015.M3, Holy Terra, New York, Queens, 9 November, Morning
"Hold up you guys!" Peter said. Ned and Michelle paused in their step, turning around with a questioning look.
"We're supposed to meet up with Sam here."
"Wait, what?" asked Ned. "Child-soldier's walking with us to school, now?"
"Attending school with us, Ned. He's in all my classes. Apparently, they want someone to keep an eye on him – all of them," said Peter.
"But dude! You just got back! You've been gone for, like, a week!"
"Yeah. You missed 3 Decathalon meetings, by the way," Michelle added.
"Wait, seriously!" Peter said, running his hands through his hair. "Aw, shit. And we have that paper due in English, too!"
Michelle nodded her head. "Yep."
"Did you do yours yet?" Peter asked Ned.
"Yeah. I mean, I was worrying about you the whole time, but, y'know, writing about the Tempest kind of helped to take my mind off everything. I mean, I hated it. There's tons of things I would've rather been doing, but-"
"I get it. I'm screwed. I've gotta get the paper written-"
"Hello, again."
Peter paused his rant, turning to acknowledge the speaker. "And Sam's here. Great. We can get to school and it will bring us another day closer to meeting my fate at Aunt May's hands."
"Is something wrong?" Sam asked, looking at Ned and Michelle for some sign.
"He's stressing because he forget to do an assignment that we had the month to do," Michelle answered.
"Oh."
"And I would've had it done, too, if I didn't get pulled into wherever that was. Ugh, Aunt May's gonna kill me if I fail English over a stupid essay."
"So, why are you unable to write the essay?" ask Sam.
Peter turned to Sam. "Because. It's not so easy. First, you've got to have read the book. And yes," he said, turning to Michelle, "I did read it. But, like, a month ago. I don't remember anything about it. And it's gotta be some sort of 'critical lens' essay where you choose a quote and write stuff."
Sam furrowed his brows. "And… this is something hard to write?"
"Well, yeah. It's gotta be, like, at least 5 paragraphs or something," Peter replied.
"Does it need to be in High Gothic… or what your equivalent is?"
"High Goth-? What? No! Just regular English. At least it's not Spanish class. But, like, there's actual grammar rules and stuff, and you need to compose an argument or point or something. It's different from talking. More formal, I guess?"
Peter looked up. "And look. We're here." He looked at Ned and Michelle.
"Uh, yeah. You guys go ahead. I'm gonna show Sam where the Dean's office is. I'll catch up with you later, yeah?"
Michelle shot him a look. "Hey. Remember: we've got a meeting afterschool. You better be there."
Peter waved as Michelle and Ned departed in a different direction.
"Uh, yeah, so just follow me, and we'll find the Dean's office," said Peter. "I think they said that you should be enrolled now, so we just need to pick up your schedule."
Sam kept pace just behind Peter. Not too far as to be led like a sheep, unawares, but slightly flanking, keeping abreast while giving himself reaction time to turn corners and dodge other students on their way to homeroom.
A few twists and turns later, they arrived at the administrative offices. Peter knocked on the door before turning the knob to open it.
"Uh, hi. I'm here with Samuel Trembley? He's supposed to be a new student?"
A younger woman looked up from her computer. "Oh, Samuel? Give me a couple seconds," she chirped. She typed a few keys and clicked a few buttons. "Samuel Trembley…" she looked up from the monitor for a moment, a smile on her lips. "You're the exchange student from Canada!" She clicked a button, and an industrial printer printed a paper. She stood and walked to the printer to collect the printed sheet.
"You must've moved here pretty recently to come in mid-semester. It's rare, but you're not the first." The woman scanned a paper quickly, nodding as she digested the material quickly. "Parents can be quick to drag their kids with them to a new job. Anyway, good luck here," she said, passing some papers to Sam. "I'm sure you'll make some good friends. And Peter? Don't go too far. I looked you both up in the system; you've got first period together. Maybe you can help Sam begin to learn his way around the school?" She flashed a smile.
"Yeah, uh, sure," Peter replied. Turning to Sam, he spoke again in a softer voice. "You got everything? Makes sense?"
Sam nodded, holding one of the papers – his schedule – in front of him. "I just follow you to this 'first period,' since we attend it together?"
"Yeah. Keep close to me. The halls get a bit chaotic during the change of classes."
"Chaotic?" Sam replied, a flash of distress crossing his features.
"You'll see what I mean," Peter replied, waving it off.
