There was a spark.
Fire.
The apes died out anyway.
200 million years passed.

The rockets came, scorching the earth black and barren where they touched. Three landed in perfect symmetry, their points marking the corners an equilateral triangle. The significance was lost on the flora. The fauna had fled the fire and noise. The rockets sat for three of the planet’s cycles around the sun. The rockets left, in unison.

Another 100 million years passed.

There was a spark.
Fire.
The apes died out anyway.
200 million years passed.

The rockets came again. This time six, forming the points of a dodecahedron. The rockets waited. The apes gained courage. The hatches opened. The planet cycled around the sun twice. The apes made homes in the ships’ bowels. Fire would be coming soon.

The rockets sealed. The apes screeched and howled. Some were trapped inside, some outside. The ones inside flew. The ones outside burned. The rockets left the fourth planet, pointed at the third.

A spark.
Fire.
The apes would not die here.