Chapter 10: Primer
December 27th, 3241, 1100 hours
Rogue Trader Vessel Fair Lady
Unknown Space, EUS 1840

Captain Gregers Ekdal had not slept in over forty hours. He sat in the cell on what passed for a bed - a hard concrete slab with a thin mattress laid on top of it. There was no blanket, and a very crude toilet was shoved into the corner. There were no windows, clocks, or even bars to separate the inside of the cell from the outside. forty or so hours ago - he had forgotten - he had been escorted here from his own ship along with the rest of the bridge crew and had been marched through this otherworldly vessel. The sight was something to behold for the officer: a massive chamber that had to be hundreds of meters long was set in the center of it. It was lined with stone of all thing - light gray limestone-like blocks were fit together with brutal care on the floor and fine cut granite circled pillars of polished obsidian that stretched to a high vaulted ceiling with Gothic fixtures, all of the spaces ending with a point.

They were led single file by armed men, all of them chattering in their own language. They were a strange bunch that almost seemed familiar to them. They wore painted green armor over a rather light, if not padded flak jacket. In their hands were boxy weapons that seemed like assault rifles. Those weren't what bothered Ekdal though. The men were understandable enough, probably the ship's equivalent to Marines. What scared Ekdal though was a man who stood on an elevated platform almost like a pulpit that a priest used to address a crowd. He was draped in a red uniform with collars going up to his ears. The man's face was older, possibly sixty or so, and he had a thin frame that was concealed by his massive long-coat that covered a chest covered with medals, something that resembled an iron cross, and more than a few polished golden skulls. On his head was a cap, tall and peaked. He had come to expect this, but it had a massive skull on it. The way that the man barked in the language called Low Gothic and the way the men responded gave the impression that he was perhaps their captain? He certainly didn't seem to be the approachable type. The man with the peaked cap uttered a loud and long stream of words that sounded clipped but guttural.

"Stamsgat heem!" he shouted, his voice projected through unknown means. "Va'jhuk juk hollei!"

The words meant nothing to Ekdal, who thought it little more than babbling, but the soldiers fell in line. He quickly realized that he was commanding them to stand at attention for Departeu.

The Rogue Trader had walked next to Ekdal himself, huge handgun clasped behind his back in one hand. The man seemed positively smitten with himself, thin lips tightly pressed together in a smile, his springy steps making the feather in his cap bob. In any other situation, Departeu would be hilarious - a clown. However, as it seemed, he was very much to be taken seriously. Though his features showed a care-free expression, his eyes were darting all over the place, observing his ship. Occasionally he spotted Ekdal's gaze and gave him a knowing wink.

"Saldar Edlmach!" the man in the pulpit cried, his voice dripping with venom. "Pas not ferris!"

A split second later, a gunshot rang out down the corridor. Everyone except for the crew of the Fair Lady ducked and looked around. The staff of the ship couldn't help but laugh at them as if they had fallen for an obvious prank. Some shook their heads, wiping tears of mirth from their eyes. For the life of them, there couldn't be any idea as to why. Further down the massive cathedral-like hallway, a body lay sprawled. With horror, the crewmen of the Ontario noted that a large portion of his head was missing.

At the head of the group, Ekdal had been forced by the green-clad men through several doors while tall figures in robes watched them, many with disdain and many with curiosity. Occasionally, Ekdal would look around, taking in the sights and the sheer immensity of the space. How was something like this technologically feasible? The space he was in resembled St. Peter's Basilica, but that wouldn't be doing it justice. It was easily a kilometer in length, maybe more. A space this large would actually form clouds from humidity, but it was chilled, which made Ekdal all the more uncomfortable. While he was passing through the largest church he ever been in, his ship had been crudely moored alongside the Fair Lady, bound by docking cables as it was pulled towards the far larger vessel. It would fit in here with little protest.

Up ahead was a gigantic carved statue of what appeared to be gleaming white marble. It was over a hundred feet high and exquisitely kept sparkling. Ekdal squinted. He saw something that looked like small drones humming around the statue that was now recognizing as a man clad in armor. A golden halo was placed around his head. The sword in his right hand raised towards the heavens added another twenty feet to the height of the effigy. He was in awe. Who was this man? It certainly wasn't God.

As he got closer, he noticed that the orb-like drones were more than just robots, but skulls. Honest to god skulls. What was the appeal of such gruesome imagery?

