“I didn't even know where he was. I didn't want to say goodbye to Helen. I didn't want to go back there. That was the problem: I didn't have to. There was nowhere left in the world where the mountain couldn't simply pick up and move to Mohammed. Heaven was merely a suburb of the global village, and the global village left me no excuse. I linked from my own apartment. My new inlays—mission-specific, slid into my head just the week before—shook hands with the noosphere and knocked upon the... Pearly Gates. Some tame spirit, more plausible than Saint Peter if no less ethereal, took a message and disappeared. And I was inside. This was no antechamber, no visiting room. Heaven was not intended for the casual visitor; any paradise in which the flesh-constrained would feel at home would have been intolerably pedestrian to the disembodied souls who lived there. Of course, there was no reason why visitor and resident had to share the same view.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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