Glimmering (50 page)
Authors: Elizabeth Hand
“I can’t hurt you, Jack.” Her face hung before his, her mouth parted in a smile. “You’re safe, here . . .”
She touched his breast, her head dipped and she took Jack’s cock in her hands.
“No. I’m immune, remember?” she whispered. And, of course, that was what the petra virus did, made you immune to the HIV virus while it infected you with another. “I’m not contagious, Jack. I can’t hurt you.”
He saw in her face nothing of desire, nothing he could recognize except a weird kind of joy. His fear fell back. Not gone, but quieted, amazed at this arousal as by everything else—what was he doing with a woman? With this woman? He raised his hand to touch her cheek. A moment later he felt her mouth around the head of his cock, and her tongue, constricting warmth as her fingers tightened around him. He was hard, but his desire was detached from everything he could see: the woman drawing momentarily away, so that he glimpsed her breasts, her narrow thighs. She smiled, but her hands never left his cock, and an instant later her head dipped once more, lips parted as she took him into her mouth.
His breathing quickened; he waited for his erection to fade but it didn’t. When he shut his eyes he saw her still, gold against the pulsing darkness. He could smell her, so different from Leonard or Eric or any of his lovers. Not the raw pollen scent of semen but musk and salt.
“I know,” she whispered. “But I wanted to see what happens . . .”
She knelt and took his hands, drew them to her waist and pressed them there. He felt her ribs. She made a soft urgent sound, and so he moved his hands lower, until they stroked the inside of her thighs, muscular as a boy’s, then slid between her legs to her cunt. Her pubis had been shaved; when she opened her legs her labia had the split sheen of an apricot. His finger found the soft node there and probed it, even as he leaned forward and nuzzled his face against her neck, pressed his open mouth against her. Tasting salt, a faint crystalline bitterness. He closed his eyes and saw Emma standing in his bedroom, mouth tight as she gazed at emerald granules adhering to a tongue depressor.
The viruses change us, but they also open us, so that things can get inside.
He drew back as Nellie moaned. She moved against him forcefully, reminding him that she was there—
that’s how it works when it doesn’t kill us: we become gates
—reminding him that her body was nothing like his, and that none of this was happening by accident.
that’s how it works when it doesn’t kill us: we become gates
—reminding him that her body was nothing like his, and that none of this was happening by accident.
“I—I don’t know if I can,” he murmured. “If we can . . .”
Though he was still hard, and when she took his hand and pressed it to her groin the skin there was soft and yielding.
“We can,” she whispered. “This way.”
She leaned back upon the mattress, guiding him until he lay beside her, his head facing the V formed by her outspread legs. He could see the scars upon her thighs, dark fissures that seemed to be strewn upon a landscape of stone not flesh. He let his hand trail across her leg, then moved forward to kiss her knee, let his mouth linger upon one of the cicatrices. His other hand stroked her inner thigh, soft and unblemished; she made a low sound and took him in her mouth. Not his favorite sexual conjunction: he had always found it too distracting, too difficult to concentrate on his own response.
But now the symmetry entranced him, distant pulse of pleasure as she sucked his cock, his own inexplicable delight as he explored the unknown landscape before him, caressing her legs, inching forward until his face was pressed against her pubis. He slid his tongue inside her, and she cried out; there was an intense explosion of warm liquid flooding his mouth. Some minutes later she came, the muscles in her thighs rippling and a slow coursing pulse in the skin beneath his mouth; was less certain of his own climax, which he sensed first as ruddy light, his lips prickling as at the taste of lemons; then suffused heat, a sigh as the woman drew her head back from his groin and awkwardly raised herself to kiss him. Her tongue small and hot and languid, the taste of his come in her mouth. He moved away, one hand still clasping hers. She stared at him, wide eyes belying her calm expression.
He blinked and took a deep breath. The room was still dark, the candles seemed not to have burned down at all; but perhaps Nellie had replaced them. She leaned against the wall of the sleeping alcove, her dark hair flat and damp against her skull. The cicatrices upon her breasts had opened. They glistened like the mouths of flowers, saturated with nectar; he could see silvery threads of moisture spilling down her abdomen.
“It’s always different,” she said. She lay one hand upon her breast, eyes shutting as though she were in pain. “But I wanted you to see—to know what it can be like.”
Why?
he wanted to ask; but he was too tired. He closed his eyes and slept dreamlessly. When he woke the room was exactly as it had been before—candles burning, a close smell of flesh and unwashed hair—save that he noticed how terribly thin Nellie was. Before, the cicatrices had seemed like blossoms strewn upon her flesh. Now he could see her ribs thrusting out between them, and the smooth hollows of her cheeks.
he wanted to ask; but he was too tired. He closed his eyes and slept dreamlessly. When he woke the room was exactly as it had been before—candles burning, a close smell of flesh and unwashed hair—save that he noticed how terribly thin Nellie was. Before, the cicatrices had seemed like blossoms strewn upon her flesh. Now he could see her ribs thrusting out between them, and the smooth hollows of her cheeks.
