by R. E. Vance
“Good … just one more thing to do before we go,” I said and walked down to the third floor, where I knocked on Astarte’s door.
↔
The succubus opened her door dressed in electrical tape. At least I think it was electrical tape—it was hard to tell. All I knew was what I saw: black strips of adhesives barely covered the essential parts of her model-thin body. I took a double-take, then a triple-, every cell in my body surging with desire.
But then I did what I always do when Astarte throws my hormones into overdrive: I reminded myself that Astarte wasn’t a she. Not necessarily. Being a succubus and demigoddess of lust, Astarte was the embodiment of desire to every creature that roamed the GoneGod world. That meant that depending on your desires, Astarte was a she, a he or an it. Somewhere out there, she looked like a big pile of tentacles—that was what makara creatures were into—suckers and all. I know this because she’s told me.
She tells me waaay too much.
Before the gods left, Astarte lived off energy collected from, well, sex—and a lot of it. Now that the gods were gone, she used sex to get money, which bought her food, shelter and, evidently, black electrical tape. In other words, the only complication the gods’ departure caused in Astarte’s life was the occasional grocery shopping trip.
“Yes, Jean?” Her voice carried with it a hint of a Parisian accent because, once-upon-a-time, I made the mistake of telling her I had a thing for French women.
“Hi, Astarte,” I stammered, “I’m sorry to disturb, but, uh, I really …” I looked past her into her room, where instead of the typical orgy, I saw a chair sitting in front of a green screen. There were several cameras pointed at it, and behind a computer screen sat Brian—Astarte’s IT support—his jacket surreptitiously draped over his lap. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Empire building,” Astarte said.
“Astarte’s weekly blog,” Brian jumped in, banging away on his keyboard. Once-upon-a-time, Brian used to work for some ultra-elite tech firm doing something quite high-end—although what exactly that was, I never found out. All I knew was that Brian wasn’t just a super-geek—he was the king of all super-geeks, hacker-extraordinaire, and currently employed by Astarte, who paid him next to nothing. Still, her benefits package was hard to beat.
“And the green background?” I asked.
“So we can superimpose any image we like there. You know … CGI stuff.”
“And what exactly are you superimposing?”
At this question, Brian giggled. “Fans send in videos of themselves, you know, doing stuff. And we put it in the background to give the illusion that they’re doing it in Astarte’s presence.”
“Computer-graphical sex?” I asked, looking at Astarte.
“Yes,” she said, exasperated. “I couldn’t be everywhere at once … until now.” She closed the door behind her and grabbed my gaping jaw with her other hand. “Now, how can I help you?”
↔
I told her everything. Mr. Cain, the anomalies, the kids … I even gave her the locations of the kidnappings. Every little detail I could think of, I shared, not because Astarte was some super powered detective or because she was my confidant. I told her because she was a creature quite literally older than sin, and her network of horny, sex-crazed followers was multitudinous. One of them was bound to know something.
I hoped.
“OK,” she said, taking it all in. “I will see what I can unearth.”
“Good. And put Brian on it, too.”
“Very well,” Astarte said. She turned but paused, her Otherly mind considering something. “You know, Jean, anyone—or anyOther—who kidnaps children could be doing so for only one reason …”
“Really? Which is …?”
Astarte looked at me. “They are trying to tap into ancient power.”
“What? Like a sacrifice?”
She shook her head. “That may be how they unleash the power once they have it, but no. A child is pure, innocent. And that is power.”
“Why?”
“Because they have a capacity for faith that no human adult could ever hope to achieve. Think about what Matthew 17:20 says …” She ran her hand along my jacket and plucked a piece of lint off it, holding it in front of my face. “ ‘If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, “Move from here to there,” and it will move.’ ” She blew the lint out of her fingers. “ ‘Nothing will be impossible to you.’ Do you know any adult capable of such faith? Even I cannot get such total devotion—and I offer my followers eternity captured in a single, climax-induced moment.”
I gulped.
Astarte gave me a look that said she knew exactly how to offer me eternity, then shrugged. We’d done this dance enough for her to know I wasn’t about to succumb. She turned to her room, pausing at the door again. “There’s one more thing, Jean … in my many years as Queen of Lust, I have only denied five creatures from entering my temple.” By the way Astarte said the word temple, I gathered she didn’t just mean where she used to live. “Four were creatures of vilest order, too debase to mention here. The fifth … was Cain.”
“He couldn’t have been that bad.”
“The Devil was always welcome in my temple.”
“Oh … OK, fine. But that was then. This is now. People change.”
“Perhaps,” Astarte said. “But by how much?”
Before I could answer, the bell above the turnstile door rung as the word ‘Human’ chimed in my ear. Astarte looked down at the foyer and with a groan full of desire, uttered, “Now, he is a man I would never deny.” I looked down to see Conner standing in the foyer in a baseball cap and pilot sunglasses.
“We going?” Conner called up to me.
“You are going,” Astarte whispered to me. “And I will soon be com—”
“Yes, we’re going!” I screamed. “We’re going.”
Hellelujah!
