NationStates Jolt Archive

Gallifrey: galactic coordinates 10-0-11-0-0 by 0-2 from galactic 0 centre

Gallifrey was a wasted world. In orbit, the wreckage of millions of saucer-shaped Dalek battleships and Time Lord battle-TARDISes formed a dark cloud that would obscure much light for years to come. On the surface lay cities blasted to rubble and great chasms where powerful weapons ripped millions of tonnes of rock and soil from the ground and scattered it for hundreds of kilometres. Millions, perhaps billions were dead. Little did it matter. The Daleks were gone, destroyed along with many of those foolish enough to ally with them. The finest works of the Deathsmiths of Goth were all tested in a vast battle across time and space, and in the end found wanting. The last great Time War was over, and the result was a victory for all that lived. The Time Lords of Gallifrey had stood shoulder to shoulder and despite woeful casualties, they annihilated the last Dalek battlefleet at Gallifrey in a cataclysmic engagement.

Whilst this spelled out great things for most of the life in the universe, for one special race, like so many others in this conflict, it was a bitter victory. Gallifrey was a wasted world, a world that would take centuries of hard work from it's people to recover, but one city remained. One symbol of hope for a once great race. In the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, the great Citadel of the Time Lords still stood, bold and magnificent as ever, protected by the superhuman efforts of the people of Gallifrey in the final cataclysm. From this one city, they coul rebuild. They would be great again, but it would not be easy, it would not be quick, and the final handful of Time Lords realised that it could not be done alone. No longer could they afford to content themselves observing the Universe from their lofty perch. They would have to engage in galactic civilisation, to make friends and enemies, to be a part of the community. So, the Time Lords set out in their great time ships to cross the galaxy, this instance not crossing forward or backward in time, simply travelling the distances that would be required to deliver a message to civilisations across the universe:

The Time Lords of Gallifrey invite all races, clans, kingdoms, empires and republics to the Citadel of the Time Lords on Gallifrey, in order to establish relations with as many races as possible. We hope that you will accept this invitation, and that you will make the journey safely and in good health.

[I couldn't help myself. Since the latest season of Doctor Who ended, I've been itching to see if I could make the setting work... With some fairly obvious alterations, admittedly. Big alterations. Still, I wanted to give it a shot.]

[Yeah, this is open. Feel free to jump in any time now. This isn't a bump, though. Yeah.]

[I forgot to mention that should anyone decide to actually post in here, I'd rather not immediately have to deal with a seph-esque immediate attack.]

The Interspace and Undersea Intergalactic Salvage and Recycling Cooperative saw a tremendous opportunity. With all the rubble, salvageable material and materials laying around it would be a bonanza for them. They would discover new technologies, collect metals and recyclables and earn a great deal.

A german shepherd neodog in a tricorn hat sat at the comm of his spaceship, the Lady Luck, he sent a message down between the puffs of his cigar, "Hello this is Sargent Smithers, we request a chance to do business. We see there is a lot of salvage here and a tremendous business opportunity."

His second in command, Marcus Ohyes, with dreadlocks in a purple silk jacket with lace cuffs, red silk pantaloons, and black high leather boots took notes on his datapad. Marcus eye twitched slightly from his habitual overconsumption of caffeine.

The Lady Luck, a combination salvage ship, and heavily armed privateer waited in space. Various symbols were painted all over the ship, three sevens, a royal flush, the wheel of fortune, a lucky horgus crab, the golden egg, and others.

[Thanks for saving my thread for death by lonely old age.]

This is Gallifrey space traffic control clearing you landing, Docking Bay Five is ready. Welcome to Gallifrey.

Behind the door to the docking bay stood a lone Time Lord in a vast and empty corridor, the once-white walls covered in scorch marks and pitted with small holes where varied alien weapons had impacted on the surface. Decked out in the traditional robes of his people, the Time Lord seemed remarkably small in the great and silent corridor. To look at him, if he were human anyone would guess his age to be around 70 by his wrinkled face, watery grey eyes and almost total lack of hair, but given the lifespan and regenerative capabilities of his race, his age was lost to most. He stood and waited for the visitors to arrive so he could greet them, and introduce them to the few others that still populated the city.

