Back at the Palace, Moshe was waiting at the curb when the limo pulled up.
"We must move quickly," he said. "The press conference is back on... We're due there at three o'clock."
It was pointless telling Moses that anything needed to be done quickly. He had one speed, and it was slow. But he made no protest at Moshe's prodding, and took the script that was handed to him as he was marched off toward the conference room.
"In here first. Comb your hair and tuck in your shirt!" Moshe was pointing him toward the men's room, as he handed him a comb. Moses took the opportunity to use the toilet as well, and he was characteristically slow in finishing his ablutions.
Then Moshe sat him down on a couch in the hall , just outside the room where members of the Press were already interviewing Dangchao on another matter.
"You don't have to read it out loud here and now, but can you go over it in your head one more time before we go in?" Moshe asked. "Just so it will be fresh in your mind and you won't stumble on the words."
Moses agreed, and proceeded to read the script, although he kept getting distracted and had to be directed back to the paper. There were little smilies written into the script, as reminders for Moses to "smile". If he should forget, or if his eyes should stray from the page (since he had memorised much of it by now), Moshe had a gadget that would send out a high-pitched signal, almost imperceptible to the human ear, which would cause Moses to smile almost involuntarily. The young man had endured three sessions a day for the past two weeks in order to develop this skil .
I want to be your friend. Please show me how. Inside his own head, Moses was still working on what Kyme and Ray had told him to do earlier, and it was interfering with his concentration. Moshe could see that Moses was distracted, but today was D-day, whether they were ready or not, and so they would just have to hope for the best.
They entered the room quietly, without disrupting what was already underway. Media representatives were quizzing Dangchao on something that had happened just before he let Kyme and Ray go free to walk the streets of Jerusalem.
"How many soldiers were killed?" a reporter asked.
"No one was killed, although there were a few injuries from the earthquake."
"But the flames. What about the flames?" asked the same reporter.
"Next?" Dangchao said calmly as he looked for questions from other members of the Press corps. It was like he never heard the other man's second question. An aide approached the reporter and quietly asked him to leave the room.
"I'm sorry. I meant nothing by it," he protested in a whisper.
"Come outside and we can discuss it. We will only be a minute."
There was a look of terror in the reporter's eyes, while fellow journalists and camera people averted their attention away from him, acting as though they were unaware of what was happening.
"What are your plans for the aliens?" another reporter asked cautiously.
"We will give them some time to consider their options before we act. They are completely under my control at the moment," Dangchao said confidently.
"Their reign of terror is over... finished, and they know it.
"But we have some other good news," the Secretary-General announced, looking up at Moshe and Moses, who were standing by the door at the back of the room. "For three weeks now, the young man who has been the face of the new economy has been living here in the Palace with me, as my own son. As you all know, like me, Moses Chikati miraculously returned from certain death, and he is here today to talk to you."
Dangchao still wore a black patch over his left eye as a reminder of the assassin's attack three and a half years earlier. The world mourned for him for almost 24 hours, before he miraculously revived.
"It is ironic that Moses Chikati, who encouraged so many mil ions of people to face their 'apprehensions' and get the microchip implant over the past seven years, is now the only person on earth unable to have a mark, either in his right hand or in his forehead. But, because of his great service to the new world order, I have made him a member of my family, and, like myself, he need only show his face and utter my name, and business people all over the world should provide him with whatever he needs. This is my decree, and I expect everyone to honour it."
Dangchao motioned for Moses to come join him on the small stage where he was sitting. He continued to speak as the young man weaved his way through the reporters.
"When I first visited Moses in Kenya, the hospital authorities said it would be many months before he would be able to talk, and then it would be almost unintelligible. But I want the world to see what my powers and the best technology that money can buy have done to bring life back into someone who lost more than twenty percent of his brain in a horrible hunting accident earlier this year."
Dangchao and others had been successful in hiding from the world the real reason for the "accident" and how the wound had been inflicted; and the media knew better than to ask questions which might uncover it.
Moses stepped up onto the small stage.
"Moses has a speech which he has prepared for you today. Come here, Moses." And Dangchao stood to greet Moses and to give him more room on the couch. Moses took a seat, shielding his eyes as he adjusted to the bright lights, then placed the paper in his lap, and waited for a signal to begin.
"Go ahead, son," Dangchao said in his kindest voice.
Moses cleared his throat.
"It is a miracle that I am sitting here today," he read, followed by a wide smile, which he held for just a second or two, as the cameras flashed. Moshe and Dangchao shared the momentary success through a secret glance at one another. It was working already. The media loved Moses. He was speaking even more clearly than he had in his latest practice runs.
"I was as good as dead when I arrived at the hospital in Kenya."
And then Moses stopped. This was where he was supposed to tell the world that Dangchao's spiritual presence in the hospital, even before he arrived there in person, was what pulled him through. It was not time yet for a smile, but Moses seemed to be stuck. Moshe waited for a few seconds and then clicked his signal.
Moses smiled, but it did not have the same effect as the first one. It did, however, kick Moses into action, for after he held the smile for a few seconds, he started speaking again, although he was not reading from the script how.
"I am only here today because of the interventions I received from my friend," he said.
Not the exact words, but close enough, thought Moshe and Dangchao simultaneously. They could see that if Moses used his own words, the speech would look even more convincing.
"I want to tell you about my friend," Moses said. And here he managed to insert a smile without help from Moshe or from his notes. He was performing perfectly.
"I think that my friend has the answers to all of our predicaments... my predicaments... your predicaments... and the predicaments of the whole world."
His voice was still emotionless, and his speech was slow, but in some ways it added to the impact of what he was saying. People watching would be trying to experience for themselves the feeling behind his words, even as Dangchao and Moshe were doing in the press room.
"My friend is... is all-powerful... He is with me here now. He is helping me to say what I am saying. I do not deserve a friend like this."
Moshe thought this was a good place to insert a smile and so he clicked his gadget and Moses responded, holding the smile until he was ready to start again.
"You can find help from this friend too... where you are. But first you have to ask. Just ask. That is all I did. I asked."
Moshe and Dangchao both registered confusion on their faces, about what Moses was getting at, and about where he was taking the worldwide live audience. The arrival of the two aliens in Jerusalem had been the biggest news since the asteroid, and so every network in the world was linked in to this broadcast. This was far more than the usual weekly press conference for Dangchao.
"The aliens are my friends too. They told me that God can be my friend. I asked him..."
Dangchao jumped off the couch and out of camera range. "Stop it! Stop it now!" he whispered loudly, as his face started to change. "Turn off the cameras."
"I asked him, and he inspirited me to say this," Moses continued.
What was happening to the camera people? They seemed unable (or unwilling) to move. Was it their instinct for news... in particular, the shocking news that Dangchao's adopted "son" was now supporting his enemies? Or was there some supernatural power holding them back from obeying the order?
"Kill him! Kill him!" Dangchao shouted, so loudly now that it would have been picked up by every microphone in the room. The cameras continued to roll.
Some even turned to catch the world ruler's demonic rage, and then swung back to Moses, just as Dangchao shouted again, "Shoot! Gaddamit! Shoot him!"
Three shots rang out just as a smile spread across Moses' face. It was not his usual mischievous grin. Instead, it was the contented smile of an angel.
And then, just as the last vestiges of life flowed from his face, a tear magically appeared at the corner of one eye, and trickled slowly down his face.
He then slumped forward and fell in a heap on the floor.
The master TV camera finally stopped with just the image of Moses, the smile, and the tear somehow frozen on the screen, as though someone had hit "pause" when they should have hit "stop".