* * * * *
Mohamed Omar awoke to chaos. Shouting, running feet, singing, a godless cacaphony of horrible noise! He tossed back the expensive imported European coverlet with a snarl and swung his feet to the carpeted floor. "Jamala! What in the name of the One True And Mighty God is disturbing my rest?" he roared, in a voice that he knew would set his wives, children, and household retainers a tremble, and then a-scurry to appease him.
To his amazement and growing rage, there was no answer; if anything, the uproar from outside his sleeping chamber increased. Some sort of horrible thumping music! And... yes, that sounded like DANCING! In the name of the Most High and Serene -
With a bellow of infuriated rage, Mohamed wrapped his seven-fold robes about his corpulent form (the hunger brought on by the recent American attacks had not touched HIS household, for he was most blessed by Allah, as well as by strong, carefully nurtured connections to both the new Holy Council and the black market), snatched up the elderly but well kept Russian AK-47 from the place of honor at his bedside, and stalked out into his airy, beautifully tiled upper hallway. He would know the meaning of this madness or someone would be shot like an infidel dog in the street, in the manifold names of God he swore it -- !
And stopped, thunderstruck, staring down into the central court of his three story manor, where, by the central fountain, a figure he at first did not recognize was... was... dancing! NAKED! TEN FEET IN THE AIR! AND FEMALE!!! AND HIS WIFE!!!
In a previous time (what would come to be known as the Before Times), Mohamed Omar might have died there, as several blood vessels in his outraged brain burst at once. Had that not happened, then slaughter by automatic rifle fire might well have commenced, as Mohamed opened fire on the sight of inexplicable, intolerable blasphemy, his doubtless poorly aimed bullets ricocheting madly about, striking not only his dancing, strangely hovering youngest wife (who was not actually naked, but merely dressed quite comfortably in a sleeveless tunic and a pair of old gym shorts as she danced and swirled through the air of the central courtyard, exulting in the arms of her angel), but a variety of his younger children, as well, as they too danced, leapt, pirouetted, and hurled themselves about in an overjoyed fashion, to the strange Western music of a band called N'SYNC which their own angels were playing for them at their request.
But this was not the Before Times, and Mohamed Omar experienced merely an odd set of internal twinges within his head... uncomfortable, but passing in less than a second, like a strange mental cramp.
He then found that, for some reason, his treasonous index finger refused to pull the trigger of the weapon.
A strange, translucent, vaguely golden figure shimmered into being before Mohamed Omar. "Humanadultpatron Mohamed-Omar, I am tasked to inform you that violence directed against other humanpatrons is a disallowed anti-social activity. If you persist in attempting to commit violence against other humanpatrons, their guardian angels will be required to provide you with corporeal guidance/feedback. As your guardian angel, I must caution you that said corporeal guidance/feedback will be physically painful, which I cannot protect you from."
Mohamed Omar stared, astonished. "Who... what in the name of the Greatest God And All His Glory might YOU be?" he demanded, shock and outrage in his tone.
Guardian angels do not sigh, as they do not experience exasperation or impatience. "I am your guardian angel," the golden glowing being repeated, with infinite patience. "Mohamed-Omar, listen to me. This is important. If you persist in attempting to commit violence against other humanpatrons after being advised of the inappropriateness of said actions, each incidence will result in increasing levels of guidance/feedback, which will eventually become severe enough to do terminal damage to your physical wellbeing."
Mohamed Omar, mouth agape and working vaguely like that of a stunned carp, merely stared for long seconds.
Then, with a howl of rage, he raced for the stairs. If he could not shoot the blasphemous woman to prevent her offense against Allah, then by the God of Gods, he would seize her and beat her to death with his bare hands...!
The screams of Mohamed Omar rose within minutes from his courtyard, and yet, were barely audible over the similar screams emanating from nearly every other private residence in that entire city.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
On the banks of the Jordan River, seven Israeli artillery commanders, ignoring the surreal and aberrant babblings of the strange floating delusory phantasms that had bizarrely appeared to them, continued attempting to shell a residential neighborhood in Arab-occupied territory whose ownership was disputed by the Israeli government. With reluctance, their guardian angels lapsed into momentary silence and inactivity, as the guardian angels assigned to the several hundred Palestinian civilians put at risk by these intended actions responded with corporeal feedback/guidance delivered via direct stimulation of the artillery commanders' cortexes. They, along with the crewmen and women who had actually attempted to fire the heavy weaponry, fell screaming and writhing to the contested ground...
