two into the grass surface. Bobby said, ‘The trees have got more than one kind of fruit. Look. Apples, oranges, limes –’
‘On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations…’
‘I'm impressed by the attention to detail.’
‘Don't be.’ She bent down to touch the ground. She could feel no grass blades, no dew, no earth, only a slick plastic smoothness. ‘Billybob is a showman,’ she said. ‘But he's a cheap showman.’ She straightened up. ‘This isn't even a true religion. Billybob has marketeers and business analysts working for him, not nuns. He is preaching a gospel of prosperity, that it's okay to be greedy and grasping. Talk to your brother about it. This is a commodity fetishism, directly descended from Billybob's banknote-baptism scam.’
‘You sound as if you care about religion.’
‘Believe me, I don't,’ she said vehemently. ‘The human race could get along fine without it. But my beef is with Billybob and his kind. I brought you here to show you how powerful he is, Bobby. We need to stop him.’
‘So how am I supposed to help?’
She stepped a little closer to him. ‘I know what your father is trying to build. An extension of his DataPipe technology. A remote viewer.’
He said nothing.
‘I don't expect you to confirm or deny that. And I'm not going to tell you how I know about it. What I want you to think about is what we could achieve with such a technology.’
He frowned. ‘Instant access to news stories, wherever they break –’
She waved that away. ‘Much more than that. Think about it. If you could open up a wormhole to anywhere, then there would be no more barriers. No walls. You could see anybody, at any time. And crooks like Billybob would have nowhere to hide.’
His frown deepened. ‘You're talking about spying?’
She laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Bobby – each of us is under surveillance the whole time anyhow. You've been a celebrity since the age of 21; you must know how it feels to be watched.’
‘It's not the same.’
She took his arm. ‘If Billybob has nothing to hide, he's nothing to fear,’ she said. ‘Look at it that way.’
‘Sometimes you sound like my father,’ he said neutrally.
She fell silent, disquieted.
They walked forward with the throng. Now they were nearing a great throne, with seven dancing globes and twenty-four smaller attendant thrones, a scaled-up version of the real-world display Billybob had mounted out in the stadium.
And, before the great central throne, stood Billybob Meeks.
But this wasn't the fat, sweating man she had seen out on the sports field. This Billybob was taller, younger, thinner, far better-looking, like a young Charlton Heston. Although he must have been at least a kilometre from where she stood, he towered over the congregation. And he seemed to be growing.
He leaned down, hands on hips, his voice like shaped thunder. ‘The city does not need the sun or the Moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and the Lamb is its lamp…’ Still Billybob grew, his arms like tree trunks, his face a looming disc that was already above the lower clouds. Kate could see people fleeing from beneath his giant feet, like ants.
And Billybob pointed a mighty finger directly at her, immense grey eyes glaring, the angry furrows on his brow like Martian channels. ‘Nothing impure will ever come in to it, nor will anyone who does what is shameful or deceitful, but only those whose names are written in the Lamb's book of life. Is your name in that book? Is it? Are you worthy?’
Kate screamed, suddenly overwhelmed.
And she was picked up by an invisible hand and dragged into the shining air.
There was a sucking sensation at her eyes and ears. Light, noise, the mundane stink of hot dogs flooded over her.
Bobby was kneeling before her. She could see the marks the Glasses had made around his eyes. ‘He got to you, didn't he?’
‘Billybob does have a way of punching his message home,’ she gasped, still disoriented.
On row after row of the old sports stadium's battered seats, people were rocking and moaning, tears leaking from the black eye seals of the Glasses. In one area paramedics were working on unconscious people – perhaps victims of faints, epilepsy, even heart attacks, Kate speculated; she had had to sign various release forms when applying for their tickets, and she didn't imagine the safety of his parishioners was a high priority for Billybob Meeks.
Curiously she studied Bobby, who seemed unperturbed. ‘But what about you?’
He shrugged. ‘I've played more interesting adventure games.’ He looked up at the muddy December sky. ‘Kate – I know you're just using me as a way to get to my father. But I like you even so. And maybe tweaking Hiram's nose would be good for my soul. What do you think?’
She held her breath. She said, ‘I think that's about the most human thing I've ever heard you say.’
‘Then let's do it.’
She forced a smile. She'd got what she wanted.
But the world around her still seemed unreal, compared to the vividness of those final moments inside Billybob's mind.
She had no doubt that – if the rumours about the capability Hiram was constructing were remotely accurate, and if she could get access to it – she would be able to destroy Billybob Meeks. It would be a great scoop, a personal triumph.
But she knew that some part of her, no matter how far down she buried it, would always regret doing so. Some part of her would always long to be allowed to return to that glowing city of gold, with walls that stretched halfway to the Moon, where shining, smiling people were waiting to welcome her.
Billybob had broken through, his shock tactics had gotten even to her. And that, of course, was the whole point. Why Billybob must be stopped.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let's do it.’
CHAPTER 6 The Billion Dollar Pearl
David, with Hiram and Bobby, sat before a giant SoftScreen spread across the Wormworks counting house wall. The ‘Screen image – returned by a fibre-optic camera that had been snaked into the heart of the Wormworks’ superconducting-magnet nest – was nothing but darkness, marred by an occasional stray pixel, a prickle of colour and light.
A digital counter in a corner display worked its way down towards zero.
Hiram paced impatiently around the cramped, cluttered counting house; David's assistant technicians cowered from him, avoiding his eyes.
