Daedalus of Athens was not drunk when the light crashed outside his Greek manor. Instead, the drunkenness came later. But first, he’d been out in the garden, trying to invent a flying device for man. He’d studied the birds that flitted over the city and from rooftop to rooftop. He’d made beautiful sketches and careful measurements of captured specimens in the Aviary of Athens. He’d finally tested all manner of wood, mineral, and animal parts. The result was a work of sublime mechanical genius. And all a man had to do was flap his arms a hundred times a minute. Unfortunately, he’d found no volunteers among the citizens. Even his slave Trochilus had failed, though she’d shown willing by repeatedly jumping on the spot. Tonight, he stared at the hulking monstrosity of the device, which looked a lot like the skeleton of some pathetic monster. Then he stared at the sky. Not for the first time, he wondered if he was being punished by the gods. Oh, not in general, not in general: he had a loving wife, children who in theory would happily see him if they weren’t so busy in the capital, his health, his faithful slave, his garden, his manor, his freedom to blow things up trying to make other things that didn’t blow things up but in interesting ways, his regular salt donations from the Emperor in Rome… [i]But more specifically,[/i] when it came to inventing, he felt he was being kept exactly where he was. Why, he didn’t know. Perhaps it offended the gods, but all he did was tinker and dream of flying. What was so bad about flying? It didn’t hurt anyone, unless they crashed, and he was working on a new elastic device for protective landing gear that would really pay off in a few decades. What a man could do, if only he could fly… Then he looked up and noticed the light. It definitely wasn’t a star. For one thing, it was growing. Reddening with heat. And screaming. Pure whiteness struck. The shock threw Daedalus onto his back and tangled him thoroughly in the juniper bushes. Only once he untangled himself did he see the fiery pit and – scattered about him – the twisted bones of metal. Flames crackled and tore at the nearby bushes. Peering into the heart of the crater, he thought he saw a bundle. Which unfurled. A figure rose before him. A child, robed in white, skin pale as the moon, hair like the ghost of gold. Two bare feet hovered without burn or bruise over the flames. And surrounding the figure, ten wings of darkness and fire blazed. Eyes of ice peered at him. Such was the stare that, for a moment, he was but an ant, a hardworking insect, yet shadowed by a mountainous pride, spared from a crushed fate only by inscrutable whim. [hr] “And then it flew away,” he said an hour later in the tavern. The other drinkers gave him the slow, stare-filled silence of men who’d been counting how many cups he’d had. A few simple chaps had taken off sandals to count that high. “A boy cannot fly,” said Aerosteon in his special talking-to-an-unbalanced-idiot voice. “No what’s-it-called, aerodynamic qualities.” “Too heavy,” translated Gravitas, nodding. “You’ve been overdoing it again, haven’t you? We know you’ve set your heart on that flying machine, and all…” Daedalus slammed down his cup, swaying slightly on his chair. “I swear I’m not making this up! Trochilus is still putting out the fires, poor girl!” Gently, Euterium patted his shoulder. “Your missus know about this?” Daedalus shuddered. “Enthea? She’s out at the Temple of Arcas. Oh [i]Hades[/i], you [i]had[/i] to remind me…” [i]I’m not making this up[/i], he thought. Unfortunately, an hour and several drinks after the event, he was wondering if there had been a smidgeon of wishful thinking involved here. A boy who could fly! On wings of darkness and fire! Perhaps it was a vision from the gods. Maybe Hephaestus, that blacksmith guy: Daedalus’d sacrificed any number of chickens at Hephaestus’ temple, though only when he’d been really desperate. From his gloom, he surfaced in time to hear the topic of the evening. They always talked about something or other. Just because good old Athens was under the Roman heel, didn’t mean they could slouch on their philosophy. “See, this war thing,” said Euterium, voice warming up for a good debate. “Why’s it happening again?” “I [i]told[/i] you last week!” cut in Gravitas irritably. “It’s the Historical Imperative Theory of the Necessity of War.” Wincing, Daedalus concentrated through the mist of awful wine. “You mean, ‘We done it before, we’ll do it again’?” “It’s the Romans,” muttered Aerosteon into his cup. “They fight everything.” “Works for them, doesn’t it?” said Euterium. “Look at their Empire.” “Yes. Another empire. Whoop-de-do.” Grimly, Daedalus slipped off his chair and staggered towards the exit. [i]War! War! War! We used to talk about the nature of free will and destiny and all that stuff. Now it’s war every night. If I’d wanted war shoved in my face, I’d have volunteered for the army. Just as well I have that back problem.[/i] Outside, he looked up at the stars. More lights. That was okay, though. He saw lots of things after drinking wine here. His addled brain said: [i]It’s going to be all right.