Of course, he had his misgivings, like most of those older Time Lords who had survived the final battle. They were a generation used to being able to do as they wished without having to worry about the affairs of the rest of the galaxy. In him was a deep-seated mistrust of outsiders; a life spent watching their activities had done nothing to instill in him a sense that they could be trusted not to try out any number of deceits or traps on his people, but necessity dictated that the Time Lords engage in diplomacy. Further isolation would only seal the fate of his people. So he waited.

Far out in space, in the outer, more lonely reigons of space, a people thrive. The Xiscapians. The Xiscapians have little contact with most of the galaxy. Xiscapians are human in most ways. They laugh, cry, love, hate, do great things and make mistakes like every other sentient in the galaxy. They differ, though, in several ways. Firstly, the least noticible, is that their eyes are yellow, with vertical pupils, like a cat's. Secondly, they have much more hair colors then the usual bland human colors. It can be green, pure white, purple, pink, any and every color imaginable. Then come the more startling features. They have fox ears and tails, which allow them a heighened sense of balance and hearing. (Four ears are better then two.) The two "human" ears are elf-like and grow where most humans do, on the side of their heads. The "fox" ears grow out of the top of their skull, pushing though hair. Lastly is the Xiscapians abilities. They are extremely fast and graceful, more so then any human could ever hope to be, which makes them superiour fighter pilots and footsoldiers. The Xiscapian military had recently been though a war with a nearby planet, and what little force they had before was now even smaller. But factorys were slowly building ships, weapons, and vehicles. Now a mech hovers at the edge of the system, on patrol. This is a LAM, (Light Assault Mech) and is slightly larger then the average Xiscapian (9,0). A message filters into the pilots ear's. "The Time Lords of Gallifrey invite all races, clans, kingdoms, empires and republics to the Citadel of the Time Lords on Gallifrey, in order to establish relations with as many races as possible. We hope that you will accept this invitation, and that you will make the journey safely and in good health." This was relayed bac to Command, which was in turn relayed to the Emperor. The Emperor ordered a delegation with an escort of a Cruiser to go out to this planet and establish contact. Now the Cruiser jumps into the system near the planet. "Greetings. We are the Xiscapians. We come in peace. We have recieved your message, and would be honored to join you at your Citadel. Please send us landing coordinites so we may set down." A unarmed shuttle craft is prepared to take the delegates and their guards to the planet's surface.

This is Gallifrey space traffic control. You are cleared for landing at Docking Bay Twelve and a diplomat is en route to greet you. Welcome to Gallifrey.

Another grave-looking robed Time Lord made his way through the silent halls of the desperately underpopulated citadel, whilst in a chamber just beneath the city proper, the Lord President Rodageit was being prepared by aides to meet his guests. Sitting on a unstable-looking chair in a gloomy little bunker on a blasted planet, the premier himself reflected the state of the Time Lords.

"Tell me about these 'Xiscapians'."

A short and scrawny little man appeared out of the shadows at the back of the small room to adress the Lord President.

"An odd mix of humanoid and animalistic characteristics make them somewhat unusual, even in a universe of such varied sentients as this. They are apparently quite a sight to see. Graceful, or so the records we have say. Unfortujnately our observations were cut short by the Time War, and were brief to say the least in the first place."

"I would very much like to meet them as soon as they arrive. I will meet them at the docking by."

"As you wish, sir. They should be landing at Bay Twelve."

The mid-ranking Time Lord first assigned to contact the Xiscapians at the docking bay was somewhat bewildered to find the Lord President and his entourage bearing down in him, an unusual concentration of people in a city so usually empty, the group a flurry of activity, consulting ancient records and scrawled notes for any trace of information that might be helpful.

The Lady Luck enters Docking Bay 5 very smoothly, it has a smooth bioceramic outer hull with a very strange looking engine in the back, a round ring with four warp nacelles sticking out of it. It seems to almost float into the docking bay.

A lift opens on the side and Marcus and Sargent enter the city. Sargent, the neodog, has a kilt and bandolier which match his blue tricorner hat, and Marcus is flashily dressed.

Sargent comes up to the man in the docking bay and makes a brief bow at about five feet distance. He says, "It is very nice to meet you, I am Captain Sargent Smithers, and this is my second Marcus Ohyes. We look forward to doing business with you in the name of the Interspace and Undersea Intergalactic Salvage and Recycling Cooperative."

