Original subtitles

Once upon a time, there were two angels.

One angel said to the other, The story here in the newspaper.

Some fellow down on Earth has actually discovered the secret of the Super H bomb.

Impossible.

You must be mistaken.

Why, they're not ready or wise enough to handle it yet.

If exploded now, the bomb would blow man and his Earth sky high.

No one would be left alive.

My, my, the housing shortage up here would be terrible.

What'll we do?

I think we ought to report this to the front office immediately.

You're right.

Let's go.

And so it came to pass that outer space convened a high tribunal.

To see whether mankind was worth saving.

Chosen to speak in his behalf was a wanderer through time,

who was a combination of all men.

Of the pious and the fallen, the bold and the meek, the dreamers and the builders,

the chaste and the guilty, the great and the small men of all times,

all represented by one who came to speak for all before the high tribunal.

And whereas the creature man on the planet Earth

has uncovered the secret of the Super H Bomb sixty years before he was scheduled to do so,

and whereas Heaven is aware and man is not,

that such an explosion would bring an end to all mankind,

this high tribunal has been convened to determine whether man is worthy

and Heaven should intervene in his behalf by not committing the bomb

to explode or whether man is unworthy and should be allowed to blow himself to eternity.

Who interrupts honor, honor in the court?

Who interrupts the reading of the indictment?

I, sir, am Mr. Scratch,

the inventor of the Super H Bomb and an individual of many talents, and traits.

All bad, of course, and this is my apprentice.

Mind your manners.

We'll have none of that up here.

You must excuse him, noble sirs.

He is accustomed to a warmer climate.

Sit down.

This whole thing is an obvious waste of time.

Man is unworthy beyond a shadow of a doubt

and now compounds his guilt by causing Heaven to call this costly and tedious trial.

Now, as for me, I am a very busy fellow.

I've spent quite enough time trying to get man to see and do things my way.

Let's see, about a million years, I'd say, give or take a hundred thousand.

Time is money and man does not have a patent on evil.

Now, about this bomb, this beautiful bad thing,

the work of a lifetime, and I've lived a very long time.

Noble sirs, won't you please allow it to explode and put a fitting end to Earth?

Man has certainly earned this reward, besides which I'm running out of time.

I have house calls to make all over the universe.

What's that ringing?

Oh, it's only my, uh, my private telephone.

Excuse me... Yes, speaking.

Trouble on Mars?

How nice.

No, I'm afraid there'll be a little delay here.

No, nothing serious.

Just a bit of bickering over my acquiring two or three billion new souls.

Order! Order in the courtroom!

I'll call you later.

Mr. Scratch, telephone calls while the court is in session are out of order,

rude, improper, and without precedent.

Thank you, noble sir.

Proceed, sir.

And so, now a high tribunal is called to order here in outer space.

It could hardly be held in heaven.

Objection.

Order!

Call the first witness.

Adam to the stand.

Adam!

My lords!

Order!

Order in the courtroom!

Who interrupts the court?

Aye, sir.

Adam begs to be excused.

He is indisposed.

I suppose the after effects of eating the first apple haven't quite worn off yet,

eh?

- Who then speaks for man? - I do.

I am the spirit of man.

In a moment you may proceed.

First, I would call to the attention of both Mr. Scratch and the spirit of man.

Each of you is given permission to visit Earth during any period of time since the world

began.

After which, you may present as evidence those people and events most pertinent to this trial.

When you are on Earth, we will be able to watch you and to hear you from up here.

You may proceed.

Noble says, if we are to be believers, and we most certainly are...

Speak for yourself.

I do.

I do indeed.

Continue.

And without interruption.

Man was created in the image of God, but there the similarity ends.

Mortal, not immortal, are we.

Of the flesh, not of the spirit, are we.

Human, not godlike, are we.

But whatever our sins, whatever our shortcomings, we believe the good deeds done by

man on Earth far outweigh the bad, thereby earning him the right to survive.

- Objection. - On what grounds?

Man has made a misstatement of facts.

I have not yet even presented the facts.

Objection overruled. Proceed.

We inherited the Earth and were blessed with certain rare gifts.

An opposable thumb, with which to build tools and weapons for survival.

The capacity to speak, to think, to reason.

The ability to walk erect on two solid arches.

We were fruitful.

We multiplied.

We were resourceful.

We replenished the Earth and subdued it.

These were the covenants.

These we fulfilled.

Unfortunately for me, you broke all of the Ten Commandments doing it.

Order! Order in the court!

Sorry.

Proceed.

In the beginning, man walked alone.

Alone because he trusted no other living thing.

The enemy was the forest and all that was in it.

Self-preservation came first.

Kill or be killed was the fundamental law.

Man had lived through many ages before the first dawning of reason

led him toward the warmth of the fire.

After an infinity of groping in the darkness, man was beginning to find some answers.

To understand the values which lay in group living and mutual assistance.

Even you would admit that man was beginning to reason.

And even you would call it progress when such reasoning led him to fashion the wheel.

I think perhaps we'd better be getting back.

I can hardly wait.

The business of this tribunal will proceed.

You may continue.

And so, Noble says, as you have seen,

man had now begun to learn the meaning of social consciousness.

And that was the beginning of his downfall.

Noble says, may I make my point?

Mr. Scratch?

I submit that man is a charlatan and a fool.

- I object. - I should think you would.

Objection sustained.

Well, perhaps I can put it another way.

Therefore, I withdraw my statement that man is a charlatan and a fool

and submit instead that man is a fool and a charlatan.

Same objection.

Objection sustained.

Mr. Scratch, you are out of order.

Perhaps out of order, but not necessarily incorrect.

If it please the court, I should like to call my first witness to prove my point.

Name your witness.

I call Khufu to the stand.

Clerk, call the witness.

Khufu to the stand!

Your name?

Khufu.

- Occupation? - Pharaoh.

- Where? - Egypt.

- When? - About five thousand years ago.

It seems like only yesterday.

Have we ever met before?

We have.

Would you mind giving me the particulars?

It was long ago.

You promised me immortality.

But you believed me.

I had no reason to believe you would not keep your word.

Please tell the court exactly what you gave me in exchange for this promise of immortality.

The souls of a million men.

I object on the grounds that no man, not even a Pharaoh,

could commit the souls of a million men to the devil.

That's precisely the point I mean to make.

