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.

The Feast of Stephen Colbert

Six months had passed since those events on Bruce. In the intervening time, some things had happened within our merry band of Killing Time.

Gothess had returned to her mission to find the Mighty Xylophone of Wendy, which, I had come to learn, was inappropriately named, as it was actually a tuba created and owned by someone named Sylvia, but I will never pretend to understand Clockworks.

Lestor had set off on a trip to Vloom Major Gamma with Khanteey with the statement "See you in about a century." This was, however, not to be the case, as he returned about a week later, sans companion or TTC, remarking only that he'd "forgotten where he'd parked them."

Sabrae was kind enough to give him a lift to New Gallifrey, where, last we heard, he was commissioning a new, custom Capsule, having driven seven of the most renowned TARDIS builders there to the point of being dribbling shells of Time Lords and one to simply give up on existing altogether, based on his frequent requested changes.

After dropping Lestor off, Sabrae proceeded to go on an extended sabbatical on Knikkalbak, given its naturally occuring oceanic dark roast.

It should be noted at this time that Knikkalbak is, in fact, now a desert planet. This process took my sister approximately three weeks time, though she did regenerate in the middle, which is likely why it took so long.

Tristan and Skippy set off for parts unknown, though it is likely they are linked to the Great Traffic Cone Disappearance of 2017 on Earth.

Rowan, having realized that my TARDIS was apparently a bad influence on Nereid, also took a leave of absence. It was during this time, she materialized in London in 2012, during the openning ceremonies of that year's Olympic Games. Her chameleon circuit, working properly, took a proper form... The Torch, which she'd accidentally materialized around prior to it's lighting. This, of course, meant that it was Nereid that was lit that evening. I understand she's still nursing a bit of a grudge.


This left sapphire, emerald and myself.

We decided one morning that we wanted to go and witness one of the most important moments in Terran history: the invention of Silly Putty.

And so, I set the trans-temporal coordinates and we entered the vortex.

Upon materialization, we discovered we had not arrived in the proper place in space-time. We had, instead, materialized in Cardiff, specifically Roald Dahl Plass, in 2014. Additionally, my capsule had jumped from SL space into N space.

Upon leaving the TARDIS (which had, for unknown reason, taken the form to a caravan), we were greeted by a rather excited (more accurately irritated) bloke with a clipboard and a sizable pair of headphones on. Though speaking English, it was clear he was American by his mangling of the language. We managed to get him calm enough to make sense and he began explaining what was going on.

We had materialized in the filming area of a Terran television programme called "Professor Relativity", which is clearly a thinly veiled attempt by me to avoid another lawsuit.

It seems they were filming the annual Christmas special, and they were introducing both a new star (as the programmes lead character underwent a periodic change in appearance, referred to as "having a cast change") and a new associate of the Professor. The actors portraying them, apparently someone named "Depp" and someone named "Colbert" respectively, had a bit of a falling out over the fact that I needed a plot point here.

And so, it fell to us to reconcile them so as the shoot could continue.

There is an old saying on Tau Epsilon Bernard:

"If people cannot resolve their differences over a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, then have another. If they cannot resolve their differences over a second Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, then have a third. If they cannot resolve their differences over a third Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster, let them have a fourth, but it is legally required and environmentally smart to burn their bodies after."

And so. sapphire, emerald and I wrangled the two stubborn actors into my Time Travel Capsule and down to the pub, where we all began drinking and trying to work out their differences.

This, of course, worked marvellously, and the five of us have little memory of what happened after the first round, nor how or why Depp's underpants are, to this day, stapled to the wall of the pub.

However, in the end, the differences were worked out and the production continued apace.

The three of us left, having been struck by the Christmas spirit of the programme, decided to celebrate Christmas (calendars having no purpose within a TARDIS, the time of us doing this was arbitrary) with the traditional naked wrestling in chocolate syrup.

Oh....

Incidentally, a happy Christmas to all of you at home!

You Say You Want A Revolution

Odd dreams of a fictional lemur monarch brought on by a bedtime story told by Sabrae not withstanding, there was, in fact, no incursion of daleks on Bruce at that time.

After Gothess' explanation of her mission, and an... interesting attempt at a two-being cricket match between Skippy and Julio (which somehow involved such odd side-activities as juggling juke boxes, shaving halibut, and a mock wedding between Tristan and a small bowl of guacamole), we discussed how to best pool our resources to accomplish our disparate goals.

During this discussion, we were a touch startled by the somewhat deafening impact of a meteorite in the distance, followed by a plume of dust and the strange sound of something inflating. In retrospect, this should have been investigated.

It is at this time I should explain something of my personal philosophy regarding strategy.

The sentient mind, even that of a Time Lord, behaves in certain, predictable patterns. Even my experience being merged with the vortex didn't change that fact of my own thought process. While most sentient beings couldn't quite follow my version of logic, it could still be predicted. This fact made stategizing, normally, a waste of time on the level of watching an episode of the American television programme "Elementary" and trying to suss out whose brilliant plan it was to have an Asian-American female play Doctor Watson.

However, if a variable is added into the thought process, strategy and thought becomes less predicatble, and therefore, more effective.

For this reason, our discussions with Gothess included copious consumption of Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters in an effort to loosen up the grey cells.

 It should, therefore, stand to reason that we were not overly interested in investigating the meteor impact, nor the inflating sound.

We were, however, far more interested in the sudden (and, in reality, inevitable) attack of an 80 foot inflatable sex doll wearing a french maid outfit.

The giant inflate-a-date descended on us with a sound that can best be describe as an ominous squeeking of latex, knocking the larked TARDISes about and causing all sorts of havok.

Even in our somewhat non-existent state of mind, we understood the threat. Unfortunately, the only weapons any of us possessed were in our currently scattered TTCs and the extent of our ability to defend ourselves seemed to consist of a cricket bat and Tristan's newly wedded avacado-based dip/bride. Both proved completely ineffective.

I should note at this time that while the majority of us were engaged in a furious polyvinyl and food product based battle, Sabrae merely stood aside and watched, snickering.

After an hour of warfare, Sabrae calmly walked up to our sex-shop-purchased antagonist, pulled a pin from her pocket, and stabbed it.

The expression on its face changed fro one of open-mouthed hostility to open-mouthed surprise as the high-pitched whine of air escaping from the tiny pinhole surrounded us and we watched it slowly crumple to the ground.

How Does This Clogger Thing Work? Can You Hear Me?

HELLO, PEOPLES!

The Crazy Man is having problems with his brain remembering parts on what is happened next, so I am doing of the clogging.

I am KJ, and I am the King of the Time Killing Things. See my crown? It's all shininess!

So after the floating tin person asked for a banana, Nothing important happened right away, because I went for sleepy, so nothing could happen, since I am the King.

But when the sleepy time was done, there was much of the loud noises outside, so I went to see what would interrupt my beauty sleep.

Outside, there were many of the metal giant thingies with the plungers and bumpy parts and the shouty, and they were doing blasty things

The Gothess peoples ran to the yellow thing and came back with a a big boomy stick and she called it a Sonic Discoteque and started pointing it all around.

But the bumpy people didn't like it because it made them stop dancing.

None of the Time Killing peoples were doing anything interesting, and the bumpy ones were loudness, but they were kind of cute, so I let them go.

But one of them made a "pew" type sound and made my crown go off my head part, and that was not good.

And then they touched my feet.

Do not touch my feet!

And so, I went to them and I made them hurt with my Kingly fighting!

And this is how I saved the Time Killing peoples.

So I am going to go now.

But you peoples need to worship me, because I am adorable.

With a Little Help From My Friends

"Uhhhhh.... Have we met?" Lestor finally stammer out after a prolonged bout of confused madness.

"Of COURSE we have, Angel," The strange blonde woman said through an amused smile, "We've known each other for YEARS!"

Lestor stared another moment, somewhat ignoring the pummeling of his arm which was being perpetrated by Kahndee, before speaking again.

"I... would think I'd remember you."

There was a sudden look of realization on the woman's face.

"You... haven't been to Punta 3 yet, have you?" She asked, slight disappointment tinting her voice.

"I've never even heard of it."

"Right. Okay. At some point, you're going to travel there and you're going to meet me...uhhh... again. So, anyway...Wow, this is a little awkward... I'm Gothess, but you can call me Gothess. I know the rest of you, as well, so that will save time. So, I suppose introductions on our part would be in order, but let me check something, first. JULIO! YOU IN THERE?" The woman shouted toward Lestor's TTC.

With that, the penguin in the panama hat waddled out of Shirley, the coolant hoses Lestor had pinched from the Jupiter 2 tucked under his left flipper.

"Ja! I'm here! Gotten der hoses, too," The penguin said excitedly in a perfect mock-German accent.

"Good. Put those in the ship and I'll try to explain us to these fine people."

With that, the penguin waddled off into the yellow submarine and Gothess began her story.

