In Space, No One Can Hear You Deflate

Concurrently with the experiences of the unknown Time Lady and newly transgender TTC with the Silver Twist, Lestor sent a message to sapphire, emerald and myself in my TARDIS via sub-etha requesting we rendezvous on Bruce. I relayed this request to the rest of the Killing Time Alliance and set my ship's trans temporal coordinates to the home planet of our merry band of misfits. My sister responded with the simple message of "Retired. Bugger off!", so it was clear she would not be returning anytime soon.


Upon materialization, we stepped out onto the planet's surface and found it had changed some in the time we were away. For example, the ocean which formed during Rowan's regeneration was now teeming with sea life from a myriad of worlds, though, for some unknown reason, were all the same shade of bright green. This caused sapphire to begin referring to it as the Lime Sea, though, having tasted it, myself, I can attest it was in fact NOT lime flavoured, but more had a flavour combination of strawberry, tequila and rhinoceros sweat.


As we were getting re acclimated to Bruce, Lestor's Time Travel Capsule materialized next.


As he stepped out, we noticed his new regeneration: Blond, longish hair, and, inexplicably, dressed in a white dinner jacket, formal trousers and a pair of blue trainers. He was followed by the young Portuguese lady (and her regeneration-causing breasts), whom he introduced as Noctem.


Interesting fact about the name Noctem: It exists on countless worlds throughout the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash, with vastly different meanings on each. For example, on Lyzando 7, the name Noctem translates to "Dreamer of Creation", whereas on Boros, it translates to "More ale, I still have clothes on".


As we were getting caught up, Nereid materialized and Rowan disembarked with a Time Lady none of us recognized, whom she referred to as Kylie. Her arrival and meeting of Rowan is a story for another time, which I told you all four years ago and if you can't remember it, this is not my fault.


Finally, the final TARDIS of our group arrived and out stepped her only passenger... Skippy.


We all, of course, inquired about the whereabouts of Tristan. "Long story," Replied the fez-adorned kangaroo, " so best we all get drinks."


A few moments later, we were all sat about in beach chairs (with the exception of Rowan, who was, obviously, more comfortable in the Lime Sea, being a Mer-Time Lady) and Skippy regaled us with the tale.


It seems that after we all went our separate ways, Tristan and Skippy decided to set out on a pub crawl.


It should be noted that pub crawls have a whole different scale when one has access to time and space travel. It means, essentially, that one does not attempt to have a pint at every pub along a stretch of road or in a town within the space of a night. It means, instead, that one attempts to have a pint at every pub in existence at every moment in its existence before one's liver leaps from one's body and, having gained self-sentience, decides to literally beat one to death out of revenge.


It seems, during the course of this multi-planetary, trans-temporal pub crawl, Tristan had gone from his usual somewhat randy self to attempting to copulate with anything possessing a pulse (and many things lacking one) It became his driving purpose, apparently.


It was during this time that Tristan decided to set his TTC to a temporally stationary position in space, open the door, extend the air corridor and have a bit of zero-gravity fornication with an inflatable sex doll modell after Dr. Zira from the Terran film Planet of the Apes. His odd choice of partners, notwithstanding, I can't say I blame him for this action, as I've done this, myself a number of times, though I generally do so with the live passengers within my ship... Mmmmm... Sorry... Where was I?


Right. Tristan had set the parking brake correctly in his Capsule and had, as I said, remembered to extend the air corridor, before he began his escapades. What he had FORGOTTEN however, was to activate the shields.


I must inform you all at this time that micro-meteors are a bitch.


One such micro-meteor punctured Tristan's partner, causing a small leak of air...


The high-squeaky sound of the leak died off as the small but fast stream of air escaped, acting as a jet in the gravity-free environment of space, propelling Tristan and his latex concubine faster and faster... Toward a dwarf star.


To those non-Gallifreyns who may be reading this, understand that, yes, a Time Lord CAN regenerate most mortal injuries, incineration at the heart of a dwarf star is a tricky matter. There is only one way for even a Time Lord to survive incineration at the heart of a dwarf star. By never actually being drawn into the heart of a dwarf star in the first place.


Tristan was not so lucky.


And so, we were gathered again on Bruce, having lost two of our number, and gaining two more. And being thoroughly surprised by the sudden arrival of what can best be described as an eighty foot, fire-breathing halibut.


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Twisted.

Yes, I am going to be tangential right now, which is to say, I am going to discuss something related to my story, but not directly a part of it, and not tangential in the fact that I will create a divergent timeline with a separate existence for all the players involved in my story, since I did that a year from now.

There exist many wonders throughout the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash. Things that are simply a sight of beauty, like the Medusa Cascade, or places of absolute pure relaxation and peace, such as the Eye of Orion, or, should one be interested, there are more aesthetically dadaist wonders, such as the Dung Belt of Adoros Epsilon.

This belt is exactly as one would expect from the name.