No one villain can affect mankind unless mankind itself

supports and encourages his villainy.

Here is a case in point.

This man could and did commit the souls of a million men

to the devil because they wanted to be committed.

If it pleased the court, I should like to return to earth

in the time of ancient Egypt to show just how he did it.

You have the approval of the court.

You may proceed to earth.

We will be watching you.

If you'll follow me.

I won't need that.

It's your kind of climate, isn't it?

Egypt.

Five thousand years ago.

And here is Khufu's army.

Coming back from their victory over the Nubians.

A beautiful bloody victory.

There's my witness. Khufu.

The Pharaoh. The mighty one.

To whom you are indebted for the souls of a million men, or so you say.

Yes.

Look at all those others out there, cheering him wildly.

Who is it but man himself who started off so well.

And what has happened to him now?

He's become nothing more than a rooting section,

bellowing his throat horse in support of his favorite hero.

Master and ruler of all the lands.

Of the upper and lower Nile.

Lord of all mankind.

In the realms of the sun.

And of all people.

Enough, enough. I've traveled far enough.

It seems that great Pharaoh is troubled.

Yes.

Troubled.

Explain the dream to me, Armanna.

What nature of dream, Almighty One?

It's come to me seven times.

I saw a palace reaching to the stars.

Climbing higher than man had ever known.

Built to last through eternity.

But it was a palace without laughter.

Without music and feasting.

Yet it was a palace in which I slept.

Construe this dream to me, Armanna.

This dream construes itself, great Pharaoh.

A palace without laughter.

Which will stand through eternity.

What is it but the palace that will await you when you step from this world into immortality?

I want to see it with my own eyes.

Not after I die, while I live.

Are my people assembled?

The courtyard is full.

I'll speak to them once.

Once before we close the temple.

Close the temple?

You heard what I said, Armanna.

Come with me.

Silence!

Silence for the god-king Khufu!

From this day on, one and all...

Priests, freemen and slaves...

will dedicate their lives and bodies...

to the building of my palace of immortality.

It will reach to the skies, the greatest pyramid on earth.

Let them come in their thousands, in their hundreds of thousands...

from all the corners of our land.

Let some cut and drag the stones from the quarries...

until my pyramid of desert is the miracle of the ages...

built for all of time with a nation's blood.

Blood was the right word.

And so I submit to you that man himself is to blame for his stupidity...

in worshipping villains as though they were heroes.

And I conclude that the individual villain...

is only a symbol of the villainy of all mankind.

As for you, a perfect symbol...

you shall have your immortality...

along with the receipt for the souls of a million men.

Your witness.

Have you ever heard of a countryman of yours named Moses?

I have not.

He was not only a countryman, he also lived in the house of the pharaohs.

He was in fact on the way to become a nobleman of pharaohs...

but not impressed with the splendor, the dissipations of the court.

He chose instead to become a simple man of God.

Do you infer, sir, that I was not?

I do more than that.

I proclaim you godless.

For only a godless man would make a deal with the devil.

- I object. - No, you don't.

You agree or you'll lose your immortality.

I agree.

I should like to interrupt here and address myself to man.

Just what do you hope to gain by this line of questioning?

Noble says it is the devil's contention...

that no one man can be villain enough to affect mankind...

unless mankind as a whole supports and encourages that villainy.

I concede the point.

I accept the victory.

Not so fast.

In making the concession, I insist that it works in reverse as well.

No one man can be good enough to affect mankind...

unless mankind as a whole supports and encourages that goodness.

Now, the great men of the world, and they have been countless...

Objection.

That is opinion, not fact sustained.

I'll reword it.

The great men of the world could not have been both great and good...

unless mankind wanted to support that goodness.

I intend to show that man's inherent goodness...

is strong enough to rise above the bad...

even if both are born in the same place, as Khufu and Moses.

One a pharaoh, the other destined for almost as high a post.

But there the similarity ends.

No more questions.

The witness may stand down.

Oh, by the way, your receipt for those souls.

Silence!

The spirit of man will continue.

A thousand years after Khufu...

in the same land of oppression...

gilded with the thin and false veneer of gold and glory...

was born a man of God.

This was Moses.

A man whose holiness was revered...

and later supported by a mankind desperately seeking a road to a better world.

However, before the time of Moses...

man, in his confusion, worshiped many false gods.

And, as a result, the people were enslaved and oppressed.

The soul of Moses revolted in horror.

And he fled the land of Egypt and went into the desert.

And in the heavens that stretch across the endless wastes...

he found the secret of life.

And he welcomed a new and more dignified god.

And Moses returned to the land of the godless and set his people free.

And they followed him back into the desert.

And then it came to pass that Moses ascended Mount Sinai.

I am...

which have brought thee out of the land of Egypt...

out of the house of bondage.

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.

Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image...

or any likeness of anything.

And out of the thunder the voice of god gave mankind the Ten Commandments.

And the good prevailed.

Ah, but it didn't last.

Man soon forgotten strayed from the path of Moses...

and broke all of the Ten Commandments at once.

May I remind you of the endless wars and plundering and rape...

of the ancient world.

You don't have to make so much noise and try to frighten me.

I was only proving a point.

Take, for example, the Greeks and the Trojans...

who fought a pointless war and went completely mad...

over one woman, Helen of Troy.

And your pious story of a one god and the Ten Commandments...

is really quite ridiculous.

Why, this ancient civilization worshiped hundreds of mythical gods...

and their god of war probably roared with laughter...

as he played nation against nation over the face that launched a thousand ships.

The face of Helen of Troy.

Egyptians, Trojans, Greeks, Etruscans...

all killing, all dying, all breaking commandments.

Not because one man or two men or a dozen men...

were wrong, but rather because all of mankind was wrong.

They were wrong because they wanted to be.

Are you telling me that those men down there would have fought and died...

if they hadn't wanted to?

Oh, I'm sorry.

That wasn't meant for you.

Well, that's consoling.

Well, what's your answer to all this?

Sometimes mythology and history become interwoven.

Difficult to determine where one starts and the other leaves off.

But if we're talking of the ancient world...

what about the Golden Age of Greece, the age of the great philosophers?

What about Socrates, with his doctrines of universal humanity...

which still influenced the world more than 2,000 years later?

His pupil Plato, who dedicated his life and writings...

to the creation of a world in which beauty, justice, and love...

would dominate mankind's existence.

