Last Flight of the Admiral Stalkforth.

An idle wind blew across the lake. A giant infernal sun gazed overhead through a gap in the tree canopy, tracing the roving swells in metallic red. On the banks sat a lone man watching the ebb and flow of all around him. The water, the wide leaves of the trees, the grass and the reeds all moved to the same unsteady meter. In the distance he thought he heard the musical plucking of strings, but he couldn’t be sure.

Suddenly, a piercing shriek surged across the sky. A funnel of wind coalesced out of nothing and threw all out of synch. Leaves were ripped free from their limbs and the water pitched and kicked like a new-born animal. The man looked up and squinted at the patch of bright day. There, superimposed over the dripping globe of the sun, was the gleaming underbelly of a spacecraft. As the ship gradually descended, the cyclone caused by its monstrous engines increased ten-fold and displaced the entire lake. Huge spouts of water shot up and hung in mid-air, exposing the bed of wet black silt. Trees ringing the clearing groaned and shattered into countless fragments. Finally, the ship came to rest a little ways above the lake. Its underbelly swung open like a ribcage in autopsy and a long stalk of metal unfurled from the black space within, landing and sinking into the sandbank. The engines abruptly switched off and the jets of water crashed back down to their original form. The seated man, his jaw wired into a half formed smile, watched bemusedly as a column of gray uniformed figures emerged from the black opening and marched down the stalk in single file. The Officer at point, a tall dark skinned fellow, approached him.

“You there,” he said, staring intently at a display embedded on his inside-wrist, “Where is Lamptown?”

“Behind me,” the seated man replied.

“How far?”

“Depends on how fast you’re walking.”

The soldiers, all standing in tight formation with rifles strapped to their backs, glanced at each other uneasily.

The Officer flared his nostrils. “The council warned me about people like you.” Then he leaned forward and glared. “Just tell me where Admiral Stalkforth is.”

“Let me see,” the man said, scratching his chin, “three days ago he was in Malfan Glade, and tonight he’s at the Hymn of the Circling Hawks.”

“And where is he now?”

He looked around intently. “Well, he’s not here.”

The Officer straightened and brushed some grass off his uniform. “Alright men, there’s no point in questioning this feeble-minded savage. Let’s head into town, I just downloaded the co-ordinates from the Jade Javelin.”

The set off in single file, their boots sinking into the soft earth with each step.

As they left the lake behind, one the of the soldiers leaned forward and whispered, “I’d bet a month’s planet-leave that’s the ex-emperor of Jotas we just spoke to.”

“You’re crazy,” said the man in front of him.

“I swear it’s him, my mother and I lived under his rule when I was a kid.”

“Quiet!” the Officer shouted, and the second soldier shrugged noncommittally.

A short time later they broke through the undergrowth and came to large clearing. They had found Lamptown. The earth was dark-brown, almost black, and smooth as a tightly drawn canvas. Narrow furrows were etched into the ground, forming giant looping spirals. Wooden buildings several stories high circled the area; they were built on stilts, yet curved upwards into top-heavy bungalows. Elaborate scrollwork decorated the facades, while the roofs were thatched with light-green filaments, and brightly colored banners streamed from randomly protruding nodules on each. High above, the trees leaned inward and wove a congested ceiling of branches and leaves; only scraps of sunlight pierced the canopy, locking all in perpetual, ethereal twilight. The air hung in place like a heavy curtain and ferried an overwhelming floral scent.

In the center of the village a lone figure lay on the ground. Other than him, the place appeared to be deserted. The soldiers stepped gingerly onto the patterned earth and the air rippled around them to accommodate their mass. They walked across the clearing and stopped before the man. He gazed upwards wide eyed and not blinking, and only the faint rise and fall of his chest betrayed death. His hair splayed out on the ground around him framing his upper body, and a dense beard obscured his face, giving his eyes a wild glint. For someone lying in the dirt, he was remarkably clean.

The Officer nudged him in the ribs with a black boot. “Look at me, savage.”

The man remained motionless, staring up at the entwining foliage.

The Officer started to speak, but a violent snapping sound from above cut him off. He looked up just in time to see several massive red birds alight from the trees. Each carried a sheaf of branches in its beak. They had hewn a gaping hole out of the canopy directly above the men. “Ophthala-birds,” one of the soldiers whispered reverently.