"Right. So, you're all wondering who I am. Like I said, I'm Gothess. I'm a Clockwork from Saga City in the Obverse. I was, actually, one of the Great Aunties.... Ummm... Right, you don't know the Obverse and its politics yet... A member of the ruling council. So, there we were, preserving the balance of the multiverse, maintaining order and harmony and generally being pretentous and dull. One day, one of the other Clockworks stole The Bus and took off. Iris Wildthyme, as she was calling herself, decided to leg it because she was bored. Can't say I blame her there.

"So the Great Aunties held a vote and decided to try and stop her and bring her back to the Obverse. I found that a stupid, parlimentary bit of silliness and stole the other prototype Bus to come here. Mainly because Iris had, when she stole The Bus, taken with it the greatest treasure in the Obverse: The Mighty Xylaphone of Wendy... a nearly holy artifact."

"So you wanted to get it back for your people?" sapphire inquired.

"Oh, hells, no! If anyone was going to pawn it for cash, it was going to be ME!

"So, after I sold the Xylaphone, I decided to stay here. I bought me TARDIS, spent a bit of time in Liverpool in the 1960s with four lovely lads who were playing music. I introduced them to Saga City Flame Herb.

"Funny thing about Saga City Flame Herb: It's very relaxing to Clockworks. In Terran's, though, it produces wild hallucinations and mild psychic abilities. Both powerful enough to let them break my chameleon circuit. Now it's stuck as this bloody yellow submarine.

"Anyway, after traveling with them and doing a bit of smuggling to make ends meet, I see this Penguin on a planet named Wendell. Lovely little bugger. Cute hat. Strange tendency to jump accents. I digress.

"So this penguin, Julio, tells me I need to prevent a fixed point in time and only I can do it. I need to unravel established history to stop the canonization of Interstellar Pope Hasslehoff the First.

"So, we've been travelling. Met some interesting people, Turned Mussolini from discovering beat poetry. Got sued by Iris over the Xylaphone thing. Met you folks. Had some adventures. Spent some time with Lestor. Had some sweattier adventures. Got seperated from Julio and tracked him here. Any questions?'

"Yes!" Bob chimed in.

"What's that, then?"

"Can I have a banana?"

Glass Onion

Like the rest of the Killing Time Alliance, sapphire, emerald and myself decided to take a bit of relaxation time following the epic confrontation with the Terrible Zodin I described earlier. For this reason, I set course for what was then called Sullivan Stadium in Foxborough, Massachusetts, 12 July, 1989. We did this because I was in the mood to see a performance by the Terran rock and roll musical group called The Who.

I will now give any and all Time Lords and Ladies reading the following caveat:

DO NOT EVER ATTEMPT TO MATERIALIZE A GALLIFREYAN TIME TRAVEL CAPSULE AT A ROCK AND ROLL SHOW. EVER!

Upon materialization, during the performance of a song entitled Pinball Wizard, my TARDIS chose to engage the chameleon circuit based on, not just the physical surroundings, but the overwhelming local mind set, and, therefore, materialized on the edge of the stage in the form of a rather large silver ball.

This would not have been an issue, as, it did, in fact, fit in well with the surroundings, however, those in the audience with front row seating witnessed the materialization and believed my TTC was, in fact, a part of the show.

A rather enthusiastic audience member grabbed my TARDIS and began to toss it around the crowd, thinking it was a pinball prop.

This carried on for approximately half an hour, all the while, sapphire, emerald and myself were tossed about the interior like rag-dolls, bouncing off walls, pillars, console controls and the like. The word "pain" would hardly do it justice. (looking back, I'm honestly surprised I didn't regenerate at least half a dozen times).

Eventually, clearly annoyed at being manhandled, my TARDIS dematerialized and headed for Bruce.


Upon arrival, we met a clearly annoyed Tristan and Skippy, a thoroughly irritated Rowan, a highly confused and agitated Lestor and Quantie, and a terrifying, yet smiling Sabrae.

After comparing notes, Tristan went about making repairs to his capsule, Lestor recruited Rowan in an attempt (which ultimately proved not just futile, but also hallucinatory) to make sense of Shirley, and Sabrae enjoyed some coffee and time with KJ, attempting to have a rational discourse with him and teaching him to use a hang-glider. That left sapphire, emerald and myself to attempt to repair/heal Rowan's rescued robotic life-form.

We brought it into my TARDIS' labs to try and get reading on it. This proved difficult, as it was, apparently, somewhat of a shape-shifter, as well as being artificial. After several attempts, I finally had it convinced there was nothing sexually perverse about the probes and scans I was attempting.

Much of its memory had been damaged, and it provided no information as to its purpose, history, point of origin or species/creators.

In fact, all it was able to provide us with was the knowledge that "Sea Monkeys" were nothing more than brine shrimp. This information, it seems, took over a century of research for it to conclude.

We managed to get the little robot to interface with the TARDIS, which, in turn, caused the TARDIS to synthesize and install/replace any missing or damaged components, eventually bringing it back to full functionality...

Minus the memory.

The tiny robot sprung from the table, whizzing about through the air in a form somewhat resembling the head of a six-eyed Smuth from Talgont V, except with  dreadlocks, laughing and spinning about. It shot out the main doors of my capsule and flew about to each member of Killing Time before coming back to us, then looking at both sapphire and emerald, purring. Then it came to me.

"Hi, boss! I'm Bob!" It said in a mechanically cheery tone, "Happy to be here! Can I have some cheese?"

"Ummm... sure?" I said, producing a bit of Roquefort from my pocket, which Bob picked up with its...his dreadlocks, and proceeded to toy with. curiously.

"Great! Uhhh.... Now what the Belgium do I do with this?" Bob asked a bit perplexed.

Before we could answer him, the air was filled with the sound of a TARDIS materializing, though it was somewhat...different.

There really is not an accurate way to describe how this was different. Even Rowan was at a loss. About the best way I can explain it is that the materializing TARDIS sounded...REALLY happy.

"Ooooo..." Bob chimed in, "This is new!"

A few meters from our gathered location, a strange form materialized. It appeared to be a very surreal representation of a Terran submarine.

But it was yellow.

A hatch in the side opened and out walked a woman.

She was blonde, bespectacled and dressed in trousers, a shirt and a white vest and panama hat.

And she completely ignored all of us...

Except Lestor.

This strange woman walked straight up to Lestor, smiled and kissed him in a way I can best describe as an attempt to eat his face.

After the passage of a full five minutes, she stopped, looked him in the eye, and smiled.

"Hello, Angel. Miss me?" She asked.

Lestor, for his part, stammered briefly, then lost track of his mind for a moment.

Octopuss' Garden

Rowan and Nereid had an odd relationship.

Mind you, to any non-Gallifreyan, the idea of a "relationship" between a clearly sentient being and what appeared to be a mechanical mode of conveyance would, by its very nature, be odd. The fact is, however, as I've stated numerous times in the past, Gallifreyan TTC were, in point of fact, living entities. While most of the older models did posess minds and personalities, they required a psychic link in order to be understood even slightly. Very rarely was the communication between a Time Lord and his or her Capsule actually understood on an intellectual level. It was more akin to a Terran communicating with a pet, or a somewhat tempermental automobile. The extent of verbal communication was more often then not limited to such endearing statements as "LAND, you idiot!"

Rowan, however, was quite an accomplished psy-reader of TARDISes. As such, she was able to discern the thoughts, desires, concerns and, oddly, sexual fetishes of most TARDISes. This made Nereid somewhat bored. So, the mischievous TTC made a game out of things by learning how to lie, dissemble and, basically, trick her Time Lady.

The previous must be understood to appreciate how Rowan, newly regenerated into an unusual Mer form, was able to deal with existence on no fluidic worlds and within her capsule, as well.

Nereid surrounded Rowan with an impecptibly thin field of null-gravity, allowing her to "swim" through the air, as though in the ocean at all times. She also equipped Rowan with a portable chameleon circuit, worn almost imperceptably on a necklace, which allowed her to appear bi-pedal while swimming, giving her the appearance of walking. It should be noted the sheer impossiblility of both of the previously descibed functions were not lost on Nereid, who would, at times, all the impossibility to show through, causing Rowan to, at random times, appear fully in her mer form, while still swimming through the air, or, conversely, cause the null-gravity field to fail, either making Rowan trip, or encompass other things around her, making them float for no reason whatsoever.

It is at this point, in a typical tale, I would preface things with Meanwhile..., however, due to the time-travelling nature of the alliance, such a preface would be wildly inaccurate, as, in essence, it could be said of anything that has, is, or will be occurring, and most languages in the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash lack the subtlties of Gallifreyan, and, hence, have no trans-temporal verb tenses. So, I fear, you, as a reader, must simply deal with that and understand that, while this following segment occurs many years previously, it also occurs at the same time as the last few entries.

I will now give you a moment to duct tape your heads back together.

...

Nereid materialized on the coast of Long Island sound in 1965. This was caused by the final transmission of a distress call from the floor of the Sound. When Rowan exited her TTC, she was, as she expected to be, appearing as a bi-pedal Time Lady, seeming to walk (though actually "swimming") and seeming somewhat nonchalant in her movements. As she approached the sound, of course, Nereid, in her typical manifestation of her somewhat interesting sense of humor, began to randomly fluctuate Rowan's null-gravity field.