Aristotle, the world's first great scientist...

whose brilliant mind discovered the rules of reasoning...

and who, in fact, gave names to the sciences themselves.

The early astronomers whose dream of heavenly bodies...

gave us a celestial road of knowledge.

The master artists of ancient times...

the incomparable sculptors and their breathtaking creations.

And finally, Hippocrates, the father of medicine.

Doctor, what can I do?

The cough wrecks his body day and night.

Perhaps if I were to sacrifice the oxen...

- Sacrifice? - Nonsense.

If you would put your oxen to good use...

let them take this man of yours up into the hills...

where his cough-torn lungs can breathe clean, fresh air.

But he perishes because the gods are angry.

He perishes because we live in a world full of superstitious fools.

It isn't the gods that make a man sick or well.

The gods could strike you dead for saying that.

Perhaps they will.

But I'm sure they won't strike me with a belly ache.

That's heresy.

Nature follows certain definite laws...

which can be observed.

And the cause of a disease may be more or less predicted.

But your help is needed.

So take this poor piece of suffering humanity up into the hills.

Give him plenty of milk and honey.

Let him breathe.

And if I'm right...

he'll live.

Hippocrates' theories were right.

And his name went down through history.

So did his words of the Hippocratic oath.

Into whatever house I may enter...

I will enter for the benefit of the sick.

And whatever I may hear or see in the course of my profession...

I will never divulge.

Every dedicated physician holds this oath in violet.

I'm sorry, Mr. Scratch.

My opponent has made a point.

But he insists on ignoring all my favorite proteges.

Next exhibit, please.

Pretty, isn't it?

But the wearer was much prettier.

A young lady whom I knew rather intimately.

In fact, she and I worked remarkably well together.

Somewhere about 30 B.C.

She was the Queen of Egypt, Cleopatra by name.

Although some people who failed to appreciate her true talents...

vulgarly called her the Serpent of the Nile.

She was hardly out of her teens when she poisoned her young brother.

Would you like a drink?

Yes, I would.

We'll drink a toast.

Thank you.

To us.

Oh, yes, Cleopatra was quite a girl.

But murder by poison was only one of her indoor hobbies.

She was mad about jewels.

And shortly afterwards she picked up with a jewel-giving gentleman...

who was old enough to be her grandfather.

Julia Caesar!

Cleopatra.

Caesar.

Darling.

Cleopatra not only picked up with Caesar...

but picked his pockets as well.

See what I have.

She didn't really need the money.

It was just her way of keeping in the practice of fleecing lovers.

And Cleopatra had plenty of lovers to fleece.

She even persuaded one Roman commander to go to war against his native land...

but double-crossed him at the last minute and ordered her galleys back to Egypt.

This bewildered Roman was Mark Antony.

Wait here.

Antony.

Cleopatra, why did you turn your ship from the fight?

I believe the battle to be lost.

All the galleys have scattered and fled before the enemy...

and just when the battle was almost won.

Do not blame me.

What do I know of war?

But what about love?

Ours.

If the West came, we had sworn to die together.

Aren't we together now, Antony?

We can sail back to Alexandria always together.

We can still live, my dearest.

With shame on our names.

Oh, but with love for each other in our hearts.

My galley is swift.

The Romans will never catch us.

Come closer to me, Antony.

What have you done to me?

Where have you led me?

I was the greatest Roman of them all.

What am I now?

You are my love.

Little Cleopatra should have said, you were my love...

because she already had ideas about double-crossing him.

Ideas of making a deal with the Romans.

Her own safety in exchange for Antony's life.

As for Antony, his traitorous act bedeviled him and he planned revenge.

You see, love and hate are really the same.

So it isn't surprising the thoughts of killing Cleopatra possessed him.

I was the greatest Roman of them all.

But not quite great enough to overcome a woman's treachery, were you, Antony?

What now?

What black thoughts fill you with vengeance?

Cleopatra.

Antony's sacrifice was wasted for Cleopatra soon suffered a similar fate.

You see, suicide was not only fashionable but necessary...

when the Romans finally double-crossed her.

Oh, speaking of suicide and murder,

when it comes to pets of mine whom man has encouraged...

we mustn't forget Nero, one of my most talented disciples.

This is the court of Nero, evil and depraved...

whose debauchery and perversion surpassed

even the wildest and wickedest dreams of the most deluded.

And this is Nero, nursed on a witch's venom, twisted by endless orgies.

This madman knew no end to violence, no limit to lunacy.

He arranged the suicide of most of his closest friends, had his mother clubbed to death...

and poisoned a lot of the people he knew and sought out other similar amusements.

Well, I'm not amused, and I'm certain mankind wasn't either.

Oh, but you're wrong.

Look at the merriment all about you.

They don't look unamused to me.

Let the wine flow, for tonight, tonight Nero celebrates his greatest triumph.

Now, if you'll follow me out onto the balcony, you'll see this madman's greatest folly.

I need no further proof of Nero's lunacy.

Besides, he was only a mad moment of history.

Perhaps.

But I want to prove the lunacy of all mankind.

May I show you the way?

Oh, a charming fellow, Nero.

Burn!

Burn, my glorious Rome!

Burn up to heaven so that...

that Jupiter can see who is greater, you or I!

Murderer, maniac, rapist, pervert, matricide, arsonist, pigamist...

and sometimes accomplished musician and singer for all social occasions.

This was Nero, whose depravity and lunacy could not possibly have been foisted upon mankind.

Had mankind not been content and willing to accept it...

Was mankind content?

Wasn't he?

Not if you listened to other voices which were being heard in Rome that night.

In the secret caves and in the depths of the catacombs...

echoing holy words of deliverance which had been uttered even 30 years earlier.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

It's Nero's soldiers coming for us.

We must flee.

Did the master flee when they came to take him to the hill called Golgotha?

But if we die, the master's words die with us.

The words will live on, surviving the flames of martyrdom...

until peace and faith and love shall rule the earth.

They are here.

We must pray for help.

No.

Rather let us give thanks.

For the master also said...

Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake.

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Our father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done.

Christian, come with us.

Your holy words didn't do much good, did they?

Oh, yes, they did.

New hope had come...

into a world where hope had been dead.

Mankind was reaching out for the light.

And all he found was darkness.

Darkness and Attila the Hun.

Attila swept across the known world...

destroying everything that thousands of years of progress had achieved.

