Mission said, "That’s actually what I wanted to discuss. I’m not at all sure that your worries are over. Paine seemed clear on one point. That he would raise from the dead."
Everyone spoke at once. But their thoughts were the same. Mission was talking nonsense.
“Think about it. A charismatic leader fixed on the notion of the Passion Play, of the notion that he is a modern day messiah.”
Chandler was incredulous. “You entertain the possibility of Paine rising from the dead?”
Mission shook his head. “Think about it. The New Testament is essentially a series of letters from the most devout followers with instructions and advice on converting others to the Christian philosophy. And you don’t think a man with a messiah complex wouldn’t pass on instructions for conversion, to his trusted followers?”
The full impact of Mission’s words were spreading through the room. The expressions were horrified. Susan, hand to her mouth, gasped, “Oh my God.”
Mission nodded. “Precisely.”
Fenwicke asked in a very hushed voice. “Suppose you’re right. What do we do?”
“That’s a business decision, isn’t it? But you’d better monitor renegade statistics like never before.”
Chandler was virtually in a trance. “This could be the end of it all.”
They sat in silence for several minutes. Finally, Chandler cleared his throat. "Mission, the Professor has brought to my attention that I behaved badly toward you. I want to say I’m sorry ... and I’m grateful for what you’ve done for Paradox."
He extended his hand and Mission said, "Apology accepted. And now if you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to be alone with Dr. St. Jean."
Susan walked them to the door and then stepped outside to talk with them for a minute. Suddenly Mission smiled, smiled at the idea of his life as an abstract painting. It was just as true today as that evening when the notion first crossed his mind, that evening when this adventure began. Which is to say, the idea was partially true.
But now the landscape had changed. Instead of a series of rooms, there was a place for a home. Now some of those inert, inanimate objects were replaced by people, people for better or worse, who were part of his life. He stopped his thoughts for a second. Yes, and at least one of those people in his life was synthetic.
Perhaps his life wasn’t a snapshot that faded with time. Perhaps the painting was always, in some small way, in motion. He liked the thought that he could exchange items as he changed. That exchanging items could drive the changes in his life.
Susan walked back into the room and smiled. He motioned for her to come closer. He said, "When can I get out of here?"
"Three days."
"And how long before I can walk without crutches?"
"Three weeks."
"That's perfect. Because you know, I've always wanted to see Florence and I know you love Paris, so I booked ten days in Europe for us. You know ... a romantic getaway."
Susan's eyes lit up. "Mission! That is so ... "
Mission held up his hands and said, "Don't say it. Did my pants survive?"
"Your what?"
My pants. Did they make it?"
"They're in the closet."
"There's a piece of paper in the right hand pocket."
She found the paper and came back to the bed.
Mission said, "Okay, read it."
She glanced at it and said, "I'm missing something."
"That's what you should say instead of the S word."
"Highly considerate of me as a person while retaining a distinctly masculine quality. That's what you want me to say instead of sweet?"
Mission leaned back and smiled. "Yes."
Susan kissed him and said, "I think I'll stick with stupid."
Living in Syn Page 33