Usually I grabbed the Sun for light reading on the way to work, but for in-depth coverage, nothing beats the Mop and Pail; I dropped coins into the gray box and took a copy. And I stood there, in the crisp April air, reading everything above the fold.

A Hindu woman in Brussels had asked Salbanda, the Forhilnor spokesperson who met periodically with the media, the simple, direct question of whether he believes in any gods.

And he’d answered — at length.

And of course, cosmologists all over the planet, including Stephen Hawking and Alan Guth, were quickly interviewed to find out if what the Forhilnor had said made sense.

Religious leaders were jockeying for position. The Vatican — with rather a history of backing the wrong horse in scientific debates — was reserving comment, saying only that the pope would address the issue soon. The Wilayat al-Faqih in Iran denounced the alien’s words. Pat Robertson was calling for more donations, to help his organization study the claims. The moderator of the United Church of Canada embraced the revelations, saying that science and faith were indeed reconcilable. A Hindu leader, whose name, I noted, was spelled two different ways in the same article, declared the alien’s statements to be perfectly compatible with Hindu belief. Meanwhile, the ROM’s own Caleb Jones pointed out, on behalf of CSICOP, that there was no need to read anything mystical or supernatural into any of the Forhilnor’s words.

When I arrived at the ROM, the usual round of UFO nuts had been joined by several different religious groups — some in robes, some holding candles, some chanting, some kneeling in prayer. There were also several police officers, making sure that staff members — including but by no means limited to myself — made it safely into the museum; once the main doors opened for the day, they’d extend the same courtesy to patrons.

Laser-printed leaflets were blowing down the sidewalk; one that caught my eye showed Hollus, or another Forhilnor, with his eyestalks exaggerated to look like a devil’s horns.

I entered the museum and made it up to my office. Hollus wavered into existence a short time later. “I have been thinking about the people who blew up the abortion clinic,” he said. “You said they were religious fundamentalists.”

“Well, one presumes so, yes. They haven’t been caught yet.”

“No smoking gun,” said Hollus.

I smiled. “Exactly.”

“But if they are, as you suspect, religious people, why is that relevant?”

“Blowing up an abortion clinic is an attempt to protest a perceived moral outrage.”

“And . . . ?” said Hollus.

“Well, on Earth, the concept of God is inextricably linked to issues of morality.”

Hollus listened.

“In fact, three of our principal religions share the same Ten Commandments, supposedly handed down by God.”

Susan once quipped that the only piece of scripture I knew was the Lawgiver’s Twenty-ninth Scroll:

Beware the beast Man, for he is the devil’s pawn. Alone among God’s primates, he kills for sport, or lust, or greed. Yea, he will murder his brother to possess his brother’s land. Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will make a desert of his home and yours. Shun him. Drive him back into his jungle lair, for he is the harbinger of death.

It’s what Cornelius read to Taylor near the end of Planet of the Apes. Powerful words, and, like Dr. Zaius, I’ve always tried to live by their injunction. But Susan isn’t quite right. Back when I was a student at U of T, lo those many years ago, I occasionally audited classes by Northrop Frye, the great teacher of English; I also snuck into lectures given by Marshall McLuhan and Robertson Davies, the other two members of U of T’s internationally acclaimed humanities triumvirate. It was heady, listening to such staggering intellects. Frye contended that you could not appreciate English literature without knowing the Bible. Perhaps he was right; I’d once made it through about half the Old Testament and had skimmed the color-coded “actual words of Jesus” in a King James version I’d bought at the campus bookstore.

But, basically, what Susan said was true. I didn’t know the Bible well, and I didn’t know the Qur’an or any other holy book at all.

“And these Ten Commandments are?” asked Hollus.

“Umm, well, thou shalt not kill. Thou shalt not commit adultery. Thou shalt not . . . umm, something about an ass.”

“I see,” said Hollus. “But as far as we have been able to determine, the creator has never communicated directly with anyone. Indeed, the Wreeds — who, as you know, spend half their lives actively seeking such communication — claim no success. I am not sure how such commandments would be passed on to any lifeform.”

“Well, if I remember the movie correctly, God wrote them with a finger of fire on stone tablets.”

“There is a movie of this event? Would that not be your smoking gun?”

I smiled. “The movie is a drama, a story. The Ten Commandments were supposedly handed down thousands of years ago, but the movie was made about half a century ago.”

“Oh.”

“Still, many humans believe that they are in direct or indirect communication with God — that he listens to prayers. “They are delusional,” said Hollus. His eyestalks came to rest. “Forgive me,” he said. “I know you are dying. Have you been moved to pray?”

“No. But my wife Susan does.”

“Her prayers have not been answered.”

“No,” I said softly. “They haven’t.”

“How do members of your species reconcile the act of prayer with the reality that most prayers go unanswered?”

I shrugged a little. “We say things like ‘Everything happens for a reason.’”

“Ah, the Wreed philosophy,” said Hollus.

“My little boy asked me if I’d done something wrong — if that’s why I’d gotten cancer.”

“And did you do something wrong?”

“Well, I’ve never smoked, but I suppose my diet could have been better.”

“But did you do anything morally wrong? Those Ten Commandments you mentioned — did you break any of those?”

“To be honest, I don’t even know what all ten are. But I don’t think I’ve ever done anything horrible. I’ve never committed murder. I’ve never cheated on my wife. I’ve never stolen anything — at least not as an adult. I’ve never—” Thoughts of Gordon Small, and events of three decades past, came to mind. “Besides, I can’t believe a caring God would punish anyone, no matter what the transgression, with what I’m going through.”

“ ‘A caring God,”’ repeated Hollus. “I have also heard the phrases ‘a loving God,’ and ‘a compassionate God.’ ” His eye-stalks locked on me. “I think you humans apply too many adjectives to the creator.”

“But you’re the ones who believe that God has a purpose for us,” I said.

“I believe the creator may have a specific reason for wanting a universe that has life in it, and, indeed, as you say, for wanting multiple sentiences to emerge simultaneously. But it seems clear beyond dispute that the creator takes no interest in specific individuals.”

“And that’s the generally held opinion amongst members of your race?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Then what is the source of Forhilnor morality? How do you tell right from wrong?”

Hollus paused, either searching for an answer or considering whether he wanted to answer at all. Finally, he said, “My race has a violent past,” he said, “not unlike your own. We are capable of feats of great savagery — indeed, we do not need weapons to easily kill another member of our own kind. The right things to do are those that keep our violence in abeyance; the wrong things are those that bring it to the fore.” He shifted his weight, redeploying his six feet. “Our race has not fought a war for three generations; since we have the capability to destroy our world, this is a good thing.”