A test to see how much text a spoiler box can hold.
[spoiler]The Reformed Order of the Solar Temple
The Icelandic volcano was the final sign; I was certain of it. Sure enough, the morning after the eruption, I deciphered the message from the Swiss sanctuary. It is hard to describe the joy I felt in my heart - to have been chosen as a vessel for this mission was an honour I had never dreamed of. I was humming under my breath as I kissed my wife and children goodbye, explaining that I was likely to be gone for most of the next three days. I realized as I locked the door to our apartment that I was humming a setting of the Magnificat. "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my saviour..." Mary had sung, and I now understood how she had felt.
First stop was my studio at the University, where I retrieved the vial carefully hidden at the back of the fridge. The Conductor, my superior in the Order, had told me that there was no one would look for such a thing in the atelier of an instrument repair specialist. He had been right; it was in perfect condition, as it had been when I had received it from our courier six weeks earlier.
My mission had been clarified with the news that all the European airports were shut down indefinitely due to the volcanic ash. I had thought this through many times in my meditations, as I wrestled with doubts and steeled myself to the task that lay ahead. My first day would be spent ensuring that I myself became infected, as well as spreading the virus to as many different locations and people as I could. Later, when I was sure that I had contracted the disease, I could station myself in public locations where I would maximize the effect. Orly and Charles de Gaulle being closed, I would concentrate on cycling through the city, saving the train stations for tomorrow.
(Oh, they had been terrible, those questioning days - my shame at shirking my duty still haunted me. Only long contemplation of Jonah, Mary and Jesus himself led me forward - if any one of them had denied his destiny, where would we all be? No, just as Abraham bound Isaac to the altar without question that it was God's will, I must concentrate on the joy of my calling, and the glory of being an element of the Perfect Kingdom.)
I had a can of compressed air with an extra nozzle, to which I had fitted an old-fashioned 'one dose at a time' asthma inhaler. I emptied the vial into the inhaler, stepped out into the early spring afternoon, and set off to bike along the Seine. I was just another cyclist on a jolly day trip, except that every 20 minutes or so, I would stop to add some air to my tires. After fussing with the can of compressed air for a moment, I would fire a shot into the air, as if to test it. I would then pretend to add some to the tires and continue on. No one seemed to notice that I seemed to be stopping where there were gatherings of twenty people or more...
By suppertime, the vial in the inhaler was down to its last ten doses. It was at the Trocadéro that I spotted the crowd watching the kids on their stunt bikes. It was an ideal place to wait and rest for a while. I was almost overwhelmed - the sight of these angels without wings soaring above the ramps, silhouetted against the sunset and the Eiffel Tower was like watching souls seeking release from earthly desires. They sailed, they leapt, only to be dragged back. I yearned to cry out to them that their release was nigh, but I restrained myself. Instead, I emptied the tainted can of compressed air amidst the spectators, and headed home for a well earned sleep.
My headache the next day confirmed what our industrial espionage had told us - there had indeed been a facility in the Congo involved in the manufacture of biological weapons. Just as it was easy in 1994 to infiltrate Hydro Québec, our Order found a way to place someone in this facility. From there, we had managed to obtain and distribute vials of a man-made virus throughout Africa, Asia, North America and Europe. Ebola-like symptoms, spread by aerosol, 93% rate of contagion - I didn't have much time left.
Now was when I was to head through as many of the train stations as possible. My task was simple - visit as many public places as I could to assist the spread of the disease. By the end of the day, I was feverish and coughing up thick fluid, but I struggled to look like just one more person with a cold who should have been home in bed.
The next day, I could barely drag myself from bed, but I forced myself; I had one more task ahead. This was a Saturday, and there was a matinee performance of Mozart's 'The Magic Flute' at the Paris Opera. In addition to being an ideal place to spread the virus, this opera had always had a special place in my heart. In dreams, I had always thought of myself as an initiate of Sarastro's Order, and it was my heartfelt wish to spend what was probably my last day on Earth basking in this sublime story and music.
I made it, barely, to the end of the piece - my headache was by then unbearable, and I was drawing hostile stares from fellow audience members every time I coughed. I was also starting to hallucinate - it was as though Sarastro and the temple priests were singing directly to me. For the final scene, the backdrop was lit as a brilliant sunrise in red, orange and yellow, as Sarastro sang "The rays of the Sun have vanquished the Night" and as the ballet dancers leapt in exaltation before this magnificent tableau, they looked like the stunt bicyclists by the Eiffel Tower. I realized that Sarastro was really The Conductor, and as I lost consciousness, he sweetly sang to me "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Ecstatically, I released myself into the hands of the infinite, whispering "It is finished."