Marcus Ohyes, is quietly looking around not saying a word, taking in the surroundings. He seems alert and a bit twitchy. He bows slightly at the mention of his name. Then continues watching.

The geriatric Time Lord seemed to start at the mention of the group the two rather odd visitors represented.

"You represent a private company of some kind? I must admit, I'm unprepared for such a visitor, but I've no doubt given the name of your organisation that you've seen the unique opportunities Gallifrey can provide such a group. Please, follow me."

With a beckoning gesture, the guide turned around and shuffled off down the hall, occasionally speaking very quietly and gesturing at statues or elegantly decorated hallways. Scattered about the city were the remains of Daleks who had breached the defences of the city and staged a brutal running battle in the hallways of the Citadel. Despite the decorative value of the halls, the marks of brutal combat were still very visible on the walls, floors and the decorative banners strewn about. Evidently no clean-up had yet been staged as the remaining thousand or so Time Lords had busied themselves removing dangerous chunks of wreckage locked in decaying orbits that threatened the damaged ecosystem of Gallifrey.

"Sorry for the mess. We haven't had time to clean up, I'm afraid."

Eventually, the three came to a softly lit conference room in one of the last remaining undamaged sections of the city. Sitting down, the guide gestured at the chairs tucked under the table.

"Please, sit. Now, since you're representing a salvage business, no doubt you wish to take advantage of the Gallifrey debris fields."

Sargent Smithers, "Yes, at one point we were just a salvage company, that was five hundred years ago on old earth..., we have since expanded our operations to include salvage, garbage cleanup, bioremediation, recycling, and um a few other specialties. We are interested in the debris fields, the garbage on planet, scrap, setting up recycling plants, cleanup contracts for cities, and bioremdiation of damaged areas."

"Well, we have no problem with you clearing up the wreckage of the saucer-shaped craft, but I must ask that you leave the wreckage of the ships of my people alone. There are bodies to recover, and the ships themselves are very important to us. We'd be willing to offer you exclusive rights to one of the debris fields, for a suitable sum."

We are of course willing to take care of the saucer shape craft, and will respect your request to leave the craft of your people alone. If we offered to return the raw materials from the craft to you as metal ingots and similar processed materials would you accept a reduction in finders fees, we are mainly interested in recovering the technical aspects of the crafts. Surprisingly there it is often more lucrative to acquire things like alien toothbrushes, tools, literature and art than raw materials.

"There is one particular technology my people will wish to recover from the saucer ships. We'll leave weapons, propulsion, defensive systems and any other miscellaneous artifacts to you, but my people have invested too much time and lost far too many lives to leave certain systems active on those wrecks. We'll offer a significant reduction in finder's fee if you agree. You'll certainly find a lot of unique artifacts, a lot of technical warfare manuals of quite disturbing advancement."

Romana sighed. Well… This was what she’d best describe as a totally new and unwanted headache. On the other hand, it was probably best to find out what kind of an (alternate, she hoped) future these people came from. If nothing else it would provide her with an excuse to make some of the changes she’d wanted. It had already had an impact, she’d changed her presidential codes, and overruled several of the Council who’d suggested an immediate attack on these ‘interlopers,’ fearing a repeat of the thankfully-erased Faction Paradox crisis. Even the devastation of this ‘other’ Gallifrey had its use, though. She now knew that there was a much higher probability of a time war with the daleks than she had ever imagined.

She was going herself because she liked to get away now and then, and more importantly, because her certainty that her… other… self would not have survived prevented it being a violation of the Laws of Time (or at least, that’s what she told them).

She stood before a mushroom shaped console of ice and white plastic, that glowed from within with the gold luminescence of the heart of the machine, and made a few adjustments to its own security systems, using an obscure trick from the matrix to prevent its access, even using master keys.

Isailla, one of Romana’s favourite servants stood demurely nearby, and Romana gave her a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry dear, I don’t expect you to leave the ship,” she said, “just keep an eye on things here.” Romana twisted a dial and pulled the dematerialisation levers down, and the centre column that rose from the console began to move, three seconds later, it stopped, Romana ducked around the console to the communications panel, lightly tapping a key to establish a transmission.

“This is Romanadvoratrelundar, Lady President of… a different… Gallifrey, requesting authorisation to land…” she didn’t know if it was actually necessary or not – from the damage to their planet’s surface, she suspected they didn’t have any way of stopping her right at this minute, but one never knew… And it was courteous.

