With heartfelt thanks to Maggie Finson, for her
invaluable advice,
And
letting me play in her universe to begin with.
In his spacious
office (Heaven Branch), Marc, the Archangel of Trade, checked his suit and tie
to see to it that they were just right. He wasn't vain about it, but if he
weren't perfectly turned out for the Seraphim Council of Archangels, Dominic,
the Archangel of Justice, would undoubtedly make snide comments about it. Dominic
would undoubtedly make snarky comments about him being perfectly tailored as
well, but better to be critiqued for being over-prepared than unprepared.
The intercom on his
desk buzzed. "Yes, Kimiko?"
"Milord Marc,
the Archangels Michael and Raphael are here to see you.
Probably here to
lobby me for some proposition that they want to push in Council, he thought to
himself. Hold the phone- Michael? Raphael? The Archangels of War and Mercy? It
wasn't that Mike and Rafe hated each other; it was just that the Words that
they embodied - War and Mercy - were so completely incompatible. Not
incompatible within the larger cosmic pattern, but still, try and seat them at
a dinner table! "Shoo them in, dear. I'm simply dying to hear what
they have to say!"
Marc's Tenchi
receptionist showed the two luminaries into his office. Michael was tall, dark
and lean, with the calm air of a wolf entering uncertain ground. While there
was nothing overtly martial about his jeans and leather jacket, he still looked
like he could pound a minor legion of Hellions into the ground before breakfast.
And why not? When The War had been going hot and heavy, he had done just that
on a few occasions, and eaten heartily afterwards.
Raphael, on the
other hand, wafted in like a cool breeze on a hot day. Her long ravenswing
black hair fell over on one side of her perfect oval face, and her large dark
eyes shone with an unconditional love of everyone. Her wide expressive mouth was
curved in a smile that said that she was genuinely happy to see Marc. But then,
she was genuinely happy to see everyone. She wore a simple green business suit,
probably as a nod to her host.
Marc smiled equally
at both of them. He was always glad to have Raphael visit - who wouldn't be,
this side of the Great Chasm? - and Michael was an old poker buddy of his. They
made a little heavenly chitchat for a while, and since time was running short
until the Council, Marc got to the point. "So - Mike - Rafe - what brings
you here?"
Michael and Raphael
looked at each other for a second. Uncharacteristically, Raphael took the
initiative. "Marc, I've been working on a project for a while, one that I
think is particularly appropriate to launch during this Truce. If we can get it
approved, I think it will resolve a lot of Mortal suffering-"
Michael couldn't
help but interrupt. "-While having some very promising Military
applications."
Raphael shot Michael
a look of annoyance. But, being Raphael, it didn't last long.
Marc raised both
eyebrows. "You BOTH worked on this?"
Michael shrugged.
"Rafe did most of the work. I just kibitzed a little."
Marc leaned back in
his chair. "Okay, I'm intrigued. What could the two of you come up
with, that serves both of your Words?"
Raphael didn't
answer directly. She pointed to a viewer set into one wall. "Marc, what is
that?" She already knew, Marc had shown her several times.
"Hmmm... That's
the monitor that I use to watch my Infernal counterpart, Mammon, screw himself
over." There were several opposite numbers in Heaven and Hell - Michael
had Baal, Prince of War, Dominic had Asmodeus, Prince of Judgement and so on. Marc's
counterpart was, of course, Mammon, Prince of Greed. Unlike the other
Archangels, who viewed their opposite numbers with hostility, disgust or
outrage, Marc viewed Mammon with undisguised amusement. "It's getting really
funny, what with the Enron debacle going off in the middle of Mammon's 'Return
to the Greedy Eighties' push."
Raphael smiled
enigmatically. "But why would you, the very spirit of honesty and fair
dealing, find amusement in watching the doings of a being who lives to swindle
the very life essence out of the entire world?"
Marc smiled broadly.
"Because, in the long run, Mammon is just as much a victim and prisoner of
Greed as any mortal pauper or plutocrat. I mean, just look at how he
lives! He's Scrooge McDuck, without the bill and feathers! But, unlike Donald
Duck's rich relation, he can't even enjoy the money that he has because
he's absolutely sure that there's still more out there for him to steal. And
since he is existentially incapable of understanding the old Arabic saying
'Greed lessens that which is gathered', the more he grabs, the less he actually
gets. Watching him screw his servitors and himself over for one minute makes me
feel better about how I run my business all day."
"But Greed is
one of the most powerful of Hell's tools."
"True, but
Mammon is even more susceptible to its drawbacks than even most mortals,
because he can't see them for drawbacks, or he'd have to admit that his entire
premise is fatally flawed. So, there he is, a victim of his own Word. Now,
don't tell me that that isn't funny!"
"So, despite
the similarities between yourself and Mammon, you have a fundamental difference
in how you see and do things, a Heavenly quality that sets you above and gives
you a primal advantage over your rival?"
Marc shrugged.
"If you want to put it that way."
Raphael grinned.
"And that is the basic principle at work in this concept." She
handed Marc a laptop computer. "Press Control-H."
Marc opened the
laptop and pressed the buttons. A schematic diagram appeared on the screen. His
eyes popped wide open. "_Wow._"
*****
The Seraphic Council
of Archangels ground along, strictly following Robert's Rules of Order. Dominic
insisted on it. Personally, Marc always thought that things would probably have
gone along faster, more smoothly and more effectively, if they just got
together and played Poker, thrashing things out while they played. After all,
that's what Marc, Michael and several other Archangels did anyway. But neither
Dominic nor Laurence, the Archangel of the Sword and Heaven's General of
Troops, would have any of it. Sometimes Marc thought that what Laurence really
needed was for somebody to shove a stick of dynamite up his ass and light it. Maybe
then he wouldn't be so full of it. Though God knew if even a stick of dynamite
would do anything for Dominic.
By the time that the
agenda finally ground down to 'New Business', Marc had managed to leverage his
way to being first on the docket. "Okay, people, this is really Raphael's
baby, but she's asked me to handle the presentation." Raphael beamed at
her fellow Archangels. Marc wasn't distancing himself from the plan; he was
making sure that Raphael's personal charisma was as closely associated with it
as possible. Everybody likes Raphael. Well, almost everybody. Dominic huddled
within his dark enshrouding cloak and glowered at everyone with the thousand
glittering eyes that peered out from that cloak in every direction.
Marc turned to
Michael. "Mike, during the active phase of The War, which breed of Demon
would you say was their most effective?"
Michael made a show
of thinking it over. "Hands down, the Succubae. They were tough, smart,
devious, versatile, elusive, vicious, and effective. They served as recruiters,
scouts, messengers, saboteurs, diplomats and majickers, and they were also
pretty tough in a one-on-one scrap. Belial tried to make his own version with
the Incubi and Baal tried with those ninja-wannabe Shadow-Fiends of his; but
they were both just knock-offs of Lilith's basic design, and not up to the
standards of the original. No, we specifically targeted the Succubae because
that was what really hurt the other side strategically."
"Thank you. Now,
as you all know, Lucifer has taken advantage of the Truce to give Lilith carte
blanche in recruiting as many replacements for the Succubae as she can. Not
only that, but Lilith is experimenting with a prototype Succubus/Hellmaid
hybrid. I've met the young 'lady', and she's a quite formidable character for
someone so young."
