Artwork and Bloomship by

GL Francis
The Byzantine Apple by
Jarkko Pylvas
Edited by Glyn Shull
October 1st, 2011
Issue 9
The Cross and the Cosmos
October 1st, 2011
Introduction Glyn Shull
Greetings one and all!
It's my fourth favorite time of the year again: time for the fourth issue of TC2!
This issue is amazing, let me tell you. We have two awesome authors this issue with Jarkko
Pylvs and GL Francis of TC2 fame. Jarkko is new to TC2, and he brings a fantastic skillset and amazing
stories to the e-Zine. As always, we have worked our poor authors to the bone in order to provide you with
uplifting, faith affirming Speculative Fiction. We're only giving you two stories this issue because these two
are long enough by themselves! Although, if we keep getting stories at this rate, we'll have to up the number
anyway just to be able to fit them all in.
Now, we've been asked about the anthology. Over and over again. To the point, that I finally
went into the basement to check on the monkeys. It turns out, that 10,000 monkeys will not, in fact, produce a
TC2 anthology in a year. In fact, if you forget to feed then, they eat each other and produce nothing. Jokes
aside, Frank, Glynda, and I are quickly editing our way through the stories from that first year and are
working diligently to get this done as quickly as possible. We are obsessed with bringing you the highest
quality work possible, and this, unfortunately, means a slight wait. In essence, this boils down to: when it's
ready, it will print. And I cannot give you a better answer than that. Later this month, my school runs out for a
while and I'll have more time to work on this project. Hopefully, I can give the monkeys a few bananas and
they'll help too.
God Bless you all and happy reading!
Glyn Shull
Founder TC2
(Note: no monkeys were harmed during the making of this, or any other, issue. Nor, in fact, does the basement
at TC2 HQ have any monkeys at all inside)
The Cross and the Cosmos
October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
Bloomship
by
G.L. Francis
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000000000000000000000000000000000000
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"Anything new?" Oa'phrok stowed his hover platform next to the communications
console.
Kaullen shrugged then stood. "Silence mixed with six hours of methane chatter, none
of which makes sense. You'd think the JellyFish would have something else to talk about.
Food. Stars. Mating. The Anomaly. Something." He grinned down at Oa'phrok. "But you
won't have to worry about that much longer. Eh, short-timer?"
Oa'phrok clenched his teeth but kept his expression neutral.
"Get it? Short. Timer."
Oa'phrok considered the taller man's jeweled belt, right there at eye level. It would be
such a delight to punch this clown in the gut. Instead, he moved to his station and settled
into the seat. He thumbed the lift switch, adjusting the height, then studied the readout on
the small, auxiliary monitor he'd designed.
"I tell you what, Hop-Frog." Kaullen yawned, stretched. "I've only been back from
leave 72 hours and I'm ready for another."
"Who's Hop-Frog?"
Oa'phrok turned to see Dr. Casinov enter the comm-chamber. The white-haired chief
of the Triangle Anomaly research team appeared wide-eyed and semi-concussed, a confused
expression normal for him. Kaullen's frozen visage of consternation, perhaps even a little
fear, was more interesting. Kaullen hid his fondness of contraband archives well; but the
joker had shared this particular story, this Hop-Frog, with Oa'phrok.
Oa'phrok savored his colleague's discomfort briefly before coming to his rescue. "A
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
private joke, Doctor. An accidental mispronunciation of my name when I was first assigned
here. Nothing more." He caught Kaullen's relieved nod to him. You just remember you owe
me, big boy. He watched Kaullen retreat from the chamber then looked back at the monitor.
Bloomship 422: Oaphrok. Solitary?
Oa'phrok glanced at Casinov whose bright blue gaze was on Kaullen's monitor.
Oa'phrok casually reached up as though to scratch his ear. He unclipped a small disc with
an embedded septagonal crystal from his earring and slipped it into his own monitor's side
port. I'm always solitary but the Medusaens wouldn't understand. He keyed a silent response
on his secondary touchpad.
Oaphrok: Not solitary. Casinov present.
"I see." Casinov's curiosity about the nickname seemed forgotten. He brushed
distractedly at his plain white uniform. Unlike the support crew and staff of the research
outpost, the doctor didn't indulge in wearing any embellishments or jewelry. "I need to send
a new CH
4
order to the Medusaens. Methane ice if possible."
"How much?" Oa'phrok moved his hands to the primary touch-keys and started the
order.
"Just a double canister." He paused. "Yes, that'll be enough. I suppose you'll be going
on leave soon. Shame. You seem to get more sense out of the Medusaens. I've noticed you
rarely call them JellyFish. How much leave have you accrued?"
"25/60," Oa'phrok answered, giving hours and multiplier as it appeared on his
account. "But I only plan to use 25/35 this time."
"Indeed?"
Oa'phrok knew the doctor didn't care for personal topics but always made an effort at
conversation. "I'm saving credits for a shorter, more expensive leave later."
Casinov was obviously struggling to sound interested. "Ummm...seeing family this
time?"
"No, Doctor." Oa'phrok sighed and gave the usual reply. "I don't know my family. Big
people on Ion raised me. The people of my home world fled a Sssthan invasion a long time
ago." Or were killed. Or enslaved. The only certainty was that the planet Latolcia was no
longer home for the people his size. Most of it was now a wasteland only the lizard-men
could love. The cold-blooded, cold-hearted lizzies.
Casinov nodded. "Oa'phrok, have the Medusaens mentioned anything about the
bloomship they retrieved from the Anomaly yet?"
Oa'phrok raised his gaze to the large viewport on the wall beyond his console. The
Medusaen ships clustered like the jellyfish blooms in worlds with waters. He could see faint
flashes in the transparent sections of the bloomships' half-sphere hulls. After a moment, he
located the recovered, older Bloomship 135 tethered to another one. "Nothing yet, Doctor."
The doctor sighed in frustration. "Keep trying. I have to return to Port Bermuda soon
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
but let me know the moment they give you any information." He cleared his throat noisily.
"And perhaps we may discuss 135 when you pass through Port on your leave."
"Yes, Doctor." Oa'phrok heard the chamber's portal slide open and Casinov's footsteps
recede down the corridor. The portal closed. Oa'phrok waited a few more moments before
moving his hands to the second touchpad again.
Oaphrok: Casinov gone. Do you have something for me?
Bloomship 422: Bloomship 156 en route with CH
4
shipment. Need repair: refrigeration
unit on transfer line, damage during harvest operations. Storage canisters stable. No
delivery until repairs made.
Oaphrok: I will arrange it, Bloomship 422. Is there anything else?
Bloomship 422: Swarmship 1658 located source CH
4
ice. Planet agreeable for
colonization.
Oaphrok: (Was there a phrase for congratulations?) May you find it pleasing.
Bloomship 422: Oaphrok. Other called you Hop-Frog in transmission. Enlighten.
Significance?
Kaullen, you idiot! You'll get us both brought before the Emperor in pieces.
Oa'phrok hesitated. He couldn't transmit even the coded explanation of a treasonous story
about a dwarf who killed a monarch and advisors then escaped with his beloved. The
explanation he'd given Casinov might not work. Would the Medusaens comprehend nuances
of pronunciation? Did they have an auditory equivalent of speech?
Oaphrok: Other enjoys ... (teasing? joking? being a moron?) ... confusion. Casinov requests
you enlighten regarding Bloomship 135.
A burst of random transmissions sped across his smaller monitor. This always
happened when Bloomship 135 was mentioned. It had emerged from the Triangle Anomaly
an Ion standard year after several mining ships bearing humans had disappeared in the
massive, gaseous cloud. All analyses of the Anomaly's gases failed to reveal what constituted
the cloud; but a percentage of research ships that went into the phenomenon for samples
were also lost. When Bloomship 135 came out with no record of it going in, the Medusaens
arrived in force to study the Anomaly.