Competition for the corporation from Commonalitarianism, soon entered the picture. The Garbage Men debris skimmer and full mobile depot appeared in the Galifrean system.

It was not as if they could know that the Commonalitarianism was there already in negotiations nor would they realise just some of the technologies that they would expect to find.

Ever since the first blimp of life was detected on Galifrey subtle surveillance had been set in place, providing a quick survey, there was alot more than just the debris field that The Garbage Men wanted but with the war totally decimating the majority of the planet. There was always the chance that there would be some old forgotten technology, or something. The Debris fields, the contents of those would be mostly known and would most likely be under heavy restrictions removing the more... interesting from play.

There is always a chance for the least likely of artifacts to be discovered anywhere...

The ships opened standard communication channels with Galifrey

"To Whom it may concern; ",it was written like a formal letter according to standards from a long lost time when physical pieces of paper would be passed around the world. Great for the great corporations that dealt with sort of thing but in the ever increase march for efficiency and savings the inefficiency and wastage sealed it's fate... The letter went on...

"It has come to our attention that your nation may be in need of our services, in addition to the standard debris field reclamation of both technology and space for other uses, but also perhaps reclamation of surface of the planet. Who knows what might remain among the ruins and debris on the planet. Hence that is why we believe professionals would be required for this job, our services and facilities are top class and are unmatched throughout the galaxy.

For convenience attached with this letter is our standard Debris reclamation contract with a few blank spaces for you to indicate details of what technology or other specific items that you wish to be returned directly. With those details sorted the exact charge would just need to be finalised. Once the contract has been signed then we can get working on the debris field right away. The reclamation of the planet's surface should the services be deemed necessary would take longer as negotiations and exact details of the contract would have to be dealt with before work can progress.

Edge of the Tempa empire, Sentinel system, Sentinel defense station 3

Jason Low sighed for the hundredth time as he stared at the different sensor screens in front of him, RADAR, CSF and Ether scans, wondering for the hundredth time why the company even bothered keeping stations out here, he knew that Starwind and Hawking defense had been started out here in Sentinel, but still surely this was just a waste of time...

Then the message came through

The Time Lords of Gallifrey invite all races, clans, kingdoms, empires and republics to the Citadel of the Time Lords on Gallifrey, in order to establish relations with as many races as possible. We hope that you will accept this invitation, and that you will make the journey safely and in good health.


Within days the corporation had decided to send an delegation on behalf of their interests, and an XGP15a-ll class vessel , The Shining Sword , and her 5 man crew were dispatched, crossing the Ether to reach the Time Lords.

This... This is Gallifrey space traffic control, you are cleared to land at secure bay one. Welcome, Lady President.

The Lady President was greeted by one of the senior officials of what was left of Gallifrey. A man appearing to be about fifty years old with mostly grey hair and a face left pale and drawn by active participation on the street fighting in the Citadel. Noldacarmos was one of the dozen or so Time Lords present when the Daleks broke into the Citadel. The then Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar had been killed first in the initial barrage of fire from the powerful Dalek weapons.

I sincerely hope the Lady President has a good reason for her visit. Her recent death makes this somewhat uneasy, not least in relation to the laws of time. No doubt she has her reasons.

_____________________________________

A response to the contract offer from The Garbage Men, a message was immediately composed and sent:

We are very much interested in learning what the fee for your services would be for you to help clear up the the remains of cities on the surface of Gallifrey. During the course of our last war, we found it necessary to stockpile large numbers of munitions in cities other than the capital. Unfortunately the enemy bombarded all but one of our cities to rubble. However, we are confident due to the unusual nature of our munitions that they may be intact under the ruins. We would like to hire your company to retrieve the weapons with a minimum of fuss.
Should you choose to accept the contract, we would appreciate it if the weapons are treated with the greatest of delicacy. Their nature means that an unwanted 'detonation' would have unpleasant results for clean-up crews and Gallifrey alike.

_____________________________________

This is gallifrey control to unidentified craft, please identify yourself and state your reason for being here.