This caused a ten minute, uninterrupted series of falls, trips, flips, crashes and various other displays of clumsiness, which also included (due to the fluctuations of the null-gravity) the incorporation of beach umbrellas, folding chairs, picnic baskets and a few Terran children, all being flung hither and yon, some merely falling in place, others being tossed severl hundred meters.

This was all observed by a young Terran man named Cornelius Chase, who found the entire display so amusing, it impacted his psyche for the rest of his life, though also so traumatic that he would never remember it accurately, and, thus, had no ability to recall its influence on his future life, includign the fact that he was nearly crushed by (and became named after) a flying, 1957 Chevy.

Once Rowan made it to the water, she was more in her element.

Swimming quickly to the bottom, she found a small, robotic life-form, severely damaged, but not beyond repair. She took the small droid with her as she, in her desire to avoice further spectacle, triggered her transmat remotely and teleorted back into Nereid, whom she attempted to scold, though the mischeivous capsule was laughing too much to pay mind.

The trio then set course back to present day Bruce.

Failing to notice a second TARDIS trailing them.

By Rassilon, We're Going to Get Sued Again For This

Sabrae requires coffee.

This is one of the Seven Great Laws of the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash. It is, in fact, Great Law Number 3.

For reference, I will provide the other six Great Laws.

1. In a rational cosmos, should life ever come into being, it will exist harmoniously with all other life within said cosmos.

2. There can be no such thing as a rational cosmos.

4. Warm string cheese is somewhat on the kinky side.

5. Where ever possible, the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash will break into a spontaneous dance number, them wipe the existence of said dance number from history.

6. Waffles, being the ultimate food stuff of enlightenment, must never be worn as clothing.

7. Any sentient life form who attempts to explain the Seven Great Laws of the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash has lost their mind and is likely actually spouting random nonsense.

Because it is a Great Truth, it should be noted that, regardless of any mission at had for the Killing Time Alliance, Sabrae will usually take it upon herself to seek out hot, caffeinated goodness where and whenever possible. This normally does not pose a problem, as Sabrae's Time Travel Capsule is so in tune with her needs, it generally anticipates them and takes her where she needs to go.

A theory has been made about this which states that Sabrae's TARDIS is, in point of fact, not ACTUALLY a TARDIS, in the strictest sense, but is, more accurately, simply a life form which had, at some point, attempted to deny her coffee.

There is, however, another theory which states the previous one is a load of Belgium.

Regardless of the theory to which one adheres, the fact remains that Sabrae requires coffee.

So, while we were all going our seperate ways after the previously describe battle with the Terrible Zodin, Sabrae, rather than returning to Bruce, decided to seek out her required beverage.

My sister, as I have explained before, has a rather strong telepathic abililty, and this does include her link with her TTC. It is for that reason, her TTC realized the urgency of Sabrae's need and sought out the closest source of caffeine.

Unfortunately, that source was, in fact, not within SL space.

It was actually in an alternate dimension which has been previously described elsewhere as The Land of Fiction.

Sabrae's TARDIS materialized in some kind of tropical area and a quick perusal of her scanners indicated a large number of life forms in the area, though most appeared primative. She did detect a high concentration of raw coffee beans, however, which was good enough for her.

Upon exiting, she had noticed that most of the local fauna had scattered, and that was fine. As she began to explore, however, something unexpected landed on her shoulder.

It was what appeared to be a ring-tailed lemur from Earth, though it was, curiously enough, wearing some kind of elaborate hat. The lemur looked her straight in the eye and didn't show any signs of fear. In fact, it had a rather friendly and jolly smile upon its face.

IMPORTANT NOTE: For the duration, this lemur's name will be abbreviated, as, having already gone through a lawsuit, I have no desire at this time to face one again brought on by the owners of the Madagascar franchise.

 "Hello, giant person of the human person-type!" The lemur said happily to Sab, "Nice of the meeting you! I am KJ, and this is my kingdom, you know!"

Sabrae, I'm told, did something I've never seen her do before....

She smiled without looking like she was going to eat the person her smile was directed at.

"Hello, KJ. I'm Sabrae. I'm a Time Lady from Gallifrey."

"Lady? I am de KING! I have a crown here on my head place, see?" KJ said, indicating his hat. "Isn't it shiny and crowny-like?"

"Yes, very nice. I need to get some coffee."

"AH! The magic going fast bean! I will take you!"

With that, KJ jumped off Sabrae's shoulder and ran ahead, leading Sabrae to the coffee beans, where she took...well... ALL of them.

As she turned around to head back to her TARDIS, KJ leaped from the tree he was in and landed on her shoulder again.

"Where are you going, tall Lady of the ticking time things?"

"I have to get back to my TARDIS now. I have to go home."

"Oh! I will go with you to this...TUTU and I will go and they will love me and I will be the King of Golf-for-free!"

To this day, I have not been able to determine WHY Sabrae didn't bother arguing with the strange little fictional creature, but she didn't.

And so, she had taken on her first companion.

A Life In The Day

While Tristan and Skippy were fleeing their polyvinyl foes, Lestor and Susan (pronounced KAN-dee) had just purchased a new Time Travel Capsule. She was a rare and expensive Type 110.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Type 110 Gallifreyan TTC, there are a few features you should be made aware of...

First, as of the Type 106, TARDISes had become not just artificially intelligent, but actually FULLY SENTIENT, which allowed them to pilot themselves, communicate with their Time Lord pilots with ease, make snap decisions on their own, and, in many cases, run up tremendously large sub-etha bills communicating vast distances in time and space with other TARDISes, gossiping about their Time Lord pilots.

That said, the new Type 110 took that concept a quantum super-leap forward, granting the TTC not just full sentience, but a complete personailty, allowing the TARDIS to become a complete companion...

At least, this was the intended design.

In point of fact, the Type 110 had a personailty flaw in its psychic interface causing it to, once telepathically bonded to its Time Lord pilot, pull its personailty from the memories of said Time Lord, generally transfixing on and modling herself after the most pronounced figure from the Time Lord's memory.

Also, all Type 110s were female.

Anxious to try out his new TT Capsule, Lestor rushed teh telepathic interface, then attempted to manually set the trans-temporal coodinates to return to Bruce. This attempt was met with a rather frantic cry.

"Don't touch me there!" the voice a young girl issued from somewhere in the console. In shock, Quahndih, who was ducked under the console, performing some...routine maintenance...was greatly startled, jumping up, hitting her head and causing Lestor to howl a bit in pain.

After the situation calmed down, Lestor tried again to set the coordinates.

"I said 'No!' MOMMYY!!!!! Mr. Magic Space-man is doing it wrong!"

The utterance of that name caused both of Lestor's hearts to stop momentarily.

"Irwin?" He said, VERY hesitantly.

"No, Mr. Magic Space-man!" The voice repeated, giggling.

Suddenly, a beam of light shot from a control on the console and the hologrammatic image of a 12 year old Terran girl coaleced.

"I'm Shirley!" the ghost-like girl said cheerily. "I'm your TARDIS, Mr. Magic Space-man!"

Kaundee began to laugh, perhaps having finally snapped and danced merrily into the real of the mind I like to call "Not as sane as a rabid badger".

It is also at this time that the interior of...Shirley...reconfigured herself to resemble a planet-sized amusement park, meaning that, in order to get ANYWHERE inside, one had to purchase a ticket, fight crowds of irate hologrammatic tourists, and, more often then not, wait in queue to get on the amusement ride which took you where you wanted to go, only to find it out of service once one got to the head of the queue.

Twenty-six relative years of non-time later, Lestor finally convinced Shirley to materialize.

She did so on a dwarf-size planet on the far side of Kasterborous. He disembarked to try to get his trans-temporal bearings and to determine how to best convince Shirley to return to Bruce.

Finally, after a few moments, he regained his mental footing, so to speak, and re-entered Shirley (NOTE: The previous statement is meant to be taken innocently, as this is a family friendly story)

"Shirley, you want to see a mermaid?"

And with that, Shirley dematerialized and brought Lestor and Ckannnnndie to Bruce.

None of them noticed the Panama-hat wearing penguin who had snuck aboard and was now watching them from the shadows...

Of Autons and Tennoobs

After the Shadow Proclamation took custody of the Terrible Zodin from us, and ratified its articles to include, unfortunately, that the use of custard in battle would now be considered a war crime (though I still stand by my statement in my last entry that custard, in and of itself was used as a last resort and the residents of Clom could never have survived had we NOT covered the planet with the stuff), we were sent on our way.

To try to console Skippy in regards to the revelation of his true origins, Tristan did what Tristan did best: distraction through debauchery.

The two of them took Tristan's capsule...SOMEWHERE... but the damage cause to his navigation systems in the battle with Zodin's minions made actually determining WHERE and WHEN they were going completely impossible.

Tristan's TTC materialized on a world he'd never encountered before. It was a barren world. An orange sky blazed overhead and there was little sound save for the wind...

And faint voices in the distance...