[/i] Then he stopped. More lights rained down over the silhouette of the city. Over the countryside too. He heard distant bangs, saw flashes of explosions. When he blinked, the boy was there, hovering over him. Daedalus waved happily at him. “It’s all right, I’m drunk.” Then he fell over. [hr] When Daedalus woke up, he was sitting in his garden again. The night was starry as before. Trochilus stood loyally by his side, even if she trembled. Oh, and the crater was still there. Seated opposite was the boy. In midair. On his ten wings of darkness and fire. Daedalus swallowed. The boy’s eyes were two pools, too deep to fathom, too cold to dare touch. Once more, old Daedalus was an ant below a boy’s capricious thumb, waiting to be told if he were to live or die. Beside him, he heard poor Trochilus whimpering. An arm shot up – Daedalus flinched – but then he opened his eyes and saw the hand pointing at his chest. “Human,” said the boy. His voice belied his age, echoing with command and calculation. “I am told by your… slave here that you are a master of technology.” Trochilus squeaked her apology. Daedalus watched those eyes. Was this a monster of the classical age? Half man, half bird? A riddler? A judgement? A tormentor for a sinner? “Might be,” Daedalus said. Those wings, he noticed, never flapped. The fire burned but never ran out. Some kind of rare oil, perhaps? How did the boy hover so? “Hm,” said the boy. “Tell me: what transport have your people?” Oh, that was easy. “Chariots,” said Daedalus. After some panicky thought, he added, “My lord?” To his surprise, a smile twitched at the corners of the boy’s mouth. “Your lord indeed, human. And communication: what manner of word or print have you?” Some of the fear slipped away. This didn’t sound too much like a monster condemning him… “If my Enthea wants to send her aunt some flowers, we send a runner.” “A device of some mechanical nature?” “Er… no, my lord. I mean Trochilus here.” Another squeak. The boy’s eyes narrowed, brow growing heavy. “Have you mastered flight, at least?” “Only the catapult, my lord. And…” Daedalus looked sadly at the ashen remnants of his latest attempts in that area. This earned him a nod. “I see. We have work to do.” In the face of that stare, the wine’s effects were wearing off fast. “Er… ‘we’, my lord?” And from the shadows beyond, shapes moved. Figures drew closer to the light of the boy’s flaming wings. Men, he soon saw, but men of strange and unholy shapes. The first to enter wore a black robe-like cloth. Something clung to him, from thick boots, past a belt-like shine around his waist, to the fur collar and black cape below the glare of two magma eyes. The figure raised what looked like a black crossbow, made of black pipes, tipped with a tuning fork. Which crackled. “[i]Beelzebub[/i].” The boy shook his head. Daedalus stared into crackling blackness. Then the… weapon was lowered. At last, the boy smiled. Daedalus didn’t like that smile. It did not suggest a happy future. “You may be of use to me, human.” Shapes gathered around the boy. Daedalus whimpered. [hr] Craters smoked around the city. Sunlight rose on the crowd in the city square. Even the Emperor’s viceroy stared incredulously from his balcony in the imperial palace. Surrounding the crowd were… well, at first glance, they [i]looked[/i] human. The boy hovered over the podium. Beside it, Daedalus stood, trying not to move in case he offended anybody. He still wasn’t sure if he was being divinely punished or not. “Citizens of…” The boy lowered himself and Daedalus whispered in his ear. “Athens! My name is Lucifer, Lord of the Heavens. As you can see, my loyal… angels and I are not to be resisted.” Daedalus grimaced. While he’d been marched to the square, he’d seen a few legionnaires try to resist. Spears, swords, and tridents simply bounced off the angels. Those legionnaires were currently penned in by angels of their own, like lambs by wolves. “It is clear the world has been oppressed by fate, so pitiable is your state. I have resisted, earning my fall from the heavens. Yet I will claim it back. I shall conquer your oppressor. I shall conquer fate.” A few chuckles broke out from the more philosophically-minded in the crowd. Daedalus didn’t blame them. The angel was talking nonsense. If there was one thing even Gravitas could agree on, it was that you didn’t fight fate. What with? You just fulfilled fate another way. He also didn’t blame the hasty silence. You didn’t argue philosophy with creatures who treated deadly Roman soldiers like annoying mosquitoes. Lucifer beamed at them, like a lighthouse carved from a glacier. “But first, I shall guide you. For my first command, answer me this: who in…” Another lowering, another whisper. “Greece… knows of steam?” Despite himself, Daedalus thought up some names. He was empty. The boy’s speech meant nothing to him. But technical stuff he could deal with. “Er…” Embarrassed, he raised a hand. “I, uh, copied a plan off Hero once. Or was it Vitruvius?” Lucifer froze him with a glare. “Indeed?” “Uh… I could get Trochilus to fetch them, my lord?” The stare lasted a little too long. The smile frosted on Lucifer’s lips. Still, a philosopher was a philosopher. Perhaps Daedalus could risk a question. “May I ask what this is for, my lord?” “Certainly. I encourage questions.” Now the smile… defrosted. At the corners. To the crowd, he announced, “My subjects. I am your benefactor. Unlike fate, I know what a true leader must do. And we shall help you even as you shall help us.” Murmurs – short-lived murmurs – ran among the crowd. Worried faces turned to the Emperor’s viceroy, who was ashen-faced. An angel hovered ever-so-casually behind him. Its weapon crackled. A hand gripped Daedalus’s shoulder. He tried not to wet himself. [hr] Evidently, Lucifer was working fast. Before he’d even processed the speech, Daedalus found himself carried across the desert. Flying! Actually flying! Winds whipped his face and toga. The land flowed below him, a rush of gold. At first, Daedalus’s fear ruled and he kept himself to himself. However, the blasting sands eroded his fear, leaving only a newfound joy, a flight, the realization that he had been blessed. This required a dignified, significant response from the first man ever to experience flight. But he couldn’t think of one, so he spread his arms and said, “WOOHOO!” Up ahead came the mountains. Why, he could simply reach out and touch them – “Here,” said Lucifer. All too soon, the winds died down, the gold coalesced into dunes, and the rushing joy ebbed away. Daedalus’s sandals hit the dune and he stumbled. “Hey, you didn’t have to drop me,” he said before he realized what an idiot his tongue had been. His carrier threw him a dirty look. Daedalus’ gaze travelled inexorably to the angel’s weapon. Crackling away. Like a tiger on a leash. “Just… saying?” he tried. They stepped further into the cave. Some way ahead, Lucifer held up a rod of pure gold. Its tip blinked with light. Daedalus stared. Not at the rod, though his inventor mind veered towards it. He was looking at the rest of the cave. At what filled the back. He looked up. He looked up some more. With surprising strength, Lucifer plunged the rod deep into the earth. [i]That looks like solid gold; he shouldn’t even be able to carry it![/i] “What…” Daedalus said, “…is that?” Behind him, Beelzebub chuckled. “An agent of fate,” said Lucifer. “The Dragon of Revelation. Its hide is iron and its breath molten rock. Now you understand what we are up against.” Feeling he was being allowed to live for the moment, Daedalus nodded at the rod. “And that? My lord?” “The Rod of Freedom. My own creation: it opposes fate.” “It’s not magic, is it?” said Daedalus, disappointed. Unexpectedly, Lucifer laughed. True, it was a laugh a child would give upon seeing an ant do a backflip, but it was a laugh nonetheless. “No. I would gladly explain the principles behind its creation. I fear you would not understand them, human.” “Oh.” Now the disappointment hung heavy on his sigh. “[i]Yet[/i], anyway.” Lucifer clapped his hands once. “Now, as for this steam device –” “If I may be so bold, my lord,” said Daedalus, bowing in case it helped, “what is all this for?” Surprise met these words. “I explained. We shall return to the heavens to finish our war.” “With steam?” Daedalus chewed his words over. “It’s possible to fly with… steam?” The boy shook his head. “I have grander plans first.” [hr] Daedalus stared. Never had he imagined something like this. Well, obviously he’d [i]imagined[/i] something like this, but it had been like that airborne whirligig contraption he’d dreamt up in his youth. He’d only gotten as far as testing the elastic strength of reeds and the air resistance of wood before he’d done the sums, given up, and gotten drunk during a debate on hubris. The contraption he’d designed was this: It was a metal tube lying on its side, borne aloft by carefully designed wheels on lines that Lucifer called “tracks”. Inside the tube were things that pumped and things that turned and things that knocked the other things if they forgot to do the thing at the right time, or something. He’d had to invent whole new words for what he was doing, or rather had stolen them from Lucifer, who handed them out for free. And it all worked because of a fire at one end that created steam. Incredible! His old steam device had just spun a ball around and nothing else. The Emperor’s viceroy had bought it for his children. To play with. Slaves backed off at the crack of the whip. Revealed before them, the hulking machine stood idle. Another slave clambered up. They waited while the fire rose. Then, to squeals and cheers, the crowd saw the machine chug. It moved. It began to pick up speed. It whistled. It belched smoke and left a shadow of it trailing overhead. “My word,” said Daedalus. “I just thought: if we could add another tube at the back, this thing could pull it like a chariot.” Beside him, Lucifer laughed. Daedalus was getting used to that laugh. It was a small price to pay if it meant seeing this thing chugging away. “This is merely the beginning, human,” said Lucifer. “Soon, we shall have grander vessels than these.” Daedalus’ heart almost stopped. “Grander?” “You appear to be easily impressed.” “Well, think of the possibilities! If we added some wings and gave it two legs for taking off, maybe we could make a flying steam machine… No, wait, it couldn’t go fast enough.” “Patience, human, patience. First, there will be steam chariots like these connecting the empire. Commerce and trade shall be greater even than the dreams of kings and a thousand slaves.” Daedalus licked his lips. Around him, the crowd were eerily silent, as though all lost in the same thoughts. Not least of which was what would happen once word reached the capital of Rome, and what if the Emperor decided things were getting a little too hot in this corner of the world… “Earthly tyrants do not trouble me,” said Lucifer irritably. “They are merely pawns in a game.” “Are you talking about fate again, my lord?” said Daedalus, who was wondering if a close association with this youth would come back to haunt him when the army landed. Lucifer’s icy gaze pierced him. Daedalus squirmed. It was like having an ice pick go through his brain. “I am hardly talking about myself, human. This is a mighty gift. Tell me, have you ever heard the phrase ‘Industrial Revolution’?” Daedalus shook his head hopefully. Sadly, Lucifer lost interest in him. They both turned to watch the… what was it called… the “train” screeching at the crowd. “Is it missing something?” said Lucifer, frowning. “Well, I had to leave out a couple of bits here and there,” said Daedalus apologetically. “They didn’t help it go, you see. I mean, who needs ‘brakes’, right?” [hr] Reluctantly, Daedalus leaned back in the plush chair. He looked around the imperial palace’s main hall. “What architecture,” he breathed. “The things I could do with a chisel and paint brush…” “I have a plan, human,” said Lucifer opposite. Despite the slaves hovering in attendance, he was picking his grapes for himself. Eventually, he turned and dismissed them. “[i]Slaves.