Sargent Smithers, "Ah, of course, of course we understand your concern, we will certainly let you take any restricted devices, it is not our wish to become involved with scalar weapons or similar devices of mass destruction. We are mainly interested in direct trade, we are willing to offer payment in a number of forms, real time credits, seeds, botanicals, and livestock from a number of different worlds, or mined metals of a variety of differnt types." Marcus Ohyes hands Sargent Smithers a datapad, in it is a catalog of plants covering the near complete ecosystems of a dozen earthlike worlds, everything from edibles to ornamentals. Feel free to peruse our catalog.


OOC: Sargent Smithers hasn't figured out you are temporal masters yet, he thinks you might be referring to scalar devices-- sun destroyers, planet busters things like that.

"The Lord President will be very happy to hear of your understanding. As for payment, what we need most right now is plant life and materials suitable for what is promising to be a vast reconstruction project. As it is, there isn't enough diversity left on Gallifrey to last long-term, and this Citadel took quite serious damage in the last days of the war."

Taking a brief look at the datapad, the Time Lord seemed satisfied.

"We'll give you a list of what we want as soon as the Lord President can approve it."

Sargent Smithers, "The shipment will be coming in from the Ectotechnics Institute, a specialty group, most of the plants will come in as a mix of seed stock and live plants. We appreaciate your interest."

Commander Tim Hawking stared at the world below him, seeing the massive debris field and the destruction caused by the final battle of the Time war. He sighed, offering up a small prayer for those who had died before turning to his crew. The ship usually carried about 20 crew members when on combat duty, but as this was a diplomatic mission only the bridge crew had been brought along. The Copilot, Weapons officer and Maintinance officer we're diffent from his standard crew, and he wished that command had allowed him to bring David and the two HonaHona twins, but they said that, although his usual crew were excellent combat officers, they lacked the tact and patience for diplomatic work. Slowly he turned round to check the Navigation officers place. He smiles to himself, atleast they had allowed him to keep his Nav officer...and Wife on the crew roster. Then again, he didn't know anyone who could navigate as well a Sheena did, and she didn't look to bad while doing it ever. For probly the hundredth time since he had married her, he cursed the sections of the computer interface gel tank that hid the more....intresting parts of her body. Sheena quickly noticed him stareing at her and blushed before suddenly giving out a startled cry
"Oh, Sir, we are being hailed by the planet, they want to know who we are and what are intentions are" siad Sheena. Tim quickly turned back to his console, "Open a channel to them immediatly Sheena" he said. Once the channel had been established Tim quickly began explaining their reason for being their. "This is the Starwind and Hawking corporation defence division Combat ship the Shining Sword. We recived your message and have been dispatched on behalf of both the Starwind and Hawking corporation and the Tempa empire to meet your representatives and hopefully negotiate trade treaty's."

The Shining Sword hung in space, silently waiting a reply

The exterior of the ship that materialised in the secure landing bay was hardly chameleonic, but rather, aesthetic, it was, like the console inside, in the form of an ice block, this one, cube shaped, about three meters to each side, like something that belonged in a giant drinking glass.

The doors swung open, and Romana stepped from the white console room, looking around slowly. She was young-looking still, with short, almost fluffy blond hair, pressed back against a high crimson collar that fanned out behind her, above comparatively simple golden robes, over which was presently draped the sash of Rassilon, a long relic apparently made of a number of gold bars with a silver connection between each.

She didn’t seem to outwardly react to her surroundings, even though her soul cried even at minor display of brutality. Looking at Noldacarmos, she was a little relieved – for that suggested that this maybe was another Gallifrey. She’d had several ‘copies’ made in the past, after all, though – that she didn’t recognise him.

“Hello,” she said, trying her best to sound upbeat, but failing, “Thank you for letting me land… If you don’t mind, I’ve one question straight off… What happened?”

A response to the contract offer from The Garbage Men, a message was immediately composed and sent:

We are very much interested in learning what the fee for your services would be for you to help clear up the the remains of cities on the surface of Gallifrey. During the course of our last war, we found it necessary to stockpile large numbers of munitions in cities other than the capital. Unfortunately the enemy bombarded all but one of our cities to rubble. However, we are confident due to the unusual nature of our munitions that they may be intact under the ruins. We would like to hire your company to retrieve the weapons with a minimum of fuss.
Should you choose to accept the contract, we would appreciate it if the weapons are treated with the greatest of delicacy. Their nature means that an unwanted 'detonation' would have unpleasant results for clean-up crews and Gallifrey alike.