He burned in pillage, trampling cross and blade...

beneath his hordes of destruction.

Everything withered before him.

Faith, learning, medicine, the arts and sciences.

The Dark Ages.

Hundreds of years of the Dark Ages...

until nothing was left except misery, fire and blood.

Yes, it's true.

Half the world had died.

But civilization itself was not dead.

It still lived on through hundreds of years of desolation...

ignorance and brutality.

And very slowly its pulse beat was gathering strength again.

Much of that period is only legend.

The tales of King Arthur and his gallant knights...

and the saga of the glorious quest of the Holy Grail.

True or false, at least the legends proved...

that faith had not been entirely forgotten.

Long before knighthood had flowered...

holy monks had carried the work of God from village to village...

keeping the torch of faith burning brightly.

A strange preacher, man.

Still existing, in spite of what Mr. Scratch has called...

his sinful stupidity.

Still fighting and dying for his faith.

Whether the deity be the Judaic God, the Holy Trinity...

or the great enlightenment as preached by the prophet Buddha...

or Allah, whose prophet was Mohammed.

As in all wars, nobody was the victor.

The knights went home to Italy and to Germany...

to France and to England.

And they turned to the occupation of the tournament and the contest.

For the fun of it.

But just like that.

Well, maybe it wasn't always fun.

But he developed something else, too.

Because one day, after hundreds of years of lawlessness...

he brought back the basic principles of law at Runnymede in England...

when the barons forced King John to sign the Magna Carta...

the provisions of which were to become the cornerstone of law, order and civil liberty.

There.

There. King John signed it.

Much against his will.

Once again, man had discovered the sacredness of human rights.

Had he. Had he, indeed.

And what about Joan of Arc?

You shouldn't have mentioned Joan.

Her story was the triumph of faith.

The triumph of blithering idiocy...

coupled with a criminal cruelty even I couldn't have surpassed.

Human rights, eh?

Noble sirs, may we look at what mankind did to that young woman?

Those voices of Joan's.

I tried to plug her ears, but the voices were too persistent.

Joan.

Can you hear me, Joan?

This is the voice of Saint Michael.

Your country is waiting for you, Joan.

Go to Prince Charles.

Tell him you will lead his army in the name of God...

and you will raise the siege of Orleans.

You will save France.

So Joan went to Prince Charles and he believed her tale...

and gave her command of the army.

The effect was quite startling, all things considered.

The word of her valor spread like wildfire...

inspiring a beaten nation with new fervor.

And soon men were flocking to Joan's standard from every corner of France.

From every vineyard and street corner they followed...

escorted by priests but ready for violence.

You will raise the siege of Orleans.

You will save France by attacking.

We can win by attacking.

God is with us.

Joan raised the siege of Orleans and thanks to that...

Prince Charles was crowned King of France only two months later.

Joan continued to lead her armies in their quest for freedom.

True, she did have courage and faith.

But when she led a sortie against the soldiers of Burgundy...

she was taken prisoner.

Take a good look at how her faith and courage were repaid.

Joan was tried by a court in the castle at Rouen.

A court that condemned her before it even convened.

Get on with the burning!

Put an end to this trial!

Repent, my daughter.

Your hours are numbered...

and the patience of this court is ended.

Repent and deny that you ever heard voices.

But he did speak to me.

The voice of Blessed Saint Michael cannot be denied.

Other voices spoke to me too.

My voices will not be denied.

Liar!

You blaspheme before this God of God!

How dare you tell a bishop of Auvergne such tales!

Witch!

Heretic!

The girl lies and must be burned.

Heretic liar!

Where is your Saint Michael now?

Answer us, maid of Orleans.

But I do not command, Blessed Saint Michael.

He comes and goes of his own free will.

But even if I could call him before you, I would not.

For I would be ashamed to have him see you treat me so badly.

Have we truly treated you badly?

Badly and foolishly as well.

Your offer is ridiculous.

You ask me that I deny that my voices came from God.

And in return you offer me imprisonment.

Yet if I persist that my voices are truly those of angels, you will burn me at the stake.

Either choice brings pain.

One more quickly.

The other endless.

Is there no other way?

Is there no one to help me?

No one?

No one.

Not even the Dauphin can help.

Nor would he if he could.

Charles!

Prince Charles!

If you turn from me too, then there's truly no one left.

St. Michael!

Oh, blessed St. Michael!

Have you also forsaken?

Poor Joan, burned at the stake.

The truth she spoke meant nothing.

The stake was a symbol of man's greed selfishness,

and above all, of his lack of faith.

Do you still say I shouldn't have mentioned Joan?

Well, I say that when it comes to mankind's guilt or innocence,

the story of Joan of Arc is an indictment of the entire Middle Ages.

Not quite the entire Middle Ages.

The incident of Joan of Arc was tragic, but hardly an indictment of all mankind.

For at the very same time, man and his arts, his religion, his medicine, his philosophies,

were going through a rebirth, a renaissance.

And with the court's permission, I'm sure you must have something in here that will help me.

I object.

Objection is held in abeyance until the court understands this action on the part of man.

Thank you, my lord.

This great and endless flow of human expression swept across Europe.

The classic writings of Dante, Boccaccio, and Petrarch inaugurated a new age of literature.

And out of the same chaos came the breathtaking architecture of the Lombardos,

the dazzling art of Titian and Michelangelo,

and the free thought of the individual, as so beautifully

expressed by Telesio, Machiavelli, and Campanella.

The printed word, made available to great numbers of people

by the invention of the printing press, was a significant contribution

to the self-assertion and emancipation of the human will.

Mr. Scratch's objection is overruled.

Continue.

Noble sirs, I submit for your consideration mankind's miraculous recovery and regeneration

following the misery, the hatred, the bigotry, and the massacres of the Dark Ages.

Further, I submit, as a symbol of the time,

a man of greatness whom mankind followed willingly.

His name, Leonardo da Vinci.

His profession was a varied one.

Artist, sculptor, inventor, engineer,

a man who experimented with balloons and flying machines,

drained the marshes of the Lombardian plains,

and expressed his joy in all things between heaven and earth,

in prose, in painting, and sculpture.

A man of giant intellects, honored in his own time and down through the ages.

And this, probably one of the most famous works of art the world has ever known, the Mona Lisa.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Fair.

Trouble with you, Mr. Scratch, is that you know nothing about painting.

I've never pretended to be an art expert.

