“And now let’s really live it up with the holy words of that old favorite: ‘Forward, Foster’s Children!’ All together—”

“Forward, Foster’s Chil—dren!

Smash apart your foes . . .

Faith our Shield and Ar—mor!

Strike them down by rows—!”

“Second verse!”

“Make no peace with sin—ners!

God is on our side!”

Mike was so joyed by it all that he did not stop then to translate and weigh and try to grok the words. He grokked that the words were not of essence; it was a growing-closer. The snake dance started moving again, the marchers chanting the potent sounds along with the choir and those too feeble to march.

After the hymn they caught their breaths while there were announcements, Heavenly messages, another commercial, and the awarding of door prizes. Then a second hymn, “Happy Faces Uplifted,” was sponsored by Dattelbaum’s Department Stores where the Saved Shop in Safety since no merchandise is offered which competes with a sponsored brand—a children’s Happy Room in each branch supervised by a Saved sister.

The young priest moved out to the very front of the platform and cupped his ear, listening—

“We . . . want . . . Digby!”

“Who?”

“We—want—DIG—BY!”

“Louder! Make him hear you!”

“WE—WANT—DIG—BY!” Clap, clap, stomp, stomp. “WE—WANT—DIG—BY!” Clap, clap, stomp, stomp—

It went on and on, getting louder as the building rocked with it. Jubal leaned to Boone and said, “Much of that and you’ll do what Samson did.”

“Never fear,” Boone told him, around his cigar. “Reinforced, fireproof, and sustained by faith. Besides, it’s built to shake; it was designed that way. Helps.”

The lights went down, curtains behind the altar parted, and a blinding radiance from no visible source picked out the Supreme Bishop, waving his clasped hands over his head and smiling at them.

They answered with the lion’s roar and he threw them kisses. On his way to the pulpit he stopped, half raised one of the possessed women still writhing slowly near the altar, kissed her on the forehead, lowered her gently, started on—stopped again and knelt by the bony redhead. The Supreme Bishop reached behind him and a portable microphone was instantly placed in his hand.

He put his other arm around the woman’s shoulders, placed the pickup near her lips.

Mike could not understand her words. Whatever they were, he was reasonably sure that they were not English.

But the Supreme Bishop was translating, interjecting his words quickly at each pause in the foaming spate.

“Archangel Foster is with us today—

“He is especially pleased with you. Kiss the sister on your right—

“Archangel Foster loves you all. Kiss the sister on your left—

“He has a special message for one of us here today.”

The woman spoke again; Digby seemed to hesitate. “What was that? Louder, I pray you.” She muttered and screamed at length.

Digby looked up and smiled. “His message is for a pilgrim from another planet—Valentine Michael Smith the Man from Mars! Where are you, Valentine Michael! Stand up, stand up!”

Jill tried to stop him but Jubal growled, “Easier to do it than to fight it. Let him stand up, Jill. Wave, Mike. Now you can sit down.” Mike did so, amazed to find that they were now chanting: “Man from Mars! . . . Man from Mars!”

The sermon that followed seemed to be directed at him, too, but try as he would, he could not understand it. The words were English, or most of them were, but they seemed to be put together wrongly and there was so much noise, so much clapping, and so many shouts of “Hallelujah!” and “Happy Day!” that he grew quite confused. He was glad when it was over.

As soon as the sermon was finished, Digby turned the service back to the young priest and left; Boone stood up. “Come on, folks. We pull a sneak now—ahead of the crowd.”

Mike followed along, Jill’s hand in his. Presently they were going through an elaborately arched tunnel with the noise of the crowd left behind them. Jubal said, “Does this way lead to the parking lot? I told my driver to wait.”

“Eh?” Boone answered. “It does if you go straight ahead. But we’re going to see the Supreme Bishop first.”

“What?” Jubal replied. “No, I don’t think we can. It’s time for us to get on home.”

Boone stared. “Doctor, you don’t mean that. The Supreme Bishop is waiting for us right now. You can’t just walk out on him—you must pay your respects. You’re his guests.”