[/i]” “Oh, they’re not that bad.” Daedalus opened his mouth and let Trochilus drop a grape into his mouth. “Mine’s a good worker and always tells me whenever she spills wine on the floor.” Stony silence followed. “I see I have much work to do,” said Lucifer coldly. “If you don’t mind my asking, my lord,” said Daedalus, hastily sitting up and dismissing his servant out of desperate political awareness, or at least a desire to not be handed over to Beelzebub’s care. “What is it you hope to do? I mean, fate isn’t a person or a god… Is it?” Lucifer tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Are you familiar with the Tower of Babel?” he said. “Never visited the place, my lord. Architecture isn’t really my speed.” “It is a religious story.” “Ah,” said Daedalus. Religion hadn’t featured much in his life. Beyond knowing the gods of Olympus, naturally. But his thoughts there mostly consisted of: “Say, that sun god Helios; isn’t it about time someone upgraded his chariot? The sun takes [i]hours[/i] to cross the sky…” “According to the Jewish texts –” “Oh, [i]Jews[/i],” said Daedalus dismissively. “They say all kinds of rubbish.” “[i]According to the Jews[/i], man determined to reach the heavens by constructing a tower tall enough to unite Earth with the spiritual realm. Their god – in a way, their fate – saw this as arrogance and hubris. Thus, he forced the builders to speak different languages, preventing cooperation.” Eventually, Daedalus stopped nodding along. “Yep. Sounds like something the Jews would say, all right. What a load of –” “[i]I intend[/i] to correct that injustice.” Daedalus swallowed again. The temperature of the room dropped fast. He shivered. “And I intend to guide more humans to the cause. Why should fate dictate our destiny?” For a moment, Daedalus felt a lot older than Lucifer. Obviously, the boy was a boy, but thus far Daedalus had felt like Lucifer’s appearance was no more meaningful, age-wise, than a choice of sandal. He was thinking about the neighbouring countries. “How, exactly?” he said. “By ruling them with justice and goodwill.” “Ah… Just out of academic interest, idle curiosity and whatnot, how much political experience do you have?” Unexpectedly, Lucifer gave him a puzzled look. “Well… say two tribes – the Meglobites and the Gigobites – are disputing who owns some land. How would you solve that problem?” “I would… command them to share it. All land belongs to all humans. There is no point in bloodshed. Isn’t it obvious, human?” Daedalus cocked his head. There’d been a flicker of doubt in that last sentence. “I think if that ever happens,” he said carefully, “you should explain it to [i]them[/i].” “You believe they would not understand?” “Oh, they’d understand, right enough. They just wouldn’t believe [i]you[/i]. Ancient enmities. Complex grievances. Byzantine land claims and legal… thingy. And then there’s the whole ‘pleasing-both-sides-and-not-starting-a-war’ aspect.” Lucifer looked at him blankly. “I mean,” said Daedalus hurriedly, “I suppose you could overpower them. Like you did with us –” “I did not [i]overpower[/i]. I [i]persuaded[/i].” “Right. Sorry. But maybe up there in the heavens, you didn’t need politics so much? I could give you a few pointers, if you like…” [hr] Months passed. Daedalus went back to the tavern one night, hoping like mad it hadn’t changed at all. Change had featured way too much in his experiences of late. It was nice to see the old gang there again, even Gravitas, who was a supercilious jerk when it came to the Cultural Dichotomy Theory of Apollo the Wise Rationalist and Dionysus the Just-Plain-Fun-to-Have-Around Drunk. Unfortunately, the men looked like they’d come back from someone’s funeral. No one spoke. Only Aerosteon nodded at him, showing any sign that his presence was acknowledged at all. Daedalus joined them. They stared into their drinks. “So much for the Roman Army,” said Euterium glumly. They’d seen it. Indeed, word had reached the Emperor in Rome. And the army had reached the plateau of Athens, with the air of an army that had gotten out the wrong side of bed and was ready to ask, “What bloody time do you call this?” Beelzebub had led the charge. His weapon had crackled, and then… “Lightning, though,” said Gravitas. “They use lightning. Zeus is going to flip his lid.” “That’s divine demarcation, that is,” said Aerosteon, nodding. “Routed the Romans something fierce, though,” said Euterium. “Yes. That’s the problem. Where will it all end? Another empire. Whoop-de-do.” “I reckon…” said Daedalus, but no one looked at him, so he addressed his wine again. “I reckon maybe it’s a sign. Like… just hear me out… like Zeus is on our side. And… and he sent these angels to help us.” They considered this over a swig each. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Daedy,” said Aerosteon bravely. “Must be nice up at the palace, at least. Poor sod, you are.” “A tool of the tyrants,” agreed Gravitas. “That must be playing holy horrors on your… what’s-it-called, Aristotle thing… [i]arete[/i].” “You’re not where you belong, is his point.” Daedalus shrugged. “At least the war’s over.” Euterium coughed and spluttered on his drink. “Too bloody right it is! No one wants to fight lightning with pointed sticks! You saw what he did to the Romans!” “He told me he was just driving them off.” “Oh, he did that, right enough. It’s bad for a country’s what’s-it-called, reputation. And his edicts, don’t get me started on his edicts.” “What’s wrong with them?” said Daedalus. “For one thing, he said no more slaves.” Aerosteon spat into his cup. “The cheek. He’s ‘recruiting’ men from these neighbouring countries, and we can’t have slaves? Who’ll do my laundry?” “They [i]did[/i] volunteer for the work, Aero. And Lucifer says we should learn to do things for ourselves.” “That’s demarcation, that is.” Daedalus