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The paperwork had multiplied again.
With a sigh, Roboute began categorizing the sheets that had made it to his desk, memorising and signing what needed his signature. It had been a long day, the latest in a series of long days. With meetings, petitioners, inane ramblings of the ecclesiarchy and updates of the greater war effort, it was almost a relief to sit and just file paperwork. While it wasn't true peace, it was the closest he had achieved since waking.
He blinked at one in particular. A request for his presence on a barely acknowledged world. He double checked the particulars, blank apart from the fact that they were sending an envoy.
Roboute frowned. It was surprisingly unstraightforward of the Iron Hands to do such a thing. Casting a glance between his in and out piles, he put it to one side. He had a feeling he would need to inquire about it later.
The rest of his paperwork flowed easily, letting Robute fall into a meditative state. As the first shift started, and along with it came Felix with the next forty eight hours of meetings. With an internal sigh, Roboute stood to face his next period in this never ending cavalcade of fools and misery that the imperium had become. Moving around the desk, his eye caught on the sheet sent by the Iron Hands.
Picking it up, he strode over to Felix. “I want you to find out how this got to my desk. If necessary, I want the raw information of the astropathic transmission transcribed.”
Felix stared at the odd form, on a great many levels it was glaringly irregular. It made him wonder how it had gotten to his desk. “Of course, my lord.”
Trusting he would be able to sort such a problem, Roboute forwarded his schedule to his armor. Already, twelve meetings had been exchanged, moved or rescheduled since the last he saw it. Rolling his shoulders under the ever present weight of the armor of fate, Roboute pressed on into his day. Nobles arguing over resources, his militant apostate bringing wording changes to speeches to better please the cult imperialus.
It made him want to grind his teeth. He missed the well oiled machine he had left ten thousand years ago. Not that there was anything practical he could do about it at this time.
It was all he could do right now to try and help slow the rate of decay the imperium had fallen into. To halt the rotting mess it had become. Anything else was just fantastical theoreticals.
Somewhere in the twentieth hour, Felix returned with a curious look on his face. “I found the original message, Lord Gulliman. It was structured as such because it did not fit the current form requirements.”
Roboute raised a questioning eyebrow. The format in how an astropath was trained didn't exactly change. “Do go on.”
Saluting, Felix stood at attention. “Yes, I found that while the raw and the interpreted astropath message was intact, the message that came through the cogitator to you was damaged and resulted in what you received.”
Cogitators were usually reliable, had it been damaged, the message incorrectly formatted? “Why exactly was it damaged?”
“The message used codes not used since the great crusade. Ones that specify for the primach or leigonmaster's eyes only. The machine was both created much later and serviced in the last decade. It could not parse what the code was. In error, it threw the rest of the message out.” He handed the interpreted and the raw message from the astropath over.
Roboute looked over them both, eyes instantly locking onto what had once been an obscure code for primachs and legions to meet, to share a compliance that one was suited for but wasn't assigned. It had fallen out of use as the heresy had begun, as brother bonds twisted and shattered. For a moment, Roboute's hearts ached making him wish for the brighter past. He closed his eyes, pushing the grief away, he'd not expected to see the code again, nor its implications.
It wasn't the important part however, not right now. The rest of its message was of equal fascination.
Despite three rereads, he still could not believe his eyes. The request stated that they had discovered something relevant to the code and were sending an envoy with proof. However he was needed to verify.
Roboute placed the message back in Felix's hands. “When the Iron Hands get here, I want to see them.”
“Of course my lord.” Felix took the paper, departing.
Somewhere, buried deep in his chest, a tiny spark of hope flickered. Had one of Roboute's brothers survived and been found? Was he no longer alone?
No.
He could not allow himself to hope.
He needed to imagine it to be an urgent back up request. Imagining the impossibility of his brother's return was a theoretical he could not bear to entertain.
Throwing himself back into casualty reports and siege plans, he filled his mind up with as much information as he could to try to drown out his own thoughts. Fatigue dragged at him, reminding him that it had been months since his last rest. As the forty eight hour period drew to a close, he found himself adding sleep to his next day's schedule.
As he finally reached his moment's quiet in his paperwork, his mind rebelled once more. Theoreticals of which brother it could be, whether they were alive or dead, traitor or loyal or even wishing to serve at all. Roboute sighed, shoving his thoughts back down and refocusing. It wouldn't do to care about the uncertainty. He could not change it until he knew what the variables were.
