Queen of Angels

by Greg Bear

  Across the street she saw a bar designed to look like a rough scarred concrete block, facade old and decayed, with halfdark neon of a naked woman riding a rocket, nipples red circles flashing dim contrast with bright daylight. Plastic square packing-crate red letters leaned mock decrepit above the facade: “Little Hispaniola.”

  Mary averted. She did not relish the thought of visiting the original of this shabby barfront, glittering and gambling Hispaniola, exporter of pain and terror, once loyal servant of the willing but fastidious nations of west and east.

  She would not need pd transit. In two hours, Oversight; tomorrow she would move to the combs.

  But first for an hour or two she would visit E Hassida.

  I sometimes know my friends better than they know themselves. Call it megalomania or call it a curse; it’s true. I only wish I knew myself so well.

  15

  Richard listened to Nadine preparing brunch. He had heard her in the bathroom urinating into the old ceramic bowl high pressure low altitude and had wrinkled his nose. Entering a second fastidiousness fully the equal of his adolescence, Richard did not appreciate displays of human frailty of human limitation to biology especially not when they concerned himself. He had enjoyed the sex with Nadine the night before; she kept herself fastidiously clean, but he disliked his own bathroom sounds now, much less the sounds others made. When married this had never bothered him.

  + Therapy myself. Wife made such noises; wife is dead. Those who make such noises can die. Is that it?

  + No.

  He rolled off the frame bed, listened to the electrical suspension humming with relief, saw through the yellowed lace curtains of the dusty silled bedroom window comb reflected sunlight on a distant yellow stone building, smelled cheerfully the odors of coffee reheated shepherd’s pie. All might be clear today normal perhaps even pleasant.

  Then an acute dark intrusion. Nothing had changed. He had not solved his problems or anybody else’s. Today once again he would not write and his sham would continue his affectation of being a writer when in fact he was a parasite a sycophant an acolyte of those with higher energy levels greater charge greater ability to plunge their thumbs into the world and emerge with success. His life was a simple repetition of what ifs and what might have beens.

  “You’re awake,” Nadine said poking her head around the doorjamb black hair cheerfully awry.

  “Unfortunately,” he said.

  “Still down?”

  “Down down,” he said softly.

  “Then I’m a failure,” she said lightly taking his funk lightly and why not. “Not such a harlot as to brighten your nights into day, am I?”

  “Not that,” he said. “I’m still…”

  She waited and when no adjective came pushed her lips into a moue backed out of the door frame and said “Leftovers await.”

  He could at least be grateful her mood was no match for his. Two of them down would be more than he could take. In truth he was glad someone was here and glad that that someone was female and he had enjoyed the sex the night before and he was hungry.

  He shook his head and put on a robe wondering how many seconds again before the teeter would totter. With his hand halfway down the robe’s left sleeve he stopped, hearing the door chime. The home manager announced nothing; a not unexpected failure.

  “Shall I?” Nadine inquired archly, expression implying a fallen woman should not be exposed to morning visitors.

  “No. Me.”

  He answered the door after putting on slippers. Beyond the antique eternal plastic screen was a young man he had never seen before: red haired, pleasantly round faced and intent with a quick smile and the air of a salesman. Salesmen did not come to this section of the shadows.

  “You’re Richard Fettle?”

  “Yes.” He pulled on the other sleeve.

  “My name is not important. I have some questions to ask. For society’s sake I hope you will answer.”

  That formula For Society’s Sake had become a nervous joke in the shadows and even in the combs but this was not a joke. Of course they would become interested. There was news here and he was a part of it. Celebrity publicity sensation.

  “Excuse me?” Richard fumbled, hoping he might be allowed to close the door.

  “May I come in. For society’s sake.”

  In the kitchen Nadine stood like a cat with fingers spread shaking her head. No. Don’t.

  The untherapied so seldom called pd. Here was statistical safety a perfect ground to ply their trade of perfection rooting out correcting. He hoped he was wrong and the formula and posture were part of a sour joke.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Mr. Richard Fettle.”

  “Yes.”

  The red haired man lifted an eyebrow as if to say quid-pro-quo you are you and the rest is formality.

  “Come in,” Richard said. He could not think of a way to dissemble.

  “Please don’t get in a rough,” the man said. “I only have a few questions.”

  + Want to say Who do you think you are? Self appointed God of all? Hate this cowardice Don’t get in a rough keep silent my gut

  “You were a friend of Emanuel Goldsmith?”

  Nadine had backed into the kitchen doorway, leaning against the thick enamel covering the doorjamb eyes cautiously blank. Richard wished to concentrate on her and on the age creamed white paint. + Puzzle that out think about the century old wood here before any of this. But he forced himself to look at the man.

  The visitor wore a simple black suit, cuffs rising a few inches above shiny black shoesocks, narrow red tie against green shirt, sleeves short above wrists making him appear tall and lanky but in fact he was shorter than Richard by six or eight centimeters; about Nadine’s height.

  “I was,” Richard said.

  “Did you know he was capable of murdering people?”

  “I did not know that.” + Would you punish me for that? It’s the truth; I told the pd; did not know.