The newly freed column of sunlight shone straight down on the comatose man, and in the sudden brightness something flashed red on his inner forearm. The Officer glanced down and noticed it was a large piece of jewelry. He knelt and inspected it. It was a crude replica of the bird he had just seen, fashioned out of dozens of small metal rectangles dyed red and strung together. Then he noticed very small writing on each of the rectangles. His eyes widened in disbelief and in a rush to stand up he stumbled backward. He steadied himself and waved his squad in.

“That bird on his arm,” he said breathlessly as the others gathered round, “it’s made entirely out of Naval medals of rank.”

“Does that mean…?”
“Yes, this is Admiral Stalkforth.”

Instantly the entire group genuflected and inclined their heads. Several sniffed back tears.

Meanwhile, the man continued to lie paralyzed, gazing straight up into the hole of sunlight carved out of the canopy.

“Awake my sovereign,” the Officer said, staring pointedly at the patterned earth.

For the first time the man blinked. Then, like the sun god arising at dawn, he slowly sat up in the pool of gold to regard the silvery twilight surrounding. Still staring straight ahead, he scratched his ear and smiled foolishly.

“Admiral,” the Officer whispered, and prostrated himself further.

The man looked over and noticed the soldiers, apparently for the first time. He blew his nose and then began massaging his legs.

“Hello gentleman,” he said cheerfully.

The Officer looked up from the dirt and frowned. “Admiral, we have traveled a long way to discuss, ah, certain matters with you. Is there anywhere we can talk in private?”

“Of course, my rooms are just over there.“ Then he stood and began stretching vigorously.

The Officer and the soldiers shot to their feet and saluted crisply. The stretching went on for some time while they remained at attention moving not so much as an eyelid. Finally, after bending over backward and clasping his ankles firmly for a full minute, the Admiral smiled and motioned for them to follow. They walked over to a building on bowed stilts at the western edge of the village. It was tucked away under the stooping boughs of a broad, gnarled tree, and the only manner of entrance was a flimsy ladder made of what looked to be finely wound hair.

“Wait here men,” the Officer instructed as he watched the Admiral scamper up into the elevated chamber. After a moment of hesitation, he followed in kind.

He surfaced in a large room with a low ceiling. It was lit warmly and brightly, though he saw no visible source of illumination. The walls were pale and smooth, and a rug of tightly knit blue and green fibers covered the entire floor. A small desk, with a cushion to kneel on, looked out the sole window on a tangle of branches and leaves. A slim, fragile door without a handle led into the only other room. The Admiral sat on a chair made of woven reeds, watching the Officer with a wide, toothy grin. In the close, welcoming light of his quarters, his eyes were brilliant pebbles.

“What a day it is!” he exclaimed.

The Officer stood slowly, taking care to not bang his head on the ceiling. A wave of nausea passed over him as he surveyed the room, he felt soiled just standing in such a place. “Admiral, do you remember who I am?”

“Yes, you’re Lord Trema, Admiral of Andredony.”

“Pardon?”

“I recognize you, you’re the Admiral.”

“No sovereign, you are the Admiral.”

The man laughed merrily. “How can that be my friend? If I‘m the Admiral then who are you?”

The Officer wearily sat down on the blue-green carpet. “Sir, do you remember nothing? I fought under your command on the Jade Javelin for a dozen years, I was there during the Battle of Fletchers when we extinguished the Ulstrums once and for all and brought glory to the house of Andredony. I was present at the greatest victory of the last five millennia!”

“The Battle of Fletchers you say? Hmm, that brings to mind a beautiful atrium I spent some time in many years ago—”

“Admiral! You are thinking of the ceremony on Trychon where you were awarded the Quantum Skein, the highest honor in all the Galaxy invented especially for your magnamity. I was there by your side!”

The Admiral stiffened; his eyes hardened and lost a little of their luster. He was silent for a time. Then he spoke slowly, “Yes, yes, I remember. That was a short time before I came here, to Lumina. Do you remember? Upon my exile they promoted you to Admiral.”

“This is true, but in name only. You still control the fleet. Your rank has been preserved, such was the enormity of your gift to our galaxy. Until the day of your death you will carry the mantle of Andredony, for better or for ill. If you were to say the word now, the entire navy would assemble at your feet and defend you to the last man.”

Some of the humor returned to the Admiral’s voice. “Andredony can lay any claim it wants on me, but it doesn’t mean a thing if I don’t lead the dance.”

“And that is why I am here. I didn’t thread the Gas-Giant Triad just for the vista, however splendorous it may be.”

Before the Admiral could respond, a voice called from outside. “Toruln! Come over here, I need to ask you something.”

“Excuse me,” the Admiral said and went over to the window.