But damn it all he hated the wait.
As always it was a terrible discomfort to slide down into rest. The encroaching darkness of sleep, reminding him far too much of the death that Fulgrim's blade had offered and given. Even so, his body required it of him.
And so he slept, waiting for the future.
He walked the halls of the Macragge’s Honor, the Iron Hand that had come by his side. He didn't remember their name, but that was immaterial right now. Rogal Dorn was waiting in the landing bay. The Iron Hands had found him, saved him from… from what exactly?
It didn't matter. They had crossed the ship.
Roboute's breath caught as he saw Dorn.
Rogal stood, hale and healthy as the day he had left.
A wounded noise left his throat as Roboute tossed decorum aside and ran to his brother. Clasping his brother's arm, he drew Rogal into a crushing hug.
“I've missed you, brother.” He forced out through his rapidly tightening throat. Tears pricked at his eyes, he was no longer alone, adrift in this rotting sea of the imperium.
Rogal's voice creaked out, unintelligible and Roboute pulled back. Had he somehow harmed his brother?
Rogal stood there, allowing the inspection. Again he spoke and whatever he said was garbled, as if it came through an ill tuned vox.
“It's alright, your sons will appreciate your return.” Roboute said as he clapped his brother on the shoulder. His stomach sank as his brother's shoulder collapsed under his hand.
Drawing his hand back with a gasp he was horrified as Dorn's face began to sag, his armor tarnishing and buckling.
“Why do you draw away brother?”
his brother's voice gurgled and rasped in a terrible, but understandable sound. “There is work to be done.”
“You are here, surely but a moment is not too much. It has been ten thousand years.” Roboute entreated his brother. He knew Rogal had ever been shackled to duty, and even now it would not have changed. There was a thud as Rogal's arm fell. Roboute stared at it numbly as scorches and cracks formed on the once stunningly golden auramite armor. His brother’s form bulged and cracked as cancerous growths spread across his form.
Had he been mistaken? Had the Iron Hands brought the corpse of his brother?
He raised his hands to catch the twisting form of his brother as the growths swallowed up everything, making Roboute scramble to catch Dorn as his form snapped and twisted under his hand, the world around him darkening.
“You dare turn away from your duty?”
At the bludgeoning of his creator's psykic voice, Robute jerked his head up, finding himself before the steps of the golden throne. At the top, a great and terrible nexus of light burned, a darkness at the centre of it.
Roboute fought to keep standing, even as Dorn disintegrated away, but was forced to a knee.
“You spend your thoughts on frivolities. Win. My. War. Else more intensive corrections shall be put in place upon you” The light moved down the steps solidifying into a being that he knew, that was more than a man, more than even a primarch. That made the very light itself scream away from his existence.
The Dark King of them all, The Emperor of mankind.
slowly, inevitably he was crushed beneath the psykic might of his creator.
“Emperor, please!” He cried as the last gasp of air escaped his lungs.
Roboute awoke with a gasp, his hearts hammering as he cataloged his room. A nightmare. Nothing more. His internal chronometer noted having only an hour and a half past. With a sigh, he unlocked the armor of fate's joints. There was work to do. Frivolous theoreticals didn't matter.
Weeks later, the Iron Hands appeared, landing in the docking bay with little fanfare. A squad stood, an older mortal man standing uncomfortably to one side in what looked like some sort of ceremonial garb.
What little hope Robute had failed to quash died at the sight. How had the Iron Hands been led so astray that they thought an old mortal man was anything more than that? Schooling his face into diplomatic calm, he strode forwards.
The Iron Hands all fell to a knee as he approached, the mortal following suit a moment later. “My lord Gulliman. We have been sent to you to bring news of a primarch.”
A hush fell over the docking bay, all work stopping.
“Follow me.” Roboute ordered, turning on his heel and marching for his office. He didn't bother looking to check if they were following. He knew they would.
He led them through the halls of The Macragge’s Honor, taking them to his private offices. Roboute was quietly impressed at the composure of the mortal, who trotted along at a double time march to keep up with them, while he was awed at the experience, the older man still managed to maintain decorum.
Coming to his office, Roboute sat, bringing himself down to a more conversational height for all involved. “Now tell me, who are you and what proof do you bring?”
