Mesopotamia - The Redeemer

by Yehuda Israely

  CHAPTER 11

  Sophia was flustered. Each development in Enosh's story disturbed her more than the previous one. She had not yet been able to cope with the story of her father's plight and she was already required to digest the fact that Samos, along with the entire galaxy, was in peril due to the Gnostics' destructive bent. She had to decide whether to give up her Pythagorean ideal of pacifism or to wait for the Gnostics like a sitting duck. Or maybe she should not trust the Socratic man at all! After all, she was the master of the station and it was her duty to take a stance and make decisions.

  “How did you locate Samos?” she investigated.

  “Your father relayed the information to Sin, who then passed it on to Diotima.”

  “But why the amnesia?” she asked.

  “When we discovered the Gnostic plot, I convinced Diotima that the best way we could help you was for me to arrive in Samos in a state of amnesia—”

  “So you lied to me?” she interjected.

  “I did not belie—“

  “Don't pretend!” she cut him off again. “You knew all along who you were and the nature of your mission. Thales was right. Perhaps you are not a Gnostic impostor, but an impostor nonetheless.”

  “I did not deceive you,” he tried to defend himself.

  “You deceived me. You knew who I was and that you were sent in order to deliver my father's letter to me. Maybe your entire story is just one big fraud.”

  “What for?”

  “In order to steal the processor for Filan, so he can use it to print gold.”

  “No, no, Sophia. You must believe me. Everything I am telling you is the truth.”

  “It doesn't make sense to me,” she said, hoping to be convinced that she was mistaken.

  “You are correct, it does not make sense. It is true that my amnesia was intentional, but it was genuine.”

  “What?”

  “People forget their identities all the time. We Socratics learn how to engage in self-induced amnesia voluntarily.”

  “Why?”

  “Sit. Here, I'll explain everything to you.” He looked into her eyes and tried to hold her hand, but she withdrew it impatiently. “The stronger our identification with our native culture, the more prejudiced we are when trying to connect with someone from a different culture. This intercultural connection could allow me to influence the other person from my consciousness to their consciousness.”

  “You came here in a ploy to influence us,” she accused.

  Enosh did not respond.

  “What did you want to influence me about?” asked Sophia.

  “Do you want to be angry or do you want to listen?”

  She was silent for a moment. Enosh waited patiently.

  “I'm listening,” she said finally.

  “My aim was to make you mourn for your father.”

  “Enough!” Sophia wanted to end the conversation. She struggled to decide what was worse: her grief over her father, her immense fear of the impending danger or the sense that Enosh was deceiving her.

  “Please, listen to me for just another moment,” he pleaded.

  “I am giving you the chance to explain yourself,” she said impatiently.

  “I do not enjoy seeing you suffer or making you angry, Sophia. It is a critical process that is intended to free you from the Pythagorean culture.”

  “You cannot tell me to sway from my faith! What justification do you have? I will not tolerate your exploitation of my grief over my deceased father as a weapon against me.”

  “The choice is yours, but please, hear me out to the end!” Anything he said seemed to only exacerbate her stubbornness.Sophia was silent and Enosh continued. “Your father failed his test to engage in dialogue with the Gnostics because he did not pass the blood challenge, the test that would determine if he had disconnected from his native culture.”

  “The blood challenge?” she asked. Enosh described the basics of the Gnostic ritual as Sin had explained to him.

  “You are lying! Thales, to the sample room,” she commanded through the audio-visual system.

  “Your father trusted Sin. You must trust me.”

  Thales arrived in a flash. Sophia recounted their exchange and presented him with the letter. He read it intently while they waited. “The letter is forged,” he stated finally.

  “Hear me out,” said Enosh firmly. “It was precisely because of his strict Pythagorean devotion that your father was unable to disconnect from his own identity. I do not blame him. We the Socratics spend years in order to attain that level of self-negation. I came here in order to create a specific kind of dissonance in your Pythagorean identity in order to prepare you for meeting the Gnostics." Enosh blurted the words quickly before Sophia would have the chance of interrupting him again. "As pacifists, your fate is sealed. If you agree, we can cooperate and save Samos as well as all humanity. I am not dangerous. I am here to help all of us. You have no reason to be suspicious of me.”

  Thales looked skeptically at Sophia. Sophia looked back at him helplessly. Both of them began asking questions at once.

  “How are we to be sure that you are not a Gnostic spy?” asked Thales.

  “And how are we supposed to trust you after your initial front was a lie?” pressed Sophia.

  “Give me the benefit of the doubt, at least until you have finished listening to me.” The two were silent. “Are you prepared to listen to me until the end?”

  “Speak! Your time is limited,” said Sophia. Thales presence at her side had made her bolder.

  “Sophia, your father destroyed the module. The Gnostics wanted to pair the module with Samos' particle processor in order to destroy the galaxy. Since then, though, the Gnostics have reestablished the Uruk compound and rebuilt the module. The module can take the processor, which creates matter, and turn it into a machine that destroys matter. In a chain reaction, they can destroy all matter within a range that is more or less the radius of the Milky Way Galaxy, turning it into pure energy. It is likely that only single stars on the outskirts of the galaxy will remain.”