And this, the most beautiful painting in the world, the Last Supper.

Certainly, a mankind wise enough to recognize and follow the path

opened by da Vinci, must be basically sound and deserve to survive.

- Objection. - On what grounds?

On the grounds that the spirit of man does not mention mankind's motives.

Of course, Leonardo was recognized, but not for any holier-than-thou reasons.

But rather for the most diabolical groundwork ever laid for a volcanic future.

As evidence, listen to this portion of a letter that he wrote to the Duke of Milan,

praising himself for somewhat other achievements.

Sustained.

The letter, please.

Most illustrious Lord, having seen and considered the proofs of all masters and

inventors of instruments of war, I am emboldened to put myself in communication

with Your Excellency in order to acquaint you with my secrets.

I have plans for making cannon, convenient and easy of transport.

I have plans for constructing engines suitable for attack.

I can make armored cars, can supply catapults.

I have plans for destroying every fortress and other stronghold.

The exhibits, please.

As further proof, these were all made by da Vinci.

Can anyone deny that every war-maker owes Leonardo

an eternal debt of gratitude for these so-called achievements?

Designs which set the stage for the machine gun and the tank.

Is it to mankind's credit that he enshrines this alleged genius

who envisioned atomic destruction?

Can my colleague answer that?

Mr. Scratch gives da Vinci more credit than that great scholar would desire.

A man of gentle and thoughtful ways, he hated violence and war,

but certainly did not hesitate to use his talents to combat your diabolical schemes.

Furthermore, can you deny the great influence that such daring dreamers

exerted on venturesome people like Christopher Columbus?

And so, Father, the ship sails east from Spain over a long and tedious route.

And finally, after much travel, it lands in the Indies.

Now, just suppose it were possible to reach the Indies

by traveling in the opposite direction, west instead of east.

And just suppose the route was shorter and more direct.

Impossible. Impossible.

- Yes, but why? - I'll show you why.

Only madmen would sail under your command.

You would sail right off the end of the earth into a dark abyss.

Boom!

No more ship.

But suppose, Father, there were no end of the earth, no dark abyss.

Here.

Suppose this is Spain, and suppose these are the Indies.

And suppose, instead of traveling east, the ship travels west around the earth,

and in half the time, lands in the Indies.

Possible.

Possible.

Bueno.

Bueno.

And so the Orange became the Earth, and the single ship became a full expedition.

The spirit of adventure, exploration, and discovery, fought for and experienced by

Columbus, opened a new territory, half again as large as the world already known.

Columbus showed the way, and mankind followed.

I concede the point, but to what end?

Murder? Pillage?

Rape?

Does my noble colleague remember what happened within 30 years after Columbus showed

benevolent mankind the way to the New World?

Have you too quickly forgotten the slaughter of the Aztecs by Cortes?

This violent pattern set by the bloodthirsty Cortes,

all in all, turned out to be one of my better jobs.

The slaughter of the New World was endless, but delightful.

Was this what they called a high road to a better world?

The slaughter wasn't quite endless because there were also other nations

which didn't believe in these methods of possible submission.

One day, an ambassador from the invincible King Philip of Spain came from his ship

through the streets of London to bring an ultimatum of war to Queen Elizabeth of England.

The cheers, by the way, were not for the Spanish envoy, but for his English escort.

It seems that England and Spain were somewhat less than friendly.

Announcing the arrival of His Excellency, the ambassador

from the court of His Most Catholic Majesty, Philip II, the King of Spain.

We await this handsome Spaniard.

Your Majesty, King Philip has been most tolerant.

No nation on earth can stand against Spain, yet your little country flaunts us at every turn.

You have aided the rebels in the Spanish Netherlands.

Our dominions in the Americas are subjected to raids by your pirates.

Pirates, sirrah?

I refer to your captains, Drake, Frobisher, Grendel.

These captains sail in the name of England.

Then I suggest you command them to retire to English waters, for the oceans belong to Spain.

Just as the Americas belong to Spain.

Is that your meaning?

The Americas are ours by right of conquest.

And have you also conquered the fishes of the sea?

It pleases Your Majesty to joke.

No, sirrah, no joke.

Speaking for my little England, whole port of pirates and marauders,

I say I believe the sea should be free to all nations to sail and trade in peace.

And, sirrah, you may tell your king, I shall not command my captains to withdraw.

Madam, I must make my meaning clear.

Concur with King Philip's wishes,

or you will be faced with an armada of fighting ships greater than the world has ever known.

We will fight you with fire and with sword

until your little England is no more than a vassal state of Spain.

You will take those words back!

I speak for my king.

But the choice is yours.

Peace or war.

I shall await your answer.

I would be alone.

Where is that actor-poet that was brought to our court?

William Shakespeare at your service, Your Majesty.

But if you prefer that I also should withdraw.

Withdraw?

That is what Spain would have me do.

Hide me head like a snail in a shell!

These are affairs of state, ma'am.

I am but a poor player.

But not a poor writer, or so I've heard.

Forgive me, young man.

Your queen has much on her mind.

Read to me.

It might help.

I have here, Your Majesty, the beginnings of a new comedy.

I call it The Taming of the Shrew.

The taming of the shrew?

Am I the shrew?

And will King Philip of Spain tame me?

Your Majesty, in writing this play I had no thought of politics.

No, of course not.

But, Master Shakespeare, our country is at the crossroads.

And I must choose the path we shall take.

England can fall, Master Shakespeare.

So can Spain, ma'am.

You are right!

Yes!

You are right!

And courageous.

Read something else.

Something that will put courage into this poor woman's heart.

This England never did, nor never shall lie at the proud foot of a conqueror.

Yes!

That's it!

Is there more?

Come the three corners of the world in arms and we shall shock them.

Nor shall make us through if England to itself do rest.

But true.

Superb!

Superb!

And you have given me the answer.

The answer was to fight.

The Spanish armada sailed against England and suffered a defeat which altered the history of

the world.

Because, with the power of Spain broken, the seas were freed from her domination.

And this freedom opened a new world through peaceful settling, not slaughter.

The colonists who came to Jamestown in 1607 under Captain John Smith were farmers and

businessmen, not pirates and cutthroats.

They were men of honor, interested in the development of the new world.

They cleared the forests, built homes, started a new happy existence.

This was mankind living up to the covenants.

My colleague paints the prettiest pictures.