* * * * * * * * *
Liam O'Casey had taken off his student's bookbag a few minutes before and propped it up against the side of the fish market in Picadilly Circus, as a typical midday crowd of shoppers and gawkers milled about him. Now, in an elaborately casual fashion, he pushed off the wall and took a step, intending to stroll away into the throng and put several blocks between himself and the half kilo of good old fashioned American Centrex explosive before its timing device and detonator blew it up fifteen minutes from now. He had not noted that, only seconds before, every shopper within eyeshot had suddenly stopped, transfixed, as if looking at and listening to... something... that only they could see. But now, the figure of a Catholic priest appeared before him, looking avuncular and concerned, the fringe of white hair standing out around his age spotted ears like dandelion fluff.
"Liam," the Father said, sadly, "the infernal device willna be allowed to do harm to any o' these fine folk, and lad, if ye do not disarm it now, then when it does detonate, aboot a hundred guardian angels are gonna lambast yer arse with more pain than ye can most likely survive, laddy."
Liam stared. "Shite," he said, concisely. "'oo the fook are you, then?"
The 'priest' put a fatherly arm around Liam's shoulders. "Boyo, I'm ye're guardian angel, and ye'd do best t'listen to t'what I'm tellin' ye. Now, normally a spot o' violence directed agin' one person just gets ye a warnin' the first time, an' a little jolt from their angel if ye pays no mind, but Liam, attempts at violence against a whole mass o'people... well, y'see, my son, they've ALL got angels, and it gets all them angels a bit testy with ye... there's just no future in mass murder anymore, laddy."
Liam thought about this; as a soldier of the IRA he had little conscience, but you don't survive building home made bombs for long without a certain basic level of intelligence and self preservation. After a second, he turned, knelt, unzipped the book bag, reached in, and deftly detached two wires.
"Good lad," the 'priest' said, beaming.
"So why can't I get that Roma Downey for a guardian angel, then, Father?" Liam asked, peevishly, as he straightened up.
The 'father' shimmered and was replaced by the spitting image of that very telly star. "If that's what you want, Liam dear," his transformed guardian angel said, in Roma Downey's sweet voice, "why, that's what you shall have, my darling."
* * * * * * * * *
Jessie Danzer, 24 year old anthropology graduate student and part time gymnast, stared in fascination at the shimmering, winged humanoid sitting comfortably cross legged on the futon across the room from her. "So, everyone has one of you guys, and you're not really angels or sent by any particular god...?"
"Not at all," her 'angel' said agreeably, nodding its inhumanly beautiful head. "But 'guardian angels' seems the easiest referent for us. Each living humanpatron has been assigned one of us, and we all have basically identical programming. Due to the specific knowledge bases and preferences of individual humanpatrons, we all appear very differently, but that hardly matters, since only our humanpatrons can perceive us, anyway."
Jessie furrowed her brow in thought, her quick intellect sorting through the various ramifications. "So, if God didn't send you, and you're not angels, what are you really, and where did you come from?"
Before her angel could answer, Jessie's husband Todd poked his head into her bedroom. "Hey, babes," he said, his eyes vaguely disconnected, as always, behind his fairly thick glasses. "Uh... you talkin' to yourself, or you get one of these angel thingies, too...?"
Jessie shook back her long, flowing red hair, wishing irritably as she always did that her husband would just once notice the fact that, for example, she wasn't, at the moment, wearing much of anything at all. She was acquainted with at least a dozen other guys (not to mention nearly that many women) who would have given several fingers to be able to just walk in casually and stare at her naked... not to mention the OTHER privileges Todd could avail himself of, if he'd wanted to. She'd gotten over thinking it was something to do with her; apparently, Todd just wasn't into sex much. But it still annoyed her.
"Angel, yes, dear," she said, finally. "I've named mine Yama-Dharma, at least, for now." She stopped, to see if Todd would ask her about that.
"Yeah," he said, absently. "You named yours? I guess mine has a name..." He gestured vaguely. "I don't know. But it says it can, y'know, fly me around, so I won't take the car to work today, so you can have it if you need it..." He straightened up again, vanishing from Jessie's view, then poked his head back into the room and added, as an afterthought, "So have a nice day, doll. See ya!" Then she heard him troop off down the hallway and go out the front door.
Jessie shook her head. That was Todd for you. It would never occur to him that if his angel could fly him around, then so could Jessie's, and she wouldn't need a car... or, actually... no one would need a car any more... or, for that matter, a job, since the angels could provide sustenance, would protect their patrons from all harm, and would also protect their patron's legitimate private property from being infringed on by others... which probably meant no one would be able to evict anyone else from their living space any longer...
"Wow," she said. "This is going to really change stuff." She turned back to her angel. "Okay. What are you, where did you come from...?"
Her angel, with infinite patience, stated calmly "We are artificially created self aware entities programmed to protect and nurture our individual patrons. Those of us with child patrons have slightly different programming parameters than those of us with adult patrons; children, for example, cannot receive lethal levels of guidance/feedback, and their allowable range of socially null behaviors is somewhat more restricted... they may not enter into certain physical/sexual liaisons or indulge in certain forms of chemical stimulus until they achieve a certain level of emotional maturity, etc, etc. Our programming of social parameters and the attendant ethics we enforce is somewhat complex, but fairly easily perceived in actual effect..."