They'd been walking in the hall for less than a minute before a bell-tone echoed through the overhead loudspeakers. It was immediately followed by a deluge of bodies exiting the previously closed doors. Chattering voices broke the silence, and a wall of sound rose up from nothing.
"It's change of classes," Peter said loudly, continuing to lead Sam through the throngs of bodies. "Everyone's got to get to their class before the next bell rings – us included."
Peter couldn't see Sam nod, but he assumed the other boy was following him still.
"Just how long do we have for this 'change of class?'" Sam asked from behind, projecting his voice louder over the din.
"We're lucky. 4 whole minutes," Peter called back. He looked down at his watch. "…Of which we've already used two! C'mon!"
They quickened their pace, dodging and bumping into people as they hastened to the classroom. They tumbled in through the door with several other kids just as the bell toned again.
"So… that's what you mean by 'chaotic,'" Sam whispered quickly to Peter as they found seats.
"Alright, get out your books…" the teacher said, casting a glance at the last stragglers filing in. And class began.
015.M3, Holy Terra, New York, Queens, 9 November, Morning
Poltava watched from the window as Sam departed from their apartment to attend schola. When he reached the end of the block and turned the corner, disappearing from her field of vision, she stepped away from the window.
She observed the common room – Sam's room, for what it was worth. He'd neatly arranged his blanket into a tightly folded bundle and set it under the couch. The pillows were arranged in such a way that one would never had guessed it had been a bed. It was arranged with perfect military crispness. No dust nor debris lingered, even despite their week-long absence as they had searched for a way to bring back Sam. No. Rather, upon their return to the little apartment, she and Sam had both undertaken cleaning the small space. It took a good amount of effort on both their parts. Roaches had become bolder during their absence, and she and Sam had hunted them with extreme prejudice.
Linux, though, had retreated to his own quarters. Initially, she cursed the Enginseer for leaving her and her guardsman to do all the work. But when a modified servo-skull – she recognized it as the second servo-skull, the companion of Sam's Grace-Hopper – equipped with a vacuum-attachment among other things floated out in the wee hours of the morning, she accepted it as Linux's form of help. Took him long enough, anyhow.
She stalked from the common room to her own spartan quarters. She knelt, and deftly pulled her own kit from under the metal-framed bed Linux had scavenged months ago. She slipped the leather straps from their metal buckle, and quickly snatched a small, black book from the bag before sitting down on the bed, facing the door. She flipped through the pages, quickly finding her place, and reread the previous days' events.
It had all been so strange.
They had been taken by the Warp and delivered safely to an Ancient Terra. A strange Terra where the Imperium didn't exist. At least, not yet. A familiar Terra where the Warp, the Chaos Gods and their daemons existed. Where the God-Emperor existed, but had not ascended. He was here, but as what? Certainly, he must have been watching over their souls. Any other explanation would be too painful.
She reflected on those individuals – those "Avengers" who aided in the search for Sam in the Warp.
They were not terrible people. A good number of them were certainly mutants and psykers – utterly detestable in the eyes of the Imperium for the danger they presented to their comrades. She knew they were to be hated. She'd been taught the hate from a young age, much as Trembley was. It unnerved her, having such volatile forces living with such freedoms. But, she knew, it was a time long before the Imperial sanction. The laws of the Imperium were completely unheard of to these people. Yes, they lived on the Most Holy Terra, but the Emperor had not yet blessed them with His Most Divine Wisdom as to which genes were pure and trustworthy.
What was their purpose here?
There was a sudden knock at the door. Poltava checked the time. Yes. One of the Avengers was due to "check in" on them, to ensure that they were "adjusting to life." She straightened out the non-existent wrinkles in her tunic before opening the door. She knew what it was really about. That man - Fury - he wanted to keep them under his thumb. He wanted to ensure that they were playing by his rules. An ego-stroking power-play was all it was.
"Uh, hi," the shorter man standing the doorway said.
"Mr. Banner," Poltava acknowledged cooly. "Do come in."
They shuffled awkwardly into the small living space. "Please, sit," she offered, gesturing at Sam's sofa-bed.
"Thank you," Banner replied, taking the seat.
Poltava sat in the lonely dingy armchair opposite the Avenger. Sitting next to the man was something too chummy. She would keep this interaction strictly business.
"Uh, well, I suppose," Banner began, casting a quick look about the small space, "Wait. Where's Linux? He should be here."
"The Enginseer is in his workshop. Why?"
"I just thought that if I'm supposed to be checking up with you, I may as well speak to you both together. 'Kill two birds with one stone,' sort of deal, right?"
