"And so we survived and prospered, down the ages. Discovering along the way that if you live long enough, you can learn to do all sorts of amazing things with your body. Make your flesh do anything, become anyone. Change your face, change your shape, change your identity. Become a man, become a woman, an old man or a young girl, anything you can imagine."
His face shifted suddenly, his features slipping and sliding across his bone structure, until abruptly he looked just like Doctor Delirium. His audience laughed, and applauded. His face changed again, all the details of his flesh rising and falling, until suddenly… he looked like me. Eddie Drood. The audience really liked that one. Methuselah let them enjoy it for a while, and then took back his own face again, and continued with his speech. I wasn't sure where he was going, what this was all about. And, why was his audience so intent?
"We are everywhere," said Methuselah. "We are everyone. Or at least, everyone who matters. We supply a word here and a push there, and the world goes the way we want it to. Always remember the Creed I gave you. Words to live forever by. Greed is good. Contempt is good. Hate is good. The crushing of the weak and glorying in their plight is good. Anything that profits us is good. Because we… are all that matters. No one else lasts long enough to matter. They come and they go but we go on. Everyone else in the world is just there to serve us, or for us to play with. They are mayflies. We are Immortals. Now, my special guest tonight is the man you've all been waiting for…"
He gestured to one side, and suddenly Tiger Tim was there, standing right beside Methuselah. He was still wearing his Great White Hunter outfit, down to the tiger-skin band on his bush hat. He smiled and waved condescendingly to the assembled Immortals, as though he was slumming just by joining them. They rose as one from their seats and booed and hissed him, hurling abuse and angry words. The sound was deafening, but it didn't bother Tiger Tim in the least. Methuselah let it go on for a while, and then gestured sharply at his audience, and they all fell silent and sank back into their seats again.
"Hush," he said, with just a hint of mockery. "We must all be very grateful to this rogue gentleman, who has done such good work for us. He may be a Drood, but he is our Drood. He set us on our present course, when he saw the potential in the Apocalypse Door, and brought it to our attention. He is our inside man at Area 52. We can't put one of our own in there; Doctor Delirium has seen to that. So I want you all to listen to what Tiger Tim has to say. Because we are very near the point of no return, when with a single act, I shall change the world forever."
"Why have I been summoned here?" Tiger Tim said bluntly. "You know I hate teleporting; it always makes my fillings ache. I have to get back to Area 52 soon, before I'm missed. Not by Doctor Delirium; he's still obsessed with the Door. But some of his peo ple are getting seriously suspicious about me. Some have actually started questioning my orders, and I can't kill them all. Rumours are beginning to circulate about what happened to the people left behind at the Amazon base. I get the feeling that when the truth finally comes out, these people won't see the funny side."
"You're here to listen, while I explain the grand scheme to everyone," said Methuselah, just a bit sharply. "I felt you deserved that honour, after all you've done for us. Once I've finished here, you can return to Area 52 and kill Doctor Delirium. Take control of the Apocalypse Door, destroy any of your people who cannot be controlled, and then drop all the protections and let me in. It's time to put this show on the road."
"That's it?" said Tiger Tim. "I'm not standing around listening to anyone. There's work to be done."
And he disappeared, gone in a moment. The Leader of the Immortals shrugged easily, and turned back to face his children.
"Some people have no sense of drama. Mayflies get so impatient… Anyway, I thought you should see him. The rogue Drood who made all this possible. Yes, I thought you'd enjoy the irony… As soon as he's carried out his orders, and he will for all his impertinence… I shall go to Area 52, along with all those who choose to accompany me. And once there I shall dispose of our dear rogue Drood, since we won't need him anymore, and then I shall take control of the Apocalypse Door and transform it. And for the suspicious among you, yes, I do have the power to do that. The answer, once I'd thought about it for a bit, turned out to be surprisingly simple. A Hand of Glory, properly prepared, can open any door, any lock, even potential ones. Of course, it would have to be a very special Hand…"
He was teasing them now, dealing out little titbits of information, and we were all lapping up every word. This was what it was all about. Methuselah smiled calmly upon us all, and then suddenly produced and held up a large mummified Hand. Its skin was so white it blazed, and the long tapering fingers were still intact, though they'd been made into candles, with wicks protruding from the fingertips. Even at the very back of the lecture hall, I could still feel the incredible power and presence radiating from the thing. It beat on the air, like the wings of a great captured bird, fighting in its rage to be let loose. Those Immortals nearest the dais shrank back in their seats from it. Methuselah held the Hand high, enjoying the shocked gasps and protests all around him. It was all I could do to stop myself armouring up, fighting my way through the crowd, storming the stage and taking the Hand from the Leader. I thought I knew what he'd made his Hand of Glory from. His blasphemous Hand.
"There was an angel war in the Nightside, not so long ago," said Methuselah, when all was quiet again. "Agents of light and darkness, angels from Above and Below, raged against each other in that place where the night never ends… and against the morally dubious powers that live there. Some angels fell, struck down, and had their heads impaled on spikes. Dangerous place, the Nightside. Dangerous people… I was there, going about my private business, when I found one of the destroyed angels. I cut off its hand, and took it away with me. And eventually I made a Hand of Glory out of it. Because I just knew it would come in handy some day. Do I hear the word blasphemy? Abomination? An outrage against Heaven and Hell? What better way to overpower and transform the Apocalypse Door, and make it over into what I want it to be?"
He looked around, clearly anticipating applause and acclamation from his audience. Instead, they sat there silently, looking at each other. There was a general sense of unease, and even blank disbelief. No one thought any part of this was a good idea. Finally, someone roughly halfway through the circles stood up, urged on by many around him.
"Yes?" Methuselah said sweetly, with only a hint of danger. "You have a question, perhaps?"
"Not everyone here believes in this," the younger Immortal said bluntly. "And even among those who do, not everyone here wants to do this. You want to pass through this Door in search of Heaven? Fine. Off you go. We'll all stand here and wave you good-bye. Most of us have a good life, and no intention of giving it up."
"You don't have to," Methuselah said patiently. "Once I've turned the Door, and reversed its nature, I shall open it. And then those who wish can follow me through, and enjoy all the pleasures that can be found in Paradise. None of you will be forced through. Heaven is not for the timid. I offer you all a gift, a chance, for those who've earned it through long service to the family."
He looked about him, more impatiently now; he could tell he hadn't convinced them. They either didn't understand him, or halfway understood and wanted no part of it. Only a few of the Elders, in those circles nearest the dais, were nodding slowly. Methuselah sighed loudly.