"I am...the Doctor...Can you...Help me get...a TARDIS..."

Panic began to set in.

Tristan and Skippy immediately ran back into the TARDIS, locking the doors behind them and attempted to re-enter the vortex.

Unfortunately, an attempt to engage the time rotor was met by a sound that we have since been told by Rowan translates roughly to "Like BELGIUM I'm going back into the vortex, you unthinking BOOB! You never respected me and, just so you know, I faked all my orgasms!"

Even without a time rotor, a Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsule is still capable of more traditional, non-trans-temporal travel, and so, Tristan engaged the engines and his TARDIS shot into the sky, into safety.


And the path of a high-speed meteorite.

The meteorite smashed into the TARDIS, flipping it end over end, knocking the doors open, shaking loose a large amount of the cargo, straight out the door.

I must explain at this time that Tristan's TARDIS, being a later model, had all the bells and whistles, from a food machine and replimat to... well, actually that's about it.

Because of that, he didn't carry any food stores. His wardrobe, being deep in the bowels of his capsule was safe, as well.

Indeed, the cargo he lost when the meteorite struck was what he considered to be the most valuable things in the TTC...

Six hundred eighty seven crates of various inflatable women and sex toys tumbled out of the primary doors of his console room and onto the surface of Tennoobia, opening, scattering, their contents spilling all over the ground.

Into that pile of kink, the meteorite slammed...

And cracked open...

A terrible roar was heard as the Nestene Consciousness erupted from it and took control of the spilled (and, admittedly, well used) items of plastic, latex and poly-vinyl, which rose to attack the now advancing waves of Tennoobs.

It was at this point, Tristan's TARDIS ushered forth a sound, we're told translates to "Oh, FINE!" before suddenly dematerializing and hurtling through the vortex toward Bruce.

Tragedy, Revelations and the Origin of Skippy

----ATTENTION----

THIS RECORD HAS BEEN DELETED BY THE CELESTIAL INTERVENTION AGENCY UNDER ITS AUTHORITY BY ORDER OF LORD PRESIDENT SEN OF THE NEW GALLIFREY HIGH COUNCIL.

The Day The Whole Kind Of General Mish-Mash Said Hang This, Imploded, Changed Its Mind, And We Got Salad

Things had been a bit odd lately for the Killing Time Alliance. Between the lawsuit, the sudden arrival of emerald, the unexpected procurement of a new TTC and the somewhat sport-related transformation of Rowan to a partially aquatic form, frankly, we were all a bit perplexed, tired and, oddly, peckish.

It was Tristan who, using his standard brand of recuperative logic, suggested we travel to the planet Event Bistro Major.

What must be understood at this time is that Event Bistro Major, at that time, did not actually exist yet.

In fact, it can be said that, in a very real and objective sense, Event Bistro Major has NEVER existed.

Due, however, to the subjectiveness of reality while traveling in a Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsule, doing something which is, in fact, objectively impossible, is subjectively not only possible, but simple, and, by the definition of trans-temporal existence theory, actually compulsory.

If the previous explanation has cause your head to go cloudy, your eyes to glaze over, and drool to begin leaking from your mouth, take heart: the description was the literary equivelant of a pref-frontal lobotomy. This was intentional, as that is necessary to understand the rest of what I am to explain.

After piling into my TARDIS, I set the trans-temporal coordinates to take us outside of regular space-time, as Event Bistro Major existed in the purposefully pun-named happy hour.

As any Time Lord will tell you, it is possible to cross from regular space-time into an alternate existence, however, it requires the deletion of mass from within a TARDIS to do so. I, however, am FAR too fond of my capsule to eject any rooms from the interior. Therefor, I had long ago developed a strategy for accomplishing this goal.

At some point in my travels, my TARDIS materialized on a cargo freighter on a collision course with the planet Earth prior to the primacy of primates. On that freighter, there was a single life form. an Alzarian I came to find was named Adric.

Adric, as it turns out, was a polymath of incomprable ability, being nearly on par with the entire populace of Logopolis in his ability to calculate, recaluclate and alter the fabric of reality via his computational manipulations.

So useful was he, that I had him calculate a way to prevent a temporal paradox created by having more than one temporal instance of an individual in existence at the same time. This, to him, proved to be child's play.

Therefore, anytime I needed to breach the boundaries of regular space-time, I would take several (and on occasion, hundreds or even THOUSANDS) of temporal instances of Adric on board.


And eject them into the time vortex when I needed an extra boost.

The trip to happy hour, being one of the most taxing, was a trip that measured twenty-six thousand Adrics.

When we reached Event Bistro Major, we discovered a few things.

First, it was busy. There was a fourty seven year waiting list just to get into the lounge.

Second, the entire crowd consisted of us.

That is to say, not just us, but just us.

Repeated.

Millions of instances of us.

It seems, due to some odd set of coincidences (or, perhaps, merely the certainty of reality and the constant factor of Tristan's desire to party with the one being in the universe capable of understanding his need to party, which would be himself) it seems that at every single instant of our existence, the Killing Time Alliance decided to go have drinks at Event Bistro Major.

This fact created such an immense paradox within the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash that it actually brought Event Bistro Major into being by itself, hence becoming an space-time event occurring merely BECAUSE it was not an event which would never occur in space or time.

And hence, we all began drinking together, by ourselves.

I must, at this point, note that it is cosmically irresponsible to challenge yourself to a drinking competition. Even if the yourself you're challenging exists in a seperate body, the sheer magnitude of impossibilty of this actually happening, causes, by the very nature of it actually happening, the entirety of the Whole Kind Of General Mish-Mash to tear itself apart, become embarrassed by its sudden self-exposure, re-intigrating itself, then offering a chef salad as compensation for any inconvenience.

After a time of non-time, in a place of non-placement, I returned with the Killing Time Allience to my TARDIS, though I'm not certain which contingent of the alliance returned to which version of my TARDIS with which version of me.

But I do know that after taking the twenty-six thousand Adric trip back, we were unceremoniously introduced to someone referring to herself as The Terrible Zodin.

A Servent of Three Masters Will become Very Confused

When Skippy had given us our mission to Traken, sapphire and I had no idea wheat was going to occur on Bruce, and, therefor, thought little about it.

No, in fact, we were quite happy to have some alone time, as we hadn't had any since before having to appear in court on Zenobia Station.

So, I set the trans-temporal coordinates to Traken at the time of Consul Tremas and set the trip to give us a few years of non-time to enjoy each others...company.

In the interest of speeding my tale along, the intervening decade or so of naked debauchery shall be skipped and I will move straight on to my Time Travel Capsule materializing in the grove on Traken.

The assigned mission went perfectly smoothly and I got the samples of the fungus Skippy wanted. Before we left, sapphire decided she wanted to get some flowers to put in the library of my TARDIS, so she went back out.

Unfortunately, no sooner had she stepped out of the TARDIS, than the cloister bell began tolling.

Before she could even turn, the doors slammed shut and the TARDIS dematerialized, initiating Emergency Protocol One, sending me back through the vortex, toward Bruce... Alone.

In the Traken grove, however, sapphire was able to determine what had happened.

In the exact spot my TARDIS had once stood, a new TARDIS, in the form of a 1960's era London police box materialized. Taking cover, sapphire proceeded to observe the events of the next few days, involving the Melkur, the Doctor, Adric, Tremas and the Keeper of Traken. Her hope was to hitch a ride with the Doctor until she could get back to Bruce.

During these events, sapphire witnessed a decayed and burned idividual repeatedly emerge from the Melkur, which lead her to realize it was, in fact, a Gallifreyan TTC, as well.

During an apparent confrontation inside of it, she witenessed the Doctror actually break his way out, leading her to realize it was her chance.

Sneaking into the strange Time Travel Capsule, she found herself almost immediately lost and confused as to the layout of this TARDIS. She found herself, eventually, in the holding cells, where, in one, poorly lit cell, she heard a voice singing in the dark.

"Hello?" She said. At first, the only response was something to do with homosexual Inuits.

"Hello?" sapphire again asked.

"Oh! Hi!" came an unexpectedly cheery voice from within the cell.

"Who are you, sweetheart?" sapphire inquired.

The response, unfortunately, was somewhat incomprehensible, as the circuits of the Time Travel Capsule they were in had become damaged, thereby limiting the translation function.

Without missing a beat, however, sapphire responded, "Okay, sweetheart. I'm sapphire. Do you want me to let you out of there?"

The stranger nodded and sapphire released the latch.

Out walked a ginger woman, slightly smaller than sapphire. She wore typically Trakenite clothing, though clearly muddied and worn. Though clearly having been a prisoner, her green eyes were rather bright5 and cheerful. Frankly, the overall effect, I'm told, gave sapphire the feeling of someone who, having been a prisoner for an extended period of time, decided to just tell reality to hang itself and went on to try and force the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash to become something closer to a children's television programme just to have something interesting to watch.

The two of them left the holding cells, sapphire trying to walk cautiously and the Trakenite, well, SKIPPING, toward the console room of this TARDIS. sapphire, having watched Lestor and me pilot our TARDISes many times, was quite capable of doing so, herself, so she knew this would be her ticket back to Bruce.