Atypically ignoring The
Rules of Order, Laurence interjected, "You're not going to propose
actively recruiting this hybrid are you? We've been trying to get the
Succubae to defect since Lilith first started breeding them! We succeeded in
turning, what? Two?"
A pall fell over the
assembled Archangels. Raphael spoke, a tear forming in the corner of one eye.
"Mehala. Almodine. Do you remember them, Laurence? They were magnificent!
While their sister Succubae just took, they delighted in giving. It was
truly sad days for Heaven when Hell struck them down. They were notes of pure
joy in the Symphony of Heaven, and our Song is poorer for their loss."
Marc laid a
comforting hand on her shoulder, and then resumed. "No, Laurence, while we
will still actively pursue encouraging the Succubae and the hybrid Angelique to
Redeem themselves, we won't rely on any success on that front. But, since Hell
is experimenting, why can't we? Basically, my fellow Archangels, what we are
proposing is that we produce a prototype Heavenly counterpart to the Succubae."
Dominic shot bolt up
and hissed, "What! Are you seriously saying that we, the Force of
Order, Reason and Decency, should pollute ourselves by copying the
tactics of the Foul? If we do that, then we all but hand Hell complete
justification for all their atrocities on a silver platter. To ape their
methods is to state in concrete terms that their means are valid and their ends
just! If we do this, we all but lose the war, without Lucifer lifting a finger!"
"Your points
are valid, Dominic, but they proceed from an invalid presumption. I didn't say Copy,
I said _Counterpart_. Counterpart, as in a Brightness to their Darkness.
You see, where the Succubae feed on Male Essence, robbing mortals of their
divine spark, our 'Bright Lilim' - okay, so it's a working title, so sue me - will
feed on Spiritual Pain. She will devour the pain of mortals and turn that pain
into Good Fortune-"
Laurence strummed
his fingers on the table. "You say that so blithely, as if it were an
everyday thing."
Raphael interrupted.
"But it IS an everyday thing, in the Marches of Dreams!" She looked
back to the gallery. "Michiko? Would you bring it?"
Two female Tenchi
came forward. One was carrying three sealed containers; the other was carrying
a particularly odd looking animal. The animal was about the size of a bulldog,
and had a similar body shape. And that was all that was canine about it. It had
large feline paws, a leonine mane, a long curling tail, leonine ears, a mouth
full of feline fangs, large eyes, and a long elephantine trunk. Michiko, the
Tenchi carrying the animal, put it on the table and started with her best 'Joan
Embry' presentation. "Honored Luminaries, this creature is a Baku, which
hails from the Marches of Dreams. The Archangel of Dreams, Balandine, has given
her blessing for using this creature."
The baku got up and
started snuffling around the table.
Michiko resumed her
spiel. "The Baku hail from those Marches of Dreams that correspond to the
Earthly regions of Japan, Korea and China. The Baku are highly regarded in
those parts, because their main function is to eat bad dreams and give the
dreamer good luck."
In demonstration,
Amida, the other Tenchi, opened one of the containers and spilled a crawly mess
out onto the table. "These are minor spirits of unfocused anxiety, what
Americans would call 'Heebie-Jeebies'." The Heebie-Jeebies swarmed over
the table.
"Baku! Devour!"
The little creature hardly needed to be told. It scrambled forward, its snout
lashing out, picking off the Heebie-Jeebies and sucking them in. In a trice,
the table was cleared of the noxious swarm. A few got off the edge of the
table, but the baku's snout reached out and got them before they hit the floor.
When the last Heebie-Jeebie had been eaten, the baku sat down, and fairly
glowed with benign energy. Michiko stroked his mane and cooed, "Good Baku!"
She gestured to
Amida, who began unsealing the other container. "Nor are the Baku limited
to hunting down psychic vermin. Indeed, they truly shine when faced with
larger problems..." Amida poured the contents of the container on the
table. It looked like a huge cancerous rat equal in size to the baku, with a
mouthful of razor sharp fangs, crab-like claws instead of forepaws, a scorpion-like
tail, and a ridge of ragged spines down the crest of its back. "This is a
dream-spirit of Invalid Guilt, the kind that can gnaw away at a mortal's sleep,
giving them neither rest nor hope of redemption." The Guilt-Rat hissed at
the collected Archangels, and sprang at Raphael.
The Baku didn't need
to be told to devour. It squirmed out of Michiko's hands and intercepted the
Guilt-Rat in mid-spring. The two creatures went at each other in a blurred mass
of fangs and claws. Some of the Angels moved to separate the animals. "No!"
Michiko pleaded with them, "Baku has had much experience in dealing with
this kind of creature! He has begun, he must finish!"
Indeed, the baku,
though cut and bleeding, had the Guilt-Rat by the throat and was busily
snapping it back and forth. Finally, the Guilt-Rat went limp. The baku dropped
it, and began sucking it up through its snout. When the last of the Guilt-Rat
disappeared, the wounds along the baku's flank sealed and faded. The baku
looked around for something else to fight, and then complacently started
grooming itself. Michiko ruffled his mane again.
Amida hauled the
third and largest container onto the table. "And to prove the baku's
mettle, this is a Serpent of Self-Sabotaging Delusion!" Onto the table
poured a python-sized snake with five viperous looking heads. Again, the baku
scrambled into battle. This one was longer, as every time the baku chewed off a
head, two more grew in its place. Again and again, the hydra struck at the
baku, causing the brave little creature great pain. Several times, the Angels
had to be waved back from coming to help the doughty little beast. Finally, the
baku, though grievously wounded, managed to get its teeth on the hydra's back
and broke it. Even as the serpent screamed its last, the baku worried the spine
until it was almost completely chewed through. The snake-thing went completely
limp, and the baku began slurping it up.
Michael smiled
fondly at the little creature. "Now that's my idea of a fighter! Tough,
smart, and he doesn't stop until the fight is completely won!"
When the baku
finished feeding on the hydra, all the damage the snake-thing had done was
completely healed, and the baku looked up at his handler and wagged it's fluffy
tail.
Raphael resumed.
"As you can see, the baku not only consumed the psychic pain that is part
and parcel of these dream-creatures, but it converted that energy from a
negative to a positive bias. In its usual workings, the baku uses this energy
to feed and heal itself, and passes along any surplus positive energy to the
dreamer, which often takes the form of a streak of good luck."
Novalis, the
Archangel of Flowers, asked, "You intend to introduce Baku to areas
outside of Asia?"
Marc shook his head.
"Not a bad idea; I'll have to talk to Balandine about it. But not what we
had in mind. No, our plan is to create a new kind of Angel, using an advanced
version of the Baku's feeding mechanism as the core dynamic. This will be an
Angel that will feed on the psychic pain of mortals and heal them."
"Why not just
widen the distribution of Baku worldwide?"
"Baku are very
competent, as we've proven - but they can't eat the spiritual pain of mortals
unless it takes on a distinct and separate form on the dream realm. The pain
must separate itself from the mortal. But this new form of Angel will - join - with
the mortal in question, identify the source and manifestation of their pain,
help them resolve it, devour their pain and help them heal."
Dominic leaned
forward, still inscrutable within his cloak. "Join? And _exactly_ how
will this theoretical new Angel... join... with the mortals?"