Several of the skulls that were scanning the statue or keeping it gleaming in practically an incandescent tone, broke away to survey the crowd. One came very close to Ekdal. Very close. It most definitely was a Human skull, with minor divots in the cranium, the tell-tale signs of fissures, and some vestiges of tendons where the muscles would have slid over the bone. Curiously, or morbidly, it was missing its jaw, which only further churned the nauseous feeling that was coming to fruition in the pit of his stomach. The first was joined by two more and they circled like macabre vultures, watching his every move. Cameras, antennae, and some sort of repulsor were jammed into the bone. Lenses focused, and lasers played over the captain's body. His composure took a blow, but amazingly he steadied himself, shuddering at the most.

There was a bark. The procession of crew from the Ontario, Bastogne, and Colorado were halted in three long lines in front of the statue of this man, this obviously imperial figure of great worship. Their guards immediately took knees. Smartly, the three rows of crew, numbering only a few hundred each and barely stretching a tenth of the way across the hall, did as well. Ekdal didn't dare look around as he head immediate sounds of flesh being struck with a few people crying out in confusion, pain, and panic. He willed himself not to look back, but was plainly aware of what was being inflicted. He knew not if this was on his crew or the Fair Lady.

A figure rose up from the floor in a private lift, wearing an immaculate cloak stretching to the floor and beyond, trailing like a movie star attending an opening event. This man was ancient, with augmentations crossing his body, and half his skull being replaced by metal and tubing. On his head sat an impressive hat adding another two feet to the already tall figure. There was a groan and another figure came into the room. This one made the Captain's face slack with complete unknowing horror. A Human being, or what was left of one, shuffled into the cathedral from a massive doorway on sturdy, large, and thundering legs. Its face was obscured by a head-concealing coif with a single red light flaring from where the nose bridge would be. It had no arms, and instead pistons were connected to the shoulder joints. These pistons bent backwards to create a support, upon which was a massive tome that Ekdal couldn't even imagine the true mass of. The book had to have been nearly five feet across by almost seven high. dragged along by this tortured soul. Ekdal felt sick watching this creature hobble along, an animalistic grunt distorted by a flange escaped where its mouth would be, but it continued walking. It was out of proportion - its arms being far too long, and its head too small. Despite being bare-chested and covered with the wax seals Departeu had worn on their first meeting, Ekdal could not tell if the... thing was male or female, only that it had once been Human.

The thing issued groans as if the weight was too much for it, and its mouth hung open, tongue waving loosely. It kept on looking forward until it stopped in the very center of the chamber. It lowered itself to the ground on its knees. Ekdal noticed for the first time that a strip of metal had been bolted to the front of the thing's legs, terminating in pads that covered the kneecap itself. The creature did not move any further.

Ekdal couldn't stop staring at it. It was the single most horrifying thing that he had ever seen. What sane civilization could do such a thing to a person? Its head was motionless and its long arms were splayed out, acting as supports. The illusion that this was an enlightened society vanished in a flash.

Further behind Ekdal, Miles was fighting a rolling sensation in his head. He made sure not to let it show as he forced himself to look forward. Naval personnel around him were at various stages of disbelief, disgust, and horror. He knew that somewhere in the mass of Humanity that his friends were just as scared. He was too preoccupied with this new feeling to notice that the man in the tall hat had come to where the book and the thing holding it came to a stop. He uttered something in this strange Latin-sound-a-like language and took the stand, thumbing through the book, incense trailing from the bauble on his hip. He raised his hands and began to call to the skies.

More of these skulls came around, scanning the crowd, analyzing their every feature and every emotion. Red lasers danced from one man to the other, who began to notice the cranium and react in appropriate ways.

Miles felt something enter into his mind - another image. Which one was this? An ocean with the sun rising over it. He knew it immediately as 'peace'.

So someone was fine? That was good to hear. That gunshot a few minutes back didn't elicit the same response. He was not aware of whether it was a member of this ship's crew or the his own that had their life cut short in this new world. He did not want to know.

An image of a face. This one he realized immediately was Jolee's. The old man was fine. Through a series of images, Miles approximated meaning and speech associated with it.

"Be quiet; don't respond to anything." Jolee had spoken through images.

"This is wrong." Miles responded, also through iconography.

"I know. But all the same, we can't stand out."

"What are these feelings in my head?"

"They're doing the same thing we are - speaking. We're picking them up as interference."

Miles took a deep breath. "Jolee, has anything like this ever happened in your home universe?"

An image of a nondescript man shaking his head. "Not like this, kid. Not even close."

There was a flash: a face. Together they went silent and spoke no more.