“I am going to tell you something important,” she said. She dabbed a finger at the corner of one eye. When she withdrew her hand he saw a very faint virent flash. “Because you’ll be at the party tonight.”
Tonight?
When he licked his lips they were cracked and desiccated; his tongue, too, felt hard and swollen as a parrot’s. Nellie moved her hand to touch him, and shook her head.
When he licked his lips they were cracked and desiccated; his tongue, too, felt hard and swollen as a parrot’s. Nellie moved her hand to touch him, and shook her head.
“I can’t go. I’m supposed to be there, but I won’t be. But you’ll be there—” She pointed at his hand. He looked down and saw the faintly glowing outline of a gryphon upon his palm. “And so will Blue Antelope. They’ve planned a terrorist strike against the SUNRA dirigibles.”
He croaked, “Blue Antelope?”
Nellie nodded. “They think the sky stations are interfering with God’s plan for humanity. Which is that we should die. Having poisoned His earth and destroyed His creatures, we all deserve to die. They’re going to destroy the Fouga fleet. Assisted cultural suicide. Without the sky stations in place, the atmosphere cannot be repaired. We’ll die, maybe everything will die, but then other forms of life will be ascendant. Blue Antelope doesn’t look upon it as a sin.”
“How do you know?” Jack’s voice was a ragged whisper.
“Because I was the one who provided them with fifty-seven sheets of collodion cotton soaked with nitroglycerin, all of which have been incorporated into the Fougas’ outer structure. That was after I got sick.”
She coughed.
“They’ll do nothing except destroy eighteen months of work. And the Pyramid. And kill a lot of people. But that will be enough. GFI won’t be able to rebuild the fleet—it was a miracle they could do it in the first place—and eventually most of us will die.”
“But you’re telling me this—
why
?” Jack’s voice cracked.
why
?” Jack’s voice cracked.
Nellie grabbed his hand.
“Stop them.
When I saw you downstairs, I saw this—”
“Stop them.
When I saw you downstairs, I saw this—”
She stabbed at the glowing gryphon on his palm. “You’ll be inside the arena. Tell someone about the terrorists. Stop them.”
“You’re—you’re lying, this is some—”
“No. I am not lying. I was with Blue Antelope for three years, since before the ice shelf collapsed. The glimmering was the best thing that ever happened to them, and all those other radicals. It gave them a focus. It made them stronger. When they learned I’d received the experimental petra vaccine, they threw me out—because I was thwarting God’s will. Because if I was the sort of person who was running any risk of infection, then I was exactly the sort of person God
wanted
to die. But when I developed petra virus they took me back—because obviously His will was being enforced.
wanted
to die. But when I developed petra virus they took me back—because obviously His will was being enforced.
“And I was so enraged, I hated everyone so much, that I worked for them. In Atlanta and LA and here, in the Pyramid—”
She motioned at the walls. “I was a plant. There are a lot of us here. That’s how Blue Antelope gained access to the Millennial Ball. And they had plants in the factories where the Fougas were constructed. Everywhere. Blue Antelope is everywhere. Christians—”
She shook with a spasmodic laugh. “God’s fucking people—they’re everywhere. They’re going to kill me, you know. Because I left. But I won’t let them.”
Jack swallowed, tasting bile and grit. He turned, looking around for something, anything, that would give the lie to this. His gaze fell upon a silvery film canister pushed against the far wall.
“Leonard.” The word exploded from him. “Does he—does Leonard know?”
“Of course he knows. He knows everything.”
Jack gasped, amazement forcing through despair. “Leonard’s a terrorist.”
“No. He’s not a terrorist. He’s not a member of Blue Antelope—he hates Fundamentalists, but I’m sure he knows about the attack. His work, recording all the extinctions, donating all that money to the Noah Genome Project—he may not belong to Blue Antelope, but he believes in them. And he’ll be at the Ball, as a guest of GFI. He plays both sides of the fence, Leonard. I think he’s just waiting to see who’ll come out on top. To see who’ll win.”
“No. You’re wrong.” Jack shook his head. “Leonard Thrope has never given a fuck about winning
.
He just likes total fucking
chaos.
In high school he was cast as the Lord of Misrule in some play, and it was so perfect—because that’s what he is. That’s why he’d be a perfect terrorist—”
.
He just likes total fucking
chaos.