"Oh, through
several different means, including entering dreams - we've already cleared that
with Balandine - but the quickest, most direct, most effective means will be
through <ahem> Sex."
"_SEX_ ?"
Raphael bridled.
"Of Course through Sex! Our Creator Himself created sex in shape,
manner and form, beautiful, wholesome and joyous! One of Hell's greatest
triumphs has been that this stigma of Sinfulness has been attached to it! They
have claimed one of the most powerful and primal drives of Angel, Demon and
Mortal alike as their sole province! With this, we will reclaim the healing
power of Sex for Heaven! If these new 'Bright Lilim' do nothing else, the re-sanctification
of Sex will be a Major Victory for us!"
Laurence took
Dominic's side. "But Sex distracts mortals - who are so easily distracted
in the first place - from the spiritual to the carnal!"
Marc shook his head.
"Mortals can be distracted by almost anything, if they're so inclined. But
Sex also has a higher, more spiritual side, which has been sadly neglected in
modern times. By retaking the Sex Drive, we not only make Virtue more
appealing, but we weaken the forces of Temptation and Corruption, and starve
the Hellspawn of Essence that they are so accustomed to. A truly elegant
solution, no?"
Dominic snorted.
"It is a truly elegant solution - for Hell! Let Heaven create these
foul creatures, and then let their own disgusting nature force them from our
Realm. Why bother wasting effort recruiting new Succubae, if Heaven will do it for
them?"
Michael raised an
eyebrow. "And what makes you think that this new experimental Angel will
be so easily corrupted?"
All one thousand of
Dominic's seraphic eyes glared at Michael. "Because, by its very
definition, this creature will feed on psychicpain. What could
be more logical for it, than to ensure more of its feed by first causing
psychic pain, which it then devours?"
Raphael smiled.
"Ah, Dom, you've put your finger on the very reason why these 'Bright
Lilim' couldn't fall - you see, they won't gain nourishment from the
Pain, but rather from the act of converting that pain into positive
energy. Causing that pain wouldn't merely pain the Bright Lilim (Marc, we have got
to come up with a better name than that!), it would rob her of what Essence she
already has!"
Novalis raised her
eyebrows in comprehension. "So, the Primary Dynamic of these new Angels
would by its basic workings, work against them falling from Grace! Yes, it is
a very elegant solution!" She shot a critical glance at Laurence. "Much
surer than the 'Honor' that the Malakim are always going on about!"
Dominic stood, and
slammed his hands on the table. "_NO_! This is an Abomination! _I
_will_ NOT_ Allow _This!_"
Michael stood, his
rugged face as stern as stone. "_Allow_, Dominic? You will not allow us to
even vote on this matter? Do we mere Archangels even hold these
councils at your pleasure? Are you proclaiming yourself our Lord and Master?
Are we to bow down before you in abject submission? Where is your Crown,
Lord Dominic?" Michael sneered as the implications of what he and Dominic
were saying registered on the other Archangels and their servitors. "You DOremember what happened to the last Seraph who decided that he was better
suited to be the King of Heaven than Our Lord and Creator?"
Everyone remembered.
The Seraph that Michael was referring to was Lucifer, who had been the Highest
Among the Most Holy. Michael had fought Lucifer in hand to hand combat during
the Rebellion of the Angels, and personally thrown Lucifer down from Heaven. Everyone
also knew that Michael and Dominic had bad blood between them, ever since
Dominic had Michael brought up on charges of Vainglory. Dominic had arranged
the case so that Michael's servitors and allies were all silenced and cowed. Only
the direct intervention of The Divine had saved Michael. Michael had obviously
not forgotten - or forgiven.
Dominic sat down,
silent, but did not relent.
The vote was taken. Dominic
rasped out his Nay. Yves, the Archangel of Destiny, merely smiled and abstained.
Laurence voted Aye, with reservations. The rest voted Aye. It was less that
they believed in Raphael's project than a message to Dominic that, no matter
how powerful he may be, they were his Peers and Equals, not his servants. The
vote passed.
The other New
Business was dealt with, and the various Angels returned to their business. Marc,
Michael and Raphael gathered together. Raphael sighed. "Well, that's over
with. Now we have to make this idea work. It's too dangerous to alter an
already existing Angel's primal being - we'll have to find a suitable mortal
spirit and convince them to undergo the conversion."
Marc grimaced.
"Hmmm... That's a tough order to fill. We can't really ask the
Blessed already in Heaven to do it, either. Maybe Yves will have some idea of a
soul that's on the short line for the Pearly Gates..."
Before he could
finish his statement, there was a messenger from Yves at Marc's elbow, handing
him a folder. The folder was a dossier, for someone named Ralph L. Beldon,
which was subdivided into sections for his Destiny, Dark Fate, Past History,
Talents & Weaknesses, and Miscellany.
Marc looked non-plussed
at the folder. "I Hate it when he does that."
*****
In the corridor
outside the Council Room, Dominic was waiting for Marc. "Well played, Marc.
You win this hand. But, I still have grave reservations about the repercussions
of your 'project'. Degrading ourselves by copying the Unholy can only lead to
disaster. Be assured that I will be watching the developments of this
matter."
Marc stopped and
took a long look at Dominic. "Dom, what has happened to you? I
mean, you've always been tough - you wouldn't have been chosen for your post if
you weren't - but you were also reasonable! You used to believe in the
concept of the Benefit of a Reasonable Doubt! These days, your policies are
more along the lines of 'Kill them all, God will know His Own'."
Dominic wrapped his
cloak around himself even tighter. "The War...is Eternal. Thus, Vigilance must
also be Eternal. Justice must come swiftly and surely, or corruption will once
again stain the Halls of Heaven. It isn't...pleasant...but I do what I must,
for the sake of Heaven."
"Maybe. But
what's the deal with this stupid cloak? We used to be able to see your face
once in a while! Now all we ever see are the cloak and all the stupid Seraphim
eyes."
"Familiarity
breeds contempt."
"And
desperation breeds cliches."
"You mock
me?"
"No, Dom, I
take you very seriously. You have the hardest job in Heaven, even Michael's not
withstanding. Michael can at least relax with his Servitors and Allies. You, on
the other hand, literally have to suspect everybody."
"Then you
understand my position."
"I understand
that you have been working yourself too hard. For the Love of God, Dom,
take a few days off! Take a breather! Let your people cover for you for a while!
Get some perspective! Dom, I'm worried about you! Tell me honestly, are you all
right?"
Dominic intensely
regarded Marc for a short while and found neither deceit nor derision in the
Mercurian of Trade. "I...appreciate...your concern, old friend. But I'm
perfectly fine. My burdens are heavy, but I am up to the challenge. I
appreciate the offer, but my task is Eternal Vigilance. Eternal Vigilance is
impossible from a beach chair on Cancun. Fare thee well, Friend Marc. But one
last time, I must warn you of the folly of Raphael's 'project'." With
that, Dominic was gone in a swirl of dark cloth and glittering eyes.
Marc watched Dominic
go sadly. Then he sighed and rejoined Raphael and Michael.
*****
Once securely within
his stronghold, Dominic clutched his cloak ever closer to his form. He turned
all one thousand eyes upwards toward the God that he hadn't seen in all too
long. "Oh, my Dear God! I am a Seraph, a being of Essential Truth! And I Lied!"