The man in the hat continued to call and crow, his aged face lining with ferocity as he preached from the macabre pulpit. Miles stole a glance to his side and saw one of the Humans of this crew - the one wearing the emerald green armor with white writing. He was tall, and the helmet he wore was bulbous and to a degree looked protective. He stared a little longer when he saw the reaction on the man's face.

This man was staring straight at the pulpit with incredible concentration in his eyes. His face was wet, not with sweat, but with tears. Two long and thick lines of tears came from the man's eyes and dripped from his chin. He didn't move to wipe them.

Miles looked just behind this man and saw another one of similar height, but paler complexion. He too was weeping freely. This man was nodding quickly with everything this preacher said. His lips parted for a second before nodding again, a small smile beginning to spread on his face. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

These men were not crying because they were sad, but because they were happy.

The preacher raised both his hands and cried out a line of prayer, turning to face the statue of the massive armored man. The skulls drew away, glowing from their eye-holes and lining themselves up behind the pulpit. The priest began to shift his tone to that of song. Quickly, his head whipped around, one hand clutching the railing for support while the other reached out to the men, his eyes wide and mouth racing, as if reciting a passage from the book. The cyborg in holding up the massive tome flipped the large page with what looked like a small arm built into its back for this very purpose.

The priest raised his hands and droned a line in what sounded vaguely like a Christian hymn that Ekdal recognized from his youth in Norway, and a few parts were in the pseudo-Latin that he had heard earlier. He didn't have his Interpreter though; the translator would have been massively useful as some words were completely different, and the language didn't follow any linguistic mores of ancient tongue. The verbs were in the wrong place, and excessive liberties had been taken with the grammar. Ekdal absentmindedly wondered how language had diverged, or even what relative time frame they were in. They were Human, but even that seemed a bit of a stretch if all of these cyborgs were an indication.

The priest sang the line and the men around him repeated it.

"Avg vaag xjuun!" the priest called.

"Avg vaag xjuun!" the soldiers called out.

"Ave Imperator, ave Terra!"

The crowd chanted, "Ave Imperator, ave Terra!"

That part needed no translation. Imperator. Empire. Emperor. Terra - the Earth. Ekdal fit the pieces together easily enough. This person that was given this statue. He was an Emperor of some sort - a ruling government figure, and it seemed like a religion gave some sort of praise to him. Ekdal understood this, but couldn't grasp the details. Their gracious host though would answer a lot of their questions though and no doubt he would get some face-time with him eventually.

The soldiers bowed their heads, took their hands, and crossed them across their chests, thumbs extended outwards. Ekdal noted that this gesture very closely resembled the image of the two-headed bird that was on the banners. State religion, where the organization itself was worshiped?

Though wary to begin with, Ekdal's color continued to drain.

The soldiers once again raised their heads and began to move. The column of the personnel from the three UNSC ships were herded forward, led along by a box of guards, with the exception of Ekdal, who had been singled out from all of them. His shoulders were grabbed violently and he was jerked out of the line by a rather large specimen of the green-armored men. He was thrown to the ground where his eyes met the boots of the rather odd bird that claimed to be the captain of the ship. He looked up to see the man smiling in a rather warm way. Despite the language barrier, Departeu curled his finger upwards and he obeyed. The soldier yanking him back to his feet didn't help.

Departeu muttered something to the soldier who made the hand sign again and turned on his heel.

From there, he had ended up in this cell, with the man sitting across from him, sitting on a rather fancy chair that had been brought into the cell by one of his officers. The chair was well-carved out of a dark brown wood. It had gold gilding and a bright red cushion. Departeu took his time sitting down. Two more men walked in, one carrying a small side table cut from the same type of wood. On the table top, a carved skull grinned at the ceiling. The same man who placed the table down placed an embroidered cloth on it, and the second produced a bottle of what Ekdal assumed was wine. He showed the bottle to Departeu who smiled, said, "Ah!", and told him to place it on the table. The man, who Ekdal noticed was wearing a few steps above rags, though on par with what Gregers recognized as clothes that wouldn't be out of place on an 18th Century war galleon. He hadn't a clue what was going on.

Just then, Departeu looked as if he was thinking of something just as the man, who was almost certainly a servant, Ekdal thought, but then recalled, laughing to himself and reached into his pocket, pulling out what he had taken almost two days prior - Ekdal's Interpreter. He reached out and threw it to the captain, who caught it deftly in his left hand, staring down at it.

