Mesopotamia - The Redeemer

by Yehuda Israely

  “Why?”

  “Because we must devote this time to more pressing matters.”

  Bruno nodded.

  “Contact Admiral Fakonas and instruct him to prepare the Atheist fleet for a mission to Samos.”

  “Isn't the sole authority to instruct such a thing in the hands of President Filan?” he asked.

  “Tell Fakonas that this is an order from me, pursuant to the authority entrusted to me by Filan. Tell him that if he finds this difficult, he should refer to me,” continued Diotima without pausing. “The fleet will leave in three stages. During the first stage, we will send out an unmanned probe that is not limited by human speeds, carrying reception, broadcasting and destructive equipment.”

  “Yes,” said Bruno. He wrote all of her orders in his journal.

  “Likewise, the probe will distribute a series of relay stations.”

  “Yes, Minister.”

  “In the second phase, Fakonas, you and I will go out with unprecedented force in the fastest spaceship in our possession. I want you to be near me.”

  “Yes, Minister.” Even if she had not ordered him to do this, he would have requested it on his own,

  “In the third phase, the heart of the Atheist fleet will follow us, except for the basic protective forces on Dust,” she said flatly.

  “Noted.”

  “The probe will broadcast to us what is happening in Samos before we arrive. If the need arises, we can use the probe to activate a plan to destroy Samos. We must leave at maximum speed in order to try and negotiate with the Gnostics.”

  Bruno nodded and Diotima continued. “We cannot wait until the majority of the fleet is ready, and that it why the majority of the forces will arrive after us. You will fill in the gaps, prepare a critique and alternatives for all the components of the plan and report back to me.”

  “Yes, Diotima.”

  “Let's get to work.” She rose from the alcove and shook the gold sand off of her silver suit.

  “Diotima?” Bruno turned to her.

  “Yes?”

  “Why don't we just instruct the probe to immediately destroy Samos?”

  “We will not destroy the wonderful processor, we will not destroy the lives of the Pythagoreans in Samos and we will not abandon Enosh who we have sent on our behalf, unless we reach a situation in which we have no other choice.”

  “What choice do we have?”

  “You don't know Enosh.”

  “I heard about him.”

  “As long as he is in Samos, there is hope.”

  CHAPTER 22

  They had all memorized the algorithm of situations and responses to the invasion. They knew that Samos was made up of a number of spheres enclosed within each other. These were the solid spheres. Surrounding these were another six spheres made of a network of colored strings of light. These light strings were like spider webs wrapped around the solid spheres. According to intelligence reports about Samos, which were verified by Smoke's reports, Truth knew that the light webs were impenetrable due to the rapid rate at which they spun around the solid spheres. It was impossible to ascertain the exact spaces between the stings and pass between them. Truth knew that the only way to pass through the light webs was to accelerate and synchronize the speed of the aircraft with the speed of the light string. Electromagnetic means would allow them to attach themselves to the string of light and then perform a rotation into the inner side of the sphere. Truth hoped that the electromagnetic hooks developed by the Gnostic engineers would operate properly.

  The badgers would lead the takeover. Their job was to take over the station without damaging it. Truth knew that the Pythagoreans were pacifists and would not resist them, but his men were prepared for anything nonetheless.

  The operation began. The operational commands were arranged and prepared in code form. Truth commanded his men in a confident, authoritative voice. “One!” Dozens of tiny aircraft aligned with the light strings in the outer shell of the space station. “Two!” They flipped into the inner portion of the sphere. “Three!” All at once, they disconnected from the cord, flipped, and aligned with the next cord of light in the inner sphere.

  On the command of “Four!” they could no longer react. They lost control. Despite the professional skill of the Gnostic space engineers, they had erred in their calculations. The material spheres, which included the surface sphere, command sphere, residential sphere, processor and core, remained solid and in place. The cords of light in the light spheres, however, could not withstand the additional burden of dozens of aircraft and subsequently collapsed under the pressure. When the light strings burst, the surrounding space was filled with arcs and rays of colored light, infinitely stretching out in every direction. The tiny aircraft clung to them like spiders hanging on to their webs in the wind. Without its surround light spheres, Samos appeared small, fragile and pale. The music and the light went out at the station.

