Mesopotamia - The Redeemer

by Yehuda Israely

  “We are all aware that, following the betrayal of 'the Condemned One, whose Name has been Erased', he who caused the great explosion in the compound decades ago, the Brotherhood of Purity was founded in Istanbul and has spread to Uruk as well. The Brotherhood dealt with internal security affairs and loyalty checks of Gnostic members. Fortunately, the Brotherhood has successfully dealt with these matters so far, but never have we tackled a challenge like the one we face now. It turns out that not only do we no longer have the Sacred Uruk Tablet that will choose the redeemer for us and so we pray to an empty frame, we also lack a leader.” He paused to allow a moment for the murmurs to subside and then continued. “I can only confide in you; I shall share the information I possess only with you.”

  “What are you implying?” The murmurs rose again.

  “I will explain everything; be patient. If you may recall, Smoke managed to escape unscathed and became Truth's senior deputy.”

  “Yes, yes,” they nodded.

  “Elusive as a demon, like a ghost,” said Thunder. Flash could not suppress an involuntary twitch in his face.

  “After the battle, I examined the battle computer myself, the one that tracks all the devices and processes of each aircraft that participated in the exercise. I found anomalies.” Flash paused to heighten the sense of suspense and then continued. “Whoever does not believe me may check the log himself. Smoke suffered from a technical malfunction. A malfunction caused by his failure to perform the essential pre-flight checks, as every Gnostic warrior should.”

  “A malfunction does not necessarily indicate disloyalty,” piped one of the members.

  “Correct. A malfunction indicates a lack of professionalism, and I am not sure if I am prepared to accept the authority of a future commander of the Gnostic forces if he is professionally lacking. But this is not what I came here to speak to you about. In this case, fraud was committed by the Commander in Chief himself.”

  “Truth?” they gasped in unison.

  “Yes. I know that this is hard for you to believe. You do not have all the facts. Remember, this was a ceremonial exercise.”

  “Yes, yes,” they nodded.

  “And you are all aware that, during these exercises, it is forbidden to save those who fail or make mistakes. Just like during the ceremonial Walk Along the Abyss, so too during this flight: a commander must not rescue his soldiers. This type of assistance harms the Gnostic purity. I will not bore you with conjecture. The moment when it became apparent that Smoke's device had malfunctioned, Truth overrode his system and corrected the error. His leadership demonstrated weakness that is inappropriate for a Gnostic,” he added in a firm and somber tone.

  Incensed mutterings could be heard all around.

  “I too had great difficulty believing it initially, but I hold the proof right here in my hands.” He presented the data documenting Truths's activity on the portable display he pulled out of his pocket. They stared at it, stunned. The uproar rose again.

  “How far has the Gnosis deteriorated? The father of the ship, a traitor?!” exclaimed Abyss in anger. Flash watched the pandemonium with satisfaction. 'Everything is going according to plan,' he mused.

  “We must act at once! He has defiled the sanctity of the Gnosis,” thundered Spark.

  “Please, lower your voices so that we aren't heard,” coaxed Flash. Some of the members shot anxious glances toward the door. “Do not worry. It is almost time for us to come out of hiding and act out in the open. We shall purify the Gnosis in the name of the Brotherhood.” All nodded in agreement.

  “Thunder, please,” Flash turned to him.

  “Like many of you, I have been part of the Gnosis since I was a young boy. I have never been supported when I fell, I have never supported others who have fallen and I have never encountered a true Gnostic who behaved otherwise. Since the betrayal of the Condemned One, whose Name has been Erased, I was sure that we had uprooted all the traitors from among our midst; now, however, I fear that this is not the case. Flash informed me of Truth's correction during the sacred ceremony. I saw the data with my very own eyes, like you did, and to my chagrin, I cannot deny reality. Truth cannot be trusted.”

  “You too cast doubt on the father of the ship?” asked one member incredulously.