Departeu looked at the wine, breathed in, and exhaled longingly, looking at Ekdal and bobbing his eyebrows, smiling in a way that finally made Ekdal think that this man wasn't all there in the head. The odd man pointed to his ear, miming that Ekdal put on the device. The captain did so, hooking the Interpreter in his ear. The device should still be coded to English. He would have preferred to speak his native Norwegian, but realized that Augustus probably had not translated this speech, Gothic, into other standard languages. He cleared his throat and spoke the words that were suggested for greetings.

"Hello", he said, trying to mimic the words that the Interpreter represented in standard phonetics.

"Good morning, sir! I can see you're taking to the accommodations well!"

Departeu on the other hand spoke quickly and without hesitation. He didn't need to worry about trying to speak Ekdal's language. If only he had another translator.

"The bed straightens out my back."

"Excellent. That means we won't have to move you to a better room."

The wine was poured into Departeu's glass. This was going to be a slow conversation without a common linguistic ground. The language that the odd man spoke in appeared to have only the barest of connections with Standard English, and even then there was bound to be some drift.

"You know," Departeu said lifting the wine cup, a wide brimmed goblet with a spiraling stem. "I've had that thing now for a few days. I've had Servaus try to look over it, and he can't seem to even begin to understand how it works."

"Servaus?"

"My tech-priest. You saw him earlier."

"Uh..." Ekdal said, starting to trail off.

"Oh come now." Departeu said, lowering the grass. "You must know what that is."

Ekdal shook his head. "We've never seen one of those before. We don't have those."

Departeu's head jerked back, as if encountering a bad smell. "Well how do you keep your ships running?"

"Engineers."

"You mean engineseers."

"No."

An exasperated sigh escaped the Rogue Trader, who growled in frustration. "You're making this rather difficult you know. However, you are right; we've searched your ship from top to bottom and we have not found any. Quite curious really. Heretical to be honest; a machine can't work without those chaps blessing them. Emperor himself knows how we ever got on without them."

Ekdal said nothing, unsure how to respond. Departeu reached to pick up the glass again, indicating the translator hooked on Ekdal's ear.

"That's a rather interesting device you know. Like much of your technology, we can't figure out how it works. Your cogitators don't appear to operate like ours either. My techpriests had a look at them, and even my explorator had difficulty getting past the initial coding, but when he did, he was quite impressed." He took a sip. "What was the word that he used to describe it?"

"Ancient." a warbling voice began to speak. The door opened up, and a man walked in, though Ekdal's skin immediately crawled at the sight. The new arrival was dressed in rusty red robes, with a hood placed over his head. His arms were folded into his robes, but mounted on his back, several metallic arms sprouted up and over his shoulders, many of them jittering, as if looking for something to grab. His face was familiar, with two strikingly blue eyes, a lined face, and a crooked nose, but around his neck, two cables snaked into his skin, meeting around where his voice box would have been, which was the source of his robotic tone.

"Absolutely ancient." the man, who Gregers guessed was Servaus, spoke, standing next to Departeu. Heavy metal footfalls sounded as he slowly walked into place. Something about him seemed artificial, like he was a robot, but the eyes were too Human for that to be a possibility. "In all my years, I have never seen such technology intact and in operation." Servaus said. "Rogue Trader, I would wish to disclose the findings of the voidships in detail."

Departeu looked ecstatic and raised his glass as a signal to continue.

"The vessels have been scanned both by adepts and by a contingent of servo-skulls to uncover anything of note. It has taken nearly twenty two hours to achieve an acceptable level of information intake. We have also disassembled several of the cogitators aboard the vessel."

Ekdal's head shook. "Hold on now, what?"

"Results?" Departeu asked.

"Inconclusive, but the initial results are... rather odd."

The Rogue Trader took another sip of his wine, appearing to have lost all knowledge of Ekdal's existence in favor to this tech-priest as he was called. "Well now I'm interested. Please go ahead and explain what's so odd, Gregorias."

Servaus did not hold back. "The initial view is that this is indeed ancient technology. That much is clear as it is less sophisticated than any of our cogitator patterns or machine code."

"Not unusual. Perhaps they're from a primitive world that barely grasps what an interface is."

"This is not the case." Servaus said simply. "This technology does not match anything exactly from any STC recovered by the Mechanicus, but there are indications that their technology... links in some way."

"Links?" Departeu said, now confused himself. "Gregorias, by the Throne, what does that mean exactly?"

"I will try not to over-complicate for a mind so unaugmented as your own so you may understand." Servaus said, rolling his eyes.

"I would much like that." Departeu said with a brilliant smile, very much aware of the sarcasm thrown his way.

