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Authors: Robert Kroese
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Mercury Begins
A story b y Robert Kroese
The Apocalyp se is generally thought of as relatively short-term event, occurring over the course of days or weeks, at the end of which the just are rewarde d, the unjust are punished, and the universe displays the Cosmic Test Pattern for all of eternity.
In fact, the Greek word apocálypsis , a synonym of revelation , means “uncovering,” and refers to the gradual unfolding of the Divine Plane on the temporal plane. Sure, things speed up a bit toward the end, but the process of apocálypsis happens over the course of thousands of years. So, contrary to popular belief, the Heavenly Apocalypse Bureau isn’t some sort of ad hoc task force thrown together to make sure the doors are all locked and the lights are switched off; it’s been around since the Beginning, to make sure events unfold according to plan – no easy feat when you consider the fickle nature of human beings, not to mention the incessant bungling of the idiots in Prophecy Division. [1]
Consider the founding of Rome – an essential event in the unfolding of the Plan if there ever was one. Without Rome there would have been no Roman Empire, no Pontius Pilate, no C rucifixion, n o persecution, no Constantine, no Charlemagne, no Holy Roman Empire, no Renaissance , no Reformation. Yet the city of Rome almost wasn’t – and never would have been, were it not for a nudge from the Apocalypse Bureau. Observe:
Mercury awoke on a rocky plateau at the apex of an a toll somewhere in the Aegean Sea . His head felt like it had been stuffed with thistles and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. He stretched a nd sat up, winc ing as the thist les caught fire. Next to him stood a seagull, cocking its head at him.
“ Keeyaah ,” said the gull.
“ Geeyurgh ,” said Mercury.
“ Keeyaah ,” corrected the gull.
“ Keeyaah ?” asked Mercury.
“ Keeyaah ,” the gull confirmed.
“ W hatever it is, it feels like hell,” said Mercury. He hadn’t felt this lousy since the time he was beheaded by Etruscans over a misunderstanding involving a sacred ceremonial fountain and a bidet. “I think it was the beer,” he said to the seagull, whose silence he took as agreement.
It was the first time Mercury had tried beer and, having been informed it was an acquired taste, he did his best to acquire it over the course of twenty -fo ur bottles. He remembered thinking he was making real progress around number eighteen, but everything after that was a blur. How had he gotten from the party in Athens to an atoll off the coast of Asia Minor ? Presumably he had flown, but he couldn’t be certain . Some small part of his brain not short-circuited by alcohol must have had the sense to remove his inebriated self from the presence of mortals whom he might otherwise have accidentally injured or killed . He remembered hearing once about an angel who had been severely reprimanded by the Heavenly authorities for accidentally dismembering two dozen Chaldeans in a wine-addled attempt at Three Card Monte. Drunk angels were all fun and games until somebody los t a couple of limbs.
Mercury smacked his lips together, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. “Probably why they don’t let us drink,” o bserved Mercury to the seagull.
“ Keeyaah ,” said the seagull .
“Yeah, and the keeyaah ,” said Mercury , holding his head . “The keeyaah is a bitch too.”
Mercury had never been one for following rules, but he was starting to see the rationale for this one. He could have gotten in serious trouble if anybody from the Apocalypse Bureau had been around to see him indulging in the local spirits . Fortunately, he was fairly certain he was the only angel assigned to this area. At least, he didn’t remember Uzziel mentioning anyone else in his briefing for that “extremely important assignment.” What had ever happened with that, anyway?
Mercury felt in his pockets, pulling out a wrinkled scrap of parchment. At the
A story b y Robert Kroese
The Apocalyp se is generally thought of as relatively short-term event, occurring over the course of days or weeks, at the end of which the just are rewarde d, the unjust are punished, and the universe displays the Cosmic Test Pattern for all of eternity.
In fact, the Greek word apocálypsis , a synonym of revelation , means “uncovering,” and refers to the gradual unfolding of the Divine Plane on the temporal plane. Sure, things speed up a bit toward the end, but the process of apocálypsis happens over the course of thousands of years. So, contrary to popular belief, the Heavenly Apocalypse Bureau isn’t some sort of ad hoc task force thrown together to make sure the doors are all locked and the lights are switched off; it’s been around since the Beginning, to make sure events unfold according to plan – no easy feat when you consider the fickle nature of human beings, not to mention the incessant bungling of the idiots in Prophecy Division. [1]
Consider the founding of Rome – an essential event in the unfolding of the Plan if there ever was one. Without Rome there would have been no Roman Empire, no Pontius Pilate, no C rucifixion, n o persecution, no Constantine, no Charlemagne, no Holy Roman Empire, no Renaissance , no Reformation. Yet the city of Rome almost wasn’t – and never would have been, were it not for a nudge from the Apocalypse Bureau. Observe:
Mercury awoke on a rocky plateau at the apex of an a toll somewhere in the Aegean Sea . His head felt like it had been stuffed with thistles and his mouth tasted like something had died in it. He stretched a nd sat up, winc ing as the thist les caught fire. Next to him stood a seagull, cocking its head at him.
“ Keeyaah ,” said the gull.
“ Geeyurgh ,” said Mercury.
“ Keeyaah ,” corrected the gull.
“ Keeyaah ?” asked Mercury.
“ Keeyaah ,” the gull confirmed.
“ W hatever it is, it feels like hell,” said Mercury. He hadn’t felt this lousy since the time he was beheaded by Etruscans over a misunderstanding involving a sacred ceremonial fountain and a bidet. “I think it was the beer,” he said to the seagull, whose silence he took as agreement.
It was the first time Mercury had tried beer and, having been informed it was an acquired taste, he did his best to acquire it over the course of twenty -fo ur bottles. He remembered thinking he was making real progress around number eighteen, but everything after that was a blur. How had he gotten from the party in Athens to an atoll off the coast of Asia Minor ? Presumably he had flown, but he couldn’t be certain . Some small part of his brain not short-circuited by alcohol must have had the sense to remove his inebriated self from the presence of mortals whom he might otherwise have accidentally injured or killed . He remembered hearing once about an angel who had been severely reprimanded by the Heavenly authorities for accidentally dismembering two dozen Chaldeans in a wine-addled attempt at Three Card Monte. Drunk angels were all fun and games until somebody los t a couple of limbs.
Mercury smacked his lips together, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. “Probably why they don’t let us drink,” o bserved Mercury to the seagull.
“ Keeyaah ,” said the seagull .
“Yeah, and the keeyaah ,” said Mercury , holding his head . “The keeyaah is a bitch too.”
Mercury had never been one for following rules, but he was starting to see the rationale for this one. He could have gotten in serious trouble if anybody from the Apocalypse Bureau had been around to see him indulging in the local spirits . Fortunately, he was fairly certain he was the only angel assigned to this area. At least, he didn’t remember Uzziel mentioning anyone else in his briefing for that “extremely important assignment.” What had ever happened with that, anyway?
Mercury felt in his pockets, pulling out a wrinkled scrap of parchment. At the
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