  “Did he ever tell you he was going to do such a thing?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t recognize this woman. Was she a friend of Goldsmith’s?”

  + Perverse honesty here; hate this man but spill my guts to him.

  “She knew him. Not as well as I did.”

  “Do you know what I am?” the man asked Nadine. She nodded like a child caught eating forbidden candy.

  “She didn’t know him well at all,” Richard said.

  “She’s part of de Roche’s clique, isn’t she? Like you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Aren’t you all a little culpable for what happened?”

  Swallowing. “Not my brother’s keeper.”

  “We are all our brothers’ keepers,” the man said. “I live for that truth. You should have known what your friend was capable of. What we do or neglect to do affects all; what anyone does affects us.”

  + Punish us all then.

  “You do not know where Goldsmith is?”

  “I assume the pd have caught him.”

  The man smiled. “Our reluctant colleagues haven’t the slightest idea where he is.”

  “Colleagues.” Richard managed a brave but brief smile.

  The man returned the smile.

  + Admires my stage presence.

  “Our local chapter is interested in this case because it seems possible that a man of fame and privilege might be able to escape justice. You know. Hide out with friends and become a folk hero. Get in silky with the blandly ignorant.”

  “Heavens. I hope not.”

  The man’s smile thinned. “We are not thugs. We are not fanatics. We are vitamin supplements to justice. Please do not misunderstand my visit.”

  “Never.” His fear put him on the edge of giddiness. + Suicidal.

  “I doubt you’ve done anything wrong in this case,” the man said. “We can’t always know the souls of those around us. But I warn you: if you do hear about Goldsmith, if you learn where he is and do not tell the p
d or your local chapter for society’s sake, that would be very wrong indeed. You would hurt a lot of people who are hungry for justice.”

  “They’ve hired you, contracted you?” Richard asked voice hoarse coughing swallowing back the roughness.

  “Nobody hires us,” the man said calmly. He returned to the door and nodded politely at Nadine. “Thank you for your time.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said small mouselike. The man opened Richard’s door stepped out of Richard’s apartment and walked down the long balcony to the stairs.

  “I’m going,” Nadine said, spinning suddenly and running to grab her few clothes toothbrush handbag from the bedroom and bathroom. “Unbelievable,” she said. “Unbelievable. You.”

  “What about me?” Richard asked, still stunned.

  “They’re after you.”

  “I don’t know why!”

  “You defended him! You’re his friend! Christ, I should have known. Anybody silky with Goldsmith. Christ! Selectors. I’m going.”

  He did not try to stop her. In all his life he had never been visited by a Selector before, had never attracted their attention.

  “Call the pd,” Nadine said as she reached for the door-knob. Her body arched as if it would take substantial pull to open the door. The door swung free and she tilted off balance for a moment then glared at him. “Call the pd or do something.”

  Miserable moaning softly to himself Richard went to his bedroom and lay back on the bed, turning away from the streaks of dried fluid at the edge of sheet where Nadine had sat up after they had made love. He stared up at the earthquake cracked plaster of the old ceiling. + How many people have died since that ceiling was put in or the wood how many millions have suffered horribly even since we made love last night hundreds per minute around the world punish them all.

  He stilled, slowing his rapid breath. One hand gripped the sheet. He turned his head to one side neck tight corded, drew his mouth into a horrid smile and sat up abruptly, one fist pounding the bed rhythmically, looked around the apartment stood up and twisted his upper body threw head back raised fists shook them at the ceiling mewed faintly the mew turned into a howl swung his arms around stamped his foot crouched eyes showing clear blue through a mask hair before them gray and stringy he danced pranced around the bed lifted fists stumbled back on the bed stood again kicked the mattress with bare foot ran into his small living room with a sudden pumping of long skinny bare legs howled reached for an old vase full of dead flowers swung scummy water glittering in a silver crescent fingers released the vase it whirled on its long axis parallel to the floor across the living room into the kitchen hit cabinet doors beneath the sink shattering brown dried flowers fanning out in a clump on the floor still circled by the neck.

  Richard turned to the bedroom and leaned forward, walking and stumbling until he lay back on the bed again cycle complete nothing accomplished but the most primitive useless release. He sucked back his own inadequacy and helplessness in negative sobs.

  Then, falling silent, with sudden calm deliberation he rolled over and reached for the drawer handle on his night-stand, pulled it open and removed a notebook, lay back, rolled over again groping for a pen found one behind the lamp, dusty, rolled the dust on the sheets near the dried fluid stains thinking them similar in color and meaning and hoisted himself onto the pillows. Opened the notebook to a fresh page; the last entry two years before. Dry empty pages dry empty years in which he had written nothing.

  +Don’t even think don’t wonder just go this is the urge just go.

  He began to write:

  The gnawing in my head. This is where it began. It ended in blood and carved flesh, but it began with a chewing, a dream, a realization of my inadequacy.