Kids and Planes and Buses
Conner drove us to the airport in a squad car, into the back of which Penemue scrunched with all the expertise of one who has squeezed into the back of many squad cars. Once settled, Sinbad joined him.
As Sinbad got in, Conner shot me a look that said, What’s up with the kid?
I shrugged in response.
“Really?” Conner said.
“Really,” I said, opening the passenger side door, and got in.
“So,” Conner said, adjusting his rearview mirror to get a better look at her. “What’s your name, little girl?”
Sinbad blushed.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“No,” she giggled, digging her face into Penemue’s wings. We heard more muffled giggling.
“She’s my cousin,” I added with a bit too much enthusiasm.
Conner gave me a sideways glance. “Your cousin have a name?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Which is …?”
“Sinbad.”
“Sinbad?”
“Sinbad Matthias.”
“Sinbad … Matthias?”
“What can I say? Her parents were obsessed with One Thousand and One Arabian Nights.”
“Uh-huh,” Conner said. “And your cousin’s parents … where are they now?”
“On the mainland,” I said.
“And you’re taking her home?”
Penemue leaned forward and laced his taloned fingers through the squad car divide. “Conner,” he said. “The less questions, the smoother this will go.”
“OK,” Conner said, shaking his head. “Smooth it is, then.”
↔
Once-upon-a-time, the Paradise Lot airport serviced flights from almost every country in the world. It even boasted that every major airline had a VIP lounge within its massive complex. With forty-six departure and arrival gates, it was one of the biggest airports in the world … once-upon-a-time. These days, Paradise Lot’s airport was a very different story.
Walking into its massive main hall, one saw closed c
heck-in counters, unserviced money exchanges, car rental agencies and empty bookstores. Seems that when the Others came, commerce left—and in a hurry, because none of them even bothered to take down their signs. Enterprise, HSBC, Barnes & Noble, Thomas Cook and a whole host of famous brands still lit up the hallway, except that their signs and advertisements were from fourteen years ago. This place was a time-capsule the size of three football stadiums. This would be the perfect venue for a zombie movie.
A lone oni—the Japanese equivalent of a devil—was busy waxing the floor. “Excuse me,” Conner said. “Domestic flights?”
The oni looked up lazily and gave us the desolate smile of one marooned on an island who sees someone who wasn’t a mirage for the first time. “Over … over there,” she said, narrowing her eyes like she wasn’t sure if we were real or not.
“Thank you,” Conner said.
Penemue pulled out another bottle and handed it to the oni. “Better than saki,” he said, “and perfect to pass the time.”
↔
We walked over to the check-in counter, which was manned by a human dressed in a white shirt and a baby blue vest. His badge, shaped like a bird’s wing, read Matt. Conner handed him our tickets.
“Roundtrip to the mainland,” Matt said, eyebrows raised. “We don’t get many of those. Usually they’re one-way. Luggage?”
“Just carry on,” Conner said.
Matt nodded. He banged away at his computer and printed out four tickets. Pointing to the left, he said, “You’re gate A4. Security is that way. Please be sure to get to your gate at least thirty minutes before takeoff.”
Tickets in hand, we walked over to Security—which was obscenely far away, given that the airport was basically empty—where the same guy who printed out our boarding passes waited for us. Only this time he wore an official-looking Border Control uniform with a badge that read Matthew.
“Passports and tickets,” he said.
“Understaffed?” I asked.
“Not really,” Matt/Matthew said without a hint of humor.
Conner went through first without any questions asked, just a cursory examination of his passport and a very efficient stamping of his passport.
“Have a safe flight, sir,” Matthew said, handing over his boarding pass and passport.
Penemue was next. The angel handed over his passport and ticket, just like Conner had done. Matthew looked at the passport and then up at Penemue and said, “Species?”
That question always boiled my blood. As far as I was concerned, you had no more right to ask an Other their species than you did to ask a human their race, religion or yearly salary.
Penemue, on the other hand, took it in stride. “Angel,” he said. “Fallen.”
The security guy looked at Penemue and gulped. “Fallen?”
“Well, there are many types of angels. On one level there are seraphim, cherubs and angels, but then there are subclasses that include powers, thrones and dominions. I was of the power variety, but since my fall, I was demoted to that of the standard angel variety. Seems that Hell doesn’t care for hierarchies. You’re either damned or you’re not. But given I was an angel from Hell when the gods left, I suppose I still am. ‘Once damned, always damned,’ my tormentors used to say. All that leads to the conclusion that I am an angel, fallen.”
Matthew wasn’t sure if he should laugh, cry, run or call for back-up.
“I see that I have confused you,” Penemue said. “Let me extrapolate by way of example. One is not simply Christian, Muslim, Buddhist or whatever. They are, to name a few: Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Mormon, Shia, Sunni, Sufi … I am simply giving you my subclass to aid with your inquiries.”
“But those are religions. I asked for your species.”
“To you,” Penemue said. “But us Others, religious sub-denominations matter a great deal. You see, according to Buddhism, I am but a reincarnated soul born in this body. In other words, I’m one of you. But to a Catholic, I am very much a bad enchilada. After all, it was us fallen angels that kept you from stealing the metaphorical cookies in the allegorical jars. Your religion, and specifically sub-denomination, is monumental to how you will react to seeing an angel like me. Do you understand me now?”
