ship, a silver speck that climbed atop a spike of smokeless flame, narrow-swept wings that rode into the sky, accelerating, dwindling, as the man-made thing went to connect with low Earth orbit and the opening tendrils of the Deep Space Transport Network.
He looked down at the earth, far below. The square height of the shiny building gave him an odd, dwindling perspective. It looked like a triangle set on its apex. Small at first, he told himself, and then ever larger. The land was green about its base, another park, looking ridiculously small from a height, a narrow ribbon of jungle, then the concrete warrens of an older town.
I think, he realized, that I could jump from here. He imagined the wind whistling in his ears, the windows flashing by, the ground approaching, specks turning into people, looking up at him, mouths open in little Ohs of horror, scattering from the point of explosive impact, flinching from a splash of blood, crying out as they were wounded by bits of flying bone. I would become a gory crater in the ground. He knew it wasn't so, of course. There was terminal velocity to consider. I'd turn into a big, messy cross in the grass, nothing spectacular. Another asshole, trying to fly, flapping his arms and screaming to the end. He turned to go away, to return to the woman who awaited him in the garden, waiting to collect him body and soul, to carry him off as a trophy, into the hinterlands. He went, shivering.
In the future another Brendan considered it dispassionately and thought, At least I'm free of those things now. Resurrection gives life its own special sweetness, at least for a little while. And continued ... The old-time Brendan walked through the halls of Tupamaro Arcology, padding forward on the balls of his feet, snarling deep within himself. I'll find them, he thought, and he did. He came upon them in a nexus garden, crystal fountain cascading up to the ceiling at back, standing before its watery beauty, holding hands and watching the liquid rise and fall, endlessly, mindlessly. Their fingers were intertwined and their hips were pressed together, warming to the touch of other humanity, preparing for their coming act of betrayal.
Brendan shouted, 'Ariane!'
The couple sprang apart, loosing their close-held grip, and spun about to stare at him. The woman smiled and waved. 'Oh, hello, Bren ,' she said. 'Come and join us. This is nice.'
'Nice?'It was a strangled word, gagging him, catching in his throat and making him inarticulate all at once. The planned revilements, the angry accusations faded, sinking down into a night of unrationality , and only action remained. He took a few quick strides forward and seized the small, brown-haired man, a coworker of hers he'd met before, grappling him about the neck. There was a brief, startled squawk, and then the man left his feet, flew through the air, arms whirling wildly, and splashed into the fountain. He jumped up, streaming water, spluttering, and waded out. He stared at Brendan for a moment, standing in the midst of a growing puddle, and then fled in squishy shoes, disappearing from the room and from their lives.
Ariane was planted before him, glaring, her fists doubled up on her hips. 'God damn it, Brendan, what the hell is wrong with you?' He was silent, and she continued. 'You can't rule my every waking moment. I
'Shit,' she said. 'You said you
She took his hand then and led him away, his senses seeming dulled, the fires banked for another little while. They went home and made love with renewed heat.
That other Brendan, riding on the Now wave front of the future, surfing into the unknown, marveled at the things he'd felt. No one, ever before, no one now, no one ever again. Is that how it will be? Is that what I want? The tortures were hard, but the intervals between were so sweet and glorious as to make it seem all worth while. Will I have the will to go on?
One last memory came to plague and inform him, restoring the missing parts to his psyche. He was on a white sand beach somewhere on the shores of the enclosed fresh-water lake that Rio de la Plata had become, perhaps to the east of Buenos Aires. He was lying on top of Vana Berenguer, the epitome of mindless, animal thrusting, and her breath was a stentorian engine beside his ear. Her orgasm came as a squirming, high-pitched outcry, then his own injected semen deep into her body and they were still. His breathing slowed, stirring the tangle of her hair less and less.
He rolled off, flopping onto his back, and gazed at the pale blue sky, blinded by sunlight. He groped about, found his sunglasses, and put them on. The world was reduced to a fine sunset level, and he looked around. Vana was sprawled at his side, eyes shut, legs apart, gelatinous liquids marking the place of his entry and exit. She was breathing slowly, deeply, lips pressed tightly together, smiling slightly, perhaps concentrating on the fading sensations of satiation, prolonging the sense of contact and pleasure. A human shadow fell across the blanket and he looked up quickly. It was Ariane, naked and beautiful. She was grinningslyly, her teeth showing white against a dark tan. She raised one hand and waved, a little wiggling of fingers.
Brendan felt dismay. ' Ari, I ...'
'Oh, shut up!' She jumped into his lap and kissed him, grinding herself against the wetness of his groin. He wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but she wouldn't let him. She forced him back on the blanket, worrying at his body, bringing him up into a new round of responses, almost unwilling. She squatted over his face, making him service her will, lay on her back and pulled him onto her, guiding him into her, moving under him in cadences all her own.
