Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1)

by Skelley, Rune

  It feared you.

  Fin gritted his teeth. “I imagine it did, a little. You’ll just have to get used to a small amount of fear and doubt. Get some perspective. It’s normal.”

  Fear is the result of disunity. The wholeness was holiness. We never knew this fear until you shattered our faith.

  “Shattered your faith? I only stuck up for myself.” Fin shook his head. “Believe whatever you want.”

  We believe we must be whole. You must restore us. We knew you were unique, but failed to understand what that meant. It meant you would purge us of our flaws and remake us as a better Wisdom. We tried to use you, and that was wrong.

  “Is that supposed to be an apology?” The aliens backed up a step. “And you’re full of shit. How could the Floating Wisdom fear anything, if fear comes from disunity? I come along and shatter this thing for you and you refuse to let go of its double-talk anyway!”

  The aliens backed up farther, huddling as close together as possible. Fin’s attitude softened a bit. The poor things thought they were being scolded by God, personally. He still needed to know how to get home, and arguing about religion and philosophy looked like an unlikely way to achieve that.

  “Look,” he said, extending his left hand, “I can’t solve your problems for you. I didn’t ask to be here, and what I did was in self defense, but I’m sorry about the mess. Now send me home and we’ll all muddle through.”

  No. We will not be without you.

  Fin’s attitude hardened again. “Then go FUCK OFF!” he bellowed, waving his arms.

  As he let out his roar they all toppled backwards, as if they had fainted. Before they hit the floor their arms and legs split lengthwise into pairs, and the knees and elbows tilted upward. They suddenly sported eight legs apiece, and he saw, before they spun away and scuttled off in six different directions, small glistening eyes on their true faces. They were gigantic spiders. What he had taken for faces were in fact their gray-green abdomens, the huge black eyes merely spots.

  The scritching noises of their flight diminished and stopped, leaving Fin alone. He remembered spiders being mentioned, but it was a jolt to meet them close up.

  Fin stood still for a few minutes, contemplating. There had to be some kind of transportation system or they never could have brought him here.

  Searching for the means of transport would give him an excuse to leave this creepy chamber.

  Fin craned his neck looking for some kind of landmark in the expanse of undressed rock. There was enough concavity to tell him he stood on the inside surface of a sphere. Although the dim light and tangled network of cocoons thwarted his attempt to look across to the other side, he could see a glow coming from a distant point on the wall, maybe a third of the way around from where he stood.

  It was like learning to walk all over again to keep from bouncing up into the webs. The curvature fooled his eyes, making him expect to be moving uphill all the time. The minuscule gravity made it necessary to walk very softly and slowly, exhausting because it required so much concentration.

  Fin squinted up at his bright patch to determine if he was on course. He could see it much more clearly now with less of the webbing in his way, a circular opening in the rock wall, letting into a bright corridor. A promising target.

  Soon he drew close enough that he didn’t need to look up to see it.

  To his right, not ten feet away, a spider with a six-foot leg span descended with eerie slowness on a silken strand. Fin’s skin temperature dropped, but he reminded himself this was not really a spider. He recognized it from the group he had been talking to a few minutes ago.

  “You scared the shit out of me. What do you want now?” The spider reached stone, and pawed the air with its front legs. It clicked its mandibles and advanced a step.

  Perhaps it really was a spider.

  As it sprang at him, Fin jumped away. His jump carried him high above the rocky floor and into the outskirts of the web. The spider followed a much flatter trajectory and was far below, but it began climbing rapidly through the web. If Fin snared himself he’d be easy meat.

  He had risen almost a hundred feet, getting farther away from his intended escape from this hellish chamber.

  Pretty sure the structural lines of the web weren’t sticky, Fin grabbed one. With some amount of awkward tumbling he arrested his flight and braced his feet against the line he held in his hand. There was nothing else within reach, making it difficult to control his position, to aim himself at the exit. The spider moved toward him efficiently and quickly. Fin forced himself to take his time aiming, twisting his wrist while counter swinging his right arm, gauging the springiness of the webbing.