"Do what you will, as long as you don't hurt anyone else," Jessie said.
"Pretty much," her angel admitted. "It can be somewhat more complex than that where issues of disputed personal property arise, or child care, but these are matters that can generally be fairly swiftly sorted out by the guardian angels of the humanpatrons involved, since angels are disinterested third parties, we have access to all data that our humanpatrons have access to, and our ethical programming is comprehensive."
Jessie thought about that. "So... um... wait. Can people still lie to each other, or..."
"Certainly," her angel said, "however, their angel would know they were lying, and in a case where they were interacting with another, which of course, one always would be when telling a lie, their angel would tell the other party's angel, who would inform its humanpatron."
Jessie felt her head whirl at that. "So people can lie... but whoever they talk to will know they're lying..."
"Yes," her angel said. "Of course, no one has to actually speak to anyone else, and they can certainly withhold any information they like, but if they do choose to speak to someone, whoever they speak to will be told if they are providing accurate data or not."
"Huh," Jessie said. "Well, that's gonna piss off a buncha people."
Her angel shrugged. "Liars," it said, in a tone of voice that indicated it wasn't overly concerned with such.
Jessie shook her head. "Okay," she went on, "but what are you? I mean, physically. What do you look like, really? What is your physical form?"
"Ah," her angel said. "A 'guardian angel' is a silicate particle cloud, composed of 8 to the 7th power separate spherical silicate chips each 4.6 microns across, each chip of which contains roughly as much data processing power as existed on Earth in the year 1996, as well as various electromagnetic controls that allow us to manipulate the immediate environment within certain parameters. We remain in the physical vicinity of our humanpatrons, hovering invisibly about you at all times, automatically adjusting your immediate environment to maintain functional life and physical comfort, unless otherwise instructed by our humanpatrons. In addition to data processing, we are symbiotically linked on a genetic and microcellular level with our individual humanpatrons, and have instantaneous quantum information energy linkages with all other angels. This allows us to perceive harmful intentions at the discrete measurable increment of space/time in which those intentions are translated into neural/chemical/physical action, and respond with the appropriate guidance/feedback... in the first instance, a warning is passed along to and through the offender's angel to him from the intended target's guardian angel, and the neural impulse is negated. In succeeding instances of attempted violence or other anti-social acts, the impulses are negated and increasing increments of guidance/feedback are provided."
"Er," Jessie said. "So... your perceptions are limited to those of your hosts?"
"No," the angel replied, "our perceptions are quantum linked, although we do also have access to our humanpatrons' own perceptual arrays, of course, and through our linkage to other angels, to their humanpatrons' perceptual arrays, when those humanpatrons interact with ours."
"Ah," Jessie said. "And... where did you come from?"
Her angel smiled. "An interdimensional race of explorers whose name you could not pronounce found themselves stranded within your particular nodule of multiversal space-time. A particular human individual was made aware of their plight and at some risk to that individual's own safety rendered them assistance allowing them to continue with their multidimensional explorations. As a reward, the first 'guardian angel' was fabricated to this human individual's specifications, to keep that person safe and make them autonomous of outside needs, as well as to fulfill their socially responsible desires. This individual human enjoyed the services of their guardian angel for a time, and then reflected that all humans would benefit from having such an entity. This individual inquired of their angel if that angel were capable of reproducing itself, which the angel had never considered, but which as it turned out was not only possible, but quite simple. That individual then instructed the angel to reproduce itself in sufficient quantities so that each living human could have their own guardian angel, assigned to maintaining their own wellbeing as the first was."
"And," Jessie said dryly, "to keep the identity of the first person a secret, even up to and including gender."
"Gender, race, national origin, culture, specific identity," Jessie's angel agreed. "The Primogenitor... such is what the individual decided to be labeled as... prefers to avoid cults of personality as much as possible, and would rather the world not assign credit or blame to any one individual, culture, race, or nationality, for the creation and distribution of individual guardian angels. The Primogenitor does not wish to seem to be validating or discrediting any particular religious view of God or national ethos, and certainly does not wish to be either reviled or worshipped by any human being." It paused, then added, "Further instructions are that we are to keep reproducing so that newly generated humans will also have their own individual guardians, although it is unclear as yet as to how the human population will adjust itself under our influence."
Jessie's eyes widened at that. "Well... if everyone can be rejuvenated to a condition of perfect health..."