"Much more insight is required, but the theory that I am subscribing to is that the machines are older than the Imperium itself."

At first, Departeu nearly spat out his wine, laughing like a madman, rising to his feet and clapping Servaus on the shoulder several times. He laughed some more, wiping a tear from his eye and taking another longer drink, looking in the now empty glass, and signaling that he wanted a refill to one of his servants.

"Gregorias!" Departeu asked, still snickering, "It's too early in the day and I'm not drunk enough for jokes! You mean to tell me that these ships are... four thousand years old?"

"five, Rogue Trader. They would need to be nearly five, if not longer."

"Even more ridiculous! Predating the Great Crusade? By the Emperor, that would mean that this ship dates to Old Night!"

"Precisely." Servaus said, crossing his arms with finality.

Departeu ogled at the man, facial features now softening. His eyes darted back and forth, and now thoroughly confused, took a drink of the now-filled glass as a defense mechanism.

"So it is from Old Night." he finally said.

"If not the Dark Age."

"I can't believe it."

Servaus' eyebrows bobbed, and for the first time, Ekdal, who was silent on the bed, noticed him smile.

"Are you saying that the instruments touched by the Omnissiah-who-is-the-Emperor, could potentially be wrong?" he hummed.

Departeu made a show of whipping his head around. "Oh, don't start this, please; we have guests."

"I could report you for your lack of faith to the Inquisition."

"Oh, grand! Remind me who doesn't think the flesh is weak? Hmm?"

Ekdal was lost at Old Night. "Can I say something?"

"Shush." Departeu said, holding up a finger without even looking at the captain. "We work so well together, Gregorias."

A few of the robotic talons chirped as they moved, and the hooded man managed a wry smile. "Indeed we do. In addition," he said, now focusing back on the original topic, gesturing to Ekdal, "the initial scan revealed that the ship did not possess a Gellar Field, nor a Warp Drive, instead fitted with a device that appears to function as some sort of reactor."

"A Slipspace drive." Ekdal cut in quickly to avoid being shushed again.

Departeu and Servaus looked at him, somewhat confused. Ekdal didn't understand that the word was untranslatable into whatever dialect of Gothic these men were speaking, so the word simply rendered as 'Slipspace' in Standard English.

"What does that mean?" Departeu asked. "That word you just said?"

"It's how we go faster than light." Ekdal sighed, realizing he would have to explain every single aspect of their world to these two men, who may as well be aliens for all it mattered in the end.

Servaus however seemed amused and intrigued, as if a sort of child-like curiosity had awoken in him, which seemed like a remarkably Human expression given how much metal was inserted into his body. He came just a little closer and looked at his friend. "Pre-Dark Age technology! The ancient past! The ancients were able to cross the stars before the Warp Drive! This may be a profitable discovery for the both of us, Rogue Trader."

Ekdal stopped him though, "We're not from around here."

The idiom did not translate well, but it was understood well enough. Departeu cocked his head inquisitively while Servaus waited for an answer. "Go on." The tech-priest insisted.

There was no easy way to explain this, but he had been threatened earlier by the same man who was offering what was debatably respite. He chose not to beat around the bush, and realized just how silly this was going to sound. He folded his arms and said, "We come from another world. Not yours; a parallel world separated by dimensions."

Servaus drew his head back. "What?" He simply said in such a short burst that it sounded like static.

"Another universe." Ekdal said again.

"Grox shite." Departeu said, laughing and retrieving his glass. "Trying to manipulate my mind like that?" He wagged a finger and clicked his tongue in a chiding manner, "Naughty naughty!" He took a sip of the liquid, dropped it, and then his face assumed a rather dark change that put the UNSC captain at unease. "How about being honest? You are from a world that was passed over by the Great Crusade in one form or another. Primitive technology would explain this."

"It's the truth!" Ekdal protested, standing up now suddenly angry. "We need your help!"

Departeu pulled the gun from his hip holster again, holding it at waist height and pointed it at Ekdal's chest. He held the gigantic pistol in one hand and his wine in the other. "Raise your voice against me like that again and I'll show you how helpful I can get. Sit."

The captain slowly sunk down to the bed again, glaring at his dubious host.

"Why would you need my help? I should strip your ships for parts and send them to the Forges of Mars and keep you here in the bilges unstopping the pipes until you waste away."

"Because you seem to have resources."

"Mmm, you're not wrong there, chap." Departeu hummed as he sipped his wine. "Do continue. Entertain me with this elaborate story before I paint the walls with this." He shook his gun.

"We came to save our people. They're threatened by something called The Prisoner."