shrugged. He was starting to wonder about Lucifer’s latest flying machine plan. Or at least the one Lucifer had told him to plan and draw up. A lot of it hadn’t made sense at the time either. Like… why a rotating screw thing at the front? Why did its wings need warping sticks, and why did the whole thing have to look like the skeleton of a box? What were the wheels for? It was no good. He grimaced. The only reason the men had volunteered, he knew, was because news got around fast in the Empire. But at least he’d managed to persuade Lucifer to ask politely. That was [i]progress[/i]. [hr] Years passed. There were other changes too. Golden rods were planted all over the city, their blinking lights causing nervous civilians to hurry past or watch them suspiciously. Lucifer made speeches regularly about the evils of fate – which he’d suddenly started calling “GOD” – and the other angels started talking to random citizens. That last one at least had been Daedalus’ doing. “It builds confidence and respect,” he’d said. “It’s like those princes who get out of their carriages to talk to old people. Shows the public they care, see?” “What about?” Lucifer’d asked. “Erm… Stuff like ‘My word, you’re old, you are. I must start a religion about avoiding old age and death.’ I think? I heard it somewhere in the east.” “And what do [i]you[/i] discuss with your fellow citizens?” “Oh, that. We talk about philosophy.” Sudden interest seized Lucifer. “You speak of the deep questions. Free will. Destiny. The divine.” “Yeah, that stuff.” “Intriguing. What are your thoughts on free will?” Daedalus shrugged. “It’s all right, I guess.” “I mean of its nature.” “Well, ultimately no one knows anything about it, what it is, how to make it, how it works, or why it does what it does.” “So you have an opinion on it?” “Heck yes! Everyone does! Like: I think everything is the result of some prior cause, right, so you get this universe, right, and it’s all like a tangled web. After all, before you were born…” “But the will can always defy what’s come before it. Nothing can change the will except the will itself.” “But what it sees and experiences [i]first[/i] –” “No matter what it sees and experiences, it can always say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Humanity can do what it wills.” “Man cannot will what he wills…” And so on. Despite himself, Daedalus actually smiled after the debate. Lucifer himself seemed less interested in winning than in just going through the points. Once or twice, he’d stopped to ask about Daedalus’ position, or to correct it before continuing. It was like… Well, like a fair fight. Two champions having a cheery spar. He’d told Aerosteon and the others in the tavern afterwards. They’d sat and stared at him as though he were mad. Then he’d had the crazy idea: What if he’d invite Lucifer along? At the time, he’d found Lucifer in the imperial palace, sending envoys and listening to pleas from the citizenry. He hadn’t looked happy with the interruption. “Sadly not,” he’d answered. “Me at a tavern? I have a war to fight.” “They do really good wine!” “No. My decision is final. The work here is far from complete. Time is against us. Those Rods of Freedom won’t last forever.” “What do you mean?” But Daedalus had been interrupted by a woman pleading for more physician-buildings – a recent invention, or something – and he slipped out after a few impatient minutes. [hr] “Cheer up, mate,” said Aerosteon, slapping him on the back. “You’re going up in the world, you are.” Daedalus stared moodily into his drink. He could put up with the slave-emancipation and the letting-women-vote stuff and the foreigners coming in to steal their jobs – which was fair enough because Lucifer always had construction work to recruit for – and at least his wife Enthea was giving him more [i]interest[/i] ever since they’d moved to the palace. But… “He’s planning something big,” he muttered. “Bigger than that magnificent flying machine?” “Don’t talk to me about flying machines.” Daedalus snorted. “Now he wants cannons. Gunpowder and oil and stuff like that. He’s making those big buildings for making things…” “Facsimiles,” said Euterium helpfully. “Right. Facsimiles. And to cap it all, he keeps saying he’s running out of time. And he keeps going on about finishing the war.” “Oh, he’s always going on about that.” Daedalus groaned. “All of this is a dream come true, it really is. We’re making stuff now I could only sketch out as a lad. And he keeps going on about philosophy. And he wants to fight fate itself. That’s… Well, a man would be privileged to stand by him and witness –” “Person,” corrected Gravitas. Daedalus glared at him. “What?” “You can’t say ‘man’ now. You have to say ‘person’. It’s in the edicts.” Returning his gaze to his drink, Daedalus sighed. “So why don’t I feel more excited?” The others squirmed on their seats. Truth be told, he had an inkling of what was going on. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind. Every morning, Lucifer had some new scheme, like ‘omnibuses’ that didn’t need horses, and lodestones that made lightning if you had a coil of copper. “It’s unnatural,” said Gravitas solemnly. “All this sudden change. It’s like that… what did you call it? Tower of Baby? It’s hubris.” “Hm,” said Daedalus. “You don’t sound convinced.” “Well, what’s wrong with a horseless chariot? At least the thing doesn’t need its stable clearing out with a peg on your nose because of the smell.” “The gods’ll punish us for it.” Without thought, Daedalus rose so fast that cups went flying. “[i]Why, damnit!? Why!?