Sunday, September 16
9:31 A.M.
New York
89 DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD
Larry, Susan, and Tony/Lyle sat around a small motel table, dressed in yellow hazmat suits and measuring bits of Lyle lotion into small, clear gelcaps. On the dresser nearby a small TV filled the room with faint blue light that made their suits a sickly green.
“This is Giancarlo Finotto with BBC World, on site at one of the most daring robberies in European history, and an aftermath so shocking it has shaken the Christian world to its core.”
“Turn this up,” said Susan, “I want to hear it.” Larry reached over to poke the TV with a thick, rubber glove, then went back to his work as the report continued.
“Early this morning, at approximately 4:24 a.m., a group of what appear to be black-clad commandos broke into the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist and stole the Shroud of Turin, allegedly the burial shroud of Jesus Christ and said by many to depict the image of his face. Barely an hour later, someone posted this video on YouTube claiming credit for the theft.”
An Internet video filled the screen, with a play button and a progress bar floating near the bottom. In the center of the video was a man in stark silhouette, his face invisible, standing in what appeared to be a white, plaster room. He spoke in English but his accent was South American.
“I am a representative of a multidenominational Christian organization called the Holy Vessel, and I speak on their behalf when I apologize for this crime we have committed. The Lord has told us thou shalt not steal, and yet we have, and for that we will beg His forgiveness when He returns in His glory.” He held up the Shroud in front of him, in a small spotlight that showed only his fingertips in blue rubber gloves. “The Shroud of Turin bears small drops of blood, left on the fabric from the death of our Lord Jesus Christ. Even now our scientists are analyzing samples of this blood, reconstructing a full DNA sequence, and when they are done we will apply that DNA to a sample of blank ReBirth.”
Susan gasped. “Holy sh—”
“Do not blaspheme,” said Tony/Lyle.
“Quiet,” said Larry. His earlier disinterest was gone, and he stared intently at the TV.
The silhouette set down the Shroud, picked up a Bible, and read a passage. “The Scriptures tell us: ‘For I know that my redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter day upon the Earth,’ and we have spent centuries preparing for His return. But the Scriptures also tell us: ‘Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make His paths straight.’ Can the Lord return without our help? The Lord can do anything. But the path He follows is winding and long, and each new turn delays His coming. It falls on us to make that path straight, to prepare His way and hasten His road, and then ‘the Son of man will come in the glory of His Father with His angels; and then He shall reward every man according to His works.’” He set down the Bible. “Do not be found wanting when your God walks again upon the Earth, for He shall come with fire and with brimstone to slay the unrighteous. Amen.’”
The video ended, and the camera cut back to the reporter. “The authenticity of the Shroud of Turin has been hotly debated ever since its discovery,” the man said, “and there is no guarantee that the Holy Vessel will be able to produce a man genetically similar to Jesus Christ. It is also possible, though, that this may be a moot point: Christian theology has one of the most destructive apocalypse scenarios in the world, and if this or any group determines to play that scenario out, there’s no telling what might happen. Giancarlo Finotto, BBC World.”
“Why are people so stupid?” asked Susan. She stared at the TV a moment longer, then threw her lotion syringe at the screen. “Why doesn’t anybody get it?!”
“What I want to know,” said Tony/Lyle, “is who beats us?”
Larry cocked his eyebrow. “Who beats who?”
“Christians,” said Tony/Lyle. “I’m Irish Catholic, born and raised, proud child of all the hellfire and damnation you could ever want, but this guy says we’re just ‘one of the most destructive’ apocalypses. Everything I sat through in Sunday school, and we’re still only ‘one of the most destructive’? Who beats us?”
“Probably the Norse,” said Larry. “In the Christian apocalypse all the bad guys burn but all the good guys get saved, plus God’s still alive at the end of it. In Ragnarök everybody kills everybody—humans, trolls, giants, dragons, everybody, all up close and personal.” He mimed a close-range stabbing. “Even the gods get shivved in the ribs. There’s only two people left, and they start a new world.”
Susan seemed to be ignoring them, still watching the TV.
“Wait,” said Tony/Lyle, “that’s their end of the world—the Garden of Eden? That’s, like, the worst science fiction cliché ever.”
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a cliché when the ancient Norse based their civilization around it.”
“They based their civilization on drinking and beating people up,” said Tony/Lyle.
“Makes you wonder why it’s not a more popular religion,” said Larry. “And it’s not exactly the Garden of Eden, by the way—the two people are there, but they don’t necessarily live, they just … start a new world.”
“They’re dead?”
“It’s Ragnarök, haven’t you been listening?”
“How do they start a new world if they’re dead?”
“I don’t know.”
“They’re going to cause a holy war,” said Susan. She paused the TV, eyes unfocused. “We’ve tried to dissuade them from using the lotion, and all they’re doing is using it more.” She’d picked up her syringe from the floor, only to stare at it, think for a moment, and then thrown it violently across the room. A moment later she threw the gelcap she’d been filling, and a moment after that she swept her arm violently across the table, smashing bottles and vials and knocking it all to the floor.
“Whoa!” shouted Tony/Lyle, stumbling back as the pile of materials crashed straight into his lap.
“Watch out!” Larry cried at the same moment, dropping his tools as he leaped to his feet. He hesitated a moment, then grabbed Susan’s shoulders and pulled her back from the table, keeping a tight grip as she struggled to escape.
“Let me go!”
“Calm down,” said Larry. “Just take it easy, we’re all friends here.”
“We’re wasting our time!” she shouted. “All these stupid syringes and gelcaps and none of it is working!”
“Tens of thousands of Lyles,” said Larry, “and you say it isn’t working?”
“Oh, we’re making plenty of Lyles,” said Susan, “but we’re not destabilizing the market. We’re trying to convince people ReBirth is too dangerous to use, but all we’re doing is driving up the price. It’s time for a new plan.”
“I agree,” said Tony/Lyle, “even without knowing what it is.” He took off his hazmat hood. “Anything that gets us out of these damn suits.”
“Careful,” said Larry, “you’re covered with lotion.”
“And?” asked Tony/Lyle. “I’m already Lyle, what’s the worst it can do to me?”
Larry shrugged, and Susan started gathering up the fallen lotion. “It’s not about quantity,” she said, “it’s about precision. We don’t turn everyone into Lyle, we turn key people into … someone. I don’t know who yet, but if it’s the right people and the right DNA, we can get our message out there.”
“The world’s already full of genetic terrorists,” said Larry. “Every politician in the country wears a hazmat suit, everywhere they go. Who can we hit?”
“I’m working on it,” said Susan. “For now, we recruit. I have friends from some of the protests I did in college—activists, rebels, that kind of stuff. They’ll help us.”
“And what about all this stuff?” asked Tony/Lyle. “We still have gallons of Lyle lotion that we could get arrested just for looking at. I don’t want to haul it around, or leave it somewhere as evidence against us.”
“So we flush it,” said Susan. “We smash the bottles, burn the rug, and dump the lotion down the drain.” Her voice was quiet but fierce. “And then we change the world.”