“Zero minus sixty seconds and counting. The subclass will prepare to prostrate itself.”
Semple wondered if now, by default, she qualified as one of the sub-class, but she had no intention of kneeling or otherwise humbling herself. Much against both her will and her good taste, she had found herself on her knees in front of the dog-god more times than she cared to dwell upon. As far as she was concerned, that had ceased for good when she’d fled the royal pavilion.
“Zero minus fifty seconds and counting.”
Even Suchep had managed to get to her hands and knees and was crawling after the rest of the crowd. Semple, who had so far refused to retreat, now found herself close to the front ranks of the spectators.
“Zero minus forty seconds and counting.”
She could feel the fear that was permeating the mob, but there was no way she was going to give in to it. To move away from the bomb was to also move toward Anubis, and that was out of the question.
“Zero minus thirty seconds and counting. The subclass will now prostrate itself.”
To Semple’s amazement, the majority of the crowd was dropping to its knees.
“Twenty-nine . . . twenty-eight.”
She had expected the Necropolis underclass to be more rebellious. Even in the mire of dog-god religious repression and poverty, she could hardly believe that a strata of old-time anarchy or drunken bolshevism hadn’t evolved. It looked as though the majority were lacking even the balls of a whore like Suchep.
“Twenty-seven . . . twenty-six . . . ”
The invisible trumpets now maintained a constant scream under the hectoring voice. “Twenty-five . . . twenty-four . . . at twenty seconds all knees will be bowed, all souls will grovel before the might of Anubis.”
The voice had taken on a chanting, liturgical measure. Anubis or maybe his Dream Warden seemed to have decided that the big bang would take place in an atmosphere of worshipful devotion.
“Twenty . . . ”
The crowd was on the ground.
“Nineteen . . . ”
Semple was one of the very last to remain standing.
“Eighteen . . . ”
“Fuck this.”
“Seventeen . . . sixteen . . . ”
With the crowd all prone, Semple had a clear and perfect view of the chrome obelisk, at the very tip of which lurked Anubis’s sacred nuke.
“Fifteen. All praise be to the mighty Lord Anubis.”
A celestial choir intoned a rising atonal cadence and the low rumble of a Bach organ was mixed in with the trumpets.
“Fourteen . . . thirteen . . . twelve . . . ”
Semple was finding it all too much. Rather than stand around, knee-deep in prostrate proles, she decided she needed to be positive, to go boldy against the flow of this Necropolis lunacy, to counter it with some lunacy of her own.
“Eleven. Laud and magnify the Lord Anubis and his mighty weapon.”
She started to walk toward the obelisk, carefully picking her way through the mass of huddled grovelers.
“Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven . . . ”
She was nearing the front of the crowd. She started to hurry. She wanted to be alone with the bomb.
“Six . . . five . . . four . . . ”
She stopped dead at three. She was a very long way from the obelisk, but at least she was clear of the crowd. She stood upright and spread her arms. The Divine Atom Bomb could take her if it dared, and damn the gamma rays.
“Two . . . one . . . ”
In the first nanosecond, it was nothing more than a point of infinitely bright light.
“Ignition!”
But this grew into a ball of cosmic fire, as though a piece of the sun had been touched off at ground zero, so impossibly, searingly bright that, even from behind the visor, Semple could feel her retina commencing to bum. Beyond the realm of visible light, she could also feel the lashing waves of radiation ripping and jackhammering at every cell of her body. Her very molecular structure seemed to be at risk; her skeleton was clearly visible, glowing with a dull red fire, beneath flesh rendered translucent by the nativity of this new sun. At any moment she felt she would melt away, blasted back to Great Double Helix by the awesome solar wind-and, right then, Semple didn’t care. The chips could fall where they might. And she was surprised to find the experience was far from unpleasant. The intensity of the screaming protons, neutrons, and electrons that howled through her transcended by quantum factors any experience she had ever known. It was worth everything that had gone before and anything that might come later. Semple was seized by a mind-bending awe at the infinity of this bliss.
“Oh! No! Yes! Oh no! I don’t believe this! I can’t conceive this!”
And then the heat and blast hit.
***
Aimee McPherson let out a small shriek. For an instant she had been blinded by clear white light, and nothing like that had ever happened to her on this side of the veil. Migraine? Brain tumor? Surely such things were impossible here in her perfect Heaven. In that instant of questioning, she knew instinctively that it was a print-through from Semple. As if in confirmation, her body was suddenly racked by a surge of feeling that doubled her over and forced a gasping groan from her lips. “Oh my . . . ”
She was about to appeal to God, but by now she was so far on the outs with the Almighty that she couldn’t bring herself, even in this extremity, to utter his name.
“Oh my”.
The nuns who were accompanying her on her walk on the terrace quickly gathered around, the cartoon bluebirds milled anxiously in the air, and a small winged Pegasus whinnied nervously. A novice stood beside her, wanting to put a comforting arm around her, but was too paralyzed by reverence to do so. “Are you all right, Mother Aimee?”
The sensation coursing through her body wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but she wasn’t about to admit that to the nuns. “Of course, I’m fine . . . except I’m wondering what in the hereafter my sister is up to.”
***
Jim all but jumped out of his skin. Doc Holliday was the very last person he’d expected to see in the Jurassic, although later he’d realize that Doc was more than capable of being in any time or place he wanted to be, and on occasion in more than one place at a time. “What-”
Doc put an amused forefinger to his lips. “For mercy’s sake, be quiet, boy. They’ll hear you inside.”
Jim dropped his voice to a whisper. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Doc was dressed for traveling. His boots were caked with mud and his long duster coat was stained with algae from the swamp. His pale face had a three-day growth of stubble and he appeared cumulatively hungover. He regarded Jim bleakly. “I’m getting you out of an entire mess of shit that, as of now, you’re not even aware you’re heading into.”
Bewilderment seemed to be Jim’s only option. “Mess of shit? What are you talking about?”