"You see, his first thought was just to get as far away as possible from London and out onto open water...it wasn't just that London was one of the world's biggest cities, or that virtually the entire Concordat's central government was headquartered there, along with almost one out of every four of the Economist 500 corporations, Cambridge East, the Exploration Corps Mission Control and the Bank of England.... just west of him, at that very moment, the High King, all five Viscounts, nineteen of the twenty other Dukes of the Concordat Council, virtually the entire House of Delegates and half the Fellows of the Royal Academies were assembled at Westminster. The bomb in his plane could literally decaptitate the Concordat, and the first priority was to get as much distance as he possibly could before the bomb went off. But as he did that, on his way out there, in consultation with Ground control, all realized that the EMP blast from the bomb could be almost as devastating as the explosion itself --London was the very nerve center of the Concordat--frying its electronics might very well plunge the Concordat into a devastating depression, as well as kill tens of thousands as machinery went berzerk. And having the bomb go off at eighty-thousand feet even a hundred miles off-shore could still wreck the heck out of everything electronic in the bomb's horizon. The decision, therefore, was made to dump the bomb into the ocean, where, hopefully, it would sink far enough down that the depth would shield much of the EMP blast, as opposed to having the bomb go off at altitude. The North Sea is only about fifty meters deep in most places, but it was better than nothing." "Nobody had the slightest idea how long the timer was set for, so nobody really knew how far out James had time to go. They didn't even really know how big the bomb was --guessing it couldn't be more than 50 megatons, the decision was made to ditch the warhead about sixty miles --about six minutes at full speed-- offshore." "The explosion clocked in at about thirty-megatons, they say; it killed about a hundred people, trapped on North Sea Oil platforms or ships caught out there. But had the bomb gone off as planned right on the tarmac, all of central London would have been inside the 12 psi ring --in which nothing but foundations would have reamined of the Palace of Westminster and the skyscrapers around it." "James had time to get maybe twenty-five miles away before the bomb went off. Somehow he managed to eject before the shockwave tore his plane apart, I am told. His personal locator beacon suriving the destruction of his aircraft, the High King himself ordered everything that would float or fly into finding James --even local fishermen on their own accord put out to sea to try to save him, having watched the footage on BBC of the massive explosion...and knowing what it could have been." "It was actually a fisherman that found him, after four hours; barely alive, incredibly, actually conscious. His injuries were grevious, and the best doctors in the Concordat fought to save him. The wounds and trauma were terrible..." "...the direct dose of gamma radiation he took...was fatal." ..... "I think the surgeons knew that immediately, knew that ultimately, it was hopeless...but I think they were fighting to try to keep him alive long enough for me to make it to his side...to say goodbye." "They sent for me as soon as they realized what James was doing...by the time the bomb went off I was already in a police car racing for Logan International Airport. They diverted a Olympus supersonic passenger jet just to get me to London..." "He looked horrible, but I didn't care. I was afraid to hurt him by touching him, but he seized my hand in his bloody, oozing palm; the pain of his raw flesh must have been excrutiating to him, but clearly it mattered to him not. He could only croak out words, but that was enough. Somehow, impossibly, he actually managed to force his burnt and torn lips to make a smile." She stops, staring out, into the past, and she is no longer here in the Pub, but in a hospital room fifty years before with a man already on the other side of Death... ...with a man whose love not even Death could stop. Her words are barely a whisper. "I wanted him to relax, to rest, you could see that every effort was exhausting him, killing him, even. I tried to protest, to tell him to take it easy, but he shook his head. 'I'm already dead,' he gasped...and we both knew it. My head sagged as I tried my damnedest to choke back tears --and he with one shaky hand tipped my chin up so that my eyes could meet his one last time..." "He was still smiling--my God, what the pain must have been!-- he managed to slowly half-squeeze one eyelid closed with a mischevious wink, the one I'd seen a hundred times when he was up to something. And he said, grinning even as tears ran across his own burnt flesh:" She takes a deep breath. " 'Remember? Don't forget the spoon,' he said." "He grinned even wider. Then he pulled my head closer and kissed me, gently, his ragged lips on my forehead. " 'Love ya, Alex,' he said. And then he died." Alex says nothing more for several moments. ..... But when she does start speaking again, while her eyes glisten, her voice has found quiet new strength... "I'm sure you have heard the old story...it was a story that we'd heard many times in our wonderful little church back in Boston, a story that's probably told every day in some sermon somewhere. The story of the old lady who always used to advise her children and grandchildren not to let anyone take away their spoons after the Sunday evening meal, for soon to follow would be desert; to save their spoons, for the best was yet to come..." "Many years later, after a long and fulfilling life, surrounded by her loving children she finished the last few pieces of business left to her in this life. She planned her funeral, what she would be wearing, what music would be playing, the flowers she would like on her stone, next to her husband, long gone before. And at the very last, she made one last request of her children: could they bury her with her Bible in one hand and a spoon in the other?" "A spoon? Her children were puzzled. But she smiled gently. Did they not remember what she had taught them? What was it that she had always said during all those Sunday meals together --hold onto your spoon; the best is yet to come?" "Her faith was strong; she knew what lay ahead for her. And she wanted, after a lifetime of shared love and laughter, to share one last thought with those who would come to see her for the last time...even in death, hold on to your spoon...for the best, is yet to come." Alex pauses, for just a moment, for the last push. "They gave James every final honor our nation could bestow: the caprisoned horse; the Missing Man. They gave him the Grand Cross of St. George, to go with the two Stars he already had; no single man in three hundred years had ever earned such honors for courage in battle. He lay in state in Westminster Hall, carried in on the shoulders of the High King and Viscounts of the Concordat themselves, whose lives -- and those of twenty million others-- he had personally saved. And three hundred thousand people came, night and day, to pay their respects," she says, still awed by the thought, even after so many years. "Tens of thousands more lined the streets when he made his last journey to St. Paul's..." "And every one of those thousands, and the millions I am told were watching on BBC, saw, on top of the casket draped with the the Concordat's proud banner, with the Grand Cross of St. George and the Mouse and Horn of the Figments, a simple tea-spoon." "The one he reminded me to set there..." Alex smiles, as she finishes her tale: "To remind all that the best...is yet to come!" She closes her eyes, still smiling...and now the tears come. She shakes her head back and forth, humming to her self...and then she breaks into quiet song, mournful, at the same time, joyful and strong: " Lord brought the animals two-by-two / The horse, the giraffe, and the kan-ga-roo / No-ah made the ark both high and wide / So that when the rains came No-ah was high and dry--" "Oh Lo-rd! Give me his courage! / Lo-rd! Give me his strength! / Lo-rd! Give me his pow-er! / Lo-rd! Give me his faith! " "Tomorrow, Lord, we may ride into battle, / Tomorrow, might be *our* Judgement Day. / Let me fight, with the sword in one hand, and your good Word in the other, / And then, I shall know, no fear!" "So Lord! Let me die, facing forwards! / Oh Lord! Let me die, facing the Enemy! / Let my people know, / That I died fighting for Freedom / And I'll see them, on the Other Side! " ..... -Alexandra Constance Talibah Good night, sweet prince; and may flights of Angels sing thee to thy rest.