The Officer remained seated, listening to the conversation.

“What is it?” the Admiral shouted back.

“Which side are you joining for the Hymn tonight?”

“Oh, hmm. That‘s an excellent question my friend. I suppose the Eye of the Giant suits me best right now.”

“Very well. I look forward to your autolute Toruln.”

“Farewell.”

The Officer watched the Admiral return to his seat. “Why did he call you ‘Toruln?’”

“It’s just his name for me, I think it means ‘mighty swimmer’ in his native tongue.”

“I see, and what was he asking you exactly?”

“Which theory on the creation of the universe I believed.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, how rude of me, I assumed you already knew of the Hymn. At the conclusion of every sun cycle, the entire village of Lamptown assembles to celebrate the birth of our home and the surrounding universe. We have two theories explaining this miracle at the moment, one of which is the ‘Eye of the Giant.’ Would you like to hear it?

“No, not particularly—”

“Well too bad. Listen closely, this planet’s sun is believed by some—including myself at the moment—to be the Eye of the One who Created All, the Giant. For aeons it was closed, and all around it was the void. But then, for reasons unknown to us, the Giant wearied of blackness. She opened her Eye a slit, and out of its red depths flew the first Lantern Hawks. They set upon the void and brought together matter in their beaks, building and shaping this planet out of the raw materials of nothingness. When at last our world was complete, the Giant’s Eye opened fully and looked upon it. So began the planet Lumina.”

The Officer freed his knees from the death-grip of his hands. “And how do you explain the rest of the universe?”

“Oh, it’s the Giant’s Brow.”

He shot to his feet. “Admiral! You were schooled at the Aegis-of-Elucidation Institute on the moon of Fledera for fourteen years, the leading institutional light of the galactic arm. What scythe of unreason has crippled you so?”

The Admiral laughed again. “You should be more ashamed of the man I just talked to, I believe he’s a Meta-sage, one of four in the entire galaxy. Anyway, if you don’t like the Eye of the Giant, maybe the Yellow Hearth suits you better. How does that one go? Ah yes. In the dawn of Pre-Time, when darkness ruled—”

“No!” the Officer barked, as if giving an order. “I do not have time for creation myths. My sovereign, we must discuss the matter at hand or all of Andredony is doomed.”

The Admiral appeared startled, then he leaned forward and his eyes twinkled. “Oh is it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And why is that?”

“A coalition of mining planets recently revolted and declared autonomy, declaring themselves the ‘Alliance of Free Worlds’. They ignorantly accuse Andredony of exploitation and enslavement, and are demanding ‘tariffs’ and ‘trade pacts’ and other such antiquated nonsense. If we do not act soon and crush their rebellion, Andredony will fall apart and the galaxy will descend into barbarism. We simply cannot function without complete control of their assets. The first lasting peace in five thousand years, the peace you single-handedly forged, is in grave danger.”

The Admiral’s cheeks rose in a cherubic smile, and what little skin showed through his beard and hair glowed with the same amorphous luminosity as his quarters. He reclined in his chair and regarded his guest. “Lord Trema my good friend, we can talk of this more later. But right now I must practice my autolute for the Hymn tonight.”

“No, there’s no time…“

“Wait here for me Lord Trema.”

“My name is Grefa, Admiral,” he said weakly.

“Yes yes, of course.”

Without another word, the Admiral rose and vanished behind the flimsy door. Moments later, the Officer heard the sound of plucked notes from within. He stood for a time listening to the music and thinking over the conversation. Picking apart the Admiral’s words was akin to digesting a tree branch. He couldn’t tell if his old commander was insane, playing a trick on him, or something else entirely. He had heard troublesome rumors of Lumina from both his superiors and his soldiers, ranging from plausible to ludicrous. On the allbeam, chatter clans told tales of men who were brainwashed and reprogrammed by a cult of nature worshippers; on the other end of the info-spectrum, academics and ideologues wrote essays on neo-luddism and a return to savagery as a therapy for extreme psychic trauma. On which extreme did the Admiral fall?

The less one knew, the more they assumed based on their own prejudices and predilections, that was obvious. He suspected the truth, as it often did, lay somewhere in the middle. This enigmatic planet would not get the best of him, of that he was sure.

