Zero History

60. RAY
Milgrim, in his stocking feet and shirtsleeves, lay on the white foam, pleasantly lost in a
new and deliciously seamless experience. Above him, near the room’s high ceiling,
illuminated by the large Italian floor lamp with its silver umbrella, the matte-black manta
ray was turning slow forward somersaults, almost silently, the only sound the soft
crinkling of its helium-filled foil membrane. He wasn’t watching it. Instead, he was
focused on the screen of the iPhone, watching the feed from the ray’s camera as it rolled.
He saw himself, repeatedly, stretched on the white rectangle, and Fiona, seated at the
table, working on whatever she was assembling from the contents of the cartons Benny
had brought in. Then, as the ray rolled, white wall, the brilliantly illuminated ceiling, then
over again. It was hypnotic, and all the more so because he was causing the roll,
maintaining it, executing it each time, with the same sequence of thumb movements on
the phone’s horizontal screen.
It swam in air, the ray. Modeled on a creature that swam in water, it propelled itself,
with a slow, eerie grace, through the air.
“It must be wonderful outside,” he said.
“More fun,” she said, “but we aren’t allowed. Once anyone knows we have them,
they’re useless. And they cost a fortune, even before the modifications. When we were
first shopping for drones, I said go for something like this,” meaning the rectangular thing
she was assembling on the table. “It’s faster, more maneuverable. But he said he thought
we should recapitulate the history of flight, start with balloons.”
“There weren’t balloons with wings, were there?” Maintaining concentration on his
thumb work.
“No, but people did imagine them. And this thing can only stay up for a while.
Batteries.”
“It doesn’t look like a helicopter. It looks like a coffee table for dolls.”
“Eight props, that’s serious lift. And they’re protected. It can bump into something and
not be instant rubbish. Give ray a rest and look at this.”
“How do I stop?” asked Milgrim, suddenly anxious.
“Just stop. The app will right it.”
Milgrim held his breath, took his thumbs from the screen. Looked up. The ray rolled
up, executed an odd little wing-tip flutter, then hung suspended, rocking slightly, its
dorsal surface to the ceiling.
Milgrim got up and went to the table. Nothing had ever been quite as pleasant as this
afternoon with Fiona, in Bigend’s Vegas cube, though he kept surprising himself with the
recognition of just how pleasant it was. There was nothing to do but play with Bigend’s
expensive German toys, and talk, while the toys, and learning how they worked, provided