Unfortunately, upon reaching the console, however, sapphire became somewhat destraught by the fact that the Doctor's rather dramatic exit damaged the capsule, fusing it's trans-temporal coordinates to the 100 Billion, and setting the ship to then transform itself into marshmallow immediately upon rematerialization.

This seemed to be a hopeless issue, so sapphire started looking for anything helpful. All she found was a manky fob watch.

Fortunately, at this point, the two heard the sound of a TARDIS engine materializsing outside. So they left.

Upon reaching the grove again, they were greeted by a newly materialized TARDIS in the form of a Terran ice cream van. When the doors openned, a Time Lord with salt and pepper hair emerged in a black waistcoat and striped trousers. His dark eyes were cold and viscious. He walked directly up to sapphire and her new Trakenite associate.

"I am The Master and you will ob...WHOOF!"

This was all he got out as sapphire swiftly kicked him in the crotch and ran past him with her new friend, stealing his TARDIS on the way.

As I previously recounted, the two TARDISes arrived on Bruce at the same time. I won't bore you all with the whole "joyous reunion" bit (but it DID involve handcuffs, lime jelly and the use of an anti-grav chamber.)

After a few hours, we realized we were being watched by sapphire's new Trakenite friend.

In a cheerful voice, she asked, "Can I play, too?"

Several hours after, we decided, since sapphire was sapphire, the ginger Trakenite with the green eyes was now going to be emerald.

Sontaran Love

Shortly after the discovery of Shithead in my TARDIS, Skippy called us all out to a common meeting area on Bruce.

This meeting area was designed almost like a Terran holiday camp, with recreation areas for tennis, bocce, and things of that nature, along with, unsurprisingly, a replicator stocked with recipes for nearly every known libation in the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash.

"Oi," Skippy began, "I've got a mission for The Madman and sapphire. You two need to go to Traken in the time of Tremas."

"Okay, What do you need us to do?" I asked.

"There, in the grove, you will find a culture of red-grey fungus. It's native only to the Traken Grove. I need you to take a sample of this fungus."

"Why? What significance does it have to stopping Beiber?" sapphire asked.

"Nothing, really. It is merely the most potent hallucinogen in the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash. I think it would be splendid to have some here."

And so, sapphire and I set off. The story of what transpired on that mission will be told at some point in the relative future (or possibly past).

It is for that reason, my details of what transpired next on Bruce are a bit spotty.

Shortly after we dematerialized, a ship of Sontaran origin landed on Bruce. The hatchway opened and out came a single, short, stocky Sontaran in full (albeit mismatched) armour.

"I am Ensign Stoo of the 2342nd Sontaran Battle Fleet. By right of conquest, I claim this world in the name of Sontar!"

"I'm not familiar with that battle fleet," Lestor said to the small, belligerent creature.

"Well," replied Stoo, noticeably inflated, "To be fair, I AM the 2342nd Sontaran Battle Fleet."

Sontarans are well known for their belief in war above all things and pride themselves on their military strategies and tactics. They have a strict devotion to military discipline and heirarchy.

What is less well known is their penchant for sending some lesser skilled and completely undesirable (and often completely THICK) Sontarans off on their own in missions using pre-programmed flight computers sending out into uninhabited space to drift aimlessly, never meeting another sentient life form, thereby not sullying the Sontaran's reputation for warfare, nor actually getting in the way in a real battle. This, of course, explains Stoo.

"Right," Tristan said, in tremendous amusment of the situation, "Tell you what: we're not armed, so we can't have an actual fight here. But I do propose a challenge. If you want to claim this planet for the glory of Sontar, then you need to beat... Let's say Rowan here... in a contest of stamina, speed and marksmanship. We call it 'Tennis'."

"Accepted."

I must, at this time, explain that Rowan, while very good at being a psy-reader of Time Travel Capsules, is not, to be fair, the most skilled tennis player in any history.

Even still, being the most sober of those remaining on Bruce, she was the best choice.

The game, I'm told, was quite exciting and rather close, though, the lack of skill of both parties did lead to the accidental creation of a vast ocean forming a mere 14 meters from the meeting area (the actual sequence of events leading to that ocean's creation is so odd and random, even I  cannot fully grasp them, but I'm told it included an unexpected alteration of reality, changing both players, temporarily, into 8 foot bologna sandwiches.

In the end, however, Rowan defeated the miniscule Sontaran.

In a show of sportsmanship, she attempted to leap over the net.

That is where everything went a bit wrong.

Rowan's foot caught on the net, causing her to crash headlong into Stoo, sending him toppling backwards, smashing  his exposed probic vent on the court with such force, his head quite literally EXPLODED. This, of course killed Stoo.

It also, unfortunately, killed Rowan, sending her into a regeneration cycle.

At this exact moment, my own TTC, and sapphire's newly comondeered one (a circumstance which shall be explained in the future) both materialized.

The force of the explosion sent my TTC careening into Nereid, which cause an instant, albeit, short-lived, psy-link between the two capsules.

As sapphire and I exited to find out what the Belgium was happening, Everyone was scrambling, trying to get Rowan into Nereid for her regeneration, as it's always more helpful to regenrate within the boundries of one's TARDIS.

Understand, I cannot in any way prove my theor on what happened next.

HOWEVER

It appears that the psy-link between the two TARDISes allowed my capsule to convince Nereid to have a more active role in Rowan's regeneration.

Nereid dematerialized and promptly rematerialized at the edge of the newly formed ocean. After several minutes, her doors openned and thousands of gallons of water came rushing out of the Time Travel Capsule, spilling the newly regenerated Rowan into the ocean with it.

For the most part, Rowan maintained her previous incarnation's appearance.

However, she didn't have legs.

In their place, she had a long, piscean tail, complete with fins, flippers and flukes, making her a Mer-Time Lady.

And I could swear, I heard my TARDIS laughing.

Important Information Regarding Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsules

At this time in my ramblings, I find it necessary to provide a small, educational side-bar in regards to Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsules.

As most of you likely know, even the oldest TTCs are, at least, partly organic machines. That said, while all TARDISes can be said to be alive, anything more advanced than the type 23 can be said to be sentient. Anything beyond the type 30 can be said to possess a unique personality.

Those of you familiar with artificial intelligence will, at this point, assume I mean some kind of programmed algorithms designed to simulate the intellectual and (assuming the algorithms are sophisticated enough) emotions of a living being.

You are incorrect.

In fact, it was attempted, early in the mass production of the types 31 and 32 to SUPPRESS the personalities and intelligence of the capsules. methods of doing this included altering the Artron energies infused into the capsules, actual physical alterations of the consoles, themselves, and finally, in a rather desperate attempt, forcing the TARDISes to watch the entire run of a Terran television programme called Charles in Charge.

These efforts lead to TARDISes which still possessed personalities, but said personalities were very boring and stupid.

Finally, as of the type 35, the Time Lords decided to hang it and just let them have their personalities.

The above review is to allow a better understanding of the personality descriptions of the Time Travel Capsules possessed by the Killing Time Alliance.

It is said that the personality of a TARDIS will either reflect or compliment the personality of the Time Lord or Time Lady piloting it. Viewing the collection of beings on Bruce, that can be said to be the case.

My own TTC (as I've previously stated, a heavily modified Type 45 from an alternate universe) can best be described as "random". She clearly possesses a sense of humor, but one that she, alone, appreciates. She seems to vary her intent and attitude at various times for no reason and, indeed, seems to periodically forget what she is and what she is doing.

Her interior is as scattered as her mind, with labyrinthine rooms of an eclectic nature. There is no over-arching style to her internal architecture, with some rooms resembling those of ancient Rome and others the far-flung future of Dolos VII (a unique world where the entirety of their architecture and technology is derived from ear wax)

While completely mad, my TARDIS is likely the most sociable one of the lot.

It is ultimately useless to describe the personalities of each of the TARDISes Lestor has possessed. However, it should be noted that his continual upgrading, changing and exchanging TTCs has given him a bit of a...reputation...among Time Travel Capsules.

Sabrae's TARDIS is somewhat enigmatic. The entire interior consists of ordered and matching rooms and corridors, however, they seem to shift at random, so at any given time, a single door can access her bestiary, her library, her pool or the area inhabited by the equally mysterious (and frankly terrifying) Charlie. Regardless, Sabrae has the ability to find her way about the capsule unerringly, while any other living being (with the possible exception of Shithead, but even that is in question) would be hopelessly lost after moving past the primary console room.

Little is actually known about Tristan's TARDIS save three basic facts: First, it loves to party. Second, it is often drunk and Third, it has a nearly addicted penchant for tacos.

This brings us to the final TARDIS of Killing Time... Rowan's.

Rowan's TTC is the only one of our group which claims a name. She is called Nereid. Nereid possesses a somewhat naive personality by general description (though she's not so much naive as simply uninterested in normal social conventions). She does, however, have a bit of a cheeky sense of humor.

