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his eyes still tightly shut.
    "It's not a landing, it's a launch," Proctor said. Then he stood and walked back down the grandstand, his eyes still closed.
    "He's as creepy as they come," Simon said.
    "He's dangerous," Symes said. "I won't get anything out of him today." Symes stood to leave when two men and a woman approached the podium. Symes sat down again, staying for the show. A dozen more sect members exited the nearest building and spread out, circling the concrete pad. The cultists faced the grandstands that contained about a dozen spectators. One of the men stepped to the podium and pulled a card out of his pocket. He looked to be in his forties, of average height and build, with brown hair and eyes. His most distinguishing feature was a Roman nose. When he spoke it was with a loud resonant voice that would be well suited to a preacher.
    "Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in a word of prayer. Father God, creator and sustainer of life, master of the universe, we thank You for leading us here today and making this great event possible. We thank You for Your continuing love and for opening this door for Your people. Sustain us as we seek to carry out Your vision. Amen."
    "Typically egocentric," Simon whispered. "Cultists always think they are the center of the universe. It's as if God doesn't have anything else to do but watch over them."
    "My name is Mark Shepherd. We have invited you here to witness the launch of the spaceship Rising Savior . Today we will demonstrate our technology by putting a satellite into orbit. Like the Soviet Union's first satellite, Sputnik , our satellite will broadcast only a simple message."
    Shepherd paused, and looked at the sparse crowd and then continued.
    "We know you expect us to fail, so we will proceed with the launch immediately. After the launch we will distribute information about our launch capabilities and our fees."
    Without another word Shepherd turned and walked to the pad, signaling toward the airplane hangar. With the sound of metal on metal the doors slid apart, slowly revealing a dark interior.
    "They're awfully serious about this," Simon said, snickering.
    Christy was puzzled. She had expected a long sermon designed for the nonbelievers drawn by the flyer, followed by an announcement that the launch would have to be delayed for spiritual or technical reasons.
    Leaning back, Symes said, "What are they planning? There's no rocket on the pad and that hangar isn't big enough to hold one that could put a payload in orbit."
    "Not to mention the blastoff would kill everyone in the stands," Simon added. "They are delusional."
    The doors finished opening and a tractor appeared pulling a trailer. Laughter spread through the spectators.
    The machine on the trailer was nothing like a rocket. There were two large steel spheres separated by a latticework of steel tubing. In the middle of the latticework was a small satellite, with a dish antenna and folded solar panels. On either side of the satellite were two halves of another sphere. A small electric cart carrying three men followed the bizarre craft. Two of them were wearing space suits. One of the men in suits wore a patch over one eye.
    The sparse crowd continued to snicker and point. Simon laughed hardest of all. Symes became serious, leaning forward. Christy watched with interest. The satellite looked real enough, right down to gold foil shielding on some of its parts. The spheres on either end were identical and sat on round bases. There were hatches built into the top of both spheres. "Rising Savior" was stenciled on both spheres and painted below the name were American and Christian flags.
    When the Rising Savior was in the center of the concrete pad the tractor was unhitched and returned to the hangar. Ladders were placed against the spheres and two assistants opened the hatches in the tops. Then the two men in the silver space suits climbed the ladders and disappeared inside, the hatches securely latched. Then the