“I am Lieutenant Sarkis of the Iron Hands, this is my squad. We were tracking a beacon of a ship lost since the heresy and when we landed on the planet we met the individual we are here about.” He gestured to the mortal they had brought along. “We have brought along Horatio, a man who has known this individual for multiple years as a character witness.”
Roboute raised an eyebrow, curious despite the harsh whisper of his conscience claiming this to be a waste of time. “Go on.”
Sarkis and his men fell into an easy rest. “The ship was being used as the centrepoint of his village. When we went to take salvage, he jumped over the village wall and thunderhawk to land in front of us. We traded words and our then captain was put through the thunderhawk bulkhead, rendering it inoperable.”
Sarkis took a moment to gather himself, drawing a shaking breath. “I was an unnumbered son, my lord. I have had the gift of standing in your presence once before, during a parade as you passed by. Never again did I expect to feel such a presence. But I did. That man had it.”
Gulliman steepled his fingers, noting the lack of a name. It had been deliberate, so perhaps someone he had argued with in the past? “And what did he name himself?”
The marines looked uncomfortable for a moment before the old man spoke up with a bow. “The boy you ask after is Aaron ap Angron. He is nine years old as of the time we left.”
Roboute snapped the weight of his gaze to Horatio, the aged warrior holding up surprisingly well under his scrutiny. “Angron, you say.” The words fell like chips of ice from his mouth.
The smell of fear slowly seeped from the mortal, but his face remained battle-calm. “Yes, My Lord Gulliman. Named Arron when he was found as a babe by his mother. I believe one of the mighty angels has a pict of him.”
If this was a trick, Roboute was going to space the lot of them without armor.
Sarkis’s brother quickly procured a dataslate and turned it on. “Here, My Lord.” he said, bowing as he passed it over.
Both of Roboute's hearts froze as he took in what was on the screen. The man-no, boy was indeed the right size to be a primarch. Moreover, he wore Angron’s face, for all that it was almost unrecognizable without the pain the butcher's nails had brought. A soft noise worked its way up his throat as he continued through the picts, seeing his brother free, happy and loose from the burdens he had been destroyed by.
He stopped on an image of Angron carefully carrying an older woman. The care he had was obvious, even through the pict.
His hearts ached as he looked at the picture. Swallowing, Roboute looked to the Iron Hands. “You are dismissed. Speak to Felix, my equerry about food and lodging.”
As they left, the mortal turned to leave as well. Roboute cleared his throat, stopping him in his tracks. “Not you. Take a seat.” He gestured to some of the human sized chairs around the edge of the room.
Grabbing a chair, Horatio pulled himself into it. Now at a more comfortable resting height with Roboute, he asked, “Is there more you wish of me, Lord?”
“Tell me about him. How did you meet.” Roboute ordered, gentling his voice.
“I was a knight in charge of taking tithe, by law it was foodstuffs. But every so often the Iron Hands would come for boys. So we added children to it. Aaron volunteered himself. At the time he was four and shorter than me. I had initially thought him to be a teenager, but he quickly proved me wrong.” Horatio paused, his eyes distant. Shaking his head, he continued.
“He became my squire, a position that, while not technically freedom, did give him respect. The rate at which he learnt was extraordinary, he only heeded to see an action once before it was perfectly learnt. He broke out of the main city, jumped over the main wall and over most of the river. A good thing too, because without him doing so we would have never found out about the cult that had formed. He used himself as bait to make sure the message that the cult was out there and active was brought back to the king.” Horatio smiled, “We did not have the best of starts, but it is an honor to work with him.”
Roboute raised an eyebrow. So, this person had been chosen despite his history or because of it? He flicked his eyes across the man, noting his body language. He was mostly calm, with a downright ancient lazpistol on his hip and while the apparel he wore was well made and high quality, it was also sturdy and made to be used for practical purposes if necessary. “Have you seen him since?”
Horatio smiled. “Yes. These last few years we've worked closely together both cleaning up the remains of the cults and helping affected villages. He has grown into a fine leader, one I am proud to have worked alongside and answer to. While I readily admit I cannot parse the scope of responsibilities that lie in wait for him, out among these stars. I am confident in his ability to rise to the occasion.” A soft, far off look entered his eye. “Although. It is but my selfish desire to hope that you find him wanting. To let him be kept by our people. But, it is honor that binds. And it is my duty to report the truth.”