Not accurate, but pretty.

What peaceful settling of the new world was man describing

which omits the outrageous stealing of land from the Indians?

What men of honor was man referring to

when he fails to mention the foul-smelling crime of slavery?

I do not recognize that the freedom of the seas or the colonization

of the new world brought any special glisten to the halo of mankind.

I hardly find your dialogue amusing, Mr. Scratch.

You must forgive me, sir.

I was just remembering another form of halo crowning.

Don't drink it.

It's an exhibit.

Mr. Scratch, there will be no drinking in this court.

A thousand pardons, sir.

I have no intention of drinking it either.

I merely wish to illustrate a point.

Proceed.

With care.

If memory serves me right, even mankind itself during that Elizabethan period was a bit

dubious over the angelic aspects of this adventure into the new world.

Sir Walter Raleigh, that gay poet, explorer, sailor whose bravery did as much to

open the new world as any other human being, was he not beheaded for his noble efforts?

That was hardly the way for mankind to show its gratitude.

Your sense of humor is macabre.

Were you laughing over Sir Walter's unpleasant demise?

Well, I did indeed find that a bit funny.

But funnier still was an incident which occurred while he still kept his hair.

It was at the court of Queen Elizabeth.

Raleigh's shocking display of the art of pipe-smoking horrified English royalty.

Sir Walter Raleigh!

Sir Walter, sir, fire!

Some reward for a man who helped settle the new world.

Sir Walter's head took terrible punishment.

First they bathed it in beer and then they cut it off.

What sort of an enlightened world is this of which mankind boasts

and which rewards discovery with a beer bath in the beheading

and allows one man to enslave his brother and others to steal land and kill

the rightful owners and those that were not killed were cheated out of their birthright?

Which reminds me of a certain real estate transaction involving these trinkets.

It was one that could hardly be called a benevolent gesture of mankind.

Do you remember the story about Manhattan Island and Peter Minuit and the Indians?

- Three minutes and leave them in the shell. - What?

- Oh, not what. - How?

$35, not cent less.

But it's only an island.

If we don't need money, you know, buy for $50.

Not even $100.

One answer between the two of you, please.

$20 and not a cent more.

$30, not cent less.

Well, I guess we'll just have to pass this deal by.

Ah, medicine man say me sick.

If me no sick, me no sell island.

Me sick, so me go west.

You're crazy to go west.

The whole west is full of Indians.

You'll hardly get killed.

I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll raise my offer to $22.

$26, not cent less for island of Manhattan.

Why don't we have a drink and forget the whole deal?

Ah, my medicine man tell me no drink, no smoke.

- No drink and no smoke? - No.

- What about girls? - No girls.

- What about her? - She my daughter.

She no girl?

That's what he thinks.

Now, just let me get this straight. You're not allowed a drink?

- No. - No smoke?

- And no girls? - No.

No girls.

Well, what do you want the $26 for?

You better get another doctor and have a little fun out of life.

Now, this is my final offer.

$24 and not a penny more.

Robbery.

White man robbed poor Indian.

So you think you're being robbed, eh?

Be glad it's not 300 years later.

You might have been wiped out in the stock market.

Now, is it a deal or isn't it?

- Robbery. - That's quite true.

But is it a deal or isn't it?

- Deal. - Good.

Check.

You, laughing water, turn around.

She's easily amused, isn't she?

Hey, what you doing?

I'm writing you a check for $24.

What is check?

Well, it's a... it's a promise to pay.

Ah, me no want promise.

Me want money.

Well, you'd hardly expect me to carry that much cash around at one time now, would you?

Say, how about taking it in merchandise?

Merchandise, eh?

- What's that? - Well, this.

This is merchandise.

Valuable jewels.

From way down upon the Swahnee River.

River.

Oh, she ought to be in show business.

All right. I take deal.

Now, wait a minute. I got to have these tags.

My income tax retains.

These tags are very valuable.

- Tags valuable? - I'll say.

Me take tags. You take jewels.

Chief, no fool.

No wonder you're the chief.

With a brain like yours, the white man hasn't got a chance.

How?

Three minutes and leave him in the shell.

Laughing water, come.

We go west.

Way down upon the Swahnee River.

White man, no fool either.

Manhattan Island.

Grabbed from its Indian owners for $24 worth of junk.

What a jib.

And history didn't tell the whole story.

Minuet wound up not only with the island, but with the Indian girl as well.

Anyway, thanks to Governor Minuet and others like him,

the European invasion of America was now running in high gear.

But was the fresh, clean air of the New World doing

anything to straighten out man's thinking processes?

Not at all.

Remember the Salem witch trials?

The hangings and the burnings?

Oh, my boys and girls were really doing things.

Not that their cousins in the Old World were behaving any better.

They still liked to live in squalor and dirt,

encouraging conditions of filth and disease and, oh, yes, plague.

England, the spring of 1665.

In London alone, the death rate was nearly one in six.

Whole families died behind their guarded doors.

And in the night, the death carts came through the stricken city.

And who was to blame, if not man,

who still refused to learn that cleanliness is next to godliness?

And it wasn't my place to teach him.

If it hadn't been for an outbreak of fire in London's Pudding Lane,

the great plague might have wiped out England's entire population.

But the fire came, consuming churches, prisons, bridges, homes, and, incidentally,

much to my regret, burning out the plague spots themselves.

But I still had other little matters to keep me busy.

Even when man left dry land, he wasn't any better.

He had achieved a certain freedom of the seas, but the seas were no safer now than they'd been

a hundred years earlier, because some of my very best disciples were on the rampage.

Oh, great, great days.

Pording, panning, keel-hauling, walking the plague.

Believe me, for homicidal mania and unmitigated villainy,

the 17th and 18th centuries hit a new low.

But also a new high, because there's another side to the picture, the great discoveries,

some of them made by mere chance.

Let me show you.

It's possible that Isaac Newton's revelation of the laws of gravity

may have been more painful than he reported.

For here's what happened when Newton went strolling in his apple orchard.

Newton was somewhat less than fond of apples,

but what happened that day almost made up for Adam's fiasco with the same fruit.

It might have been a painful experience, but to Newton,

it proved that all that goes up must come down, even if it's just an apple on the head.

But you must remember, all this happened long before the invention of applesauce.

Well, true or false, the story of Newton and the apple proves that mankind is not the same.

And mankind has never been found wanting for a sense of humor.

