Destinations 7.

Antarctica, the South Pole, fifty meters East of the square. Enoch and Eli set foot on planet Earth, first time after millennia. The current date is AD 2191, August 21st. One o’clock in the morning Zulu. On the timeline.

“I hate frost, always did. Let me deal with it.” Enoch is swift in his actions. Even swifter than in speech. A remarkable canopy deploys above their heads. Scintillating in green, with shades of yellow. And orange.

“I hate night. There is night all day long around here.”

“August at the South Pole, Austral winter. Minus fifty centigrades. No daylight. Astarte had no interest in warming up this corner of the world, the way she did with the North Pole.”

“The Catholic Carousel, you saying?”

“Yet another idolatrous circus for humans by daemons. Served to them on an iron plate.”

“Yes, Eli. Back then, you’ve killed a lot of idolatrous imbeciles.”

“They weren’t just imbeciles, but infested, beyond recovery. Let’s see what we’re going to get here and now.”

“Do you wish I brighten the cupola?”

“Yes, light it up. I wish to have a closer look at my men. They’ll arrive shortly.”

Adjusting the flux, Enoch crafts a bright bulb around the South Pole. A hundred kilometers in diameter. “Beam them in, Eli. No, wait. Allow me to drain the melting snow before.”

“No, no, no. Keep the frost in. I’ve been training them to stay warm in polar environments and--”

“And cool in molten lava. I know how much have you invested in your army. There you go!” Swoosh after swoosh, cascading swooshes bring flashes of blue light, along with a pungent smell of chlorine in the atmosphere. 144,000 men surround Enoch and Eli, standing tall in the snow.

“Why are they so black?” Rants Eli, seemingly never satisfied with the outcome of a result. Of any result.

“Oh my,” sighs Enoch, “many are tanned, like were you when walking this Earth under the sunshine, in Israel. Remember?”

“Okay, okay, you saved me then. But these, and these, and those up there, these are brown and black and orange and...”

“Calm down, Eli. Don’t be a racist.”

“The Ever-Living made men by their own kinds, in species and races. But their slippery minds had taken fantasy out of context. Degenerates.”

“This the rationale of the game, Eli. Not to be cocky, but I am racially superior to you, according to the bodies we inhabit, currently. When I had to walk this Earth, I was fair and kept being fair until He took me out. Such was the sunshine filtered by the canopy then. Still, I look up at you in so many ways, loving and respecting your sense of justice, admiring your tenacity, enjoying your sarcasm. By the way, I’ve just picked two soldiers for a conversation. They approach us from three o’clock.”

Eli looks right. “Denzel, Morgan, welcome to the South Pole!”

“Eli, Enoch, happy to meet you. Finally!” Smiles Denzel with a perfect chain of emerald teeth. A minute reflection from the Southern lights. And the cupola.

“Hello. Life is good.” Speaks Morgan, bit shy.

“254 years under your belt, Morgan. And you’ve got nothing to complain? About life.”

“Nothing, Eli. I just enjoy living, being grateful for this wonder, for all things, for meeting you here. I’ve got all the reasons to love life.”

“A healthy attitude you have.” Answers Eli, turning to his pal with a commanding voice. “Enoch!”

“Yes?”

“Go down and rattle that snake out, will you?”

“Right, Eli. Time to get things in motion. See you.” In three leaps, Enoch disappears down the hole.

A moment he’s mute, the next he shows his teeth again, and the next he speaks. “Is-- is-- he gonna be okay? W-why did he?-- W-w-what are we about to-- ...Hey! What is going on here? Ten minutes ago I was sitting on the veranda, staring at this second sun. Those daemons went at war for a week, then an angel ends it in a second...”

“An angel and a daemon,” marks Eli, “they worked from both ends. Swift. This is the keyword, Denzel: swift. This is how we’re getting the job done. You are here for the job.”

“You pray for rain--”

“You’re not here to pray, Denzel. You make it happen. Look in my eyes. Right here. Make eye contact. So. Yes. From now on, you’re going to make rain, and thunder, and lightning, storms, what have you.”

“I see, but praying keeps me alive.”

“Put the time of begging behind you, Denzel. You ask now. You post a request. And that will execute. Swiftly. Ruthlessly.”

“What if I--”

“Look at Morgan. Do you see rage in him? Vengeance, anger, retribution?”

“Nope. I can’t remember...”

“See? This is why you and him, and all the others listening to me – form a queue, bro’s! – are here. To execute.”

“Thought that we only have to speak what the Lord will put into our mouths.”

“Speaking is executing. You speak of rain, it rains. You say drought, the rain stops. Indefinitely, until you decide to speak rain again. This about nature. But about people, as you said, no need to think, no need to judge, only to open your minds and let the words out. Bewilder the Babylons out there. Be who you are, do what you do.”

“Thank you, Eli.”

“Thank Yasu Khrist, not me. And welcome to the club. Next! Morgan, you come closer. Here. Look in my eyes. Yes, this way. Good. Next!”