"Of a sort." Her questions and the irritating interference of the dream's nature have begun to relax him further, but Rush finds that in this context he minds significantly less. "There was a race in our universe, a species known as the Ancients. Their technology was sentient, or selective to a point. Only those with specific genetic makeup could access it."

Not Rush. Not he who was frustratingly, conventionally human and plain and completely unremarkable save for the capabilities of his head, that which a race from years upon years ago would neither know of, nor care.

"But there was also - a ship." Lost, now, to whatever interdimensional forces shred matter that exists between branes. "Destiny. We - I believed - it was sentient. It had consciousness, preferences, it could distinguish between the members of its crew and it could access their neural topography, including my own. But it was - lost. It did not make the transfer from my universe to this one." The Rift may have torn it apart, or sent it to another brane entirely. But it matters so little in comparison to her, to the TARDIS. Something so advanced. Something so beyond what he or anyone in his universe has ever seen.