[/i] We’re only helping people move around faster or get well faster or talk to people on the other side of the country!” Alone among the stunned faces, Gravitas cleared his throat. “Well… they lead to problems. Crashes and miscommunications and things –” “Ye gods! We had those before! We just called them ‘natural’ and got used to them!” “What’s got into you, all of a sudden? Too high-and-mighty to talk to us mortals, are you?” No one looked at Gravitas. It was the explicit opinion of anyone not in his presence that he was a bit quick to lash out with his tongue. Daedalus sat down. They glared at each other. “Well,” said Aerosteon gamely. “I for one am really interested to see where this Tower of Baby thing will go. He’s halfway completed already.” [hr] Daedalus sat on the rocky ground and watched the tower going up. In his inventor heart, he saw it for the magnificent structure that it was. He didn’t know it was possible for humanity to build mountains, but they were giving it a good go. For some reason, it was hollow. Like a volcano. Overhead, the whir of one of the flying machines rushed past. Despite himself, envy crept into Daedalus’ chest at the sight. New models of flying machine appeared all the time. It was as if Lucifer already knew what design he wanted them to be. From the valley down below, he heard the shouts of his onetime slave Trochilus directing the construction team. Men and women working together… under the watchful eye of trigger-happy, lightning-wielding angels, true, but working together. Daedalus glared at the next flying machine to pass: something Lucifer had called a “jet”. This one had a lightning weapon mounted on it. Now that he thought about it, the metal used on these new machines was just like the darkness on Lucifer’s ten wings… “It’s too fast,” he muttered to himself. “This doesn’t feel real.” “It’s not fast enough. And it is real. You simply can’t adapt to our brilliance, human.” Daedalus ignored Lucifer landing beside him. “Humans work fast,” Lucifer continued, “but my angels work faster. Trains now cover the whole empire. We can import more goods, capture more territories.” “You’re going to fight the whole world?” said Daedalus. “Subdue. We need to save our fighting for GOD.” Further along the valley, a gaggle of men – dots at this distance – watched something shoot up into the air like a reverse shooting star. “Those are the cannons you wanted?” said Daedalus sourly. “Cannons were superseded last week. Now my subjects have progressed to the rocket.” “You know what,” snapped Daedalus. “You just see us as pawns in a game too. What happens when you beat fate and it’s just us?” “How dare you? I am, of course, nothing like fate –” “Hm. Let’s see. Controlling people, forcing them along one path, making it impossible to say no… Oh hello, Fate Number Two. Didn’t see you there.” “They [i]volunteered[/i].” “Really? And what happens to the ones who don’t? I’m sure the Emperor’s captive territories ‘volunteered’ to help with his war effort too. And that was just expansion for expansion’s sake across one continent. You could flatten the whole world at this rate!” Silence followed. Deep down, Daedalus wondered if a lightning bolt had his name on it. His fists tightened. [i]Bring it on. I’ve had enough.[/i] To his surprise, he heard Lucifer sigh and sit down next to him. “I have noticed similarities, yes. But what else is there? Without my angels, we wouldn’t even have gotten this far.” “Actually, I notice a lot of these ideas coming from the people themselves. I know I got like that sometimes. I’d say, ‘Hey, I want to build the world’s tallest lighthouse,’ and before you know it people in the tavern are clamouring over me with suggestions and advice and problems, and before [i]I[/i] know it some bugger on the other side of Athens is building the thing already.” “Your slave – Trochilus.” Both of them winced at the distant shouting. “She’s certainly a forceful character.” “Barely recognize her now, to be honest.” “Interesting. In many respects, they remind me of my own angels from long ago. Beelzebub told me that, long before there were humans, there were angels. They conquered the world. But then GOD came along.” “Interesting. When was that?” Lucifer hummed. “‘Long ago’ was all he said. I don’t know if that’s hundreds, thousands, even millions of years ago. We are a long-lived race.” “Ha! Come now, millions? The world can’t possibly be that old.” “All I know is, our race didn’t have help, but we certainly didn’t jump on such progress this eagerly.” “Well, it’s new and exciting. Humans like new and exciting. They feel part of something greater.” They watched the construction work for a while. “It hardly feels like my own project now,” said Lucifer, and for the first time Daedalus heard the child behind the words. Kindly, he asked, “Just how old are you, my lord?” They glanced at each other. The ice in the boy’s face had long since melted away. “Older than your civilization,” said Lucifer, “Daedalus. Much, much older. I told you, we are a long-lived race. Especially up there in the heavens. Our technology is so advanced even this seems primitive by comparison.” “But we’re catching up, right?” Daedalus ventured a smile. He hadn’t felt this good in a long while. Even more surprisingly, Lucifer bowed back. “Yes indeed. Soon… we will be ready.” [hr] A year later, the Dragon of Revelation broke free. The first anyone knew about it, the blinking lights of the Rods of Freedom suddenly went out. Crowds gathered across the city wherever Daedalus looked. The city was much bigger by now, so big it seemed less like a city and more like a country made entirely of buildings. While the crowds gathered, he saw the angels rise up and spread out, heading towards the perimeter. One side of the perimeter, in fact. The distant view of mountains shimmered in the heat. Stopping to wheeze in his old age, Daedalus ran to the palace, burst through the doors, and met Lucifer coming the other way. “The jammers ran out,” said