The applause began little by little, hesitantly. Diotima noticed that a few students had left in protest and a mild concern crossed her mind. But the applause grew, and most of the students were on their feet.
Enosh placed two balloons of beer on the stone table in the shade of the awning in his small garden. They bit off the corners of the balloons and drank thirstily. He was silent, waiting patiently.
"Your silence is urging me on more than words," she said.
Enosh continued to be silent and smiled. The look on Diotima's face changed.
"This time I came not only to arouse your students into theological arguments and annoy you. I also came to worry you," she said seriously. The Minister of Defense got up, walked around and looked around the garden filled with green foliage and blossoming trees and again noted to herself the huge difference between his well-kept garden and his hidden room. She began to speak with her back still turned to him.
"I don't agree with the materialistic ideology of the Atheist government, even though I am a part of it. We, the Socratics, have contributed much to the understanding of planetary problems on Dust in the past, and also in the present".
Enosh still could not guess what she would say.
She sat down at the stone table, leaned forward, and looked into Enosh's eyes. "By virtue of my position as Minister of Defense, I have information that has been given to few people so far, and kept impeccably thus far. I trust you to keep this absolutely secret".
"Of course." His curiosity grew.
"The Gnostics are plotting an invasion of the Pythagorean Samos".
"What?" he was shocked. "What for? They wouldn't dare! How do you know"?
"I cannot divulge that to you in the meantime. The information comes from a number of sources and we are treating it as entirely reliable. According to the intelligence we have, we're expecting an invasion in a year's time".
"A year? So soon?" he asked, worriedly.
"There are those who think it will happen in three years, but we have decided to act according to the worst case scenario. You're probably wondering why I'm bringing this to your attention".
"I'm not just wondering about that".
"I need your help," she said. "I had a very difficult conversation with President Filan," she continued.
"Filan knows you're approaching me?" he asked in surprise. Filan had been the Atheistic president for many years, and identified with the materialistic ideology that it supported. Enosh had ceased the provocations he had organized in his youth against the government, but leveled harsh criticism at it whenever he appeared in the media. Filan hinted from time to time that the danger of God could grow among the Socratics. Filan understood that from within the Socratic intellectuals, a spiritual leader could rise up who would sweep away Atheists suffering from emptiness.
"Absolutely. He knows".
"Why do the Gnostics want to invade Samos"?
"The Pythagoreans on Samos have advanced a lot in the development of their processor in recent years. They can create almost any matter," she replied.
"I don't understand. So fast? The world is only just digesting the theory behind the processor".
"Yes, I was surprised too. In any case, the Gnostics want to take control of the processor for their own purposes, and the danger is clear".
"And since when do the Pythagoreans interest Filan?" he asked. Filan was known for his hostility toward any religious culture, and the Pythagoreans in particular.
"Filan's original plan was to take control of the particle processor himself. Think what material luxuries the owner of the processor could make for himself. His plan was to deepen the Atheistic anxiety about the Pythagorean mission to such an extent that it would justify a war against them. Public opinion would never accept a war against the pacifists without the right background, but with an anti-missionary atmosphere, the Atheists could both strike at the dangerous missionaries, and also enjoy the plunder".
"So then Filan wants to grab the processor before the Gnostics have the chance"?
"Yes, that's what he wants, but he's not planning to do it. He understands that he can't raise the public support for that. In fact, his plan is to fight the Gnosis. That's where you come into the picture".
"He wants me to burn Pythagorean credit cards"?
She laughed for a moment, remembering his youthful protests, and then became serious again. "Filan wants to execute a preemptive strike, to send the fleet and destroy all the Gnostic invasive force. The Gnostic reaction won't be long in coming, and thus we will be dragged into an ongoing conflict the likes of which haven't been seen since the Human-Gods' Wars".
"Yes, but Filan knows that too, doesn't he"?
"Maybe, but right now the processor is his top priority. In his eyes, it's a new resource that will get us out of our financial failures," she answered.
"He's more dangerous than I thought. I didn't know he was capable of making decisions like that," said Enosh with sadness.
"I convinced Filan to give you, the Socratics, a chance to deal with the tricky problem".
"What?" He was surprised. "How did you manage"?
"I can't reveal everything right now. Filan is my problem. The Gnostics are a problem for us all." Diotima's despondent face worried him more than her words. Diotima had dealt with some tough crises before, but he had never seen her so worried and anxious.
"But you know the Gnostics will never give in. The only way to dissuade them from their plan is to eliminate them. The pacifistic Pythagoreans would never agree to fight, even if their survival was dependent on it".
"That's why I'm here. In the known civilizations, there is no greater expert than you on the subject of consciousness. We need your assistance to influence the Pythagoreans to converse with the Gnostics or at least to protect themselves with our help".
Enosh thought quietly. A few minutes earlier he had still been in a festive mood, inspired by the Festival of Knowledge, and here, in a sharp about turn, he was now pondering the complex problem Diotima had presented to him. His brain was working feverishly – he had always enjoyed the challenge presented to him by tough problems. Finally he said, "There is no chance we can persuade the Pythagoreans to abandon pacifism. Maybe we should fight the Gnostics unilaterally".