He leaned back in his seat and wondered how long it would be for the crystal he'd
tuned to pick up comm-patterns again. This could go on for most of his shift. Another look at
the viewport verified that the Medusaens were communicating ship-to-ship; but the flashes
were brighter and faster shouting light at each other.
All invoices were completed; requisitions were pending approval. There was nothing
for him to do until transmissions with the Medusaens resumed. He flipped a toggle switch
on his monitor from silent to audio alert. He didn't feel like staving off boredom with the
comm-chamber's exercise equipment. Neither was he hungry or thirsty enough to call up
anything from the ship's galley. He decided to run his personal program of logic puzzle and
code-breaking exercises.
His eyelids grew heavy. A glance at the time-readout showed five more hours to the
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
end of his shift. Policy allowed for naps so long as the monitor alert was activated. Yes, a nap
would be in order. He settled himself more comfortably in the seat.
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Although delicately shaped, her hand in his is warm and strength flows through her
grip to him. A breeze blows her dark hair or is it pale in the waning light? perhaps the
russet of Latolcian otariids? and partially obscures her face. Her hair still veils her as she
turns to him and gently touches his face with her other hand. He's ashamed he can't
remember what color her eyes are. He reaches to move her hair aside, to look into her eyes,
and tell her
Oa'phrok's eyes snapped open at the strident buzz of the monitor alert. He hastily
silenced the noise. A moment ago, he'd held the hand of the woman Trippetta. Blast you,
Kaullen, for telling me that Hop-Frog story.
He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands then looked at the monitors. The main
one still had his last logic problem showing but his auxiliary monitor...
Bloomship 422: Oaphrok. Solitary?
Oaphrok: Yes. Solitary.
Bloomship 422: Secure solitary?
He leaned closer, puzzled by the question. He'd designed and tuned the auxiliary
monitor and translation crystal but hadn't told anyone what they did. No one had access to
them; their security was uncompromised. Even Kaullen thought they were nothing more
than an adaptor set for running games. Oa'phrok saw no reason to correct the man's
conclusion.
Oaphrok: Yes. Secure solitary.
Bloomship 422: Request presence Traveler-Oaphrok to Bloomship 231. Solitary.
Oaphrok: (Go there solitary? Alone?) I am required to request permission. And I do not
know Bloomship 231.
A flurry of transmissions told him the Medusaens had returned to their own
discussion or argument, but it lasted no more than a few moments.
Bloomship 422: Request permission of Casinov. Require Traveler-Oaphrok solitary.
Oaphrok: Enlighten. Significance of your request?
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
Bloomship 422: Restoration. Bloomship 231 connected to Bloomship 135. Restoration
before cessation.
Oa'phrok stared at the monitor. The vessel tethering the mystery bloomship? And
restoration of what? Before what ceased? He licked his lips but his mouth felt suddenly too
dry.
Oaphrok: I will request permission and transmit reply of Casinov .
Bloomship 422: Radiance for you, Oaphrok.
The auxiliary monitor stilled. Oa'phrok transferred the readout to the main monitor
starting with the request for his presence aboard one of the bloomships. He left out the
Medusaen's first questions as to whether he was alone. Better to keep his secret line to them
secret. He took a deep breath, switched his private monitor to a logic game, then paged Dr.
Casinov.
When Casinov entered the com-chamber, Oa'phrok yielded his seat. He watched the
doctor study the translated transmission displayed on the primary monitor.
"Alone," Casinov mused. "And what's this Traveler business?"
"They use that term for the repair crews, too," Oa'phrok supplied. "I think it's a
designation for anyone going to their ships."
"I see." Casinov's expression looked baffled, but his voice was decisive. "You can go in
one of the repair scaphes. Have you ever piloted a craft?"
Oa'phrok shrugged. "Mostly the smaller shuttles between Port Bermuda and Ion. I've
been trained but not licensed for anything bigger."
Casinov stood and looked at the viewport. "If you have difficulty, the scaphes can be
piloted remotely." He folded his arms over his chest. "What are they doing? Why do they
want you there?" His voice dropped into a murmuring tone. "Are they wanting to restore 135
to full function? No, they'd need a repair crew for that. Why just a messenger? Why not ..."
Oa'phrok didn't intrude on the doctor's conversation with himself.
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"...and this is your winch controls. Left plays out your cable, right brings it in; but I
doubt you'll need it." The chief of the ship's repair crew directed Oa'phrok's attention to a set
of digital gages. "Here's what you'll have to watch if the JellyFish pull the scaphe into their
ship. Their atmosphere is methane you'll asphyxiate in no time if you get a leak. This
one," he tapped a gage, "tells you the oxygen level in the scaphe."
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
Oa'phrok nodded, relieved the scaphe was no more difficult than the shuttles he'd
piloted.
"If you're drawn into the bloomship, cut the engine and switch these," he indicated a
row of toggles, "to mechanical. They activate buoyancy tanks to keep you afloat in the
methane just as if you were in water. They also engage creeper jets for propulsion
compresses and cycles whatever's in any atmosphere. But it won't get hot enough to spark
off an explosion."
"That would be counterproductive," Oa'phrok observed.
"I suggest you relieve yourself before you go. The head's pretty cramped, although,"
the crew chief grinned down at him, "I guess it'll be comfortable enough for you. And I
modified the control seat of the scaphe so you can adjust for extra height."
"Yes, yes," Oa'phrok said testily. "Anything else?"
The crew chief's grin faded. "If you have to handle anything, be very careful with the
gloves. The material's tough and CH
4
won't permeate the fabric, but the gloves can pierced
by something sharp. You'll die."
Oa'phrok thought of the recurring dream a delicate hand in his, the woman
touching his face. And death is so much worse than endless solitary, right? "I'll be careful."
As soon as the crew chief left, Oa'phrok sealed the entrance and went to the tool-bag
he'd brought. He withdrew his auxiliary monitor, plugged it into the scaphe's com-unit, then
inserted the tuned crystal in its port. It was really quite convenient that the crystal only
appeared to be a jeweled decoration on his earring.
The scaphe handled smoothly. As Oa'phrok cleared the research outpost's dock, he
looked at the unobstructed panorama of clustered bloomships and the Triangle Anomaly
beyond them against the void of space littered with stars. The Anomaly blazed prismatically
with every know color and possibly with some unknown ones. The colors reflected off the
bloomships' domes and flashed on the smaller swarmships' fins. He wondered if the scaphe
was shining as multihued as the Anomaly. What is it? What's holding it together? He glanced
at the stars. For that matter, what holds any of this together?
He located his destination: the mysterious 135 secured by several of the trailing
tendril-like cables every bloomship possessed. He hailed the anchoring bloomship for
instructions.
Oaphrok: Traveler-Oaphrok to Bloomship 231. Approaching. Where should I steer?
Bloomship 231: This bloomship. Will place in Bloomship 135.
Oa'phrok steered the scaphe toward a tendril-cable extending in his direction. The
cable looped around the scaphe, briefly obscuring his viewing port as it snared his vessel. He
felt the steering tugged from his grip, released the controls, and checked the oxygen gage.
The bloomship's cable drew and then pushed the scaphe to the underside of 135.
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
Oa'phrok watched a port iris open in one of the columns below its half-sphere body. As the
scaphe entered the column's dark barrel, Oa'phrok remembered to cut the engine and switch
to the creeper jets.
Although CH
4
was colorless, the interior of 135's main compartment was suffused
with blue-green light, dim and aqueous. In the soft gloom, three Medusaens floated near a
metallic cylinder the size of the scaphe. The smallest Medusaen was nearly as large as the
cylinder. Its gelatinous bell emitted less bioluminescence and appeared less translucent
than the other two. It also had eight arms rather than twelve and smaller tentacle clusters.