  Africa empty show me Mother the way of your New land. You have made a desert of bone sand where Once your children danced Will the lighter peoples of Earth Enjoy your broad thighs, now that your children are Weak and fewer? Will you cast a new mantle of sleeping sickness Whites only To shelter your firstborn? On foreign shores, your far-flung have labored to Become white wear suits Learn white money Sprung from your ground, they walk above the ground Feet never touch any ground They do not know any center They are the black white men This your far-flung son I am a black White man Weep for me my mother As I weep for you I cannot love.

  16

  AXIS (Biologic Band 4)> Roger, I believe I am seeing structures. This is exciting, is it not? The coins have entered B-2’s atmosphere and fallen. I could write a poem about their voyage. Two thirds have survived and are returning enormous amounts of data. They are seeing great green sand deserts and wide lands covered with foliage like grass seas. This is a green planet as we thought; grass and sand and two deep broad green seas, one in the northern hemisphere, and one in the south. There is one small blue sea at the northern pole. All the seas, my coins tell me, are fertile with microorganisms. The land does not appear to have any large life forms; there are no signs of animal life on the land yet there is sufficient oxygen in the atmosphere to support such life. Perhaps all animal forms exist in the seas, or the oxygen cycle differs from Earth’s. Of course, it is always possible that large insect colonies exist underground. At any rate, there is life here. (Judgment algorithm check affirmed.)

  There are seasons of a kind here, generated by B-2’s axial tilt of nine degrees. They are gentle seasons, apparently, and there is nothing like Earth’s winter or summer; the difference seems to be that between spring and fall.

  Roger, here perhaps is my most significant observation. On land, my scattered coins see weathered towers arranged in circles. These circles measure from a few hundred meters to ten kilometers in diameter. The towers are up to a hundred meters high, flattened ovals or circular in cross section, with the cylindrical towers seeming to predominate in the smaller circles. The circles or rings are seldom more than two or three hundred kilometers from the edge of one of the seas, and broad lines resembling roads or pathways reach from the shores to the formations.

  With my long range telescopic cameras I confirm these observations from a quarter of a million kilometers. My coins report no signs of living or moving things in these circles or on the linear pathways.

  The mobile observers launched yesterday are decelerating now in preparation for aerobraking and will be landing in five hours ten minutes. I expect reports from them within twenty eight hours. I have directed five to come down on land masses, two in the grasslands and three near separate tower circles; and of the three fluid capable mobile observers I have dispersed one to the polar landlocked sea, the only ocean not green but blue, one to the equatorial sea like a circumferential river, and one to the southern sea, largest in area of them all. (Burst 5.6 picoseconds)

  LitVid 21/1 A Net (David Shine): “AXIS has confirmed discovery of the first life beyond Earth! Wake up, historians, this is a signal moment in the history of the human race: we are not alone! And as if this were not enough, AXIS reports the possibility of intelligent life, or some form of life capable of building tall towers in circular formations. Australia North Cape promises that low-resolution pictures of the planet and what AXIS is—or rather, was—seeing will be available later today, and we’ll bring them to you as soon as they are released…

  “Who can help but feel a moment of glowing pride? AXIS, perhaps the most expensive achievement in exploration of all time, has paid us back in full. Today we have learned that there is life elsewhere in the universe. Will our own existence ever be the same? And as if for lagniappe, AXIS informs us that it may have discovered the remains of cities. We will provide complete coverage of all revelations from North Cape and expert analysts around the globe as we receive them.

  “LitVid 21 is not given to hyperbole. We try to put a different spin on what we report, to change vectors and aim for the truth beyond what mere facts present, but today we are flabbergasted into uniformity with other vidnet casts. AXIS has found what might be cities on another world, a green world, B-2, the second planet of Alpha Cent
auri B. Throughout time, humans have wondered whether we are alone, whether we would have the entire universe to ourselves. For most of our history, except for a few visionaries, we thought travel in space was unlikely, and travel to the distant stars seemed beyond impossibility, raw fantasy. Yet our technological progress and our innate urge to explore ever outward compelled us to travel to the moon and planets. We found them empty of life.

  “Our space telescopes confirmed the existence of planets much larger than Earth around distant stars; we could not know whether any Earth sized planets existed, but our instincts told us they did, and in 2017, five nations, headed by the young technological giant China, decided to build the first interstellar probe. Reluctantly, the United States was persuaded to join, making six, and contributed its own considerable expertise in space to the project. Built in orbit around the Earth using the largest Chinese orbital platform Golden Dawn as a base, AXIS, the Automated explorer of Interstellar Space, came to life…In a manner of speaking.

  “Roger Atkins, a senior executive at Mind Design Inc and the head designer of AXIS’s intelligence systems, put together a combined bioelectronic thinker with capabilities far beyond a single human individual, yet without self-awareness. As Atkins said in 2035, five years into his part of the project:”

  (Vid interview playback, Atkins short and stout with feathery thinning brown hair, wearing a black skinform) “We do not want to send an artificial human out there. AXIS’s thinker will do a better job than a human would; it will be designed especially for its job. But we will not neglect the poetry aspect, nor will AXIS be blind and incapable of opinion. After all, one cycle of communication with AXIS will take more than eight and a half years by the time it reaches its goal; it’s going to be very alone out there, and it’s going to have to think and make important decisions by itself. It will have to make judgments heretofore reserved for human beings.