He walked over to the desk beneath the window. A small book lay face down on its surface, so he picked it up and inspected it. It was bound in pliant black leather and the corners were worn from use. The pages were thick and rough and possessed a green tint. An utterly barbaric form of media, he thought. Carefully, he opened and flipped through it. Notes written in a cramped hand, or possibly a cipher were scattered intermittently throughout. Occasionally, a detailed drawing of an Ophthala-bird, the creature represented in medals on the Admiral’s forearm, took up an entire page. Each stared up at him from the paper with their single, saucer shaped eye. He studied these, and recalled the childish creation myth about the Giant‘s Eye. Were these ‘Lantern Hawks’, he wondered? The bit about them carrying matter in their beaks certainly fit the behavior of the birds he’d seen gnawing away at the tree canopy. He closed the book and set it down in its original position. The Admiral would surely notice he had looked at it, but at least it wouldn’t be too obvious. He scanned the room one more time for anything of note, then went over to the door. He rapped on it lightly.

The plucking stopped abruptly. “Yes, Lord Trema?” came the Admiral’s voice.

“I must speak with you. Can you do this for an old friend?”

“Hmm. I’ll meet you in the Malfan Glade at evening before the Hymn. It’s just to the northwest of here.”

“Very well. I‘ll go there now and await your arrival. Please be hasty, these matters are not so light as you think.”

The Admiral responded with a flurry of trills.

As he turned to go down the ladder, the Officer heard a commotion outside. Instantly he dove down through the square opening in the floor and did a handspring on the ground, landing in a defensive crouch. In a flash he produced long sleek gun barrels from under his sleeves.

His soldiers stood to the left, aiming their rifles at a small dirty man squatting on the ground.

“What is the situation Lieutenant?” the Officer barked.

One of the soldiers whipped around and saluted. “Sir, the individual over there”—he pointed at the seated man who smiled bemusedly—“is none other than Igrid Pleth.”

“The Mogavie System Mutilator?“ the Officer whispered in disbelief.

“The one and only, sir.” The soldier turned back to the seated man. “What are you doing here? Who smuggled you in?”

The Officer swore, retracted his weapons, and relaxed. “On relief soldiers, this man is no longer a fugitive.”

They lowered their rifles hesitantly. “Sir, I don‘t understand.,” said the Lieutenant. “He terrorized an entire solar system for ten years, his mind is a theater for unremitting sadism, he is an abomination.”

“If I remember,” the Officer said slowly, “the Grand Patriarch intervened on his death sentence and committed him here, to Lumina, for rehabilitation.”

Igrid Pleth yawned and stood up. “Good afternoon fellows, I’ll be off now.” He bowed slightly, then spun on a heel and trotted to the thick border of trees, vanishing into the web of branches.

The soldiers stood in silence for a moment, watching in disbelief the spot the ex-criminal had recently vacated. Finally the Officer said, “All of you return to the ship, I won’t be needing your assistance any longer. Of course stand by at all times for beams.”

“Understood Lord Trema.”

“Blast it, my name is Grefa!”

The soldiers marched in single file across the clearing, their boots quiet on the hard earth. When the last one had disappeared into the trees, the Officer flicked open his wrist-unit and activated its holo-keypad. He leaned in and whispered a series of words and then typed up and beamed several messages in a matter of seconds. Next, he produced a long thin cord from his belt. He hooked it into his wrist, ran it up his arm, and plugged it into a jack behind his earlobe. It bonded to and assumed the color of both his uniform and skin, so that it is was invisible to the naked eye. When he was satisfied that all was ready, he set off for the Malfan Glade.

The path, barely wide enough for one person, twisted between behemoth trees twice the height of the bungalows in the village. All was shrouded in near darkness by the locked-tight canopy, and electrically charged bugs flew through the air in great numbers, breaking apart into a shower of sparks at the slightest contact. The ground sank underfoot but did not break, as if an ocean of mud lay just below a latticework of grass. Faint chiming calls echoed from above and overlapped endlessly, creating a polyphonous chorus. The Officer wondered if they were the songs of the Lantern Hawks, for they did possess a certain primeval melancholy.

At last, the path widened and came to an archway of two intertwined saplings. On the other side was a clearing filled with dozens of small silver pools separated by mossy, rock-strewn strips of land. A few scattered people sat by the water, dipping their feet in idly. In between the rocks, long pale green reeds grew and tangled together. The Officer recognized these as the materials used to thatch the village’s roofs.

