Muddy water drips off his still form, landing in the swamp with soft plinking sounds.

Shouting comes from somewhere behind the blinding glare. They sound angry, but also afraid. A metallic clicking noise rings through the gloom and the shout repeats.

Bruen doesn't move, not the slightest twitch. Quietly, not wanting to alarm the frightened aliens, he asks, "Can you understand me?"

When he gets no response he tries the question again, in the language of his people's closest allies, but still they answer with shouting he cannot decipher the meaning of.

The silence stretches for several long breaths, before a new voice says something slowly and quietly. The language used sounds the same, but the speaker sounds as if they expect a response.

"I do not know your language," Bruen says slowly. "I do not wish to be your enemy, if there is any other way to solve this."

A few mechanical noises are his only response. It almost sounds like the toys given to freshly molted young to test their aptitudes, clicking and humming away.

Not knowing what else is wanted of him, he tries again. "Who are you people? Are you natives of this world? My people come from far away and wish only to leave here."

Almost ready to give up peaceful interactions, Bruen tightens his grip on his spear. His patience, expansive though it is, is running thin. The resolve to fight his way clear of these strange people begins to set in his mind when the black box emits an imitation of speech.

"Why have you come here?" The voice sounds lifeless, artificial. "What do your people want from us?"

"Please turn down your lights. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"Drop your weapon," the voice says as the light cuts off abruptly, revealing thin gray creatures.

The aliens are dressed in blue and white uniforms, all five of them wearing blue metal helmets. Three are holding strange looking metal staves, which contain a fierce energy that resonates with the runes encasing his form. These odd devices are the source of the glaring light from before.

One of the uniformed aliens holds a thick black box with a shining panel set into the top, which holds a much weaker energy source inside it.

The last of the gray creatures is carrying bandages and what Bruen recognizes as medical equipment. They are the same species as the form his spear is aimed at, laying still against the tree and gazing blankly up at him in obvious fear.

He backs away, letting his spear droop, its head sinking harmlessly in the water. The healer of the alien group shoots him a strange look before dashing to the fallen member of their race. The healer shouts something back to the group which the black object repeats as "She's Okay!" while checking the injured tribal carefully for hidden wounds.

"We need you to come with us," commands the emulated voice. "Our leaders will need to speak with you."

Knowing that he has no choice, Bruen follows as they lead him away, but does not relinquish his spear. A warm light briefly shines on him from one of the strange battle staves, but its energy is drawn harmlessly into the runic array protecting him. As he has been otherwise cooperative so far, no further attempt is made to take it from him.

He's lead to the center of the primitive encampment where the rest of his people are being held. Gray creatures surround them on all sides, keeping careful watch over the tired soldiers.

He spots Mos Gol and Somner Zek among the captives and heaves a sigh of relief. They quickly reach his side, asking questions about the aliens around them.

A group of tripodal aliens huddles nearby, likewise surrounded by uniformed guards. They lack the discipline of trained soldiers, and many are openly crying. Larger tripods comfort smaller versions of themselves, not acting at all like the mindless savages of before.

Across the clearing from the two groups of prisoners slumps the defeated corpse of the young chieftain, its body leaning against the wall of a primitive hut.

He waves his companions to silence as a form he recognizes approaches, still carrying the black device.

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"You can call me Robar. We have some questions for you," the alien says through its translator. "How should I address you?"

"I am Mos Gol, leader of these people. This is my second in command, Mos Bruen and our thaumatist Somner Zek," replies the armored elder confidently. "It is good to meet other people capable of strong magics." She nods her head towards the translation device. "Quite the marvel."

Her diplomatic skills have never been Gol's strongest defense, but she's putting forth an effort that surprises Bruen. As often as he's seen elders of his caste rush heedlessly towards death, he still half expects her to order an attack at some point.

"Excellent. Please follow me, we'll be going to meet the Patron," the strange lifeless voice repeats. "Your people will be safe here."

Mos Gol agrees, and Robar leads the three to a metallic building the visitors seem to have erected on the edges of the small village. Whatever ritual they used, it was destructive, charring the trees and other plants in a small circle around it. Bruen detects power coursing through the alien structure, and sees Zek's mucus coating thicken in an automatic protective reflex.

