Traveller Manifesto

Mississippi – Today.

The debriefings, media hype, and television appearances gradually subsided. Though the team from Traveller Mississippi had been lauded as national heroes, unlike the other Traveller missions, most attention fell to the academics who had managed the primary mission objectives. The combined US military that oversaw the logistics of the mission preferred their elite troops remain anonymous. There had been some attention, with baseball style cards and images on sponsor cereal packets and the like. As a group, they were heroes and received the honours and glory befitting their role, but the attention was purposely directed away from the soldiers. That fame would inevitably fade so the troops could still operate as elite military assets when required.

As a veteran of Saxon Traveller, Leishman again saw his share of publicity but managed to avoid most of the hype. He never again wanted to see his image on a T-shirt or an action figure. The publicity of Mississippi Traveller concentrated on their interaction with the tribe and the particular local individuals. The dress and customs of the local Indian peoples were highlighted, though it was doubted the fashions would become too popular. Naturally, the gruesome sacrifice of the young girl was never made public.

Would the world benefit from any exposure regarding a sacrificial practice they would consider heinous? Would such exposure improve race relations? Currently, the morale of most of America’s Aboriginal Nations was flying high, having benefitted enormously from the positive publicity. Though there were a few inevitable cases of cultural misappropriation in the media, as a whole the mission had been hugely productive for race relations in the USA. Yet DNA testing on a couple of the locals confirmed that most of the peoples once called American Indians had little to no blood relationship with the peoples with whom the Travellers had come into contact.

That was also never discussed.

But if the footage showing a young girl shot with arrows and then having her heart cut out was broadcast in technicolour glory to the unwitting nation, would any good come of it?

Leishman agreed with the strategy. Let the public be overwhelmed with the good stuff. Let them glory in the success of the only Traveller mission that had, to date, suffered no casualties. Horrified tribal Elders who were shown the raw footage hastened to agree.

Morris had been helpful. “Oh man, you knew they would put their spin on the results, no matter what.”

“Yeah,” sighed Leishman. He took a swig of water, having sworn himself off soda drinks. He had always known they were bad for him, but since his return he decided to do something about it.

Morris took a swig of one of his two beers.

They sat on the slope of the Monk’s Mound in the National Park gazetted area of modern Cahokia. The last few months had seen a resurgence of ceremonies to celebrate the past. The park’s Interpretation Centre had been overrun with tourists, schools and serious scholars and, thanks to generous donations and budgetary increases, was due to add more exhibits including the feather cloaks Professor Cowen, Professor Hughes, and himself had been given. Naturally, a theatre would run through the official Mississippi Traveller narrative and footage.

Most visitors had departed the park and one of the new rangers frowned at their drinking. She approached as if to reprimand, but once the identities of the two men were recognised she smartly saluted and left them well alone.

“It’s becoming too obvious that the Traveller missions aren’t about knowledge anymore,” groused Leishman irritably. “It’s about just being part of the club. Have your heroes, your wonderful new knowledge and feelings of national patriotism mixed with racial tolerance and everyone comes out a winner.” He went to take another sip and, realising it was water, decided he didn’t need another sip after all.

“It was a hell of a mission,” conceded Morris. “You did well to get your men out of there when you did.”

“Yeah,” Leishman conceded. “It was a close thing. Some of the boys were pretty mad.”

Morris only grunted. He had seen the footage and knew better than to comment. Troops with less discipline might have mown down any number of the primitive warriors.

“She was a kid. A pretty little thing. Just a kid,” repeated Leishman. The memories were raw and having it happen right in front of him still shocked.

“So, any proofs?” asked Morris.

Leishman looked across at his friend, but there was no sign of any cynicism. He simply shook his head. “I don’t know what I was hopeful for,” he conceded. “The Book of Mormon describes how the inhabitants of the Ancient Americas were essentially Christian. There were a few things that I thought would be useful, but nothing conclusive.”

“You suggested it might be a long bow to draw,” added Morris. “No pun intended.”

Leishman winced, but only grunted. “Though the tall, white complexioned leader had me excited for a while, it proved nothing conclusive. The closest I can get is the whole sacrifice thing. There has been some suggestion that the God Quetzalcoatl might be a referral to Jesus Christ, but it was not the God we saw, the one to whom the young lass was being sacrificed. I mean, the sacrifice thing can be seen as similar to Christ, with the blood and dying for the people and so on, but when you’re there and you hear the arrows thud into that poor girl, any comparison to Christ just flies out of the window.”

“Heavy,” commented Morris. “Some academic critics with access have suggested that the Jesus Christ story is still a death cult thing,” he added gently. “A human sacrifice is a human sacrifice, whether it’s a dude on a cross or a young girl. At least they didn’t kill babies.”

“Yeah,” agreed Leishman. “I’ve heard all of that of course. I keep getting back to the big white guy, the chief. He was one thing I didn’t expect to see. There have been observations of white American Indians in the past, even legends of red-headed giants, but I couldn’t make any conclusions. The Book of Mormon stresses the white Indian thing, but what does that mean? The drones did identify a few pale-skinned locals and some of the paintings on the walls of the huts on the top of the mounds looked interesting but, no, nothing I can sink my teeth into.”

“Sorry,” was all Morris could say.

Leishman nodded and then laughed to himself. “It was worth a shot though, right? Some of the historians have even gone so far as to suggest the white natives could have been as a result of contact with Vikings. The academics pleaded and pleaded, so in the end the Drone dudes organised an epic recon flight with some of the larger drones. You know about it of course. It was legendary! Over two thousand miles each way! From Cahokia to Point Rosee near Channel-Port aux Basques off Newfoundland. The techs were dying to try it and the latest long range drone was really run through its paces. We had to do it, right? I mean, when are we going back to 11th Century USA again? After flying over two thousand miles each way, mapping and scanning every inch of the way, in the end we found nothing, though the coastline was different. Archaeologists have recently found remnants of turf walls and an ironworking fireplace which might indicate a Viking village, but there was nothing there at the Time we visited.”

“Maybe they arrived after?” offered Morris.

“Maybe. Probably,” conceded Leishman. “It was an awesome technical achievement. A lot of mounds were found in places none expected. I only have difficulty believing how this,” he gestured with a sweep of his arm, “was the same place we visited. It became a city in its own right and then, because of climate change, which the academics suggest was interpreted as the anger of the fertility and corn gods, was abandoned by around 1300AD.”

“And the mounds? Any clue?” asked Morris, his tone sympathetic.

“No. Nothing,” Leishman replied with a rueful smile. “From my point of view, I didn’t find any real evidence to prove or disprove a thing. The Government has, of course, made a huge deal of the successes of Mississippi Traveller, but the mission has raised more questions than it answered. The mounds were there, but we have no idea what was actually inside. The locals treated them all like they were extremely sacred, but that’s no surprise.”

“Well, at least you didn’t have to fight them,” added Morris.

“No,” agreed Leishman as he closed his eyes. All he could see was the poor young girl with arrows sticking out of her. She had never screamed, not once. “That was a mercy.”