What hath God wrought!

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The monthly National Lottery drawing was being held in the 100,000 car parking lot of Yosemite Valley. Searchlights dissected the night sky, and on the dim rostrum a young lady in spangled, iridescent tights stood postured beside a fountain of tossing, luminous globes, her long-handled net poised to strike. In the foreground, heavily pulsing music contested with the incessant, grinding purr of the fountain; in the background hung the rumbling murmur of the waiting thousands. In every direction, as far as the ubiquitous infrared TV cameras penetrated, the valley was a tossing blur of tense faces.

The net swooped. With practiced deftness the young lady flipped the captured globe into a launcher's yawning mouth. The TV scene switched to a night view of the valley from Glacier Point, and cameras followed the fiery arch of the globe's path until it exploded spectacularly into a gleaming number six that hung suspended over the valley and slowly began to blur into a luminous cloud.

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