*****
Marc approached the
Gates of Heaven. He nodded to Saint Peter, and proceeded onto the office of
Azrael, the Archangel of Death. Azrael was, as always, overworked. The Angel of
Death looked up as he saw Marc coming and moaned. "Oh, No! Not another
special favor!"
Marc raised a
quizzical eyebrow. "Another? Az, I haven't asked you for anything from you
since I asked you to exercise your option on Rupert Murdoch! And didn't I come
through for you with that lovely little beachfront cottage on Maui for you and
Nesemath? And didn't I vote for your proposal to have Jean upgrade your
paperwork from hardcopy to software?"
"Yeah," Azrael
agreed, "for all the good it's doing us." He slammed an
impatient hand on top of the computer terminal. "C'mon! Process,
already!"
"Y'know, Jean
owes me a few favors - why don't I have him send in a SWAT team of computer-geeks
to get this all back on line?"
Azrael grimaced.
"Don't bother - it's not really the hardware. It's the freaking volume,
as always. Have you seen the line out front? It's this stupid population boom,
I tell you! More mortals get born, so inevitably more mortals die, and I
have to process them! Man, am I glad that I just have to schlep them up here,
and not Judge them! Have your seen the Courts lately?"
Marc shrugged.
"So, are there any major gluts headed your way?"
Azrael shuddered.
"Oh, yeah. The American involvement in Afghanistan is just warming
up, the Balkans are trying to re-arm for another go at wiping each other out,
Columbia is teetering on the brink of Civil War, and there's yet another famine
on the horizon for Myanmar. Most of the idiots from the Balkan thing will
probably be immediately shunted off Downstairs - I mean, do they teach those
people atrocities in school? - but that famine is gonna be a real back-breaker.
There's nothing like rampant hunger to make people look to Heaven."
Marc fiddled with a
cufflink. "I can't do anything about Afghanistan or Columbia. I could
block the shipments of arms to the Balkans, but that would be in violation of
my Word. I'll talk to Michael about giving you a little breathing room there. But
as for Myanmar, I think I could fiddle them a few trade breaks, get them a few
bargains on imports, and like that. It may not stop the famine, but it
should slow it down enough for a good famine relief effort to get started. Maybe
I could talk to Novalis about a bumper crop of rice or something in the region."
Azrael eyed the
Archangel of Trade suspiciously. "And what is this gonna cost me?"
Marc smiled and
spread his hands wide. "The trade and import breaks? Nada. Consider it a
good faith measure. Talking to Michael and Novalis? That's gonna cost me
favors. In return, all I want is one of your Collectors with better people
skills to exercise an option on this guy." Marc dropped the Beldon
file on Azrael's overcrowded desk.
"He's That
big a shithead, that you want him off the Big Chessboard, like NOW?"
"Quite the
contrary! He's definitely Our Kind Of People! As a matter of fact, this is a
recruitment - we want him to be one of our newest Angels."
The Archangel of
Death raised both eyebrows. "Right off the board? You don't want him to
hang around as one of the Blessed for a century or two, like usual?"
"Didn't you
hear about the big debate in the Council?"
Azrael shrugged.
"Hey, I would show up more often but-" he swept his hands
around the cluttered office, "maybe if you sent me over, oh say, a squad
of those primo paper-shufflers you have over at your place..."
"Az, you still
haven't returned that flock of clerks that I sent you back in the 17th Century! Thirty- forty years tops,
you said! I'll bet that if I went into the back that I'd find them-"
Azrael held up his
hands, "Okay, okay! No need to make threats! Now, what's this big
debate that you were talking about?"
"Well, Raphael
has this idea for a new kind of Angel-"
*****
I looked at my watch
and I knew that I was gonna be late. Carrol Wellby was up for a part on a soap -
okay, so she's gonna be a cashier who gets to say 'Here's Your Change, Sir',
but Hey! It gets her in front of the cameras where the director and
producer and people can see her. Besides, she needs the rent money. The odds
were that she wouldn't need the services of an agent, but she'd definitely need
somebody there for moral support, especially if she doesn't get the gig. When
you're just starting out, that's what you really need, somebody to believe in
you and let you know that you're not just spinning your wheels. When I first
started out, trying to be a stand-up comedian, I saw way too many people who
could'a been BIG, really Great, give up 'cause nobody had faith in them.
Well, good things don't just happen, you gotta go out and make 'em
happen. Heck, that's my motto; I even have it on a plaque in my office, just in
case I ever forget.
Carrol could be Big
some day - she's got a kind of 'girl next door' look to her that most black
actresses working don't have. And she projects this air of a kind of simple
honesty, mixed with a shrewd common sense. Once the Producers pick up on her,
they'll have Scriptwriters churning out scripts for her, just like they do for
Samuel L. Jackson. All she needs are a few good breaks and somebody to stick by
her during the hard times. That's my job, making sure that newbies like Carrol
get the breaks and sticking by them, getting them non-acting jobs to fill in
during the long wait. But she'll make it - I have faith in her.
I trotted out
between the cars to the island and checked traffic for a sprint to the other
side of the avenue. Traffic was getting thick, and they weren't slowing down in
the middle. I'd just missed the green light, and I was in a hurry. I checked
the coming cars, and then I noticed a Hispanic looking kid of about twelve
making a bonehead dash from the other side. I knew he wasn't gonna make it. There's
no way that Lexus could swerve in time. Maybe if I yelled, he'd see-
And then everything
froze, like a movie with the VCR on pause. "What the Fuck?"
"There's no
need to curse, Ralph."
I turned around, and
saw that there was a guy standing there, apparently unaffected in any way by
all the weirdness. Other than the fact that he was the only other person or
thing moving on the street, he was completely unremarkable: average height,
average build, average coloring, average cut of hair and clothing. If he
weren't moving while everything else was stock still, he'd fade right into the
background. He nodded at me and took a step closer.
"Who are you?
What's going on? What did you do to them?"
He smiled ruefully
and scratched his head. "Well, in order, my name is Azmaveth. Please, no
'shortness of breath' jokes; I am quite literally a taker of breath. You see, I
am an Angel of Death."
"Angel of Death?"
My heartbeat went up about a thousand percent. "Hold it, wait a minute - it
can't be my time... No you probably hear that all the time. Hold it - isn't the
name of the Angel of Death Azrael?"
He nodded. "My
Boss. He doesn't do personal appearances that much anymore."
I looked around at
the unnatural scene around us. It wasn't how I'd seen myself buying the farm,
but then who ever does get that right? "So, it's my time? Shit. And Carrol
really needs me."
He smiled ruefully.
"Well, actually, its not that simple. You see, we're exercising
what we call 'an option'. You see, right here, right now, somebody is going to
die. It could be you, _OR_ it could be-" he pointed at the kid
about to be hit by the car, "Him."
"You mean, I
have to decide between dying or saving my life at the cost of a child's?
That's Monstrous!"
He shrugged
nonchalantly. "This? <pfaugh!> This is nothing! Yesterday, I
collected an entire family in El Salvador, just because the Secret Police got
an address wrong. Death is part and parcel of Life; believe me, keeping that in
mind is the only way that I can do this job. Fortunately for me, this is a
special job. Some very Highly Placed Personages are interested in you."
