{Signal Station Identification: #mbnov entries have been for Micro.blog's Microblogvember challenge. I wasn't finished with what I started so I've written nine more and added them to a blog post of all of my entries. The start of new ones is marked. Many thanks to Micro.blog for a fun challenge. Post is here: https://acfus.co/2022/11/30/the-signal-station.html.}

#thesignalstation

A mirror. An atmospheric effect. Water droplets coalescing a rainbow. But it was real. We were ten feet away, rail to rail, and the two stations bucked like racehorses. Cloud ran like a river. Then Davies stood on the rail — safety thrown to the wind — and jumped. #mbnov #thesignalstation

Four people under that sail. One with a lantern jaw. One with green eyes (or one blue). And one no longer rugged because he was older. All of them were older. I recognized myself too, but wild and ragged as if fished from the sea. They were the four of us, decades older. #mbnov #thesignalstation

The wind shifted and trended west, and what was under the sail burst out of the clouds. I saw the railing and the red paint. It had a beacon too. Under the sail across from us was a signal station, exactly like our own. It had an identical sail. Under it stood four people. #mbnov #thesignalstation

I didn't know Davies' motivation in bringing us to this pass. Cloud curdled under the other sail. It was attached to something large. "Why?" I asked. Davies shook his head and pointed to the word on our sail. "It's not 'Neverland,'" he said. "It's *never ... land.*" #mbnov #thesignalstation

When it came my time to work the sheet I yanked the boom to the other side. I had to change the course. But Fane had me pinioned in two seconds. With that kind of commitment from the others, there was no choice. The other sail was 200 yards away. We were drawing alongside. #mbnov #thesignalstation

It was a ritual by now, how we took turns working the sail. Then Davies instructed us how we were going to swing the boom to match the other's course. "I though we were using this to get down?" I asked, frantic. "We have to go there," he said, pointing to the other sail. #mbnov #thesignalstation

Four miles away. If I was to retain my sanity I could not look down. So I looked at Fane, notable for lantern jaw; Ainsforth, for green eyes (or one blue); and Davies, premature ruggedness but too young for this. I was on the job just five years myself. Three miles. Two. #mbnov #thesignalstation

[Signal Station Identification: Crossposting from Micro.blog is now manual. Quantum tunneling, in which the same words (seem to) appear in two places at once, may diverge and is dependent on the observer. (Schrödinger's cat sits inside a content wrapper.) #mbnov posts are for Micro.blog's Microblogvember challenge and may continue independently after November under #thesignalstation for a short time. The arbiter is active on both platforms. Glitch is the new glam.]

https://youtu.be/Oh7cUor-y6g

The sail approached. LIke I said before. Like you needed an update. But for one glorious moment in the sun and bracketing wind, our sail full and drawing — "Neverland" was printed on it too — it was joyous. One moment. Just one. #mbnov #thesignalstation

The edge of the sail grazed my cheek; the cold and the wind made it a knife. All four of us wrestled with it as it snapped and groaned. We had it attached to the lines at least. After the spin of the red wheel the beacon shot up and there it was, all 20 feet of it: a mast. #mbnov #thesignalstation

Ice glazed the railing. The wind was brittle. My God, why the roof? Ainsforth and Fane looked stricken. "We have to raise the beacon," one said.

"We can do that inside."

"No." Davies opened a hatch I had never seen before. Inside was a red wheel. "Like this." #mbnov #thesignalstation

I've been to the Grand Canyon. That titanic space is something felt in your chest more than seen with your eyes. But this — I repeat — with the sun on the clouds below and the dizzy bright — we stood on the roof with the wind not so great because we were traveling with it. #mbnov #thesignalstation

"Where are you going?" Up the clanging stairs, a spin of the wheel, the whoosh of air, and the sun. Well, this was novel, but I wasn't budging. "The roof? With only that rail?" "The others know too," Davies said. "They're waiting." #mbnov #thesignalstation

Unfazed, Davies moved past me with a smile.

"Don't you tire of all this?" I asked.

"There's not a moment to lose," he said. "The others already know."

"Know what?"

"That sail. It's not moving toward us." His feet clattered up the iron stairs. "We're moving toward it." #mbnov #thesignalstation

All this sailcloth came out of a barrel stamped with that company name: Neverland. I was going to ask "What do we need that for?" but what came out was "You work for them." Davies was gathering it all up in his arms. "Everyone works for them," he said. "Except you." #mbnov #thesignalstation

I was furious. "The pipegyros. The steamcurloes. The semiirons. Lighting the beacon in the sunshine! You caused this. You think you own a franchise on the running of this station?" He was still holding the textile. "What *is* that?"

He grinned wildly. "Sailcloth!" #mbnov #thesignalstation

A spiral staircase leads to the main storage bin. That is where I found him, among verdigrised clockwork, aluminum congeries, Bakelite mannequins, and the mermaid. He was covered in textile, plain as burlap but stamped with that company name. "Did you hear me?" I asked. #mbnov #thesignalstation

Davies knew. Davies *knew*. I stormed through to look for him. Through some impossible how the Signal Station was floating thousands of feet in the air when it should be anchored to the ground like any other building. We can never leave. That wasn't fog; it was clouds. #mbnov #thesignalstation

My eyes had to adjust, but not from light. The concrete 30 feet below was shadowed in blue. Cola drinks had spilled to stain it. Planters had been arranged haphazardly. Then my arms locked in terror around the iron bar. Thousands of feet below were ocean, land, and trees. #mbnov #thesignalstation