Farewell Horizontal

bears.”

Christ; maybe Guyer’s spoiled all this for me. The angel sat on the edge of the table, her hands folded in her lap, the wind tracing her hair over her bare shoulders. Axxter watched her with diminishing lust. Impossible to keep up a carnal interest in anyone – anything – this dim. Like raping a puppy. Enough bad payback there to last you for the rest of your life.

Or – he considered another possibility – maybe she’s smarter than you think. In the kinds of things that angels would know. And with just… a different sense of time. If any at all – he wondered how much it would be logical for angels to know about something like that.

She had caught sight of something over her shoulder and had twisted her slender neck to look at it. The flight membrane – whole and spheroid again, not the tattered rag Axxter had found her wrapped in – reflected her distorted face in the shiny metallic surface.

“Uh – I did that.” Axxter didn’t know if he was apologizing or bragging. “I had to, ’cause it was such a mess. That’s why it’s different now.”

“Different?”

No different without before. “This -” He reached above her shoulder and poked the flight membrane, his fingertip dimpling the biofoil he had implanted to replace the burnt- away tissue. “This isn’t the way it was…” He stopped, seeing her smiling, uncomprehending gaze. Was; what good did that do? Like teaching higher mathematics to a cat. He didn’t even know why he was trying to explain.

He tried again. “Look.” She obediently followed his lifted finger. “The sky – right?” A nod from her. She understands something, at least. “Okay, that’s the way it is now.” He reached for the curtain edge and drew it around, shutting off the view beyond the platform, enclosing them again in the protected space. The sunlight filtered dimly through the curtain fabric. “Now it’s all small again. Like it was.” The last word desperate; I’m blowing it, he thought. Not even getting close. He flicked the curtain partway open again, revealing an angled wedge of the sky. “Is.” Closed again, in half-light. “Was.” Shaking his head, a sigh; forget it. Somebody, a professional semanticist maybe, might be able to bridge this gap; he couldn’t.

She still smiled at him, Which only made him feel more frustrated. An amusing thing, in a world full of amusing things. A wonder that she hadn’t just broken out laughing at him. Maybe that’s the benefit of being an angel; all the sad things are in that other world, of before and was. She doesn’t have to worry about any of that. If she worries about anything at all.

He wondered how much she remembered of whatever had happened to her. Remembered – that was a laugh. Probably dropped like a stone through the clouds below, to whatever oblivion lay beneath them. He bent down and picked up a small battery torch from the tools scattered across the platform floor. The glowing ball of flame danced in her eyes as he held the torch in front of her and flicked it on. For a moment, Lahft smiled at the tiny spark – pretty light – then her face clouded. She drew back, hands pushing against the edge of the table.

Well, well. There’s something there after all – maybe right down in the cells, the organism’s own deep memory. Axxter snapped the flame off – the distress in the angel’s eyes made it seem uncomfortably like torture – and dropped the torch.

“Not… here.” She sounded almost thoughtful, gazing away from him, tilting her head to look up the expanse of wall above the platform. “A bright place. Like that.” She pointed to where the torch’s flame had been.

No time, no difference between then and now… She thinks it’s still happening somewhere. Always happening, without end, in that bright place. “Up there?” He indicated the wall sector from which he himself had been traveling.

“Yes.” Lahft nodded, the smile gone for a moment, brow creased with an effort at comprehension. “All bright… and loud.”

“Loud?”

Her head tilted back again, this time with her eyes closed. She screamed.

It sounded as if every death in the ruin zone, all the charred faces gaping against the blackened walls, had been taped, dubbed into one stack, and dubbed into a loop feeding back into itself. If God were a parrot… the hell of his lungs, tongue, broken spine. The platform’s curtains flapped as if they could rub into sympathetic fire.

The scream battered against Axxter. It didn’t stop; the cords in the angel’s neck tightened, vibrating. He stepped backward, the sonic wave pushing him away. His foot caught the torch he’d discarded, and he went down, landing on hip and elbow. He scrabbled to get away from the scream at his back, and found himself gazing over the platform’s edge. Beyond his fingertips clenching into space, he saw the clouds massing against the building’s curve. Even falling, hands outstretched, he wouldn’t escape the noise raking up his spine.

It stopped. Just the wind sliding past his ears; Axxter rolled onto his side and looked back at the angel on the table. The smile returned to her face, but different. A tilt of her brows, the gaze no longer wide-open. Not as dumb as you think, turkey. Unsteady, he managed to get onto his knees, then his feet. Two parallel lines of medical tools marked his flight across the platform.

“You saw it, then? What happened?” Axxter stood beside the table again. She must’ve seen it just hanging out there in the air, the way angels do, when the Dead Centers blew open the wall, in the process of reaming out the foolish horizontal collaborators. Saw it, and watched: more amusing things, doing amusing things. Bright, fiery light and an interesting noise. Curiosity had its inevitable price, though.

She paid no attention to him. Looking over her shoulder, she was again absorbed in examining the mended flight membrane. The silvery biofoil reflected her intent expression.

All right, toots. He reached under the table, past the dangling bare legs, and fetched out his graffex gear. Now a little surprise for you.

A starburst blossomed on the taut biofoil, swirling and dancing, blotting out the angel’s reflected face. She gasped, pulling her head away from her own shoulder and, behind it, the thin metal that had replaced her own skin. The startled face snapped around, staring at Axxter.

He tapped the side of his head; in his own vision, the graffex programming display overlaid her face. “Sharp, huh?” He didn’t care if she understood how it worked or not. She could still see what he did. He blinked CANCEL and the simple test sequence disappeared. “Look at it now,” he told her.

Her suspicious gaze slowly left his face, turning back over her shoulder. The grafted biofoil, blank again, mirrored her face, unadorned. She looked at him, at the box in his hands, the smile replaced by the signal of further thought.

“You liked that?” He enjoyed this small power his skill gave him. Little bit of graffex magic; not often you found an audience this unsophisticated to spring it on. “Pretty great, don’t you think?”

Lahft tilted her head, regarding him. One corner of her smile returned. “Was,” she said. “Was… impressive.”

“Oh… I see.” He nodded, returning the half-smile. “Was,’ huh. Check this out, then.” He had a number of demos sequenced; he blinked one up. The signal went direct to the biofoil – he could’ve reached over her shoulder and touched it if he’d wanted – and was not bounced off the Small Moon to a distant location somewhere else on Cylinder’s surface; thus, the pattern came up immediately on the angel’s flight membrane.

As if she could feel the black dots forming another picture, she looked over her shoulder without any further command. A cartoon face, recognizably a man’s, showed on the biofoil, its broad neck terminated in a ragged collar and tie. The face’s big oval eyes grew larger, as if in astonishment; a speech balloon appeared above, its tail tapering to the flapping mouth.

WILMA! YOU… AND BARNEY?! WELL, I’LL BE DIPPED!

There was no way of telling if she could read the words emanating from the ancient, mythic face. Probably enough that angels can even talk – I might be the only person who ever knew that.

The flight membrane had grown larger, the gases dialyzed from Lahft’s blood inflating it. The cartoon face grew larger, more pattern dots filling in to keep the image sharp and black. Axxter looked over the angel’s shoulder with a professional, critical eye. The flesh-to-biofoil seams were all holding against the increased tension; he took pride in the thoroughness he could apply to the mechanics of his craft. The foil itself had greater elastic strength than the thin flesh it had replaced – no danger of it tearing or bursting.

He put the face into REPEAT cycle. She looked around at him, smiling with pure pleasure. Entertained; all the