"Oh how horrible." The man said with feigned pity.

"Our world detected great power in yours that could help us."

Departeu said, "Half correct. There is power, but don't mistake it for aid."

Ekdal realized that an ace had slid into his hand. "This device may be valuable to us, but mostly to you."

The Rogue Trader's eyebrow bobbed all of a sudden, "Indeed?"

"You mentioned something called an STC? What is that?"

"Standard Template Construct." Servaus recited. Ekdal noted that the pronunciation of these words sounded similar to English. "A tool of the ancients to create great wonders; miracles of the Machine God."

"It may have been related to this for all we know."

Servaus suddenly looked at his partner. "This changes things."

"Indeed it does." Departeu nodded. "An STC..."

"It may not be what they say!" the tech-priest said cautiously.

"But what if it is...?" Departeu whispered. "Blast it, I'm in an emotional centrifuge. See..." he addressed Ekdal, "I want to kill you for wasting my time, but I want you alive now because I might get rich. You're putting me in an odd position. If what you're looking for is an STC, your precious little brain is worth more to me than this ship."

"We don't want money, we just want knowledge."

"And we guard it." Servaus droned. "You intend to take this with you?"

"We don't even know what 'this' even is. It might be this STC thing, a book, a scroll, or hell, maybe a gigantic magical rock. We've come across plenty of those lately." he shook his head, resting his arms on his knees. "Could we speak to your government? Maybe coordinate our efforts?"

Departeu suddenly broke out laughing again, this time to a degree that looked utterly ridiculous. He removed his wide-brimmed hat, ran his hands through his pulled back hair, replaced the hat, and wiped a tear from his eye. "I'm sorry!" Departeu said. "I'm sorry, your bauble must be broken - I thought you said 'government', and then the word 'coordinate' right after!"

He trailed off into a series of uncontrolled giggles. He tried to take a sip of wine, but snorted it up his nose and coughed, nevertheless continuing to look amused. Even the stoic tech-priest gave a small bray, as if they were just reminded of an inside joke.

"Gregorias, I think I halfway believe them now! Ignorance like this is hard to come by! Either they're heretics, or telling the truth! Alright, captain, I will play along now. You are from another world then."

"If you want me to prove it further I have evidence. I assume this is the future? What year is it?"

Servaus said it at once, "556.440.M35."

"What does that mean?" Ekdal asked, confused yet again.

Servaus changed his voice once more, taking on the tone of explaining an obvious fact of the universe, like Ekdal was a toddler, even offering a mocking smile in a way. "We are in the four hundredth and fortieth year of the thirty fifth millennium."

That was unexpected. Ekdal had expected to move around in time going between universes of course, Mobius was separated by 12,000 years relative to Earth, but this was a far larger jump, and he felt surprisingly homesick when he realized it.

"So..." he rubbed his temple. "The year 34,440."

"You use it so crudely." Servaus said. "But correct."

"Let me explain it your way..." He said, clearing his throat. "We are from 241.M4. I don't know what that first number means."

Servaus and Departeu were fixated on one another. The man sitting in front of them was so sure of what he was saying. True, this Ekdal person could have been someone who had been stuck in the Warp for thousands of years, just as an older and far more dangerous foe once was, from their perspective only believing it to be a day or so, but then there was the fact that the ships had no trace of a warp core, no trace of a Gellar Field, and when the head astropath had tried to communicate with those of the ships, they had received only tentative responses, as if they were untrained or barely aware of their own gifts.

The clincher was that three ships were in deep space, far from a star system, and three of them were practically right next to one another, and none of them bore a design that Departeu, a man that had explored thousands of star systems in his time at the helm, had never seen before, and the inscriptions aboard, Servaus knew, was written on only a few very rare, and very holy items.

"I can prove it." Ekdal pressed. "Let me go back to my ship."

"Why?" Departeu said, leveling the pistol as he rose once more to meet this very strange captain.

"Because I will give your science officer-"

"Explorator Magos." Servaus corrected him quickly.

"Right, I'll give him access to our astronomical charts. Stars drift over time, right? Compare those to your star maps today, or your pulsar maps, and that way you'll know we're not from your time, or your universe. We don't mean you harm, captain. We need your help. You can help save our world."

Departeu sighed deeply, his flamboyant exterior dropping and showing a more thoughtful side. He took another sip, slipped the gigantic handgun into his holster, and made a small forlorn noise as he saw his glass was empty.

"You said you were looking for something powerful?"

"Yes." Ekdal responded.

"A weapon?"