  Truth relayed a message to Flash. “Stay on the father ship to command the main forces! Arrange a circular formation of aircraft closely around the perimeter of Samos with open audio-visual communication! I'm going in the moment that the initial forces take over the station!”

  “Yes, sir.” Flash immediately conveyed the instructions as commanded.

  Truth harnessed himself into the stabilizers in one of the tiny aircraft in the father ship. “Ready!” he commanded the pilot. The pilot warmed up the motors and waited.

  Dozens of heavy boots stomped down upon the quiet docking platform. The noise intensified as the swarm of soldiers split into units and invaded the station's corridors. The squadron leaders shouted orders and the badgers operated quickly and powerfully. The shining halls filled with black.

  The initial forces were comprised of fifty badgers. They navigated the station swiftly by aid of the map that they had memorized based on Smoke's reliable reports. The plan was a simple one: comb through all of the spheres and seize control of the Pythagoreans. The bewildered Pythagoreans stood dumbly in the face of the invading forces, who pointed threatening weapons as they shouted commands at them.

  “Everyone into the dining hall!” shouted the squadron commander. “Move! Faster!”

  “I will not say it again,” said the commander and shot a robed engineer in the back.

  The Pythagoreans' cries were silenced when he shot again, this time at a young scout. Her blood sprayed onto the pearlescent white wall. They were led in a line toward the dining hall. This scene repeated itself in a number of other places throughout the station. The Pythagoreans did not resist but the Gnostics did not hesitate to shoot those who did not manage to compose themselves.

  “This is your station master speaking. We are currently under Gnostic invasion. Cooperate with them quickly in order to minimize unnecessary bloodshed.” Sophia tried to speak in an authoritative and confident tone on the public announcement system, but the fear was apparent in her voice.

  The badgers continued to race with polished efficiently through the corridors, searching for any Pythagoreans who had not yet been corralled into the dining hall.

  A gloomy air settled over the dining hall. Sounds of sobbing mingled with the Gnostic shouts. The residents of the station sat bound on the floor of the room. Now and then, single shots could be heard and more Pythagoreans were tossed into the room. The scouts tried to console their friends and maintain their composure, but most of them were chalk white and shaking with fear.

  After they had combed through the entire station and the badgers had seized control of each sphere, the commanding officer of the invasion reported to Truth: “The station is secured. We encountered no substantial opposition.”

  The layer of aircraft surrounding the station opened in order to allow the chief commanding officer to pass though, closing immediately behind him. When he reached the docking platform, the badgers were waiting for him.

  “Remaining forces, inside!” he ordered.

  The additional forces, including pilots and flight commanders, follo
wed Truth. They waited next to the platforms for further instructions.

  A squadron of badgers escorted the commander in chief. He walked through the station's corridors and was surprised to find that the shining walls were dry to his touch. He wanted to linger and examine the exquisite shades of pearl, but told himself that now was not the time. Now and then he saw a Pythagorean corpse lying on the floor. He wondered to himself how many times he had stepped between corpses following a conquest.

  Truth addressed the commanding officer in charge of the invasion who had been escorting him. “The invasion seemed too easy. Where is all of the resistance?”

  “As you said, Commander, the Pythagoreans are pacifists,” answered the soldier, sheepishly.

  “Yes, but I did not expect a total lack of resistance! Are you certain that you captured all of them?”

  “Yes, Sir. We went through the entire station and all of the scouts, engineers and technicians are either bound, secured or dead.”

  “Take me to the processor!” said Truth.

  “Follow me, sir!” They began to move.

  “Now we are passing through the access point to the commanding sphere, Commander,” the force commander explained.

