think that he could be having a lot more fun in the Black than he had been.
He stuck Damon's glove into the back pocket of his jeans and wandered toward the Colosseum, gazing up at the struc ture that was both familiar and alien. Though he had seen many pictures of the ruined structure, it took some imagina tion to recognize the iconic, crumbling image as it existed in modern day through the complete, pristine facade he now faced. It was four stories high with a ring of tall arches on the first three, many of which held large marble statues. The circular building was intact, unlike the contemporary ruins, where one whole side had collapsed. The exterior was light brown limestone that was constructed with such care to detail that it made Cooper lament the fact that the actual structure in the Light had crumbled into such disrepair.
"It was called the Flavian Amphitheater," a man announced.
A skinny guy wearing shorts, black knee socks, and sandals approached Coop holding a travel guide. The guy had on a loud aloha shirt and a New York Mets cap . . . not exactly a classic Roman look. It was more of a classic geek tourist look.
He continued, "Opened in 80 AD. They started calling it the Colosseum after that guy." He jerked his thumb toward the giant bronze statue that stood a few yards away. "The Emperor Nero. That statue is called the Colossus of Nero. Hence, the Colosseum."
He looked up from his guide book to Coop, squinting against the bright sun. "Isn't that fascinating?"
"No," Coop said flatly.
The man shrugged and went back to his reading.
"Does that book tell you whose vision this is?" Coop asked.
"No. But it does say that the structure could hold up to fifty-five thousand spectators, which is roughly the capac ity of Shea Stadium."
"Or Citi Field," Coop said.
The man gave Coop a curious look. "What's Citi Field?"
"The new Shea."
The man looked stunned. "No! Shea is gone?"
"Hold on to your socks—so is the old Yankee Stadium." The guy's jaw dropped.
"But I've only been dead a couple of years!"
"Yeah, well, life goes on. What year is this?"
The man scanned the surroundings. "My guess is it's pretty close to when they first opened for business. Did you know that to celebrate its opening they slaughtered over five thousand animals?"
"No," Coop said coldly. " And I don't think that's fasci nating either."
" And they held a hundred straight days of competition. Right now they've got gladiators going at it inside. I took a peek but it's a tad barbaric for my taste. They outlawed gladiator battles in 438, so this vision is somewhere between 80 and 438. AD."
"That's, like, a 350-year window," Coop said. "What kind of tour guide are you?"
The guy straightened up, offended. "Just trying to help."
He turned with a huff and hurried off in search of some other vision-hopping spirit to impress with his wealth of Roman trivia. Coop figured that if Damon had come to this vision, his reasons must have something to do with the action inside the Colosseum, so that's where he had to go.
Entering the ancient stadium was simple. No ticket was required. He wandered through a tall archway into the cool of the shade beneath the seats and made his way toward the arena.
"Man," he marveled aloud. "It's just like a stadium back at home."
The general design concept was the same, but rather than steel and cement the Colosseum was constructed with wood, marble, and limestone. Coop pushed past bystanders to make his way through a long tunnel until he re-emerged into the hot sun . . . and was instantly dazzled by the spec tacle of the arena. The mix of the familiar and the bizarre was overwhelming. He was on the lowest level, the same level as the competition. He looked up and around at the imposing structure to see that it was packed with cheering fans, and not all of them were citizens of ancient Rome. The raucous crowd had come from every other vision and age imaginable. There were soldiers from many different eras and
He stuck Damon's glove into the back pocket of his jeans and wandered toward the Colosseum, gazing up at the struc ture that was both familiar and alien. Though he had seen many pictures of the ruined structure, it took some imagina tion to recognize the iconic, crumbling image as it existed in modern day through the complete, pristine facade he now faced. It was four stories high with a ring of tall arches on the first three, many of which held large marble statues. The circular building was intact, unlike the contemporary ruins, where one whole side had collapsed. The exterior was light brown limestone that was constructed with such care to detail that it made Cooper lament the fact that the actual structure in the Light had crumbled into such disrepair.
"It was called the Flavian Amphitheater," a man announced.
A skinny guy wearing shorts, black knee socks, and sandals approached Coop holding a travel guide. The guy had on a loud aloha shirt and a New York Mets cap . . . not exactly a classic Roman look. It was more of a classic geek tourist look.
He continued, "Opened in 80 AD. They started calling it the Colosseum after that guy." He jerked his thumb toward the giant bronze statue that stood a few yards away. "The Emperor Nero. That statue is called the Colossus of Nero. Hence, the Colosseum."
He looked up from his guide book to Coop, squinting against the bright sun. "Isn't that fascinating?"
"No," Coop said flatly.
The man shrugged and went back to his reading.
"Does that book tell you whose vision this is?" Coop asked.
"No. But it does say that the structure could hold up to fifty-five thousand spectators, which is roughly the capac ity of Shea Stadium."
"Or Citi Field," Coop said.
The man gave Coop a curious look. "What's Citi Field?"
"The new Shea."
The man looked stunned. "No! Shea is gone?"
"Hold on to your socks—so is the old Yankee Stadium." The guy's jaw dropped.
"But I've only been dead a couple of years!"
"Yeah, well, life goes on. What year is this?"
The man scanned the surroundings. "My guess is it's pretty close to when they first opened for business. Did you know that to celebrate its opening they slaughtered over five thousand animals?"
"No," Coop said coldly. " And I don't think that's fasci nating either."
" And they held a hundred straight days of competition. Right now they've got gladiators going at it inside. I took a peek but it's a tad barbaric for my taste. They outlawed gladiator battles in 438, so this vision is somewhere between 80 and 438. AD."
"That's, like, a 350-year window," Coop said. "What kind of tour guide are you?"
The guy straightened up, offended. "Just trying to help."
He turned with a huff and hurried off in search of some other vision-hopping spirit to impress with his wealth of Roman trivia. Coop figured that if Damon had come to this vision, his reasons must have something to do with the action inside the Colosseum, so that's where he had to go.
Entering the ancient stadium was simple. No ticket was required. He wandered through a tall archway into the cool of the shade beneath the seats and made his way toward the arena.
"Man," he marveled aloud. "It's just like a stadium back at home."
The general design concept was the same, but rather than steel and cement the Colosseum was constructed with wood, marble, and limestone. Coop pushed past bystanders to make his way through a long tunnel until he re-emerged into the hot sun . . . and was instantly dazzled by the spec tacle of the arena. The mix of the familiar and the bizarre was overwhelming. He was on the lowest level, the same level as the competition. He looked up and around at the imposing structure to see that it was packed with cheering fans, and not all of them were citizens of ancient Rome. The raucous crowd had come from every other vision and age imaginable. There were soldiers from many different eras and
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