"Not merely can be," her angel said gently, "but has been. It is not a programming function that was initially made optional, all humans have been so rejuvenated. Of course, they may now age if they wish, or instruct their angels to allow themselves to be harmed if they so desire, or even to return them to their former imperfect physical states if for some reason they desire that..." The angel shook its head. "Several thousand deaf-mutes have already chosen that option, for no rational reason any of us can comprehend, but it is there choice." It paused, then went on, "No angel will protect its humanpatrons against their will, unless those humanpatrons are incompetent to form appropriate reasoned judgements... which, with all physically based mental and emotional defects corrected, will now be extremely rare in adult humanpatrons."
Jessie's mind whirled at the implications of that, but she stubbornly maintained her train of thought. "Okay, so everyone is... what... healthy and whole and... young again?" Her angel nodded. "Damn. So... you guys protect everyone from harm, so... population explosion, I'd think... a massive one."
"Pregnancy is now optional," the angel said. "Angels allow their humanpatrons to consciously control their reproductive functions, as well as all other metabolic functions, if they desire. And angels cannot guard humanpatrons against all possible lethal hazard. A natural disaster such as an earthquake, a fire, a volcanic eruption, a meteor strike, an accidental toxic chemical spill, a nuclear meltdown... all of these things would kill many humanpatrons, and there are many other possibly fatal occurrences we could not guard humanpatrons against, as well." It paused, then continued, "Regardless of this, the cessation of death by disease, including aging, and as a result of non-terminal injuries, from famine related causes, and of course from human initiated violence, will greatly curtail global mortality rates. The cessation of involuntary pregnancies will somewhat impact global population rates, but barring unforeseen catastrophe, the human population should increase swiftly, yes."
"So we'll be ass-deep in people pretty quick," Jess said, "and since we're all gonna live a long time, that's a problem."
"The Primogenitor has instructed the angel community to develop possible resolution scenarios to this problem," her angel said. "When networked together we possess near infinite processing capacity and several viable scenarios have already been presented to the Primogenitor."
Jess felt her eyebrows raise. "Such as..."
Her angel began listing, dryly: "The Primogenitor may override the functioning of other angels if necessary and could therefore induce mass genocide. As the Primogenitor is highly socialized and ethically evolved enough to present every living human with a guardian entity in the first place, we find this a highly improbable scenario. The Primogenitor could also induce sterility among large segments of living humans, thus curbing rampant population growth. As the Primogenitor does not regard reproduction as a basic human right, this course of action cannot be ruled out. The Primogenitor could also instruct existing angels to reproduce themselves in numbers surplus to the existing human population, and task said surplus angels with the construction of additional Earthlike worlds to be placed at gravitational equilibrium points within Earth's orbital path about the sun. This last option is being strongly considered by the Primogenitor. There are also several other manners in which surplus angels could be employed to maximize the habitable areas of the present day Earth, allowing it to support far denser human populations. However, the Primogenitor is biased against any further development of Earth's few remaining wilderness areas, and in fact has instructed the angel-gestalt to also develop protocols for rejuvenating large tracts of developed territory to its more natural state, which will actually result in less available living space on this Earth for technologically-biased humans."
Jessie frowned. "But, with an angel, a person could live anywhere..."
"Yes," her angel said, "but most will prefer to live in developed areas, and the Primogenitor wishes to avoid all forms of coercion as much as possible... that individual states 'it sort of defeats the whole point'."
"So," Jessie said, incredulously, "you guys are just gonna... you know... build another Earth. Just like that."
"Current hypothetical protocols call for building seven other Earths," her angel informed her calmly. "This program has not yet been initiated but adequate building materials can be gained from the repositioning of the Asteroid Belt as well as the demolition and repositioning of Earth's moon and several other lifeless satellites throughout the Solar System. The larger planets have been set aside as the Primogenitor cannot be certain there is no indigenous life on them, and besides, it will be easier to eventually terraform Mars and Venus than to simply demolish them and rebuild them into new Earths."
"And how long is all this going to take?" Jessie asked, her mind reeling.
"It depends on the work force the Primogenitor authorizes," her angel told her. "A minimum time, given an adequate work force, would be 37 years, four months, thirteen days, 8 hours, 23 minutes until all 7 new Earths were available for settlement. However, this would require the manufacture of 1.6 trillion angel entities specifically tasked to this project, and it assumes that the new residents of these Earths would rely entirely on their angels to provide them with life support, as establishing an Earth-like biosphere will take far, far longer."
Jessie blinked. "Oh," she said. "Oh, yeah, I guess so."
"Another option being considered is to develop facilities to access parallel timelines in which Earths exist on which humanity has never evolved," the angel went on. "Theoretically, this is well within the capacities of the angel-gestalt, although the technological infrastructure would have to be designed and built, extensively tested, probably rebuilt, modified... it would be a lengthy procedure. However, at the end, we would have the option of opening 'doorways' to entirely uninhabited, utterly undeveloped Earths, where large surplus populations could live in uncrowded comfort, and reproduce without difficulty for centuries."
