Angels of Apocalypse, Part I: Alignment

by J. J. Harkin

  “But Grandma,” Den said, redirecting their attention, “how is it that you’re controlling this thing?”

  “Am I?” Victoria seemed genuinely surprised by the idea. “I thought you were doing that somehow. All I know is that I can see… and hear… and speak again!” The joyous note in her voice was growing now, as she stretched once more.

  “Don’t you see?!” exclaimed Rachel, brightly turning to David. “Obviously the sensor array of the U-Ball picks up on the nearest human thought signature, but we never bothered to consider the possibility that the death of the body might have little to no effect on one’s ability to continue broadcasting.”

  “But if she doesn’t have a body, then how can Victoria be transmitting thoughts?”

  “Easily, as it all works the other way around!” insisted Rachel. “The physical body only ever manifests the thoughts of the mind in the first place. Nobody knows where our thoughts come from, but in light of all this, replacing one body with another as a solution to death seems to be the path we’ve taken.”

  “Even though we weren’t trying to?” asked Den.

  “Even though we weren’t trying to…” confirmed David, now shifting into absolute bafflement.

  Victoria, hearing all this, had taken a moment to further experiment with her motor control, attempting a little movement up and down the stairs on her numerous legs. “Yes,” she said presently, “I really do seem to be in control of this thing.” She was turning back to face the organ. “And I came straight here.” She sighed as she looked up at the immense maze of pipes before the stained-glass sunrise.

  “Perhaps this is where you felt most at home,” guessed Rachel, drawing closer to the shining android.

  “Yes, Rachel. Perhaps…” said Victoria. She hurried over to give Den another brisk hug, unwilling to miss a single opportunity. The sun was well up now, filling the room with a light so dazzling the companions were now viewing one another through a unilateral squint. The rain would return soon, they knew, but they reveled in the short reprieve.

  When she eventually let Den go, the spider grandmother had another look at herself. Victoria moved her reflective steel hands before her digital eyes slowly, listening to the tiny motors within. “It is… beyond imagining, David,” she said slowly, “but who is this last one?” She was gesturing toward Hayao, who had remained at the bottom of the stairs, waiting quietly and respectfully to be noticed.

  “Ah, yes,” explained Den proudly, “this is Hayao Vidya. He is the reason you look the way you do, Grandma.” A moment of anxiety passed, as Hayao, Den, David, and Rachel worried simultaneously whether Victoria would appreciate the more spidery aspects of her form. To their relief, however, Victoria clasped at her breastplate habitually, emoting awe as she approached Hayao.

  “Hello there, Hayao,” she said, placing a glittering hand gently upon his shoulder. “Thank you very much for all your hard work.”

  “You are more than welcome,” smiled Hayao. “The design of mechanimals has become my trade; I was thrilled at the opportunity to participate. May I take it, then, that you like spiders too, Victoria?”

  “She used to spank me if I killed them in the garden…” muttered Den reminiscently.

  “My mother – you’re great grandmother –” began Victoria, eyeing Den, “started that tradition. She used to keep them as pets. Took ’em to the spider fights at Kajiki every year…”

  “Ah, yes,” said Hayao, now more excitedly, “but my grandmother always told me that the arrival of a spider portents the visit of a dear friend. I thought of her often as I worked, though I don’t know why.”

  “Certainly you have been quite industrious,” said Victoria proudly, as she looked down at Hayao, “not to mention foresighted, as I indeed hope we will all become dear friends. In many lands the spider has become a symbol of the spirit of industry, yet never so directly as it has manifested here. You have all worked hard, and I thank you very, very much.”

  “Thank you, Victoria,” said David, smiling, “but remember our efforts were greatly enhanced by all the cash you left here. There almost wasn’t anything we couldn’t do with so much money!” David was glad he had imbued the robot with the ability to smile, for seeing it now, embodying Victoria’s timeless face, was brighter than any sunrise.