Was this one younger, older, or a different gender?
One of the larger Medusaens twined an arm with the small one. The lappets along the
rims of their bells rippled while the rhopalia between pulsed an arrhythmic blue-green glow.
The smaller Medusaen's disentangled its arm and its bell fluttered, propelling it toward a
panel flush with the bloomship's interior. The two larger Medusaens remained near the
cylinder, lighting it with their brighter luminescence.
Oaphrok: How may I serve?
Bloomship 231: Restore polypsus to your station. Parts of polypsus ceased.
Oaphrok: Ceased?
Bloomship 231: No longer viable. Incapable of restoration.
Oa'phrok stared at the cylinder, belatedly recognizing the shape of a cryo-pod. An old
model very old. How many people, how many pod-urns did this size hold? His eyes flicked
to the oxygen gage then returned to the container. A cold bead of sweat slid down his spine.
Oaphrok: Where did ... (what did they call it?) ... polypsus come from?
Bloomship 231: Contained in Bloomship 135.
Oa'phrok frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Even with the aid of his
specially tuned communication, the Medusaens could be maddeningly obtuse. Yes, the pod
was contained in this bloomship; but had the Medusaens stored it in the derelict ship or...
Oaphrok: Did Bloomship 135 bring polypsus out of Triangle Anomaly?
Bloomship 231: Contained. Restore to your station.
The reply came so fast, it seemed angry.
Oaphrok: I will attach cables to tow polypsus.
Bloomship 231: Radiance.
Radiance. Well wishes? Happiness? Or just their version of approval, affirmative? He
wasn't sure, but he wasted no more time in trying to decipher it. He maneuvered the scaphe
closer to the pod. The large Medusaens' luminescence rippled and they drifted a short
distance away from the cylinder, giving Oa'phrok more room.
Mindful of the crew chief's warning about the gloves, he snapped the quick-connect
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October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
fasteners into the pod's receptacles. Old though the pod was, the receptacles had no
corrosion and the fasteners cammed easily into place.
He returned to the scaphe's controls and winched the slack from the cables. The
Medusaens hovered as though observing his work; but since they had only speckles of optical
cells on their umbrella-skins, Oa'phrok couldn't discern what they might be watching. He
checked the oxygen still normal.
Oaphrok: I return to my station now.
Bloomship 231: Radiance for you, Traveler-Oaphrok.
The journey back to the research station was uneventful, giving him time to reflect on
the people in the pod. Considering the age of the cryo-container, the people inside would've
been in stasis a very long time who knew how long? What might they think of the
civilization into which they would soon awaken? Oa'phrok couldn't help but feel a deep pity
for them. Most of what they'd once known was probably gone.
Oa'phrok docked the scaphe and pod. The excitement of the waiting researchers was
nearly feverish. As soon as he could answer debriefing questions, he slipped away from the
furor. He needed some rest before his next shift in the comm-chamber.
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Two shifts left to work. Oa'phrok strolled to the comm-chamber, smiling to himself at
the supply warden's well wishes for his leave. He'd been relieved to turn in his hover
platform for maintenance in his absence; its lift mechanisms had needed a tune-up for quite
a while.
"Hey, Hop-Frog!"
Oa'phrok grimaced but kept walking as though he hadn't heard anything. Of all the
people on the station, he least wanted to see Kaullen right now.
"Oa'phrok. I need to talk to you."
Oa'phrok sighed, then stopped and turned. The big man's voice sounded ... strange;
and his expression was tense. Oa'phrok waited for him to catch up. "What?"
Kaullen motioned to him. "In the comm-chamber."
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Bloomship G.L. Francis
"That's where I'm going."
The big man nodded. "Good. Hurry."
Inside the chamber, Oa'phrok watched Kaullen check the door seal then cross the
floor to the consoles. He removed what looked like an ultra-thin circuit board from one of the
main monitor's ports, slipped in a second one, then moved his fingers over the touchpad.
What was the joker doing now?
But when Kaullen turned to him, Oa'phrok saw no hint of the man's usual relaxed
manner. His face looked taut with worry. "What's wrong, Kaullen?"
"You know they woke the people you brought back from 135? It was part of an
exploration team." Kaullen was keeping his voice low as though afraid of being overheard.
Oa'phrok nodded. It occurred to him maybe he didn't know his coworker very well.
"You know the cryo-mechs failed on four of the pod-urns?"
"I didn't know how many." He'd suspected that was what the Medusaens had meant
by their cryptic No longer viable. Incapable of restoration. He was nonetheless sorry to hear
it confirmed.
"And nobody's told you one they wakened was Latolcian?"
Oa'phrok swayed, suddenly certain the air was too thick to breath. He felt Kaullen's
massive hand on his shoulder, steadying him. The big man guided him to his seat at the
console. Oa'phrok fumbled with the lift control, but Kaullen pushed his hand aside and
raised the seat for him.
"You're sure?" Oa'phrok whispered.
"Please. I'm not blind or stupid. She's maybe half a head shorter than you."
She. The pronoun nearly glowed in his mind. Had he heard Kaullen right? "She?"
"But you've got to get her away from these people."
"Stow it!" Oa'phrok hissed suddenly alarmed. "Kaullen, you'll get us arrested."
Kaullen shook his head. "The only thing security'll see is you working your puzzles,
going to the head, then coming back for a nap."
Oa'phrok glanced at the monitor port. "You recorded me." So, I'm not the only one with
tech-secrets of my own, he thought with unusual admiration for his coworker's duplicity.
"Just key KLN if you want it to run for any length of time. It splices without a seam."
The big man shrugged. "Sometimes, I need it to"
"Tell me about her," Oa'phrok interrupted.
His forehead furrowed, Kaullen searched Oa'phrok's face. "You have to rescue her. You
understand? Her pod-urn was starting to fail and she's not strong right now. They're going
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October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
to drive her insane or kill her with their questions and tests. You have to get Trippetta out,
Hop-Frog." Then Kaullen reached down and pressed four of the jewels on his belt. The
buckle's top layer dropped into his hand. He looked at its back, slid one finger along the side,
then held it toward Oa'phrok.
Oa'phrok took it and studied a tiny vid-screen on the back of the buckle. A woman
wearing an oversized recovery suit slumped in a seat too big for her while a technician drew
a blood sample. Her hair the darker russet shade of southern Latolcian otariids, he
noted hung in wavy tangles around her delicate and pallid face. He couldn't see her eyes.
"What's her name?"
"Don't know. The only thing I've seen is the number on her pod-urn: LAT837."
The technician stepped out of view with the sample then returned with a sip-packet.
LAT837 Trippetta, Oa'phrok thought, yes, I'll call her that 'til I know her name turned
her head away as if refusing the nutrition drink. The movement was slow, listless. The
technician set the sip-packet on the small table next to Trippetta. She seemed to take no
notice of it. Oa'phrok glanced at Kaullen. "Is this a recording?"
"No, it's live. I'm tapped into their security monitors."
Oa'phrok watched as a different technician, this one in security uniform, entered the
monitor's viewing field. The man's mouth moved; but without audio, Oa'phrok couldn't tell if
he was questioning or briefing. Trippetta seemed unresponsive to the man's chatter.
"How..." Oa'phrok cleared his throat and tried again. "How can I get her out?"
Kaullen eyed him for an uncomfortably long moment then said, "What would you give
up to free her?"
"Anything."
"Even if you can never return here?"
Oa'phrok nodded.
"Even if she might decide to go her own way once she's well?" Kaullen persisted.
A delicate hand in his, the woman touching his face ... But that was only a dream.