"Filan wants to promote the military option in order to take over the processor. We need to make sure that every diplomatic option has been tried before that. It's possible that I'll be forced to lead an offensive on the forces of the Gnosis, but I must be careful that Filan does not gain personally from such an attack," she said, and he nodded. "I fear that after he eliminates the Gnostics, Filan might try to take control of the processor himself".
Enosh nodded again.
"The aim here is to avoid war. We need to find a way of influencing the Pythagoreans and the Gnostics. You know of the historical loathing between them".
"I know it well. How do you expect to solve a conflict seared into both sides for so many years?" asked Enosh.
"Now do you understand why I came to you?" asked Diotima.
"I never thought I'd regret meeting you".
CHAPTER 6
“Sophia here. All is well. Samos is functioning well. How are you?”
She waited as the message traversed through space to reach Planet Octavia and return from it with a slight delay.
“Hello, Sophia. Nicomachus here,” answered the supervisor in charge of communication with the space stations. “All is well here. The citrus is at the peak of bloom, the latest space station is currently underway and the good Lord is smiling down on us in a clear way.” That was the Pythagoreans' way of saying that there were no disasters. Were there disasters, he would have said that the good Lord was smiling down on them in a way that was beyond their understanding. “How can I be of service?”
“Did you happen to send us a ship from Octavia or from one of the Pythagorean bases?”
“As you are well aware, every Pythagorean visit is coordinated with you ahead of time,
but let me check and see if there was some sort of error.”
Sophia waited a few seconds.
“According to the computer's log, the last ship that was sent your way arrived three months ago. Why do you ask?”
“A single Pythagorean ship has arrived without prior coordination. The sole passenger of the ship is a male suffering from space amnesia.”
“I gather that you moored his ship and brought him up to the station,” said Nicomachus sharply, cutting short the relaxed atmosphere.
“He was unconscious and lacked the means to navigate the ship. I exercised my judgment as master of the station and decided to bring him in,” Sophia said with conviction. “I will send you the ship's identification number and would appreciate it if you could locate its origin.”
To Nicomachus' chagrin, he could only respond matter-of-factly, “Wait a minute or two.” He hoped that the station would not come to any harm due to her negligence. This was uncharacteristic of Sophia. 'I should notify headquarters immediately,' he thought to himself. To her surprise, Nicomachus' critical tone did not unsettle her; she was confident in her decision. Nicomachus continued in the same reproachful tone as he relayed the ship's details. Her fears were confirmed. It was a Pythagorean ship that had been stolen from an airfield base in Zur, one of Octavia's outermost moons.
“Thank you, Nicomachus. Goodbye, Octavia.”
“Goodbye, Samos.”
Sofia continued her usual routine as master of the station. She managed the scientists' meeting, which dealt with upgrading the mobile version of the simulator; after that, she marked the progress of the students in the advanced stages of the engineering track; she complimented the culinary technician on his menu enrichment program; and finally, she dropped in to visit the stranger at the information system station, whereupon she sensed some sort of unease.
The stranger had been through some rough days. He tried not to let it show on the outside, but inside a storm was raging. He alternated between depression, rooted in his inability to recall who he was, and the fear that he would never remember. In practice, he did not totally lose his memory. He spoke Interstellar fluently. He knew that he must brush his teeth. He remembered the social codes of language and dress. He knew how to greet the people at the station and how to engage in small talk. But in spite of all this, he still could not recall who he was and where he came from. He felt displaced and alone. He spent most of his time learning history in hopes that some detail would jog his memory. When he wandered through the station, he wondered what his own home looked like. The exaggerated serenity of the station felt almost inhuman to him. 'Inhuman compared to what?' he asked himself. 'Compared to some awareness buried deep inside me, albeit inaccessible.' He tried not to think too much, not to sink into frustration. 'I must focus on my studies and have faith that everything will fall into place.'
When Sophia came to visit him, he was learning a chapter of Neo-Pythagorean history. Her eyes lit up when she saw that he was happy to see him.
“How are you?” she asked him.
He enthusiastically recounted how he wandered the corridors of the station for hours learning about his new home, expressed his admiration of the Pythagorean technology and architecture: how the solid spheres wrapped around each other and how the passage between them was carried out via the elevators. He still could not grasp the phenomenon that no matter what direction the elevator traveled, it emerged right side up despite Samos' spherical shape. Sophia explained that the elevator's bottom was always aligned toward the station's center of gravity. If it remained relative to the center of gravity, it could never flip over. The advanced technology went hand in hand with the design. The pearly hues, the curvature of the walls and the harmonious music fostered a sense of tranquility.
“I'm glad that you like it here,” she said and continued, as though in defiance to Octavia, “let me show you more.” She took his hand in hers and led him through the station's corridors out of the database, until they reached a circular space that was colored in shades of light brown and interspersed with various objects.