2nd copy -
The Reformed Order of the Solar Temple
The Icelandic volcano was the final sign; I was certain of it. Sure enough, the morning after the eruption, I deciphered the message from the Swiss sanctuary. It is hard to describe the joy I felt in my heart - to have been chosen as a vessel for this mission was an honour I had never dreamed of. I was humming under my breath as I kissed my wife and children goodbye, explaining that I was likely to be gone for most of the next three days. I realized as I locked the door to our apartment that I was humming a setting of the Magnificat. "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my saviour..." Mary had sung, and I now understood how she had felt.
First stop was my studio at the University, where I retrieved the vial carefully hidden at the back of the fridge. The Conductor, my superior in the Order, had told me that there was no one would look for such a thing in the atelier of an instrument repair specialist. He had been right; it was in perfect condition, as it had been when I had received it from our courier six weeks earlier.
My mission had been clarified with the news that all the European airports were shut down indefinitely due to the volcanic ash. I had thought this through many times in my meditations, as I wrestled with doubts and steeled myself to the task that lay ahead. My first day would be spent ensuring that I myself became infected, as well as spreading the virus to as many different locations and people as I could. Later, when I was sure that I had contracted the disease, I could station myself in public locations where I would maximize the effect. Orly and Charles de Gaulle being closed, I would concentrate on cycling through the city, saving the train stations for tomorrow.
(Oh, they had been terrible, those questioning days - my shame at shirking my duty still haunted me. Only long contemplation of Jonah, Mary and Jesus himself led me forward - if any one of them had denied his destiny, where would we all be? No, just as Abraham bound Isaac to the altar without question that it was God's will, I must concentrate on the joy of my calling, and the glory of being an element of the Perfect Kingdom.)
I had a can of compressed air with an extra nozzle, to which I had fitted an old-fashioned 'one dose at a time' asthma inhaler. I emptied the vial into the inhaler, stepped out into the early spring afternoon, and set off to bike along the Seine. I was just another cyclist on a jolly day trip, except that every 20 minutes or so, I would stop to add some air to my tires. After fussing with the can of compressed air for a moment, I would fire a shot into the air, as if to test it. I would then pretend to add some to the tires and continue on. No one seemed to notice that I seemed to be stopping where there were gatherings of twenty people or more...
By suppertime, the vial in the inhaler was down to its last ten doses. It was at the Trocadéro that I spotted the crowd watching the kids on their stunt bikes. It was an ideal place to wait and rest for a while. I was almost overwhelmed - the sight of these angels without wings soaring above the ramps, silhouetted against the sunset and the Eiffel Tower was like watching souls seeking release from earthly desires. They sailed, they leapt, only to be dragged back. I yearned to cry out to them that their release was nigh, but I restrained myself. Instead, I emptied the tainted can of compressed air amidst the spectators, and headed home for a well earned sleep.
My headache the next day confirmed what our industrial espionage had told us - there had indeed been a facility in the Congo involved in the manufacture of biological weapons. Just as it was easy in 1994 to infiltrate Hydro Québec, our Order found a way to place someone in this facility. From there, we had managed to obtain and distribute vials of a man-made virus throughout Africa, Asia, North America and Europe. Ebola-like symptoms, spread by aerosol, 93% rate of contagion - I didn't have much time left.
Now was when I was to head through as many of the train stations as possible. My task was simple - visit as many public places as I could to assist the spread of the disease. By the end of the day, I was feverish and coughing up thick fluid, but I struggled to look like just one more person with a cold who should have been home in bed.
The next day, I could barely drag myself from bed, but I forced myself; I had one more task ahead. This was a Saturday, and there was a matinee performance of Mozart's 'The Magic Flute' at the Paris Opera. In addition to being an ideal place to spread the virus, this opera had always had a special place in my heart. In dreams, I had always thought of myself as an initiate of Sarastro's Order, and it was my heartfelt wish to spend what was probably my last day on Earth basking in this sublime story and music.
I made it, barely, to the end of the piece - my headache was by then unbearable, and I was drawing hostile stares from fellow audience members every time I coughed. I was also starting to hallucinate - it was as though Sarastro and the temple priests were singing directly to me. For the final scene, the backdrop was lit as a brilliant sunrise in red, orange and yellow, as Sarastro sang "The rays of the Sun have vanquished the Night" and as the ballet dancers leapt in exaltation before this magnificent tableau, they looked like the stunt bicyclists by the Eiffel Tower. I realized that Sarastro was really The Conductor, and as I lost consciousness, he sweetly sang to me "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Ecstatically, I released myself into the hands of the infinite, whispering "It is finished."
