“Like actors taking their places before the curtain rises,” came the amplified voice of Rafirre. “Those who survived came back to the marsh every dawn with the hope to see another day.”
The crowd watched, riveted.
Rafirre made a motion, and the video rushed in a blur through two hours, then was made to slow down to a normal playback speed. A few minutes passed, and they heard it: the sound of people singing in the distance. “Watch,” said Rafirre in a soft voice as he adjusted the viewing angle. The sounds of singing were coming closer. Then they swung into view: numerous people wearing hats and carrying machetes on their shoulders. “Here come those who slaughter,” said Rafirre.
When they reached the edges of the swamp, some of the incoming people blew whistles, shouted, and the lot of them waded into the deep, oily-black mire.
“They are hollering, ‘Here we are! We are here!’ ‘We come to prepare Tutsi meat!’” translated Rafirre, “and ‘We must exterminate you all!’” He panned out, and within a few minutes, they could see people hacking people. Cries and screams of pain pierced the tranquility of the wetland.
“Who are they killing?” someone yelled from the risers.
Rafirre smiled nastily. “Their next-door neighbors. Could be their kids’ school teacher or the vendor with the cart down the street.”
Titters and whispers broke out among the seated chieftains and their lieutenants. They liked what they were hearing.
Rafirre skipped forward a few hours. It was midday. “Look at this.” He panned the camera upward where legions of buzzards and crows filled the sky. Rafirre was widely grinning. “Merely by studying the sky, you can tell there is some serious action down below.”
Appreciative chuckles and murmurs swept through the great arena.
“Ah, yes.” He zoomed in on a certain point on the ground. A family was spotted and made to stand up. “Watch this. First, they’ll slaughter the father. Then the mother. The children will be last. This way,” he explained, “the woman gets to see her husband killed. The kids get to see both of their parents hacked to death.”
The screams and cries of pain were loud now. “Look at this guy, how he cut off an arm, rather than go immediately for a killing blow. Did you catch this? After a while, many of the killers acquired a taste for blood. It was intoxicating, like nothing else. As numerous Tutsis died quietly, they had to bring out the pain and the cries to the surface.” He dexterously navigated the invisible eye to angle on the killer. “There!” He paused the video. A giant face contorted in hatred filled the night sky of the amphitheater. There was no sanity in the eyes, only death.
“Daily mass-killing operations have been playing out across the land. In a productive day, the Hutus may have uncovered and hacked to death thousands of people. Day after day. In all, they massacred many hundreds of thousands of their fellow countrymen.”
The audience was mesmerized. They have never seen anything of the kind: a methodical extermination campaign.
“What you are witnessing are the mop-up operations, really. The first weeks were far more…productive. They butchered in churches and in other public buildings where people sought refuge.”
He skipped forward to when the sun was low on the horizon casting long shadows. It was silent in the swamp but for the occasional curse or grunt as the killers slogged through the quagmire and pushed through the foliage. Finally, a long sound of a whistle was heard, notifying the Hutus the work day was coming to an end. In twos and threes, they struggled out, and the large group of men walked toward the town conversing in low voices.
“Kill together, loot alone,” came over the voice of Rafirre. “Many would now head out to round up cows whose owners they killed, pry out windows, and haul away corrugated metal siding. This aside, the evening was a time for a nice warm supper and refreshing beer. For some, the murders they have been committing lodged fear in their bones and gnawed at them. Others were gripped with a killing fever; they could not let go of the machete or the ax; they went out and killed some cows, burning up on the inside for a new day of murder to commence.
“During the long season of killing, no one wanted to marry or watch a soccer match. Everything appeared inane and insignificant but the kill.”
The holographic video came to an end and with it the sounds from that far away world.
The torches were relit until all blazed brightly in the arena and on the risers above.
“Brothers,” called out Rafirre, “what we have here is a how-to manual to take people who have lived side by side, fan old flames, and turn them genocidal. What we have here is a working blueprint to devise and put into operation a large, unified extermination machine. This is our ticket for the domination of the entire sector!”