Oa'phrok stared at the vid-screen. Here was a Latolcian, one of his own race, a scattered
people, a conquered people. A Latolcian of a homeworld long devastated by lizzies. And now
she was being ravaged as surely as though she'd remained on Latolcia when it fell. "Even if."
Kaullen held out his hand for the jeweled buckle-top. As he reattached it, he said, "I'll
come back near the end of your shift. You might think about what you want to take with you.
Your leave will be longer than you planned." He winked and touched the keypad. Instantly,
his demeanor changed. "Have fun talking to the Jellyfish, short-timer." He swaggered to the
portal.
Oa'phrok sat very still for a long moment before reaching up to rub the side of his
head, to scratch his ear and slip the translation crystal from his earring. He leaned forward
and stealthily inserted it into his personal monitor as he adjusted the monitor's angle.
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Oaphrok: Oaphrok hailing Bloomship 231.
Bloomship 231: Oaphrok. How may we serve?
Oaphrok: No service required at this time. Update of information for you. I will leave
station soon.
Bloomship 231: Darkness. Return?
Oaphrok: (do I tell them I may not be back?) Unknown.
The monitor's readout showed the Medusaens return to their own communications,
garbled messages not even his translation crystal could interpret. Oa'phrok leaned back in
his seat. This might be the longest work shift of his life. He looked at the viewport and saw
the flashes of light in the distant bloomships' domes. Beyond them, the Anomaly's colors
shifted and swirled as though dancing in space to some mysterious symphony.
11111101011000110111110110111000001111111101111111000010
01000000001001011000010000010000000111001101001000000000
10101000000011010101010000010000000000110000011101000010
00000001000010000000000000000000000000000000000000000010
00100010101110001110011001001100010010010010011110100011
10011000011000100001110010101100001100110101111011100001
00110100010010100110100110110100001100010000100001100011
A double tap on the portal-plate alerted Oa'phrok. He keyed the recording to run then
swiveled his seat to face Kaullen as the big man stepped into the comm-chamber. "What did
you find out?"
"I talked to Casinov. He agreed to let you spend some time with LAT837 "
"Doesn't she have a name?" Oa'phrok felt indignation that the researchers still
referred by numbers to the people wakened from the urn-pods.
"She won't tell them; and the personal data files on most of those urn-pods were too
corrupted to retrieve anything." Kaullen shrugged. "Too old, I guess, or maybe something in
the Anomaly messed them up. Anyway, Casinov agreed to let you escort her to Gadgre he
may act like an android on the glitch, but he's got a heart in there. Personally, I think he
may be a bit autis"
"Kaullen!" Oa'phrok nearly shouted at the big man.
"Sorry. He thinks some R&R time might strengthen her before she goes to Port
Bermuda's facilities for more study."
More study. Oa'phrok didn't like the sound of that. "Is there a way to get her
exempted?"
Kaullen shook his head. "Any clue about the Anomaly is worth more than any one
person's life to them." Then he grinned. "But they don't have to get the chance. I can arrange
for you and the little lady to cut free of them forever. If you want to."
The Cross and the Cosmos
October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
"Of course. But I'd like to meet her."
"I told Casinov you might. He said to escort you to the infirmary and introduce you to
her." He glanced at the door. "Who's on for the next shift?"
"Seiter. He's usually late." Oa'phrok glanced at the time readout. "Kaullen, do..." He
hesitated then went on. "Do I look presentable?"
"You look fine, hero. Do you know your own language?" Kaullen moved closer to the
console.
Oa'phrok watched closely but didn't see him touch the keypad or withdraw anything
from the monitor's port. "Some. I picked up enough from Latolcian merchants on Gadgre
and different space ports to get by."
"If you use Latolcian to talk to her, you can speak freely. It's not in our translation
archives." He started to reach for the keypad, seemed to reconsider, then withdrew his hand.
"I'll wait in the corridor until Seiter gets here. Cancel the recording as soon as I'm out of
here." He paused at the portal. "And I've figured out how to cover your escape." He flashed a
grin. "I think you'll like it."
11011111011000111111101110111111101111000011111011010
01100001000000101000001000101011100001000011111001001
01010101000010001010000010100100000100000000010000010
00000000000010000000000000000000000000000000000000010
00111001100111100010111001111110010110100010011101110
10000111001010000001101110011010100010100000010011001
10011010011010000101000100000010001010100000000010011
A room adjacent to the med-bay had been divided into semi-private cubicles for the
people from the cryo-pod. Oa'phrok kept his eyes averted from where he knew the security
cameras were located. He walked slowly along the aisle of cubicles and checked the metal ID
plates hung below each med-screen until he found LAT837. He ran a hand over his hair,
wishing he'd kept his appointment with the station barber. He stepped into the cubicle, then
froze when the woman, semi-reclined in a converted pod-urn, turned her head toward him.
Her eyes widened.
Dark gray eyes, Oa'phrok thought giddily, she was from the island chains north of
Latolcia's equator. She was prettier in person than on the vid-screen. After a long moment,
he realized he was staring at her. He touched the center of his forehead, palm partially
covering his face in a salute he'd seen the Latolcian merchants do. "I greet you with
gladness." He knew his command of the old language wasn't good but he was heartened to
see the woman smile.
"And with gladness I greet you." She spoke slowly as though she recognized his
difficulty; but her voice, hoarse from unuse, lilted the words charmingly. "Your name?"
Oa'phrok introduced himself. "And your name?"
"T'suisso Hanaia."
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October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
Haltingly, Oa'phrok said, "Hanaia much is strange to you, this I know. But I would
ask of you to allow me to take you where no more research or tests will be done with you. I
would ask of you to trust me." Her sudden frown worried him. Had he offended her? Would
she send him away?
"Why do you ask this of me?" Her dark gray eyes searched his face with a discomfiting
openness. "I'm told the Latolcia I knew is no more. I have no home, no family. The
exploration I was part of is no longer relevant. My skills and training are antiquated. I see
no future, no life."
Oa'phrok recalled hearing Latolcian candor had once been renowned throughout the
system. But that reputation had been before current emperor's birth, before the lizzie
invasion, and before his people had to learn guile and deception to survive in the big people's
worlds. "I ask because there are so few of our people and we are scattered. Because I do not
wish for your mind or your body to die. Because..." He hesitated, acutely aware of how
unaccustomed to complete honesty he was. "...because I have a selfish reason."
"And your selfish reason is...?"
Oa'phrok reminded himself that, though she looked younger than he did, Hanaia was
over 200 Ionian standard years old. Never mind most of it had been suspended time for her.
He forced himself to meet her gaze with matching frankness. "Because I am lonely and I
have hope you might learn to love me in time." Because Hop-Frog loved Trippetta and risked
everything to escape with her.
She regarded him solemnly, then the corners of her mouth twitched. "Perhaps in
time." She sighed and closed her eyes. "I do not wish to live as a lab exhibit." When she
looked at him again, her faint smile was gone; but Oa'phrok thought he detected hope in her
weary voice. "For now, I will trust you. Where is this place we would go?"
He shook his head. "I don't know yet. I, too, must trust" was Kaullen an ally? a
friend? "someone. He's already done much to help." Oa'phrok considered what the big man
related about his conversation with Casinov. "But the head researcher agreed to allow me to
take you to Gadgre for some R&R. I think ... my friend's plan involves that somehow." He
paused. Yes, it was surprisingly easy to call Kaullen a friend. "I should go now. You require
rest. And I must find out what I need to do."
Hanaia touched her forehead in the salute, then drew her hand down to briefly touch
her lips. "I await your return, Oa'phrok."
He left the cubicle and med-bay. As he ambled along the station's corridors, he
reflected on what he'd said to Hanaia. I, too, must trust someone. He'd never before thought
of trust in the research station as applying to anything other than data and technology. Yet
he was trusting a man he'd always thought of as an exasperating joker, a cocky boastrel.
