Stainless Steel Visions

"This is a sign of false pride, " Father Mark said. "God needs no miracle to prove his existence. "

"But we need a miracle!" Itin shouted, and though he wasn't human there was still the cry of need in his voice. "We have read here of many smaller miracles, loaves, fishes, wine, snakes — many of them, for much smaller reasons. Now all He need do is make a miracle and He will bring us all to Him — the wonder of an entire new world worshipping at His throne, as you have told us, Father Mark. And you have told us how important this is. We have discussed this and find that there is only one miracle that is best for this kind of thing. "

His boredom and amused interest in the incessant theological wrangling drained from Garth in a single instant. He had not been really thinking or he would have seen where all this was leading. By turning slightly he could see the illustration in the Bible where Itin held it open, and knew in advance what picture he would see. He rose slowly from his chair, as if stretching, and turned to the priest behind him.

"Get ready!" he whispered. "Get out the back and get to the ship, I'll keep them busy here. I don't think they'll harm—"

"What do you mean…?" Father Mark asked, blinking in surprise.

"Get out, you fool!" Garth hissed. "What miracle do you think they mean? What miracle is supposed to have converted the world to Christianity?"

"No, " Father Mark said, "it cannot be. It just cannot—"

"GET MOVING!" Garth shouted, dragging the priest from the chair and hurling him toward the rear wall. Father Mark stumbled to a halt, turned back. Garth leaped for him, but it was already too late. The amphibians were small, but there were so many of them. Garth lashed out and his fist struck Itin, hurling him back into the crowd. The others came on as he fought his way toward the priest. He beat at them but it was like struggling against the waves. The furry, musky bodies washed over and engulfed him. He struggled until they tied him, and he still struggled until they beat on his head until he stopped. Then they pulled him outside, where he could only lie in the rain and curse and watch.

Of course the Weskers were marvelous craftsmen and everything had been constructed down to the last detail following the illustration in the Bible. There was, the cross, planted firmly in the top of the small hill, the gleaming metal spikes, the hammer. Father Mark had been stripped and draped in a carefully pleated loincloth. They led him out of the church, and at the sight of the cross he almost fainted. After that he held his head high and determined to die as he had lived, with faith.

Yet this was hard. It was unbearable even for Garth, who only watched. It is one thing to talk of crucifixion and look at the gently carved bodies in the dim light of prayer. It is an-other to see a man naked, ropes cutting into his skin where he hangs from a bar of wood. And to see the needle-tipped spike raised and placed against the soft flesh of his palm, to see the hammer come back with the calm deliberation of an artisan's measured stroke. Then to hear the thick sound of metal penetrating flesh.

Then to hear the screams.

Few are born to be martyrs and Father Mark was not one of them. With the first blows the blood ran from his lips where his clenched teeth met. Then his mouth was wide and his heart strained back and the awful guttural horror of his screams sliced through the susurration of the falling rain. It resounded as a silent echo from the masses of watching Weskers, for whatever emotion opened their mouths was now tearing their bodies with all its force, and row after row of gaping jaws reflected the crucified priest's agony.

Mercifully he fainted, and the last nails were driven home. Blood ran from the raw wounds, mixed with the rain to drip faintly pink from his feet as the life ran out of him. At this time, somewhere at this time, sobbing and tearing at his own bonds, numbed from the blows on the head, Garth lost consciousness.

He awoke in his own warehouse, and it was dark. Someone was cutting away the woven ropes they had bound him with. The rain still dripped and splashed outside.

"Itin, " he said. It could be no one else.

"Yes, " the alien voice whispered back. "The others are talking in the church. Lin died after you struck his head, and Inon is very sick. There are some that say you should be crucified too, and I think that is what will happen. Or perhaps killed by striking on the head. They have found in the Bible where it says… "

"I know. " With infinite weariness. "An eye for an eye. You'll find lots of things like that once you start looking. "

"You must go, you can get to your ship without anyone seeing you. There has been enough killing. " Itin as well spoke with a newfound weariness.

Garth experimented, pulling himself to his feet. He pressed his head to the rough wall until the nausea stopped.

"He's dead. " He said it as a statement, not a question.

"Yes, some time ago. Or I could not have come away to see you. "