Hunh? Interested in
Me? Highly Placed Personages? "Okay, now I know that you've got the
wrong guy. I'm nobody special. I'm just a guy who holds the hands of people who
might become special."
He pulled a large
dossier file out from nowhere and leafed through it. "Ralph Lynn
Beddleham; aged fifty-two, changed name thirty-one years ago to Ralph Beldon. Theatrical
Talent Agent, New York City. You started out as a stand-up comedian during the
comedy boom of the late 70's. You weren't that good as a comic, but you could
hustle with the best of them. You started out representing yourself, but you
started giving your cronies tips on job openings. It turned out that you were
better at getting other performers jobs than you were at scaring things up for
yourself, so you became an Agent. You specialize in struggling newcomers - who
either give up on you, or drop you for a more Uptown kind of representation
once they get their feet in the door. Indeed, this is your niche in the New
York Entertainment community, to the point where Cecile, your wife of five
years, left you two years ago for a TV producer-"
"OKAY! Okay - I
believe you. You're an Angel of Death, you've come for Me, no doubt
about it, and I have to decide whether to just lie down and croak or let an
innocent kid take the fall for me."
Azmaveth quirked a
half-smile. "This is where it gets really interesting. You see,
that kid isn't so innocent." The Angel produced another dossier. "His
name is Hector Javier Enalamero, age twelve and five months. He's a habitual
shoplifter and a schoolyard bully. He's pushing to get into his local gang. His
Dark Fate-"
"Dark Fate? You
mean this is all predetermined? So why go through the torture of making
me choose, if it's already decided?"
"It isn't. Everyone
has a Destiny and a Dark Fate both. Neither is inescapable, despite what you
may have been told. Your Destiny is your Higher Calling, the very best possible
use of your options on Earth. Your Dark Fate is it's exact opposite - the worst
possible outcome, both for you and the world. For instance, John Wayne Gacy could
have become a courageous crusader for Gay Rights in the Midwest, showing the
people of Middle America that homosexuals can be good decent upright people - instead
he went out and picked up young boys so that he could torture them to death for
kicks.
"Now, as for
Hector over there - his Destiny is to become a stable, respectable member of
his community, and to be a rock of moral strength that his grandchildren can
rely on in hard times. His Dark Fate is to become the Ultimate Warlord for his
gang, kill several other young men, be incarcerated, lead a prison riot that
will kill twelve guards and fifty-four inmates, and instigate a series of repressive
punitive measures in America's prisons. _OR_, he can die, right here and now,
and let you, a kind and giving man, continue to succor the fledglings of the
Great White Way for a few more decades."
I started to sweat.
"And there's no guarantees which way he'll turn out, right?"
"Absolutely
none. Though I will guarantee that if you choose to save him, he will
indeed survive safe and intact."
"How long do I
have to decide this?"
"This moment is
timeless - Time itself is proceeding at its normal rate, you are merely outside
its flow. This state will last until you irrevocably commit to a course of
action or inaction. Also, you can't leave this immediate spot."
"In other
words, I can take as long as I want, as long as I focus on this. If I stop
thinking about it, I've committed to a course of inaction."
"Good. You
pick up quickly."
"You'd set up a
_kid_, just to put me in this fix?"
"Good Lord, NO!
Quite the opposite - y'see, we know just enough about the future to know
that Hector over there was going to pull this bonehead play. We did set
you up, so that you'd be here in the right place at the right time, to save him
- or not."
"If I do
save him, will it at least be over quickly?"
"I'm sorry,
Ralphie, but by my expert calculations, given the speed that car is travelling,
your body mass and general state of health, the odds are that you will break
your lower back and both legs, rupture your spleen, have a couple of ribs
penetrate your lungs, and probably have a major concussion. It will take you at
least two weeks to die, and you'll be awake for most of it."
"You aren't
making this easy."
"Ralphie,
decisions like this aren't supposed to be easy. The entire point here is
- what do you really believe?"
It occurred to me
that my life was over. Even if I decided to do nothing, and 'saved' my life, it
would still be over. There's no way that I could be the same person I was, if I
bought my life with this kid's. Maybe this is my Dark Fate, to become
the kind of manipulative parasite of an Agent that I have detested for the last
twenty years. They always say that the worst offenders are usually the ones
that started out with the highest standards.
No, that was just me
trying to rationalize my real decision. The simple fact is that I couldn't
allow a child - even a rotten, vicious brat - die in my place.
I stepped off the
concrete island and pushed Hector out of the path of the car. The second that I
touched him, Time snapped back into it's normal pace - or I just re-entered it.
Let the philosophers argue that out. Hector fell back, to safety. There was a
dull thud, and then I felt myself being thrown forward. I clinically noted them
as each injury registered - broken ribs penetrating my lungs, spine snapping,
legs breaking, spleen rupturing, and head hitting the curb to cause a
concussion.
Just as the pain
started to set in for real, I felt a hand on my shoulder. The hand PULLED me
up, and out of the pain and discomfort. I looked around, and saw Azmaveth with
his hand on my shoulder. I looked down, and a few feet down, I saw the body of
a pudgy middle aged man with balding sandy hair and a slightly threadbare suit
lying in the gutter of 45th
Street. There was a small pool of blood on the asphalt next to his nose and
mouth. His eyes were open, and unblinking.
He was dead.
He was me.
I turned to Azmaveth.
"You said that it would take me weeks to die."
"I exercised an
option to cause a heart attack. You were going to die eventually, so I saw no
reason for you to suffer unnecessarily."
"You never said
that you could do that!"
"That's right. I
never said anything about that, one way or the other. After all, your
decision wouldn't really mean anything, if you thought that it would be easy."
"What about the
kid? Which way is he going to go? Have I condemned him to a life as an urban
animal, just to spare my conscience?"
Azmaveth shrugged.
"How would I know? Angels can only know Destiny and Dark Fate - we
can't know the outcome of Free Will or Random Chance; both of which exist, and
can be a real pain in the ass, let me tell you!"
I sighed. "Okay,
it's over. Let's go." We started, then I stalled.
Azmaveth looked at
me hard. "You're not gonna challenge me to a game of Chess, are
you?"
"No." He
sighed and relaxed. "I-I just want to know, before I go... Did I do any
good?"
The Angel raised his
eyebrows.
"As I look
back, I realize that all my life, I just wanted to do some good. With all the
running around, and meeting and wheedling and wheeling and dealing, I gotta
know - did I do any good? Or was I just spinning my wheels, wasting
everyone's time?"
Azmaveth shook his
head. "I wish that I could tell you, Ralphie, but I can't. I'm an Angel,
but I don't know everything. That kind of call is way beyond my scope."
With that, he took
me by the arm, and we left this vale of tears.
*****
There was a
brightness as we broke through to the other side. There they were, the Pearly
Gates. Big whacking actual gates, up at the top of a high and very wide
bank of steps. There were several very long lines - twelve, as I later found
out - leading up to several booths, where rather harried looking Angels were
trying to get them sorted out. The people on line were the most mixed bag of
souls that I'd ever seen. I don't know which were more heart-breaking, the
groups of family, friends and lovers who were worried that they might be
separated for Eternity, or the lone souls of those that died alone.