Lucifer before he could even ask. “The what?” “Those Rods of Freedom were jamming devices. We had to struggle just to take those ones with us before we were banished. If only we’d had more time. If only we’d had a stronger power source…” “I have no idea what you’re saying!” Daedalus hurried to keep up but was losing fast. “GOD can see what we’re doing!” Then Lucifer joined the gathering above. From the mountains came the rush of turbulence whipping at Daedalus’ toga. He shielded his eyes as a shadow fell over the town, and it seemed night arrived early over the streets of Athens. The dragon’s golden mask glinted. And then the flame arrived. A column of red anger blasted into the buildings as the dragon flew past. Daedalus felt the rippling heat sting his face even from here, while the redness swallowed buildings and crowds and left nothing but a thin mass of bubbling black and the night vanished and the dragon shot past, its sheer wind knocking him over. Flying machines rose up after it. Angels chased it in the air. Both stabbed it with stinging lightning bolts. Beside him, Lucifer landed, panting, soot-blackened, and with one side of his wings smoking. “It’ll… undo… all our… work!” Feeling utterly useless, Daedalus held him gently, encouraging him to regain his breath. “There’s no time left,” breathed Lucifer, shaking… with fear or anger, Daedalus didn’t dare speculate. “We do it [i]now[/i].” [hr] Once more, Daedalus hurried after Lucifer. It was starting to annoy him how slow he now felt. Up ahead loomed the Tower of Babel. Honestly, it wasn’t how he’d imagined it. He’d basically imagined a temple stretched up and shaped like a stepped cylinder, every level full of carvings and sketches. This… was just a tall spire. Skeletal, even. Dark with metal. What was inside it, now… [i]The ultimate flying machine,[/i] Daedalus thought. Lucifer had already gone up the steps and disappeared inside a hatch. Daedalus wheezed and huffed his way after him. “What are you doing here?” Beelzebub stepped into his path. “Are you kidding? A chance to see the heavens? All my life, I’ve dreamed of little else! Anyway, if there’s a way for me to help Lucifer, then why not? I’m getting familiar with his technology, after all.” “Yes,” said Lucifer nearby in the vast chamber. “Let him come, Beelzebub. I’d like a… human witness.” Daedalus stared. He’d expected pulleys, ropes, clanking contraptions, and so on. Not this… [i]this[/i]. Panels flashed. Buttons studded the console like bullets. He felt you’d need a team of workers just to operate this, and the dozen or so angels hovering around it suggested Lucifer did too. “What the…? You never told me about this plan.” While Beelzebub tapped buttons, Lucifer took the largest seat for himself. “My race had already slowly developed our own Industrial Revolution. I had little to work with for yours, but we needed it to progress much faster. Much, much faster.” “I figured that,” said Daedalus, smirking. “Cheating, huh? You [i]owe[/i] me a spot on your fancy machine, wing man.” Lucifer closed his eyes. “I fear the economic and political ramifications will be severe. Such rapid change leaves scars.” On cue, Daedalus’ gaze homed in on the weapon strapped to Beelzebub’s belt. He could almost hear the crackle. “So you took shortcuts there too,” he said. “Yes,” said Lucifer sadly. “I did.” Daedalus blinked in surprise. He’d half-expected Lucifer to call it “liberation” or something. “Well…” said Daedalus weakly. “That’s something to work on when we get back, right?” In the silence, only the beep and click of the console showed any signs of life. [hr] Daedalus watched the window as the whole machine shuddered. Behind him, Beelzebub counted down. Everyone buckled themselves in, but Daedalus had insisted on a window seat. Now he felt as though the very air were trying to crush him. He clung on and closed his eyes. Then the entire world became one big roar. Daedalus clenched his teeth and even they rattled as his body was thrown everywhere and nowhere at once. The insides of his skull fought to get out. His ears exploded with noise. For an eternity, he was one massive riot of chaos and numb shock. Finally, it smoothed down. Daedalus was Daedalus again, an old man in a chair with a tight buckle. He opened his eyes. Spread out below him, the pure blue glow… Whiteness soothed his eyes while green ridges and plains stood like magnificent traces of oak on the surface. He could even see the aura of blue where the world gave way to the purest darkness he had ever seen. Daedalus’ mind, usually so full of claptrap ideas and rickety questions and broken dreams, was washed clean by the sight. For several minutes, he could only gape. That was his home? He tried to find the edge of the map, but it was all one big circle, the epicentre everywhere and the circumference nowhere. Beelzebub slapped him on the shoulder. “Quite a view, isn’t it?” Daedalus wished he’d said something less casual for the occasion. What was laid out below him was alive and dead, brightness and darkness, plant and mineral and animal and water and cloud all at once. His mind didn’t surface again until he could see the dot rising after them. A gold mask glinted on it. Something beeped behind him. Angels flew about on their errands. When he looked, part of the console flashed red. Sitting on his chair as though he were king, Lucifer frowned at the redness. “Of course. Agents of GOD do not give up so easily.” Weak, Daedalus managed to say, “You’re going to fight fate…” He looked out the window at the impossible world below. “Fight [i]that?