Interzone Science Fiction and Fantasy Magazine #214 Read online

There was a rough chuckle from behind him. Paul. Apparently he thought if Adele was to be a witness, he could be, too.

  Alex knelt in front of the angel. She looked down at him. Her mouth was parted, curved upward in a faint smile. Her brilliant sky-blue eyes seemed to sparkle with joy. She raised her arms to him, as if expecting an embrace. He wondered how many times she had done this, if she was engineered to enjoy rough acts of love.

  Alex blinked back the tears that blurred his vision and pushed her arms down. Her down was incredibly soft. He saw the strange muscles working at her sides as her wings fluttered. He reached out to touch her sides, to feel the muscles clench and release, in rhythm with the wings.

  "Alex!” Adele's voice, sharp, cracking.

  "Shh!"

  He took his arms off the angel's torso and sat back on his legs. “Do you speak?” he said.

  The angel cocked her head at him, like a dog.

  "Can you speak?"

  "Eeeek,” it said, almost a fragment of birdsong.

  He tried for a while longer, but she just looked confused, and said no more.

  Alex sighed. “How much?” he said.

  "For what?” Paul asked. “Extended time at your home, away from here?"

  "Extended. As in forever."

  "Forever?"

  "How much? To buy her."

  Adele gasped. “Alex, you can't—"

  "Would you leave her here?” Alex asked, gesturing around the room.

  "It's not even human. It may not even think—"

  "Would you leave a dog here?"

  Adele looked away, casting glittering tears.

  Alex turned back to Paul. “How much?"

  Paul smiled, a terrible broken grin. Alex imagined the calculation going on behind the man's dead eyes. What can I get for this? Enough to set me up for life. Enough to set me for ten lifetimes—

  "How much!” Alex yelled.

  "Two million!” Paul said. “Winfinity points, nothing else."

  Alex made the transfer on his handcom. “Done."

  Paul's face crumpled. “Should've asked more."

  Alex ignored him. He held out his hand. The angel reached up. Took it. Her hand was soft and warm. For a moment, he wondered how fast her metabolism was, what she was made of, how fast she had grown, how long she would live.

  It didn't matter.

  "Do you have a name?” Alex asked.

  "How about Lilith?” Adele said, behind him.

  "I don't think Lilith is an angel,” Alex said.

  The angel just looked at him with huge, bright eyes.

  "Adele—” he began.

  But when he turned, Adele was gone.

  * * * *

  Smell of fear.

  Everywhere.

  On her nest, on the things the hairless ones covered her with, on the fuzz that covered the floor.

  Pouring off the pink ones who came and went. Who brought food. In her food.

  She saw cool grass, blue water outside, but she could not walk there. She put her hand up against the barrier, but saw nothing. She pounded on the stuff-not-seen with a fist, but it only shook. Cracks near the floor brought the scent of water. She scratched at it, but could not dig through its hardness.

  Prowling the big empty hard-edged places, she searched for escape. Dimly, far away, she remembered the past place, the warm room under the earth that smelled of yeast and pink ones, where there were sounds she could twist to, where the pink ones sometimes came to comfort. But those memories faded more with each day, and soon she would know nothing more than this hard-edged place full of frightened things.

  "She,” the constant-pink said. It had been there since she woke, bleeding fear. It had been there before, making those same noises.

  "Ki,” it said.

  She went to sit by it. Its tiny dark eyes quivered. She reached out to it, looking for comfort. It took her hand and put it in her lap. Fear-smell surged. And something else. Something deeper, richer. Like acrid anger, but more complex. Something she could not place.

  "Nah,” it said.

  She tried to touch it again. It put her hand down again.

  "She,” it said.

  It had made that noise before. “She,” she said.

  The constant-pink showed its teeth and babbled happy noises. It made a long string of sounds that she could not follow.

  "She,” it said, after a while.

  "She,” she said.

  "Ki,” it said.

  "Ki."

  "Nah."

  "Nah."