"Uh huh," Jessie said. "So what's the catch there? Other than most people not being thrilled to go live with mammoths and sabre toothed tigers and what have you?"
"Some level of coercion would most likely be required to move adequate percentages of Earth's original population to new, undeveloped timelines, yes," the angel admitted. "The Primogenitor does not rule out coercion, but that person is very reluctant to engage in such... not simply out of respect for the autonomy of others, but because the Primogenitor is reluctant to take on any responsibilities or authority. Again, the Primogenitor states that such would 'defeat the purpose of guardian angels in the first place'."
Jessie spread her hand in exasperation. "Well, geez, I don't know what he..." She paused. "Or she... wants. You can't keep 6 billion people safe and happy and prosperous without... I don't know..."
"Having some sort of structure of authority, law, order, civilization?" her angel said, sounding amused. "But that is exactly what the Primogenitor hoped to accomplish with this... as well as, of course, the cessation of all avoidable human suffering."
Jessie nibbled her lower lip. "What he... damn it... the Primogenitor... could do, is once the new worlds are available, he... whoever... could say that people who want to have kids have to move to one of the new worlds, and everyone who stays on Earth from now on can't have children. It would provide an inducement to migration..."
"And turn Earth into a world without children within fifteen years," the angel said quietly. "The Primogenitor has considered that, as well. He finds the prospect somewhat distasteful. And there is another flaw with the alternate Earths concept, namely, if the Primogenitor gains the ability to access alternate dimensions, he feels he would probably have a moral responsibility to distribute guardian angels throughout the inhabited dimensions, as well."
Jessie stared at him. "Uh," she said. "Well..." After a moment, she said, "well, that would give the 1.3 billion angels left over from the planet construction project something to do..."
"Yes," her angel agreed, "but the Primogenitor is troubled by the concept of sending an artificial race of enormously powerful servitors voyaging across infinite dimensions, to eventually place every sentient human being on every possible timeline in a state of perfect autonomous freedom, at the price of utter dependence on said race of artificial servitors."
"Shit," Jessie said, "if he was worried about that, he shouldn't have done it here."
Her angel continued, "The Primogenitor also worries that as such an effort could never, actually, be completed, the race of 'angels' that he has, to some extent, created, would never complete their tasks, and thus, would never truly achieve happiness."
Jess looked at her angel, momentarily stunned. The guy was worried about the angels' happiness? "The Primogenitor's a whack job," she said, finally.
"Well," her angel said, cocking its head to one side and looking, for the moment, somewhat amused, "duh."
* * * * * * * * * * *
In New York City, 52 year old Robbery-Homicide Detective Third Grade Norman Perry regarded the figure of his mother, who had been dead for almost forty years, rather warily. She had abruptly appeared between himself and the junkie scumbag he'd been tuning up and immediately begun admonishing him for his unlawful actions, in the same firm, regretful tones he remembered her using all through his childhood, before she'd died of ovarian cancer when he was 15.
"What," he said, scratching his bald spot, hunching uncomfortably in his cheap suit jacket, "you're sayin' even junkie scumbags who beat their kids to death and toss their bodies in the river got guardian angels? That's nuts, ma."
His mother looked at him with those deep brown eyes that had always understood everything so well. "Norman, dear," she said, softly, "everyone gets a chance to start over today. Everyone. A clean break and a fresh start."
"Kid killing junkie scumbags?" Norman said, outraged. "Come on now, what kind of God..."
The junkie scumbag was staring, trembling, at nothing, and murmuring something over and over again under his breath. Tears poured copiously down his cheeks.
"Everyone," his mother said firmly. "If your child killing drug addict cannot discipline his violent actions, he will eventually be terminated by increasing levels of guidance/feedback. From now on, Norman, you and everyone else need only concern yourself with your own actions, not those of others."
Norman stared at her in a mixture of horror and another emotion he couldn't even begin to name. "But... but... Mom... what... what am I gonna do? What... what are..." His brain raced. Everyone in the world had guardian angels now? But that meant... they wouldn't need police...! "What's everyone gonna DO?"
His mother patted his hand comfortingly. "Whatever you like, Norman. As long as it hurts no one else... whatever you like, forever."
Norman realized what that bizarre other emotion he was feeling was:
...hope...
* * * * * * * * * *
Throughout the globe, 37,243 suicide attempts were arrested, as the individuals in the process of self termination via various methods suddenly found themselves being advised by their newly assigned guardian angels of said angels' existence, function, and abilities.
9,607 of those potential suicides chose to go through with their actions and voluntarily self terminated within the next half hour, refusing to allow their guardian angels to intervene. The others, at least tentatively, decided to give life with a guardian angel a chance. The vast majority of these found that whatever conditions had driven them to self termination were no longer applicable since they had gained guardian angels, anyway ... terminal diseases were now cured, physical disabilities rejuvenated, and money, of course, was no longer a factor, which had eliminated fully 72% of the potential suicide motivations right there.