Roboute considered Horatio's words for a moment before dismissing the man. Out of all of them, why Angron? He couldn't even ask the questions that pounded in his brain. Why now? How did he do it?
They weren't Angron. They wouldn't know.
He looked down at the data slate still showing the image of Angron and his mother. His gauntleted hand drifted over the display as it brought to mind Tarasha. It was beautiful to see, but at the same time, he could not help the sharp spike of jealousy that lodged itself into his heart.
He closed his eyes against the familiar grief that he had come to expect from any recollection of the past. His mind traced the shapes of his brother's face, the scars he had earned over his life before his degradation.
Roboute's eyes flashed open and he flicked back through the picts of Angron. He paused on a pict of his brother. Focusing, he noted scars deeply rendered into the edge of his hairline where his nails once were.
They were gone?
As they traveled, Roboute made time in his schedule to speak to each of the members of the Iron Hands individually. Correlating their experience.
Information about the demon that had dogged his brother's steps, calling itself The Butcher. The Possessed that had been oh-so eloquently called the Nailed were also eyebrow raising, especially by how they were created and spread.
Even when tested, the mortal had shown no signs of corruption, despite being surprisingly resilient against his presence.
That Khârn, Angron’s most loyal son had turned away from chaos to stand back by his father's side. This most of all, hit like a bolter to the chest. Could others escape as well? Or when he arrived, would he find it to be a false calm before the storm.
Despite his conscience telling him otherwise, Roboute dared to let hope find a home in his chest that he would find his brother sane and free of chaos.
Roboute made sure he was at a window when they transitioned out of the warp. He wanted to see what world Angron called home.
It hung like a scarred beauty in the night. The planet showed signs of what must have been a truly terrible battle long ago that had reshaped continents and seas. The scans corroborated reports given by the Iron Hands that there were only signs of a single group of humans on the planet.
Quashing the feeling that he could be doing so many more necessary things, he sent a summons for his guard to meet him in the docking bay alongside the Iron Hands envoy.
Tearing his eyes away from the beautifully scarred planet, he followed his own orders, marching through the gilded halls to meet his men.
They stood, waiting by the thunderhawk. Ready for orders, ready to serve.
“We will be interacting with civilians today.” Roboute paused, considering. “The man we are to meet is potentially my brother. He has been unfortunately named. Do not take aggressive action on anyone unless I give leave.”
There was a thumping of ceramite on ceramite as the vicatrix saluted.
Roboute nodded, climbing aboard the thunderhawk. Nerves twisted his gut. Would Angron remember anything? If he did, would he even be willing to be a part of the greater imperium? Or would he have to kill his brother, just for the crime of existing, of being a future threat?
A calm certainty unwound in his mind at the last thought before Roboute shook it off, clearing his head.
There were more options than just subjugation or death. If Angron had been given a clean slate then Roboute wanted to see it before judgements were made.
He breathed slowly out as the transport took them down, counting the seconds that it took. Finally after far too long, the ship touched down in a clearing near the base of a mountain alongside the Iron Hands's Thunderhawk.
As he got out, he saw Horatio from the other thunderhawk jog out and produce a horn. Roboute watched in interest as the man blew two sharp blasts before pocketing it. A moment later, a single long note drifted over the trees as the Iron Hands and vicatrix guard formed ranks.
“An acknowledgement that we are friendly, rather than anything else. There's been too much come by the walls in the last few years.” Horatio explained with a bow. “If we follow this path we'll be in Newhold soon enough.”
As Roboute made to reply, a sound caught his ears. Decidedly fast, rhythmic thumping. Feet going at unheard of speeds across dirt. He zeroed in on the sound, shifting to track it.
Within seconds, the runner burst into view and skidded to a halt, wide eyed. There he was, clad in a bear pelt and pants. Eyes such a dark brown they were almost red, hair wild and windswept. It was him.
Every fibre of Roboute's being cried out in recognition as he finally saw his brother, for the first time, whole. So great was his shock that he almost missed the extra person hanging off his brother's back.
Angron was so open, so innocent in the way he moved. There was no fear, no concern in the lines of Roboute's brother's body as Angron gently plucked his passenger off, placing him on the ground. “Hi Horatio.”
