Jordan Retreated

      In a moment of rest, Jordan retreated. Sultry primeval, the jungle rose behind the painting. He thought of the yellow sun behind him like a star - it colored the forest with its warmth, but the colors of his painting were unchanged.

      The derelict stood in the tall grass, its rusted fins sharp and bent against the sky. Brandon lit an Egyptian cigarette and smiled, the points of his mustache turning back from his mouth.
      Lori glared at him from where she stood in the shadow of the wreckage. "Junk!" she shouted. "Pure junk! Would you believe it?" She threw her hands up in despair.

      The moon cast the forest down upon them. Hearts raced, pounding blood like the thrust of the knife. Their faces taut and worn, they pelt madly across the span of the bridge. They run and are lost in the chasms of the city.
      Ho, a sudden balcony, a precipice. They sieze the railing in their hands as the city is flung open beneath them. Prisms, dark lattices against the twilight, glowing cell by cell with energy. She grins, mouth wide and generous. "I don't care," he replies, discovering. He laughs.
      "Let them try to take it all, after I've seen this..."

      On the hillside where the ship had crashed, a temple was raised amidst the buckled plates of the wing.

      "This will be worth it..." she mused, warming her hands by the tube of the kerosine jet heater. She rubbed them together, sharing the warmth. He said nothing, a trace of a smile touching his dark lips. "Let's get started," he suggested. "All right." She stood.
      She struck the first chord, and the room roared like the sun.

      It erupted with flame as the wingtip struck the mountain range. It rolled, incandescent fragments bundled and boiling across five hundred miles of rock, casting debris tens of miles into the sky. It stopped, flames licking its shattered skin.
      It cooled, and the sound of buckling metal was like thunder rattling against the cloud-cloaked sky. Lightning answered, and then rain.
      Weeds grew under the shelter of the plates. A thousand years hence a forest would rise, but it would be barren of thought.

      He placed the packet on the table and stood there a moment, smoothing his mustache, as he watched her hand moving in the sun. She looked up at him. "Is that all of it?"
      "All you'll ever need," he replied.

      For days the ships had screamed into the sky. The cities were empty, and in the vast shape between the city and the stars, the first lights were being lit. In the concourses, the sound of air and music is gently concealed by the soft sounds of feet.
      There were reports of riots, those left behind demanding a share in the venture they had denied all their lives. Rumors of a plot. An iceberg.

      Jordan smiled, and his brush touched the canvas again...

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