  More babbling noises. Its smell changed from fear to content-full-happy. She didn't understand, because the constant-pink had not eaten, or given comfort.

  "She-ki-nah,” it said.

  Its odor changed to that strange acridity.

  "She-ki-nah,” it said.

  "She-ki-nah,” she said.

  The constant-pink stood, clapped its hands, stomped its feet on the floor. It looked big and strong. It might be able to get through the things-not-seen. It would be good to have comfort with.

  She reached up to it again, and it grasped her and whirled her in a brief circle. She could smell its content-full-happiness. It made her content-full-happy. Except for the ache only comfort would replace. She grabbed its hands and tried to put them on her. But the constant-pink drew away.

  "Shekinah,” it said, pointing at her.

  "Shekinah,” she said, pointing back.

  The pink thing hid its teeth and shook its head. Its smell edged slightly acrid.

  "Shekinah,” it said, pointing at her. It pointed at itself. “Alex."

  She would play with it if it led to comfort. “Shekinah,” she said, pointing at itself.

  More jumping around, and rhythmic sounds. Content-full-happy smells.

  The constant-pink repeated its gestures.

  She pointed at him and said, “Shekinah."

  Teeth-hiding and acrid smells.

  She tried to get it to put its hands on her, but again it pulled away. She wailed and cried. She went to the place where she could smell the water outside and scratched at the hardness around it. She could smell the pink thing, shading down to that strange acridity.

  "Shekinah,” it said.

  She ignored it.

  Eventually, it went away.

  * * * *

  Alex would hate this.

  The thought was sudden and clear, as if someone had whispered in Adele's ear. She sighed and put down the stylus. Winfinity's fighter airframe contract dimmed down into the surface of her desk.

  She'd almost forgotten about their last night together. But now she'd have to think about that. She'd have to wonder what he was doing with his pet. Her traitor mind would summon images of them laying together, on the cool sheets of his house high above Malibu. And she'd have to wonder, again, why they'd never found any sustained flame.

  And he would hate this, Adele thought, picking up the stylus again. Using his technology to build jet fighters for our new masters. Even if they did profess only to be helping the government-in-collapse.

  Alex had been the one to extend the range of 3d atom probes down into the realm of organic molecules. He'd been the first to create an atomic map of a cell, then reassemble the cell with atom lasers. When the cell lived, the biotech professors of UCLA cheered, and money poured in to fund his new startup company, Nanolife. He was 19 at the time.

  While others were using his bio-editing techniques and creating the Three-Day Death and terrorbeasts and chimeras, Nanolife's team was working on the fundamental energy-conversion bodies of cells, mitochondria, working to make them more efficient, to make them more like the all-purpose nanomachines that Drexler had imagined.

  But, by the time Nanolife succeeded in growing complex carbon composites, Oversight had slated virtually every Nanolife application for regulation. Alex was talking at UCLA about growing free housing when Oversight stepped in and shut down Nanolife.

  Adele remembered it well. She'd worked there four months when she cam
e in to black-suited, blank-eyed Oversight agents in the halls, and Alex sobbing on his desk.

  I don't understand them, he said. I don't know what they want.

  Let me talk to them, Adele said.

  He looked up at her, eyes shimmering with tears. And she knew he was serious, he really didn't understand, he really just wanted to play with his toys and be left alone. She wondered if he really understood what damage his technology was capable of.

  Later that day, she made the first offer on his behalf. Regulate us. We'll work with you. We'll make sure only safe applications of the technology are used.

  When she told him, Alex cried again. She laid an arm on his shoulder. It was like touching a living statue of a god. She felt light-headed, all-powerful. She felt unclean.

  We have to do this, she said. It's that, or be shut down. Or disappear.

  Alex shook his head and told her, Better to be shut down. He told her about shining cities grown from sand and rocks, free for the having. He told her about perfect products, grown to last nearly forever.

  And she listened. And nodded. And agreed, yes, this is terrible, this is unfair.

