“Less than one in three?”

“Much less.”

“It helps when your definition of ‘important’ doesn’t include houses, streets, or parks.”

“Relax, Christine. We’re safe here. God is on our side.”

“Oh, good,” Christine said, trying to strike an even chord between sardonic and relieved. She couldn’t tell whether he was being facetious – a fact that unnerved her almost as much as than the nearing explosions.

There was a hissing that became a roar.

A puzzled look came over the general’s face. It was the closest thing to fear that Christine had seen him express. “Get down,” he said calmly, but he did not move except to grab the metallic case and grip it tightly to his chest.

She obeyed without thinking, diving under the cheap table.

The flash was visible even through closed eyes. Then everything went dark.

She regained consciousness seconds or minutes later. She could see little through the cloud of dust and heard only a sound like a constant rushing wind. It was nearly dark despite the late afternoon sun, and she dimly surmised that the building was still largely intact. The smell of burnt masonry filled her nostrils and tickled her throat.

She became aware of someone coughing nearby, trying to speak. It was the general. “Here!” he gasped. “Take this.” He was thrusting the case toward her. Blood streamed across the surface of the case and onto her jacket.

“What… what is it?” She stammered.

“Check it with your baggage,” he said raspily. “If they ask, tell them it’s a laptop computer.”

“But what is it?”

Barely visible through the haze, the general appeared to be smiling. “A laptop computer,” he said.

Of course it was. Silly.

“Take it…” he said almost inaudibly, “…to Mercury.”

The general crumpled into a lump next to her.

Christine lay under the table, covered with dust, her head pounding. She seemed to be otherwise unhurt.

Mercury? she thought. Like, the planet? That didn’t make much sense. On the other hand, he couldn’t possibly mean…. No. He couldn’t mean that Mercury. Christine filed away the request for later processing.

She got slowly to her knees, hitting her head on the underside of the folding table.

“Dammit!” she growled.

As if it had been awaiting her command, the roof collapsed. Timbers split and came crashing down on the table, followed by a shower of tiles and a cascade of bricks. The general was buried under the avalanche.

“Oh god,” Christine whispered.

Impossibly, the table held. Had the beams just happened to fall in such a way as to leave the table intact? she wondered. The odds….

Still, it wouldn’t matter. The walls had largely collapsed as well, turning the table’s recess into a sarcophagus. If someone came along to dig her out, the shifting weight would most likely buckle the table’s thin legs. She imagined she could hear, over the ringing in her ears, the table groaning as it tried to hold the weight of the building. An attempt to call for help resulted in her hacking up dust and gasping for air. She covered her face with her t-shirt, but was unable to stop before she had coughed her throat raw. Well, she thought. I probably won’t try that again for a spell.