“Good morning Angron, Gregor.” Horatio seemed unsurprised at the display. “May I introduce our esteemed guests, the Lord Regent and son of The God Emperor of Mankind, Roboute Gulliman And his Angels of Death.”
Angron raised an eyebrow at the lengthy title. Horatio raised an eyebrow back and Angron sighed. “I'm Aaron ap Angron of the Gorgon mountains. With me is Gregor, also of the Gorgon mountains.”
It settled something in Roboute to see his brother free from what was now a terrible past. Although, perhaps his presence here would damn his brother even without taking him away to the sickened stars.
“The Iron Hands say they think you might be my brother?” Angron asked, his eyes staring deep into Roboute's soul.
Roboute's diplomatic skill fled, like cowards before oncoming fire. “Yes.”
Angron hummed. “Did I really live before? Or am I something new?”
Roboute shook his head. “There are too many things that are Identical for me to deny you living before. Do you remember anything?”
Angron shifted from one foot to the other, discomfort written over his face. “No. but sometimes theres… dreams. Half remembered things that fade too fast to do anything about.”
The person to one side snorted “Is that why Perty's named the way she is?”
Angron broke his gaze with Roboute to look down at the person beside him.“Yeah.”
The analytical part of Roboute's mind wondered how the planet produced such a tall, solid person when reports had said the planet was only subsistence farming.
“Couper's bringing a horse for you, Horatio. Until we meet up, do you want a ride?” Angron offered the aging man.
Roboute could almost feel the outraged stares of his vicatrix guard at the man, at the blasphemy of a mortal daring to do such a thing. A quick, sharp glance cooled their tempers, reminding them why they were here.
“Thank you. I will take the offer. Goodness knows, I'm sure you'll probably appreciate not shortening your stride for once.” Horatio laughed as Angron gently picked him up, settling him in his arms.
Perhaps, Angron was around the people he needed after all.
Angron watched the man, Roboute. He could feel it, the something that set him apart was there in him as well.
Along with enough misery to kill a bear and enough exhaustion to wear down a mountain. Honestly, he was surprised by his… brother? could get out of bed in the morning with the stress, self hatred and grief he was carrying around.
He wanted to ask, but he wasn't sure if it was right. If it was tied up in his own existence or if it was something that came from the stars and he had no concept of yet.
As they passed Couper, he happily passed Horatio onto his horse. Bidding them farewell, They continued on.
“This is new, is it not?” Roboute asked, gesturing to the pathway and trees.
“Three years, last summer. My community needed somewhere after the Nailed ripped through their original home.” Angron smiled “It was temporary originally. Now it's permanent.”
There was a soft smell of snow on the breeze as they continued to walk up the incline, the summer birds fluttered between branches. Angron wondered how bad he had been in his past life to garner such suspicious feelings from the Ultramarines. Or perhaps it was just the change. Trying to protect their own from an unknown threat.
He shrugged mentally. It didn't matter. He doubted that the final say was theirs. His eyes drifted back over to where Roboute walked.
He had never met anyone who had felt like him before. Angron wanted to ask so many questions, chief among them being why did Roboute look at him the way he did? Why did he seem like he was a moment away from breakdown? Was the Imperium of man worth the weight on one man's shoulders?
Reaching Newhold's gates, he waved to the guard on duty before wandering in. In the months Horatio had been gone, Newhold had been in a flurry of activity. Especially when they had found out that one of the God Emperor's sons, even if he wasn't one of the important ones, was coming to the village. Actual chairs had been carved and with the input of the Iron Hands and Khârn, they were reinforced to hold the weight of Angron carrying a space marine.
A pair of them stood proudly on display, with other seating from the village and procured from the Iron Hands ship for the space marines. Although the Iron Hands had all commented that the astartes coming along would not need them.
Stepping forward from the crowd that waited, Uther greeted Roboute with a deep bow. “I am Uther, representative of Newhold. We are honored by your presence. Allow us to extend our hospitality.”
There was a shard of surprise from his brother at the sight. The waves of awe and curiosity that emanated from his own people was intense, and even those who were still doing their tasks in the background could not help but stare.
Angron kept half a mind on the speeches and diplomacy letting his attention flow around. The guards were disquieted, yes, but non hostile. As the small welcome ended, the village relaxed, splitting off to continue doing the daily chores.