A flurry of activity was aboard the mobile Depot, engineering and construction ship. It was the leading ship and had a whole division of marketing officials. The highest ranked on board was only known as "Kennard".

A shuttle was quickly filled with weapon specialists, Kennard and other marketing personnel, and other Garbological engineers that specialise in various areas. Once everything was ready the shuttle was dispatched and linked into the Galifreyian control.

The shuttle was fairly inconspicious looked like it could belong to almost anyone, however the large white lettering spelling out "TGM" on the side quickly shattered the inconspicuousy of the shuttle. A gangplank descended from the shuttle and Kennard lead the way down the gag plank maybe it wasn't the most secure way. He wanted to project an image and the risk of something going wrong would not be enough for him to change stop him presenting that image.

A smile played across his face as he engaged in meaningless chit-chat with a woman that was just behind his back, she laughed, one of those laughters that almost lightened up the room

After a brief pause, Noldacarmos coughed slightly, then began to speak.

"The Daleks happened, Lady President. A Dalek battlefleet millions of ships strong lauched an assault all across time and space. Well, apparently, not all across time and space. Naturally we bore the brunt of the attack, and initially we were losing badly. We saw world after world burn and we could do nothing. In the end, there was only one thing we could do: pin them down at Gallifrey and work in secret on a weapon that would allow us to wreck the Daleks in one go. In the end, we detonated a rogue moon in the middle of the the Dalek fleet. With their fleet gone, we fought them to a standstill in the Citadel, but we couldn't pin them down. The remains escaped to various destinations throughout time, but they're a secondary concern now."

_____________________________________

Shining Sword, you are cleared for landing bay two. Land when ready.

In a by-now familiar process, a doddering old senior Time Lord made his way to the allotted landing bay to greet the visitors.

"Message received control, we are commencing our landing approach now." Said Tim, staring at the docking information before him. He quickly saw that there were two different routes to the landing site, one which went above and around several debris fields, and one which just went straight through. However, going through the field would require some very special piloting. It didn't take Tim long to choose. "All hands, prepare to enter the fields, stand by for Grappler combat" he said, engaging the ships grappler arms.

On the out side of the ship, two large arms extended from the hull of the Shining Sword, moving into position in front of the ship. Metal shields slid down from the arms shoulders to the forearm's, and the arms grappler's opened ready to grab any pieces of debris that headed towards the ship.

Sheena sighed at her husbands aggressive piloting, remembering once again that one of Tims ancestors was a CtarlCtarl, one of the most agressive race's in the known universe, still atleast Ashia had also given him enhanced reflexes, which made him a natural grappler pilot.
Tim smiled to him self as he knocked bit of hull aside, forcing a hole towards the planet below, before finally making planet fall at the designated landing site.

OOC: Okay, I forgot to subscribe to the thread and has a hard time finding it. My bad.
IC: The shuttles landing was far too late due to mechanical problems. It finally landed in the docking bay and set down it's ramp. Vanadict, a tall Xiscapian female with short red hair, walked down the ramp, followed by four Elite Black Ops troopers. Vanadict was dressed in blue Imperial Delegate Robes, and moved gracefully. She was young, about thirty, with a sharp mind. She stood, the Black Ops troopers silently standing behind her, to wait for the so-called Time Lords.

“I see,” Romana said, looking thoughtful, she was aware of no Dalek force capable of what had been implied in this man’s tale. Which meant that she would have to see to it that they did not live long. “Perhaps they are, but I think it would be best to attend to it as soon as possible. I would rather not have them link with the daleks here; for that matter, I’m a little concerned that you seem to be offering to allow other groups access to dalek vessels. I’d be very concerned about such technology falling into the wrong hands, or indeed, suckers…” she let the comment hang, “other than that, what other aid can we offer?”


Meanwhile, a little way away, in stellar terms, under the Capitol, recently re-designed into two domes (http://www.necrontyr.plus.com/forumpics/capitol.jpeg) shortly after its recreation after what was generally referred to as the ‘Faction Paradox Incident’, somewhat different from how Romana presumed their cousin-city looked from the outside, something was being constructed, a strange twist of a coral-like material was being ‘grown,’ slowly but surely expanding in an annexe of what was bluntly known as the Slaughterhouse.

