See this previous post for a communication to any who would join me in writing.  For a thought on David Lynch, see this article.  And see this article to read the story from the beginning.  Meanwhile…

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Something was deeply amiss with the world.  Jorge’s sense for the divine was still barely a glimmer – something to be developed over years of study to come – and yet he could see by the way his comrades moved that they did not feel what he felt.  The world around him was boiling invisibly, rocked by explosions and impacts unseen.  Some voices were screaming as they were ripped away from the firmament, others were screaming as they were thrust down upon it.  Yet it was all just a wash over his skin.  Waves of heat and sound, weak like imagination, but easily understood to not be his own constructions.  It was something outside of him.

For all its fury, it was still faint enough that he could power through the sensations, and keep up with the squad.  Xihuani clocked his unusual expression, but it must not have been so outrageous that she felt at all compelled to ask about it.

Zochino felt something was wrong as well.  The astropuerto was dead.  As a major import site for a densely populated region, there should have been operations going at all hours, day and night.  They met no one as they hustled down the corridors.  The simpler kinds of autoesclavos, in very inhuman bodies, operated to the best of their abilities – but some of them stood inert, waiting for input.  Where were the operators?

It was a blessing, whatever the reason, because it would give them time to find an astronave bound for Laia 4 and properly stow away.  The abandoned halls lent the possibility of just taking a more direct route to the landing yards, but it was best to retrace their original route, and chance nothing on the unknown.

Part of the hustle involved coming out into a public area of the astropuerto, where proper clientele or security might glimpse them.  Time to act natural.  Would it be as abandoned as the rest of the complex?  They formed up behind the little door, and Zochino quickly opened it, stepping out.

It was a transition between two concourses, marked with a huge escalator.  They were on the upper concourse, with a vast hall behind them.  Zochino said, “Security.”  They could all see the dark figures in the distance, and quickly scurried out of that line of sight.  That led them to the top of the escalator, with an eagle eye view of the concourse below.  What they could see of it looked empty, the strangely colored night sky teasing the floor with flickers of rainbow light, mostly overpowered by the artificial lights in quiet business alcoves.

As they descended the staircase, less of the ceiling would block their view of the far reaches of that concourse, so they steeled themselves for unpleasant surprises.  If anybody saw them, would it have to be another massacre?  No, Zochino figured the authorities wouldn’t question every last person in the world, and a dead body would speak much more strongly about their presence at the astropuerto than a witness to some random guys.

Nothing on the concourse below, except a much clearer view of the skylight.  They were arrested by the sight of it.

Jorge murmured, “i’m not the only one seeing this?”

Xihuani said, “No, Jorge.  You study astronomy too, right?”

“That’s no natural aurora.  The star lights, flashing in and out… The shooting stars…”

Christina hated the nun habit and wanted to rip it off.  Look what they had wrought!  God was real, and he knew they had shown him to be impotent.  Why should they have to hide, just because some fools would never recognize greatness when they saw it?

Zochino asked, “Jorge, please tell me you know what that is.”

“I’d say a planetary spirit moved.  Possibly a solar angel.  They are so huge, just rolling over in their sleep could do all of this.”

Christina said, “Wait, so the astrocielo is all fucked up?  Can we even fly through that shit?”

Zochino said, “They have no choice.  The Stars of Weal depend on trade.  Gotta keep the economy moving.  How long does the turbulence last, Jorge?”

“I don’t think we have any way of knowing.  It’s never been observed in recorded history.  But I’d guess the worst of it will be over in a few days.  That’s a pretty wild guess.”

Christina yelped like a small dog, then quickly stifled it.

Xihuani asked, “What the hell was that?”

Christina shook her head, a platinum bleached lock falling free of her cowl.  “You wouldn’t get it, Huani.”

Zochino felt the cold of his sweat again, the weakness of his body more profound than it had been all night.  What the hell had they done?

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