Description: Spera Angelorum The ship arrived planetside without a hitch. The landing procedure was smooth. The attendants were immaculate and polite. The meal on the flight was sliced manna with ambrosia sauce. The sheer perfection of it all pissed me off. "Would you like a refill before we disembark?" Our attendant literally appeared out of nowhere. Angels could do that. "Another Bloody Mary," I replied. In mortality, I''d been a teetotaler, but I''d since learned to like the taste. The attendant mixed the drink at the table behind our seats. She was about to hand it to me when I said, "Make it a champagne glass." She smiled. The tumbler in her hands reformed itself into a fluted glass. Angels could do that too. Not a drop spilled. Childish of me, making other people do tricks. My traveling companion watched the transformation but was more excited about our arrival. "We can now say we''ve been to Spera Angelorum . The crown jewel of its galaxy. Isn''t it wonderful?" Charles''s hands fluttered around his cravat with excitement, like a pair of turtledoves trying to build a nest beneath his beard. I leaned over him to peer through the viewport and sighed. The stanchions swinging inward were littered with sparkling lights, and they clamped onto the sides of the shuttle with predictable exactness. There were tens of thousands of inhabited planets in this system alone. I had been to many planets and found the angel planets devoid of interest. I''d love a surprise at least once. "Wonderful." I repeated his word. "My mother will be so proud." "You should have brought her, Harry! This is a rare honor. Few are invited to travel to the stars and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with exalted beings such as these." I started to sigh again but the sigh turned, quite unintentionally, into a yawn. This was the first trip that Charles and I had made together. I knew he left Earth at least as often as I did, but he was somehow unjaded, smiling and chatty like he''d never been to another planet before. "Why are we here, Charles? I mean really. Why?" Charles fixed me with his piercing eyes, and a smile tugged his mouth askew. "It is the simplest of things, dear Harry. We are here to be ourselves." I dropped back as far as I could into my seat, which was comfortable to a fault. "Yes. That''s what they always say. It''s not enough." A momentary laugh bubbled up from somewhere soulful. "Americans. Always wanting more." "Never settling, Charles. Never settling. It''s better than you Brits with your Keep Calm '' about every darn thing." Charles pointed toward the attendant, who had returned to usher us from the ship. "Now is our chance to escape." I glowered at him. "Making fun of me?" "Making fun? Wouldn''t dream of it." His grin did not placate. "I am appreciating your unique gifts." I stood to collect my bag of handcuffs, chains, and lock picks. Charles had a valise stuffed with books, scraps of handmade paper, an inkwell, and goose feather pens. His luggage weighed a tenth of mine. It was also a tenth as interesting. We proceeded toward the front of the craft. Charles nudged me with an elbow and raised an eyebrow as he watched the attendant in front of us. I nodded at the old goat. Yes, she was shapely and her hips moved in all the usual ways as she walked down the aisle. She had a gold belt holding her white shift tightly around her trim waist. Her long, auburn hair was pulled back with a gold hair clip, and her skin was like porcelain with the lightest touch of an early summer peach on her cheeks. She turned, checking our progress, and smiled. Her lips had the same quaint fullness as my beloved Bess. I tired of looking at her. Ruby-studded doors opened as we left the gangway. Another attendant waited on the other side, smiling another flawless smile, "Greetings, gentlemen. My name is Teserra. Follow me, please." Charles nodded. I barely took notice. My curiosity was drawn to the scene ahead, and I could almost hear a fanfare as the doors parted to welcome us. Da da daaa . The concourse through the spaceport dripped with golden light. A suspended river of chandeliers covered the ceiling in endless majesty, sending reflected shards of color to dance across the floor. Seamless marble flowed beneath our feet, the palest white, as if a mountain had laid itself down to serve as our entry. Maybe one had been brought in. The Sphere of Angels with all its glory and power. Faith to move mountains. The three of us walked alone: Teserra, then Charles, then me. The construction of the place captivated me. I had anticipated a planet that hinted at religion