“I am Devastation Harx,” the elegant man said. He offered a hand. Sweetness looked around for Serpio. He was seated at the table. A moment of panic, then she took the hand and, because the suit was so good, she curtsied.
“Sweetness Octave Glorious Honey-Bun Asiim Engineer 12th.”
“A fine name. Well, I am delighted to meet you, Sweetness Octave Glorious Honey-Bun Asiim Engineer 12th. And you…”
He gave a short bow somewhere just off Sweetness’s port flank. She squirmed away, frowned. Devastation Harx seemed to be waiting for something from her.
“Oh. This is, well, I call her Little Pretty One.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Devastation Harx said.
All right, if that’s how you want to play it, Sweetness thought. Nice guy/guy-with-weird-powers.
But he had nice manners. He pulled a chair out for Sweetness at the horseshoe-shaped table. Without any evident summons, more plum acolytes brought fruit and bread.
“I’m sure you’re hungry. The desert’s not exactly conducive to gastronomy.”
Sweetness fell on the fruit bowl. She noticed that Serpio wasn’t eating but the gnaw in her belly said, ask questions later. She gorged. Devastation Harx smiled.
“This is some burg,” Sweetness said, mouth full of pears.
“The power of mail order,” Devastation Harx said.
“You built all this?”
“From remote religion. We’ve always had a strong distance-supply industry in our society; School of the Air, Flying Doctors, Travelling Inseminators, Wandering Miracle Shows, the Universal Pantechnicon Catalogue. We’re a geographically dispersed people—as I’m sure you appreciate. It was the next logical step, mail-order religion. Why not a Church of the Air? Literally.”
Sweetness poured a glass of water, held it up to the light, frowned, demurely dropped in a sterilising tablet.
“It’s always wise not to trust the water,” Devastation Harx said indulgently. He watched Sweetness cram down more fruit. “So, your, ah, attachment?”
Sweetness cleared her gob with chlorinated water.
“She’s my sister.”
“She is?”
“We were joined.”
“You still are.”
“At birth.”
“I see. But now you’re…”
“Separated.”
“But only physically. Not…psychically.”
“Well, I know she’s always there, but I can’t see her, not like you can. I can only see her in mirrors.”
“Yes, that’s often the way of it. Mirrors reflect so much more than just crude physical likeness, don’t you think? They reflect how we feel about what we are, they reflect truths, they can reflect illusions, they reflect our hopes and fears for the future, the marks of our histories, they show us our selves as we can never see them. A lot of magic for a mere half-silvered glass.”
“Is this part of your religion or something?”
“More ‘or something,’” Devastation Harx said. “So, have you had enough yet? Do you want any more?”
Sweetness looked round at the lifter of peels, skins and cores.
“No, I think that’s me.”
“Good.” Devastation Harx stood up. “In that case, allow me to take you on the conducted tour. I don’t get many visitors and I like to show the old place off. It’s not everyone gets a flying cathedral.”
He was already halfway to the double doors. He extended a hand to Sweetness and Serpio. The doors were already swinging open. Sweetness caught a wisp of plum.
“So you get all this by mail order?” Sweetness whispered to Serpio as they fell in behind Devastation Harx.
“It’s good value,” Serpio said.
“You can say that again.”
“Bottom up,” Devastation Harx, ushering his guests into the lift. “Level one, please.” A plum acolyte closed the gates, a second began to turn a crank.
“You’ve a lot of these people,” Sweetness commented as the cage swayed then began its descent.
“It’s how things get done,” Devastation Harx. “I’m sure Novice Waymender has told you that we reject unthinking dependence on dumb machines. Here everything is done by human labour.”
“Everything?”
The filigree cage was descending through the main lift body; a cavernous chamber ribbed and strutted with lightweight construction beams. Overstuffed bladders of helium were wedged painfully between them like bloated hookers in too-tight suspenders.
“Stop here,” Devastation Harx commanded. The acolyte pulled on a brass brake and flung the door open on a railed catwalk between the pillowy lift bags. “Come and see.” In places Sweetness had to duck down between straining sacks pushed flatly against each other like inflated breasts.
“How much did they charge you for this?” she said to Serpio.
“Three hundred dollars over two years, monthly debit.”
“I’d ask for my money back.”
“The dignity of labour,” Devastation Harx announced as he opened a studded door into a teat of a cabin dangling from the rim of the canopy. Twenty acolytes on twenty bicycles pumped away at pedals. Gear trains and drive bands turned a big rotor shaft above Sweetness’s head. Through the glass she saw propellers blur. The power units wore plum cycling shorts and sweat bands and the glum look of intense youth. They all looked up and smiled as one as Devastation Harx introduced them as Motility Unit 3. Sweetness shuddered. “Don’t be so liberal,” Devastation Harx said. “Do you think any of them would be here if they didn’t want to do it? I won’t have pressed men around me. Idealism appeals to youth. They take turns. One week on, four weeks off. Democracy of employment. What do you think we are? We should get where we’re going by our own efforts, shouldn’t we?”
As the elevator resumed its descent, Devastation Harx said, casually, “So, how do you know it’s your sister?”
“You know your own sister.”
“Yes. I’m sure you do, but forgive me, you were together for a very little time.”
Sweetness suddenly felt outnumbered in the small fragile elevator.
“Has he been telling you stuff about me?”
“We’ve been in contact,” Serpio said.
“You never told me.”
Serpio tapped his occluded eye.
“You see,” Devastation Harx continued, “you say she’s the ghost of your sister, who tragically died on the operating table but, well, as a rule, religious people don’t believe in ghosts.”
“Well then, what is she?”
“Remember when I asked you about vinculum theory and string processors?” Serpio said.
“You told her that?” Devastation Harx said.
“You should be proud of this one,” Sweetness said. “He’s got all the stuff off perfect. So, go on.”