With nothing to do but wait, he walked over to a patch of earth that seemed reasonably dry and sat down. He glanced down into the pool and caught his reflection in the perfectly still water. His hair, usually carefully split and arranged, stuck out in several unruly directions. The crisp cut of his uniform was thwarted by wrinkles and stains, and his boots, once blacker than space, were now scuffed and greenish. But his face surprised him most. His skin was sunken in below the harsh relief of his cheekbones, and a bright red rash crept up his neck. He had only spent a few hours on this planet and already it was devouring him. He resisted the urge to produce his hand-cannons and eradicate the pool into a sheer mist. Instead, he leaned back and stared fixedly at the pale glow of the canopy, mimicking the Admiral before they had roused him. Doing his best to ignore the maddening chaos of entangling branches and leaves, he closed his eyes.

But he could not sleep, not yet anyway. The sensation of filthiness and disorder so pervaded his being that he failed to remember how he had felt before coming to Lumina. He tried to think back on his briefing, which had transpired in a remarkably sterile environment, but all he could bring to mind was a large chamber with many flickering monitors. He reached back further, to the farewell dinner with his wife and children—a sparse affair in a massive marble dining room attended to by a dozen servants—but that was even murkier. Every memory seemed to be congealed together in a homogenous soup of images, sensations, and emotions, like a primordial ooze awaiting the spark of life, or the entangled canopy itself. Lumina had already deposed order from his physical form, and now it set its sights on the immaterial realm of his thoughts.

The Inner Systems from which he had traveled, the clear boundaries of shape and form that populated those planet-wide cities, the frosted, calibrated uniformity echoing from every precisely etched spire; the assembly of rich color and music and full voices that rumbled together in righteous harmony from within every building—all of it was merely a fog in his mind now. The entire galaxy mimicked those few planets, whether directly or by proxy, and trillions of men and women worshipped their unrivaled feats of order. The Inner Systems were diamonds fashioned from uncountable years of desire and misery and desperate striving, the golden standard for what humanity was capable of. And yet, hard as he tried, he could not think of a single lasting impression left in his mind by living amongst such near-godlike elites.

Consequently, he thought back on his own deeds: all the medals, accolades, and adoration showered on him throughout his relatively brief career in the military. To his horror, none of it carried any weight or significance. Even his family failed to stir the embers of his heart. For all intents and purposes, his life might as well have started when he first stepped onto the pliant soil of Lumina. No wonder the Admiral had been reduced to a sputtering imbecile! He began to sweat profusely despite the mild breeze flowing over the cool waters. How long until he succumbed to these same forces, at what point would this planet conquer his identity?

Gradually, he ceased to think of such matters and simply watched the gentle sway of the canopy’s sturdy limbs. He began to feel a kinship with the soil, trees, and sky that he had never before known, even in the arms of his mother. He found himself sympathizing with the Admiral’s ludicrous creation myth of the Giant. It made sense within the laws of Lumina, and right now, Lumina was the only place that mattered in all the universe.

It came as no surprise then that he fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

A rustling sound woke him suddenly. He snapped up to a seated position and looked around. Perched on a rock a little ways off was the Admiral, brow creased as he delicately wove together several strands of reeds. The Officer looked down in horror at his mud-stained uniform. The abruptness of waking had shocked him back into his true self, if only temporarily. His entire body tensed up at the state of his hygiene.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked sharply.

“Some time.”

“And how long have you been here?”

“Oh, some time, some time.”

“You let me lie here in the dirt, like a dog? If you were any other man I’d run a saber through your heart.”

The Admiral swiveled on the rock to face him, all the while still weaving the reeds. “I thought you might have taken your first awkward step towards enlightenment, but now I’m not so sure.”

The Officer rubbed his temples. The events of earlier in the day returned to him, and with them the melancholic fog over his memories. The anger of moments past vanished, and his face relaxed. “I’m sorry my sovereign, old habits die hard.”

“I know. It took me a whole year to get used to wood floors.”

“Then I suppose you know exactly what I was thinking about earlier. After all, you must have gone through the same thing in this very glade years ago.”

The Admiral nodded. “Just as you have done, I looked back on the path my own life had taken and found that none of it carried any meaning whatsoever. My legacy evaporated like the evening light, leaving only my own face, ashen and forlorn. I realized I would die, same as all the demagogues in the Inner Systems, and for all my sweat and dedication nothing would be different in my absence. In fact, the galaxy might be a whole lot better off.” He chuckled lightly. “Of course, it helped that I was already insane.”

The Officer shook his head. “Revelation or not, that’s no excuse to whittle away your remaining days in a half-witted trance. You can’t turn your back on the rest of humanity so easily!”

The Admiral’s cheeks rose again in a pinched smile. “Why not exactly?”

“Because you’re needed back in the land of the living. Andredony will fall without your leadership.”

“Andredony’s fall was ordained the moment the final cannon fired in the Ulstrum War.”

