bit of code is getting clever.
And, I think it's spreading. It's not hiding from me anymore and it seems to be infesting almost all of the non-Time Lord systems throughout the station. I still can't determine the origin or purpose of it, though.
At this point, I need help. Though I am aware of my capabilities and confident in their superiority, I am also aware of my limits.
This situation is going to need some extra eyes. I'm going to need to recruit a team to investigate this situation. I'll need experts on dimensional portal technology, artificial intelligence, robotics and likely some more telepathic individuals.
Until then, I am going to shut down the dimensional passages to Vanishing Point and lock down the station.
If my theory is correct, this... virus... is not just intelligent, but possibly alive.
Yesterday, I was given a hypercube by Morr, who had received it at a ceremony in the Panopticon. It contained a prophesy by Her Hi.... the Gold Usher and High Seeress. Rowan's contacting me with such a prophesy has me concerned. While relations between her and myself have become less adversarial of late, old wounds take time to heal. For her to contact me like this, even through an intermediary, is a sign that something BIG is on the horizon. The prophesy is... troubling.
It strikes me that this code may have its origins in my...hopefully... aborted future. I can't know for sure yet.
Either way, I can't afford for this riddle to go unsolved.
Other, help me. I am going to need to ask the Agency to help me on this.
And, I think it's spreading. It's not hiding from me anymore and it seems to be infesting almost all of the non-Time Lord systems throughout the station. I still can't determine the origin or purpose of it, though.
At this point, I need help. Though I am aware of my capabilities and confident in their superiority, I am also aware of my limits.
This situation is going to need some extra eyes. I'm going to need to recruit a team to investigate this situation. I'll need experts on dimensional portal technology, artificial intelligence, robotics and likely some more telepathic individuals.
Until then, I am going to shut down the dimensional passages to Vanishing Point and lock down the station.
If my theory is correct, this... virus... is not just intelligent, but possibly alive.
Yesterday, I was given a hypercube by Morr, who had received it at a ceremony in the Panopticon. It contained a prophesy by Her Hi.... the Gold Usher and High Seeress. Rowan's contacting me with such a prophesy has me concerned. While relations between her and myself have become less adversarial of late, old wounds take time to heal. For her to contact me like this, even through an intermediary, is a sign that something BIG is on the horizon. The prophesy is... troubling.
"Tell him that the mark is still upon him. This place has known fire- and it shall know it again. Warn him that he draws nigh to a fork in the road, and its signpost shall be a bonfire of purification and renewal - yet it is but a milestone, not salvation itself.
Three high passes lead through the mountains, all high and perilous, and two of these lead to damnation. One path alone may save him from the fire set out to await him, but take heed; let not ambition set the course, nor wrath, nor sloth, lust, gluttony, nor yet pride and avarice, for it is an empty road, which leads, if followed in full, to the fallen one with twicefold shadow, the fate he knows, and there are many forks on that mountain road; one alone, and heed it- not the most likely, may guide him from fire and shadow alike, but it is yet hidden from us, which road he shall take.
This shall be his doom, to seek and choose - and he must accept the peril and walk into the mountain passes, or else he shall surely fail. There shall be a sign for light, and a sign for dark- but the sign of light remains hidden. The sign of dark he knows- should it come to pass, he shall see and cry out his name in emptiness and bitter wrath- and the wind shall take it, and return it to him changed, and altogether damned. This is the road he must not take.”
It strikes me that this code may have its origins in my...hopefully... aborted future. I can't know for sure yet.
Either way, I can't afford for this riddle to go unsolved.
Other, help me. I am going to need to ask the Agency to help me on this.
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