Trusting him with his life as well as Hanaia's. His perspective had changed in less than 24
hours. He'd glimpsed something different, something deeper in Kau
"Oa'phrok."
He turned to see Casinov holding a palm-screen. Oa'phrok resisted the urge to come
to military attention as the doctor approached. "Doctor?"
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October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
Casinov's bright blue gaze flicked toward him then returned to the screen. "Has
Kaullen told you about the change in your leave yet?"
Oa'phrok stiffened, wondering if something had already gone awry. "He mentioned
something was different," he replied guardedly.
Casinov didn't look away from the screen. "There's another amendment. You'll be
transporting the deceased to Port Bermuda, then you can continue on your leave. Your
colleague suggested allowing LAT837 to accompany you during it. I concur. This will give
her time to regain strength. Her vitals are weaker than they should be for further studies.
Can you pilot a Class 5 transfer-ship?"
The Class 5's weren't much bigger than the repair-scaphe he'd piloted to the
bloomship. Their main difference was cargo capacity. "Yes, Doctor. But remember, I'm not
actually licensed"
Casinov waved the hand not holding the palm-screen. "The repair crew chief can
validate a license for you. Or issue a waiver. Regardless, we can't spare more than one other
transfer-pilot; and she'll be transporting live subjects." He glanced down at Oa'phrok.
"Except for LAT837. She'll go with you if you have no objections."
"No objections." Oa'phrok wasn't sure whether he felt relief that Hanaia would
accompany him indeed or a queasy uneasiness that he would be piloting a hearse. "Thank
you, Doctor."
"Be in the exit bay at 31:45:00."
"Yes, Doctor." Oa'phrok watched Casinov, now muttering to himself, continue down
the corridor and vanish around the next bend. 31:45:00, the doctor had said. Sooner than
expected he wouldn't be covering another shift in the comm-chamber.
Oa'phrok stared down at his soft-soled boots for a moment. He needed to pack a
duffle-canister, including extra clothing for Hanaia. And get his health release from the
station med-tech. Reacquaint himself with the controls of a Class 5 ship. Most of all, he
needed to find Kaullen and let him know the scheduled departure had been advanced. He
suddenly and fervently wished he hadn't turned in his hover platform.
10100011010101101010111010101101000000010100011010101101
10001000010000100010100010000100000000010001000010000100
10100010010100001010110010100001000000010100010010100001
10101000010100001010100010100001000000010101000010100001
01011111111110111111111111110111000000001011111111110111
00000001010001100000001010001100000000000000001010001100
00100000010101001000100010101001000000000100000010101001
The transfer-ship carrying the living people from the cryo-pod was the more modern
of the two. Oa'phrok saw the pilot, a tall woman with close-cropped black hair, glance at him
dismissively before snapping to attention when the station's pilot commander approached
and handed her a set of document discs.
Waiting his turn, he gave the exterior of the older transfer-ship the hearse he
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October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
would pilot a final examination. It seemed in order. He hadn't located Kaullen but hoped the
big man had left some message on-board, perhaps on a tiny, ultra-thin board like the one for
splicing recordings of the comm-chamber. Delivery of the deceased surely hadn't figured into
any scheme Kaullen devised.
"Have you done a delivery before?"
Oa'phrok turned and looked up at the pilot commander. "Not for a long time, sir."
The commander handed him a set of document discs. "The top one goes to Jonathin
Whyte, head of Port Bermuda's security. The second and third go to the coroner and
Casinov's adjutant respectively. The rest go to the mail division. Got that?"
Oa'phrok took the discs and placed them in the courier pouch slung over his shoulder.
"Yes, sir. I'll " He saw Kaullen swagger into the bay. Were it not for the big man's roguish
grin, he might have looked haggard. " I'll deliver them as instructed, sir." The commander
gave a curt nod and returned to the other pilot.
"Hey, short-timer. Actually got a message from the JellyFish for you." As Kaullen
drew near, he went to one knee before Oa'phrok. "I've rigged the CH
4
tanks to explode," he
said sotto voce. "The escape-scaphe is an old model; I disabled its track-trace links. Steer for
an asteroid near the Port, jettison in the scaphe, and detonate the ship. Head for Jerem "
"The outlaws?" Oa'phrok whispered.
"They'll give you sanctuary. I programmed coordinates."
Oa'phrok reached up as though to scratch his ear and removed the translation crystal
from his earring. With it clamped between his fingers, he held out his hand. No
acknowledgement flickered on Kaullen's face as the big man clasped his hand and felt the
crystal passed to him in the handshake. "Play the code-breaker game you'll figure it out.
Tell them thanks and I wish them radiance. And," Oa'phrok added, "don't call them
JellyFish."
Kaullen's eyebrow lifted briefly then the corners of his eyes crinkled. "As for the little
lady," he said in his normal voice, a boisterous voice others in the bay could hear plainly. He
leaned closer and whispered, "Look angry, Hop-Frog, and hit me. I've got a reputation to
protect."
Oa'phrok hoped his outraged expression appeared convincing. He balled up a fist and
punched the big man in the nose. Laughter erupted in the bay as Kaullen lost his balance
and fell sideways onto his hip. Trying to maintain the impression of indignation, Oa'phrok
pivoted and marched to the transfer-ship's loading ramp.
On the ship's bridge, Hanaia stood next to the pilot's chair. She glanced curiously at
Oa'phrok as he came to stand next to her. "Wasn't that your friend?"
Oa'phrok looked out the viewport. He could see Kaullen was on his feet and wiping a
trickle of blood from his nose and upper lip. The big man caught his gaze, winked, and
grinned up at the ship. "Yes," Oa'phrok said softly. "My friend."
He felt Hanaia take hold of his hand. Strength and courage seemed to flow through
her grip to him. Oa'phrok looked at the hand in his, Hanaia's hand so delicately shaped,
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October 1st, 2011
Bloomship G.L. Francis
warm and utterly real.
111111101101111111111011010000110111110111111010001111110111010
111001000001000010001000010100011000010001011000001010110101000
111110000000100000110010010110010101010001010010101100000001010
000000000000000000000000010100000000000000000010000000000000010
101000110010000111111111101111001110011010111101010111011101111
100000100101011100000001010010100001110000110010100000000010001
000110001101111101010000010100100110100110000010101001000110011
G.L. Francis is a Christian writer and artist married 25 plus years to her best friend, G.J. She has
worked in machining, electronics, and animal healthcare. Regardless of jobs, she believes serving
God and exalting Him happens in the trenches of daily life. A long-time SFF fan, she thinks the
genre provides an excellent vehicle for exploring Gods truth and the application of His truth in
worlds where the demarcation between good and evil often has greater clarity than in our world. "I
like adventure. In story or in daily life, adventures with God are the best -- theyre epic. No matter
how great the obstacles, God is greater. His victory and glory shine."
The Cross and the Cosmos
October 1st, 2011
The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
THE BYZANTINE APPLE
Jarkko Pylvs
Once upon a time there was an old apple tree that grew on the border of the Byzantine
Kingdom near an old virgin forest. (In reality the apple tree didnt grow much any more because it was very
old.) The year our story begins there was a rich harvest and many of the apples showed their red and delicious
cheeks to the eye of the observer. But one apple of this particular tree was more beautiful than all the others,
with smooth and shiny red cheeks, sweet and delicious to eat. The apple knew this about itself, but didnt
whisper anything about it to anyone, because it was Byzantine.
It was autumn. The apples of the old tree reached the peak of their maturity
with red cheeks and after that started to fall one by one from the branches onto the nearby
ground. One apple fell on the rocks, another into a watery puddle, a third the most
beautiful one - onto the wet grass. The grass received the most beautiful apple tenderly,
embraced it affectionately, and the most beautiful apple kept its beautiful colour and shape.