Secret IC:
While waiting for the response from Gallifrey, Marcus Ohyes, is quietly recording everything in the bay, he is wearing a clear video contact lenses with a wireless connection to what looks like a small music player in his inside pocket, in one ear he has a plug in it, it is feeding back the sounds he is recording. He quietly takes a few minutes to record the inside of the landing bay, focusing for a few minutes on anything that looks particularly interesting.

OOC: A kind of minor bump.

OOC: Okay, I forgot to subscribe to the thread and has a hard time finding it. My bad.
IC: The shuttles landing was far too late due to mechanical problems. It finally landed in the docking bay and set down it's ramp. Vanadict, a tall Xiscapian female with short red hair, walked down the ramp, followed by four Elite Black Ops troopers. Vanadict was dressed in blue Imperial Delegate Robes, and moved gracefully. She was young, about thirty, with a sharp mind. She stood, the Black Ops troopers silently standing behind her, to wait for the so-called Time Lords.

The Time Lord that greeted Vanadict couldn't have been more different. Centuries old and starting to look it, Lord President Rodageit had decided to forgo the impractically-collared robes favoured by other Time Lords, and wore clothing resembling the black and white smock of a new initiate in the Time Lord academy. Behind him, in no particular formation stood his various aides and the perplexed Time Lord originally assigned to the Xiscapians. After a second of sizing up the Xiscapian representative, Rodageit extended a bony hand, hoping that the fairly common gesture would be recognised.

"Welcome to Gallifrey. I am Lord President Rodageit, the current leader of all that's left of this world and it's people."

_____________________________________

"Lady President, it's all we can do to keep Dalek temporal technology out of the hands of the general population. Beyond that, we are in a poor position. We cannot afford to not take advantage of the rather vast opportunity the debris fields provide. Gallifrey... This Gallifrey... Is a ruined world, and the detritus of the last Time War could rebuild it. As for aid, there are many ways you could help. The Citadel needs structural reinforcement, and we simply don't have the manpower ourselves. Then there's the ecological disaster of widespread orbital bombardment that reduced biodiversity to a tiny proportion of what it should be."

A flurry of activity was aboard the mobile Depot, engineering and construction ship. It was the leading ship and had a whole division of marketing officials. The highest ranked on board was only known as "Kennard".

A shuttle was quickly filled with weapon specialists, Kennard and other marketing personnel, and other Garbological engineers that specialise in various areas. Once everything was ready the shuttle was dispatched and linked into the Galifreyian control.

The shuttle was fairly inconspicious looked like it could belong to almost anyone, however the large white lettering spelling out "TGM" on the side quickly shattered the inconspicuousy of the shuttle. A gangplank descended from the shuttle and Kennard lead the way down the gag plank maybe it wasn't the most secure way. He wanted to project an image and the risk of something going wrong would not be enough for him to change stop him presenting that image.

A smile played across his face as he engaged in meaningless chit-chat with a woman that was just behind his back, she laughed, one of those laughters that almost lightened up the room

OOC: I don't think you've seen this...

It was only though diplomatic training that Vanadict could understand the gesture. Xiscapians do not shake hands, they bow instead. However, this was an (almost) universily excepted gesture, and Vanadict took the Time Lord's ancient hand in her grasp, squeezing firmly. She then stood back, looking the Time Lord up and down. Xiscapians had been capable of faster then light travel when most species were trying to figure out if rocks were edible. Vanadict respected the Time Lords for being as old (and perhaps older) then her own species. With age usually comes wisdom. She bowed low. "I am the Vanadict, the Emperor's personal aide and diplomat. On behalf of the Xiscapian people I greet you, and hope our respective nation's relationship be a long and fruitful one."

The Shining Blade finally came to rest with a light bump at the landing bay, her nose pointing to the sky. Thankfully the artificial gravity meant that the crew could still walk fine as they slowly headed to the debarking section, even though they were walking at 90 degrees to the ground. Slowly a motorist ladder unit descended from the bottom of the ship, the conveyabelt like ladder already beginning to spin in a circle between the lowered section and the motor in the ship.

Tim slowly fastened his assault belt around his waist, slotting in his usual combat equiptment, light shield, medical equipment and field rations. Finally he headed towards his private weapons locker and removed a holster and ammo case, followed by his most prized pocession, a Caster that had been passed down through his family for several hundred years. He quickly grabbed several number 8 shells, his favorate, before turning back to the rest of the crew, noting with annoyance that the diplomates who had been acting as his bridge crew clearly did not aprove of such weapons being taken. Before any of them could start an argument though Tim quickly grabbed one of the ladders rungs and deceneded toward the surface, and the waiting Time Lord.

