THE TREES OF NUMBAKULLA

The temple rite is simple

An open heart is first

Water for the living

To quench the living thirst

-"The Temple Rite" (A Numbakulla Poem)

The Withered Trees

I do not, as the Doctor was often wont to do, take up Companions in my travels.  Few species are as long-lived as mine, and any meaningful association with a member of another race is doomed to be fleeting.  For them, life passes so quickly, and as they age and weaken, I go on year after year regenerating.  It is not fair, I think, to make them watch this, to have them realize how limited their own time is while mine seems to run on and on.  And for my part...I have already lost everything; my race, my home.  I do not want to add new Companions to the long catalogue of what time has taken from me.

Nor do I find members of what my people patronizingly called "the Lesser Species" to be half as interesting as the Doctor did.  Perhaps because they are so short-lived, their lives seem to be spent in willful ignorance, grasping at all they can get and consume "now" with little thought towards the consequences.  Most seem to me predictable and dull.  Most, but not all.

While tangling with the Order of Malkuth in the streets of New Babbage, I found myself allied with a remarkable Terran woman named Dinah Greymoon.  A young adventuress with a knack for racing and consequently destroying vehicles, when I first came across her she was recovering from a crash that had tipped her into one of New Babbage's wintery canals.  Together we encountered a street urchin who had valuable information, and after warm cups of chocolate in a cafe, the hunt was on.  I found her to be spirited and full of what the Earth people call "pluck."  It surprised even myself then when I invited her aboard The Fallen Hour for a few short voyages.  After a Black Hole and a missing moon, I showed her a reflection of lost, time-locked Gallifrey.  Though slightly overwhelmed, she took all in stride.

When we parted in New Babbage, I did not think to see her again.  But I had given her a means to contact me and she did so...finding herself shipwrecked on an abandoned isle while sailing for Tahiti.  The sole survivor, she had come across the ruins of a strange civilization, and sent for me.  I came almost immediately.

**ALERT: RIVER SONG SAYS "SPOLIERS!!!"  IF YOU INTENDED TO PLAY THE "POT HEALER ADVENTURE" LOOK UP NUMBAKULLA AND GO START.  READ NO FURTHER UNTIL YOU DO!!!** 

On this island, Numbakulla, a tragic tale played out of over-reaching human ambition.  As the mystery unfolded, it appeared that what had once been a unified and peaceful society split into two factions, and ended up destroying itself in the process.  Concerned with guardianship of the two sacred trees housed in  a massive temple atop the island's highest mountain, the people of Numbakulla became divided into the "Gardeners" and the "Pot Makers."  In time their differences separated them, and they built very different civilizations on opposite ends of the isle.  As the Pot Makers delved deeper and deeper into new technologies, they lost sight of their sacred duties and caused the great trees to wither.  Life on Numbakulla languished and died.  But led by ancient clues and the notes of another, earlier shipwreck victim, new seeds were discovered hidden, and a chance for Numbakulla to be reborn.

The Great Temple

In the wake of the mystery, Miss Greymoon and I parted company again.  But I have come to understand, a little, what the Doctor saw in his Companions.  If they possessed any of the wit, perception, and strong will of Miss Greymoon, it is easy to see why he so often enlisted their aid.

The Gardener Civilization was Organic in its Technology

The Pot Makers Evolved Along More Conventional--and Ambitious--Lines

Seen Around the Metaverse...

CIA Data Extract: Psi-Theta 7111-23somue
Subject: Daemiiandraegonneandroluvar
Aliases:  Damien Draegonne, Lord Draegonne, Deimiyanu-sensei
Re: Metaverse Sightings, Time Band 10 December to 22 December 2010 Local Time


Begin Image Display:

Subject Active In New Babbage City, Perhaps Engaged In Study of Local Defence Grid

TT Capsule Detected In Vicinity of World Trade Center, Terra, New York, Prior To Their September 11 2001 Destruction.  Image A

Image B

Image C

TT Capsule Detected in Deshima Nebula On Approach To Deshima Station

Arriving Deshima Station

Recovered From Primitive Digital Imaging Device, Elfhame Islands; Notice TT Capsule In Background

Terran Moon Base, Circa 2021 AD

THE FALLEN HOUR

The Fallen Hour is an old Novatech Type 40 Time Travel Capsule, not unlike the one used by the Doctor.  The line was replaced by the vastly superior Type 70s prior to the Last Great Time War, but as a testament to their endurance and stamina many Type 40s continued to see service throughout the conflict.