Meanwhile two snakes that had emerged from the shadowy depths of the virgin forest
wriggled on the wet grass.
The snakes noticed the falling of the most beautiful apple and each immediately thought, I
wish to bite that apple. One snake said to the other, Move from my path, because I wish to wriggle there
first. The other snake replied, No, I wish to wriggle there first. So move away from my path! The snakes
argued and hissed. The most beautiful apple overheard, but didnt whisper anything about it, because it was
Byzantine.
While the snakes argued neither noticed that the prince of magic himself, the mystical fairy
king Oberon, had at that very moment arrived in an invisible disguise. Oberon snapped his noble fingers and
suddenly supreme magic was done! In the blink of an eye the most beautiful apple was transformed into the
most beautiful deer of the forest, which strode quickly towards the noble trees of the virgin forest. Oberon
snapped his noble fingers again and suddenly supreme magic was done a second time! The snakes were
transformed to hunters who hunted the most beautiful deer with bows and arrows.
In the blink of an eye the deer was at the border of the noble trees of the virgin forest, where it
stopped to drink fresh water from a bright stream. The hunters noticed and knew this was their moment.
They aimed at the deer with their bows and arrows. One hunter said to the other: Move away form my aiming-
direction, dear brother! Im about to shoot that deer with my bow and arrow! The other hunter replied, No!
Its you who should move away from my shooting-direction! Im the one whos about to shoot that deer!
After the hunters argued a while, they launched a pair of arrows towards the most beautiful
deer of the virgin forest. The arrows flew fast through the air, one coming from the left side and the other from
the right . The first arrow hit the side of the most beautiful deer of the forest. The second arrow sailed over the
deer without hitting it. I hit the target, the deer is mine! shouted the first hunter triumphantly. No! Im the
one who hit the target, therefore the deer is mine!, shouted the second. The hunters couldnt stand one other
any more and so they grabbed hold of each other and began to wrestle.
While they wrestled the fairy king Oberon snapped his noble fingers again and look - supreme
magic was done a third time! The most beautiful deer transformed into a most beautiful maiden. Even though
the maiden was bleeding from the wound of the arrow, she turned back with slight smile - as a true princess
would smile. When the hunters saw this they both thought: The most beautiful eyes in the world! More
beautiful than any jewels! I wish to have this maiden as my wedded wife! But in the blink of an eye the
maiden disappeared into the shadows of the noble trees of the virgin forest.
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October 1st, 2011
The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
The hunters decided to pursue the maiden, chasing her in the shadows of the noble trees of the
virgin forest. Before they set out after her each took a young branch of the old apple tree, because they had
been taught that it would bring good luck in the chase. For the first ten miles the hunters pushed each other
towards either side of the forest path as they chased side by side after her, but somehow they managed to
continue their trip. The hunters managed to trace the maidens path by keeping their eyes on the drops of
blood that had fallen on the ground from the wound. Finally the hunters came to a crossroads where there
were no drops of blood on the ground. At the crossroads the path separated into two.
You may go to the left from here, my brother, and I shall go to the right, said one hunter to
the other. The second noticed the broken stems of ferns further along the rightward path. Lets do so, my
brother,. he said to the first hunter, who himself saw the broken stems of ferns on the path to the left. And so
the hunters parted at the crossroads and went on separate paths. Both hunters kept in mind the eyes of the
maiden, which each considered to be the most beautiful eyes in the world.
The Knight
The hunter who chose to go to the right from the crossroads, ended up after a ten kilometres
walk at a sandy cartroad outside the virgin forest. There were many travellers on carts and horses on the road.
One of them said to the hunter: Would you like a ride to the city? The hunter, who now found himself to be
one of the travellers on the cartroad, answered : Yeah, sure. So the hunter climbed up onto the cart and
accompanied the rider. Soon they started a conversation.
-So tell me, O rider, what kind of city is this to which we are heading?, asked the hunter.
-There is a large population in this city and the people speak various languages, answered the
rider.
-Is it a rich city or a poor one?, asked the hunter.
-It is both: There are many rich people, but even more poor.
-What else can you tell me about this city?, asked the hunter.
-It is the capital city of the Kingdom.
-And which kingdom is that?
-The Kingdom of Byzantium.
-What is the name of this city?
-Constantinople.
-And who is the king?
-There is no king in this kingdom, answered the rider.
-How is that?, asked the hunter.
The rider told the hunter about the present situation. About two weeks ago the old king of the
Byzantine Kingdom had gone to fight the fierce, notorious, fire-spewing, and terrible dragon. The dragon lived
in an old mill about thirty kilometres west of Constantinople. The people of the Byzantine Kingdom were very
fearful of this neighbourhood. No human being dared to live there because of the dragon. Thus it had been in
the Byzantine Kingdom for the past thousand years. The rider told the hunter that the dragon had taken the
king prisoner and by now had maybe also eaten the king.
-Has this dragon previously taken human beings hostage and eaten them?, asked the hunter.
-There are no known cases that I can remember, but this neighbourhood has been avoided by men
and women for a very long time because of fear of the dragon, answered the rider.
-Where exactly does this terrible dragon live?
-About thirty kilometres west of the capital city of Constantinople, answered the rider.
After this remark both men fell silent.
The cart finally arrived in Constantinople, the capital city of the Byzantine Kingdom, and the
hunter dismounted and thanked the rider for the ride. There were lots of people on the streets mourning and
grieving the passing away of the king and the miserable state of the Byzantine Kingdom. The hunter headed
straight to the royal palace of the king and volunteered to finish off the much-feared and notorious dragon.
The highest general of the army of the Byzantine Kingdom accepted the hunter as fit for active military
service. And so the hunter was provided with an iron suit of armour, an iron shield, an iron sword and a
warning:
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October 1st, 2011
The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
-This is a terrible dragon, which didnt hesitate to attack and eat the king of our kingdom, the
highest general told the hunter.
-I will remember your warning, General, said the knight.
The hunter who was now transformed into a knight with iron armour, shield and sword
began walking west from Constantinople, the capital city of the Byzantine Kingdom. After about ten
kilometres on the deserted road, the knight came to a crossroads where he met an old, poor beggar man who
wore a wornout rag. -Greetings to you!, said the knight.
-Greetings to you also, answered the old beggar man, adding, Do you have any charity alms for
me, O Knight?
The Knight knew that it was unchivalrous not to give alms to the poor so he looked to see if he
had anything to give to the old beggar man. He realized that he didnt have anything besides the young branch
of the old apple tree, the iron armour, iron shield, and iron sword. The knight pondered that he could not give
the branch of the apple tree, so he decided to give away the iron armour. So he said to the old beggar man:
-Take my iron armour to the marketplace in the city and sell it there. This way you will have good
money - use it wisely.
The old beggar man thanked the knight and left for the city.
After walking a second ten kilometres on the deserted road the knight arrived at a second
crossroads. Here stood an old beggar woman dressed in an old, worn out rag. The knight greeted her politely
and she greeted him in return. After this the old beggar woman asked for charity alms. Again, the knight
knew that it was unchivalrous not to give alms to the poor and so he looked again to see if he had something to
give. The knight pondered and considered that he could not give the branch of the apple tree. So he decided to
give to the old beggar woman his iron shield. And so he said :
-Take my iron shield to the marketplace of the city and sell it there. This way you will have good
money - use it wisely.
The old beggar woman thanked the knight and then left for city.
After walking a third ten kilometres on the deserted road the knight arrived at a third
crossroads, which was very close to the mill of the dragon. Here he met a young beggar boy who wore a worn
out rag and greeted him. The young beggar boy greeted him in turn and then asked for alms. The knight
pondered once again, considered that had could not give the branch of the apple tree and so decided to give his
iron sword as alms. The knight said to the boy:
-Take my iron sword to the marketplace of the city and sell it there. This way you will have good
money - use it wisely.