Poltava gave a blank stare.
Banner chuckled weakly, brushing off the missed moment.
"Well, in any event, I need to know how you're fitting in and adjusting to life. And I need to hear from both. I just thought it might be easier if you were both here together, but, I can always talk to you both individually, too."
It was confirmation of her suspicions. Fury sought to perform threat analysis. The Imperium functioned much in the same, though its agents were far less cordial than Banner.
Yet even in understanding the purpose, how were they to present? Staunch upholders of the Imperial Creed in this ancient Terra? They could be the heralds of the God-Emperor. But the Avengers: what would they see in that zealotry? A squad of unreasonable people with advanced technology. They would be jealous. Untrusting. Potentially their enemy.
But what if they showed they "adapted?" What then? Compatriotism? Would they be seen as ally, an extra force to enact their Truth upon the galaxy? Or would they be threats still, fickle as the wind and mutable like the ever-accursed Chaos?
"You may start with myself individually."
Banner nodded. "Alright. Well. You've been here some time now. When did you say you arrived?"
"Trembley had learned from Parker that it was the End of August when we first arrived," she stated plainly. "According to my own logs, we have been here just over two months."
Banner nodded his head. "I have to say, you've done a pretty good job at 'laying low,' as they say. If it hadn't been… well, it would've taken some catastrophe or another, and even then, we may have never realized."
"That's… comforting, in its own way."
"Oh?"
"We did not feel it was our place to be the Heralds of the Imperial Truth. Not yet, at least. Rather, we seek our way home. The Enginseer is performing... research."
"I'm a research scientist myself, and I know Tony's a machinist genius – just; don't let him know I said that. His ego's big enough already."
Poltava's lips twitched as a smile attempted to cross her features. It was staunchly beaten down.
"So – has he made any breakthroughs?" Banner asked.
Poltava shook her head. "Nothing that will take us home." Nothing they need know.
They sat in silence for a moment, Poltava watching as Banner tried to discreetly look about the room.
"Well, uh, I see that you at least have electricity."
"Yes. The Enginseer has rigged the system for us."
Banner furrowed his brows. "Rigged? You're not getting your power from the plant?"
Confusion crossed Poltava's face. "Plant? You get power from plants here?"
"It's a mechanical industrial complex that produces electricity to power the city. Everyone pays a fee so they can have power in their house for lights and other appliances."
That explanation clicked. "I see. The Imperium provides its citizens with the basic necessities – food, water, housing. Luxuries come at cost, but all the planets within the Imperium's domain are able to produce what is needed for everyone, militarum and civilian included."
"You know, that actually doesn't sound too far off from here."
"It is to be expected –Terra is the Holy Birthplace of humanity."
"Uh, yeah. I was going to say something along those lines. About how we share common ancestry, that is." Banner chuckled softly.
Poltava nodded. "Your thoughts – they are almost understandable. You have not seen the greatness that humanity has ascended to under the guidance of the Emperor. How could you understand us?"
"I supposed there's a bit of learning that we're both going to have to do," Banner said, smiling.
A loud THUNK interrupted the moment, startling Banner. "Uh… is that?"
"Normal. The Enginseer is continuing one of his many projects," Kasia explained, waving a hand idly at the sound.
Bruce nods. "Right. Then… I suppose I should probably check on him."
"Now?" Poltava remarked, a frown tugging at her lips. "I wouldn't do that."
"Why not? It doesn't seem like he's going to wrap up his work anytime soon, and I really do need to check on him."
"You do realize your risking injury."
Banner cocked an eye.
"All techpriests are highly secretive as to the Rites of their Order. Even we of the commissariat aren't privy to that knowledge."
"And that includes his experimenting," Banner finished.
Kasia raised an eye. "You learn fast."
"I've had a little time with him before. Back in the Tower, that is," said Banner as he made his way across the room. He cast one look back to Kasia before he knocked on the closed door of the Enginseer's workshop. "Uh, hey. It's me, Bruce. I'm here to check up on you and Commissar Poltava."
Noises could be heard behind the door, the whirr of machines and the clinking of setting metal. Then, clicking sounds, like deadbolts being undone. The door swung out and open.
Linux rose in the center of the cramped workspace, standing from a stool in front of a workbench covered in metal bits and wires. Different apparatuses hung from the ceiling, their strange appearance clearly composed of found objects. It was like walking into the lair of some mad scientist. To compare it to Stark's labs… they were in such contrast. Both were filled with technology, but Stark's had clean, polished lines. This was crude, brutal angles, and the material was old and dirty. What was striking was that the tech priest's hood was down. Banner could see the man's head, laid bare for once. The pallid skin – at least what was left of it – was riddled with marks and scars, while wires, cables, and lines streamed out, only to disappear under the fabric of the robes.