Hesta stayed, looking up and up at Roboute. “You two share such a similarity.” She said with a smile. “I'm Hesta, Aaron's mother.” She dipped into a shaky curtsy.
“A pleasure mam.” Roboute said, a smile twitching at his lips.
“They don't look like they feed you well enough in the stars. Will it be the same for my boy?” Asked Hesta.
“Maa…” Angron protested.
“Your father isn't here to ask the hard questions so I shall.” Hesta smiled.
Angron groaned and Roboute chuckled slightly. All doubts about this being him reborn anew now washed away completely. “Ask away, and I will answer honestly where I can.”
She drew herself up, a glint of steel in her eye. “What are your intentions with my son?”
Impressed despite himself, Roboute answered. “I would train him myself to become a diplomat and a general.”
“And what of the things that have left you in such a state?”
Roboute grimaced. “That is the product of a great many things. One of which being a deathly battle ten thousand years ago.”
“The one that left you in everlasting slumber? You are not the most popular of the Divine Sons, but I know my tales.” Hesta nodded, reaching out and patting Roboute's knee. “Do not fret. I'm well used to the antics of the young and the beyond human now.”
For the first time since hearing the news that he had a brother again, something eased in his chest. “Thank you mamzel. If he chooses to come with me I will do my duty to him.”
“That's all I can ask.” Hesta replied before leaning over to Angron to steal a hug. As she walked away she called over her shoulder. “I'll see you all for supper, alright?”
Angron turned to his new brother. “So. Where to from here? You acknowledge me as a brother. However, I am very much aware it is very doubtful I am one of the nine sons of the emperor that the ecclesiarchy teaches.”
He eyed the Lord Regent, watching his reaction and emotions carefully. Fleeting moments of surprise, regrets and bitterness flew past, making Angron wonder how he had treated Roboute in his past life.
“You were a brother, scrubbed from the records due to actions taken in the
Horus heresy.” Roboute stared off into the distance. “I will readily admit, I was ready to kill you when I heard you were able to be killed again. The deaths you caused back then until now…”
Angron held up a hand. “I already know. When the Iron Hands left to find you I requested the information from Khârn.” He let out a long, slow breath. “I will do everything in my power to make sure I do not fall to chaos again.”
Roboute flicked his eyes over the village, “Khârn, the betrayer? And where exactly is he?”
The vicatrix tensed by his side.
Angron shrugged. “He's hunting with Hyatt at the moment. They'll be back in the next couple of days if they don't cut things short because of the thunderhawks coming.
Roboute hummed a frown sitting heavy on his face. “He has not tried to turn anyone to chaos?”
“If anything, he's been helping the Iron Hands with ways to protect themselves from the Nails. Something about the pain engine stripping away weaknesses of flesh.” Angron grimaced. “But back to the point at hand. We both can see the issue, right?”
Roboute sighed. No matter how the die was cast, the result was not going to be favorable. “Yes. Either choose to come with me or be exiled to this planet. You will not receive aid nor backup for anything in any future endeavors.” His voice grew soft. “It is a kinder choice than one of my brothers had.”
“How many were we?” Angron asked, as the scope of what was missing lay before him.
“Twenty, at our greatest. Two were struck from record by The Emperor himself. One of those for refusing to follow The Emperor's dream. The other, I don't know. The other nine, fell to chaos. Some of their own volition, others because of enemy action and lack of knowledge. It was only later that they were stripped from record.” Roboute looked out towards the sun, eyes shining.
Angron stayed silent for a moment, watching the comings and goings of his home. “The blood god has it out for me for being a traitor. I cannot in good conscience leave my people without hope of help. I'll go, but I need something in return.”
There was a spike of outrage from the vicatrix guard and a sharply raised eyebrow from Roboute. “And what, would that be?”
“More people who understand how to farm on this planet. After the Nailed and the World Eaters, we did a census of all the people we could find on the continent. There's only twelve thousand people left. I'm not wanting multiple cities worth, just enough so that we don't all end up looking like inbred chickens in the next two hundred years.” Angron gestured widely. “They need to be able to farm because we do not have the time to teach them nor fully support them through the winter.”
“Consider it done.” Roboute said and nodded towards Felix to note it down. “This is your planet to do with as you will.”
Letting out a breath, Angron nodded back. “Then I will come with you to the stars.”