  And in the end, they submitted to Oversight control. Adele became CEO of the company, and Alex checked out. Because if you wanted to plant a seed to replace a slum, you had to make sure that seed was the right seed. One that the government said was good for you.

  Like now. If you wanted to grow indestructible airframes, you had to make them for Winfinity. The new face in front of all the same old regulations.

  It was no wonder Alex had walked away from it all. Leaving her to be the one who compromised.

  If I could turn back the clock, if we both walked away, could we have found that flame? she wondered.

  She sighed, coming back to the present. She spun her chair away from the desk and went to look out over sunset Los Angeles. The Nanolife tower was the tallest building on the west side. Tall enough that she could see golden ocean, sparkling in late sun. If she had a telescope, she could probably see Alex's house.

  Or she could spy the modern way, with a handful of flyeyes feeding images to her dataspecs. But she didn't like wearing them, one thing she and Alex agreed on.

  "Incoming call from Alex Farrell,” her desk said softly.

  Adele's heart tripped, once, and she whirled to face the desk. “I'll take it."

  Alex's face appeared on the surface of her desk, covering the Winfinity contract. The POV shook and blurred. Greenery whizzed past in the background. She heard the sound of an engine, rough and choppy.

  "Adele!” Alex said. “I can't believe we missed this. This is great! You have to come in!"

  "Where are you?” she asked.

  "Ecuador. Do you know what the USG did? You won't—"

  "Why are you down there?"

  Alex gave her an impatient sidewise look. “The space elevator!"

  "Space elevator?"

  "Yeah! Back when they were doing the Mars thing, it seems the USG started building a space elevator. Never finished it, but they did drop the tether about halfway before everything fell apart."

  "The US government? A space elevator?” Adele shook her head, trying to put the two together. She'd never heard anything about it.

  Alex gave her a big silly grin, his blue eyes flashing. His blond hair was messy and wind-blown, and dirt streaked his face. He grinned like an overgrown child.

  The point of view shifted away from Alex. He was in a Humvee. Through the windshield, the jungle parted to reveal a broad expanse of concrete, crisscrossed with a hexagonal pattern of darker material.

  "This is where the tether was supposed to be anchored,” Alex said, offscreen. The Humvee stopped and the point of view panned around the huge flat pad. In the center was a smooth bulge that terminated in a flat surface. At the edge of the pad, low square concrete buildings huddled.

  Alex turned the camera back on himself. “Bunch of expats control it now. They claim to have access to the top end, too. I think they're former Oversight. Winfinity's been trying to buy it, but they don't get along too well."

  I bet, Adele thought. “What are you thinking?"

  "I'm thinking what a wonderful investment this would be. For us."

  "You mean ... leave Nanolife?” For what? Was this a business offer, or something more?

  Alex shook his head. “We might need some of Nanolife's tech to make it work."

  Adele nodded. Controlling the space elevator would give them easy access to orbit. They could sell access for hundreds, thousands of times what it cost in energy. They could solve one of the big problems that prevented humanity from having a space-based economy.

  "Planning on changing the world again?” she said, grinning.

  Alex's grin collapsed. He muttered something that was drowned in the roar of the Humvee's engine.

  "What?"

  "I never changed the world,” Alex said, loud and bitter.

  And he was right. No shining cities, free for the taking. Just magic technology, kept under careful lockdown. For Alex, Nanolife wasn't his first success. It was his first failure.

  "I'm in,” Adele said.

  Alex's boylike grin snapped back. “Great! I'll send details. Talk to you soon!"

  Alex closed the connection. On her desktop, the Winfinity contract came to the fore again. It cut through happy visions of her and Alex, alone in the jungle.

  Adele stared at the thing. She picked up the stylus. Hesitated for a moment, holding the stylus over the signature area. After a few moments, she sighed. And signed it.

  Because plans didn't always work out.

  On the day the space elevator's tether reached the anchor, the news came in about Winfinity's latest rejuvenation failures. Big movingink banners on the whitewashed Quito buildings showed grotesque corpses and claimed it to be the Año de Los Muertos. Talking heads pontificated about how rejuvenation was likely to be a dangerous, complex, and expensive process.