A roar of applause and stomping of feet filled the amphitheater.
“The ins and outs will be hashed out at a later date, but let me give you a sense of it, and lay out a few of the elements.
“First, there was, of course, the need to provoke the Hutus into action against their fellow countrymen, the Tutsis. The genocide architects alleged there is a Tutsi plan to wage a war that would leave no Hutus alive. Tutsis killed local Hutu leaders, it was claimed. Furthermore, the architects staged incidents and fabricated reports that Tutsis attacked some Hutu school children.
“Framing was critical. You ask people of all walks of life to rise up and murder, but you don’t call it that. Rather, you speak of ‘self-defense’ against ‘accomplices.’ Slaughter was referred to as ‘work’ and machetes and firearms were ‘tools.’ Taking an active part in the massacre was their ‘communal work obligation.’ Those who married across group lines produced ‘hybrids.’ Those Hutus who sought to defend their Tutsi neighbors were Tutsis in disguise; they were not ‘real’ Hutus and the population needed to be on the lookout for those.
“Ahead of time, administrators kept track of Tutsi births and deaths. They made a record of those who moved into their township.
“Local officials, such as the mayors, offered Tutsis rides home but ended up driving them to stadiums where they would be massacred. Town council members and working stiffs went from door to door and signed up Hutu men or posted a work schedule in easily viewed locations.
“The organizational hierarchy was agile and responsive; those who were most committed to the cause floated to the top.
“Every morning, the defenders—that is to say, the killers—would assemble, whether in a soccer field or in front of a local church. Everybody had to show up with a machete, an ax, or a club. From there, they would break up into small teams and head out to work. Each crew had at least one or two people whose job was to organize the day, set the tone, and whip up the team.
“Soldiers and police personnel led the first wave of killings throughout the land. But it was a national effort; practically everyone lent a hand. The shopkeepers paid and provided transportation; local businessmen supplied food and drinks to these staffing the checkpoints; and everyone went about flushing out the remaining Tutsis.”
Rafirre surveyed the assembled delegates. “The time is now near at hand,” he said, “to exterminate, once and for all, our enemies, and thus gain supremacy in our sector. The long wait is almost over. I brought something for each of you that will make the interval a bit more agreeable and the genocide we are preparing a bit more real.” He beckoned and dozens of his people sprung into motion.
They wheeled into the arena large wooden crates Whispers and murmurs of anticipation swept through the amphitheater. By the time Rafirre’s team was done, about fifty crates were arrayed about. Rafirre strode to one of the sizable chests and slashed with a knife the plastic straps securing it. “Before the extermination campaign got underway down on Earth,” he hollered, “the Hutu leadership secured about half a million machetes.” He pried open and pulled aside the lid. Underneath, hundreds of metal blades gleamed.
A roar wen
t up.
“Here it is, brothers!” he shouted, “The first shipment of machetes from Earth.” Rafirre grabbed one by the handle and lifted it high to the roar of the crowd. “There are enough blades here for all of you who have gathered here tonight. And this is but a taste of what’s to come.”
This brought down the house. Rafirre amplified his voice further to be heard over the din. “What’s more, we will recruit some of those experienced Hutu operators once they come through the portals to our world!”
He waited for the hollers, whoops, and stomping to subside.
“Some of you have been asking me if the Terraneans are really coming.” The crowd fell silent. “You know how it works. The commission is evaluating whether the Terraneans are going to be good stewards for their planet. Our team presented the evidence we have gathered and researched these past two years. The Earth delegation will make its case. The commissioners will reach a verdict.
“But let me share with you my conclusions. Let me tell you something about the Terraneans.