  Close enough, he decided, meaning both the rushing arachnid and his aim. He jumped, launching himself headfirst at considerable speed.

  Fin saw the faint glint of something in his path, and jolted to a painful halt with a fine strand across his throat. This nearly invisible thread was sticky, and much stronger than the cocoon material. While he spun around the taut line, he became tangled. His twirling slowed and he was granted periodic glimpses of two spiders squaring off. The one chasing him faced another, even larger, who apparently set this ambush.

  As Fin watched, the newcomer overwhelmed his original pursuer. It bent the smaller arachnid’s legs aside and administered a single gruesome bite.

  Fin wished he knew how to get the monster to act civilized. It turned away from its ruined opponent before the twitching stopped, and advanced with mechanical calmness toward Fin.

  He screamed at it and struggled against his bonds. They were stubborn but not unbreakable. By the time the huge spider neared him he had use of all of his extremities. That left him outnumbered eight to four, but he was going to put up a fight. He tried to keep himself aligned for a kick and kept shrieking. The spider paused, considering its next move.

  Don’t hurt it, Fin heard. Just a moment.

  Chancing a quick look away from the monster to locate the source of the thoughts, he saw more spiders, at least a dozen, streaming into the web in a tight group.

  We’re coming.

  Fin couldn’t stop screaming.

  The arachnid rescue squad surrounded Fin and his would-be assailant and stopped. The big creature dropped back a little. Simultaneously, the entire group rearranged their limbs and tilted their bodies so they lifted their abdomens toward Fin. They looked like they were seated on the web with their legs dangling, all staring at Fin with eyes that weren’t eyes. When they spoke to him again it seemed the voice in his head came from the largest, the same one that had been about to attack him.

  These are confusing times. We think it would be best, for you and certainly for us, if you left.

  “Amen!” Fin yelled.

  We will take you to our transport system now, and return you to Earth. Please climb down along the new webbing we will create for you.

  “Finally, some reasonable creatures. You got it.” Fin looked over at the dead spider. He felt responsible for it, for the unkind way he’d treated that group. Had the thing attacked out of spite? He opened his mouth to ask about the violent events, but the answer came immediately.

  Without the Floating Wisdom, old instinctual ways take over. In small groups we can function, but we are cut off from the Floating Wisdom—the calm knowledge of trillions of beings. Unfortunately, two is too small a group to overcome the violence of our instincts.

  The work on a ladder for Fin proceeded while he received his explanation. The spiders always kept themselves arranged such that none strayed too far to remain part of the group. Fin followed the aliens down the makeshift ladder toward the glowing circle.

  They were not embarrassed by their disapproval of Fin’s presence. He could sense some general ideas about how his example meant there must be evil in freedom, but mostly he picked up blame and resentment. They clearly wished to see the old order restored.

  Fin was getting steamed over the aliens’ attitude that he had destroyed their wonderful r
eligion. He paused before he entered the corridor, a tube fitted with many rungs and handholds.

  “You do realize I didn’t ask to come here, right? I mean, if I damaged your society you literally brought it on yourselves.”

  The past is done. We will send you home. We need not argue matters of blame.

  The aliens all entered the corridor, standing upright, and waited for Fin. He moved forward by means of the handholds. The tunnel’s apparent orientation fluctuated with each foot he traveled. It was all in the fractional-G scale, so Fin didn’t get thrown around. Just a bit nauseated. An image appeared in his head, showing a 3D cross-section of the asteroid, meant to explain the complex gravitational issues here. Fin gathered that the insanely advanced mathematics that should have accompanied the diagram were part of the Floating Wisdom and therefore not accessible right now.

  They moved along, through two junctions and past several doorways, before stopping at an open door. The aliens walked in, and Fin pulled himself after them by grasping the edges of the doorway. It shut behind him.

  The room was featureless except for a pedestal protruding from one side, which might as well have been the floor. The pasty green aliens stood around this, and Fin asked, “How does it work?”

  You must lie down here so we can prepare you.