My TT Capsule was named for the tragic accident that took the life of Omega, the creator of the Eye of Harmony that Rassilon would later use to solidify Time Lord dominion over time and space.  Thus the name The Fallen Hour suggests sacrifice for the greater good.  I have little doubt that her previous master was one of those Time Lords who held the Doctor in high esteem, for when I acquired her she was bound in the form of a Terran "Police Box" just as his was.  Over the years I have modified her chameleon circuits to broaden the range of forms she may take.

The interior of The Fallen Hour is immense, and can be made to increase or decrease in size, creating and discarding chambers as needed.  The following are the locations aboard I most visit.

The Main Control Room

When I first took possession of The Fallen Hour, the main control room was immense, not unlike that favored by the Doctor's late seventh and eighth incarnations.  I modified this considerably to its present state.  There are several other console rooms aboard, but this is the primary base of operations.  One of the secondary control centers, the Rotor Chamber, is seen here;

The Cloisters

This towering, two-story chamber is the heart of The Fallen Hour, holding both the Eye of Harmony that stabilizes her dimensions and the consciousness of the Capsule itself.  I frequently come here to listen to the unearthly song she sings.

The Infinity Room

If the Control Room is the nerve center, and the Cloisters the heart, then the eyes and ears of The Fallen Hour are here.  In the Infinity Room, I may survey the whole of time and space, obtaining coordinates and preparing for my journeys.

Living Quarters

The Fallen Hour is not merely a transport.  She is my home.  As such, she has all the comforts one might expect.  Here are just a few;

 The Library

The Dining Room

The Green Room (at Christmas Time)

My Bedroom

Damien Draegonne, Part 2

I have spent a week studying the subject now and am convinced he is, as he claims, an alien and not a Europan agent.  However Political Officer Jan Lo Bak continues to maintain the subject is merely a "mutant" who talks a great deal of nonsense.  I agree that the subject is full of nonsense--he says he is 239 years old, that his people regenerate their appearances when they become old or infirm, that his civilization was millions of years old and one of the most advanced in existence, and that his wooden box contains a black hole and travels through time and space--but his physiology is too radical to be a simple mutant.  Despite his other wild claims I believe his being an alien to be true.

After the 3rd Session we suffered a set-back.  Officer Jan Lo felt we were unnecessarily catering to the subject's wishes and ordered the Europan woman and children in the next cell to be sent to the work camps.  As a result, the subject--despite increasingly imaginative and painful interrogation techniques--refused to speak.  This changed, unexpectedly, in our eighth session.

Session 8

Upon entering his cell I found the prisoner smiling to himself.  

I:  You seem pleased.

S:  I am.  I am about to leave this place.

I:  I assure you, no one has ever escaped from the House of Answers.

S:  Who said anything about escape?  I plan on being rescued.

I:  Oh?  By whom?

S:  You don't honestly think I came here alone, do you?  I am traveling with a companion.  She was badly injured when we crossed from my dimension to yours, but she is almost fully healed.

I:  I see.  And you just expect her to walk in here and save you?

S:  Nods.

I:  Now Mr. Draegonne, I have been instructed to ask you again about your box.

S:  Still can't get in there, can you?  Grins.

I:  No, and my superiors are growing impatient.  My instructions are to make you tell us how to enter it.

S:  How nice for you.

I:  If you continue to refuse, I will be forced to take even more extreme measures.

S:  Laughs.  The only thing you can do "more extreme" is kill me.  Nothing else you have tried has worked very well, has it.  And there is nothing you can do short of killing me that awhile in the Zero Room will not heal.

I:  The "Zero Room?"

S:  Yes, the Zero Room.  And I think you won't kill me so long as you can't get into the box.  Leans forward now, pleased with himself.  It bothers you, doesn't it?  That box.  You know it is alien, that none of your weapons can scratch it.  You can feel it vibrating, hear it humming at night.  And yet when you look at it, every fiber of your being screams out "It's just a normal box.  Look away.  Forget about it."  Must drive you insane.

I:  What is inside the box?