“What in space are you talking about?”

“Like it or not, you’ve have already surmised the truth of things. This errand the Inner Systems have sent you on is a futile last-gasp. Nothing I could say or do can save Andredony now.”

“I’ve come to no such conclusion.”

“Very well, but know this,” the Admiral said softly, working the reeds between his fingers intently, “our people spent five millennia perfecting war. In the ensuing peace of the Ulstrum’s defeat, those in power were suddenly left without a purpose. To remedy this, they substituted bloodlust with greed. Eliminating all laws against exploitation, they extorted the rich material of the outer-rim planets mercilessly. The elites plunged themselves into technical ecstasy, while the rest of the galaxy got scraps off the table, like dogs. It was only a matter of time before rebellion. The Alliance of Free Worlds is the voice of these oppressed and neglected trillions, and their hatred for Andredony is so vast they will work until death to achieve their goal, even if it means dying to a man. They cannot be stopped.”

He paused, knelt, and fished a smooth, green stone out of the shallows. “Andredony will fall,” he went on, “and a new order will replace us. Petty tyrants will rise and in time they will acquire vast fortunes and create glittering titles and rank to accompany them. One by one they will absorb each other until only two or three are left, and then it will be the Ulstrums and Andredony all over again. Mighty families that lust after dominance. The names change and thousands of years pass by, but it is always the same.”

He tugged at the reeds with both hands, then raised them up and regarded his handiwork. He had fashioned a small crown with the green stone set into its center. He offered it to the Officer, but the other man made no move to take it. Shrugging, he tossed it into the silver pool.

“Why did you come to Lumina?” the Officer asked at last.

“To escape I suppose, but also because I did not want to live in a universe where war was the sole antidote to barbarity.”

“But battle is the only way to keep people honest, it’s human nature.”

“After living here for a time I’ve come to disagree with your views on humanity.”

The Officer glanced at a young woman washing her clothes in of one of the small silver pools. She was stark naked and smeared in mud. “That would be a mistake,” he said. “Lumina is an anomaly of the natural order. This planet is a controlled environment, like a zoo, or a reservation. Using it as an illustration of human behavior is flawed science, pure and simple.“

“Perhaps. But it’s the locals here doing the controlling, there are no zoo-keepers.”

He looked away in disgust from the naked woman. “And the people here are animals! Barely noble enough to warrant the word ‘savage.’”

The Admiral frowned. “Really now Lord Trema, if you’d been a little more perceptive, you might’ve noticed the locals are monks, politicians, athletic heroes, orphaned children, missionaries who arrived to preach but wound up staying, and even a noted psychopath.”

“Igrid Pleth,” he said under his breath.

“Oh, so you’ve met him? He’s a nice fellow, a little shy though.”

“Fine. If that’s the case, then every man and woman here is the exception to their respective gene-pools. If the masses were made to live like this, they would tear each other to pieces. That is what we’ve spent five thousand years trying to avoid, and that is exactly what will happen if the Alliance destroys Andredony. My sovereign, it’s monumentally selfish to abandon the galaxy while you idle away your days here on Lumina.”

The Admiral glanced up at the slivers of sky visible through the canopy. Twilight had quietly fallen during their talk, though the change was barely noticeable. “The Hymn of the Circling Hawks is about to begin,” he said at last. “Shall we join the others?”

The Officer looked at his wrist. A faint green light pulsed there. “Very well.”

The winding, claustrophobic path back to the village was pitch black now, and the only illumination came from the flying electric insects. They walked for an indeterminable amount of time, the Admiral finding his way by touching the trees and the Officer grasping the other man’s tunic. Finally, they came upon a barrier of soft, orange light that completely filled a break in the woods.

“What is that?” the Officer whispered.

“The village. Now come, we’re late,“ he said, and promptly stepped through the blazing partition. Reluctantly, the Officer followed.

On the other side was utter darkness broken only by large, glowing orbs. It was indeed the village, but only portions of buildings, trees, and people were illuminated, giving them the impression of nightmarish half-existence. In the center of the clearing dozens of villagers sat under the glow of the brightest orb of all, which hung down from the canopy, suspended by vines. They were divided in two groups, separated by a long strip of darkness.

“Those lights— what are they?“ the Officer asked.

“Lampflowers of course, didn’t your briefing cover them?”

“No, it didn’t,” he said, faintly.

He went to one of the orbs and inspected it. It was in fact the bulb in the toroid of a massive flower. Except for the one suspended above the clearing, each grew naturally on the perimeter of the village.