Nereid also possesses a bit of an over trusting nature when it comes to the advice of other TARDISes. This includes clearly psychotic TTCs, such as my own.

The above information must be completely understood in order for the events of the soon to be described tennis match to be comprehended properly.

Time is a Relative...Do Not Invite It to Supper

After the events of the lawsuit ended, we all adjourned into my Time Travel Capsule in celebration on our return  to Bruce. Even Rowan, who, at this point, we weren't QUITE ready to trust (and who possessed her own TTC) joined us, though she insisted we...INVITE...her TARDIS along.

I set the coordinates for Bruce on the console with a time-differential, allowing a simulated week for the trip, and we all adjourned to my pub. Surprisingly, tending bar was a familiar, fez-adorned Terran marsupial.

Of course, we asked  where he had gone prior to the events on New Gallifrey. His only response was that he "didn't do the legal thing".

And so, we drank Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters, lost track of (and, potentially ALTERED reality) and eventually. passed out (or, to be more accurate in regards to the effects a high intake of Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters... high being best described as one or more...we ceased to exist).

We finally returned to the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash after the engines of my TTC had long since shut down and cooled. We walked, which is to say stumbled, or, more directly defied all laws of physics and actually fell out of the pub and came upon the unusual sight of the swimming pool.

Admittedly, the pool itself, was not a strange sight, as I was usually aware of its presence within the TARDIS.

Interesting note about pool maintenance with the confines of a Gallifreyan Time Travel Capsule: Because the inside of a TTC exists in a separate dimensional plane, and it traverses time and space, locations within a TARDIS can exist withing different eddies within time, thereby moving at a fluctuating rate of time, even within the same capsule. Those of us with pools often find it best to section the pool's water into a separate time stream, often in a recursion loop, eliminating the need for chlorination, vacuuming, or any kind of upkeep whatsoever. The only drawback to this is the fact that, should someone ever actually urinate in the water, it will cause an inter-dimensional, trans-temporal explosion which would make the "big bang" or Event One seem like a firecracker, resulting in the complete destruction and recreation of the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash into something likely completely feral and full of evil...

Or, it may simply throw off the pH balance.

It is, however, for this reason, that what happened next was possible.

When we arrived at the swimming pool, we discovered a new passenger...

A pygmy narwhal.

I've discussed narwhals to an extent in this missive, but I have not explained the true extent of their importance or power purpose. There's a very good reason for that.

I simply don't know it.

This is not to say that I'm simply think when it comes to the matter of narwhals. On the contrary. I know at least as much as any other sentient, non-narwhal out there. What I'm trying to explain is this: narwhals are not merely a higher level of being, they are, in fact, a level of being which can be considered SO high, it would be more appropriated to call them BEENS rather than beings, as they are completely incomprehensible to any other mind in existence. In fact, so inscrutable was our new passenger, only Sabrae could communicate with it. After what seemed a lengthy telepathic conversation, Sabrae relayed the pertinent information to us.

"Okay," she began, "It seems we've been causing some...'waves' throughout time. That's what we've been aiming for... Right... so the narwhal council...Are you SERIOUS??? A narwhal COUNCIL??? That is the single STUPIDEST... Anyway, this narwhal council sent this shithead to come and keep an eye on us."

"Oi! I know we've been causing some problems, but we're on a mission here!" Skippy chimed in, "I'm sure he can..."

"No... they've sent this shithead because the LIKE the waves..."

"Ah," Lestor  said, "He have a name?"

"Of COURSE he has a name. I can't pronounce it, though. And...well... He seems to like it when I call him Shithead"

Lawsuit of a Time Lord - Part 6 - The Aftermath

The seemingly endless wave of Tennoobs flowing from the TITIS quickly filled the Trial Room as panic struck the assembly. Gallifreyans of every house rushed the doors and fled. The Doctor, to his credit, remained quite calm and simply remarked "not again" before triggering a Vortex Manipulator on his wrist and vanishing.

Castellan Solis and the Chancellery Guards stormed the room, stasers drawn, firing into the fray, Sabrae, Im sure wishing she still had her wings, merely beat on the throngs of Tennoobs as we all tried to locate someplace safe to regroup.


It is well known that the inside of a Gallifreayn Time Travel Capsule is dimensionally transcendental, and therefore, much larger on the inside than the outside.

What is lesser known is that the pockets in Gallifreyan clothing are, also.

It is for this reason that it should come as no suprise to anyone that I pulled from the pocket of my waistcoat, a twenty foot long sledge hammer, with which I began smashing the Tennoobs in our path.

And, accidentally, Irwin.

Okay, maybe not so much accidentally.

The battle with he Tennoobs waged on for days. Many Time Lords and Ladies wound up undergoing multiple regenerations and large swaths of Zenobia Station became littered with flat, burned, beaten and generally pulverized Tennoobs before it was finally over.

After some time, I noticed people returning to the Trial Room.

Interesting thing about sentient life forms: no matter how advanced, they love their routines. It doesn't matter if the entirety of the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash was on fire, sentients, even Time Lords, would still wander through their daily lives, discussing the weather or what programme had been on the sub-etha last evening.

And so, we returned for judgment.

Upon entering the Trial Room, Lord President Sen motioned for us to rise. The expression on his face was tired and angered. We could tell where this was going.

"Members of the so-called 'Killing Time Alliance', evidence has been presented by both sides of this matter and I have had to weigh the evidence presented to the Matrix.

"It is clear that you have, even by your own admission, meddled in the affairs, travels and lives of the Gallifreyan Time Lord known as the Doctor. The expressed reason of 'Well it was a a bit of a giggle, wasn't it?' does not hold as a legal excuse.

"That said, in light of your actions and assistance during the recent invasion of Zenobia Station, which I can only describe as the opening attack in The First Mediocre Time War, I am of the mind to show leniency.

"You will be permitted to continue your travels. HOWEVER..." It was with this that he turned to Rowan.

"You, Rowan, are New Gallifrey's most talented psy-reader of TARDISes, as well as having a background in dealing with abnormal and deviant minds of other sentient life forms. You will join them in their travels and shadow them, because, basically...There's something fundamentally WRONG with these people! Case is adjourned!"

And so it came to pass that we were free, or at least inexpensive, and we were now joined by a rather...enthusiatic eccentric TARDIS reader and technical specialist.

Lawsuit of a Timelord - Part 5

That evening, we all regrouped in the meeting room provided for the defense and began our strategies for the following day. Ideas were tossed this way and that, several of them colliding with each other and shattering all over the floor.

Perhaps the best (albeit, personally most disturbing to me) idea was to have Sabrae sneak over to The Doctor's quarters and... convince him to drop the action. Sabrae's visible nausea at the idea of associating with the Doctor's current incarnation put an end to that idea rather quickly.

The Voyager suggested some interesting legal advice ranging from begging the mercy of the Lord President to covertly filling the Trial Room with halibut during the night to buy more time to set up our defense.

While each of these ideas had merit, we were eventually struck with the same conclusion unanimously:

We were doomed to spend the rest of our days on New Gallifrey.

It should be noted at this time that New Gallifrey is, by all definitions, a picturesque and lovely world and its government quite balanced and uncorrupted. It should also be noted, however, that we in the Killing Time Alliance find such a world to be boring beyond words, especially due to its lacking of any kind of nude beaches or coffee.

The next morning, we began our presentation of the defense.

It was, of course, impossible for us to rebut any of the Doctor's case. We had, in fact, meddled quite extensively in his lives, and would likely continue to do so. The only legitimate defense we could bring to this matter was... well...it was FUN.

Instead, we chose to defend ourselves by showing the important contributions we had made (and would make) to the furtherance of Time Lord society and the betterment of life in the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash.

First up was Lestor.

His defense was presented as a matter of commerce and technological progress. It turns out that over the course of his lifetimes, he will have purchase and/or commissioned over 16 billion different Time Travel Capsules, leading to the technological advancement of all types, including the forthcoming type 674, the first TARDIS that is not only fully sentient, capable of inter-dimensional travel, and containing all the standard features of a TARDIS, but it also contained the first ever blonde detection unit.

Tristan, as it turns out, will, eventually become Lord President of New Gallifrey, himself, but will, upon winning the election, celebrate by drinking enough that not only will he, himself, forget he was elected, but so will the population New Gallifrey, and this will require Sen to step back into the position, as he is the only one who was sober enough at the time to remember that there was, in fact, a position in New Gallifreyan government called Lord President.

Sabrae's defense was unusual.

As seemed to be often the case, her timeline and mind could not be read properly. Instead, the only things read were the things she wanted read.

At some point in her relative future, her TTC will materialize on a heretofore unknown and uncharted planet named Knikkalbak.

Knikkalbak will be a kind of sister planet to Vloom Major Gamma. Like the latter world, Knikkalbak is dominated by one, massive beach, which is used as a singular, planetary nude beach. Unlike Vloom Major Gamma, however, Knikkalbak has a singularly unique geological oddity which cause its oceans, lakes, streams...indeed ALL naturally occurring bodies of what should be water to be composed of nothing but dark roast coffee.

