blue eyes were twinkling as he spoke, amusement and intelligence burning there bright and shrewd, surprising Dr. DeMille with their piercing energy.
"That's pretty good, although you forgot a few important steps like the first sexual beginnings where chromosomes divided, called meiosis. But who's to say that Darwin's kind of evolutionary process isn't God's Creation? Creation can be molecular and divine, can't it? Do we need the biblical lumps of clay?"
"Don't know, maybe not," Fannon said. "Probably don't need all yer fossilized skeletons either."
"I'll tell you something that bothers me about Darwin," Dexter said, smiling. "I don't like missing links. We go from Australopithecus through Homo erectus to modern Homo sapiens, but lots of mysteries still remain. We've still got huge gaps in the evolutionary chain."
"You wouldn't be shitting me, would ya, Mr. DeMille?"
"Dr. DeMille," Dexter corrected.
"You got a doctorate. That only makes you a Ph . D . A real doctor cures sick people; a Ph . D . don't do nothin' but read books or write 'em. I ain't making you call me Colonel. And I'm sure God wore the Oak Leaf and kicked some dink ass for this beautiful God-blessed country. You ever in Vietnam, or did ya serve in Canada?"
"I was Four-F."
"I was for America," Fannon shot back, "all the good it did me." Then he smiled, and seemed to relax slightly. "You must be curious why I allowed you t'come up here and visit with us."
Now Dexter could see something else in Reverend Kincaid' s e yesThere was a gleam there, a shining connection to som e h idden truth that nobody else could share. "I wasn't aware that these were closed services," Dexter finally said.
"Don't shit me, bub," the Great Man said from his old stuffed chair. "You know better'n that. I gave Bobby here permission ta invite you. See, I know what's happenin' in that prison. Bobby and Lewis tell me what's going on. You guys are cookin' up a heap of nasty shit over there."
"Really?" Dexter looked over at the two young hillbilly guards, who suddenly seemed uneasy. "What else did they tell you?"
"They told me you're making chemical weapons. I'm real interested in strategic chemical weapons."
"They're wrong. I'm not a chemist, I'm a molecular biologist, as you said. I don't deal in chemicals. I'm a different kind of scientist."
Fannon looked at the two M . P . guards, and some voiceless command seemed to pass between them. Both men simultaneously rose from their squatting positions beside Dexter and moved out of the tent, stopping about fifty feet away and turning so that their backs were to Fannon Kincaid. They looked out at the religious compound that sat on a rocky bluff.
"What'd you really think of the sermon?" Kincaid asked, a small smile playing on his rugged features.
"I thought it was unique. As I said, you hit on some things I'd never thought of before."
"I did, huh?" Again, that small smile hovered. "I think," Fannon said very slowly, "that you and I are going to be friends."
"It's my hope."
"But friends, Mr. DeMille, tell each other the truth. Bobby and Lewis told you about my little church, my settlement, 'cause I told 'em to, and they told me about yer situation over at the prison. Not being able ta go places without bein' watched."
"It's been a problem," Dexter concurred.
Fannon reached down and pulled up a long blade of grass, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed it pensively. "You got any idea what it is I'm doin' up here?"
"No, not really."
"The church I run is called 'the Christian Choir and the Lord's Desire.' "
"I saw that on the banner in the chapel."
"We' re a chorus of angels and sub-angels, Mr. DeMille. In Revelation it foretells of the Choir of One Hundred and Forty-four Thousand."
"Really?" Dexter said. He was an agnostic and was not sure where this was headed.
" 'For the great day of his wrath is come,' " Fannon recited from Revelation. " 'And I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth. And there were sealed one
"That's pretty good, although you forgot a few important steps like the first sexual beginnings where chromosomes divided, called meiosis. But who's to say that Darwin's kind of evolutionary process isn't God's Creation? Creation can be molecular and divine, can't it? Do we need the biblical lumps of clay?"
"Don't know, maybe not," Fannon said. "Probably don't need all yer fossilized skeletons either."
"I'll tell you something that bothers me about Darwin," Dexter said, smiling. "I don't like missing links. We go from Australopithecus through Homo erectus to modern Homo sapiens, but lots of mysteries still remain. We've still got huge gaps in the evolutionary chain."
"You wouldn't be shitting me, would ya, Mr. DeMille?"
"Dr. DeMille," Dexter corrected.
"You got a doctorate. That only makes you a Ph . D . A real doctor cures sick people; a Ph . D . don't do nothin' but read books or write 'em. I ain't making you call me Colonel. And I'm sure God wore the Oak Leaf and kicked some dink ass for this beautiful God-blessed country. You ever in Vietnam, or did ya serve in Canada?"
"I was Four-F."
"I was for America," Fannon shot back, "all the good it did me." Then he smiled, and seemed to relax slightly. "You must be curious why I allowed you t'come up here and visit with us."
Now Dexter could see something else in Reverend Kincaid' s e yesThere was a gleam there, a shining connection to som e h idden truth that nobody else could share. "I wasn't aware that these were closed services," Dexter finally said.
"Don't shit me, bub," the Great Man said from his old stuffed chair. "You know better'n that. I gave Bobby here permission ta invite you. See, I know what's happenin' in that prison. Bobby and Lewis tell me what's going on. You guys are cookin' up a heap of nasty shit over there."
"Really?" Dexter looked over at the two young hillbilly guards, who suddenly seemed uneasy. "What else did they tell you?"
"They told me you're making chemical weapons. I'm real interested in strategic chemical weapons."
"They're wrong. I'm not a chemist, I'm a molecular biologist, as you said. I don't deal in chemicals. I'm a different kind of scientist."
Fannon looked at the two M . P . guards, and some voiceless command seemed to pass between them. Both men simultaneously rose from their squatting positions beside Dexter and moved out of the tent, stopping about fifty feet away and turning so that their backs were to Fannon Kincaid. They looked out at the religious compound that sat on a rocky bluff.
"What'd you really think of the sermon?" Kincaid asked, a small smile playing on his rugged features.
"I thought it was unique. As I said, you hit on some things I'd never thought of before."
"I did, huh?" Again, that small smile hovered. "I think," Fannon said very slowly, "that you and I are going to be friends."
"It's my hope."
"But friends, Mr. DeMille, tell each other the truth. Bobby and Lewis told you about my little church, my settlement, 'cause I told 'em to, and they told me about yer situation over at the prison. Not being able ta go places without bein' watched."
"It's been a problem," Dexter concurred.
Fannon reached down and pulled up a long blade of grass, stuck it in his mouth, and chewed it pensively. "You got any idea what it is I'm doin' up here?"
"No, not really."
"The church I run is called 'the Christian Choir and the Lord's Desire.' "
"I saw that on the banner in the chapel."
"We' re a chorus of angels and sub-angels, Mr. DeMille. In Revelation it foretells of the Choir of One Hundred and Forty-four Thousand."
"Really?" Dexter said. He was an agnostic and was not sure where this was headed.
" 'For the great day of his wrath is come,' " Fannon recited from Revelation. " 'And I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth. And there were sealed one
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