“One of the large animals their world still possesses is the rhino. Yet, they are decimating it. Rapidly. You may ask yourself why. Is it for food? No. Is it for self-defense? No. Is it to prove one’s prowess in battle? No.” Rafirre stopped pacing, his gray eyes bright with silent laughter and glee. “The most common driver for the killing of rhinos by the Earth people is to get their horns. They grind these up and ingest the resultant powder, believing it makes their hangovers after drinking binges…milder.”
General laughter and hoots rippled through the arena. They loved to hear that. The Terraneans were seedy and foul! That meant that the Terraneans would be deported, ergo, they were coming!
Rafirre raised his arms until the arena was quiet again. “For fuck’s sake, I visited places where they have bred and confined thousands of lions in pens. In part, they do this for the benefit of wealthy tourists, who are escorted into fenced areas where they get to shoot them and have their photos taken. In part, it’s for the street markets, where the skeletons of lions and tigers are suspended in large barrels containing alcohol to produce a special bone wine. To all of this, I have but one thing to say—”
Rafirre paused.
“They are one of us!” he bellowed.
Thousands of people sprung to their feet “One of us! One of us! One of us!” the people chanted over and over and over, joyful about the prospect—the apparent certainty—of the Terraneans’ arrival to the Reservation.
““Our forefathers set in motion a plan a century ago,” declared Rafirre. “In partnership with Lord Aratta, they did their part to delay this hearing for as long as was possible. And that has made all the difference. Had the hearing been conducted a few generations earlier, why, the bounty would have been so much paltrier. Their technology would have been so much less rewarding to loot.”
Murmurs of agreement swelled in the amphitheater. Of course, they all knew this—they’d grown up hearing it. A century-long scheme had hatched and, over time, matured. They were the generation to harvest its fruits and make the Nation the greatest and most powerful in the sector.
“Yes!” Rafirre was hollering. “It is as you’ve suspected and wished for. The fattest bounty ever is soon to arrive—for us to plunder!”
The stomping of thousands of feet was felt a mile away.
Master Rafirre raised his arms until the silence was restored.
“Listen. Among the Terraneans, you’ll find hundreds of millions of garden-fresh women for the taking—to be made into second and third wives. Unspoiled, prime stock: from alabaster- and peaches-and-cream-skinned girls to those with deep amber and rich-coffee hues. From women used to and capable of outdoor labor to girls who have not done a day of physical work in their lives. Those last ones tend to be insolent, will take a bit to break in, and on the Res they’d largely be recreational and ornamental in nature. Just the same, I invite you to secure some of the most gorgeous and desirable of the lot. They have spunk and will delight you and your guests for half a dozen years at least. Myself, I plan to snatch me three of those!”
Cheers and hollers broke out.
“Brothers! The Terraneans are coming. And in their trunks and rucksacks, they will haul with them the riches of their world, the fruits of thousands of years of culture and technology.
“They will bring light, breathable shoes; steel knives for hunting and scissors to trim hair; feather-light collapsible tents; and state-of-the-art engineered compound bows. They will carry with them potent, mind-altering drugs to sniff and snort. They will haul incredible paintings and unique works of art.
“Speak to your women and daughters of clothes made of lustrous silk, of the softest of vicuna wool, and of engineered fabrics in which one sweats but little. Speak of platinum-embossed, lily-white porcelain by Noritake. Speak of the finest of handbags, the Birkin, made by Hermès from choice crocodile skins. Speak of high-heeled shoes made of gold, leather, silk, and diamond—Passion Diamond Shoes. This and more. Speak of Christian Dior perfumes, Prada suitcases, and Cartier jewelry. Top the list off with an alcoholic beverage the color of pearl with light and tiny bubbles that whirl or spiral to the surface: Dom Perignon White Gold Jeroboam Champagne, which comes in bottles sheathed in white gold.”
Rafirre paced about. He was laughing exultantly, swept away in the roar of applause and the yells from thousands of throats.
“I am sorry,” cut in an amplified voice. “Is this a bad time?”
The roars and laughter abruptly stopped.
