We were traveling towards a throne of golden light. In the midst of the throne was a blinding brilliance that was our goal. Now the vision closed in and the entire power of light and sound blasted into my deepest marrow. Even when I closed my eyes I could see the faces; my plugged ears yielded to the lifting sound.
Radwick was holding out a can of pork and beans towards me.
"Yesterday we had chili for supper," he shouted. "How's about beans tonight—or shall I open a canned steak?"
"Man," I yelled, pointing helplessly to the overpowering vision. "Man—"
I have never been particularly religious because it doesn't help in space. But for anybody that goes by the Book, this was Paradise in white and gold technicolor. I was ready to subscribe my salary to the cause and give up my life of sin in those seconds.
At the moment we came to the celestial throne, Radwick was scrounging in the kitchen drawer trying to find another can-opener to replace the one I'd bent.
We shot past the throne and into emptiness again. I mopped my brow and peered back, exalted by the vision but glad that I was only seeing things.
Only the Choir was still there and the throne, receding in the distance. We were on the back side of it now.
"How about that?" I croaked weakly to Radwick. "How about that?"
"Oh, it's real all right," said Radwick evenly. He took a hatchet to the can of beans and burst it open. "You can join up with the hymnals if you want. Step right outside the ship and fall into rank. Heaven by any definition. The company's lost plenty of spacemen there. Chance to become immortal, you know. I suspect that the Choir's time is infinity and past; present and future would cease to exist for you. Your body would wither away and you'd become an essence, still with a vague sense of your old name and address but totally wrapped up in the glory hallelujah and the singing. On the whole, not a bad place to spend the rest of eternity."