I turned to ask
Azmaveth about them, and instead of Mister Average-Average-Average, I was
looking at this huge golden bear with a large pair of lambent wings and a halo
around its head. The bear looked at me and said in Azmaveth's voice, "Hey,
if you think that's bad, you should seen it back before we got the
computers up and running!"
We walked up the
stairs, bypassing the line. A few people stared at us resentfully, but would
you give a great big winged bear a hard time about cutting in line? We
stopped right in front of one of the gates. I looked at the aggravated Angel
slamming the top of her computer, trying to get it to process faster. I jerked
my head at the line.
Azmaveth shook his
head. "Don't worry about it. Hey, I finally get to give you a little good
news! Remember I told you that some very highly placed personages were
interested in you?" I nodded warily. "Well, due to the way that you
lived your life, not to mention the way that you died, you don't have to
worry about wading through that line, or going through the Courts. As of right
now, you are pretty much IN Heaven.
"BUT you are
going to have to make another hard decision. The reason that I was told to exercise
that option on you is that you are on the short line to be made an Angel. Before
you enter the Gates of Heaven, you must decide whether you want to spend
Eternity as one of the Blessed, or as an Angel."
I screwed up my face
(at least I think I did - I wasn't too sure that I still had a face at
the time) in confusion. "What's the difference? I thought that everyone
in Heaven was an Angel."
"Ah, No.
The Blessed are those mortal souls that are making up their minds whether to
become Angels, or to go on to the Higher Realms and be with God."
"And what do
they do while they're making up their minds?"
"Well, they
just kinda hang out. Remember bless and bliss come from the same root word. Even
then, they do contribute - they make Heaven, well - Heaven. We Angels
handle the hard stuff, the stuff that needs to be done."
"Wow. That kind
of sucks for you, doesn't it?"
"Not really. Do
parents and older siblings really begrudge doing things for infants? It's kinda
like that."
"So, given
that, what's so great about being an Angel?"
"Only one
thing, Ralphie - you get to do some good."
I struggled with
that for a while. I mean, the choice of being able to just kick back and enjoy
Eternal Peace, or shuck all that and actually do some good. I looked at
Azmaveth. "And I have to decide right now?"
"Yep. We can't
let you enter Heaven until you've made that decision. But at least we are
letting you make that decision - down in Perdition, they just assign you
to whatever duty suits them best. Up here, you get to decide; you have to live
with your decisions, but you do get to decide."
I took a deep breath
- or at least I think I did - and made up my mind. "Azmaveth, I'd like to
be an Angel. I just pray that I'm up to the challenge."
The heavenly bear looked
at me with a light in his eyes. "Thanks, Ralphie. It's moments like this
that make it all worthwhile - all the pleading, crying, whining, deal-making
and chess-playing; it's all worth it, when I bring someone up here, and they
decide to go the extra mile. C'mon in, Ralphie, I think that you'll fit in just
fine."
*****
Somehow, Heaven was
larger than it seemed from outside the Pearly Gates. I looked around a bit, and
then turned to Azmaveth. "Well, what now? Do I go somewhere, or does
somebody come and get me, or do I change right here on the spot?"
Azmaveth went back
to his human seeming and pulled out my dossier. "Okay, Marc wants you to
show up at the Halls of Trade ASAP-"
"Mark? The
Apostle Mark?"
"No, Marc, with
a 'C', not a 'K' - this Marc is the Archangel of Trade."
"Trade? You
mean there's an Angel in charge of Business? I thought that was more or less H-
ah, the Other Place's big gun!"
Azmaveth just smiled.
"I'll let him fill you in - it's been nice, but there's one thing
about being an Angel of Death: you're always either too soon or you're running
way behind. Right now, I'm needed somewhere."
*****
Azmaveth left me at
a soaring skyscraper, which somehow didn't clash with the rest of the Heavenly
landscape. The interior was elegant without being over-lavish. The Asian... receptionist,
for the want of a better term, made me comfortable. "Mister Marc is a very
busy person, you understand. While he is very eager to meet with you, he also
has several other projects that also require his attention."
She had me sit in a
very comfortable chair and had one of her subordinates get me a cup of coffee. As
I waited, I watched her and her aides in action. She wasn't just a
receptionist; she was more of a communications regulator. She handled a couple
of hundred different communications in the time I watched her, often handling
as many as twenty at a time, all with that off-hand efficient elegance that the
Japanese call Shibumi. After a few minutes watching her do her stuff, I got the
distinct impression that she hadn't been snowing me - Marc really was a very
busy person. Getting even a few minutes with him must be a real honor to a not-yet-minted
Angel.
Finally, one of her
hands (I swear that I saw Six of them going at one point!) hit the
button on an intercom and she peered over her console at me. "Mister
Beldon? Mister Marc can see you now."
I got up and wished
that I had a tie or some cuffs to straighten. I steeled myself for meeting the
being who would probably be my boss for Eternity, and went through the double
doors.
There is a commonly
held belief in the business world, that the bigger your office is, the more
important you are. Marc's office put the lie to that myth. It was large,
at least three times larger than my office back on Earth. But it wasn't as
large as some of the Earthly offices that I've been in. It was roomy, but he
avoided that uncomfortable cavernous effect that you get in some status-obsessed
executives' offices. It was just right. He had it decorated in hard woods and
leather, but there were enough modern pieces to avoid the 'I'm trying to look
like Old Money' effect that many other executives try for. His desk was just
the right size for him. If anything, the general impression that I got from
Marc's office was that here was a man who knew what he was doing, and
knew how to do it right.
The man (Angel?
Archangel?) himself was busily making a few arrangements on a phone. He wrapped
up and gave me his full attention. "Sorry about that. Last minute details -
the bane of Heaven, Earth and Hell. Ah well, if it were easy, then why
would they need me?"
He favored me with a
rueful smile. "You have absolutely no idea of why you're here, do you?"
I gave a helpless
smile back and shook my head. "Azmaveth - the Angel who brought me here - said
that I was up for being some kind of apprentice Angel. Though for the life of
me (gee, can't use that one anymore!), I can't see Heaven being so short on
Angel power that they'd have to scrape the bottom of the barrel for me."
"You sell
yourself short, Ralph." He opened a dossier. "It says here that you
gave Darryl Wayeborne, the comedian, his start."
"Yeah - Darryl
and I started out in Stand-Up together. When I decided that I was better at
wrangling Club Owners to give other performers a break than getting audiences
to give me a break, I made sure that he got into the right clubs. Then he got
that HBO special-"
"And he dropped
you for a hotshot at Phillip Morris the second that HBO started to get serious."
I shrugged. "Hey.
That's Show Biz."
"The same
happened with that actor who does all the 'dark, brooding, troubled villain'
roles in the movies, Lazlo Theissen. And Clarisse Fox, the Broadway ingenue, Harvey
Colliard, the gross-out comic, Tom Xavier, the soap opera heartthrob and a
score of lesser lights. Your secretary, Amy Vassen, spends half her time out on
casting calls, and I'll bet diamonds to pebbles that she'd do exactly the same,
once she got the break."
"Hey, I
would have gotten a break - eventually. One of them would have stuck with me. And
in the meantime, somebody had to go out and make things happen. Most
people just hang around, waiting for something good to happen. Well, good
things don't just happen, you gotta go out and make 'em happen."
He looked down at
the dossier. "Your motto - you even have it on a plaque in your office."