  Suddenly harsh barks broke the charged silence. Dogie was bounding into the room to defend the manor from intruders. There he was, loping with comic gracelessness down a flight of stairs far too immense for his miniature stature, followed closely by the frenzied form of Harriet, still holding a forgotten feather duster.

  “Come back, you!” she cried, raising the duster authoritatively in the manner of a scepter. Then she raised her arms plaintively to heaven, asking: “What on Earth is the matter with him?!” As she chased the dog down the stairs and right up to the dais, they all saw that she was very red in the face, and wore a T-shirt labeled “Del Mar Sanitation Department.” Henrietta – never far behind – entered next, as usual trying fruitlessly to keep up with the much older and agile woman whom was the primary of her many responsibilities.

  Reaching the top of the dais at last, Dogie unleashed his attack. Teeth bared horrifyingly, the tiny hound lunged upon his prey, and the tip of Victoria’s nearest foreleg was caught in a death-lock. The madness of Dogie’s race had caught fire within him, leaving none safe until it might be assuaged. He hung now, by the strength of his teeth alone, from the claw which tipped the cyborg’s leg, growling in vicious ferocity. Victoria seemed not to notice any of this, however, being thoroughly distracted by the arrival of her old friend.

  “Harriet!” she cried. Victoria’s spider legs were a blur once again as she hurried down from the dais. The vigilance of Dogie was defied, yet he chased her doggedly, nipping at her long, metal legs in surly defiance.

  “Is that Victoria?” Harriet was not sure, but she thought she recognized a familiar quality which peeked out amid the metallic tints and echo effects of the spider-bot’s voice synthesizer.

  “Yes, Harri, it’s me,” promised Victoria reluctantly, now becoming concerned that her change in appearance might prove to be too great a strain on a most valued relationship.

  For a moment the two stared at one another open-mouthed. The bright light of the chapel scattered about her the brilliance reflected in every facet of Victoria’s new, chiseled body, so strangely contrived in the form of a spider woman. Yet Harriet recognized her good friend’s unforgettable voice well. The women embraced for several quiet moments, until Harriet thought of many questions which needed answering.

  “Is this plastic surgery?” she asked.

  “No, dear, I believe it’s metallurgy,” answered the sing-song voice of Henrietta. She had finally caught up to the group, to ply questions of her own. “And what’s all this?”

  “A family reunion of sorts,” explained Den, still not believing it himself. “Henrietta, meet my grandmother: Victoria.” At this he indicated the impressive android holding Harriet’s hand.

  “What?!” That was all Henrietta got out before falling over. When she awoke she was being handed a glass of water, and helped into a sitting position by David and Den.

  “You okay there?” Den asked coyly.

  “Oh, yes. Absolutely. Only I thought you said your grandmother was that robot over there,” Henrietta sighed dramatically in relief. “Gave me quite a turn…”

  “Well, actually, that was exactly what we were saying,” admitted David, almost apologetically.

  She was out cold again instantaneously.

  The next time Henrietta came to, she was being sprinkled daintily with water by Harriet and licked dry by Dogie. “Henrietta!” Harriet shouted. “Wake up! It’s just Victoria.” David and Den lifted her to her feet, but stayed fairly close afterward, in case she went over again unexpectedly. Seeing this task was complete, Dogie lost no time getting back to work, unleashing hell on Victoria’s defenseless legs once more.

  “Henri,” continued Harriet, raising her arm
toward her friend, “this is Victoria Ulrik – the one I’ve told you so much about.” She paused. “She’s not the robot – she’s the one inside it.”

  “Oh!” Henrietta’s eyes had finally stopped rolling back in her head, but the idea of Victoria’s soul inhabiting an ultramodern appliance would evidently take some getting used to.

  “Let me show you,” Victoria said. “Do you remember Harriet ever mentioning that I am an accomplished organist?” Henrietta, who had already become incurably speechless, said nothing.