In high school he was cast as the Lord of Misrule in some play, and it was so perfect—because that’s what he is. That’s why he’d be a perfect terrorist—”
“They would never take him,” Nellie broke in. “He’s a loose cannon. A security risk. Your friend is not a terrorist, Jack—”
He’s not my friend!
Jack started to cry out;
how could someone who tried to poison me be my friend?
Jack started to cry out;
how could someone who tried to poison me be my friend?
But as clearly as if he were in the room beside him, he saw Leonard as a boy with a hot small mouth and eyes that broke too easily into tears; Leonard leaving him, a farewell fuck in Athens and that was it. Years later Leonard drinking champagne at Jack’s fortieth birthday party. Leonard in Jack’s bedroom handing him a small glass bottle and saying
This is what’s going to change fucking human history . . .
This is what’s going to change fucking human history . . .
Leonard was playing dice with the world; and so were Blue Antelope, and GFI.
“Stop them,” whispered Nellie.
“No.”
Nellie’s voice grew shrill. “Those solar shields are the only chance we have—”
“Why the fuck should I care? I’m dying! You poisoned me—you and Leonard, your goddamn pharmaceutical corporations! Let them die. Let them all fucking die.”
His words echoed in the tiny room. He could hear the slurring of Nellie’s breath as she stared at him. He glared back at her, the moisture between the folds of her abdomen, sparks of green and gold there. When she raised her arm he saw that the flesh hung loosely from her bones—not like flesh at all, more like lichen, or shimmering algae; and that her impossibly slender, spatulate fingers held something long and thin and metal, something she looked at very carefully, eyes narrowed. There was the smell of wet leaves, a sharp glitter as her lips parted and he saw she held some sort of capsule.
“Stop them,” she said. She bit down upon the shining tube. “Just stop them.” Stench of sulfur and almonds. Jack gasped, stunned, as the woman’s body slumped onto the bed. He started to move toward her, then stopped, seeing a fine white cloud of mist about her mouth. Holding his breath he staggered to his feet and stumbled from the room. It wasn’t until he reached the door that he realized he was naked. With a groan he turned back, hesitating at the entrance to the alcove.
Nellie sprawled facedown upon the futon, motionless. Her body looked badly decomposed, but the smell that hung about the room was fragrant, rain-sweet.
Like lilacs,
thought Jack, as he grabbed his clothes and dressed, fighting horror.
She smells like lilacs.
He shoved his feet into his shoes and fled.
thought Jack, as he grabbed his clothes and dressed, fighting horror.
She smells like lilacs.
He shoved his feet into his shoes and fled.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Heroes and Villains (Alternate Take)
He had thought that he would be able to see the Golden Pyramid from anywhere within the city. Such a gigantic structure, it would loom over everything else and he would set his course by it, make his way through the streets, how hard could it be?
I’m an idiot,
Trip thought, and glanced at the harbor behind him. The
Wendameen
was gone. As far as he could see there was only viscous water speared with metal spikes and floating planks, a shattered portico like the prow of a sunken ship. To either side the shoreline stretched, bridge girders and highway overpasses that had been bitten off in midair, eviscerated skyscrapers that tolled as the tide swept inside them. The sky shuddered, and flaming gouts of gold and violet spewed from horizon to horizon. After the silence and solitude of Mars Hill, after the weeks at sea with Martin, it was like waking in hell.
Trip thought, and glanced at the harbor behind him. The
Wendameen
was gone. As far as he could see there was only viscous water speared with metal spikes and floating planks, a shattered portico like the prow of a sunken ship. To either side the shoreline stretched, bridge girders and highway overpasses that had been bitten off in midair, eviscerated skyscrapers that tolled as the tide swept inside them. The sky shuddered, and flaming gouts of gold and violet spewed from horizon to horizon. After the silence and solitude of Mars Hill, after the weeks at sea with Martin, it was like waking in hell.
He pushed against the first hard swell of fear: he was alone in a city, he was alone in The City.
I’m a total fucking idiot.
I’m a total fucking idiot.
Wind ripped off the water. He shivered and buttoned the top of his anorak. Surely it had not been this cold on board the
Wendameen
? The memory of the last few months was fleeing from him, as though it had been a dream recalled in a noisy room. He knew it was not, he knew it had all been real, as real in its way as the shadow of another dream, the dream of drowning that came at him sometimes, a small dark animal nudging to be recognized.
Wendameen
? The memory of the last few months was fleeing from him, as though it had been a dream recalled in a noisy room. He knew it was not, he knew it had all been real, as real in its way as the shadow of another dream, the dream of drowning that came at him sometimes, a small dark animal nudging to be recognized.
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