There is lightning, far away, and after a long time there is thunder in the cramped cabin of our vessel. This seems normal to us, the way it has always been, but the new man, John, tells us only we hear the thunder. He explains how sound does not carry in a vacuum, and that the thunder is really the sound of stress in the ship’s hull from the shockwave, some far off explosion or nova that just seems as lightning.

We all look at each other and grin. That only we hear the thunder comes as a special honor. The Thunderer sits with us tonight, his laughter rumbling our bones. His hammer, the namesake of our vessel, strikes near us. He brings us strength, and our enemies woe.

Here is a reason to drink. After the years and centuries, the miles and parsecs and light-years, the gods are still with us. We are on a new ocean, the one our ancestors once gazed on to find their way, high above Midgard. We cry out to the All-Father, just as they.

Even here, we remember. Even now.