A door opens itself on the side of the building as they near it and a small ramp extends down into the muck. The team gratefully slide up it, glad not to have to climb up the two and a half ubits to enter the odd alien construction.

The doors close when the last of their group has entered. The energy swirling through the walls all around them grows brighter, flooding their senses and blinding their peripheral eyes.

It doesn't feel like the energy of a portal, and reality does not flicker inside the strange room. The gray aliens move around unconcernedly, going from one screen to the next. The aliens tap at the screens and the energy lessens, removing a strain that had Zek nearly collapsed on the ground. The door opens by itself, proving to Bruen the sophistication of these people, and they are led into a new environment.

Energy flows through everything around them, causing Somner Zek to twitch as she looks around. Her gaze seems to be drawn in a single direction. When Gol asks their guide what's in that direction the response is superstitious nonsense.

The heart of the ship? Bruen looks around but cannot see the sky. He listens but does not hear the wind, nor does he feel the rocking of waves beneath him. Only the hum of endlessly flowing energy through every surface around him and the speech of the gray thin creatures moving about the confines of this odd place.

Leading the way through a twisting maze of corridors and ladders, they are guided to a large door upon which Robar raps their hard knuckles in a quick beat. A deep voice answers and the door slides open, revealing a large room with a table in the center. Around the table are several empty chairs, and one chair filled by an impressively dressed older gray alien.

"Welcome to the war room of the Bestera's Gift," says the machine Robar carries as the group walks inside. "Please, have a seat, everyone." Robar sets the device down on the table and leaves the room.

Left alone with a single alien, Bruen's group begins to relax. Either this creature is not a threat or is capable of defeating all three of them unarmed, either way they know they are safe enough at the moment. These people could have killed them at any time, but have only used words and bright lights despite their incredible mastery over energy.

The stranger stands, and gestures at the group of warriors, still bleeding from battle wounds not yet treated.

"Your people are obviously powerful. Immune to laser blasts and able to travel without ships. We haven't even located traces of particle emissions around this planet," the tall gray being says as it paces the ornate metal room.

The word make little sense. It's clear the alien leader is impressed, but Bruen understands little else.

"Can you show us which world your people are from? Or tell us how you got to this one?" He taps on the table and a display floats in the air, points of colored light in swirls and clusters.

A single red light brightens, surrounded with a transparent halo.

"This is our current location. We call this world Makeera's Drop, around a star we've named the Red Eye." He looks at his guests expectantly, but they only stare blankly at the display. He taps the translation device on its side, an odd look on his fleshy mobile face.

"Is this thing working?" Seeing their nods he continues, "Right, sorry. Allow me to introduce myself. I've already been briefed on your identities. My name is Patron Nosstan. Rin Nosstan, chief officer of the battleship Bestera's Gift. Thank you for meeting with me."

The three guests nod at this, politely holding their pedipalps close to their faces as an indication of excitement. The gray person cocks his head while looking at them before returning to his display.

He taps the table again and an area of blue light surrounds a trio of floating points, of which the one Nosstan called Red Eye is at the edge.

"Right. This blue area represents the territory our Coalition has significant influence over. Can you indicate where your people have holdings?" He again looks expectantly at his guests.

"No. What do all these lights mean?" Bruen taps the table before him, but nothing happens. "How do you activate the table? I see no runes." He waves his spear through the display, causing the lights to wink out in its wake only to reappear moments later.

"Let me try," exclaims Somner Zek. "I can feel the pathways, just let me see." She trails off as a white glowing haze travels from the center of her thorax and enters the table. The lights rearrange into a series of lines. Connections and branches are marked with informative sigils, labeling each world controlled by the Spanless Empire.

"Good job, Somner. These are our worlds," explains Mos Gol, waving her tendrils along the pathways. "And these, ahem, are the worlds we know of that our allies or enemies control. This is the world we are currently on." As she speaks Somner Zek adds the necessary modifications to the map.

"Over," corrects Nosstan. "We are over the world of Makeera's Drop."

"Oh. Good, so we can have it, then?" Gol's tendrils quiver, her excitement almost uncontrollable.