Interlude
[A different time and place...]

“Stealth approach complete, relative time to intercept with Gallifrey-referent N-space, thirteen seconds…”

Leela watched the Time Lords in the sterile control room of the battle-TARDIS, a gleaming room of metal occupied by a crew of nine, six at the centre console, three around it at various stations. She wasn’t one, but rather, a former travelling companion of one of the President’s friends. The first actual immigrant Gallifrey had seen in over a million years.

The interior of the ship was essentially infinite, and given that, the control room was particularly austere. Almost every part of the ship was devoted to armaments. The ship’s control room was essentially the only human inhabitable room in it. The rest of that limitless, never-ending, space, was weapons, of every conceivable type ranging from crude mass-drivers firing sharpened bolts into normal reality, to sophisticated vortex-disruption and historical alteration weapons.

“Target has entered the time vortex. They have detected us,” one of the time lords said, staring at the scanner station. Speech was unnecessary. The ship’s telepathic circuits were fully active, and everyone on board, even the robotic dog sitting beside Leela, was linked to a degree that allowed them to know what the others knew, and instruct the ship directly. The control room was running at a time rate that allowed its inhabitants to experience seconds for every nanosecond.

The exterior of the ship hurtled towards the Enemy vessel, a golden-bronze saucer shaped craft. The TARDIS was ‘bigger on the inside than the outside’ and its exterior now resembled a bone or coral white spiky polyhedron.

“Arming weapons…” one of the Time Lords at a side-station said, “Tuckson-Jacker battery active…”

Leela could see, overlaid on her vision, like a mind-expanding drug trip, the outside of the ship. The enemy ship twisted, and melted, like something from a Salvador Dali image.

“Target vessel has force-materialised…”

“Oubliette system will not engage. Enemy craft has shielded itself. We are being driven from the vortex. Compensating.”

“No,” Leela said suddenly, “go with it. Materialise before they do, where they can’t see us.”

“Illogical…” one of the Time Lords said, turning to look at her – well, through her.

“It’s not. Do what they will not expect,” she said, “that way you will have the advantage…”

“Very well… Materialising outside their light cone…”

The calescent central column of the TARDIS glowed brightly, and then dimmed a little.

“N-space manoeuvring active. Dalek vessel appearing. It is firing upon us.”

“Well, fire back…” Leela said.

“But…”

“K9,” she said, addressing the dog, “Do it.”

“Affirmative, mistress,” the dog said, nodding its head.

“Enemy is attempting to de-mat… Weapons active. Oubliette system active, target destroyed. We retrieved three hundred and twenty Dalek captives…” he almost looked reproachful because they had not saved all their enemies from their own guns.

“Good. Then we’ve won. Keep firing until there is nothing left,” Leela said, congratulating herself.

“But…”

“K9, fire.”

The stricken Dalek vessel glowed slightly, as it was erased, as though edited out of reality, and disappeared. Leela was gratified, but realised grimly that this was far from the only vessel to escape the ‘other’ Gallifrey.

It was good to be hunting again…

“Good dog, K9...”

OOC: The Lords of Gallifrey, you going to respond to me or what?
BTW,
Vanadict (http://www.websnark.com/archives/bloodrayne.jpg)
Vanadict is a name and also a title. Vanadict is the title of the Emperor's head ambassador, which every Vanadict adopts as their name upon accepting the position. No one knows Vanadict's real name, but she serves as a diplomat to many worlds as well as the Emperor's personal aide. She is 34.
The Black Guard
A Black Guard trooper (http://web.nafcs.k12.in.us/users/galena/Classrooms/Fifth/student51_Smith_Web/TANNER/Tannerpix/Shadow%20trooper%20II.jpeg)
The Black Guard are the Emperor's personal bodyguard. They protect the Emperor, his/her spouse, children, relatives, aides, and allies when visiting the capitol. They are a branch of the Black Ops, and only the toughest, most patriotic are allowed in.
Equipment:
1x Rifle
1x pistol
5x Shurikens
1x combat knife
4x Flash grenades