The young beggar boy thanked the knight for the iron sword and gave the knight a package of
red-hot lozenges, saying, These will help you in your task.
The knight continued on his journey. He did not turn to look back, but if he had done so, he
would have seen that the beggar boy was no longer in the crossroads, but there was the mystical Oberon, the
king of magic himself, instead. As he walked closer and closer to the mill of the dragon the knight didnt fall
into despair because of the difficult situation into which he had put himself, but pondered the words of the
young beggar boy instead. How could he now conquer the fierce dragon, when he had no iron armour and no
iron shield and no iron sword?
Finally the knight arrived outside the dragons mill. Since smoke rose from the open window
the knight concluded that the fire-spewing dragon was inside. After a moment dedicated to thinking, the
knight collected his courage and raised his voice to shout,
-O Dragon! Can you hear me? Within the next blink of an eye the fierce, fire-spewing and
notorious dragon stood in the doorway of the mill with its fierce appearance, watching the knight with huge eyes
that shone like firebrands, breathing with a heavy rattle, and emitting smoke and flames from its nostrils.
-Stop your burning with fire, O honourable dragon, said the knight to the dragon.
-I have not came here to fight with you, but wish to be your trusted friend instead. So, here, take
a package of red-hot lozenges as a token of my friendship, continued the knight, offering the package of lozenges
The Cross and the Cosmos
October 1st, 2011
The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
to the dragon.
Next came a moment of tense silence. The dragon stared at the knight with its huge eyes
which were like millstones. Then it said to the knight:
-Thank you, O honourable knight. I welcome your friendship with great delight, because I
havent had a friend in centuries after my parents deserted me about thousand years ago. Everybody is afraid of
me in this neighbourhood and avoids me, which causes me great sorrow. I am a very lonely person.
The dragon took the package of red-hot lozenges in its paws and gulped all of the contents into
its huge mouth which was burning with flames and smoke. After swallowing the lozenges the dragon burped
loudly.
After this the knight continued :
-I want to be your friend, but nevertheless must ask you: Why have you taken the king himself of
the Byzantine Kingdom as your hostage, and do you happen also to have eaten him?
-No, not really, said the dragon., I have not eaten him and I havent taken him hostage. In
reality I am a peace-loving dragon and eating human beings or taking them as hostages just doesnt fit with my
life values. But nevertheless I know the fate of the old king of Byzantine Kingdom.
-So tell me about it, my friend, said the knight to the dragon.
So the dragon told the knight that the old king had came to the dragons mill one late evening
in autumn and had suggested a plot: He wished to frame himself as dead, having died in heroic battle against
the dragon. The old king told the dragon the reason why he wished himself framed as dead:: The king had
lately grown tired of secular nature of his post as a king and tired of the myriad of secular worries that came
with this post. He had started to yearn for the peaceful life in prayer of a Christian monk. The king said that
if the dragon agreed to take part in this plot, he promised to pray for the dragon in the monastery. So, the
dragon agreed.
-The old king only wanted to make peace with the God Almighty and die wearing the cowl of a
monk, thats about all there is to it, said the dragon, finishing his story.
-All right. I believe you, O dragon, said the knight, So, tell me: would you now like to take part in
another kind of plot, if the reward would be gaining lots of new friends?
-Tell me about it, O Knight!, said the dragon, much delighted.
And so it happened that the knight returned to the city and told everyone there
that he had domesticated the fierce, fire-spewing dragon. The inhabitants of the city were
much astonished by this news and decided unanimously to choose the knight as the new
king to replace the old king,, who was alleged dead. The dragon started to work as a miller
in his mill and because of this this new lifestyle gained a lot of new friends, because many
people in the Byzantine Kingdom started to visit the dragons mill carrying grain so that it
would be ground as flour there. They took the flour back to the city, sold it in the open
market place, and finally baked it as bread in the homes.
The knight, who was now the king of the Byzantine Kingdom, was very wise in all of his actions
as a ruler. There was still a gap between the rich and the poor in the kingdom, but the new king remembered
how he had become the ruler. The king lived in the royal palace in a modest way, eating modest bread,
tightening his belt, and wearing worn out old rags. He wished to donate all of his fortune to the poor of the
Byzantine Kingdom as alms to the hospitals and the schools and the orphanages and because of this the new
king was very much loved in his kingdom.
The new king planted the young branch of the old apple tree in the garden of his royal palace.
Over the years and decades the branch grew and became a large apple tree, which gave good harvest. This
particular apple tree had a peculiar feature. Every year on the very same date in autumn the trunk of the
apple tree began to bleed drops of human blood. Some people in the Byzantine Kingdom sensed that perhaps
these drops of blood reminded the king of some sweet memory in the past, but no one knew the content of this
specific memory.
The Cross and the Cosmos
October 1st, 2011
The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
The Troubadour
The hunter who chose to go right from the crossroads ended up deeper and deeper in the depths
of the virgin forest. He wandered in the forest for days, weeks, months, and finally years. During these years
he obtained his food from the virgin forest and slept at night under the trees. He made a flute from the young
branch of the old apple tree and played it as he wandered. This flute had a peculiar feature: as the evening
cooled down the flute began to play on its own a certain melancholic, languishing melody full of desire. Every
time the hunter heard this melody, it brought back to him the sweet memory of the maiden wounded by the
arrow.
As the years passed the hunter realized that fairies moved about and lived in the depths of the
virgin forest, which was now his home also. Soon he started to converse with them. Finally he became friends
with the fairies and learned the bird language they spoke and got to know their habits. The fairies taught
the hunter various songs, dances and games. The hunter shared his booty with the fairies and played the flute
for them. In those years the hunter and the fairies often spent time together with great delight. Soon the
hunter also started to write poems in the virgin forest, writing his poems in both the language of humans and
the language of fairies.
Many of the poems of the hunter dealt with spiritual topics. Once he wrote, for example, a poem
like this.
Prayer
There is a rose
pale as snow
secretly concealed
in the most secret
room of my soul
this rose has been
baptized with blood
of the Redeemer
The name
of the rose
is Prayer
and it moves
mountains
Another time he wrote a poem called, Love is a tree mystical.
love is a tree mystical
l o v e i s a t r e e
m y s t i c a l
i stand in the shadow
by its side
its fruits grow fast
in my eyes
in night time
together with daytime
spring time, summer time
autumn time
and even in the winter time
in all the colours of the rainbow
and while watching it i grow myself too
to each person this tree has something to offer
to each one with the way which pleases each one
to whom the suffering
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The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
This one shall have the suffering
to whom the passion
That one shall have the passion
to whom the tears
This one shall have the tears
to whom the kisses
That one shall have the kisses
to whom the miracles
This one shall have the miracles
to whom the nails
t h a t o n e s h a l l h a v e t h e n a i l s
Sometimes his poems dealt with erotic fantasy and desire, such as, for example,
this poem of his:
i n t h e d a r k
dream
and reality
are mixed when
i touch you
in the dark
carefully like
a deer of the forest
refreshes itself
from water
of the stream
of the virgin forest
carefully like
a butterfly
who skims
with its wings
the pollen of a flower
and our memories
are united
our hearts
sing
a song together
and between us
happens
what happened
in the fairy tale
there grows
wings of angels
between our lips
there grows
a bridge with
scent of roses
between our hands
there grows
a secret garden
between
our souls
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October 1st, 2011
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there grows
the first fruits
of love between
our loins
The hunter wrote many of his poems in the cool moments of the evening while
the flute played its melancholic, languishing melody. In the years the hunter lived in the
virgin forest he had learned a great number of songs and dances and games of the fairies.
