It seemed to take forever to get to the top floor. The elevator was done in pastel plastics, very nicely textured and void of graffiti. The carpet was short but soft – barefoot carpet – it continued out of the elevator, the same color. Dodd watched it pass under his feet as he stepped out and walked down the hall to the Recent’s door. Here and there were crushed streaks where heavy robots habitually tread.
Dodd reached the door and pressed the button, smiling up at the Recent’s electric eye and waiting for their computer to announce his presence. He waited a full minute, and then pressed the button again. What, he thought, is it broken? He pushed again, waiting.
They’re gone, he thought. They’re raptured.
He pushed the button again, and added a loud rap on the door.
Raptured my ass, he thought, they’re watching Travels. He pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully. It seemed to be …
yes, it was. Racing, sparkling music, the Travels soundtrack. They had Travels on and were so deep into it that they couldn’t hear the door. A wave of anger rose through Dodd, and he pushed down hard on the door bell button, kept ringing it over and over, then began pounding very hard on the door with his fist, thumping it like a drum. Then he kicked it, yelling.
There was no response.
He kicked at the door a few more times, scuffing the textured pastel surface with the steel of his work boot toes. It was in vain. Bob and Denise were trapped in the world of Travels, just like Sheila, and they were not coming out. Dodd tried the door latch, but it was firmly locked. If there had been an exposed window he would have broken it. Finally he gave up. He stormed back to the elevator and pushed the down button, standing and waiting.
Where now? he thought. He still didn’t want to go home or over to Toby’s. Then an idea struck him. Why not go to a church?
Surely they’d have a TV turned on, he could watch the Second Coming. Why not? Now was as good a time to start going to church as any.
Still, deep inside he was terrified that no one would be there. He kept having the wild thoughts about rapture, which was the real reason he didn’t want to stop by Toby’s house – he was certain that Toby and his wife would be gone, vanished. If he’d found Toby’s house empty it would be too much for him to take.
Stepping into the empty elevator and watching the door close behind him, Dodd felt utter loneliness. The sinking feeling as the elevator descended matched the feeling inside of him. Where I really want to be, he thought, is with Savina.
“Yeah,” he said aloud in the empty elevator, “I’m a dirty old man.”
The elevator continued to sink.
22. COVERAGE 1
On the Sunday of the Second Coming, there was an average of twenty-four 30-second advertising spots per hour on JTV, with an average price of 1.5 million dollars per second. All the advertising time was bought and paid for in advance, some at an even higher price as the last few spots were auctioned off to the highest bidders. On this one Sunday the network stood to make more profit than during its last 5 operating years combined. All-in-all it was a very good day for the network.
One commercial, sponsored by the Off-World Immigration Commission, costing 45 million to make and 90 million to air, showed wholesome and happy people working and playing among awesomely imaged panoramas of alien landscapes; great virgin forests of autumn-leafed trees, grey-green hued hills towering over a small and open settlement; and, prominent in the last shot, taking the fullest advantage of television’s 3-D effect, a large sprawling United Church temple set behind an ultra-modern VTOL
orbital shuttle. The temple had a sixty-foot brass cross planted in its courtyard, supporting a handsome transparent figure of Jesus hanging in glory. Underneath the cross was the inscription: HE IS RISEN. HE IS EVERYWHERE.
The commercial faded to blackness. The blackness lasted perhaps two seconds, then a pair of JTV newscasters appeared on the screen, their expressions excited, their eyes wide and sparkling.
Both were almost unisexual, but upon closer inspection the woman could be seen for a woman; she had breasts pressed flat under a plain white shirt, and her hair was slightly longer than her companion’s. Her voice was low but feminine, while the man’s voice was high but well-modulated. They were both designed to appeal to male and female viewers, hetero-or homosexual. It didn’t matter, the two were so neutral they couldn’t offend anybody.
“We have the Good News,” the man said.
“Our Lord Jesus Christ is arriving,” the woman said. “The moment we have been waiting for is here.”
“Exactly three minutes ago a visual anomaly was spotted in space above Jerusalem by Alan Soigne, United Space Workers Union member and also a Saved Christian.” The male newscaster smiled.
“Telescopes aboard the InterStel Corporation shuttle Mary Lee were turned upon the anomaly and it was determined to be an unexplained optical distortion above the atmosphere. About a minute ago, a bright light and figures were sighted within the optical distortion.”
The female newscaster smiled. “For live coverage we now turn you over to Norman Shire at the JTV bureau in Jerusalem.”
On the screen in sharp 3-D detail appeared bright lights and moving dots, all within an odd-looking setting of wispy clouds. It was confusing at first; there was nothing to look at for a sense of perspective. Then the scene pulled back to reveal stars and the blue and white crescent of Earth.
“What you are looking at,” said Norman Shire in a heavy, authoritative voice, “is a live picture being sent down directly from the InterStel Corporation shuttle Mary Lee. What it looks like – and Reverend Juan Krishni here with me in the studio agrees – is an actual opening in the fabric of space. A dimensional warp, I might say, as in what is created by faster-than-light spacecraft.”
“… it looks very much like a hyperspacial hole, yes indeed,” added a quavering, excited voice.
“That was the Reverend,” Shire’s voice said. “He and I are here in the Jerusalem studio, as I’ve said, watching this spectacular shot beamed down to us from orbit. Can you make anything out of this, Reverend?”
“No, not as yet,” the Reverend said. He had a slight East Indian accent. “I don’t really, I mean … I have no way to know what those moving things are, though I would hazard a guess that they might actually be, um …”
“Could they be angels, Reverend?”
“Oh yes, they very well could be. Did I say that right?
Well-could-be? Could-well-be? I guess that’s right. They could be angels.”
There was a moment of silence, then Norman Shire’s voice muttered: “I wish we could get a better close up. Hmmm. Oh, hold on …” He paused. “I’ve just been informed that the Mary Lee is maneuvering closer, but the pilot is anxious … they don’t want to take the shuttle too close.”
“They do seem to be getting closer.”
“Ah, they’re zooming in again …”
The lights and mist grew bigger on the screen, filling it so that the Earth and stars were no longer visible. The mist glowed with its own light, thin as it was. The bright white lights that showed through seemed to be from a long, long ways away. After staring at it a long time, the illusion of an opening in space became clear; the inside of the opening was solid white. The moving figures were just on the verge of being recognizable shapes; they clustered around this opening, moving in patterns that suggested playfulness. The view shook violently for a moment, then stabilized.
The Reverend chuckled, his voice giddy with excitement. “What was that? Somebody bump the camera?”
“I … no, I’ve just been told that that was a jolt from the Mary Lee’s thrusters. They’re maneuvering to within four miles.”
“Praise the Lord!” the Reverend said, delightedly.
Norman Shire dutifully echoed him.
The scene, as it stood, looked a bit like gnats swarming in slow motion around a porch light. It changed very little over the next few minutes, and finally the space shots were replaced by two figures in the small studio; Norman Shire, a thick-bodied, square-shouldered man with a large handsome grin, and the Reverend Juan Krishni, smaller in stature, a ruddy timeworn face, greying hair, and squinting eyes; both sat together in front of a blue studio desk decorated with a simple brass cross and the insignia of JTV. There were wireless earphones sticking out of their ears.
“Since we have a pause in the action,” Shire was saying, “we’re going to take a very quick break. But we’ll be right back, here on this historic, glorious Sunday.”