1 HOUR LATER. ATHENS, TNG DISTRICT. 1:50 PM EST. FRIDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2025.
Whilmire recognized
that his chief was not going to be swayed from this. A lifetime as
an executive assistant and leader’s gofer had trained him to
surrender gracefully. “Does this change imply any new course,
politically?”
Peet looked up across
his spectacles. “It’s not a change, just a re-emphasis. I don’t
believe politics has anything to do with it. We need to say
publicly that the new world of the Tribulation is a better place to
raise and instruct Christians, and thus by their departure, the
Christian loved ones who have gone to heaven before us have paved
our way to a planet that will become more and more beautiful during
Christ’s thousand-year reign, which we agree will start in six
years. Yes, the idea partakes a little of Stewardship Christianity,
but honestly, Reverend Whilmire, did you never go walking in the
woods yourself? And let’s be honest here too; the tribals have
souls as much as we do, and the tribes have been sliding into a
weird, crude paganism. We can leave their souls to perish—or we can
meet them on common ground, about mutually important concerns, and
perhaps get the access to win them for Christ. I have not seen an
asterisk next to any of Christ’s promises, with a note at the
bottom of the page saying except former
Daybreakers . So we will shape our message to the situation;
so did Saint Paul and for that matter so did Jesus.”
This one’s going to be a tough sell to Grayson,
Whilmire thought, walking back to his quarters. But the old man is right. Grayson may thrash around some,
but he’ll slither over to our side soon enough.