He turned and saw the Admiral sitting with the others. He held an odd instrument, plucking at it experimentally.

“Is that an autolute?” the Officer asked, returning to his side.

“Yes, the favored instrument of the Giant. Everyone in this group has one.”

Before any more could be said, a man rose up in the center of the gathering and raised his arms. The villagers immediately fell silent. He turned and faced the side where the Admiral and Officer sat.

“The Giant gave us life,” he began, his voice calm yet clearly audible. “She opened her sole eye, and from it flew the Lantern Hawks. They built this world for her enjoyment, for it is all she gazes upon. While the rest of the Universe languishes in twilight, we live under her scrutiny, her infernal vigilance. And it is only because of her first and only creation, the Lantern Hawks, that we are able to exist in her splendorous gaze.”

The man then turned to the other half of the gathering.

“The Yellow Hearth gave us life. The Universe is the sum of all the tools forged therein, plucked from its fire by the Lantern Hawks and laid out on the cloth of space of the Creator’s work table. Evermore she watches over her works, maintaining their place in the scheme of all things. Though the Hearth is now cold and dead, its offspring will smolder for all time with the residue of its energy.”

Now he looked up to the glowing Lampflower suspended by vines.

“It is irrelevant which belief is true, for in both, it was the Lantern Haws that ultimately gave this world life. Without them, we would all die in darkness.”

His arms fell to his side and he was silent.

One by one, the autolutes began to play. Their notes rippled through the viscous floral air and soon became an indiscernible, warbling drone. The canopy began to shake as if a strong wind was pushing on it, then there were several sharp cracks, and shards of wood rained down, followed immediately by the shadowy forms of six Lantern Hawks. They clove the stagnant air and glided about the village with wings outspread and locked in place. One by one, they swung towards the suspended Lampflower and fell into a circular pattern around it. They slowed and began to beat their wings in time to the autolute’s languid melody. In the Lampflower’s glow, the Officer got his first good look at the mythical birds. Their bodies were more befitting of an animal built for the sea, wreathed in hard contoured muscles and covered entirely in bristling red fur. Their heads were almost human-like, but for the long, slender beaks that gleamed in the orange light. In the center of their faces was a single eye: a flat disk, glassy and unmoving like a lens. Long, reedy legs ended in three scythe-like talons, and both these and their wings cut a jagged relief against the hazy night. He watched their slow, methodical circuit, and marveled at how precisely they adhered to the beat.

The Lantern Hawk that first had fallen into orbit around the flower broke from its comrades and landed on an outstretched petal. It hopped forward and dipped its long beak into the flower’s glowing center. Its head bobbed up and down, as if drinking from the well of light. When it finally withdrew its proboscis and looked up, its single eye glowed with the same fierce red of the sun.

The Eye of the Giant, the Officer realized suddenly.

Then a chant of voices began on the opposite side of the gathering. The song swelled and filled the whole of the village, and the very air shook with harmony.

The frames of time were chasms wide and pale,

When the world was new.

A flutter of wings was soundless, dim and frail,

On the rim of night.

The Lantern Hawk alighted from the flower and beat its broad wings sluggishly, as if drunk with light. It floated in place for a moment and then climbed through the air toward the hole in the canopy. A moment later it was gone, vanished into the hidden sky-world. Quickly, another took its place and drank from the glowing flower. The chant rose in volume, and more notes found their way into the convolution of harmony.

An eye of precious red will thaw and open,

On the blighted seas.

From Hearth or Giant to fly and seal the cracks,

Midst the mingling prows.

One after another, the remaining Lantern Hawks drank their fill and disappeared through the ceiling of branches. With each departed bird, the chant intensified and the autolutes were thrummed more furiously. The entire wood quaked with sound. Members of the chorus buried their heads in their laps and sang until their faces were red and slick with sweat. The Lampflower swayed back and forth violently in its carriage of vines and looked ready to snap loose at any moment.

Meanwhile, the Officer covered his ears and tried to make sense of the maelstrom around him.

A key for every looping heart of trees,

For the boughs and for the leaves.

They break the rigid growth to free the Eye,

And unlock the sunlit stream.

The chorus held the last beat for an age, and slowly carried it upwards in pitch until it nearly pierced the register of human ears. The countless notes plucked from the autolutes fused together into a single distended pulse, interlocking seamlessly. Not a single voice or instrument could be distinguished from one another. And then the final Lantern Hawk beat its wings and ascended from the village into the sky.

