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even when Buck merely asked how he was doing. He only shrugged or nodded. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if there was a problem?”
    Chaim nodded miserably, looking away.
    “God will be with you.”
    He nodded slightly again. But Buck noticed he was trembling. Was it possible they had chosen the wrong Moses? Could Tsion have miscalculated? Tsion himself would have been so much better, having spoken in public for so many years as a rabbi and a scholar. Chaim was brilliant and fluent in his own field, but to expect this ancient, tiny, quaking man with the weak-and perhaps now nonexistent-voice to call down the Antichrist, to rally the very remnant of Israel, to stand against the forces of Satan? Buck wondered if he himself would have been a better choice. Despite Chaim’s almost comical getup, he appeared not even to be noticed by the crowd. How could he command an audience?
    Buck had worried what he would say or do if GC Peacekeeping forces or Morale Monitors checked for his mark of loyalty. But loudspeaker trucks threaded their way through the streets, announcing that all citizens “are expected to display the mark of loyalty to the risen potentate. Why not take care of this painless and thrilling obligation while His Excellency is here?”
    Many in the crowd already had the mark, of course, but others talked among themselves about where the nearest loyalty administration center was. “I’m taking mine at the Temple Mount today,” a woman said, and several agreed.
    Buck was amazed at the number of men and women who carried toddlers waving real and fake palm branches. Someone passed out sheets with the lyrics to “Hail Car-pathia,” and when people spontaneously broke into song, others assumed Carpathia had appeared and began a rousing ovation.
    Finally Buck spotted a motorcade, led and followed by GC tanks topped with revolving blue and red and orange lights. Between the tanks were three oversized black vehicles. When the convoy stopped, a deafening cheer rose. The first vehicle disgorged local and regional dignitaries, then Most High Reverend Father Leon Fortunato in full clerical regalia. Buck stared as the man straightened his robe, front and back, and slowly continued smoothing it in back. Finally he kept his left hand just below his hip as he walked, clearly trying to hide it but unable to keep from massaging an apparently tender spot.
    The second vehicle produced GC brass, including Akbar and Moon, and then, to a renewed burst of applause and waving, Viv Ivins. From more than a hundred yards away, she stood out among the dark-suited men. Her white hair and pale face appeared supported by a column of sky blue, a natty suit tailored to her short, matronly frame. She carried her head high and moved directly to a small lectern and microphone, where she held both hands aloft for silence.
    All eyes had been on the third vehicle, its doors still closed, though the driver stood guard at the rear left and Akbar at the rear right, hand on the handle. Buck noticed that while the attention refocused on Viv Ivins, Leon went to work on his backside, riffling his fingers over the area. He couldn’t stop, even when Ms. Ivins introduced him as “our spiritual leader of international Carpathianism, the Reverend Fortunato!”
    He muted the applause with his free hand, then asked everyone to join him in singing. He began directing with both hands, but Buck wondered if anyone in the crowd missed it when he kept directing with the right hand and scratching with the left.
    Hail Carpathia, our lord and risen king; Hail Carpathia, rules o’er everything. We’ll worship him until we die; He’s our beloved Nicolae. Hail Carpathia, our lord and risen king.
    Buck felt conspicuous not singing, but Chaim seemed not to care what anyone thought. He merely bowed his head and stared at the ground. When Leon urged the people to “sing it once more as we welcome the object of our worship,” people clapped and waved as they sang. Buck,