On the floating island of the great city of Allsaints there are watchtowers and lighthouses on the crags and promontories that are closest to the airboat harbor and drydocks. Residents of the city are assigned duty shifts to keep the fires lit and spot ships as they come in.

In the nine years since the first Philadelphian patrols started appearing in the Empyrean skies, though, the duty shifts have become less a mundane civic responsibility and more a sobering reminder of the dangers that lie beyond the island's gravity well. Sometimes, the ships departing the city for Allsaints' allies come back late, limping into drydock riddled with bullet holes, the machine guns of the stranded Philadelphian flotilla turning fine, sturdy sails into a morbid lace.

And, sometimes the ships just don't come back.

(Another commission for Rackety.)