In a single breath all fell silent. Like fog shredded by the wind, the cacophony dissolved into nothingness. The Officer slowly opened his eyes and peered out between his knees. His entire body trembled as the last vestiges of sound dissolved, and it felt as if several Gs of pressure had been banished in the blink of an eye. He exhaled a great breath and struggled to his feet. All around him others rose and swayed back and forth in half-lit night, looking about with wandering eyes and murmuring garbled phrases. Stumbling together in one ramshackle unit, they began to move about the village, chattering nonsense and waving their arms in the air.

“Your wrist is blinking Lord Trema,” came a voice behind him.

He whipped around and saw the Admiral sitting there, smiling oddly. “Ah, thank you,” he muttered.

“Aren’t you going to check the beam?”

“Yes. Yes of course.“ He flipped open the display screen, scanned it, and nodded briefly. He glanced up at the canopy and then back at the Admiral. “That’s just the High Command checking up on me. I’m sure you remember how obsessively they monitor their interests.”

“Their interests?” he said, and his smile widened. “Lord Trema, if you were planning on kidnapping me you could have asked first.”

The Officer shifted on his feet uneasily. “Why do you insist on calling me by that archaic name?” he said at last.

“Why does it bother you so? Have you renounced your family’s title?”

“Of course not, you know I would be stripped of my rank and cast out of the royal family if I did that.”

He chuckled quietly. “You can’t use the military to run from your obligations to the nobility forever. Now, what’s keeping the ship you just summoned?”

In answer to the Admiral, a sudden roar rent the village’s newfound calm. A thin blade of white light split the canopy neatly down the middle and incinerated thousands of branches and leaves in an instant. A moment later, a small, sleek vessel appeared above the massive opening. Landing legs unfolded and it descended quickly, coming to rest in the center of the clearing. The engines switched off and a funereal silence settled on Lamptown like falling snow. Through it all, the Admiral sat peacefully, a sly grin attached to his face. A walkway shot out of the vessel and a squad of heavily armored troops charged forth in single file.

“Giant help us, it’s the Blæc Guard!“ someone shouted.

Half of them split off and cornered the villagers. The rest lined up before the Officer and raised their rifles, their black armor bristling. Red lights blinked in place of eyes on their visors, and fearsome plastiform trunks hung from their mouthpieces. A voice lacking any resonance or warmth came from their ranks, seeming to belong to all of them at once.

“We have come for Grand-Admiral Noel Porphyries Stalkforth. Who is in charge is irrelevant, who summoned us is irrelevant, the laws of this world are irrelevant, the cost at which we will accomplish our duties is irrelevant. Our actions are the sole certainty, and we will cull our charge from his former existence and bear him unto the heart of the galaxy.”

The Admiral wriggled his bare toes. “You sicced the Shining Blæc on me Lord Trema? I’m flattered you think me so dangerous.”

The Officer stared intently at the ground. “If this planet can rehabilitate Igrid Pleth, then what effect did it have on the most glorious mind in the galaxy?”

“It never occurred to you that I might have exiled myself to banish that very glory once and for all?”

The Officer felt as if he was going to be sick. “I couldn’t fail my Operandi,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m sorry my sovereign, but would you wish failure on your closest friend?”

Before the Admiral could answer, one of the Guard raised its fist and produced a small cylinder from between the knuckles. From this, a thin stream of blue electricity launched out and smacked the Admiral right between the eyes. The Guard took a step forward, then stopped abruptly. The Admiral was smiling wickedly at them, the blast hadn’t made him so much as blink. For a moment, the two sides stared at each other, human eyes pitted against circles of glowing red. The Officer backed away, fingering the hand cannons under his sleeves. Suddenly the Admiral’s arm shot out, as if punching the air. The Guard flinched slightly, but nothing happened immediately. The two sides continued to watch each other, and the Officer, now crouched into a defensive position, readied his weapons. Then, the Admiral slowly raised his arm high and flicked his fingers. A handful of pebbles flew out of his hand and clinked harmlessly off the Guard’s bulky armor. His face softened and he began to laugh quietly. The Officer could not believe it.

The Guards reacted immediately. Small turret-guns on their shoulders pivoted and switched barrels. All at once, each sprayed a reflective silvery paste on the Admiral, trapping his entire body in a glittering cocoon in seconds. Without further excitement, they lofted him over their heads and carted him across the clearing into the ship.

The Officer watched the sleek black vessel rise through the wound in the canopy and fly off into the starlit sky. “Forgive me friend,” he whispered, “but it’s for your own good.”

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