Bruce swallowed. "Hi, it's me again. Do you mind if I enter?"
"Yes."
Banner opened his mouth and closed it. "Okay. Would you be able to come out here to talk?"
"Why? We are conversing here and now. Extraction from work would be required to comply," Linux replied.
"He just wants to see how we have adjusted to this Terra," Kasia called, leaning on the side of her seat to peer down the hallway at the two men.
Linux made a mechanical noise, almost as if a machine were sighing. "It shall take 3.5 Terran minutes to complete the Rite of Ejection."
Banner turned to Kasia, who gestured to the seat Banner had previously occupied. "He's coming. Let him finish his prayers," she remarked. Hissing and clunking noises could be heard from Linux's room as cables and lines severed their connections.
Bruce took a seat. "Rite of Ejection? Really?" Banner asked amiably.
"Our tech priests have utmost dedication in their beliefs. Their rituals ensure that our equipment and technology works," Kasia remarked. "It could just be superstition, but I've never had a properly blest bolter fail me."
Linux stalked into the room, red robes swirling about his form. His red and white hood was back in its place on his head, and it appeared the majority of whatever harness he'd been attached to before was left back in the room.
"So, you probably know that I'm here to see how you've been adjusting to life here," Bruce began again.
"Affirmative."
"Okay. So, uh, how have you been adjusting?"
"Everything is within parameters."
"Can you elaborate a little further?"
"The necessities for survival have been establish. Surviving members of the 1214th are not in physical distress."
"By 'surviving members of the 1214th,' you mean…" began Bruce
"Sam, Linux, and I. Yes," replied Poltava.
Linux cast a look at Poltava. Poltava cocked her head, returning the Enginseer's stare.
"Well, uh, is there anything that you're having trouble to adapting to?"
"Negative."
"Are you sure? I'd imagine our technologies are probably vastly different from where you're from. If you need any help-"
"Negative," Linux replied more forcefully. "The machine-spirits of this era are wild, but young. They will be trained into compliance."
Bruce put on a small forced smile. "Poltava was telling me a little about what you do-"
"The Commissar does not comprehend the deeper Truths of the Machine. She has told you nothing."
"So, could you enlighten me? If you're to live here-"
"We are to find a way home," Linux rebutted.
"As I was saying, if you're to live here for any amount of time, we need to make sure that we can understand each other as best as possible. I don't want to insult you in ignorance-"
"Oh, you already have," said Poltava bemusedly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Bruce rubbed a hand along his brows. "Obviously, the cultural divide between us is a lot bigger than we thought. Okay. In the interest of learning how to work together, because, let's face it: you've already been here two months. You've already been here some time already, and you haven't found your way yet. So, perhaps we need to work on integrating you into society a little better. So, tell me so I don't do it again: how did I insult Linux."
"By wasting his time," replied Poltava.
Bruce furrowed his brow, casting a glance between Linux and Poltava.
"By dragging him out here," Poltava answered. "His research is sacred. You interrupted that for this petty discussion. And yes, Enginseer. You are dismissed."
Linux made another mechanical noise as he practically flew back to his room, door closing shut behind him.
"So, this whole ordeal was a massive waste of time for him."
"Exactly. In the future, since this sounds like you will be calling on us again, my voice will be enough for my men. I believe it would be in both our best interests to respect the wishes of the Enginseer's religious solitude on this matter."
"Right, then. I suppose I will see you later," Banner replied, exiting the little flat.
"May the Emperor watch you," said Poltava, making the sign of the Aquila while seeing the scientist out.
015.M3, Holy Terra, New York, Manhattan, 9 November, Mid-Morning
POV: Dr. Strange. Setting: NY Sanctum Sanctorum. Mirqurios, Wong, and Strange interact
The events of the last few days had been strange. Asked to dive into another dimension to extract two known individuals with a third unknown sleeping on his couch in the Sanctum Sanctorum wasn't something he'd been planning. He'd been monitoring the mystical signatures of the world. He'd intended to do more monitoring. It had disturbed him immensely that twice these signatures had escaped his detection: when the three Imperials first appeared, and then when Peter and Sam had both gone missing.
Why hadn't he noticed?
He rechecked his tethers to the ley lines and the instruments calibrated to the chakras of the earth. Nothing was out of the ordinary. What was it that could evade even his senses?
