Next Time

Harry McMunn, Supreme Reverend, shook hands with Andrea List, clapped Ray Blackburn on the shoulder, and patted little Jimmy Nairn on the head. He traded a smile with all his congregation, finished his cup of punch, and started a familiar chorus of “Next time.” Then, when they began singing their favourite hymn, he excused himself and went outside the temple, before his heart completely broke.

The cool night air shattered his composure, and he clutched his vestments to keep an unexpected sob from escaping. Walking the well maintained paths of their rural compound, Salvation Ranch, normally brought him such joy, but now all he felt was lightness, as though his steps weren’t really there, as though he merely floated through the world, unmoored. The fires of certainty no longer burned in his heart.

There wasn’t supposed to be a “next time.” This time was meant to be the one. He had been so sure of it.

He could still hear the muted song of his people through the walls of the temple, through the distance, filled with such pure, trusting joy. It chilled him. He shrunk, smaller than he had ever been. He needed answers. He made his way to Prophet’s Hill.

It was about a fifteen minute hike to the flat top of the tree-less hill, and he could see the warm lights of the compound just below it. And all around him, nothing but moonswept darkness. He’d always thought it was a lovely, peaceful property, but now it too screamed failure at him.

Harry looked up at the night sky.

“Why!” he shouted. “Why have you forsaken me!?”

The stars glared down at him with their unblinking dead gaze, and the silence of the frozen void throttled even his echo. There was no reply up there. There was nothing up there.

Least of all salvation.

“I did everything you asked!”

The wind whipped his words away.

“You promised!”

Still the stars stared, without pity or understanding. And then they blinked – and winked out of existence.

Harry gasped. A circle of perfect black was forming in the cosmos, wiping out stars as it grew, the blackest ink spilling in every direction. He stumbled, fell backwards. Couldn’t get up again to flee. Couldn’t do anything but watch the heavens be consumed.

But then the disk grew smaller, and less black, and of a sudden a ring of golden lights turned on, running around its circumference – not unlike Christmas tree lights. Whatever it was, was descending, and the disk – the bowl – turned out to only be about ten metres across. It hovered above the ground with a gentle purr, and three telescoping legs extended from its rim. A hatch appeared in its seamless underside, and when it opened to extend a ramp to the ground, it spilled warm yellow light onto the hilltop.

Harry’s heart was hammering. This was happening just like it did in his dreams, in his visions – only now, the ground felt too real for dreaming, and his trembling breath too scattered for revelations from on high. Was this actually happening? Should he go get the others? But wait, if this was like his dreams, then that meant–

A figure appeared at the top of the ramp. A silhouette at first, gradually becoming more distinct as it approached – as it glided down – towards him.

It was wide on the bottom and narrow and tall at the top, draped in a snow white robe, its flesh green and translucent. From its midsection protruded twelve slender arms, without fingers or joints, and much longer than any human’s, and its whole being pulsated gently with a rich orange light, not unlike a heartbeat.

His vision, in the flesh: the angel.

“Xir’oz’zax!” Harry said, barely breathing the word.

“Hello, Harry,” said Xir. It had no discernable mouth, but its orange beat pulsed with the words, and its voice sounded pleasantly generic, like running into an acquaintance at the bus stop, with the faintest hint of an unplaceable accent.

“You heard my call! You came.”

Xir’s arms – wings? – rippled. Actually, seeing them now in the sober light of waking, they reminded Harry more of tentacles than anything else. Like the grabby bits of a jellyfish. And seeing Xir approach in the flesh, Harry couldn’t shake the impression that on closer scrutiny, the angel kind of looked like a giant plunger made of mucus, wearing a toga. Harry frowned and tried to suppress this irreverent thought.

“Yeah,” said Xir, “about that.”

“Why did you not pick us up tonight? I did everything you asked for, and the congregation was purified and ready to ascend!”

Xir made a noise that might have been a sigh. “Oh boy.”

“Is this yet another test of faith? Have we displeased the Cosmic Mother? Please, tell me what I must do!”

“Look, Harry,” said Xir, splaying its dozen appendages wide, “I’m going to level with you. This whole Divine Ascension thing – my being an angel, the Ritual of Purification, the Nineteen Sanctified Trials, the Prophetic Dreams?”

“Yes? And the Will of the Cosmic Mother?”

“Yeah,” said Xir. “I kind of made it all up.”

Harry blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Xir drew out. “It’s a joke, bro. I didn’t think you’d take it seriously.”

“What?”

“Like, I was just bored, right? I’m basically just a glorified delivery driver, and worse, I have the graveyard shift, and this planet is so boring and I probably should have gone to school like my folks said, but I took the easy money and now I’m stuck doing this dead end gig.”

Harry was speechless. To be addressed with such familiarity by an angel, to hear the angel say such outrageous things – it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. Was this a new Sanctified Trial? A new test of faith?

“So I heard your prayer or whatever and kind of threw you a bone. Only, I thought you’d know it’s a joke, since everyone knows Cosmic Mother is like the most popular brand of pastries on Saturn. I don’t care for them myself – too much iodine – but I’ll admit that jingle slaps. Do you not get them here? Oh well.”

Was this a trial? Harry felt his eye twitch.

“Anyway, thanks for making my shifts a little more funny. I think the joke’s run its course though. And I guess I feel a little bad, but come on, you guys really are the solar system’s most remedial planet, aren’t you? Still digging in dirt for elements, like a beaver or something. No wonder the dinosaurs left.”

Harry drew a long, steadying breath. “Are you saying there’s no Mother Ship?”

“Yeah, well, kind of. I mean, it’s more of the garage where I park my saucer every night. Not so much ‘mother’ as ‘dispatch and payroll’. Only it’s less about bringing enlightenment to mammals than it is about harvesting their bone marrow while they sleep."

“What!?”

“I know, right? And my stupid manager is the boss’s cousin, so there’s basically no room for career growth. Makes my blood boil.”

Harry felt that.

“So, anyway. Bit of a joke is all I’m saying. Maybe I took it too far, maybe that’s on you for not getting it; who’s to say. No hard feelings though, I don’t hold it against you. Anyway, later bro.”

“Wait! So… so it’s all a lie then?”

“A joke, bro. I don’t lie, and I don’t want you going around spreading rumours.”

“Can I… at least have a hug?”

“Dude, gross. You’re a mammal.”

“Please? I’m having a crisis of faith here.”

Xir shrugged what might have been shoulders. “Fine, whatever. Come here, weirdo.”

Harry let out a laboured breath, and straightened his shirt. Then he walked towards the ramp and only hesitated for a blink before stepping onto actual alien technology. Xir spread its appendages wide, the ends flapping like sausages in the breeze.

With arms wide, Harry approached. He grabbed Xir in a great big hug, and with a sharp jerk, tossed it off the ramp.

“Oof,” said Xir, crumpling to a mucusy tangle on the hilltop.

Harry spared him one more glance, before he hurried into the flying saucer. He closed the door, and then took flight.