  “Yes!” Flash answered for him, “It is clear to me beyond any shadow of a doubt that if Truth was stricken with faint-heartedness and supported the falling during the exercise, then come the moment of truth, he may also be seized with weakness in the face of the supreme nullification, of achieving our mission. We are obligated to bring the Gnosis forward to a new era of purity; to be alert, to return the Gnosis to its original values. We must let Truth fall when he stumbles, and if not, we shall overthrow him.”

  Thunder nodded approvingly. The other members whispered briefly among themselves, their somber faces a testament to their tempers.

  “What must we do?” asked Spark.

  It was not clear if the question was directed at Thunder or Flash. Thunder was the senior of the two, but Flash already acted as if he were the leader of the Brotherhood of Purity.

  “I have no interest in leading the rebellion. I do not aspire to appear to be the redeemer. I have no interest in replacing Truth in his path to becoming the redeemer. My only interest is to preserve the sanctity of the Gnosis. We must choose a leader for ourselves. Thunder, our comrade in the Brotherhood, is more senior than I. I propose Thunder.”

  “Managing the Brotherhood will be detrimental to my current management of the headquarters. I do not want Truth to suspect anything. Please, Flash, you be the leader,” said Thunder. Even though he wanted to lead the Gnosis, he knew that he was not prepared to lead the opposition against Truth.

  “Yes, Flash, tell us what to do,” said Spark.

  This is exactly what Flash had anticipated. He assumed that Thunder would respond the way that he did. Now he could take the leadership position without any opposition. “In light of the circumstances, I have no choice: I must lead us. We have no choice: we must take action in order to save the Gnosis. For the sake of efficiency, I propose that some of the members here form a leadership committee. The committee will prepare contingency plans for various scenarios of Gnostic activity, as well as for various failures committed by Truth during the course of his leadership in various scenarios. We must recruit a portion of the badgers to our service as well. During the moment of truth, we will need to perform operations on the ground.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “If so, in the name of the Master of Light, we are all together now?”

  “In the name of the Master of Light!” they all chorused.

  “The meeting is now closed. And now, we will leave here one at a time and avoid contact for the remainder of the day.”

  Flash could feel fresh blood coursing through his veins. He had waited a long time for this moment. His newfound power was intoxicating in its intensity.

  Oh, Master of Light.

  You have surely redeemed me from wandering.

  You have brought me near to You.

  I stand before You without fear or trembling,

  In the complete eternal light that contains no darkness,

  Bless me! For I am but dust and ashes.

  Flash was the last one remaining in the warehouse. He finished his silent prayer and returned to the mundane routine of the compound.

  The Gnostics refrained from deliberately harming the Syrian city of Aleppo. Its inhabitants were mainly merchants who managed to maintain good relations with most of the tribes. On occasion, they also served as intermediaries, transferring messages or supplying rare cargo. The wealthy residents of the city forked over substantial sums of money in order to be allowed to keep their wealth, and this is how the city on the hill continued to survive. Inside the city, where crowds filled the streets, none of the sentinels stationed on the walls paid any attention to a dusty vagabond who was passing through their midst. He seemed to be down on his luck, one of the
survivors of a tribe now scattered throughout the planet. He wore sandals made of black plastic strips and a tattered desert cloak. On his head was a thatched straw hat bearing a pin with three rays circumscribed in a circular frame, a relic of a twentieth century car manufacturer.

  He removed a few coins from his pocket and refreshed himself with some bittersweet pomegranate juice from a street vendor in the shade of the wall. He then made his way through the alleys of the kasbah. Everyone ignored him: the shouting peddlers, the shopkeepers trying to lure in the passersby, even the beggar children who chased after anyone they could reach; even they turned their faces from him, afraid he would ask them for money. It was obvious that he was a man of no means. He crossed the garment street, turned right onto the fruits and vegetable street and continued to the spice alley. He passed by the all-purpose plastic strip stalls and stopped at the entrance of a store that sold antiques from the twentieth century.