  Again Victoria ascended the stairs toward the keyboard, with Dogie close behind. None attempted to restrain him, for they were distracted completely by Victoria. The first notes she released were like a foghorn, shaking a fine dust from the ceiling as her strong arms plunged into the keys confidently. Then she began to play faster, releasing a fine system of baroque counterpoint into the air around them. Though it felt oddly familiar, none of the companions had ever heard the piece she was playing, for Victoria composed it in that very moment off the top of her head. Fascinated, Harriet joined Victoria at the organ.

  “Cool, man…” said David, though no one could hear him.

  The deep braying of the organ was recurring now, mixing with the delicate melody, Victoria’s many legs not neglecting the pedals while her arms continued to work furiously. The wind between the notes sent a frisson around the room, and then, with a last deep boom, Victoria abruptly finished. The sun’s strength seemed spent, and rain began to fall outside once again. Henrietta, having been thoroughly won over by the music, was clapping. Harriet excitedly congratulated Victoria on her surviving talent. Dogie, on the other hand, lay sound asleep, hanging dangerously from the third step of the dais, evidently soothed into unconsciousness by the music.

  “I think this dog has only two settings:” said Victoria, “on or off.” She turned to lift the snoring animal from the floor, and carefully placed him in a hollowed section between her lower back and the spider’s abdomen behind her. “We’ll have another check on your temperament when you wake up, doggie.”

  “You should be able to control any of the electronics on the island too,” said David eagerly. “Do you feel anything else, Victoria?”

  The lights flicked on and then off again. “Yes,” Victoria wondered aloud, “it looks like I can control things.”

  “There should be several drones down in the lab,” he added hopefully. “Think you can feel them too?”

  Victoria seemed to be thinking for a moment. “Yes. Are there five of them?” As David nodded back affirmatively, the little drones were already activated, and sped buzzing uphill between the column of trees toward the main house. David and Hayao had rendered these robots more simply, so that each one stood on four legs beneath small, child-sized upper bodies. They looked more or less like miniature, cherub centaurs, and the overall look was quite cute.

  “This should be interesting,” said David to Den, as all five drones filed into the room in a row.

  “Henrietta,” Victoria was asking, “how has your care of the estate gone thus far?”

  “Oh, quite well ma’am, I’m sure,” Henritta promised fervently. “We’ve nearly fifty people staying ’ere now, and there’s no end in sight either.”

  “I suppose you could use some help, then!” announced Victoria triumphantly. “Let’s get to work!”

  The noisy discussion, which had begun to wake Dogie up, was thereby replaced by the soothing notes of the pipe organ. As he dropped back off to sleep, Victoria set the drones to work while she hammered out a busy song. Still smiling broadly, Hayao, Rachel, and David returned to their work for awhile, but Den remained to watch the show. And quite a show it was. Harriet twirled about with her feather duster, working and dancing in equal time. Henrietta, rejoicing at the coming of new help, wasted no time finding vacuums for the drone robots, before hurrying off to gather laundry herself. As Victoria played, the drones worked, and the rest of the household danced in time, all spinning about her, as the spider grandmother loosed a whirlwind of new activity. That day the walls shook due to the organ’s music – though also sometimes because of thunder – while the rain fell outside in buckets, but nobody really cared. Victoria was back; somehow she was back.

  As he sat there watching, Den had remained stuck in the gear of stunned silence for some time. He had been eating the same cup of yogurt for a couple hours now, sitting mutely upon the seventh step from the bottom of the flight of stairs which adjoined the organ’s helm at the left. Victoria had been playing nonstop since the three ladies – Harriet, Henrietta, and herself – had set back to work, yet Den was not growing tired of it. As Henrietta whipped up something lovely for fifty, Harriet remained dancing at the bottom of the stairs before him. Two of the drones danced with her there, doing their best to mimic Harriet’s movements, while the other three raced rapid circles around the house, dusting off the many surfaces she had evidently missed. In the hands opposite their dusters each drone held an identical vacuum cleaner, and the pace of cleaning quickly waxed manic, as multitasking in high gear was evidently no rush for the robots. The precision of the group was so great it might have been a happy mirage, but it was all as real as dying.