And suddenly Hagar was there on the stone arena, hands jammed in a knee-length wool coat. Seconds later, Aratta materialized, a multi-barreled minigun strapped to one shoulder.
Rafirre sought to recover. “High Mistress Hagar, Lord Aratta,” he called out civilly and bowed. “It’s a…surprise.”
“Hell yeah,” said Hagar. She ambled around the arena. “Sorry to crash your make-believe party, boys. Just thought you would want to be the first to hear the news.” She turned around and looked at her companion.
“It is as Master Rafirre said.” Aratta’s voice filled the night air. “About one hundred years ago, I partnered with some of your people. I had my own reasons to wish to see the hearing delayed. You had yours. If I have any regrets about the choice I made, it is for me, and me alone, to bear.”
The mood in the vast amphitheater was at a razor’s edge.
Aratta continued, “Your people were aware of the whereabouts of Hagar’s stasis box. They feared that if I brought Hagar from the timefold, she would convene a hearing sooner rather than later. Long story short, your people moved the stasis box and faked her death. As I’ve recently discovered, they were also behind the bombing of the building in Warsaw that originally stored it. This is entirely unacceptable.
“Your collective greed indirectly brought Earth to an ecological brink—to a far greater extent than I would have allowed. But by then, as you already know, I was unable to open a gateway on my own.”
“You’ve worked hard, for years, on mounting an effective presentation,” announced Hagar, “and you’ve earned the machetes—these here and the millions more you’ve ordered.”
Rafirre grew horror-stricken as it dawned on him what was coming next. “Nooo,” he mouthed.
“Yes,” said Hagar quietly. She shouted, “Vito the Barber became aware of your double-crossing. As a result, he decreed that the Earth people—if it is decided they are deported—will not be settled in sections 57 and 67, after all. Instead, they will be allocated sections 81 and 91—”
Everyone sprung to their feet, and bellows of rage all but drowned her voice.
“—which are, of course, on the other end of the populated region of the Res, many hundreds of thousands of kilometers away from here,” yelled Hagar. “I’m afraid other nations will be getting first cut of the Terraneans. No compound bows and peaches-and-cream girls for yo
u, boys.”
Heedless of the minigun Aratta held, hundreds of chieftains, then thousands, came barreling down the risers, faces red with fury, roaring.
Hagar gave them a mock salute. And Aratta and Hagar vanished—just as the mob burst into the clearing they had occupied a moment earlier.
Chapter 60
Salt Flats of Lake Eyre, South Australia, the Netherworld on Earth
Hagar stood atop the platform next to the seven commissioners, who were conversing in low voices. Down below, an honor guard formed two long lines, standing still, their dark forest-green capes stirring in the breeze that coursed through the salt flats.
Hagar suddenly exclaimed, “Here they come.”
Indeed, a swirling, circular portal materialized in the distance. The commissioners stopped their conversations and strained to make out details through the haze.
The first vehicle came out. And Hagar felt a knot rising in her throat, overcome with emotions. It was too far for her to make out the identity of the driver, but she knew it was Aratta. He led the way with an old pickup truck. One arm could be seen hanging from the side window as he drove slowly onward.
The lone vehicle veered away and came to a stop. Moments later, Aratta materialized next to Hagar. The two of them briefly embraced and turned their attention to the distant portal.
The first two motorcycles emerged, side by side, with yellow and blue lights flashing. Other, identical motorcycles came out, lights flashing, until two dozen of them drove forward, arrayed in a V formation.
“The Earth delegation is arriving,” hollered the master of ceremonies, standing at the base of the platform. He struck sideways with his ceremonial staff, awakening a giant, suspended gong.
A black Cadillac limousine appeared, followed by another, then another, and another. Until over a dozen gleaming identical black vehicles drove in a procession one after the other, lights on. Each sported two flags bearing a drawing of Earth sketched in detail, pale-yellow against a cobalt-blue background. Hagar hadn’t seen that flag before. It was something new.
The Earth Hearing Page 64