S:  Laughs.  Six console rooms, the Infinity Room, the Cloisters, bedrooms, a ballroom, swimming pool, two libraries...

I:  I am serious, Mr. Draegonne.  I am tired of playing games with you.  I want to know who you are, where you came from, and what is inside that box of yours.

S:  Is that all?  Fine.  In order; I am Daemiiandraegohneandroluvanmohgaryahmi, a Time Lord, a Gallifreyan, and an Arcalian.  I am from a parallel universe.  Inside my box is a transdimensional time and space machine.  Well, not a machine really, not as you lot understand the concept.  The Fallen Hour is alive and dreaming, and we are now imprinted upon one another.  She will open only for me.  We share a bond you cannot conceive of.  There now.  Are we finished?

I:  I can see you need more persuasion.  We will try again tomorrow.

Post Script

The subject is gone.  

How much of it was true?  I cannot be certain, and doubt I ever will be.  According to reports, that box of his came alive in the dead of night, flashing light, sending forth a strong wind, and making an eerie grinding noise.  It simply faded from existence.  Simultaneously, it reappeared in the subject's cell, and he boarded before any of us could stop him.  It vanished again, along with him.

Was this, then, the rescue he spoke of?  Was his companion inside the box, or was it the box itself that he referred to?  Was he all the things he claimed?  I will go over the data again, but doubt I shall ever reach a satisfactory conclusion... 

Damien Draegonne, Part 1

File: Epsilon-Epsilon-Sigma-2//577-9

Subject:  Interrogation of Unidentified Xenoform

Interviewer: Li-Quon Parapshapti

Preliminary Observations

Subject is a humanoid male, apparent age 27 to 30 standard units.  Skin coloration, eye color, and hair suggest resemblance to the peoples of the old Europa Technocracy, but his physiology is clearly not Terran.  The subject possesses two distinct cardiovascular systems with heart-rates of 170 beats per minute, and an internal body temperature of 15 degrees on the ancient scale.  The Neuro-Inquisitor can make no sense of the subject's brainwaves, and the mind-probe was useless.  Most intriguing is his DNA, with chromosomal structures unlike anything I have ever seen.  Stranger still, his DNA seems to be in a state of flux that is gradually coalescing.

He has been unconscious now for 2 solar cycles.

Session 1

Interviewer (I):  Do you know where you are?

Subject (S): Only recently recovered from unconsciousness, stares at the Interviewer.

I:  Can you understand my words?

S: Perfectly.  Jumps.  Seems startled.  New voice.  Will take getting used to.

I:  I would like to ask again.  Do you know where you are?

S:  Judging from the uniform, "Major," I assume somewhere in the middle of the Ninth Reformed Pan-Asian Matriarchy.  Latter half of the 34th century.  Which means your universe follows at least a similar course as mine.

I:  What is your name?

S: Response is unintelligible.

I:  Once again please?

S:  Rolls his eyes, and assumes a disrespectful tone, as if speaking to a child.  DAE-MI-IAN-DRAE-GOH-NE_ANDRO-LUVAN-MOH-GAR-YAH-MI.

I:  "Damien Draegonne..."  What was the third name?

S:  That isn't what I said.  Never mind.  You can't register the telepathic component of it anyway.

I:  You claim telepathic powers?

S:  Look, why am I being held here?  What exactly have I done?

I:  I will ask the questions, Mr. Draegonne.

S:  That isn't my bloody name.

Session 2

Subject was uncooperative.  Sat in his cell motionless and refused to speak.  The Pharmo-Inquisitor seems unable to find the right compound to make the subject speak.  His resistance to all the standard methods is quite high.  We will try pain next.

Session 3

Subject has gone without food, water, or sleep for three days.  The Corporal-Inquisitor has used both the application of intense cold and heat to limited effect.  Electric shock seems also limited.  I ordered the other prisoners--the Europan Techno-serf and her two children--moved into an adjacent cell, hoping he might form some sort of link with them.  But he never spoke or responded when they talked to him.  This morning I went in and threatened to slit the throats of the two children, right in front of him, if he did not respond to my questions.  He shrugged.  "The Terran population is what...16 billion now?  Who will notice two missing."  The mother screamed for mercy.  As I started to cut the youngest child, the female, the subject sighed.  "All right.  Fine.  I will speak.  But I could use something hot to drink."