  Alex shook his head. Of course it would be. That's how they'd want it to be.

  "We're going out to the pad?” Adele asked, as Alex piloted the jeep out of the city.

  "I wouldn't be anywhere else."

  "What if the tether breaks?"

  "It won't."

  "You can't say that!"

  Alex sighed. They'd stripped out the old nanotube ribbon and replaced it with something from Nanolife's carbon portfolio, but the researchers were still arguing about transient stresses and point defects.

  "If it breaks, I still want to be there,” he said. Because if seventy thousand miles of nanoribbon came down, there's no guarantee that Quito will be there afterwards.

  "Idealist!"

  "It's not like I'll live forever.” Alex pointed at a newsboard showing pictures of the failed rejuvenations.

  "You'll figure it out yourself by the time you're that old."

  Alex shrugged. He could show her old Nanolife data that suggested the maximum lifespan of any human was less than three hundred years, even with some form of workable rejuvenation.

  Three hundred years to make a difference. To make up for the first failure. It wasn't much time.

  He pushed the jeep hard down the dirt road, hoping to make it to the site before the actual moment of contact. Some day, he knew, that dirt road might be the largest superhighway on the planet. Quito might be transformed into a super-megalopolis larger than Shanghai. And ships from all over the world might dock in Ecuador, to cart the riches of the solar system across the face of the Earth.

  But will I live to see that? he wondered. There were so many things he was going to miss. Even without Winfinity's failures.

  "Look,” Adele said, pointing up.

  Ahead of them, a tiny black line bisected the sky. Almost invisible. Blink and you'd miss it. But follow it up with your eyes, into the heavens, where it disappeared. Alex imagined stars, wheeling just beyond the brilliance of the blue sky. Maybe he should buy a few thousand square miles of Martian land, and dream about the day when the plan
et grew green. But that was far out, impossible. It would be a hundred years before people could walk outside without squeezesuits, a thousand years before they might dare to breathe. He would never see it.

  There are so many things I'll miss.

  "I can leave you off, if you'd like,” he told Adele.

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes.” Lips pressed firmly together.

  "You don't need to go, just because I am."

  "I want to see it, too."

  Alex shook his head.

  "Keep going,” she said.

  He did. Through the jungle to the anchorpoint, almost an acre of concrete and carbon nanotube-reinforced matrix, drilled into the heart of the mountain. They sped across the suddenly glass-smooth surface and stopped near the low rise where the ribbon would be anchored.

  A team waited there, dressed in orange jumpsuits with BeyondEarth logos on them. Alex knew the drill. They were there for final lockdown. Theoretically, the complex carbon composite was stabilized by the equivalent of carbon muscles and silicon intelligence, in an ever-optimized feedback loop.

  The end of the ribbon was visible, hanging motionless maybe three hundred feet above the ground. The ribbon machines were running about two feet per second now.

  Three minutes, and our space elevator is complete.

  Alex watched the end slowly fall. When it was only about fifty feet off the ground, he held his breath. He imagined seeing a ripple in the ribbon, and then the unimaginable. He wondered what the razor-edged ribbon would do to the jungle. Or to him. Would he feel it at all?

  He felt Adele's hand sneak into his own. Her skin was soft and warm.

  "That's it,” he said, as the ribbon touched down.

  The orange-suited team pounced, securing it under multiple layers of carbon composite and adhesive.

  When they stood back, a thin black line connected Earth and the sky. The ribbon rose, completely straight and true, till it passed out of sight.

  Alex's heart thudded, and he squeezed Adele's hand. She turned and hugged him close, turning her face up for a kiss. Alex obliged her, darting his eyes heavenward.

  "We're not done yet,” he said. “We still have to send the crawler down."

  "Do you doubt it'll work?” Adele looked up at him, her eyes still faraway.

  Alex shook his head, thinking, I always doubt.