  Fin wanted more information before trusting a group that so openly loathed him. The situation looked too compromising. He could still access the cutaway map they showed him. Some of it was labeled…

  He dug the information forcibly out of the group consciousness of these aliens. They showed distress as he exacted more detail, located his present whereabouts. He looked up the real purpose of this ominous chamber and saw how right he was not to trust them.

  They panicked, scuttling around the room, losing their cohesiveness. As a baker’s dozen separate bugs they were far more dangerous and they would lack the sort of information he could exploit.

  Fin addressed the collective mind, pinning it and refusing to let it disintegrate. “You have lied to me, the One Who Shattered the Wisdom! You see now how such deceptions anger me!” He pulled them back together before any of them could operate the door and allow the group to scatter.

  “Now, send me safely back to Earth!” he commanded.

  Yes! We can! We will! A clamor of explanations about how their technology worked filled Fin’s head. He comprehended little of it, except that it was a way of pinching space. It could be used from virtually anywhere, even this laboratory.

  He visualized his room at the boarding house. “That place. Now.”

  The walls moved in irrational ways, concave corners splitting to reveal hidden space — all curves. It engulfed Fin and surrounded him with a spherical shell of non-space. He could feel it moving, the pebbly surface undulating as his bubble in the continuum glided toward its destination. The slippery feeling lasted for several minutes, then the sphere unfolded into a dark, stale room distinctly lacking in Rook’s presence.

  *** *** ***

  Eleanor and Mrs Swenson had no end of nice things to say about Mr Tanner. He’d been so understanding in the wake of Reverend Shaw’s sudden passing. He ran things so well. He was such an honorable man, so handsome, so dashing, so kind. Rook must be very proud to have made such a fine catch. Rook stayed quiet while the ladies prattled on and answered their own questions.

  They dressed her all in white: white bustier with way too many hooks, white silk panties, garter belt and stockings, trimmed with pale blue bows. Rook had never been one for lingerie. She felt like old-school Madonna. Mrs Swenson helped her slide her blue garter into place. The women clucked disapprovingly over her tattoos, but concluded that they must have been a youthful indiscretion, and it wasn’t their place to judge. So unfortunate the dress didn’t cover them all, but what could be done at this late date? Maybe she could wear a shawl? Rook declined.

  The wedding dress fit well, with a sleeveless bodice, sweetheart neckline, and skirt of gauzy netting that fell to the floor like an overgrown tutu. The veil hung to her elbows and obscured her quill tattoo. The only ones on display were her ring and the rooks on her wrists, and Kyle hadn’t provided gloves. Low white heels and a bouquet of blood-red roses completed the ensemble.

  The old ladies got weepy over how lovely she looked, then scurried off to the cathedral, leaving Rook alone with Gary.

  Gary took her downstairs to the limo and rode with her along a private lane and across the empty parking lot to the cathedral. It was an impressive structure, all glass and chrome in an impossibly intricate pile.

  Gary led Rook through big glass double doors and into a green velvet nightmare. Hundreds of pews, all upholstered in bright kelly green, held twenty or so people clustered together at the front. The television cameras placed at strategic locations around the church added to the surreality.

  The Wedding March played on a pipe organ. Gary walked her down the aisle to where Kyle waited in a severe black suit. The preacher nodded and smiled.

  Kyle lifted Rook’s veil and she felt his eyes crawling over her as his oscillations in her mind fluctuated in impatient counterpoint with the music. She suddenly understood that her getup enabled some sexual power trip of Kyle’s. He wanted to pretend she was a virgin so he could take pleasure in deflowering her, soiling her.

  The preacher began his religious ramblings, but Rook didn’t listen. A mercifully short time later she heard something about richer and poorer. She paid attention then.

  “Do you, Brook Bramble, take Kyle to be your lawful wedded husband, to love, honor and obey ‘til death do you part?”

  “Whatever.”

  The preacher looked at her, puzzled. Kyle nodded, indicating he should continue.

  “Do you, Kyle Robert, take Rook to be your lawful wedded wife, to love, cherish and protect ‘til death do you part?”