  With a sigh, Den awoke from a fit of the stares at last. Seeing this, Victoria turned to him, and relinquished the keyboard and the room to silence for a while. Initially the drones took no notice, but continued about their tasks. Yet as Harriet approached the stairs to join in the emerging conversation, her two dance partners hurried directly off to assist in the kitchen, evidently understanding that they were no longer required.

  “You look well, Harriet.” Victoria had noticed the change in her mobility, previously so grievously limited, and wondered how the metamorphosis might have come about.

  “I’ve been fine ever since I got out of that nursing home,” Harriet explained.

  Victoria smiled, and agreed, saying only: “Me too, I guess.” They all laughed for a minute. Victoria’s death seemed inconsequential at this point; she was back. Harriet, suspecting the other two might need a moment alone, gave each a parting hug then, and rushed off to help the others.

  “Grandma…” began Den.

  Victoria had never felt so attentive. “Yes, Denny?”

  “So you really don’t remember anything between the nursing home and today?”

  “No, not much.”

  “And what do you think of your new body and the island and everything?”

  “It’s about what I expected, Denny,” she said, eyeing him with concern, “but tell me: What’s wrong with you?”

  Den was not sure he knew the answer to this. “I don’t know.” Actually he did know – he was just unsure how to form the right question. “Grandma, what’s all this about?”

  “About?” asked Victoria, seeming genuinely confused.

  “I mean… Where did you get all this money? And this island? And who is Joseph? Do you know the future or something?” He had finally blurted it all out.

  “You shouldn’t be worrying about such things.” Victoria did not like seeing him perplexed so soon after losing Maria, but deemed it unwise to tell him she already knew as much as that.

  “Well, I do worry,” Den replied. “This is all rather fishy, you know.”

  “Listen, it’s no big deal. Joseph is a messenger friend of mine. He’s been bringing me good advice for years – financial as well as otherwise.”

  “But who is he? I saw him talking to you right before… you died.”

  “Umm…” began Victoria, seeming to draw a blank. “Well, I’m not sure what I ought to tell you, Denny…”

  “Why not?” replied Den.

  “It’s just that most secret things are meant to remain so until the appointed time.”

  Though this was probably true, the explanation meant little to Den. “Who is this guy?”

  “I think the best way to put it is that he’s a business associate of mine.”

  “So all of this was his idea, then?”

&
nbsp; “Actually, no. We both serve the same Master.” Seeing he was about to interrupt, Victoria continued. “Let’s just say it’s God, Denny.” She placed a cool metal hand on his knee. “Joseph and I both work for God.”

  “Which God?” Den was feeling more confused by the minute.

  “The only one there is. And this is all part of God’s plan.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Dreams, Denny,” Victoria insisted. “When first I was your grandmother I only dreamed vaguely of Joseph, but the dreams became more and more vivid as the years went by.”

  “And he gave you financial advice?”

  “Eventually, but at first he simply gave me good advice on raising you.”

  “But what did he say on that last day, just before you…ya know…?”

  “He simply stopped by the nursing home to pick up the letter you eventually found on the pipe organ. He’d given me an idea of what to write on his last visit. Then he let me know that everything was going perfectly, and that I should wake up feeling better in a couple months. It was kind of like his bon voyage to me.”

  “Ohhh…” sighed Den, finally understanding. “Well he told me to build something called a hydrogen separator.”

  “And are you working on it?”

  “We’ve gotten started…”

  “Keep it up, then,” Victoria assured him. “Anything that man advises you to do is on the orders of the Most High. Joseph has no purposes of his own, I can assure you of that.”

  At that point their conversation was abruptly interrupted. “Guess what?!” The joyous voice of David could be heard again, as he and Rachel hurried back into the chapel, an unfamiliar face following just behind them.

  “What?” asked Den, standing. Rachel and David had arrived at the foot of the stairs, so that Den saw the visitor better. The shrewd-looking man behind them was bearded to the waist, and neatly clad in a gray suit, though drenched to the skin.

  “Actually ‘Who?’ is the proper question,” replied Rachel, raising her arm in the direction of the newcomer like a game show hostess. “This is…”