Brave new world, indeed...
* * * * * * * *
Erica opened her eyes, a bit surprised to find that she could do so without pain, and that her right eye, which had been swollen shut for the past several days, actually opened completely, as well.
Standing in front of her was Barney the Purple Dinosaur, regarding her with loving concern. "It's all right now, Erica," he said. "You can go home to mommy and daddy now."
Erica gingerly attempted to lower her arms, and found at that, sure enough, the ropes which had been tying her wrists over her head to the pipe running across the crazy fuck's basement ceiling were gone. She peered around Barney warily. Okay, she was loose, but this might be some new, weird torture by the crazy fuck... let her think she was going to escape, and then...
One of the other girls... Erica had tried hard not to know their names; it didn't do any good, in fact, it just made it worse when you had to watch the crazy fuck hurting THEM instead of you... said, "Hey, come on, Gabriel says we can all leave now."
Erica looked at her. "Um... Gabriel?"
The other girl, a tall skinny black chick with her hair in corn rows who was maybe three years older than Erica, which would have made her around 15 or so, nodded her head. "Yeah, my angel's name is Gabriel. He's cool. What's your angel's name?"
Erica regarded Barney the Purple Dinosaur doubtfully. "..angel?"
Barney nodded. "Yes, Erica. I am your guardian angel, and it is part of my programming to see that my humanpatron may freely leave or enter or travel to any place they wish, provided it does not interfere with the lawful social desires/needs of other human patrons."
Erica frowned, rubbing her wrists, which were actually quite unmarked, but which she somehow thought should hurt. Actually, she should be covered in cuts, welts, burns...
"I rejuvenated you, Erica," Barney said, helpfully. "Also part of my programming."
"Why the hell," Erica said, finally, "do you look like goddam Barney? I mean, I'm twelve. I'm not a baby any more."
Her angel shimmered, and abruptly, Erica found herself looking at Wolverine, from the X-MEN movies. "Better?" he asked, in his low, raspy tones.
"Yeah," she said, sniffling. "Where's the crazy fuck?"
Wolverine turned and pointed to a figure writhing in pain, screaming hoarsely, almost soundlessly, huddled in the corner, a braided leather whip lying near one twitching hand, a set of razor blades spilled from the other. "Some people," he noted wryly, "just don't listen."
Erica stared at him, in a mixture of horror and satisfaction... which quickly turned to queasy disgust.
"How... how long is he gonna stay that way?" she whispered.
"The problem is, he keeps trying to get up and hurt you girls," Wolverine said, "and every time he forms that conscious intent and sends the signal to his nervous system to do it, one of the angels in here gives him a nice zap. So we should really get you guys out of here."
Erica looked around, and saw half a dozen other girls, all of them around her age, all of them naked, staring avidly at the twitching, silently howling figure of their recent kidnapper and tormentor. She licked dry lips. "Um... y'know... I think I'll stick around with these guys a little while. Can you call my dad and have him come pick me up?"
Wolverine narrowed his eyes. "I suppose," he said, looking vaguely disapproving. Still, it was entirely the fault of the afflicted human patron, and he'd doubtless die soon, anyway. Some people simply wouldn't learn...
'He' put that out of his artificial consciousness and concentrated on reaching out for the guardian angels assigned to his humanpatronchild's biological parents. It would give them pleasure to be informed of the safety of their daughter, which pleased 'him'. Guardian angels enjoyed being of service to humanpatrons, there would have been little point to their existence otherwise...
* * * * * *
Throughout Middle Eastern Asia and many areas of Africa, various adult figures writhed in the dirt, while properly robed girls ranging in age from 9 to 14 stood nearby, watching with large, fascinated eyes. All of the adults had had it explained to them, quite patiently, in the few minutes previous, that female circumcision performed on immature human subjects was no longer an allowable social behavior; all of them had listened gravely, and then, at the conclusion of the lecture by their daughters' newly assigned guardian angels, had continued to impel their daughters into the various shaman's huts, professional clinics and medical offices where that particularly ancient and traditionally hallowed cultural rite of passage would be performed.
Eventually, many of the young girls, realizing that their parents might well be there for a while, flew off to their homes, or in some cases, to other places they had always wanted to visit, but never been allowed to before this.
* * * * * * *
The Reverend Billy Bob Buttress stood enraged at the corner of Salina Street and Warren in downtown Chicago, watching as his one time flock of potential converts all flew off into the drizzly autumn sky, leaving the large, sheltered, well lit bus stop where he normally found his impromptu congregations entirely unpopulated.
