Captain NorthStar Lightwalker's Arc

Chapter 5 of 14

The observer's ship lifted off at dawn, and a coded packet pinged NorthStar's console before the engines cooled. The envoy had sent a quiet warning. The council wanted to come in person. They wanted to see a hall, a seat, a place that said he could host them. He had a dock and a shelter. He did not have a venue. His engineer read the message over his shoulder. "Three days," she said. "Maybe four." NorthStar did not sit down to think. He moved. One foot, one order. He called the crew to the clearing past the gazebo and pointed at the rising ground. They worked through the day and into the night. NorthStar hauled stone himself. The crew raised a tall brick tower at the edge of the clearing, narrow windows cut high, two bright flags snapping from its peak. Below it they shaped a wide amphitheater from carved stone benches, with a sturdy wooden roof braced by iron beams. It was rough. It was real. On the third morning he walked the empty stage alone. At its center he set a tall stump, its top flattened smooth, deep grooves cut into the weathered wood. This would be his place to stand. Not a podium granted to him. One he had cut himself. The envoy's reply came an hour later. The council had accepted. They would arrive within the week to judge the venue and the man who built it. His engineer found him at the stump, hand resting on the grooves. "You got the hall," she said. "Now they're really coming." NorthStar nodded. The fear was there, steady and familiar. But the ground under his boots was his. He had not asked. He had built. Whatever walked off those ships next, it would meet him standing on wood he had carved with his own hands.