“And what must I do in order to bring about this change in them?”
“Let's backtrack to the description of change as a shift in position in an orbital path.” Enosh traced the diagram on the display and added small arrows.
“The inertia of a Gnostic is to continue in a straight line. Your influence must divert the Gnostic's linear path into an arc that will lead him from his position of nullification to the position of perfection. This diversion occurs in gradual stages. Let's call each stage a turn. Your job is to initiate a turn. Each turn begins as a change in your consciousness, continues as a change in your relationship with the Gnostic and finally manifests as a change in the Gnostic's awareness. You can call this type of change by a number of names: keys, insights, or comprehension of principles. When they are internalized and acted upon, changes occur in the chain of events. A turn is a conscious equivalent of an explosion. The goal is to find the spark of humanity within the Gnostic and to inflate it in such a way that it fills his entire being. That's why the task is not as impossible as you may think.”
“This is beginning to sound like Pythagorean engineering.”
“I wish it were that simple. In practice, it's much more complicated. I'll try to convey the process of these turns in a chart, but you must implement them in response to the spontaneous developments in order to influence the processes at hand. You must be extremely alert, for as soon as an opportunity arises in which you can implement a turn, you must act.”
The burden of responsibility landed on Sophia's shoulders. She felt like the task was beyond her abilities. “How will I learn to identify the turns? And even if I do succeed, what chance will I have to influence the Gnostics?” she asked. Her voice was fraught with concern.
“I can't guarantee that we will succeed, and you must accept this possibility.”
“You're not really helping,” she smiled weakly. “Was your loss of self-identity the first turn in your consciousness?”
“Yes!” he said and nodded in satisfaction. She was catching on to this quickly.
“Your meeting with me was the turn that diverted me toward feeling sorrow at the loss of my father.”
“Yes,”
“And by means of a chain reaction, it caused me to recognize additional emotions. My passion was aroused.”
“Correct, your passion and your love for Thales,” he said as she smiled and blushed.
“But these turns are unpredictable. Only after the fact we can assess how they occurred. Our plan is comprehensive.”“And the next stage is to include the Gnostic in the process?”
“Precisely.”
“And what is the next stage?”
“You need a motive that will enable you to undergo this difficult task. It's not easy for a Pythagorean, who believed in perfection for her entire life, to suddenly develop passion,” said Enosh in the manner of a merchant who feigns that he is not interested in selling his wares.
“You mean it's not enough that I revealed my sorrow over my father and my love for Thales?”
“That seems to be the case,” he said dryly.
“I am prepared to do anything.”
“That's not enough.”
“But I must!” she said with increasing frustration.
“That too is not enough,” he continued to lead her on.
She did not yet see where he was leading her. While she paced the room, her thoughts raced through her head. Suddenly, she stopped and announced decisively, “I want to!”
A broad smile of satisfaction spread across Enosh's face. Sophia smiled now that she finally understood the position of passion to which Enosh was leading her. “I want to, but I am afraid.”
“Will is a natural state of free and active choice, not a state of compulsion. You just acquired a turn,” he said with satisfaction.
“Are you sure that you can guide this process?” she asked with concern. Fear gripped Enosh again.
“I am not guiding this process,” said Enosh. “I can only initiate a chain reaction and that is precisely what I am doing right now. You will continue the process and others will follow your lead. This is not a process that one can navigate. It occurs in and of itself, by virtue of the influence that one person has over another.”
He left Sophia and turned toward his room. His apprehension increased the farther he distanced himself from her. His shoulders slumped as soon as he entered the privacy of his own room. The confidence that he outwardly demonstrated dissipated. He was adept at feigning confidence for the Pythagoreans and made a convincing show of it. But the fear raged inside of him. In his memory, the applause echoed following his lecture at the academy, but now it sounded like a taunting jeer. He sat on his bed and held his head in his hands. 'I don't stand a chance. She doesn't have a chance. We won't make it in time, we won't make it at all,' he thought in despair. He recalled his words to the Pythagoreans: 'Never mind, we will manage to compete the training in ten days.' Now he derided himself for the arrogance he demonstrated.
CHAPTER 15
The taboo had been broken. The material itself was not new to Thales. His curiosity about battle had accompanied him for years. But as a Pythagorean, he was discouraged from acting upon his interest. Until now, he thought, the mere recognition of his aggressive instinct was not in his realm of possibilities. In the past, he researched the history of Greco-Roman wrestling, Chinese Kung Fu, Japanese Karate and Korean Tae Kwan Do; he chuckled when he realized that he was returning to his earlier studies. But now, this educational pursuit was no longer a waste of his time. Using the simulator, he designed rivals for himself and tried to fight them in a systematic manner, though he felt awkward and even a little ridiculous in doing so. He could not understand why he was dedicating himself to this: it was obvious that he was not going to single-handedly stop a Gnostic invasion nor was he going to transform into a martial arts expert in the few remaining days. Despite this, an unrelenting need to act spurred him on. In his head, a phrase that Barman had once uttered echoed over and over: 'The absence of a chance at winning is not necessarily a reason to avoid a just war.'
