person capable of engendering the admiration of millions? Why a man who goes around with a chicken on his shoulder?”
Orbust smiled sardonically.
“I’m not here to sell myself to anyone,” McMurtrey said, smoothing the green plumage on No Name’s backside. “Far from it. I’ve denigrated myself before you, exposed my life for the utter farce that it’s been. But the fact remains that God did speak to me and He did produce these marvelous ships. He communicated with many of you as well, or you wouldn’t be here. Perhaps not as He spoke to me, revealing His location, but differently. I sense the truth of this. As I look upon your face, Orbust, and upon the countenances of so many here, I know this is fact.”
Orbust’s jaw dropped. He took a step back, off the staircase and onto the ground. He bent over and lifted a pant leg, revealing a small sheath strapped to his calf.
A weapon, McMurtrey thought, preparing to duck behind the lectern. Why not the cannon on his hip? McMurtrey didn’t see anyone moving toward Orbust to stop him, felt alone and abandoned.
Orbust seemed to have a second thought and paused. He let his pant leg down without pulling forth whatever the sheath held, and straightened.
“What did God say to you?” McMurtrey asked, staring so intensely at Orbust that he forced the man to look away. “It wasn’t . . . words. . . . “ Orbust said. “I felt . . . compelled to come here.”
“You came here concerning a ship? A particular ship that will carry you to Heaven?”
Orbust looked at the ground, like a child being reprimanded. “Y-yes. I saw it on televid.” He pointed. “That white one!”
It was the same ship McMurtrey had selected for himself, likewise for no reason he could form into words.
“Others are here to board that ship as well,” McMurtrey said. “It will hold many passengers. When God’s location was announced and we had no way to go there, many of us formed visions of how we would voyage to God. These ships are from our imaginations, from transmitted thought waves. I didn’t fully realize it myself until scant seconds ago, as I gazed out upon you and absorbed your energies. It wasn’t the first time I had known these energies, and they were familiar to me.” The crowd grew exceedingly quiet. McMurtrey felt an adrenalin surge, and the ensuing words came with a rush: “In days past, your thoughts and mine were channeled through me with such force that they materialized into objects. These ships are not mirages. While I sense what has happened, I don’t fully understand how. But it is something I cannot question, and I sense many of you believe this with me.”
By the hush in the crowd and the trusting, childlike faces that stared at him, McMurtrey saw he had struck a responsive chord. They were hanging on his every word.
“THESE ARE OUR CREATIONS!” McMurtrey shouted. “ENTER THEM!”
Orbust’s impertinent question didn’t require an answer. Not in words. Ironically, God had selected the lowliest prophet in the history of mankind for the most important assignment, a pilgrimage to the Master of Masters.
Gutan took a puff on his opium pipe, watched the subject. She had her eyes closed, awaiting the inevitable that would be brought on when Gutan made the prescribed machine settings and adjustments.
He heard Fork rolling back, the harsh whirrings and squeakings Gutan didn’t always notice.
If this was an elaborate, veiled experiment, it now occurred to Gutan that it had to go beyond the data pouring into the computer system. And theft protection had to be more extensive than the satellite tracking system that his implanted chip said watched the truck-trailer rigs at all times. There had to be eyes everywhere inside, something or someone watching Mnemo at all times. Might it be Fork? Or Gutan himself, transmitting via the chip to headquarters, made complacent by the opium that had appeared too conveniently in his life?
Could Gutan destroy the memory
Orbust smiled sardonically.
“I’m not here to sell myself to anyone,” McMurtrey said, smoothing the green plumage on No Name’s backside. “Far from it. I’ve denigrated myself before you, exposed my life for the utter farce that it’s been. But the fact remains that God did speak to me and He did produce these marvelous ships. He communicated with many of you as well, or you wouldn’t be here. Perhaps not as He spoke to me, revealing His location, but differently. I sense the truth of this. As I look upon your face, Orbust, and upon the countenances of so many here, I know this is fact.”
Orbust’s jaw dropped. He took a step back, off the staircase and onto the ground. He bent over and lifted a pant leg, revealing a small sheath strapped to his calf.
A weapon, McMurtrey thought, preparing to duck behind the lectern. Why not the cannon on his hip? McMurtrey didn’t see anyone moving toward Orbust to stop him, felt alone and abandoned.
Orbust seemed to have a second thought and paused. He let his pant leg down without pulling forth whatever the sheath held, and straightened.
“What did God say to you?” McMurtrey asked, staring so intensely at Orbust that he forced the man to look away. “It wasn’t . . . words. . . . “ Orbust said. “I felt . . . compelled to come here.”
“You came here concerning a ship? A particular ship that will carry you to Heaven?”
Orbust looked at the ground, like a child being reprimanded. “Y-yes. I saw it on televid.” He pointed. “That white one!”
It was the same ship McMurtrey had selected for himself, likewise for no reason he could form into words.
“Others are here to board that ship as well,” McMurtrey said. “It will hold many passengers. When God’s location was announced and we had no way to go there, many of us formed visions of how we would voyage to God. These ships are from our imaginations, from transmitted thought waves. I didn’t fully realize it myself until scant seconds ago, as I gazed out upon you and absorbed your energies. It wasn’t the first time I had known these energies, and they were familiar to me.” The crowd grew exceedingly quiet. McMurtrey felt an adrenalin surge, and the ensuing words came with a rush: “In days past, your thoughts and mine were channeled through me with such force that they materialized into objects. These ships are not mirages. While I sense what has happened, I don’t fully understand how. But it is something I cannot question, and I sense many of you believe this with me.”
By the hush in the crowd and the trusting, childlike faces that stared at him, McMurtrey saw he had struck a responsive chord. They were hanging on his every word.
“THESE ARE OUR CREATIONS!” McMurtrey shouted. “ENTER THEM!”
Orbust’s impertinent question didn’t require an answer. Not in words. Ironically, God had selected the lowliest prophet in the history of mankind for the most important assignment, a pilgrimage to the Master of Masters.
Gutan took a puff on his opium pipe, watched the subject. She had her eyes closed, awaiting the inevitable that would be brought on when Gutan made the prescribed machine settings and adjustments.
He heard Fork rolling back, the harsh whirrings and squeakings Gutan didn’t always notice.
If this was an elaborate, veiled experiment, it now occurred to Gutan that it had to go beyond the data pouring into the computer system. And theft protection had to be more extensive than the satellite tracking system that his implanted chip said watched the truck-trailer rigs at all times. There had to be eyes everywhere inside, something or someone watching Mnemo at all times. Might it be Fork? Or Gutan himself, transmitting via the chip to headquarters, made complacent by the opium that had appeared too conveniently in his life?
Could Gutan destroy the memory
Similar Books
