"The Building is an entity unto itself, and apart from its greater self," the old tech priest kept an eye on Anais and her companion as he recounted what he knew for Sandy's benefit. "The crossroads intertwining with its skin stretch wide and far to transcend the boundaries of Time and Space and Order. Nothing outside of it affects the insides of it unless, of course, it wills it to, and so you mustn't worry about external ley lines changing your brew in any fashion. I'm told that no two people behold the exterior the same way, and that the common areas likewise shift in appearance to please the onlooker."
He raised a puzzled eyebrow. "Surely you've heard mention of the Nifid in Bielefeld? They were a viral, hive mind species that reached its technical peak long before humanity was seeded across the galaxy. The whole species turned inward and passed into obscurity, and we were better off for not knowing them. It would have been better still had things remained so. It was the foolish Martiks that awoke them by looting dormant creche. The Nifid repaid them by purging every last Martik atom from the universe.
"I pity the Nifid, really. Imagine returning to your childhood neighborhood to find everything you were fond of stripped away. Imagine all the familiar faces replaced by young foreigners. Oh you could change your attire. You could learn the modern lingo. You could attempt to imitate their movements. At the end of the day you're still just an old man shuffling across worn sidewalk cracks. You'll return to your moldy apartment and feed your hoard of constructed cats. You'll put on a Murder She Wrote rerun, or perhaps Welcome Back, Kotter, and bemoan to the walls that modern television is too trashy to be in good taste. And you'll raise the occasional fist to protest the injustices done while you were gone. You won't raise it far. You won't get far either. In fact, you'll probably stagnate into a miserable, geriatric existence. Every last trespass will offend you to the core, be it the crushed blades of grass in the front lawn or the loud music thrumming from the next door apartment. That's how it was with them. That's why all hell broke loose when the Drones came. Were it not for the crotchety old Nifid, we'd have all been assimilated. They rebuilt what we had lost afterward."
Marcus' ears took on a vibrant red hue at Giovenith's praising. Her gentle reminder of people depending on them brought him back from the edge of bashful euphoria, however. She was right. She had a knack for seeing things more clearly at moments like this. He set his coffee aside and slipped an arm across the table to cradle her warm hand in his own.
"No matter where we go, there we are," a careworn smile played across his lips. "I hate that phrase. Brother Adrastus constantly mutters it and it's become ingrained in our ears and brains. He says the first three words and our minds finish the rest for him. I think it's better to say So, here we are, and then ask ourselves where we want to go from this point onward. When it comes to this anti-ab hatred and the city treating us like garbage... well, I just don't know where we'll go, but I think we'll do just fine if we keep each other company along the way."
He paused to listen to a message filtered through the network. "Brother Adrastus is going to dismiss the group soon so you all can tend to personal things. We should go find the rest of them. I don't know if he has any last minute information to impart to us."
Morning on the ship hardly looked different than night, save a miniscule lowering of light levels to mimic evening. Thaddeus hadn't slept. A paltry four hours had passed since the targ hunters' return, and he had spent it pouring over communications from Earth.
The grumpy cyborg read through the dispatches again on the off chance that he had missed some tiny detail that had come in overnight. Grumbling, he rose from his chair and departed the ozone choked room. He paid no heed to the cultist and Conservator chatting near the SUV, nor to the targ and her suckling brood watching his passage through the bay. His feet brought him to Hans' quarters and a heavy hand thumped the door between them.
"Wake up. You didn't check your messages before bed. There's a new development in Bielefeld."
May have something. Will be home within the hour.