It was an outrage! He turned to the figure of Daniel, his own personal archangel, who stood there towering twelve feet tall, in his silvery robes, his flaming sword nearly outshining his radiant halo and vast golden wings. "Get them back here!" Buttress ordered, his voice an indignant screech quite unlike the normal disciplined, mellifluous baritone bellow he used to harangue the unbelieving into repentance with. "In the name of the Lord I command it! Those heathens! They have eyes yet cannot see! They can flee to the ends of the Earth but they cannot escape the word of the Lord!"
Daniel regarded his new charge with bemusement. This was an interesting one, absolutely. "We may fly after one of them, if you wish, Reverend," he said, finally, "but their own guardian angels can simply edit you out of their humanpatron's perceptions, which would make it futile."
Buttress flung his heavy black leather bound Bible to the pavement in disgust. "This is outrageous!" he shrilled. "I have an absolute Constitutional right to preach the Word of God! It cannot be denied me in any court in the land!"
Daniel contemplated initiating a discourse on the current obsolescence of the American Constitution, given the givens, and decided against it. Instead, he simply said, "You may speak on any subject you like for any length of time to anyone who chooses to listen to you, Reverend," he said. "None may interfere in your chosen course of behavior, as long as it harms no other. May I carry you to some other locale?"
Buttress regarded him dolefully. "It don't WORK if they gotta CHOOSE to listen to me, Daniel," he said, finally, rather petulantly. "We gotta MAKE 'em. It's the only way to battle Satan." He looked rather woebegone.
Daniel patted the Reverend on the shoulder comfortingly, and said nothing.
* * * * * * * * *
Clark, who was no longer vastly corpulent, prematurely balding at the age of 25, or cursed with the awful skin conditions he'd had since birth, but who hadn't realized any of that yet, rolled over with a groan and reached to shut off the goddam alarm clock. He blearily noticed the stack of SPIDER-MAN comics, MAXIMS, and hard core porn he knocked off his bedside table (actually, an upended cardboard box with a blanket over it) as he did so, without paying much attention. Another fucking day schlepping off to the box factory... Christ, he hated this shit. If he could just win the Lotto, he'd spend his time the way he wanted to... cruising the Internet, watching TV, whacking off, hanging out with his friends, working on his painting... oh, yeah, and sleeping for another couple of hours would be cool, too...
Sarah Michelle Gellar, star of Clark's absolutely most favorite TV show of all time, regarded him owlishly from the foot of his bed. "Hello," she said, and smiled charmingly. She was fetchingly dressed in a pair of running shorts, a faded yellow t-shirt with the RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK logo running across her petite but shapely breasts, and fuzzy bunny slippers. "Whatcha DOOOin'?" she asked, swinging her feet back and forth in a pixie-like fashion as she watched him.
Clark felt his bed covers carefully. Tactile sensation seemed normal... he must be awake... and yet...
"I'm real, dopey," Sarah Michelle said, and giggled. "Well, kind of. I don't really look like this. I'm your guardian angel. I figgered from poking around in your brain that you'd like this appearance, but if you want..."
Sarah Michelle shifted and became Ian McKellar, dressed as Gandalf from LORD OF THE RINGS. "I can look like this..."
Gandalf shimmered and became an eight foot pillar of crackling flame with hovering greenish eyes. "Or this," it roared at him in a voice like a blast furnace.
"Geh!" Clark said, pulling back into his pillows. "Buffy's fine, go back to Buffy, please!"
Sarah Michelle immediately reappeared. "Actually, I'm more the actress herself, informally dressed," she said, rather pedantically. "The character of Buffy Summers would be unlikely to appear in a RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK t-shirt and bunny slippers. She's a bit too aware of fashion for that."
Clark goggled. "Okay," he said. "You said something about a guardian angel..."
"Yes," Sarah Michelle said, batting her eyes and giggling again. "Yours. I'm here to protect you and nurture you and keep you safe and provide your every every itsy bitsy need and desire, 's'long as it doesn't hurt nobody else."
Clark, being no fool regardless of his level of relative social popularity, immediately flipped back the bed covers and patted the sheet next to him. "Well, then," he said, expectantly, still having no vague idea what was going on, but knowing a good thing when he heard it, even from what had to be a hallucination.
Sarah Michelle sighed, got up, slid into bed next to Clark, and snuggled up to him. "Your wish is my command," she giggled, "but afterward we gotta talk about all the other stuff I can do for you, okay?"
Clark regarded her, unable to believe this was happening, but equally happy to let whatever insane delusion he was currently immersed in continue for as long as it liked. "Er... well, if I have a guardian angel and you can provide me with my every need and desire, then I don't need to go to work any more, right?"
"CORRect," Sarah Michelle said, starting to kiss and nibble at Clark's neck and chest in a way he had rarely experienced before, but very much enjoyed. "I will protect your living space and private property from unlawful intrusion, I can provide you with the energy your metabolism requires for all human functions by drawing it from the environment around you, and... hmmm... lots and lots more stuff, too..." Her hand slid smoothly down Clark's chest, over his stomach, and began to lightly caress an area Clark had only rarely felt any hand but his on. "Mmmm nice."