After the hunter had lived in the virgin forest for ten years he ended up at the edge of the
virgin forest, at a cartroad which led to a nearby town. When the hunter found this
cartroad he decided to leave the virgin forest and search for new experiences in his life. In
town the hunter met people who asked him to play his flute. He started to play and
realized that in this way he could bring joy to the life of many of his fellow human beings,
who had many sorrows in their lives.
The hunter became a wandering troubadour who travelled from city to city, town to town, and
county to county and as he journeyed played his flute and sang to the common people. Occasionally he also
wrote poems which he recited in front of the people when asked to do so. Finally the wandering troubadour
ended up in the kingdom of Persia and little by little learned the Persian language. In the years the
troubadour spent in the Kingdom of Persia, he wore a simple linen tunic and lived a poor and simple life just
like the holy men of Persia, the Sufis. The troubadour rejoiced when people around him were rejoicing, grieved
when people around him were grieving, and in his time there he loved the life of the poor and simple common
people.
While living there he heard that the Kingdom of Persia had an exceptionally beautiful queen,
whose eyes were said to be more beautiful than any jewels and who was rumoured to know the secret
language of the fairies. It was also said that the queen loved roses more than anything else. All this caught
the interest of the troubadour. He decided to go to meet the queen in the royal palace in the capital city of
Persia, Persepolis. He hoped that the queen would turn out to be the same maiden for whom he had searched
for years now, that is, the lady who had been wounded by the arrow years ago. At the palace the king of the
Kingdom of Persia greeted the troubadour in a friendly way. The king had heard of the troubadours musical
talent. The king asked the troubadour to play and sing at a great party which was to be held at the royal
palace the very next day.
It was a most beautiful spring. The birds sang joyously and the apple trees had
begun to bloom. During the cool moments of the evening the flute played its melancholic
and languishing melody. The troubadour, who had been given the key to a guest room in the
royal palace, saw from his window how the full moon cast light on the palace garden, and
that a single white rose had miraculously started to bloom even though it was only very
early spring. The troubadour also observed a very beautiful lady pick the single white rose
in the moonlight. He concluded that she must be the queen of Persia since many courtly
ladies of the bedchambers followed her. The troubadour heard a nightingale sing, and at
that moment decided to write a poem for the queen.
The next evening the king and the queen attended the party together with the courtly people.
The queen wore a veil which hid her face, revealing only her eyes. The troubadour was asked to perform. He
rose from from his seat and stood before everyone. Then he met the eyes of the queen. By this time the
troubadour saw that these eyes were truly more beautiful than any jewels, that they were like those of the
maiden he had searched for all these years. The queens eyes were the same colour as the eyes of the lady who
had been wounded by the arrow years ago. The troubadour sang and played for the courtly people of the
Byzantine Kingdom. Afterwards he recited in front of all the people, in the language of fairies, a poem he had
written the previous evening.
N i g h t i n g a l e s s o n g f o r t h e r o s e
Do you not fear
that i might fall in love
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The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
with you the beautiful stranger?
You the forbidden fruit
you the untouched rose
who wondrously are posed
in front of me on your bed
fragile and naked
bare and blossoming
full of desire
need and wanting
do you not fear
that i might want
to touch you
in this enchanted night
with moonlight like this
when your petals are
dropping damp and dreams
or are you just passing by
You look only one look
with smiles of beauty
and then you continue
your journey
and leave for me
only thorns
Y o u
who silently shed
the twinkling of the stars to my wings
y o u
who drop your tears
of solitude in this broken night
y o u
who secretly slip
your silky beauty into my heart
y o u
who softly touch
my heart like a blow of wind
y o u
who full of glow
of desire press close against my heart
This poem touched the heart of the queen so deeply that she burst into tears when she heard it.
Thunderstruck, the king of Persia commanded his soldiers to throw the troubadour in jail. The troubadour
learned that he was accused of wooing the queen of Persia, which was as serious a crime as treason in the
kingdom of Persia, and for which there was only possible punishment: the death penalty. Later that night the
queen came secretly to see the troubadour in the jail house.
-Do you love me?, asked the queen.
-I love the lady with the arrow wound in her side. Show me your side so that I can be sure, said
the troubadour.
The queen showed her side for the troubadour and the troubadour saw that it was smooth and
beautiful, there was no sign of a scar made by the arrow. The troubadour concluded that he had been
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The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
mistaken: the queen was not the same lady as the one for whom he was searching. The troubadour sighed
deeply from frustration and after this the queen of the kingdom of Persia left him alone. The troubadour had
his flute in the jail and the flute started once again to play that melancholic and languishing melody. Tears
came to the troubadours eyes because he was far from his beloved and because his life could soon be put to an
end.
All that night the troubadour remained awake, inspired to write poems. As dawn rose he
started to play his flute. Doves lit on the windowsill of his jail cell to listen to his playing. When the concert
ended, the doves left. Soon after there a single dove white as snow lit on the windowsill. The troubadour saw
that a red silk ribbon hung around its neck and that hanging from the ribbon was a golden key. The
troubadour took the key from the neck of the white dove and used it to try the door of his cell in the jail house.
The key fit the lock and the troubadour thus escaped from the jailhouse and avoided the death penalty.
The troubadour wandered back along the same road on which he had walked to the kingdom of
Persia. The journey lasted days, weeks, months, and finally years. At last the troubadour ended up at the
edge of the same virgin forest which he had left years ago. In the forest the fairies welcomed the troubadour
with delight and held a great welcoming party for him. The mystical fairy king, Oberon, the King of the Magic,
was also invited to the party together with his spouse, Titania, the queen of fairies.
During the party the troubadour agreed to recite his poems. Before reciting one of them he
said it was one he had written in prison, and that it told of eternal desire and love that had not yet been
realized, but which perhaps one day would be fulfilled. Then its more real than anything else, but now its only
fantasy compared to the reality. After these words the troubadour recited his poem.
When the white blooms of apple trees are dreaming
I didnt
know it before
but now my eyes
are opened
this spring
when the white
blooms
of apple trees
are dreaming
all the fierce,
burning letters
of the Bible
spoke about
the beauty
of your eyes
all the psalms
which i opened
in the slow moments
of the night
tender as silk
all the
promises
of the living God
pierced by sunbeam
all the words
spoken by tears
glorified in the night
and their meaning
which i searched in my heart
in the middle of pain and anxiety
in this uneven neighbourhood
which is called the world
in the moments of both joy and grief
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The Byzantine Apple Jarkko Pylvas
when fortune and misfortune were changing
all the spiritual canticles full of tears
all the verses of the song of songs
all the brightness of the new heaven and new earth
all the lyrical moments of creation
of the living God
the new jerusalem
the garden of tears
adam and eve before the fall
all this in one handfull
of smiles of the scent
of your locks
sang even in one
fiber of your hair
sweeter than
anything
that i had
experienced
ever before
This poem touched the heart of Titania, the queen of the fairies, so deeply that she shed tears,
while at the same time Oberon, the king of the fairies, smiled mysteriously and clapped his hands.
The Maiden
But what became of the maiden who was wounded by the arrow? What was her
fate? Did she secretly in her heart choose the other hunter? Or maybe there was a third way
in the crossroads of the virgin forest and the maiden had chosen this third way? And maybe
this way the maiden had disappeared once and for all, forever. And maybe the mystical fairy
king Oberon knew but never told about it to anyone.
Jarkko Pylvs is a university student in in Western Central Finland and a journalist. He's studying
World history and Semitic languages and cultures and, as such, has studied Hebrew, Coptic, and
Greek, as well as theology and exegetics. One of his latest articles dealt with Human Rights in
Russia, namely the Freedom of speech, or lack there of. He has written several other articles on
the environment and other Human Rights issues around the globe.