  Bakhnus was a very shrewd merchant, but only a few people were aware of this in Aleppo. Only those who engaged in the black market trade with him knew this, and most of these customers came from outside the city. As an antiques dealer, he did not stand out with any particular skills, nor did he demand extraordinary prices. But as far as his true trade went, the sale of contraband merchandise, he was second to none in Aleppo. He acquired this position mainly through his ability to keep secrets and win his customers' confidence. The vagabond entered the store.

  After shaking hands, Bakhnus said, “Sit, Rial, have a drink and rest from your journey. Perhaps some coffee? Cold coffee?”

  “Yes, cold coffee, thanks,” said the stranger called Rial in a deep, melodic voice that bore no signs of dust from the roads nor weariness of traveling. He gulped the cool drink served in a large mug and praised his host on the coffee's fine quality. Indeed, it was a rare blend.

  “Wait here a moment, I'l get what you paid for in advance and be right back,” said Bakhnus.

  Bakhnus pulled back the curtain at the edge of the store and entered the storage room. The vagabond continued to slowly drink his coffee and observe the curious objects around him: books made of tree paper, ceramic plates, clocks with gears that had stopped and other collectors' items that had been out of use for years. Bakhnus returned with a package wrapped in brown plastic fastened with straps. The vagabond peeked inside the package, smiled in satisfaction and retied it. Bakhnus fastened the package with another two strips of plastic to form a harness.

  The vagabond slid his arms into the straps and hoisted the bundle onto his back. He parted with the merchant and exited once more into the alleys of the Aleppo kasbah. This time, a string of children trailed after him in hopes that his package contained money, or that he would at least throw some candy in their direction. He ignored them and they gave up their attempts. After exiting the city gates, he marched alone southbound on the dusty path.

  The aircraft stood unscathed, concealed inside the thicket not far from the city. He neutralized the electronic defense field and performed the pre-flight checks. He changed out of his street clothes and donned his Gnostic uniform, examined his appearance reflected in the shiny cover of the cockpit and took off vertically, turning toward Baalbek. A few minutes after passing Baalbek, he radioed, “father of the ship is on his way back.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The yellow kayak glided down the river. Thales sat behind Sophia. His sturdy, solid body barely squeezed between the sides of the kayak. His muscular arms rowed with powerful yet gentle strokes. His face was round and pleasant, with a small dimple nestled in the center of his chin. One eye scanned his surroundings with the vigilance of a scout while the other never left Sophia. On either side of them loomed the enormous canyon walls. Beneath them flowed the cerulean water, teeming with leaping fish, and above them shone a red sun amidst the purple Octavian sky.

  He gestured silently to direct Sophia's attention to an eagle nesting in one of the crevices. She exclaimed in awe as the eagle spread its massive wings, skimmed across the water and returned to its nest with a silver fish fluttering between its talons. The canyon walls were covered with Maidenhair ferns that dripped spring water into the river. Bees buzzed about their hive hanging from the red branch of a Strawberry tree and blue beetles flecked with green spots rested atop the edge of the yellow kayak. Thales dodged a granite boulder that had been polished smooth by the water and increased his rowing speed in anticipation of the waterfall ahead. On the left side of the waterfall, the river veered to the left and he could see the edge of the canyon in the distance.

  Thales treasured the time that he spend in the company of Sophia on their rare excursions. He relished the opportunity to show her the hidden treasures and give her a taste of nature's beauty, as if he had created it especially for her. She had not accepted his invitations for a number of weeks now. She had been working tirelessly around the clock and did not allow herself to indulge in any breaks. She finally acquiesced to join him on a tour only because she knew how much it meant to him and because she wanted to convey a sense of amiability toward the chief scout. He had served in the position of chief scout for five years now, much longer than the usual amount of time spent in such a position, and he was still as driven and enthusiastic about it as ever. Thales turned down all offers for his promotion that came from Octavia and Sofia did not protest. For she could not find a scout better than him, and what was more, he had turned out to be a dedicated friend to her as well.