  Truth was impressed by the simplicity of it all. The thousands of switches and boards that covered the walls of the father ship were completely absent from the station. There was no thundering hum of motors in the background. Lights flashed across the transparent boards together with arching curves and gradually morphing colors. 'It's a world inside of a shell, completely cut off from the rest of the galaxy,' he thought to himself. “Pacifists,” he muttered.

  “Sir?”

  “It's hard to believe that they built all of this without the use of force, without the need to defend themselves, without worrying that someone would come and take it from them. For all these years, they just sat here and waited for us to arrive, and in the meantime they built us the particle processor.”

  “Everything is in the hands of the Master of Light, Sir.”

  “His ways are wondrous,” he murmured the usual blessing absent-mindedly.

  “This is another access point. It leads down to the residential sphere, Sir.”

  The residential sphere was tinted in lighter colors and the spaces were smaller. When he peeked into the rooms, he noticed the smells of people, of bed sheets and cosmetics. He was surprised to discover that smell here. What did he expect, he mused to himself, angels?

  “The forces are ready and waiting on the docks to enter at your command, Commander!” Flash's pale face and sunken eyes were visible on the mobile audio-visual display connected to Truth's wrist.

  “Wait, Flash. I am still scouting the station.” Truth retained his firm, calm composure on the outside. 'Everything here is so orderly and calm,' he thought to himself. 'I have never encountered such a place on Earth. I was sure that there would be some sort of setup here, that at any moment someone would jump out of the wall and attack us. I prefer to see my enemy directly in front of me. Instead, I see only a few Pythagoreans who did not even resist when their home was taken over.'

  “Commander, I do not believe in the Pythagoreans' dedication to pacifism—” Flash tried to bring up the issue once more.

  “Hold on,” Truth cut him off.

  “This is where we descend into the processor sphere, Sir!” The soldier entered the wide tube. Truth slid down behind him. The corridors in this sphere were smaller and more arched. Because their field of vision was decreased due to the winding corridors, he was completely surprised when they discovered the bridge that led to the station's core. The beauty of the giant orb mesmerized him: liquefied shining metals in a rainbow of colors blended together without losing their distinct hues.

  “Holy Master of Light,” he whispered to the soldiers accompanying him as they too looked at the liquid with fascination.

  His heart pounded with excitement. He was now closer than he had ever been to his purpose as redeemer. 'This is the chariot that will carry us into the heavenly pleroma.'

  “So this is the particle processor!” he said after a short while. He turned to Shadow, who was in charge of the badgers that had taken over the processor. “You stay here with your forces. No one may leave or enter without explicit permission from me.”

  “Yes, Sir!” answered Shadow.

  “Take me to the processor,” he commanded his escorts.

  “Follow me, Sir!”

  Suddenly, the external spheres of the station began to function again. The Gnostic soldiers froze in horror at the sound of the harmonious melodies of the light spheres. What sounded to him like rating noise did not stop Truth. “Where is the module?”

  “Your order has been filled. Thunder and the technicians are stationed with the module in the command sphere.”

  “Stay alert. Flash!”

  “Flash here.”

  “The time has come. Instruct the deployment of the additional forces in Samos' spheres.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Sophia and Enosh lay bound, their mouths gagged, on the floor of the simulator. Smoke stood silently next to them with the rest of the Gnostic soldiers.

  “Pick her up,” ordered Truth.

  Two badgers grabbed her and lifted Sophia roughly to her feet. Enosh remained on the floor, watching helplessly as the events unfolded around him.

  “Flash, connect me to the general audio-visual system,” said Truth. “I want to show all of the Gnostic soldiers our moment of victory.”

  “With all due respect, Sir, don't you think we ought to move on with the module?”

  “Connect them all!” he ordered. Flash obeyed the order though he objected to Truth's show of arrogance.

  “Your station is in our hands, Pythagorean,” said Truth as he ripped the sticker off of her mouth.