3rd copy -
The Reformed Order of the Solar Temple
The Icelandic volcano was the final sign; I was certain of it. Sure enough, the morning after the eruption, I deciphered the message from the Swiss sanctuary. It is hard to describe the joy I felt in my heart - to have been chosen as a vessel for this mission was an honour I had never dreamed of. I was humming under my breath as I kissed my wife and children goodbye, explaining that I was likely to be gone for most of the next three days. I realized as I locked the door to our apartment that I was humming a setting of the Magnificat. "My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my saviour..." Mary had sung, and I now understood how she had felt.
First stop was my studio at the University, where I retrieved the vial carefully hidden at the back of the fridge. The Conductor, my superior in the Order, had told me that there was no one would look for such a thing in the atelier of an instrument repair specialist. He had been right; it was in perfect condition, as it had been when I had received it from our courier six weeks earlier.
My mission had been clarified with the news that all the European airports were shut down indefinitely due to the volcanic ash. I had thought this through many times in my meditations, as I wrestled with doubts and steeled myself to the task that lay ahead. My first day would be spent ensuring that I myself became infected, as well as spreading the virus to as many different locations and people as I could. Later, when I was sure that I had contracted the disease, I could station myself in public locations where I would maximize the effect. Orly and Charles de Gaulle being closed, I would concentrate on cycling through the city, saving the train stations for tomorrow.
(Oh, they had been terrible, those questioning days - my shame at shirking my duty still haunted me. Only long contemplation of Jonah, Mary and Jesus himself led me forward - if any one of them had denied his destiny, where would we all be? No, just as Abraham bound Isaac to the altar without question that it was God's will, I must concentrate on the joy of my calling, and the glory of being an element of the Perfect Kingdom.)
I had a can of compressed air with an extra nozzle, to which I had fitted an old-fashioned 'one dose at a time' asthma inhaler. I emptied the vial into the inhaler, stepped out into the early spring afternoon, and set off to bike along the Seine. I was just another cyclist on a jolly day trip, except that every 20 minutes or so, I would stop to add some air to my tires. After fussing with the can of compressed air for a moment, I would fire a shot into the air, as if to test it. I would then pretend to add some to the tires and continue on. No one seemed to notice that I seemed to be stopping where there were gatherings of twenty people or more...
By suppertime, the vial in the inhaler was down to its last ten doses. It was at the Trocadéro that I spotted the crowd watching the kids on their stunt bikes. It was an ideal place to wait and rest for a while. I was almost overwhelmed - the sight of these angels without wings soaring above the ramps, silhouetted against the sunset and the Eiffel Tower was like watching souls seeking release from earthly desires. They sailed, they leapt, only to be dragged back. I yearned to cry out to them that their release was nigh, but I restrained myself. Instead, I emptied the tainted can of compressed air amidst the spectators, and headed home for a well earned sleep.
My headache the next day confirmed what our industrial espionage had told us - there had indeed been a facility in the Congo involved in the manufacture of biological weapons. Just as it was easy in 1994 to infiltrate Hydro Québec, our Order found a way to place someone in this facility. From there, we had managed to obtain and distribute vials of a man-made virus throughout Africa, Asia, North America and Europe. Ebola-like symptoms, spread by aerosol, 93% rate of contagion - I didn't have much time left.
Now was when I was to head through as many of the train stations as possible. My task was simple - visit as many public places as I could to assist the spread of the disease. By the end of the day, I was feverish and coughing up thick fluid, but I struggled to look like just one more person with a cold who should have been home in bed.
The next day, I could barely drag myself from bed, but I forced myself; I had one more task ahead. This was a Saturday, and there was a matinee performance of Mozart's 'The Magic Flute' at the Paris Opera. In addition to being an ideal place to spread the virus, this opera had always had a special place in my heart. In dreams, I had always thought of myself as an initiate of Sarastro's Order, and it was my heartfelt wish to spend what was probably my last day on Earth basking in this sublime story and music.
I made it, barely, to the end of the piece - my headache was by then unbearable, and I was drawing hostile stares from fellow audience members every time I coughed. I was also starting to hallucinate - it was as though Sarastro and the temple priests were singing directly to me. For the final scene, the backdrop was lit as a brilliant sunrise in red, orange and yellow, as Sarastro sang "The rays of the Sun have vanquished the Night" and as the ballet dancers leapt in exaltation before this magnificent tableau, they looked like the stunt bicyclists by the Eiffel Tower. I realized that Sarastro was really The Conductor, and as I lost consciousness, he sweetly sang to me "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." Ecstatically, I released myself into the hands of the infinite, whispering "It is finished."
[/spoiler]