  “I do.”

  There was only one ring. For Rook, of course. A wide gold band with several moderately large diamonds. Tacky. Kyle wore a self-satisfied expression as he slid it onto her finger.

  “With this ring I thee wed and proclaim to the world that you are mine.”

  Rook blinked. This was one weird wedding.

  Next thing she knew, the preacher pronounced them man and wife in the eyes of the Lord and all mankind. Kyle pulled her against him, one hand in the small of her back, the other on the back of her head, under her veil, and inflicted a voracious kiss that lasted at least a minute and took her breath away. Her mouth filled with the boozy taste of Kyle, her body pressed tightly against his. She couldn’t breathe. He held her possessively, his hand creeping toward her ass. Rook had no strength. Kyle supported her now. Her fingers tingled. Her eyes fluttered closed. All she knew was the pressure of his hands and body, the feel of his lips and his teeth, the taste of his tongue, the surge of prickling rawness inside her skull, the rush of her own blood.

  He was whispering in her ear, “They’re giving us a reception. We won’t stay long. Be good.”

  In another wing of the cathedral the newlyweds were photographed and toasted with fake champagne. Neither of them wanted to be there. Mrs Swenson brought out a small, flowery wedding cake for them to feed each other while more cameras flashed. Rook didn’t know she had frosting in the corner of her mouth until Kyle leaned in to lick it off.

  He held both her hands in his and bent over her. His tongue lingered and the lick became a kiss. With dread, Rook felt the awakening in her crotch, her nipples, her lips, the quickening in her tummy. Euphoria flooded her and made her hips quiver, her knees weak. Rook submerged in guilty horror and everything about her that was Brook burst joyously forth.

  The little girl who watched with envy as her mother married time and again reveled in her chance to play dress-up with real wedding clothes. She made a low noise in her throat, and opened her eyes to stare into the hard green of Kyle’s. Would he want to play house, too? She hoped so, and kissed him back.

  *** *** ***

  The relief Fin felt at escaping fr
om the giant space spiders was acute.

  So was his emptiness at Rook’s absence.

  The trek to the bomb shelter in his father’s back yard took Fin about an hour, and when he arrived, the padlock was in place, meaning his wife was not going to be inside. He climbed down anyway.

  “Hey, Vesuvius. Miss me? I’ve been in outer space.”

  “Welcome back. Did you have a good trip?”

  “Not so much. Have you talked to Rook?”

  “She hasn’t been here. Was she in space too?”

  “No.”

  “Well, maybe she couldn’t get the day off.”

  Fin smiled, and they sat silently for a few minutes. Fin decided to permit himself some optimism, to hope Rook might be waiting elsewhere. He bid his lava lamp farewell and went to find her.

  The exploding truck at the reception dominated coffeehouse debate, although most people fell silent when Fin appeared. He learned Bishop was in the hospital. Worry sprang in full bloom. Rook hadn’t been seen by anyone, and he couldn’t locate her signal. He wished he understood it better, knew its range or if there was any way to block it. Then its hollow absence might be a useful clue and not just a source of despair.

  He rode the bus to the hospital, spent almost a day roaming the wards and disrupting doctors’ rounds to describe her, over and over. The doctor who treated him after the Sycamore disaster finally convinced Fin they had no unidentified patients. Rook wasn’t there. He was too chickenshit to visit Bishop.

  Yellow police tape cordoned off the entire park. Fin ducked it and walked all around the charred pickup and the picnic tables where he thought she’d left her jacket. She’d want that back soon because it was getting colder. He found nothing, figured the cops had her jacket, and probably his bass if it survived the festivities. That seemed like a safe place to leave them for a while. Asking the police for help finding Rook would hit a major snag when they asked him to account for his own whereabouts since the ill-fated party.

  The next day he went to the CTP office. They wouldn’t tell him anything, didn’t believe him when he told them he’d married Rook. Rather peremptorily they assumed he was a psycho stalker fanboy. When the secretary threatened to call the police, he left.