He looked back up at me. "And that is what you're doing here. Ralph,
you've had to make a couple of really big decisions today. You had to decide
between a stranger's life and your own - and you decided that the other guy had
a better right to live. You had to decide between an existence of sublime
exaltation and ease, and an existence of serving others without any real
recompensation. You chose the hard road. Well, Ralph, fasten your seatbelt, you
gotta make another big decision."
I could feel
the flummox cover my face.
"Ralph, I'm
going to offer you another choice. You can take or leave it, without fear of angering,
offending or disappointing anyone. I won't blame you in the least if you turn
it down. You CAN decide to be another junior Angel, working in the
Entertainment Division of my organization. There, you will basically do a more
advanced version of what you did on Earth - help promising performers,
encourage honesty in the business and promote a higher mindset in music and
drama.
"OR, you can go
an even extra mile. We have a plan for what you might call an
'experimental' Angel. Most of the 'Choirs' - Choirs are what we call the
different kinds of Angel that you'll run into - have been around for millennia.
But, instead of becoming a Kerub or Mercurian - the Choirs that you'll probably
best fit in with - you'll become a completely new kind of Angel."
"What? I'll
have jet engines instead of wings? Radar instead of a halo?"
Marc chuckled and
shook his head. "Actually, the form that you'd take isn't completely
unprecedented." He snapped a remote at a wide screen monitor. A picture of
quite possibly the most primally desirable woman that I'd ever seen popped up. She
was a blonde. A blonde to make a bishop kick in a stained glass window. She had
a child-woman's face and a body made for sin, all wrapped up in a dress so
tight that it wouldn't leave much to the imagination of an accountant. Marc
clicked another button, and the image began moving. The invitation to sin
implicit in her body became an all-out media blitz to carnal excess.
"She looks like
she was just made for sex, doesn't she? Well, she is - literally." He
clicked another button on the remote. The seeming of mortality faded, and the
love goddess sprouted bat wings, a barbed tail, a pair of dainty horns, and
cloven hooves. "She is - or was, should I say - a succubus, a demon
of temptation. Her name was Mirjam." Marc clicked the remote again. Five
Angels all in armor and brandishing flaming swords attacked Mirjam. My sense of
chivalry and fair play stopped being offended when I saw that the overwhelming
odds weren't so overwhelming. Mirjam whistled up swarm after swarm of vile
looking insects, which plagued and blinded the Angels while she tore into them
with her bare claws. When the battle was over, Mirjam was on the ground
bleeding, but the Angels were bleeding too, even if they were still on their
feet. They'd walk away from that fight, but they'd limp.
Marc shut off the
monitor. "Ralph, you've probably heard that Heaven is at war with Hell. That
is unfortunately true. Currently, we're enjoying a truce, which is enforced by
some of the best magical and legal work ever done by either side. It would have
to be, to keep Old Luke honest for even a second. But, it is inevitable that
the War will start up again. Lucifer is just biding his time until he feels
that his forces are strong enough again, and then he'll storm the walls of
Heaven - again. The Succubae, the sisters of that creature that you just
watched, are probably Hell's top agents. They are Hell's best spies, diplomats,
assassins, recruiters, scouts and magic users. And, as you've seen, they aren't
exactly pushovers in the hand-to-hand combat arena, either. They can take on
any female shape, and they are utterly irresistible to males of all varieties -
Mortal, Angel and Demon alike. They live on the Male essence of the men with
whom they have sex."
"Whoa! You want
me to become a heavenly version of a Succubus?"
"No. We want
you to become the heavenly counterpart to a Succubus. Y'see, Ralph,
Succubae are takers. In exchange for a few minutes of pleasure, they take a
man's male essence, leaving him nothing. If she isn't careful, she'll even turn
him into a woman. What we want is an Angel that won't take, but give. Instead
of feeding on a mortal's maleness, this new kind of Angel will feed on the
mortal's spiritual pain, leaving them stronger, not weaker."
"Spiritual
Pain?"
"Ralph, you
worked with performers, a group that knows all about how people torture
themselves unnecessarily. You know how much real Evil is done by people who
aren't really evil themselves, just in pain. How many people have you
seen in your life who did stupid, pointless, evil things, just because they
thought that it would ease their pain just a little?"
I closed my eyes,
and I couldn't get the image of Clement Harrison out of my mind. Clem could
have been one of the Greats. He carried around five men's burden of
Anger, Sorrow and Shame, but he used it in his comedy routines and spun that
pain into things of beauty. He could have been what Richard Pryor tried to be,
and was every so often. He could have been the man to give African Americans a
voice to their pain, a voice that cleansed with laughter even as it vented the
Rage. He could'a been great. But as soon as the Village Voice picked up on him,
that bastard Artie MacHeath came along and spun him the same old line. 'Sure,
Ralphie's a nice guy - but nice guys finish last, don't you know that? You're
gonna need somebody tough to handle you, or the BigWigs will eat you for
lunch! Sign with me, I'll take good care of you'. Artie took good care of Clem,
all right. Hooked him up with a dealer. Introduced him to that no-good bimbo
Shaheri, who wormed Clem away from Dinah. Convinced Clem that he had to do the
'John Belushi' thing, and perform fucked up. Of course, neither Artie nor Shaheri
were anywhere near the place, when Clem went totally off his rocker from the
coke and speed, and shot Dinah. Or when the cops came in, and shot Clem 'cause
he wouldn't drop the gun. Maybe - maybe if Clem hadn't been toting around quite
as much pain, maybe he might have lasted long enough for the world to hear what
he was trying to say.
I opened my eyes.
"Exactly how would I feed on this 'Spiritual Pain'?"
Marc cleared his
throat, and nervously straightened his tie. His instincts for salesmanship warred
briefly with the strictures of his Word. He wasn't merely the Archangel of
Trade; he was the Angel of Fair Trade. "Ah well, while there are several
different options, the classic and most effective way is through - Sex. It's
a variant of the method that the Succubae use to drain men. And, since I know
that you're gonna ask, yes, we're gonna ask you to, uhm, manifest as a
Female Angel."
"Why a Female
Angel?"
"Well, first of
all, you will be in direct competition with the Succubae. Hell has a
male version, called Incubi, but the Succubae are noticeably more effective,
especially during this 'Cold War' phase. We're gonna need Angels who are not
only immune to the Succubae Charms, but actively cut into their 'market share'
so to speak. Secondly, Ralph, we do want you as our test subject; our
analysis of your core personality shows that you are perfect for this job. And
you see, there's this strange phenomenon that we've noticed for a while. Persons
changed from their original sex to the opposite display a phenomenal
increase in magical potential. If you're gonna go up against the Daughters of
Lilith, you are gonna need as much magical power as you can assimilate. And,
lastly, to be perfectly honest, according to Raphael's research, this 'pain-eating'
gig just works better with the female dynamic. It's a Yin-Yang thing, I'm told."