"Maybe only a power source."

"We find it, and you let us take it?"

"Minus what we need for ourselves. We have no fleet to back us up."

Departeu clacked his jaw three times, thought, and then said, "Servaus, would you care to accompany the good captain back to his ship and see what he has to show you?"

The cyborg nodded. "I will attend with great enthusiasm, provided this is genuine."

"You haven't taken apart our star charts?" Ekdal asked.

"I cannot speak for the others under my command." was the flat answer.

---

Twenty five minutes later, Gregers was aboard the bird-like shuttle as he headed back towards the Ontario, sitting strapped into one of the back seats with Servaus standing in front of him, pacing and consulting a small slate in his hand that projected symbols. He could make out binary scrolling across the screen and was reminded of the fact that Augustus was still undercover somewhere within the ship's circuitry. He had not been confronted about it, but he wondered how the AI was faring.

The ship was empty, save for a few of what Servaus referred to as 'adepts' prowling around the hallways. During the trip, he asked what exactly they were doing on the vessel. The Magos had responded, "sanctifying."

Ekdal didn't even begin to think about what this meant until the shuttle had touched down in the landing bay. Four more robed men surrounded the craft and began to wave incense burners, one hand up as if blessing the craft. For all Ekdal knew, this was exactly what they were doing.

"You will lead me to your map room." Servaus ordered. Ekdal got up at the same time as the other man in the craft, a tall well built man dressed in the green armor he saw before. His flak armor couldn't quite disguise the fact that he was clearly not happy to be there. He grunted, which Ekdal's translator responded as 'move'.

He saw the man's weapon - a long, boxy rifle with a fluted barrel and a scope clamped on to the top. It didn't seem like much, but Ekdal was certain that one wrong move and he would be killed. He did as the man ordered and stepped out of the craft back onto his ship. He felt strangely happy to be back, despite being at gunpoint. He had marched back through the basilica-like spaces of the Fair Lady, and had come to the conclusion that massive spaces like that didn't belong on a ship. It violated all common sense, and yet here he was.

As he walked through the hallway, deviating to better find the lift to the command deck, he thought about the year again. 34,000... No, M35, like they said.

Thirty one thousand years. He immediately felt sick again contemplating the number, thinking of his home. He knew that across Existence, his own time and place was calm and content in living, but here, he easily forgot that fact and thought he would never go back.

He found the lift. "Here we are." he said to his guests. Servaus had to duck slightly to get into the elevator, though the soldier behind him easily stepped in, weapon cautiously drawn towards Ekdal, who found a button and pressed it. The door closed and the car began to move.

"Tell me, Captain," Servaus asked. "Do you take your machines for granted?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your lack of faith would upset many in the priesthood, for the carelessness of men towards that which serves has led to downfall in the past."

"You're asking if I trust this elevator?"

"I will need to compensate for your ignorance." he said, closing his eyes.

Ekdal was about to respond when a burst of static emerged from the implants in Servaus' throat. Ekdal jumped at the noise in such a small space. The soldier next to the Magos had his eyes closed as well and his head bowed.

The sound could be most likened to that of Morse Code, but Ekdal could swear that it was binary of some sort. When Servaus opened his eyes again, the noise stopped.

"What the hell was that?" Ekdal asked.

The soldier raised his weapon, ready to shoot, but Servaus lifted his hand to stop him. "Prayer for safe passage. You are not of the Cult Mechanicus, Captain Ekdal, but do try to remember that machine serves man, but man gives thanks to the machine for doing so."

"We... don't pray when using an elevator."

"How primitive. How could you have ever gotten anything done in your own world? Your blaspheming has been overlooked because of our... special circumstances. Give thanks to the Omnissiah that more of my... orthodox colleagues had not found you instead."

The door opened onto the command deck. The soldier prodded Ekdal in the back, forcing him out of the elevator into one of the command ante-compartments that led to the bridge. Empty chairs sat on both sides of the room, though the spaces in between had more of the robed figures waving burners, as well as whistling and clicking in their off-putting language. Ekdal noted that one passed his hands over a panel, though his fingers had split in many places, jittering like dozens of snakes stapled to each appendage. He felt a chill shoot up his spine.

"Salve." One hummed, like a synthesizer when Servaus passed close.

"Salve, frayta." the Magos responded, immediately conversing in the static bursts with the man. It was quite off-putting seeing Servaus speaking with his mouth clamped shut, letting the device on his neck do the speaking for him. The shorter one, hunched over, back burdened with electronic equipment, gestured to the bank of communications consoles with the hand of wires, jerking his head around.