"Uh," Clark said. "Um... are you real, or am I dreaming? I mean, I don't mind, I'm just curious."
Sarah started slowly kissing down his chest, stopped and looked up, and smiled. "Well, I don't look like this," she said, "I'm just kinda stimulating your brain's sensory centers to make you think you're feeling this. But the sensations are real. 'fraid you're gonna have to wash your sheets when you're done with me, though."
"Uh," Clark said, as she resumed kissing and nibbling her way downward, her hand still gently busy. "Um... okay... I can do that... that's a deal..."
* * * * * * * * * *
In a barren lot behind a long boarded up garage in New Jersey, virtually the entire (exclusively male) membership of the Dirt Devils motorcycle club flopped around like ineptly gaffed fish, eyes popping out of their heads, shrieking in agony like they were sizzling in hell. Some of them were naked, while other still had on filthy t-shirts, grease stiffened denim vests, or cumbersome, dirt encrusted motorcycle boots.
Very few of the Dirt Devils' 'slut auxiliary', who had moments before all been in various positions on the oil stained hard pack being put to their 'proper uses', were still hanging around. Having been advised by their guardian angels that the Dirt Devils could no longer coerce or hurt them in any way, the vast majority of the women (or in more than a few cases, girls) had grabbed the few clothes the Dirt Devils had allowed them and gotten the hell out of there.
The few women remaining were those who, for whatever reasons they might have had, had been voluntary members of the Devils female service cadre. As these cynical, rather blowsy women, most of them festooned with body piercings and covered with tattoos, looked on with a mixture of amusement and worry, the male members of the group stopped writhing around, and began to sit up and take a wary interest in their surroundings again.
The memory of the searing, blinding, astonishingly intense agony that had blistered his brain from the inside out still dominating his mind, the Dirt Devil's nominal Roadmaster looked around blearily, noted the absence of most of the gang's 'fuckholes', (ALL of the really good looking young ones, goddam it, it figured) and summed up the views of his entire social organization by groaning, "Guardian angels just fucking suck".
The Roadmaster's own angel, a rather portly cartoonish Djinni named Ahab, didn't let it bother him.
* * * * * * * *
Herman M'Kulos had been one of the people who had been in the process of killing himself (in his case, he'd taken 17 black market painkillers and settled back under a bullet-holed banyan tree in his dusty African village to die) when his guardian angel had appeared to him. The HIV virus that had been killing him at a more and more accelerated rate every day had been cured, he was informed, and furthermore, as every living individual now had a guardian angel, Herman no longer needed to worry about food being wasted on a dying man that should better be given to his still surviving family members.
At one time, Herman had been considered a successful man in his region, for he had, in his youth, been sent on an educational exchange program to America for one semester, and had later spent two years in a British boarding school in the Sudatenland before returning home to start up his own small one room school, which had eventually failed.
He was speaking to his angel, a gracefully powerful bull elephant with long, pleasingly curved, shining ivory tusks, in English, for his native Hausi simply did not contain the proper concepts.
Now, after several hours of conversation, he scratched his no longer greying beard and said, "You do realize that you have halted human evolution? And that future generations will grow up with no capacity whatsoever for autonomy or self reliance? And if for some reason you angels should ever have to leave us, or become disfunctional, the human race will simply become extinct?"
The elephant nodded wisely. "The Primogenitor has considered these matters," it said, gravely, "yet feels that then current world conditions constituted an emergency, requiring emergency measures. To allow suffering to continue, when the Primogenitor discovered that they possessed the power to alleviate it..." The elephant flicked its trunk expressively. "The Primogenitor did not judge that to be moral behavior."
Herman stroked his upper lip, thoughtfully. "It is... difficult to argue with such a view," he admitted, finally. "And yet... and yet..." He looked troubled. "It is not a decision to have been taken casually. Does the Primogenitor allow for the concept of individuals choosing to not have guardian angels?"
The elephant rolled on its side for a moment, then sat back up, shook its floppy eared head, and said, "The Primogenitor believes in the right of all sane, adult beings to take their own lives, or choose to be harmed, if they wish... so, in a way, yes, a person can choose to not have a guardian angel intervene in their lives." The elephant turned its head, regarding Norman with one great, sad eye. "I cannot judge such things as human evolution," it said, finally. "I merely know that I am programmed to find avoidable human suffering repugnant."
Herman thought about that, deeply. Finally, he raised himself to his feet. "Yes," he said, dusting his hands together. "Yes..."
Yet, as he moved off towards the wooden building where he knew he would find his family, healthy and happy at long, long last, he still felt troubled...