There are seven inhabited planets in the Adoros Epsilon system. Through some unexplained gravimetric properties of the system, all solid biological waste expelled from the lifeforms in this system is pulled into a large, orbiting belt positioned just beyond the orbit of the fifth world of Adoros Epsilon.

Needless to say, those in the outlying two worlds have no actual contact with the beings on the inner five, and vice-versa.

This phenomenon has given rise to the tourism marketing slogan created by Universal Holidays for Less: "Adoros Epsilon: The Most Mysterious Shit You'll Ever Encounter."

Counted among these odd wonders is the unassumingly named Silver Twist.

The Silver Twist is located just outside of Mutter's Spiral, but separated from everything else by one nano-second. This is interesting, as no matter when you arrive at its location, you are ALWAYS one nano-second early for viewing the Silver Twist.

The reality is, however, this is fortunate.

While the existence of the Silver Twist is known, its origins, make up, and even its properties are not. Not even to the Time Lords.

There are many theories, of course.

Some say that is is the last remnant of an old god, kept there by shear force of will.

Others say it is a separation of the Whole General Kind of Mish-Mash, allowing a peek into the great before if one can only solve the true riddle of how to fully encounter it.

Still others believe that the Silver Twist is the total supply of expired sour cream within the Whole General Kind of Mish-Mash, drawn into this great mass, then finally able to express its supernatural sentience.

Whatever the truth is, no one really can ever know the truth.


Except one being.

It is at this point in my story, I must describe a set of circumstances that is so unlikely, it can best be described as "I just now made this up because it sounds plausible", though it did in fact happen.

A heretofore unknown Time Lady was piloting her Time Travel Capsule in the general vicinity of Mutter's Spiral. Not aimlessly, of course. Her mission was to hijack the lawn furniture of a 21st century businessman named Bill Gates. Said lawn furniture had no intrinsic value, but this particular Time Lady had a bit of an obsession with collecting rare items.

During this time, as she was piloting her TTC, she was also making herself a drink using Benito Mussolini's cappuccino maker.

Interesting thing about Mussolini: He DID, in fact, keep the trains running on time...

But he had no idea how to repair a cappuccino maker.

It exploded.

This knocked the Time Lady into the console of her TARDIS, and, by complete coincidence, FELL into the exact correct controls in the precisely correct order to send her TARDIS straight through the Silver Twist.

The strange and unknowable energies enveloped and tossed her Capsule throughout the Whole General Kind of Mish-Mash and, in the space of an instant, she, her TTC and everything contained within ceased to ever have existed, then snapped back.

The Time Lady, of course, noticed none of this.

She was too busy trying to mop foam out of the Gravitic Anomalizer to notice.

It was at this time, however, a previously perfectly ordinary Gallifreyan Type 65 Time Travel Capsule made a most extraordinary lifestyle choice.

Regeneration Done Right

It took roughly a full Terran year, but Lestor FINALLY had his new Time Travel Capsule. Since it was a completely custom build (and, I will admit, impressive) it had been given the designation Type B, which didn't fit into the standard TARDIS designations, but apparently was short for Type Boobie.

Upon its completion, Lestor took it for a shake-down cruise, attempting to find us.

His new TTC had a fully integrated telepathic link to him. Unlike any of his previous capsules, his new one was capable of taking him to any point in space and time merely by reading his thoughts. No actual controls were needed. All he needed to do was think of a location, time, person or object, and the Type B would lock on and travel there.

The theory behind this type of navigation system was simple: if one eliminates the need for manually setting (or, in some of the newer TARDISes, verbally setting) trans-temporal coordinates, then it would not just simplify travel, but it would also eliminate any danger incurred by spilling food or drink on the console.

It is important to note at this time that Time Lords, while a tremendously stuffy and pretentious race while observed publicly, have a tendency to be a bit more relaxed while on our own, including such activities as eating muffins and having larger over our TARDIS consoles, which is often the reason we end up places we never intended.

As I said, this is the theory of this type of navigation system.

The REALITY, however, is somewhat different.

You see, the telepathic navigation systems worked TOO well.

It didn't simply interface with a Time Lord's conscious thoughts, but with the subconscious as well.

Actually, more accurately stated, the telepathic navigation system PREFERRED to interface with the subconscious.

Three hundred years after its design, the Time Lords would discover the reason for this is the navigation systems for the Type B were a bit...cheeky.

And so, Lestor consciously thought "I need to find my sister and The Madman."

A simple thought, to be honest.

What his subconscious thought, and, subsequently, what his TTC acted upon was "I REALLY need to find a nice pair of tits!"

And so, with remarkable efficiency, Lestor's TARDIS dematerialized and headed off through the Vortex.

Taking him to, perhaps, the one place he never expected to go.

His Capsule materialized in mid air, taking the form of a kite and automatically opened her main doors, proceeding to dump in out into the air.

Above Portugal in 2014.

Specifically over a topless beach in Portugal.

Lestor landed face-first into the cleavage of a well endowed Portuguese woman with black hair, and there, suffucated, with a smile on his face.

The woman, of course, screamed.

And again when he began regenerating between her breasts.