Upon the playback of this time frame, Sabrae could be heard to happily sigh the word "Heaven", repeatedly.

It was at this time I was meant to take the stand. This, however, was never to happen.

Throughout the Trial Room, all activity was interrupted by a sudden sound...

"Oh! Oh! OH GOD! RIGHT THERE!!!"

Suddenly, the familiar sight of Lestor's so-called TITIS began materializing in the middle of the Trial Room.

The doors flung open and Irwin came sprinting out, screaming "MR. MAGIC SPACE MAN!!! RUN!!!!"...


... followed by a flood of MILLIONS of identical beings all saying "I am... the Doctor...Can you help me...get a TARDIS?"

Lawsuit of a Time Lord - Part 4

The following morning we were all brought to the trial chamber and showed to the defense table. We were joined by the Voyager and, across the main floor, sat the Doctor.

Unlike the last time we'd encountered him (and Sabrae had...ENCOUNTERED him), he was now a rather bookish-looking, scarecrow type in a tweed jacket and, of all things, a bow tie.  The sight of him, in his new, somewhat..."dorky" (to use Terran parlance)  caused a bit of a gag to issue forth from Sabrae. He sat at his table, eying us with some barely masked enmity.

Voy explained the basis of civil proceeding within system of New Gallifrey, which was fairly similar to old Gallifrey in that evidence could be presented a-chronologically. This meant that evidence of actions we hadn't even taken yet could be presented by either side of the case.

Lord President Sen began the proceedings and the Doctor was asked to present his case.

Initially, of course, the Doctor wished to show the past actions of the Alliance. This required our individual minds to be probed and read by the Matrix.

For those of you who are unaware, the matrix is the central repository of all knowledge on New Gallifrey and is not entirely unlike the Matrix on Gallifrey. It is capable of probing the mind of a Time Lord and projecting the information on to a number of monitor screens.

The process of having one's mind probed by the matrix can best be described this way:

Imagine being slowly brought to the most intense possible orgasm an sentient life form has or will ever achieve.

 Being mind probed by the Matrix is exactly the opposite of that.

During the probe of my own mind, certain things came to light.

New Gallifrey was, in fact, in a different universe than Gallifrey. It existed in a universal plane referred to as SL-Space, where as Gallifrey was in N-Space. Sabrae and myself, originating from Gallifrey, were from N-Space, where as Lestor and sapphire were from SL-Space. Tristan, as it turns out, was from neither, originating in a seperate universe entire known as the Groove-Zone.

Since I had pulled my TARDIS from yet ANOTHER universe, she had the rare ability to hop different universal planes, HOWEVER, since she was completely psychotic, neither she, nor anyone else new when this was happening.

A probe of Sabrae's mind revealed only two multiversal truths: Coffee was a necessity of life in the multiverse and duct tape could fix anything.

The most damning (or exculpatory, depending on one's view) evidence came during a probe of the relative future of Tristan.

At some point in the future of his personal time line, his TARDIS would collide with a blob of mayonnaise which had become lost within the time vortex, forcing an emergency landing on an unknown world in Mutter's Spiral. He sent an emergency hyper cube to Bruce for any of us who may be able to assist him. Sabrae responded.

Where as most Time Lords and Ladies who pilot TTCs general keep a repair tool kit within their Capsules, Sabrae, having learned the previously mentioned multiversal truth, did not. Instead, her Time Travel Capsule had 2342 rooms dedicated EXCLUSIVELY to the storage of rolls of duct tape.

During the repairs to Tristan's TARDIS, the pair were approached by a local tribe of primitive, proto-humanoids. This tribe was clearly hostile, however, they were also extremely curious of the technology being used, since they were still at a level of only being able to use tools on the level of a rock, a stick, or a thigh-master.

As repairs were nearly complete, Sabrae took to distracting the clear chief of this tribe by playing some kind of game (I assume it was a mundane type of game, though it may have simply been a gamble to attempt to immobilize him) where she wrapped him head-to-toe in duct tape, giving him a somewhat silver-grey look.

After the repairs were complete, the pair left in their respective TARDISes, Sabrae having left a few rolls of duct tape as a kind fo good will gesture.

It turns out, however, this world was a pre-bronze age Mondas. Sabrae's influence caused the natives to find that being metallic was preferable to being flesh, hence, giving birth to the Cybermen.

This seemed to be the final piece of evidence the Doctor was to present. The following day would be our turn.

Lawsuit of a Time Lord - Part 3

We all sat quietly in the room on Zenobia Station, trying to shake off the colossal after effects of our time in the pub while simultaneously trying to suss out exactly WHY we were on Zenobia.

Of course, we'd been told and through the fog in our minds, we had heard, and even partially understood our purpose here, but even still, we were thoroughly confused. It was during this time of muddled introspection that we were joined by a new Time Lord.

He was youngish looking, perhaps mid-twenties by human standards, probably in the eight hundreds by Gallifreyan (though, owing to the nature of regeneration this estimate is completely meaningless, as a Time Lord in his late teens, if he had undergone regeneration, could appear to be a frail old man, and vice versa.). He wore clothing that was clearly of Terrestrial origin: a black, silk shirt, his collar open at the top button, a black leather jacket and black trousers. He wore black sunglasses, not very dissimilar to my own red ones. His face was... not precisely stoic, but not terribly expressive, either. He walked in, quite casually, and sat down in a chair in the center of the room.

"You all have, it seems, been a bit naughty," the new Time Lord said, not really giving any indication of what his purpose was, "Well, you're in luck. The Lord President has appointed me as your solicitor. I'm The Voyager. You can call me Voy."

"I'm The Mad..." I began.

"Excuse me...Voy... but why is the Doctor suing us?" sapphire asked, clearly distressed by the situation at hand.

"Well...sapphire, is it?" she nodded, "It seems your group has been interfering in the Doctor's life and travels. including..." The Voyager produced a notepad from a pocket in his jacket, "Multiple accounts of damage to his TT Capsule, such as damage to the chameleon circuit, some kind of...stain...in the primary console room...theft of said TT Capsule..."

"Yes, but why is is suing US?" sapphire asked again.

"I...just went over that."

"Yes, but I didn't do any of that. That was this lot. I'm not involved at all."

"Yes, well, that's as maybe, but he's named the crew of three different TARDISes, and you are among them. Now, we were only able to locate the one TARDIS, which is the one you were brought here in. That's going to be a part of your case. I've got one of New Gallifrey's finest TARDIS psy-readers communicating with it now."

With this, Voy proceeded to reach into his jacket and pull out an old, Terran "ball and cup" game, idlly playing with it, almost losing track of where he was.

For several minutes, I sat and watched him, the clack-clack-clack of the wooden ball trying and failing to get into the cup driving rail-spikes deep into my frontal lobes. Finally, being unable to take anymore, I took aim with my ultra-plasmic awl and set it on fire. Oddly, The Voyager, merely blew it out and put it back in his pocket, pulled out a small egg-whisk and looked at it, as though reading something from it, then placed it back in his pocket before speaking again.

"That would be Rowan."

At that, there was a knock on the door.

In walked the Time Lady I assumed (and, to save time, I'll say I assumed correctly) was Rowan. She was dark haired and dressed in what appeared to be a Victorian-era blouse and leather work trousers. She wore a tool belt, which would have seemed incongruous to her attire, had her attire not already been completely incongruous with itself.

"Well," she began, "I've started an initial dialogue with your TTC, Madman. It may assist some with your case. She's really quite a fascinating TARDIS. Brilliant and perhaps even more devoted than most I've encountered. There is something that could be a bit of a problem, though."

"Hmmm?" I replied, "What's that then?"

"Well...." Rowan began, "In addition to the devotion, she's completely psychotic. Delusional. Convinced at different times that she's a TARDIS, an aardvark, a cherry sundae, six pygmies, and a dancer from Las Vegas (I believe that's somewhere in New York. I never had much patience for Earth) named 'Lottie'."

"And... You're telling me she's not?"

Lawsuit of a Timelord - Part 2

"Guards, lower your weapons," a female voice said from just out of visual range. It was a voice with a bit of command to its tone.

"These people are not criminals."

A Time Lady stepped into range, wearing the heliotrope robes of a Patrexe with the head dress and collar indicating her station.

"My apologies. I am Castellan Solis. You are on Zenobia Station. As I said, you're not criminals, but there is a very serious matter to which we must attend. I'm afraid we need to impound your TT Capsule until the matter is resolved."

Castellan Solis produced a small mechanism from her robes and clicked a switch on it. Immediately, I hear all functions of my TARDIS stop and a temporal tether surrounded it, keeping it completely stationary, both physically and trans-temporally.

"We've had a very difficult time locating you lot," Solis continued, "This TT Capsule doesn't appear in any of our records and we can't locate yours," she indicated Sabrae.

"While could find Tristan's, " she paused for a moment to see if we would acknowledge the oddity that she would know Tristan by name. We, still being rather heavily intoxicated, did not, "This one changes Capsules too often to track."

Solis seemed pleasant enough, but did appear to have a sense of duty about her at the moment.

