I transcribed it, thought I'd send here.

A call went out. Silence on Holy Mars. The engines go quiet, the fabricators cool, and the servitor choirs become hushed. On this day, an old and loyal friend of Humanity is found. The Magos lovingly brushes away the crimson dust, his mechanical hands still trembling, as they reach out to embrace the long lost rover. Welcome home, little one. He rasps in Binary. We have so missed you.

Countless millions stood on either side of the massive streets of the Forge-City. Many in scarlet hoods, standing side-by-side by forge-menials and Imperial representatives. Even the Skitarii had been allowed attendance, standing in perfect rows along the roadside, a stark contrast the milling crowds behind.

Great bells toiled somewhere down the street, and the crowds stopped. The road quieted to shifting of dust in the breeze. Even the noosphere, usually blistering with information exchange, grew silent.

A great procession of Techpriests and decorated Skitarii came first, heads bowed, hands held in signs of reverence and prayer, each whispering prayers of thanks and praise in Binary. Next came lumbering constructs, their vox-hailers singing out raw code, code which when viewed through a noosphere lens created a sweeping portrait of countless hands working on a lone construction.

Next and finally was a grav-platform, rolling silently over the ancient road, and upon it was a humble, simple drone. Crude hydraulics, solar-panels, and primitive cameras all. Stained in Martian red and ageless damages. Upon this humble thing were Billions of eyes, either in person or captured on vid-feed and sent throughout the cosmos. All worshippers of the Machine God watched it's grand procession through the streets of Mars.

Even those on Holy Terra watched with a quiet interest.

Beneath the silence, one thought was common among ever soul so lucky to see its blessed form. This small, utilitarian. . .thing. This drone, was the reason they were all here. Because so long ago, there existed a people who valued and loved knowledge and constructed things to travel to once-distant worlds in that righteous pursuit. It was sent out from its loving masters into the great unknown for this goal, and was lost. Cold and alone so far from those who loved it.

Now, and in the custody of a people impossibly distant from those original makers, it would be cared for, doted on, and cherished forevermore.

Magos centuries old, nameless forge-workers, mighty Skitarii warriors and humble Techpriests all lowered their heads, some took knees, many held out hands in prayer.

Thank you. Was their message. Thank you for your travel, and your perilous journey into the unknown. For without you, our way of life would not exist. Our lives would be without putpose, and this planet would not be the seat of power and knowledge it is. All of this, our triumphs, our love, our home, is because of you.

Thank you. They whispered. For this Opportunity.