to be painfully Gothic, with fluted pillars and Ionic capitals bearing the ponderous weight of a vaulted ceiling. Instead, the concourse unfolded with softly contoured shapes and not a single straight line. The serene quiet was deafening. I liked how our footsteps broke the silence. Outside, of all unexpected things, waited a horse-drawn carriage. I breathed in the congenial animal scent of freshly-washed horseflesh. Earthy. Real. Not mechanical. The conveyance was pristine, of course, the wood perfectly oiled and polished. Teserra ascended to the driver''s seat with measured grace. "Climb aboard, good sirs. We''ll be at the theater shortly." Charles beamed. "A hansom cab! This will be the first civilized ride I''ve had in ages!" Silver ships flew overhead. Other vehicles breezed past us; their brake lights created holographic flowers in the air. None were driven by a flesh-and-bone person. It was my turn to give Charles an elbow and point. He took note of the robot driver piloting the nearest car. "Perhaps your writings were not as effective as you had hoped, Charles. There is still a lower class serving the aristocracy." Charles nodded. "But here, the lower class is manufactured . Made from the materials of metal and sweat and ingenuity. Not subjugated or enslaved from their fellow brotherhood of Mankind. The human race has elevated themselves all together. Undivided." Charles leaned in conspiratorially, "And a creator always treats his own creations better." He was right, of course. Charles sprang into the cab and took the rear-facing seat. I took the opposite spot. A taciturn mood fell over me. I hoped the ride would be as short as promised by our driver. I cracked my knuckles one at a time. I produced an ancient silver dollar and began to roll it over the backs of my fingers. I caught it with my thumb as it dropped between my ring and little finger and brought it around again for another pass. Heads, tails, heads, swoop. My fingers complained. They would warm up and loosen. The cab moved into traffic with not so much as a lurch or a bump. Maddening. Charles stared at me with a glint in his eye that impishly invited conversation, though I didn''t want it. "Very well, Charles. What is it?" Charles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The cab was close and we were nearly touching. "I''m looking forward to seeing your performance, Harry. I understand you always strive to present an authentic experience. A recreation of history. Correct?" I blew air through my nostrils and looked out the window. Perfect street. Exquisite buildings. Immaculate people. I hated them all. I saw the hook in the worm. "Obviously. It''s what the audience wants." Charles snapped his fingers. "Yes! Knowing what an audience wants, Harry. That''s the thing we have most in common, I think." He sat back. "What about what I want?" Charles leaned to the side, looking at me with his head on his fist. "What do you want, Harry?" This fish liked a fight. "Let me point out that what I do is more difficult than what you do. You authors stand at attention and regale the audience with stories you wrote centuries ago. I can''t do that. I can''t just talk about a straitjacket or a pair of handcuffs. I have to put them on as tightly as possible and then fight to get out of them again. Every time. Hanging from my heels and dangling like an emerging butterfly. To be fair, you should stand up and write a new novel while they watch. That would be a more comparable challenge." Charles looked at me, the skepticism all but dripping from his eyes. "Not compelling theater, Harry." I turned away again. "Conceptually, I agree," Charles barely paused. "In your day, you were a living metaphor for the human condition. The personification of a time when men scraped and fought to be free of poverty and oppression. I wrote about the same thing, but thousands of people stood and watched you...emerge. Victorious. Everyone wanted to be you, Harry. Even now, you remind them of that very human condition." I was mollified. A bit. Or was I? Charles retreated inward. "We both chose not be exalted for different reasons, I expect. For you, however, it makes what you do believable. Real. With no supernal powers to assist you, your performance still means something." I nodded. It was a good thought, but talk centered on myself made me fidget. "So, Charles, why haven''t you written a new book?" I really wanted to know. "Oh I have. Many of them. Shelves full of them." "You have? I never would have guessed. Why not publish them? Don''t you think they''d be read?" "I''m sure they would be. And I

Please Wait