Cherry Jubilee

Chapter 3

I'm young and the living room is gigantic. My ma is gigantic too.

"Faith," she says, and hiccups. "Get mummy a- hic- glass of water."

"Copy that," says the commander of the moon buggy in my hand. She drives up the side of ma's armchair, over the armrest, and over ma's belly.

"We're detecting unstable tectonic activity, captain."

"Faith, please. I'm not in the mood."

The moon buggy drives in circles over ma's belly.

"Captain, the tectonic activity is settling, over."

"Faith," says ma, but then she stops. "Huh. You're right, it has stopped. Come here, you."

I shriek with laughter as she scoops me up.

"You're better than a glass of water aren't you? I should gobble you up and you can keep my tummy happy forever."

"No!" I scream, giggling.

Heaven is sweet. We've all seen the ads. "Like life, but you're cumming." It's more than that. Yes, you're naked, and yes just breathing feels like the longest, warmest bubble bath wank.

But it's satisfying in every other dimension at the same time. Every detail of your environment draws the true intention of your thoughts into reality. Everyone walks in a swirling cloud of semi-abstract art, that expresses the momentary picture they wish to convey to the world, and that cloud is made of trees and stones and buildings and colours and moods. It feels like it would be disorienting, walking through a world made entirely from the fragmentary experiences of the people in it, but it isn't. There's an emotion binding it together, a smell almost, something like trust.

Of course there's jealousy in the cloud sometimes, and trepidation for the future, and regret, hopelessness, even nihilism. All the feelings we've brought with us, coupled with notes of a bittersweet despair, that we're finally here and still ourselves. We're not different people than we were, except for the fact that we're in heaven. That does throw the darkness into perspective.

Faith is with me again. I never quite put her behind me, as much as I put her on my behind. Now it's like we're lying together under the covers, like when she was a baby, only she's a child as well and a young woman, and I can feel her body heat and soft breathing which is so, so like my own. Sometimes one of her memories will swim to the surface and I want to cry. I haven't wanted to cry in years.

It takes me a few hours to get a hold of myself. I'm no good all teary-eyed. Once I'm acclimatised enough to maintain a professional face, I set about tracking down the CEO.

According to a man with flapping pigeons about him, there's usually a helper robot who finds people for you, but she's on break. I'm not sure why heaven would need a robot, or why a robot would need a break, but I don't question it yet, only file it away.

Eventually Michael Koresh finds me. The whole sky bends as he approaches, and the souls around me scatter. The storm of feelings surrounding him is so huge and complex and yet so beautiful, that one can't help wanting to be swept up in it, at least a little.

Some of these people will be, soon enough. Many already have been. He's a premium user; he'll be swirling for eternity, or near enough. God knows how many souls he's added to himself. God knows what he'll look like in two million years, or two billion, or two trillion. His body is almost twice as tall as mine, thick as an elephant seal and glowing with warm light.

That'll be me soon. If I can pull off this last job. Don't think about it.

"Walk with me," comes his voice from the maelstrom, and I do.

"So what's the mission?" I ask, when we're alone.

He stops walking, and his cloud spreads out to become the firmament.

"You are Michael Koresh, aren't you?" I say. "CEO of Afterlife? Are you going to tell me what happened to Sally Ling?"

"Easier to show you," he says, and the world around us becomes a story- Sally Ling's story.

He shows me Sally's father Ling Hyung-jin, a brilliant Chinese-Korean psychoengineer and fanatical Moonist. I see the radiation camps, and Hyung-jin's disgust and betrayal at his beloved organisation's brutality. I see him risking his life to deliver Family Federation secrets to the Pacific League, and vowing to find a better way of building heaven on earth.

There is Sally, his sweet, ambitious daughter, watching him alongside me as he builds his commercial empire on virtual intelligence and interrogation technology. There she is, nutrifying him, taking over his empire, fulfilling his vision, unifying the corporate entities of the earth into a conglomerate capable of combating humanity's imminent extinction.

I know this story, but seeing it play out in the language of dreams across the sky gives it a whole new depth.

There is the Eternity Star, a battery with a half life of six trillion years, the battery on top of which Sally built Afterlife, the true kingdom of heaven.

And there's Sally, choosing to surrender her body and rule forever from the seat of her own creation.

All at once, the story is about a new character. I recognise her. The little helper robot from the other man's cloud. She's meek and demure, and follows behind Sally like a puppy.

Then she changes.

The story ends violently.

Michael turns to me. "You understand?"

I nod. I understand everything.