"I will be perfectly honest, we're not entirely certain who most of you are, but we will determine that in time. Do you know why you are here?"

At this point, I answered in the only way I could.

I vomited.

And then passed out.

I have no idea what happened in the interim, however, I awoke after some time with the rest of the Killing Time Alliance present in a well apportioned room and a supernova exploding through my brain.

Even through my galactic hangover, I could feel someone poking about in my mind.

Telepaths always amused me.

While all Gallifreyans possess some level of telepathic ability, and some even some telekinetic, there were a very few who were skilled enough to probe an unwilling mind. Clearly I was dealing with one of them. Not wanting to appear resistant, since I had no idea what was happening, I didn't try to block the probe out.

Instead, I concentrated on a Terran delicacy I'd encountered at one point called haggis.

"Yes, I felt it, too," Sabrae said from across the room, "Had a lovely conversation, but there is still no damn coffee here, regardless of which..." She trailed off.

For a moment, all of us (save Sabrae) struggled to regain an kind of coherent thought (an especially difficult task for me, owning to my normal mental state of having no coherent thoughts), and then the door opened.

In walked a Time Lord wearing the Sash of Rassilon and carrying the Rod of Rassilon. He was followed by Castellan Solis and two Chancellery Guards.

He looked at us, in our state of...well...in our state, and seemed clearly amused.

"Hello. I am Lord President Sen..." He began.

"Senny! Nice to see you again!" I jumped up and offered my hand in the most friendly manner possible. The Guards stepped in and the Lord President stepped back in surprise.

"I'm sorry, have we met?" Sen said, clearly perplexed.

"Ah. No," I answered, "Not by my reckoning, anyway. But, you know, time travellers. One can never be certain."

The Lord President smiled a bit at this.

"Regardless. As I was saying, I am Lord President Sen of the High Council of New Gallifrey."

"Wait. There's a NEW Gallifrey? Weren't happy with the old model?"

Sen arched an eyebrow, but continued.

"We don't have any record of any of you, but you've been brought here because of a civil complaint."

"Ah. I'm The Madman," I said, again, offering my hand.

"Oh, good ANOTHER one who uses a title instead of a name," the Lord President said with a sigh, "Very well. What's your ACTUAL name?"

"Ah. That's where it gets sticky," I pointed to Sabrae, "See, she's the only one who knows, and she refuses to tell me. Or, anyone, for that matter. I think its because she's my sister."

Sen nodded toward Solis and she looked at Sabrae. Sabrae, in turn grinned a bit of a evil grin. For a moment, the room was silent, then Solis spoke.

"My Lord President, I can't read anything from her, but... Is there anything called 'coffee' on the station?"

Lord President Sen seemed confused for a moment, but decided to continue his explanation.

"You have been brought here on a civil matter. You had been contacted earlier and told to keep away from the Doctor. You failed to do so and he has come to me to resolve a civil matter. You're not prisoners, but we must insist you remain on Zenobia until the matter is resolved. The Doctor has asked me to have you all restricted to New Gallifrey and to deny your travel off world. I need to hear both sides of this matter before I decide.

"You will be provided a solicitor in this matter. We will begin the hearings tomorrow"

And so it was that we discovered the Killing Time Alliance was being sued.

Lawsuit of a Time Lord - Part 1

Once their mission on Logopolis was complete, Lestor, Quandhee and Sabrae (newly regenerated, barely recognizable and, happily, caffeinated) returned to Bruce to regroup with the rest of us. We all decided it was time for a bit of down time and, thus, we all went to the bowels of my TARDIS for a few strings of bowling followed by a game of hockey in the ice rink.

That was the plan, anyway.

Roughly halfway through the second string, two things became readily apparent.

First, sapphire had a remarkable skill in bowling, able to play well enough to score a normally impossible 647, though that may have been due to the fact that my Time Travel Capsule being rather fond of her, perhaps to the point of infatuation. I've often caught the engines purring to her when it thought I wasn't listening.

Second, the engines had fired up and we were in transit, somewhere.

And so, we all headed to the primary console room to check the trans-temporal coordinates, which were less then useful, as they indicated only that we were, in fact, not heading to someplace it referred to as "Steve's house". This, apparently, was enough to worry Skippy, as he immediately, without a word, hopped on a passing huon and vanished.

And so, we waited.

It is interesting to note that time, while, essentially non-existent within a TARDIS, still SEEMS to pass. This can seem like a very boring prospect. It is one of the reasons many Time Lords and Ladies keep some diversions within their TTCs. In my case, my TARDIS contained the previously mentioned bowling alley, and ice rink, but also a lovely garden, cinema, pool, and fully stocked library.

None of which mattered an emu liver at the moment, as the best way to pass time when one's TARDIS is being controlled by some external force is not bowling, swimming, skating or reading.

Hence, we all adjourned to the pub and began drinking copiously.

During our travels, we had discovered the actual recipe for a drink previously spoken of only in legend: The Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.

It was the only information I kept in the database of the food machine in the pub.

For sixteen virtual hours, we all waited and drank in the pub until the engines stopped. By this time, however, I had become convinced I had once again joined the vortex, itself and Lestor and Tristan had exchanged livers. Cannnnnndy and sapphire had long ago given up on drinking and had abandoned consciousness altogether.

Sabrae, oddly, seemed completely unaffected.

I stumbled, along with the other sentient (and now, more numerous, semi-sentient) passengers, to the primary console room to try to work out, through what can only be described as a mental oblivion, where we had finally materialized.

The scanners were still less than helpful, as they merely read "Now not at Steve's House". Ad so, I had to open the main doors.

And we were greeted by a detachment of Chancellery Guard, pointing staser pistols at us.

I Will Not BEGIN To Take The Blame For This One

Eventually, after fleeing Tennoobia, Sabrae, Lestor and Ckan-Dee managed to find the remains of Logopolis, hoping to have them, through their abilities to alter reality through higher mathematics, create a new, custom-made TARDIS for Lestor. This was something he'd always wanted to try, and, seeing as we were, in fact, renegades at this point, it was impossible for him to return to Gallifrey in order to procure a new Time Travel Capsule. Unfortunately, Logopolis was rendered a dead world in 1981. Fortunately, a Gallifreyan TTC doesn't view this as much of an obstacle, and so, Sabrae's pyramid re-materialized in 1979.

And so, Lestor went to seek the Logopolitans with Kahn-Dih and enlist them to calculate a Block Transfer Computation to create his new TTC.

Sabrae, on the other hand, wanted coffee.

It is a well known fact among higher species that Logopolitans are capable of completely altering the nature of reality via the use of Block Transfer Computation, seeing the Whole Kind of General Mish-Mash as nothing more than a series of complex mathematical equations, and, therefore, gaining the ability to re-calculate reality. This is a very impressive societal ability, even to us Time Lords, and we have often made use of their skills. This is regardless of the inadvertent actions of the Logopolitan known as Bobo Narwako.

Bobo Narwako had been, in his day, a well respected mathematician on Logopolis and had, in fact, been the originator of the idea of creating the Charged Vacuum Emboitments to hold back the entropy which had already begun absorbing the Universe. This was widely considered an excellent idea.

Where it all fell apart, however, is when Bobo had inadvertently had too much to drink the night prior and, when he began the Block Transfer Computation, vomited in the middle of it, creating, instead of the planned CVE, the Terran rapper known as Eminem.

What is lesser known about Logopolis, however, is that on the entire surface of the planet, there is not a single drop of any kind of caffeinated beverage.

As it so happens, at this same time, another Time Lord (from whose solicitor we had recently heard) had also materialized on Logopolis, for his second attempt at having them repair his malfunctioning chameleon circuit (as it turns out, he still hadn't looked in his broom cupboard, as, if he had, he'd have noticed the second TTC and realized ITS chameleon circuit was interfering with his).

My sister has many advanced talents as a Time Lady. Not the least of them is her heightened sense of smell, with which, she could pinpoint a source of caffeine from half a world away...

Or from outside a TARDIS.

She knocked on the door of the anomalous police box and was greeted by a Time Lord with long, sandy, curly hair in a dark frock coat and cravat, sipping a cup of tea. He looked at her, initially curious about her pale complexion and, of course, wings, but quickly regained his composure and proffered a small white bag.

"Would you like a jelly baby?" He asked, clearly very curious about the winged Time Lady.

"You MUST have coffee in there. I can hear it calling to me," was my sister's response.

He invited her in.

Now, I don't know exactly what went on in the Doctor's TARDIS. And, seeing as she IS my sister, I refuse to speculate. I only know this much...

It took the Logopolitans a full two weeks to complete Lestor's new TARDIS. He waited an additional four days for Sabrae.

At the end of that time, instead of the long curly haired Time Lord, a Time Lord with a short-cropped hair cut wearing a purple jumper and black leather jacket emerged, followed by Sabrae.

Sabrae was no longer pale with wings in a black dress.

The wings were gone, now, and her skin had grown quite tan. Her eyes were still dark, as was her hair, though she had grown a few inches and her hair was more dark auburn than black.

And they were both covered in sweat, with very goofy grins.