Servaus looked back to Ekdal and said, "There is a complication, Captain."

"What's the problem?" Ekdal asked.

"These machines are proving rather ineffective to us. It seems their machine-spirits are rather reluctant, despite the enginseer's efforts, full access has not been granted."

Ekdal could guess why, but decided to feed a half-truth, thinking of Augustus. "In emergencies, our systems automatically lock down. I can disengage the safeties with a command override. Our systems are likely not compatible with your... methods."

Servaus seemed to wear a look of disdain for only a split second, but then said, "Very well, Captain. I await your input."

A few of the tech-priests gathered around, suddenly interested. Ekdal met three eyes, four, and in one case a single wrapping band around as the cyborgs watched his move. The soldier still had his gun trained on Ekdal.

Gregers leaned forward over the nav-panel and found a hand-print activation panel for such an occasion when a shipboard AI locked down all functions. The hologram immediately called up an HUI which allowed Ekdal to pick the option to unlock the console using his command implants.

"Ekdal, Gregers, Service Number 91411-77901-GE, override code Epsilon-One-One-Two-Echo. I willingly authorize full access to all navigational systems. Please Confirm."

"Confirmed." the voice of Augustus said over the intercom. "Welcome back, Captain."

The table lit up, with holograms melting into existence. The priests began to buzz around him, and if Ekdal didn't know any better, he thought they were excited. Servaus however inclined his head, and wore a look of approval.

Ekdal thumbed through the HUI, enjoying being in control of his own systems again. He took his cap off and rubbed his scalp, unaware that he had been sweating a bit more than usual.

"The star maps?" Servaus asked.

"Yeah, getting them now." he said.

The soldier looked at the map with intense interest, lowering the gun in his hands.

Ekdal tried to navigate his way to a pulsar map. If anything, this would be an absolute means of proving themselves as the neutron stars would have drifted over time. Assuming of course that the stars were in the same place. He did not consider that the stars would possibly have different timing, instead banking on the difference of difference between his existence and Servaus'.

However, Servaus stopped him, looking around the table and seeing something that caught his eye.

"What is this?" He said, quickly looking at an icon over the galaxy map. "This symbol?"

Ekdal saw what he meant. It was a simple symbol, a circle with a dot in the middle, the universal symbol of the star Sol.

"Our home system."

"Open it." Servaus said, his eyes now focused. "Quickly."

"Right, sure." the captain nodded, hovering his finger on the symbol, which quickly zoomed in to a system with eight main planets, and numerous dwarf worlds. A single small belt hovered in the middle.

Servaus reached in to the hologram, a finger slowly hovering towards the fourth small holographic orb. A small symbol hovered next to it.

"Mars." Servaus breathed, slowly mesmerized, the word for this world still the same, even after eons. "Please open this."

Ekdal did as he wanted, hovering his finger over the planet, which ballooned up to a massive size. The world of Mars was covered in red, but also with browns, greens, and a large amount of blue.

The priests were silent, none of them daring to speak as they took in the sight of the planet. Servaus' mouth hung slightly open and his eyes blinked quickly. It seemed as if he was going to cry, but he mastered himself. Instead, he tried to find words. At last he finally said, "It's so blue."

"It's better in person." Ekdal said. "Especially Olympus Mons."

"Before the great Forges." the tech-priest said in a low voice. "Before the cities. I was born right here." he pointed to the region Ekdal knew as the Schiaparelli Lowlands. "I know these craters. I know these rivers."

"Would you like to see Earth?"

"No. You need convince me no further. I will signal my trust to Departeu. This Guardsman will see you back to the ship."

"Are you coming?"

The tech-priest nodded. "I would have a... few minutes here."

"Right." Ekdal nodded, moving out of the room with the soldier in tow behind him.

Servaus, looked at the map of Mars while the enginseers behind him chattered in excitement. He said nothing though, looking the land over. Before the forges, before the Ring of Iron, before the land began to dry once more. An unorthodox thought entered his brain: what a beautiful planet his ancestors had thrown away.

At that point, as he traced the orbits of Phobos and even Deimos across the holographic sky, he wished he could see the forests of Mars and feel the rain on his skin, just like in the legends. He had a passing thought about why Deimos was in orbit around Mars, but then remembered he was staring into the past.

But who's past exactly? Their own? One that was the future for these visitors, or another entirely?

'We're not from around here,' Ekdal had said.

Despite these thoughts, he bowed his head, and whispered his thanks to the Omnissiah for granting him this vision.