“This is the collection of samples,” said Sophia from behind him.
“Samples?”
“Yes. These are the samples created by the processor.”He saw a red hibiscus flower buzzing with honeybees, a swordtail fish adorned with a fan of blue and green fins swimming inside a round bubble that was floating in space, as well as a model of a solar system complete with planets orbiting the central star.
“The processor created all of these things?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“In the meantime, just try to enjoy the items' form, beauty, harmony and symmetry. That will help you relax and will heal your thoughts; for there is healing power in orderliness.”
The stranger breathed deeply and looked around with interest. He listened to the wonderful harmonies. “Is music central to your lives?”
Sophia touched the bubble of water and the swordtail brushed her fingers with its tail. When she retracted her finger, the water bubble rippled and returned to place.
“It is very central. All the Pythagorean children are musically composed by the time they turn twelve."
"composed?"
"Yes, when a Pythagorean child is born, we locate sixty heavenly bodies that traverse a twelve-year orbit that are closest to him at the time of his birth. After these twelve years, the planetary movement is transcribed into musical notation. My mother, Orithea the musician, is the one who arranges the music,” she said proudly. “She weaves each Pythagorean into his unique cosmic destiny and then plays its music to him.”
“Can I hear your melody?”
Sophia moved from the swordtail toward the model of the solar system. She touched one of the spheres and set the entire system in motion. “Computer, play 'Sophia's melody'.”
With mouth agape, the stranger listened to the delicate combination of notes caressing him with penetrating richness. He heard the roll of thunder, the babble of brooks over rounded river rocks, the vibration of strings and the howling of the wind. Sophia's voice also blended into the symphony. The music rose, weakened and then escalated once more, but this time bore motifs of disharmony that only served to emphasize the beauty of the music. The stranger felt himself melting at the beauty of the music.
“Did you like it?” asked Sophia shyly.
“Yes, it was extremely moving. Did your mother compose it?”
“Yes, not only for me but for all the Pythagoreans. We each have our own melody.”
“Where do the notes come from?”
“That is the music that the station plays when its spheres are turning. In order to play the piece, I drew the notes of my own melody from the station's sounds.”
The swordtail drew closer to the edge of its water bubble and shot him a quick glance. The stranger turned to the solar model that was spinning in space.
“In your melody, I noticed beautiful disharmonious notes. Where did these sounds come from if the heavenly bodies are meant to be perfectly harmonious?”
Sophia's face fell and the stranger was taken aback. He sensed that he touched upon a nerve.
'My song is damaged,' she thought to herself, 'but that is none of his business.' She coughed lightly and looked away from him. She never talked about this. The movement of the heavenly bodies that corresponds to each Pythagorean child is not just a metaphor for the cosmic order and Orpheus' law; it is a melody that accompanies him throughout his life, which defines him and completely delineates his life. Upon her birth, sixty heavenly bodies were chosen to accompany her. One of them was an arid planet that orbited a broad path around a small yellow sun. When she was six years old, an asteroid the size of a small moon slammed into the planet and shifted it off of its course. When her melody was composed, there was a noticeable dissonance in it. A defect.
“Disharmony, as its name suggests, is a disruption of harmony,” she answered him finally.
“But that dissonance I just heard
is beautiful!” he protested. “It only serves to emphasize the holistic beauty of the melody,” he said and looked at her in a way that reminded her of Thales.
Sophia was silent. The stranger decided not to pressure her and instead steered the conversation toward the subject of her family once more.
“And how did your father come to be part of the Pythagoreans?”
Her voice was flat now, perhaps due to her grief regarding her planet. “My father was not born Pythagorean. He came with his mother to Octavia when he was eight years old. They were among the few refugees that the Pythagoreans liberated from Earth.”
“What does he do?”
“He was a cosmographer.”
“Was?”
“Yes. Pythagoras was not just a theorist. He wandered for thirty eight years studying with the Phoenicians, Hebrews, Canaanites, Egyptians, Babylonians and Persians before returning to the island where he was born, Samos in Greece. Cosmography is an intrinsic part of the Pythagorean mission.”
“Hence the name of the station.”
“Precisely. My father's name was Atar. He continued Pythagoras' work by conducting research expeditions. He was sent to Earth in order to collect samples of life for the processor's database. Before he disappeared, he and his colleagues managed to send many samples. The hibiscus that you saw was created based on the formula we derived from the samples he sent.” She stated the facts pragmatically but the stranger could sense the emotional turmoil she was suppressing.
“Disappeared?”
“Yes. He went out on an expedition to collect water flora from the marshes of Uruk and disappeared without a trace. His colleagues suspected that he was kidnapped by Gnostics.”
“I'm sorry,” he said sadly.
Sophia did not appear to be sad. “A short while afterwards, an enormous explosion occurred and the Gnostic compound in Uruk, along with thousands of Gnostics who inhabited it, was wiped off the face of the Earth. We believe that my father perished in the explosion, though there is no verification of this.”
Mesopotamia - The Redeemer Page 11