Oath

A door left open was worse.

These men were afraid to leave. They had no desire left for the world. So when she came to them, canvassing for their service, they told her to go. They would not mobilise for the city, not now. So she had to dig deep and kneel before these men. She pleaded with them. They would not listen still.

So she got angry and belittled them -- you are not true men, little princeseses.... What of the oath your fathers took?

And they hated her for this. But she had them now. They gave of themselves to her, of themselves and their wondrous terrible gifts.

She is

She represents all that is corrupt and sorrowful. She is wrong wrong wrong. We can pick at her, piece by piece and have her fall from her wall. Hold her down, bind her to the floor. Subjugate her and keep her from the Captain.

She is His one weakness. He heels to her. So we remove her from all print, image and column. She will be well rid of when our brave Captain returns.

Blood. Light

Blood. Light. An infant in her arms. A book dropped on the floor -- it opened on an old poem from the city:

Criss-crossed at a junction
Streetlight on again and off
Blessed September morning
Last night a wonder gone off

Knock

Coming in after dark, He put down a fire. A dab hand at this by now, the flames quickly took hold and hearth soon glowed. Not a cold night but old habits and all.

From the sideboard, He took a bottle of whiskey and a glean, dry glass. He poured a measure and drank it.

He put the wireless on low so as not to wake the child. He took His seat by the fire to read the book. He opened to the bookmarked page and read a line or two before the thoughts of the day took Him away.

He thought of the meadow He had knocked with the scythe. He saw the grass lying now in the summer night -- a carpet of blades for the harvest. He looked forward to the turning, another day and night out under a clear sky and the day after He would build the haycocks.

But for now, grass lay vulnerable so he prayed for no rain. His phonecall to the Met had promised him a week of fine weather but He couldn't be certain.

He tried again with the book in His lap but the words wouldn't catch Him tonight. His mind wandered back a few years and a memory of a dance came unbidden. She had been with Him and they had enjoyed their night on the floor. They won a trophy for best couple in a competition they knew of not. She laughed on the way home that her man who had medals for arm wrestling and tug-of-war now had a trophy for ballroom dancing. He smiled but said nothing for He was concentrating on the road and never liked to drive at night. She lay her hand on His shoulder and squeezed -- her man.

He stood up from His chair by the fire and returned the book to the shelf. There'd be no reading tonight. He considered a second measure from the bottle but quickly dismissed the idea. He alone guarded His actions now so He needed to build a deeper resolve against easy slides back into older ways. He'd have tea instead.

He filled the smaller kettle with well-water and set it over the fire. The wireless played another dispatch from the desert. As the water boiled, He cut some bread and ate it. His back was sorer now than before -- His work in the fields coming in for late payment. The kettle boiled. He scalded the pot, spooned in some leaves and covered them with the hot water. He poured a drop of milk into a cup to colour his drink and allowed the tea to brew.

He knew He should be in bed by now but had no desire to lie in the dark.

He rolled a cigarette. He poured the tea and drank it. The wireless played the old march as the station closed for the night. He checked in on the child.

Back at the fire He had His rolled smoke. He considered the book again or maybe a second perusal of the day's paper for He might have missed something. He thought again of the fallen meadow. The grass lying in the dark, waiting for the sun to come and claim all to harvest.

Nikko

The crop failed so Nikko lost the land. He took to the road with his wife and family, hunting for any work, any shelter, any chance.

Joe found them a year into their exile. They had already lost their middle daughter to misfortune. Joe took Nikko aside and spoke in his ear. Nikko knew this man -- who he was, what he'd done. And like Joe, Nikko feared the Captain.

Joe made Nikko a proposition.

Nikko's family needed food and a home so he took Joe up on his offer and we all entered the end game.

Cloud cover

All grey, a gaol.

Beavering away, they make what may appear good progress but all know they are getting nowhere. Going nowhere.

They had a God once. A good, kindly King. He would admonish no-one, no child; he let them get on with things. But they forgot His name and forget His presence and fell down to here. The took knocks and bangs on their descent, black eyes and bruised heads.