  Sophia stared at him. This was a man who had murdered her people, who wanted to decimate the universe, the man whose arrival she had been anticipating. With incredible effort, she held back her anger and focused on the task she must complete.

  “Who is that?” Truth gestured with his hand.

  “Enosh the Socratic,” she replied.

  “Socratic?”

  If looks could kill, Enosh's expression would have pierced Samos as it passed through Truth's gaze.

  Truth turned to him with chilling calmness. “If you are interested in killing somebody, ask Filan which one of his business cronies sold us the secret location of Samos. And you, cursed Pythagoreans, now you shall pay for your sins. Orpheus would never have dreamed that his handiwork, the zenith of Pythagorean technology, would fall like a ripe fruit into Gnostic hands.”

  “Cursed Orpheus,” Truth riled his soldiers.

  “Cursed Orpheus!

  Cursed Orpheus!

  Cursed Orpheus!” The audio-visual filled with the voices of the soldiers watching the events.

  Truth looked contemptuously at Sophia.

  “I have a right to be heard!” said Sophia quietly but firmly.

  “Silence, female!” Truth interrupted her. “You no longer have any rights in this station. Samos belongs to me.”

  “You are obligated to allow me to speak,” she insisted bravely.

  “Take her from here immediately,” he uttered with disdain.

  “In the name of the Master of Light, I have the right to face the Blood Challenge and speak before you and before the Gnostic soldiers!” Sophia said determinedly.

  The Gnostic soldiers heard her request on the audio-visual system. According to the Gnostic law, anyone who wanted to take the Blood Challenge must not be barred from doing so. Everyone knew that; that was their way. They wondered if the commander would honor the ancient law in such a circumstance.

  Truth was taken aback. If this was the case, then she was more prepared for their arrival than he had anticipated. He thought hastily, frantically trying to get himself out of the trap she had laid for him.

  “We mustn't let her speak. The Lilith will trick us,” whispered Fl
ash.

  “We mustn't?” muttered Truth angrily.

  “Forgive me, Commander. It is not my place to be telling you what is allowed and what is forbidden.”

  “Know your place!” Truth snapped.

  “But still, Cap—“

  Truth cut him off and addressed the audio-visual device. He had no choice. “The Pythagorean believes that she can withstand the Blood Challenge,” he said mockingly. “A Pythagorean female!” He turned to her in disgust. “Do you want to perform the ritual?”

  “Certainly!” she replied.

  “Bring the chickens!” commanded Truth.

  Flash was silent. He wanted to protest but did not dare speak out against the commander. One of the soldiers managed to navigate through the corridors of Samos to the docking platform to one of the aircraft. He brought back a slaughter knife and a cage containing two small black chickens. They were intended to be used for Samos' purification ritual.

  In his left hand, Truth grasped the squawking chicken's neck and in his right he held the knife. “Female, infidel, impure as you are: you don't stand a chance. Your breaths are numbered,” he hissed.

  Ever since Enosh had arrived at the station and she had begun to clarify the circumstances of her life, Sophia had sensed a gaping wound in her heart. Now, however, she felt the healing presence of her father. He infused her with courage. She was ready.

  Truth wanted to finish the ritual quickly and move on with his mission without any further delays. “In the name of the Sacred Serpent, Master of Light,” he cried out as he decapitated the chicken with his right hand. He immediately pressed the severed neck to his lips, gulped the blood, and cast the chicken to the floor along with the knife.

  Truth ordered that Sophia be released from her restraints. She picked up the knife from the floor. Images and thoughts raced through her head: her father, gripped with fear as he came to terms with his impending death; the sympathy he must have felt toward the living creature that he was about to kill; the regret that he had not withstood the Blood Challenge; the words he wrote to her, imaging her in his mind's eye as a mother before she had committed herself to a monastic life. Could he have possibly imagined that she would one day face this same test that he did? Sophia wanted to believe that it was so. She saw her father standing before her, as if alive, encouraging her wordlessly.