And even as the worlds of science, music and medicine advanced,

so did the spirit of man and his thinking.

The American Revolution is the case in point.

It all started with unfair taxation.

But history will show, despite Mr. Scratch's protests, that mankind will be neither

dominated nor misled for any great period of time, and that under the shackles of

oppression, spirited heroes are created.

Paul Revere was one of many who clearly recognized

right from wrong and led the revolt against tyranny.

George Washington was another giant who also carried the torch of freedom,

which illuminated a path for other such fervent men

as Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin and John Adams.

Together, they recognized that all men are created equal, and that whenever any form of

government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to

abolish it, and to institute a new government.

Mr. Scratch!

Where are we? What's all this?

This is a picture of man throwing off the yoke of oppression,

showing that he wants only freedom of spirit.

Freedom of spirit?

Mass murder, pillage, blood, all blessed in the spirit of freedom?

I never said that.

Oh, I'm not holding it against you. I like bloodshed.

But when it comes to revolution, man hasn't always been as moderate

as he was in North America.

Take France, 13 years later.

Nobody would have dreamed the country was bankrupt,

the couriers giggled and made love, particularly in the salon

of a charming lady named Marie Antoinette, who happened to be the queen.

They say the mob is marching on Versailles, Your Majesty.

Oh, la, la.

A long walk indeed.

Thousands of them carrying pitchforks.

Oh, pray let us hope they make hay while the sun shines.

Naturally, they'll all be blown to pieces by the army.

Oh, what a crying shame when one considers a servant problem.

Oh, would it be tactless to ask what the poor creatures want?

They protest that they haven't any bread, Your Majesty.

No bread indeed. Then let them eat cake.

Let them eat cake.

It was a witticism which echoed around the world,

and which, incidentally, was to cost poor Marie Antoinette her delicate little head.

But she wasn't the only one.

Mankind was on the rampage again, all set for the bloodbath known as the Reign of Terror.

And how that guillotine went to work lopping off those heads,

sometimes at the rate of a thousand a month.

But in spite of my encouragement, the French Revolution needed out.

I suppose partly because by this time they were running out of heads.

And partly because France had accumulated quite a few wars on her hands.

Wars against England, Spain, Prussia, Austria.

Then at Toulon in the south of France, the cause of peace wasn't exactly helped either.

The British warships succeeded in destroying a large part of the French fleet.

From the point of view of France, the situation was saved by the brilliant

tactics of a young artillery officer who rose from captain to general in a matter of weeks,

and who was soon being acclaimed a military genius.

But man's ego being what it is,

the young general wanted much more than the acclaim of his compatriots.

What Napoleon Bonaparte wanted was the world.

And one night in the year 1796, it looked as if he would get it.

Four Napoleons?

Josephine, I've been waiting for you.

I wanted you to be the first to know.

- They've given you the command? - Yes.

Oh, I'm so... so very glad.

But at you, I have to thank.

It was your influence that made it possible.

Did Napoleon Bonaparte's ability have nothing at all to do with it?

I thank you for saying that.

But even the greatest of men need help.

Lack of perception isn't one of my failings.

Nor is modesty one of your virtues.

But I'm so happy for you.

You'll lead our armies into Italy and you'll win.

Yes, I will.

For the glory of France.

For the glory of France.

What were you thinking about, Justin?

The future.

Listen to that music.

The marching song of France.

Yet one day it could be the song of the United States of Europe.

Italy, Prussia, Austria, Spain.

Yes, and Russia and England, too.

All marching under the same banner.

With you as the Commander-in-Chief.

There's a higher rank than Commander-in-Chief.

What rank could be higher?

Emperor.

No, no.

We fought a revolution for liberty and equality.

Our nation would never give up what it's gained.

Our nation is made up of people who are in it.

People are emotional and easily led.

But a king has to be born.

Yet an emperor could be elected.

Only if the people wished it.

You're right.

A man is only as great as his fellowman will allow.

Yet he can climb to the stars if the world holds a ladder.

I'm afraid for you.

Don't be.

I know exactly where I'm going and how far.

The story of Napoleon ended as does that of all despots.

Mankind tasted blood, found it revolting, and again rose up in protest.

To bring an end to the long twisted road.

Napoleon, who had tried to climb to the stars, had burnt himself out.

Meteor-like.

And it was mankind who sent him into exile.

Once more the human error was corrected by basic humane traits.

Not really.

With one hand you destroyed Napoleon,

but with the other you kept alive a blaze of war that consumed most of the world.

Let's not forget that the other wars dragged on and on.

England against the United States.

Spain against South America.

Russia against Turkey.

England and France. Italy and France against Austria.

And those who tested the so-called freedom

of the seas paid a mighty high price for the trespassing.

The price ran as high as life itself.

Was this the purpose for which man was brought to Earth?

Even the opening of your new world, which you so recently described in awe-inspired tones,

was something less than a Sunday picnic.

Then came the red man, fighting for his very survival.

And the white man, determined to take away this so-called god-given heritage,

used the foulest of methods.

Rather confusing, don't you think?

Didn't limit his foul methods of land grabbing to the Indians.

He even turned against his own neighbors.

Gold fever added to the madness of greed, pestilence and murder,

until finally nature itself revolted

and screamed out in anger in an attempt to put an end to mankind then and there.

Gold.

Gold to tempt man.

But nature didn't quite make it.

So man was off to the races again.

In what way now? My laws!

You want further examples?

The little red book, please. Oh, I'm sorry.

I have it handy here myself. Now let's see. Oh, yes.

What about the years 1861 to 1865, the American Civil War?

Can man talk his way out of that one?

There's no point in even attempting it, but at least something great came out of it.

Something great, eh?

He calls it great.

Oh, I'm not saying it wasn't.

Brother against brother, father against son, three quarters of a million dead.

Why should I complain?

But what was great about it from mankind's point of view?

I'll tell you, Mr. Scratch.

It preserved a way of life.

Do you condemn man for the deeds of Abraham Lincoln?

Deeds which were endlessly good,

including the Emancipation Proclamation that was designed to give freedom to the slaves.

And now, the Proclamation.

That on the first day of January, in the year of our Lord, 1863,

all persons held as slaves within any state or designated part of a state,

the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States,

shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free.

Do you still question that something great came out of the Civil War?

And does Mr. Scratch also ignore and condemn

the great composers whose music continued to delight the world?