  Her cries of fascination spurred him to accelerate his rowing speed. From his place behind her in the kayak, he could feel the warmth of her body and delighted in the gracefulness of her movements in the rocking boat. As a member of the Samian clergy, he tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to ignore his feelings. Secretly, he could not help but hope that she bore similar feelings toward him as well.

  The canyon opened up before them and the river broadened, flowing between amber tapestries of grass. The meadow was dotted with Royal Poinciana trees sparkling in the redness of the Octavian sun and dappled with flowers in every shade of the rainbow. Female freshwater seals lazed contentedly on the brown clay banks, barking and chattering. The giant male stood overlooking his harem and flapped his flippers together with pride.

  “Let's get closer to him,” Sophia gestured with her hand.

  “Gladly,” answered Thales as he steered the kayak toward the shore. “Would you like to get off?”

  “Yes.”

  He rowed back until the boat's stern slid onto the shore and then got out to pull the kayak forward onto the land. He held her hand as he helped her disembark from the kayak. “Thanks,” she smiled. Thales responded with a wide grin, though a hint of sadness flickered deep within his chestnut eyes. She left the kayak, allowing her robe to trail in the water without getting wet.

  The scout on duty at the mooring dock announced the arrival of a Pythagorean aircraft over the PA system. With apparent disappointment, Thales shouted out instructions to turn off the simulator. This was not the first simulation tour that had been cut short, and had he not been enjoying the company of Sophia, the station master, on such a rare tour, he would have felt no disappointment toward his obligation to return to his position as the chief scout of the Samos Space Station. He must not feel that way. According to the perfect cosmic order, even unexpected visits of foreign aircraft carried meaning. They exited the extinguished simulator dome, which had returned to its usual blue state.

  Sophia walked alone from the simulator to the residential area. On the way, she passed the research labs, computer stations and dining room. The station workers in an assortment of colored gowns stood before the processing terminals and ordered their meals. The others scanned the plates of their fellow diners who were seated around the long tables in order to stimulate inspiration for a new and exciting dish before approaching the processor to create it. The diners chatted lightly about the latest technological progress at the station, a recent development that enabled the processor to absorb raw stellar matter from distant places
, or a new component that accelerates the processing procedure or the simulator unit that produces sharper images.

  She knew every single one of the three hundred workers and residents of the space station, and as she passed through the station's corridors, she greeted each engineer, technician, mathematician, musician and child by name. She almost always took the opportunity to engage some of them in light conversation and express interest in their personal welfare and professional progress, but not today.

  The scientists that led Samos were committed to a monastic lifestyle. The station's staff, engineers, technicians and servicemen were exempt from this requirement, however. They ate with their families at smaller tables. As she passed them, Sophia heard some parents praising their children's success in school and still others chastising their table manners. The children called out her name, waved at her and hoped that she would join them, as she sometimes did, but she signaled with an apologetic smile that she was in a hurry. She advanced from the simulation sphere up to the residential sphere, which was relatively empty this early in the morning.

  Thales waited for her on the soft couch in the leisure room. She had asked him to meet her in the residential area to discuss the vessel that had arrived in Samos and wanted to ensure that their conversation would be kept confidential from everyone else at the station.

  “We don't have much time. We need to decide immediately if we are to allow it entry into Samos,” Sophia began as she paced back and forth about the room.

  “To allow it entry into Samos?” Thales was clearly agitated. It was clear that it was not a Pythagorean ship. Samos was the most secret and concealed space station in all of the manned stations. The only ships that moored in their space station were Pythagorean ships whose arrivals had been coordinated beforehand with the Pythagorean headquarters in Octavia, and even they typically were navigated from afar so that even the pilots did not know the course taken. So far, the Pythagoreans succeeded in keeping their whereabouts a secret, but the ever-present threat that Samos' location would fall into unwelcome hands constantly loomed.