“Quite right,” Julia confirmed at once. “The question of Jehovah’s resurrection is an empirical one as well as a theological one, and I suggest we stress that dichotomy in our public strategy. We may be able to get people to calm down and reserve judgment if we say that science should get to answer first. We should have several independent, official scientific teams launch investigations, and we should post continual updates of their findings in a coordinated forum which we administer, so we can certify the phrasing and presentation as neutral and nonproselytory. People will wait for those answers, at least some people. We should also discuss the possibility of temporarily suspending the normal group approval process and letting all sensayers make their own decisions about permitting bash’ group sessions and other small group sessions. Practically every human being on the face of the Earth requested a sensayer session this week, and group sessions will ease that backlog fivefold if not more. Would you all support that?”

They were too saturated with questions to keep up with hers.

“Also,” she pressed, “there are some elements of public curiosity we can settle quickly. Jehovah, dear, would you support the release of a public statement saying that your experience—I think ‘experience’ is a safe label—has left you with no new information about the nature of death or the afterlife?”

“Ja… sí… oui… yoroshii… yes.”

She laughed again—Julia rarely laughs except at those she has good cause to fear. “Do the rest of you support that?” She waited, looked around, then sighed. “All still in the awe stage, are we? Jehovah, are you okay with letting scientists look at you?”

That delay, always that delay as His thoughts condense themselves from universe-broad currents into words. “Many already have, but more may, yes.”

“I-is there a scar?” It was our Minor Senator Xinxin Hopper who dared ask, sitting on a side bench with her fellow Minors.

The Addressee turned toward Hopper, clean motion without excess, as shadows turn away from sun. “There is a circle where the bullet entered, where the skin is white and no hair grows. You wish to see and touch it-ne?”

All eyes widened at the invitation.

“Yes, please!” Hopper answered with childhood’s eager ease.

“May I touch it too?” I did not know this sensayer, and I hesitate to reveal which of the Conclave was the bravest by so much, but Posterity will wonder. It was Gilliard Gerber, the tireless Swiss Graylaw and essayist, who has several volumes in every good sensayer’s library. Gerber is bash’mate of a former Graylaw Tribune, and personal sensayer to, among other notables, the new Censor Su-Hyeon, and most of the renowned Kosala bash’, to which the Ancelet bash’ was recently grafted.

“Then come.”

Jehovah reached, quickly but carefully, to pull back the opaque over-layers and reveal the transparent under-bandage. Gerber, drawing close, reached, just as quickly and carefully, for a gun.