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The difference engine began to whine, ever so slightly, and I could smell the
overload, the odor of ozone and overheating plastics and circuit boards.
"Wherefore, hear my voice and follow me, and you shall be a free people, and
ye shall have no laws but my laws when I come, for I am your lawgiver, and
what can stay my hand?"
Even the voice was stronger than ghost-normal, except it was more like a
mental voice that was true of all ghosts. People tended to hear the kind of
voice they expected, and that should help slow the reactions of those around
me.
The eight stood there, stunned.
I had to admit the ghost was pretty impressive, turning his head from side to
side in midair, as if to judge them. The beard was white, patriarchal,
definitely patriarchal, and the eyes seemed to burn.
I slipped the pens into the calculator and slowly stood, as silently as
possible, angling to one side, so that the disassociator wouldn't impact the
ghost of the Revelator.
"That if the day cometh that the power and the gifts of God shall be done away
among you, it shall be because of unbelief.... To believe in man, any man,
prophet or man, rather than in the living God and his Revelations, that is
idolatry, and marks the idolator as the spawn of Laman. I did not bring your
forefathers to Zion to be idolators."
I winced. That had come out more strongly than I'd expected.
Seven of the eight still looked stunned, perhaps because the ghost aura was
overpowering. Number eight turned, and he had something cold and metallic in
his hand.
I knew what was coming and pressed the delete key on the pseudo-calculator.
Bruce's toy made no sound, but the guard, reformed apostle, whoever he was,
shuddered and lowered the Luger, but only momentarily. He staggered, and that
was enough.
He was fighting ghosts, a disassociator, and me. I was fighting him and
fatigue. The Luger clattered on the floor, and one of the other schismatics
shook his head and turned slowly.
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Beyond us, that sonorous voice rolled forth into their minds, seemingly
turning their reflexes into molasses.
"The Lamanites shall destroy this people, for they do not repent. All peoples
who do not follow the Revelations of the living God shall be destroyed."
I stepped inside his guard and crushed his throat with my elbow. He struggled
for a time more, then slowly crumpled. People forget how deadly a well-placed
elbow can be, and an elbow's good close up, extremely good.
Staggering back as the second schismatic moved toward me in slow motion, in my
own slow motion, I bent and recovered the calculator, replaced the loose pen,
and touched the delete key. The schismatic jerked like a marionette with
spastic strings. His face smoothed, and a phantasm of white lifted from him
and vanished. Another zombie.
I replaced the batteries in the calculator and focused it in turn on each of
the six remaining figures who were entranced by the ghost of the Revelator. I
had to replace the batteries once more in the process, and yet no one turned.
Shooting fish in a barrel would have been more of a challenge, caught as they
were in the power of the ghost that continued to become ever more real- and
solid-looking even as the smell of burning insulation grew stronger.
In the end, there were also seven zombies and a body. The body was that of the
first man, who had to have been Ferdinand's agent. I bent down and ripped off
the wig, toupee, whatever you called it, and underneath was one of the
flexible metallic-mesh helmets that Branston-Hay's team at Vanderbraak State
had won. My guts churned. I collapsed the mesh helmet and pocketed it. That
evidence would have implicated Columbia, even if it had been planted by
Ferdinand, and I wasn't about to let that happen.
Behind me, the ghost intoned, "Cursed is he who puts his trust in man. More
cursed is he that puts his trust in a man's false interpretation of what I
have said. Trust rather the Revelations of thy Father in heaven than the man
who twists my words...."
Even after all I'd done, it was hard to believe he wasn't talking to me. Then
maybe he was.
Sometimes age and treachery are enough to overcome skill. Anyway, this time
they had been. But I wasn't done. I stripped off the vest and molded the
plastique in place quickly around the difference engine, then connected the
wires.
I scooped up my datacase and sprinted toward the door.
I didn't quite make it before there were difference engine parts
everywhere ... some embedded in the wooden supports for the balcony. For a
moment, I leaned against the outside door and gasped, before opening it and
stumbling out.
Since it might have been a good idea to yell, I did: "Help!"
Nothing happened. I yelled again.
A guard in a blue uniform hurried across the lighted stones as I stepped out
into the open air for the first time in what seemed forever. Behind the guard,
the light-sheathed Temple towered into the dark night sky. I could even see
the brighter stars, and a faint smile cracked my lips as I took a deep breath
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of the city's polluted air, which seemed so clean at that moment.
"Who are you? The Tabernacle's locked. What were you doing there?" His words
were cold, brusque.
"I'm Columbian minister Eschbach. I was kidnapped by ... those people. The
ones inside. You'd better contact Bishop Hansen of Saint security and the
First Counselor."
"Why?" The policeman clearly didn't like my unshaven countenance.
At that point there was a second small explosion from within the Tabernacle,
and I wondered what one of the zombied schismatics had been carrying. "Go see
for yourself."
He didn't but waited until two compatriots arrived, and they started in on me
while he eased into the Tabernacle through the smoke. I hoped some of the
zombied Revealed Twelve had survived the explosion. I had no doubts that the
ghost of the Revelator had.
"Can you prove you're Minister Eschbach?"
"The real Minister Eschbach is at the Columbian embassy."
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