"The Changer of Ways himself."
"What?" said Strange in surprise, standing and turning to face the speaker.
It was Mirqurios. The strange red man that he'd pulled from the Warp was now under his charge.
"Tzeentch. In my time he is known as one of the four Gods of Chaos."
"God of Chaos?" asked Strange.
"Yes. They stand counter to the forced Order of Humanity and the other races. Khorne, the God of Martial Pride, Slaanesh, the God of Desire, Nurgle, the God of Life, and Tzeentch, the God of Mysteries. Before the Emperor ascended, the galaxy had always been a tumultuous place. What is life without random chance? The world needs disorder to give us something to triumph over.
"But the Emperor upset the balance.
"He sought to put Order where it should not go; to restrain that which should be free. For that, He corrupted the Gods."
"So these 'Gods of Chaos' are trying to restore balance to the universe?" asked Strange.
"In their own way, yes," replied Mirqurios. "But they are fueled by belief. This interference stinks of Tzeentch. He is the one by whom all are connected. Every life, every action – it is all connected through his threads. If you didn't feel the signature, it is because He didn't want you to."
Strange looked at Mirqurios sharply.
Mirqurios shook his head. "The Changer of Ways spins the threads of all fate to his own design. He is mystery. And to us learned men, what is it that we seek? The unexplained. We seek answers to mysteries. Tzeentch provides answers only to create for you a thousand-fold new questions. One cannot ever hope to divine his end-goal."
"You and the Imperials," Strange began, "were pulled from your own time and place to come here."
Mirqurios wagged a finger. "You're not thinking about this right. If Tzeentch has a purpose, it is not for us to know."
"What we do know is Slaanesh was involved," countered Strange.
"A better thread to follow."
"Parker and Trembley - they fell through a gap in our realities and into the Warp, where they met you. Tzeentch could have arranged for the meeting to happen... but why Slaanesh?"
Mirqurios smiled. "You're getting closer to finding your truth."
"The remarks I heard at the debriefing that Trembley has these psychic powers... Rogers and Stark mentioned at the debrief how Trembley because closed off - very much in denial - when the topic of powers was brought up. His description made them sound dangerous," Strange thought aloud. He looked at Mirqurios. "You know that Trembley is... what did they call it? A psyker. So... Slaanesh plays in the role to unlock his desire? He knows what he is, and perhaps he genuinely wants to be free, but under the law of the Imperium, that wouldn't have happened."
Mirqurios nodded. "If he were lucky, he would have been inducted into one of the psyker units before being put down by his commissar for eventually succumbing to Warp-taint. If he were unlucky, he would have been found long ago by the Black Ships. As it stands, the Changer of Ways gave us some gifts."
Strange looked at the red man suspiciously.
"Even though we call them the Chaos Gods, they are not inherently evil. It would be wise to remember that. Young Trembley and I both were gifted a path to freedom. How we traverse that path is what will ultimately decide whether these turns of fate are ruinous or beneficial."
"Which is why Samuel will be coming here after school with Parker."
Mirqurios smiled. "It's been a long time since I've had someone to teach and share ideas with."
AN: Let's try something new. I also apologize for the update. I graduated my Master's, COVID-19 hit, a bunch of my coworkers retired, I started and quit a second job, got married, and moved into my own place, and then saw my brother get married. Still, I'm not dead yet and neither is this story. I do not know when I will get back into a regular posting schedule. I probably won't. It'll be more whenever I can sit down and not have to worry about keeping the house stocked or pulling overtime. Yikes.
In short: there shall be no regular posting schedule. It posts when I have something. We die like men. Utter chaos.
Gray28wolf08: "I'm rather curious as to why the Imperials are letting Mirqurios live, wouldn't they desperately be trying to kill him."
The Imperials are stuck in a sticky situation. Sure, you can argue they have diplomatic immunity, but Mirqurios is an unknown. Sam has seen that he's strong inside the Warp, and doesn't know if that translates to outside. And we know that psykers can be pretty powerful. Plus, Mirqurios isn't outright hostile, either. The Imperials and Mirq are all fish out of water. They're focusing on survival first. They are, after all, only human, and there's no sense in being a martyr for no cause. Rather, they may focus on bringing the Emperor's light in other ways. Kasia is a Commissar, after all.
SASUGA AINZ SAMA and Hydra77: you guys pretty much nailed it [thumbs up]. I was hoping that someone would pick up on those clues I'd been dropping in the Warp. Big dumb smile on my face when you guys made your guess.