On the ground they found the ruins of another city. So they set up here and got to work, digging in the dirt.

And now, they might look up the odd day at the sky above but they have long stopped remembering why. And even if they could recall, there is nothing to see above them.

I weep for them.

Look at me

"Look at me!"

I couldn't, I refused. I never felt fear like it. I stayed on my knees, brought my forehead to the flagstone and quaked. He circled me, surrounded me, consumed me. He struck me a blow that hurt more in shame.

"LOOK AT ME!"

Clickety-clack...

... go the machines in the Ministry. They are busy now, in these days of ours. Quiet women hover over them. They nurse these machines. Feed them and oil them and keep them clean. And everyday, at around tea-time, they gather up the papers and bring them to the Man In The Office.

On one particular day, he was having a cup of tea and maybe a banana sandwich. Now it's rare that there would be anything outstanding in the papers (no "Wow" signals in this feed) but on this day he found something. He stopped eating (I'm almost certain it was a banana sandwich... yes. On white bread) and put a call to the Officer Across The River.

"Possible contact, repeat, possible contact, possible possible contact. I got a contact for you cats!" and hung up and went back to his sandwich.

Elsewhere, the Elephantine heard all of this and sharpened their game.

Can you believe that noise?

Stinkers!

Well let them have their fun. Their Emperor is gone; they run rudderless.

I, for one, will laugh when the Infeasibles fade into the night.

Feel

If ever the time was right, it was now. With nary a care, the old Captain loaded his powder bags and redrew his map. Once more, he marched, he flew to the void.

No company men left to accompany him, he christened his own steed, anointed that forehead with his own sweat and tears. And marched and flew on.

I was there, at the second last station, the famous station. I asked him, Captain, our love, how will tomorrow go?

He didn't stop but I received a reply in dispatch:

"A gravity pull I follow. All is already determined. Fear not, Earthlings, I will bleed light from the darkness."

"Have you not seen enough of the lies of men?"

All stop and turn. That is unwanted. That is unneeded and uncalled for.

A figure of eight, the old twist and the turn. The modules and manifests and the bill of materials. The list and the manifold, the joints and the sockets. The knuckle bends and washers. The grease on the pipe. The unending noise. The black of Sunday. The men and their toys.

All this can be measured and sold.

But that is uncalled for.

Come in and around

They ride hard. The last days are upon them. They finally recognise the terrain. It sings to them as an old refrain... welcome home children, come in and around. Peace you will find here in a walled garden your parents' parents built... peace.

But one rider is worried. She pulls in on her own, allows the caravan pass her by. She knows the rules have changed -- nothing can ever be the same again.

This is not home.

In the light of day

It looks the same, to be honest. For when was there last a true night? We now have arc lamps and halogens and fluorescent tubes. And always the Captain's one Gorged Eye.

We need never again fear the dark.

20q

For a puff piece, I once asked the Captain what were his favourite bands, who did he admire most, what was his ideal breed of dog, his happiest memory, favourite book, colour, restaurant, person, place, historical person he would most like to have dinner with....

We just looked at each other. Skip spoke not a word. But I swear, I swear people, there was a tear in his big eye.

We all need somebody to hold onto

For me it's the Captain. Yes, I know you may laugh at me for saying so. I know, I know, I can hear your sniggers from here, snigger snigger but bear with me. For all he was wrought and plundered, for all his vanquishing of the Infeasibles (stinkers!), it's his quiet moments that attract.

Like the night in the forest. Remember, the Gathering. Oh how with one line the Skipper shut up all those old farts!

"... consider if we have all the light of old in our hands, what would happen if we close them...?"

Coming in spirals...

... they approach from the South. Dust rises from the desert floor. They wish to settle now but they know they cannot.

Their leader is a desperate man; the years in the wilderness have made his plans grotesque. They all want to live in cities but we stop them at the gates.

We are over there yet they are not here.