"Our ancestors the humans," John said while sitting in the company of the leaders who had just welcomed the birth of a new chosen, "were weak. I suppose that is why we exterminated them."
The glare of Lewis penetrated his soul, but John continued, "I observe no one considered old around here. If our human ancestors were all alive, there should be at least two or three."
"Yes," said Roderick, one of the leaders, "they are no longer alive. Few have figured that out, but you." He arose. "I will show you something, but do not tell anyone about it. Get a couple of shovels."
John agreed.
The two walked for a while into the desert, the hot sun blazing on their shoulders. There was not much except a few pueblos abandoned by their owners, the remnants of farm implements hidden in the dried grass.
"We will have to dig here," Roderick said, pointing to a clump of brush.
It did not take long. The skulls and skeletons were arranged in such a way, that John knew they were still alive when they were buried. Some of the figures were in an sitting up, others were on their knees, and the boned fingers clutched upwards as if they were silently screaming.
"But how could they not escape?" asked John and then he knew. Around each ankle was a broad metal band, and attached to it a chain. All the chains led to a large metal post that he saw Roderick loosen from the dirt.
"We knocked some unconscious, others we drugged, and then drove out in a covered truck, and chained them after digging a hole deep enough. We waited for them to be awake, to show that we were superior, and that no one, not any humans can deign to teach us anything."
"Did any escape?"
"There was one. It seemed he was in the communications center. We had to shoot him. We made it look like he was relayed by robbers." Roderick got up. "We must cover the bodies again. Get your shovel."
The ghastly work was completed. The older man and the boy who was not a boy returned.
The next day, John finished converting the film to disks.. He made several copies, not yet deciding on which ones to keep or which ones to send off.
He would need one for himself, and one he would bury near the sacred post. One he would send off with a fake address to the United States. He knew that it would remain in the Dead Letter Office, often for years, while the postal employees searched for the address.
So the waiting began, as John matured, the dominants scattered to their respective places, and the Chosen were sent out on their mission of intimidation and murder.