“Nothing. He’s got it wrong!”
Casting his mind back to the previous day, Ignatious recalled seeing Ottomier behaving suspiciously as he emerged from the jungle. “I saw you, Gerard,” he said softly. “Coming from the jungle. You had done something hadn’t you?”
Ottomier’s silence spoke volumes. “Come on, Gerard. You are a man of the cloth. Confess to all here of your sin. Save us!”
Kaba intervened. “He cannot save you Gawain. The punishment has to be for all.” Ignatious looked at him in horror. The man was educated — two hundred years old for the good Christ’s sake! He was just, fair and wise. He had the ultimate power here.
In his sleep, body covered in sweat, Ignatious tossed and turned, gibbering nonsensical stuff to the confines of his motor home bedroom. The dream continued…
“What has he done, Kaba?” he asked. “And why must we all suffer?”
The Elder, again looking directly at Ignatious, through clear, young-looking eyes, explained: “Early today, one of our tribe took a journey into the jungle seeking food. When in there, he came across the body of a female of the village, Ka-Lauma. Ka-Lauma was fourteen years of age and had no experience of a sexual nature, never having desired it. She was missed during yesterday but thought to have gone with friends and, at night, during the celebrations, was thought to be here. When she did not return home after the celebration, she was thought to be staying at a friend’s dwelling. You see, we do not have problems with missing persons in our society, unlike your decadent one, so there was no fear for her safety.
She was found, as I have said, and it was discovered that she had been forced into a sexual encounter and then put to death. By the time we got to her, it was too late to save her and she will be sent to the next plane later today.
It is clear that your brother, Father Ottomier, took Ka-Lauma away and carried out an attack on her, ending in unlawful killing. The punishment for such a crime is torture and death.”
The missionaries paled under their deeply burned tans, horror chilling their minds and bodies. The warming sun went unfelt on the captive’s skins. Death had become accepted to some degree but torture? Torture? This could not be! Things like this do not happen any more. These thoughts flashed through the partly numbed minds of the fated four, ignoring the fact of the tortures carried out every day in some part of the world, where war and political intrigue was prevalent.
“But, Kaba!” cried Ignatious. “Stop! Please!”
The elegant Elder turned to Ignatious, studied him for a moment and went to stand in front of him.
“What is it, Gawain? Please, do not plead for your lives. The decision is made; tradition has to be fulfilled.”
Ignatious was sweating more heavily now, desperation showing in his eyes. He spoke softly, however, covering his fear. “Kaba,” he began. “You are clearly different from the others. I can see that you are of an utterly different race — different to us all, in fact. You are of a higher intelligence; an intelligence that is above all of this. Why do you allow it?
Kaba’s expression did not change, he merely inhaled deeply.
“Gawain, my friend. Your perception is correct. I and my comrades are of a different race. You will find it astonishing but we are from a different satellite than yours. We belong to the same galaxy but many millions of miles from here. I tell you this because of your circumstances. You will not survive but you are deserving of some explanation.”
Ignatious looked at this mysterious man, a man so gentle and perfect of appearance, calmly telling him that he and his group are from another planet! How could such an intelligence allow what threatened to be a nasty death.
“Our work here is ongoing,” continued Kaba. “By your time scale it is slow, but we can sit for hundreds of years in order to carry our experiments through. Some of the benefits you will already have noticed; the way the tribespeople can control the wild beasts by the strength of their minds, for example.”
Ignatious was unable to control the trembling of his body. “But what is your purpose?” he asked.
The Elder explained calmly. “I have neither the time nor the inclination to go fully into our business but I will tell you something that you will not be able to accept. You are a religious man and will follow your faith.”
He paused before speaking again. “My ancestors came to this planet billions of years ago. They watched this ball of gas cool and develop. They were experts in the construction of life — DNA, which you have now discovered, being a large factor in that.”
“What do you mean?” asked a pensive Ignatious.
“I mean that we, not your God, produced all life on this Earth. We made mistakes along the way, the dinosaurs being one of them. What useless, ugly, ungainly creatures they were. They provided nothing of value to the planet. They destroyed rather than enhanced life. So we got rid of them.”
“No. they were wiped out as a result of a giant meteorite hitting Earth.”
Kaba almost smiled. “No, Gawain, they didn’t. Do you not think that all other life would have died had that been so? The birds lived. Many, many other creatures survived, even some of the dinosaurs. Although they died relatively soon after.”
“But how?” stammered Ignatious.
“Germs. Microbes. Organisms. We merely infected them. Anyway, it is enough for you to know that we created Man at a later stage. Based on apes, an experiment gone wrong, my ancestors manufactured Man. He appeared in a less than satisfactory form — genetic engineering is ruled by very fine lines you must understand. However, we got it mostly right in the end. Unfortunately, we had to leave before correcting one of our major errors.”
“And what would that be?”
“Violence, my friend, violence. The brain had too strong a strand and it retains the sometimes necessary aggression for too long a period. Our brains have just the correct amount. We never have wars between what you would call nations, nor do we encounter aggression from other planets. Only Earth is so violent. In four or five hundred years from now, you will have improved to a near perfect standard. Your Earth will survive, and it will improve.”
Ignatious was aghast. “But what is happening to my colleagues and myself is violent!”
The Elder shook his head slowly. “We cannot interfere too much here. Tradition is important and we must allow it to continue.”
The wretched captives had all heard what the impressive man had said. None believed him. God was the Creator and that was fact.
A last glance at the unfortunate group by the Elder, accompanied by the words: “May you find peace and contentment on the next level,” and he was gone. Immediately the villagers erupted into a barrage of noise; cheering, shrieking and roaring, their feet stamping heavily on the ground, spears jabbing the air.
Ignatious watched the activity fearfully. The tribe was working itself into a trance-like frenzy. Then, from the melee strode a man holding one of the strange, wooden syringes that were sometimes used to cure some of the more severe illnesses. Without pause, he walked up to the crying and jabbering Sister Vasquez and placed the syringe against her arm. A slight delay as he searched for the correct spot and then the plunger was pressed. A short crack and the young woman died instantly, apparently feeling no pain. Her head slumped forward and she hung naked and beautifully serene in death.
Vasquez was immediately released from her bonds and carried in the arms of four men to the crematorium, where she was gently placed into the pod, a bunch of humming bird feathers being placed against her left thigh. This time, however, the lid was left off as a tribesman carried out the lighting process. The baying crowd now fell silent and their ranks parted so that the prisoners were allowed a clear view of the events.
The furnace roared and hummed, the outer covering glowing quickly to a white heat. A thin