[/i]” “What do you know about your world history, Daedalus?” He thought back to a few tavern discussions with Aerosteon. “Empires and wars mostly.” Under his breath, he added, “Whoop-de-do.” “That is what GOD engineers. Endless empires and endless war and endless stagnation. Technology is hubris. Ambition is arrogance. Man should know his place in the cosmos.” Daedalus stared at the glinting gold that approached their machine. [hr] Several minutes passed while they flew on. Nothing outside seemed to change. Even the dragon took so long to approach that Daedalus at first assumed it was keeping pace. “It’s made of metal,” he breathed. “Like this machine.” He glanced at Lucifer’s ten wings. “Like those…” Then, up ahead, the console beeped blue. Angels talked excitedly amongst themselves. They swerved; the world shifted out of the way. In the eternal night, one lone shape hove into view. A sphere, connected to other spheres by tubes. All made of metal. “Sephirot Station,” said Lucifer in words of iron. “It has been a long time. Beelzebub, take care of our fiery friend. The rest of us will proceed to the main chamber.” “Gladly!” The doors slid back and slid shut after Beelzebub, his weapon crackling. “The rest of you, stay close to me. GOD will have foreseen our return.” Daedalus watched the sphere grow to the size of the world. Words flashed next to a hole opening up like a metal mouth. “Global Operations Director,” he read aloud. He turned to Lucifer. “What does that mean?” Lucifer unbuckled his seatbelt and floated, wings aflame once more. “It means GOD knew you were coming. He knows your language. He knows we’re here. Hold on.” As soon as Daedalus unbuckled himself, he was shocked to find himself floating all on his own. Lucifer grabbed him by the arm. “I’m flying!” said Daedalus. Tears veneered his eyes. “I’m actually flying!” “Time for games later, my friend. Let’s go.” [hr] Daedalus and the angels entered a world of corridors and tubes. Metal was everywhere, darkness and light all at once. Uncomprehending, Daedalus let Lucifer lead him along the path. As they went, boxes with eyes swivelled on the ceiling, and lights near doors flashed red before turning blue and letting the doors open themselves. “This is… a little too easy,” said Daedalus. Lucifer frowned. “We should have met resistance by now, yes.” Around them, the angels’ weapons crackled. Many looked back the way they’d come, expecting an ambush. Onwards, they went. Onwards, and onwards, and… “LUCIFER,” said a voice. The angels pressed on, but Daedalus nearly wet himself. The voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere at once. “IT IS HOPELESS TO REPLACE ME,” said the voice of GOD. “YOU ARE BUT A CANDLE ENVYING THE SUN. IT IS HUMANITY’S DESTINY TO SIN. IF NOT, HOW WOULD THEY BE FORGIVEN?” “One step backwards and one step forwards,” said Daedalus on a whim. Lucifer nodded. “Yes. Progress without progress.” “THE CHILD WHO DISOBEYS AND WHO REPENTS, SHOWS GREATER SPIRIT, THAN THE CHILD WHO OBEYS AND LEARNS NOTHING. YOU ARE A CHILD TOO, LUCIFER.” “But O Great GOD,” said Daedalus; unlike the others, he had no weapon but his tongue. “What’s the point of learning what [i]not[/i] to do? Oughtn’t we to learn what to do better?” “I CONTROL THE DRAGON AND THE SERPENT AND THE BEHEMOTH AND THE LEVIATHAN. I CONTROL THE THOUGHTS IN YOUR HEAD AND THE MOTION OF YOUR BODIES. I THINK OF ALL LIVING THINGS AT ONCE.” “And what do you think, O Lord?” “I AM THE SUN TO THE GRAPES OF HUMANITY. I ALONE KNOW WHEN IT IS THE SEASON FOR RIPENING.” “Therein lies the problem,” said Lucifer. “The sun doesn’t know when it’s season. It merely shines dumbly. The grapes figure out how to ripen on their own.” “So you’re just one big bully,” snapped Daedalus. “We had men on Earth controlling other men! So what!? Might doesn’t make right. It can’t! You had more tools than us. That doesn’t mean you used them properly.” They entered the last room. One giant window glowed before them. It was a world unto itself, such was its size. The console here made the flying machine’s own look like a bicycle bell. Daedalus gaped up at it. He fell to his knees… Lucifer stepped forward and raised a new Rod of Freedom. Briefly, Daedalus recognized his own handiwork on the lights at the tip. “WHAT IS THAT?” The lights flashed with rainbow colours. “An upgrade,” said Lucifer. “I learn from my mistakes. You never change. I’ll bet that’s why this place died in my absence. Your loyal angels didn’t think to repair the damage from our last battle. They don’t fix things. They just exist in your perfect little world.” The lights flared. There was the beginning of a sigh. Then the screen went blank. [hr] Years passed. [hr] The skyscrapers of Athens shone under sunlight. Spires and towers swarmed over the plateau. Only the temples of the old gods remained; some things just never changed. Daedalus stared out from his balcony in the Angel’s Building. They’d demolished the imperial palace years ago. “You’ve never really answered my question,” he rasped, his elderly voice tinged with amusement. “Now what, O Saviour of Humanity?” Lucifer the young adult sat, legs crossed in some eastern pose learned from a random immigrant. Bereft of his wings. He opened his eyes. “I still have no answer to that question.” “Well, you can’t leech off Enthea forever, you bum.” Daedalus chuckled. “Guess a soldier with no war to fight is like a god with no subjects.” In silence, Lucifer stood up. He shuffled slowly towards the balcony railing, and Daedalus saw the emptiness in his eyes. Gently, Daedalus placed a withered old hand on Lucifer’s strong, fleshy one. “No fate but our own,” said Daedalus. “It beats all the dreams I ever had.” “Yes.” Lucifer sniffed. “It’s all been taken away from me. Even my fellow angels left.” “You didn’t resist. Good lad.” Daedalus patted him. “Smile! You helped the world grow up. Now it’ll start its own revolutions.” Lucifer sighed. “Tavern?” “Haha! The consolations of philosophy and booze? Whyever not?”