Beethoven, Brahms, Verdi.

Add to this the accomplishments of the great inventors, such as Alexander Graham Bell,

who gave the world the telephone.

Mr. Watson, come here.

I want you.

Mr. Watson, come here.

I want you.

Mr. Watson, you did hear me.

And then there was Thomas Edison, the wizard of Menlo Park, who turned night into day.

And, of course, the development of the gas engine finally put the world on wheels.

Some of them flat.

And despite the objection of our four-legged friends, whose first cousin, the Iron Horse,

had a rather fiery evolution itself.

Or does man stand accused because the Wright Brothers

gave him the ability to fly like a bird?

And, well, maybe not quite like a bird.

Where all these achievements so negligible and noble serves,

with mankind's future in the balance, can we ignore the progress of the last 150 years?

By your leave?

Yes, Mr. Scratch.

The last 150 years, says he.

Well, I'll take it from there and say that never in the history of the earth

has man reached such depths of stupidity, greed,

immorality and self-indulgence as in the self-same last 150 years.

Do you want to hear the record?

It's all in here.

You told us that man freed the slaves, but what about the slaves he created?

The slaves that worshiped the God of War,

the God that killed eight and one-half million men in World War I?

But there were consolations.

My opponent has talked of music.

There was music, all right.

A new rhythm maybe, but guaranteed to send the blood pressure soaring.

So the world danced on through the war's end,

through the roaring 20s and into the 30s, and nobody cared to notice

that one of my most brilliant creations was creeping out of the woodwork.

Today, I liberate Ireland!

This is my last territory of demand!

Victory!

Victory!

Today, I invade France!

This is my last territory of demand!

Victory!

Victory!

Today, I invade Russia!

This is my last territory of demand!

And so the world continued to dance through another war.

And with a murderous song in its heart, accompanied by the propeller blades,

this benevolent mankind, ha, used his greatest intellectual invention of the airplane to

deliver one of my greatest, boldest, most spectacular triumphs.

The final session of the High Tribunal of Outer Space is called to order.

Court will now listen to the final summations in the hearing

to determine whether to allow the explosion of the Super H-bomb on the planet Earth,

thereby bringing an end to mankind,

or to prevent the explosion and allow mankind to continue to live.

The spirit of man will be heard first.

The summations will be brief.

Noble sirs, many words have been spoken at this tribunal,

some of them angry, some of them in milder temper.

But whatever the words, I do sincerely believe that down through the ages the soul of man,

misled many times, has survived the deceit of the few

and managed to redirect itself through inherent moral strength.

My colleague, Mr. Scratch, has maligned and blackened all of mankind for all of time.

He does his job well, but that is because it is with him a full-time job,

and over a period of a million years

he has become quite adept at developing man's weaknesses.

Yet man recovers and emerges stronger, more capable than ever.

Now, all the facts have been presented, noble sirs,

and whatever coloring my opponent has chosen to give them,

I am certain you have seen their true worth and weighed them accordingly.

However, one point has been overlooked, one witness not called.

And with your permission, I raise that point

and call that witness now in place of the usual summation.

This procedure is most unusual.

But this case is most unusual.

And since it carries a decision to affect all eternity,

it does not seem unreasonable to beg your indulgence on this one point.

Request granted.

Thank you, my lord.

And now I call your attention to my last witness, the man of tomorrow.

If there is no tomorrow and no men of tomorrow, all the yesterdays will have had no meaning.

All the sacrifice, faith, and progress since man first appeared on earth will go unrewarded,

and the world of evil, presided over by the devil himself, will have been victorious,

if goodness be its own reward.

Let there be a tomorrow on the planet earth.

Before Mr. Scratch delivers his summation, I have an announcement to make.

I have just received word

that the warring armies have moved against each other on the planet earth.

And in accordance with the destiny of time,

the great Super H bomb will explode at exactly 11 o'clock.

I direct your attention to the great clock of outer space.

When the clock strikes 11, the bomb will go off and bring an end to mankind,

unless, as such decisions are entrusted to us,

we decide that the bomb shall not go off and that mankind shall survive.

Therefore speak quickly, Mr. Scratch, and make your summations brief.

For we must make a decision before the clock strikes 11.

Speak, Mr. Scratch.

My distinguished colleague rests his entire case on the so-called man of tomorrow.

By inference, he almost acknowledges that mankind deserves

no better end than annihilation by the Super H bomb.

And yet, weak and sentimental, as is all mankind,

he introduces a sentimental trick

and hopes to gain the mercy of the court by introducing a pathetic last witness, a child.

I accept the challenge.

And I shall use as my final summation the very witness brought here by man.

I call your attention to the witness innocently playing with his toys.

This is mankind's bright hope of tomorrow, the hope of peace and virtue.

Have you seen the toys with which the child plays?

A toy gun and a toy sword!

Milords!

May I have my bed, please?

Noble sir, I ask that the toys of the child be more carefully examined.

With the court's permission, the gun fires nothing more dangerous than music.

- Listen. - Objection!

That is still more sinister.

Objection overruled.

And the toy sword is nothing but a pencil box.

If it please the court, there is one piece of evidence

already referred to which has not been placed on exhibition.

The Bible.

I ask that it now be marked as an exhibit.

Objection! Objection!

Let the Bible be placed in evidence.

First, there is a line to be read.

Objection!

That book has no place in this trial and no bearing on its outcome.

Objection overruled.

Proceed.

The wicked worketh a deceitful work,

but to him that soweth righteousness shall be a sure reward.

My lords, I rest my case.

Gentlemen,

in the matter of the story of mankind,

this High Tribunal has weighed most carefully

the good of man against his evil and finds that man is as evil as he is good.

His holiness has been equaled by his tyranny and his nobility by his lack of faith.

And so the scales balance much too evenly for this High Tribunal to determine whether to

bring an end to mankind or to assure him eternal life.

We therefore reserve judgment in order to allow man more time

to set his house in order at the earliest possible date.

Take heed and listen well.

For time runs swiftly and the fate of man is now laid at the doorstep of man himself.

By the villains you encourage, by the heroes you create,

you shall soon achieve eternal life, or oblivion.

Therefore, it is the decision of the High Tribunal of outer space

this court shall soon convene again to determine finally

whether mankind shall continue or be destroyed by the Super H Bomb.

This choice is entirely up to you.

Thank you.