I:  Tell me about your craft.  What is it?  Some form of escape pod?

S:  Laughing as if I had just told a joke.  I suppose you could say that.  

I:  It would appear to be made of some sort of hardened plant fiber.

S:  What?  Are the trees already gone?  You've never seen wood before?

I:  It has resisted all our efforts to open it.

S:  Good luck with that.

I:  Mr. Draegonne, there will be consequences if you continue to avoid my questions.

S:  Well why don't you ask some interesting ones then?  And my name is not "Mr. Draegonne."  Call me "Damien," at least.

I:  All right, Damien.  Tell me about that craft.

S: It's a Novatech Type 40 Time Travel Capsule, conceived and grown on Gallifrey...before...   Subject seems troubled.

I:  Before?

S:  Before the War.

I:  You mean the Afro-Arabian Rectification?

S:  Laughs.  No, I mean the Time War, you idiot.  A conflict between the two greatest powers the universe has seen since the Osirians departed.  Do you honestly think after seeing the Could-Have-Been-King lead the Horde of Travesties into battle that your little squabbles over patches of dirt could hold any interest for me?

Subject is still clearly not in his proper mind.

S:  That is what my "craft" or "box" is.  An infinitely complex and wonderful thing.  But I suppose "escape pod" will do.  Because I am a deserter.  The Skaro Degradations were tearing us to pieces.  I saw no hope.  I stole The Fallen Hour and I ran.  Here.  Into this parallel universe of yours.  My "second life," I suppose.  But I was badly injured in the process.  Hence the new regeneration.  Do you like it?  Any good?  

Subject is now very erratic.  Nothing he says makes sense.

I:  It is clearly an advanced piece of technology.  Why does is resemble such primitive materials?

S:  Suddenly disgusted.  That is because of Him.  The Doctor.

I:  The Doctor?

S:  Subject nods.  Look, you have to understand.  For millions of what you call "standard units" we Time Lords had no interest in you lot.  You had nothing of interest for us.  We had figured out how to manipulate matter and energy at will, conquered the complexities of time, space, and dimension, even learned how to stave off old age and death.  We had no interest in lesser species any more.  Until Him.  The Renegade.  The Visionary.  He changed us--or at least some of us.  He convinced many in the Citadel that our great power and perception should be used to help the lesser species, to intervene.  It started a whole movement...a movement that led us into conflict with the Daleks and the War.  My ship's appearance...the former owner was an Interventionalist.  Many of them made their Time Capsules look like the Doctor's in honor of him.

Subject is making little sense.  Will resume interview at a later time.   

Collision

The Fallen Hour gave me a terrific scare yesterday, and though the physical damage was minimal, the repercussions leave me with some difficult decisions.

Following my narrow escape from Innsmouth, I vaulted foreward into the far future and set the materialization cycle for a space station I had heard about. At first, The Fallen Hour refused to materialize, the cycle immediately jerking back into dematerialization and continued flight. I started the cycle again, when suddenly the Cloister bells began to ring, and the entire console starting sparking. Smoke began to billow up, and minor explosions broke out across the controls.

The Main Console, After Repairs

I have never seen this behavior from her before, and back in the time vortex I began to necessary repairs and went to the Library to consult the ponderous volumes that make up the TT Capsule manual. After some hours of research, the conslusion I came to made my hearts both skip a beat.

It was there in the 23^rd codex, a warning I had learned in my Academy days and been cautious of during the Time War, but something I had thought to disregard following the fall of Gallifrey. Two Time Capsules cannot—must not—materialize in the same location in time and space. The results of such co-materialization would be disastrous. The Fallen Hour had refused to materialize at first to prevent this, and when I forced her, the results were violent. Two Time Capsules had collided.

This means that the others are out there, and moving. It means that even in the immensity of time and space we can cross paths. I have no way of knowing if this other Time Capsule was from the Celestial Intervention Agency on Zenobia, or some other survivors of lost Gallifrey, but I must be cautious. The Fallen Hour is stolen, and I am a soldier who fled his post. Further, I have no great love for the Doctor, or those who followed the policies he made that led us to disaster. These other Time Lords may offer me the comfort of my kin, or the judgement of my adversaries. I cannot yet know.