After an exhausting day, he sat at the station's bar and gulped cool water enriched with electrolytes. Around him sat couples and groups of technicians and engineers. Barman poured, wiped, served and avoided bothering Thales.
Thales did not want to leave the place. The groups came and went. He continued to drink, twice getting up to make a trip to the bathroom. When the bar emptied, Barman poured himself a shot glass of sweet peppermint extract with a dash of absinthe and lemon peel and sat himself down on a barstool next to Thales.
“Cheers!” Thales clinked his glass.
“To a good life!” replied Barman and tasted his drink.
They sat in silence, each one deep in thought. Finally Barman began to speak, contrary to his usual habit. “Something is bothering you.”
Thales tried to dismiss his remark. “There are problems with the scouts. All of them want to lead and none of them want to be managed.”
“Ah. It's difficult for me to believe that such matters worry you,” said Barman in a compliment tinged with skepticism.
Thales found it difficult to respond. He was not accustomed to lying, and certainly not to building an entire conversation based on a lie. He was silent for a few long minutes. Occasionally he would wipe the beads of sweat from his brow with a napkin. Barman noticed that Thales was holding himself back. After a few long minutes, he stood up, returned to his position behind the counter and polished a glass.
“So listen to this,” said Thales without looking up at Barman.
“What?” Barman raised his eyes.
“Let's say that there is a hypothetical situation in which I, as a Pythagorean, feel I must fight.”
“Yes?” Barman raised an eyebrow.
“That is to say, from a Pythagorean ethical standpoint, I am convinced that this is the correct path.”
“I have yet to meet a Pythagorean who thinks that way but let's say suc
h a situation existed,” he said skeptically. He was surprised. This would not be one of the many mundane conversations he was so accustomed to holding
“And let's say I was required to fight man-to-man, with or without a weapon, but man-to-man.”
“Yes.”
“So how do I do that?”
“You want to learn to fight?” Barman was astounded.
They silently exchanged glances. Thales confirmed it with his eyes.
“And you are turning to me for guidance. Why?” he asked dryly.
“Isn't it obvious? Who from among the pacifistic Pythagoreans in Samos can I confide in other than you? You are the only one among us who is not Pythagorean.”
“Me and the stranger.”
“Barman, tell me.”
“Yes.” Barman shot a glance at Thales.
“Have you ever fought?”
Barman was not prepared for such a personal question. He put down the dishcloth.
During his early days in Samos, there were those who tried to penetrate the invisible wall with which he surrounded himself, but he was adept at deflecting them. Finally, everyone became accustomed to his silence, to the distance he always maintained between himself and others. Now he was being asked a personal question, an occurrence that he had not experienced for quite some time. Thales watched as his face grew despondent and the creases deepened between his eyes.
“Can you understand a man's desire to break all of the values with which he was raised in order to save his home? Or at least to save his honor?” asked Thales.
“There is no honor in war.” His words were measured one by one.
He decided to throw off the limitations of politeness and respect for privacy. “How do you know?” asked Thales.
“One need not fight in order to see the horrors of war.”
Thales noticed Barman's gloom and his uncharacteristic decisiveness. He concluded that Barman was hiding something.
“You are the only non-Pythagorean person here. Maybe you could help me learn how to fight.”
“Why do you want to fight? What are you hinting at, Thales?”
Thales hesitated and finally said, “Do you know how to fight? Will you help me learn?”
“No! And I will not help you!” Barman replied angrily.
Ever since he arrived at the space station, he had not expressed anger even once. Thales' invasiveness shook him from his equanimity. He stretched out his hand to raise the shot glass of his drink from the counter, but his agitation disrupted his movement. His glass as well as Thales' fell off the table toward the pearly floor. With quick reflexes, he caught a glass in each hand and placed them on the counter.
“What reflexes!” said Thales in admiration. “Even with all of my training as a scout, I would never have been able to do that.”
“The reflexes of a bartender. Thales, I cannot teach you what you are asking for. Perhaps it is better for you to continue to devote yourself to your faith.”
A handful of mathematicians that entered began to spout expressions and formulas that neither of them understood at all.
“Sorry if we're interrupting something,” said one of them when he noticed that they suddenly grew silent.
“Can I offer you some peppermint extract?” asked Barman, raising his glass.
“Whatever you want.” The speaker smiled and bowed his head theatrically.
“I apologize for angering you,” said Thales. “I'll be on my way now.”
“Think nothing of it. Goodnight, Thales.”
In the space around them, there were no sunrises or sunsets, but in Samos they engendered an artificial circadian rhythm. It was the third watch when Thales completed another grueling workout. But he felt that his progress was minimal despite his efforts.
