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.

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.

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.

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.