Sorry about the delay on this one, too. Ordinary house-cleaning became garbage disposal, and garbage disposal became pest control, and that got nasty. But I am back to talking about Nic and the United now... which in some instances may not seem like much of a change.
Smyrna glowered at Nic. "I'd take execution first."
"Of course you would. Your religion
assures that death is gain, which is nonsensical. If death is gain, I
recommend expediting its occurrence."
Now Dr. Smyrna smiled at Nic, "You miss the first part. To live is Christ."
"If you want to live in imitation of an imaginary personality, you are welcome to do so. If I found myself in such a situation, I would agree that to die is gain!"
"Oh come on. You are more learned than to say that Jesus never lived. His life, death, and resurrection are as historical of facts as the first moon landing or the founding of the United!"
"That a certain religious figure known to his own language as Joshua lived cannot be argued, and since he lived it biologically follows that he died."
"And that he rose?"
"Smyrna, you and I both know that Christ was not Jesus' last name. It denotes him as a savior. Until there is a state to be saved from, there is no need or proof for a Christ. Saying that 'to live is Christ,' is to say you live in his salvation, if I understand your holy book. I do not need that."
"So what will happen to you when you die?"
"I don't know. And neither do you. I will cross that bridge when I come to it, and so will you." Nic turned off the light, signaling and end to discussion.
"I crossed it already, a long time ago," Smyrna countered, not rolling into bed yet.
"We each have our way of dealing with the prospect of being dead. You say you will be more alive than ever, though I wonder what good is a life of singing for eternity. I say I will find out when I get there."
"It will be too late then, Nic."
"If it is, that will be too bad. As for now, I do not consider that chance worthy of preparation." He lay on his side, his brown locks covering his ears and, in tandem with his mustache, hiding his face.
Smyrna whispered, almost as much to himself as to Dr. Nic, "Hopefully you will reconsider your odds."
A few minutes passed, and Dr. Smyrna was nearly asleep when he heard Nic's reply, "The minimum bet would be too much."