Despite his fatigue and the late hour, he did not go to sleep. He wandered the corridors of the station. At this hour of night, a moment before the artificial sunrise shone over the illuminated walls, the corridors were almost completely empty. Here and there he saw maintenance workers in their night shifts. Thales passed by them, pretending that he was in a hurry so that they would not stop to chat with him. His feet led him past the bridge into the core of the station, opposite the processor room. The heavy iron door was open. Inside the room was the huge sphere. The colored metals coiled and emerged from the core of the sphere like smoldering lava, mirroring his confused emotions. He wanted to dive into the giant sphere and forget his worries; to fall asleep and wake up when it was all over.
Thales was not aware of the time that passed as his eyes gazed intently upon the pulsating ball. The morning melody of the heavenly spheres began to play and the stiffness in his limbs began to melt. His breath became light. The colors of the liquid metals appeared to be lighter hued. The corridor walls imitated the colors of an Octavian sunrise.
Despite Barman's denial, Thales simply knew that barman could help him. He made up his mind. He will not wait for Sophia and would not ask her permission to tell Barman. He would decide on his own, as Enosh would do, or any other independent man who was not bound to a hierarchical system like Octavia.
Barman was no longer in the bar. The light of the sunrise became increasingly brighter. He could not find him in the back room either. This was the time of day when Barman usually retired to his room. He called him five times on his private audio-visual device before Barman answered sleepily.
“Yes, my friend, of course, if it's urgent you may enter my room.”
Barman was lying in bed and Thales sat down on a chair opposite him.
“Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“You mustn't tell a soul about this.”
Thales divulged everything to him: Enosh's mission, his realization that he did not want to ignore his feelings anymore and his love affair with Sophia. He told him about the Gnostics on their way, about how Enosh and Sophia were preparing to influence their consciousness, how Sophia had decided not to tell any of the staff on Samos and how he had decided to fight. Barman's face grew grave and the muscles of his jaw twitched tensely.
“If you can contribute in any way, now is the time to do it.”
Barman remained silent. The images, sounds and smells of war that had been engraved in his soul emerged and rose up. He struggled to digest the deluge of new information.
Some dormant, almost forgotten thing awoke within him. The pain of the past was as sharp as ever. He did not have the strength to go back and reopen his wounds.
“I cannot help you,” he heard himself say as he cast his eyes downward.
“Why not? Don't you understand the gravity of the situation?” Thales raised his voice. “You once said that the absence of a chance to win is not necessarily a reason not to avoid a just war.”
Barman shot him a piercing glance and said, “I can't help you, Thales.”
Thales rose without a word and stormed out of the room.
CHAPTER 16
“Get up. We're going to train.”
In the hours that had passed since Thales visited his room, Barman made the decision. These were the hardest hours of his life. He had to deal with the trauma of his past and confront his own questions about the nature and meaning of life. He could no longer deny that there was nothing to gain by inaction. The news that he had heard shot new blood through his veins. During the time that barman was deliberating, Thales succumbed to his exhaustion and fell into a deep sleep on his bed. So it took a few seconds for Thales to realize that barman had changed his mind. He leaped out of bed.
“When?”
“Now! Where can we train quietly?”
“On the scouts' platform.”
“Let's go!”
Thales saw galaxies and sparkling stars through the transparent dome encasing the scouts' platform. He looked at the dome as he lay on his back with one leg stretched to the point of pain over Barman's shoulder, who stood above him, while Barman's foot rested on Thales' neck. He did not understand how that happened. He heard Barman
telling him, “Come, attack me,” and a moment later found himself on his back.
“How did you do that?” He managed to choke out the words.
“Let's do it again, more slowly this time.”
Barman slowly demonstrated each of the moves. “Now try to escape.”
Thales could not do it. Every movement he tried to make with his hands or his free leg only exacerbated the pain in his neck.
“Now let's switch.”
After three or four times, first slowly and then increasingly faster, Thales succeeded in throwing Barman off in one swift motion.
“Another twenty times and it'll begin to look like it's supposed to look. You learn quickly.”
“Who are you, Barman?”
“We still have to do a few more exercises.”
“Who are you?”
“Do you want to train or do you want to investigate?”
They continued practicing until both of them lay panting and sweating on the platform.
Thales had brought two bottles of water. He raised his eyes to barman. “You want to know how to fight, but have you considered how to do it? Do you have a plan for the invasion?” asked Barman. Thales looked at him and shook his head.
“What is the purpose of your fighting? Are there courses of action? Alternative plans?”
“I admit that I did not manage to delve very deeply into the issue. I just knew that I had to do something,” he confessed.
“I see,” he said sympathetically. “We will devote some time to that later on.”
“This very well may be the last week of our lives, as well as the entire galaxy,” said Thales.
Mesopotamia - The Redeemer Page 21