  They listened as Enosh continued. “We on planet Dust have been notified that the module will be ready within three years’ time. According to the original plan, the Atheist rulers were supposed to approach Octavia and offer them military protection. Since you are incapable of and unwilling to carry out active resistance, the Atheists planned on protecting you, even against your own will. At the same time, I was sent to you in an attempt to encourage you to cooperate in defending yourselves. But this persuasion involves a long and complex process. In order to initiate it, I created the amnesia as a starting point—“

  “And that was the reason for the big fraud?” Sophia interjected.

  “And that is why you pretended that you had been struck with amnesia?” said Thales.

  “So as to lead me astray from my Pythagorean faith?” asked Sophia.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Enosh said quietly. “Had I introduced myself as a Socratic Atheist, I would not have been able to get past your prejudices against the unbelieving Atheists. In fact, I would not have been able to get past my own prejudices against the Pythagorean missionaries. Unfortunately, I had no choice. You must shake yourself from your belief in perfection, in immortality. In absolute goodness. This type of Pythagorean stance will prevent you from even being heard by the Gnostics. In answer to your question, Thales, no, I was not pretending.”

  “Thales, I do not believe a single word of it,” she said crossly.

  “If so, take me to the simulator. The simulator does not lie.”

  The station workers did not interfere nor did they remark upon seeing the sullen group pass by, even when they saw the station master in a rage highly atypical of a Pythagorean.

  Enosh sat in the seat in the center of the simulator dome. Sophia stood to the side, listening. Thales explained. “The simulator will pick up on electrical impulses in your consciousness in order to verify your claim that you are a Socratic who was sent t
o us on an official mission, and that you believe your claims—or it will disprove it.”

  “I have nothing to hide. You may proceed,” said Enosh calmly.

  The holographic space filled with blossoming trees, babbling brooks flowing under small bridges and clusters of people in colorful clothing sitting around a stone table. The scent of figs wafted through the air.

  “What is that?” asked Thales, freezing the hologram.

  “That is the Socratic Council and I am among the members, making the decision to save Samos. At the head of the table is Diotima, the Atheist minister of defense,” he said.

  They listened to the conversation taking place around the table. Diotima voiced strong opposition to the corruption of the Atheist government and asked for help. Enosh described Atar's failure in that he could not separate himself from his Pythagorean identity. For a long hour, the simulator recounted Enosh's memories without exposing a single discrepancy.

  “You continue to fool us,” Sophia said irritably.

  Enosh was surprised at Sophia and how easily she had lost her judgment to the point where she could no longer rely on the simulator.

  “It's a pity that I did not listen to you, Thales. You were right all along in saying that he was lying.”

  But Thales could not refute the facts. “The simulator shows what this man believes. He is not consciously lying. And yet, if he indeed knows how to negate his identity, why couldn't he have implanted false memories into his mind, or why couldn't others have implanted memories that he himself believes?”

  “Unfortunately, I am not lying. Thales said this himself. The galaxy faces a genuine threat. The gap between yourselves and the Gnostics is much too wide to entertain any hopes for dialogue, and therefore only a drastic measure on my part could have shaken you from your harmonious state. The amnesia was that drastic measure. If you will believe me that I came here out of good will and a desire to help you, you may be able to accept my explanation. And now, let us call our attention to the information at hand, by which you can decide whether to trust me or not.” He continued before they had a chance to cut him short again. “The processor is in your hands, the Pythagoreans. The module is in the Gnostics' hands, though it cannot function without the processor. They simultaneously need you and hate you. What exists between your cultures is an extension of the love-hate relationship that existed between Yaldabaoth and Ishtar, as well as between Orpheus the Pythagorean and Adamas the Gnostic. Indifference leads nowhere, but hatred may lead to love.”

  She looked straight into his eyes. He was silent.

  “We have finished for now,” she said coldly and left the simulator feeling cheated. It seemed to Enosh that Thales was looking at him understandingly, but he shook himself out of it and hastened to follow her.

  The inhabitants of Samos had become accustomed to the stranger's presence. He felt more comfortable wandering the curving corridors alone. He was forced to idle away his time since had little else to do.

  He considered the fact that he had twice passed by the bar on the residential sphere. Previously, he was reluctant to enter because he did not feel comfortable. This time, the bar was empty of patrons and the bartender sat in the gloom.

  Without asking, Barman placed two large glasses on the counter. The glasses were covered in droplets of frost and were filled with ice-cold golden beer topped with a layer of foam. Enosh was surprised to see beer served in a Pythagorean bar, especially because he had indeed been craving one and received it without even asking.

  “How did you know that I wanted a beer?”

  “You don't look Pythagorean to me, and you looked like you were in need of something to quench your thirst.”

  “Are Pythagoreans allowed to drink beer?”

  “They're allowed, but they don't. Especially not members of the ascetic government.”

  “So I gather that you are not Pythagorean,” said Enosh, gesturing toward Barman's glass.

  “Correct.”