Matthew shook his head in confusion.
“Never mind,” Penemue sighed. “Just put down ‘angel.’ ”
“OK.” He gulped and stamped Penemue’s passport.
I was next. I handed over my passport and ticket. “Human, annoyed,” I said.
↔
We passed security and entered into yet another massive, empty hall with more abandoned shops and service providers. The only difference was that this part of the airport was designed to entertain people waiting around for their planes. This gave the place a sense of ominous abandonment. Every step we took echoed, empty sounds that resonated in the dead space of a once-upon-a-time airport.
Our gate was to the right. Florescent lights lit the way. Penemue pointed to our left, where the hall eventually faded into darkness which neither the lights above us nor my human eyes could see past. I guess they only lit up the parts of the airport we needed to walk through. Made sense, in that eerie, come-what-may sort of way.
“Reminds me of when they left,” Penemue said. “Except the darkness chased us.”
I had heard the stories. First came their message: “Thank you for believing in us, but it’s not enough. We’re leaving. Good luck.” Then came the darkness. Others had two choices: wait until the darkness overcame them, or run as fast as they could and stay in the light. Eventually, however, the light ended in a circular window that they could jump through and down to Earth.
Of course, the windows didn’t lead to some meadow where humans waited for Others with open arms and welcoming smiles. In most cases, Others fell from the sky, were spouted from volcanos or emerged from the ocean with no clue where they were and even less of an idea as to why.
I shivered, staring at the darkness.
“Let’s go,” Conner said, pointing to the right.
We walked into this surreal scene, taking about eight steps before the light we had been standing under turned off, and the new set of lights we were standing under turned on. Seems the airport’s darkness was less going to chase us than spotlight us as we went along.
I guess in these hard times, one saved in any way they could.
We took five steps forward, but the lights above did not turn on. “Hey,” I yelled. “Keep up!”
There was a short pause in which we stood in the dark, then the lights directly above us turned on. From the distance came a bored voice: “Sorry!”
“This is scary,” Sinbad said, grabbing Penemue’s leg.
“Nothing to fear, child,” the twice-fallen angel said with a smile. “Want a ride?” He spread his left wing at a forty-five-degree slope and gestured for her to climb up.
Relieved, Sinbad scurried up his wing and onto his shoulders.
I elbowed Conner. “Don’t know about you, but I’m jealous. I want a ride.”
Conner shrugged and said in a very matter-of-fact tone, “Miral has wings, too, you know.”
“Indeed, she does,” I said. “Indeed, she does.”
↔
As soon as we got to our gate, the large flat-screen TV turned on, evidently for our amusement while we waited to board. I guess they were going to keep up the airport aura until we were off the ground, and then everything would shut off again. Until then, we were forced to watch the news.
Mr. Yew filled the screen, his dyed-golden hair spattered with streaks of iron. He held up a large bound report with a very official-looking seal on it. “Over seventy Others were tested and none of them—let me repeat that—none of them passed. Not a-one. Well, that’s not true. One did, sort of, but the angel—and I’m not saying that in a ‘what-a-beauty’ kind of way. She is in fact an angel, as in a flying-pigeon kind of person.” He paused as the audience laughed at this.
Pigeons … just one of the colorful euph
emisms that humans used to talk down to angels. One day the term would go the way of a lot of colorful expressions used to keep people down. But humanity was going to have to evolve quite a bit first, and a lot of other issues would have to be settled before any rights groups would take on the crusade of PC Other terminology.
“Anyway, she refused to take the test, so maybe—maybe—she might have passed.” Mr. Yew shrugged. “Maybe. But we’ll never know, because she didn’t cooperate. Besides …”
“Can we shut this off? Or at least put it on mute?” I shouted, my voice echoing in the halls. I looked back at Matthew—he’d taken off his security uniform and was back to being “Matt”—who stood at the departure gate waiting for boarding time. He ignored me.
“… and that’s the point, isn’t it? Others don’t cooperate. They refuse to do things that are in their own interest. I’m telling you, folks, we have to deal with these Others before they …”
I stood up and walked to the TV. “Either someone turns this crap off or I will turn it off for you.” I cocked my fist at the screen. Matt looked up from his computer and at me, but did his hand move to a remote control? No siree, Bob. I tapped on the protective glass which the TV hid behind. Loudly.
“… like eat our dogs while observing some sick tradition that …”
I cocked my fist at Mr. Yew’s face. I was going to smash the TV and live out a fantasy of mine: to punch this asshole in the face.
“Don’t,” Conner said, but judging how he didn’t stand to stop me, I knew his heart wasn’t in it. Sinbad and Penemue, on the other hand, didn’t even try to hide their amusement, giggling like two kids who just heard their parents swear for the first time.
“Look, maybe you can stomach this hatred, but I can’t.” I raised my voice further. “Change the channel or turn it off or—”
The TV went on mute.
I took in a sigh of relief. I really didn’t want to fly with broken glass in my fist. Assuming, that was, that Matthew the lone security guard let me board. I went back to my seat, Conner’s eye’s trailing me as I sat.