Lord, the decisions
they keep throwing at me! I mean, I like being a guy! Okay, maybe I wasn't
Arnold Schwartzeneggar, or Hugh Hefner, or Brad Pitt, but c'mon! Then I
flashed back to that recording of that fight with that Succubus. Besides the
bugs, the black flame and glowing knives that she'd used, her greatest weapon
had been that the Angels that she'd been fighting were male. They had obviously
struggling with their own primal attraction to her, and it had cost them in
their own blood. If I managed to talk Marc into letting me do this as a guy,
not only wouldn't I be as effective, but also I'd be almost at the mercy of the
first Succubus to come along. And if I were cutting into their 'feeding
grounds', they would be looking for me. As for the Incubi, well, as an Agent,
I'd seen just about every slimy underhanded trick that Men use on Women,
applied by experts in that craft. I've lost count of the besotted women that I
pleaded with, trying to convince them that the bastard they were hung up on was
just no damn good!
Maybe if I were
there as a guy Angel, protecting them - but then the memory of Clem Harrison's
tragic, pain-filled eyes came back at me. I failed him. He could have been Great.
He needed someone to help him with his burden of pain...
Is this what it's
like, fighting your own primal nature? Is this what a salmon feels, when it
says, 'I don't want to go upstream to spawn! I don't wanna die!'
I looked Marc in the
eyes, and took the leap from the lion's mouth. "I'll do it."
Marc smiled like a
sunrise. "Wonderful! Y'know, there are times when I despair for humanity. Then
something like this happens - a person rises to need-"
"I've heard
this spiel. From the last Angel who was trying to get me to do something stupid."
"Hey, it's
still true! Most people - most Angels! - wouldn't do what you're doing. And
yet, it's always Mortals who always make these exceptional leaps. Angels are as
they were made, but Mortals can exceed their limitations. Which is one of the
reasons that we chose a Mortal to become the 'Bright Lilim'-"
"Bright Lilim?"
"Hey, it's a working
title. We're working on it. As I was saying, the very nature of this
project demands that the subject become more than they were before." Marc
got up. "Very well, there's no time like the present."
As we went through
his front office, Marc paused for his receptionist. "Kimiko, have Gadiel,
Shemariah and Makheloth handle my schedule for the rest of the afternoon. I'm
going to want to help out personally with this project."
Kimiko reached over
and fluidly flipped three toggles. "All set."
As we left, Marc
leaned over and said, "Y'know, someday I'm going to get her to tell me how
she does that."
We took an elevator
to the ground level and began walking at a relaxed pace. I looked over at Marc.
"I thought that you were such a busy guy."
"Well, yeah,
but one of the secrets to my success is that I always take the opportunity to
relax a bit and smell the roses."
"What are your
other secrets?"
"One - Always
make sure that you sell something of worth. There's no advertising campaign as
effective as a deserved reputation for quality. Heck, when was the last time
you saw an ad for Rolls-Royce?
"Two - Remember
that the true value of an enterprise isn't always best revealed in a ledger. Sometimes
you have to accept a loss in order to secure your place in a market. You have
to keep your eye on the Big Picture, not just the Bottom Line. Or, to put it
more simply, sometimes you just have to accept that you ain't gonna get what
you want, in order for someone else to get what they need."
"The problems
of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy mixed up
world?"
"Ahhh.. Casablanca."
"You know
that movie?"
"Know it?
I love that movie! A movie about a man who rises above his bitterness, despair
and apathy, recovers his faith, and finds the strength to give up a woman who
has haunted him for years, all in the name of a Greater Good. What's not
to love?"
We came to a low
sprawling complex of buildings, with lots of windows and galleries, and
courtyards with gently splashing fountains. It was a very soothing place. I
tried to pump Marc for a few more detail about the 'Experiment', but he just
shook his head and said, "I only know the general outline of the project. The
real expert will be with us shortly." After we relaxed in the cool of the
courtyard, a woman joined us. All of the Angels that I'd seen in Heaven had
been beautiful. This woman was also beautiful, but in a way that completely put
the lie to the myth that a woman has to be slim and girlish in order to be
beautiful. She was tall, matronly and full-bodied, in a way that wasn't a
euphemism for fat. You looked at her, and you saw what Peter Paul Rubens was
going for. Her thick body managed to be both motherly and very sexy at the same
time. She had the kind of generous bosom that sort of invited you to snuggle in
and either cry your woes out or burrow in for the winter. Warm dark eyes shone
in her plump face. They looked at you, took all of you in, and accepted you
warts and all. You felt better, just looking at her.
She beamed at us
both, and greeted me like I was a friend that she hadn't seen in years. "Marc!
You show up at last! And I take it this is our brave volunteer!"
Marc beamed back at
her. "We got here as quickly as we could. How could I tarry, knowing that
I was coming to see you? This is-"
Raphael held up a
plump hand. "Please, no names." She gave me an apologetic smile.
"It's not that I'm denying the introduction, mind you; it's just that you
won't be the person with that name much longer. When your Exaltation is
over, you'll be given a new name, one more in keeping with your new state."
She cocked an eye at Marc. "Speaking of 'new states', did you tell him everything?"
"Yes, I did. Have
you every known me to lie?"
"Lie, no - but
you have been known to be very strategic about the timing of exactly
when you tell the whole story!"
We spent a very
pleasant hour or so (do these measurements of time really mean anything in
Heaven?), until one of Raphael's aides came in and told us that 'the others'
were waiting. We went through the galleries, into a very large courtyard with a
dais in the middle with four small concert shells on all sides, facing toward
the dais. While there were at least a dozen lesser Angels standing around
reading sheet music, the courtyard was dominated by a couple talking near the
dais. The man was a wiry, very physical type in jeans and a leather jacket. He
looked like a cross between the Biker that you never wanted to run into, and
the Drill Sargent that every recruit both hopes and fears to get in Boot Camp. The
woman was lanky, with 'Mother Africa' features. She was dressed in yards of
bright multicolored batik that should have clashed with her brass jewelry, or
been garish, but somehow didn't.
Marc raised an
eyebrow in the direction of the woman. "Eli? I didn't know that you were
involved with this project!"
The woman - Eli? - smiled
a magnificent broad smile at Marc. "Well, y'should have! How can
you make somethin' new if you don' create! And Creation is MY
Word. A'course, Rafe asked me t'help in helpin' this poor thing Exalt. An' it's
well past time. We've had the same ol' Choirs for millennae! Rafe didn't
bring my being involved up, 'cause Dominic has a mind to cast me out. And the
others are leery of me as well; my participation might have queered your spiel
in Council."
Marc shrugged.
"All right, I'll allow you that. But what's with this new look? I mean,
I've heard that you've been doing the Rastafarian schtick for a while, but
don't you usually go for a more <ahem> Manly look?"
Eli clucked her (?) tongue.
"Now, now, Marc. Would you ask this poor thing to have three
Daddies, and only ONE Momma? And when was the last time that ol' Mikey
here walked on the other side of the street? Or are you offering?"
Marc shook his head.
"Why should I, when you do such a wonderful job?"
Maybe Marc was
following this, but I was completely lost. "Daddies? Mommas?"
Raphael took mercy
on me. "Exaltation, the process by which one of the Blessed becomes an
Angel, isn't an inpersonal thing. A new Angel must be 'reborn' so to speak,
with a 'father' and a 'mother' imparting a part of their essence to the child. Since
Exaltation isn't the simple material thing that mortal birth is, parentage
isn't limited to only two. Besides Marc and myself, your parents will be these
two. The tall brooding macho type is Michael, the Archangel of War. The fashion
victim is Eli, the Archangel of Creation."