  Enosh gulped the beer. “Since you are not Pythagorean, perhaps you can help me.”

  “With what?”

  “Perhaps you could help me understand them.”

  Barman rolled his eyes as if he had just been asked to perform an impossible task.

  Enosh smiled. “That bad, huh?”

  “Can you understand someone who does not like beer?”

  Enosh laughed. “No, seriously. I think I screwed up a bit with Sophia.”

  “Aha,” said barman knowingly. “Women!”

  “Women? Yes, women. Or, more precisely, woman,” nodded Enosh.

  “Give me back the beer and I'll give you a double whisky.”

  Enosh did not hold back his laughter. “No, seriously.”

  “Totally serious. How can I help you? And why me specifically?”

  “Because you are not Pythagorean, and it's probable that you have encountered the same cultural differences that I don't understand.”

  “What happened?”

  “I did not lie, but I managed to create an untruthful impression.”

  "The Pythagoreans, as intelligent as they are, their truth is simplistic. They don't distinguish between truthful facts and sincere intentions." Barman sipped his beer and continued, "Mathematical accuracy is all that counts. If you are not accurate you are a liar."

  "Why is that?"

  "Intentions are like feelings, these are noises that interfere with rational obedience to the cosmic order."

  "Then they are not that different from their nemesis".

  "I will not quote you on that."

  Enosh sensed some relief. “Who are you?”

  “Barman.”

  “I know, but really, who are you? What is your name? How do you know so much about the Pythagoreans?”

  “The metamorphoses of my life have been too many.”

  It was obvious that Barman did not want to talk about it, and Enosh considered that he had already exerted too much effort in his other challenges. “Excellent beer.” He emptied his glass in one gulp and wiped the foam from his mouth with his hand.

  “Have another?”

  “Why not.”

  They sat embracing in Sophia's room. His touch felt strange, unfamiliar. It went against the fundamental Pythagorean principles, but they had already crossed the point of no return. Thales stroked her hair.

  “You know that he is telling the truth.”

  Sophia didn't answer.

  “There is no reason not to listen to him. He came here to help. The galaxy is in danger.”

  “Up until a few days ago, you were the one warning me about Enosh, the Gnostic spy,” she said angrily, “and now he is the savior of the world?”

  “I understand how this may look to you. It may seem like I underwent a rapid metamorphosis, but that is only to the outside viewer. In reality, I have been questioning Octavia's harmonious approach for a while now.”

  “Thales, you said Octavia but you meant Pythagoras.”

  “Correct. I have had misgivings about Pythagoreanism for some time already. Throughout these most recent events, something that I already sensed became sharper. I understand now that it's impossible that I can feel the pain of love, a pain that I cannot deny, while simultaneously continuing to believe in the ideal of perfect harmony. I believe Enosh.”

  She was silent.

  “Sophia!”

  “Yes, Thales.”

  “From the moment I met him, I felt that he was dangerous, but my feelings were based on the wrong reasons. I attributed my anxiety to the possibility of him being a Gnostic spy, but what really scared me was the fear that you would fall in love with him. I can no longer deny my feelings. The Pythagorean ethos that discredits emotions is no longer valid for me. If the danger of war looms over us, I am not willing to endanger my life without expressing my feelings and fighting. You know that I love you, Sophia. The irony of it all is that it took a potential galactic catastrophe and the threat of another man to wake me. We cannot deny that the danger that br
ought Enosh here is real.” Thales brought her attention back to the actual threat.

  “Yes, one cannot deceive the simulator.”

  CHAPTER 12

  As the chief commander of the Gnostic invasion fleet, the one who would carry out the redemption of the spirit from the material, Truth should have felt intoxicated by the enormous amount of power entrusted to him. Had he been allowed to do as he pleased, he would never have chosen to command a single person. He was chosen to be the father of the ship because of his talent. He devoted himself to his job because of his Gnostic faith, but he felt no joy at the sight of soldiers abruptly leaping to silent and tense attention when he passed them in the halls. He felt more comfortable commanding the strike pilots or even sitting in his single-person spacecraft.

  In contrast to Smoke, he was relatively old when he joined the Gnosis. Even though he had already developed his own identity and it had therefore been less convenient for the Gnostics to try to reshape his mind, his progress in the Gnostic chain of command had been meteoric. Nergal recognized the young Mandaean's potential. Nergal had marked him as the Redeemer because he was the only one out of all the New Gnostics that had Mandaean roots, a scion of the original Gnosis.

  Truth's family did in fact descend from the handful of families that upheld the Mandaean tradition in the land between the rivers—Mesopotamia—for two thousand three hundred years. The Mandaeans were comprised of a miscellany of cultures. Jews of the Syrian exile wandered from eastern Syria and northern Israel in the third century AD and arrived in the city of Basra in southern Iraq. In what was once ancient Uruk, they intermarried with the descendants of the Mesopotamians, the local marsh Arabs. The name Mandaean was given to them by the Christians. 'Mandaean' is Aramaic for 'Those who Know'—or Gnostic in Greek. They called themselves the Nezarenes.