The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey

by Millerson, Brady

  The Savior, from such a far-off view, was an illuminating joy for Sofia to see. Having never witnessed the worlds around them from such a perspective helped her mind to grasp the enormity of His domain with a greater appreciation.

  To John, the images on the screen helped him to realize the vastness of his actions. If they were able to achieve what he believed to be their goal, the entire world system would fall into new hands. The idea of turning the tides on the powers-that-be gave him a feeling of moral purpose and empowerment, something he had lacked for so long. It also helped to alleviate his anger, allowing him to periodically peek over the burning wall of rage. Only time would tell whether or not anything would come from their sacrifices, or if they would, like so many brave fools before them, disappear into the obscurity of historical failures.

  As the somberness of the mood of the occupants of the transporter seemed to be unanimous, with the exception of Sofia, very little words were exchanged throughout the trip. Meals were consumed in quietness. Sleep was the most common activity. They were, according to the computer’s calculations, forty-nine hours until touchdown. The anxiousness for the time to fly away was quite apparent in the short-tempered statements that fell from the mouths of the disquietedly awaiting crew.

  Maryanne, Stephen and Banks seemed to be privy to more information than they were letting on to. Ever since descending the ramp on Red, their demeanors seemed more cold and calculating than before their meeting, not too dissimilar to John’s. Perhaps, Sofia thought, they were simply making the mental preparations necessary for the task they were embarking on. Whatever the reason, she definitely felt out of place among such an atrabilious crowd. Leaving them to themselves, she lost herself in her own imaginative world, wandering with her and John’s son through the warm, thick green of the forests back on Labor.

  “Please, Savior, let these days be over quickly. I just want us to go home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The roar of the reverse thrusters began to kick in as the aircraft entered the atmosphere of Golden Planet. Descending rapidly towards its surface, the tingling of John’s gut was nothing new, and he paid little mind to its stimulating effect.

  Sofia could see his hand grasped around the armrest beside her. She desired to place her hand upon his arm, but refrained for fear of setting off another one of his frequent outbursts.

  Unlike the lift-off a few days earlier, Maryanne was nowhere to be seen, having rather taken a seat above with the two other men in the pilot’s room. Throughout the excursion, she seemed more and more to distance herself from Sofia’s friendship. With little more than passing glances, communication between them had all but ceased.

  The whir of the thrusters began to peak. John and Sofia felt the crushing sensation of their bodies as they sank back into the padding of their seats: the transporter was about to make contact with its landing zone.

  Casting a final, brief look at John before they hit the ground, Sofia could see the lights reflecting off the beads of sweat forming about his lip and forehead. His uneasiness about the mission was written on his face.

  As they felt the transporter meet the hard surface of the planet, John unhesitatingly unbuckled himself and exited the chair.

  “Let’s go,” he said sharply, moving towards the floor hatch, which led to the ladder below.

  Without waiting for the rest of the team, he opened the circular door at his feet. Ordering Sofia to descend to the lower decks, he followed close behind.

  In the large bay area at the bottom of the ship, they waited for several minutes while Stephen and the others made the descent. His business on Red was always decorated with a sense of urgency, and he detested the slow and steady movements of his elder commanders.

  As they reached the bottom, Stephen dropped a facial expression upon John that said, “This is it.” Nothing more was conveyed in his eyes. He and Maryanne walked over to the bay door. Using a handheld computer that was similar to the one John had obtained from Labor, they set the motors of the gate rumbling. Soon after, the door started to rise. It’s teeth were a familiar sight to John. Like a leviathan whose mouth they were about to enter, the black, dampness of the rainy environment outside was revealed, dreary and haunting.

  Through the trickling drops of water falling from the sky, they could see that the programming engineers at Central had done an incredible job of organizing the mission. The streams of steam rising from the engine of the unmanned air transporter that they were to rendezvous with waited patiently across the way for them, intermittently visible through the dispersion of its exterior flashing lights. It appeared that all the provisions were delivered as promised.

  Stepping out into the rainfall, the five-man team descended the ramp, hopping off at the end of its metallic hand and onto the soft, muddy soil. Stephen held his arm around Maryanne, cringing with each step as he grabbed at the wounds of his abdomen. Sofia, on the other hand, pushed herself to conceal the suffering she was experiencing from the mangled tissue caused by John’s bullet. He had not wanted her to come along with him as it was, and she was determined not to be a hindrance to him. The strobe of lights, like halos of flashing blue, revealed the fallen trees that surrounded the landing zone, burned and torn, creating a circular perimeter around the two aircraft.

  “There’s no turning back now, is there, John?” the Captain said, shielding his eyes from the wind.

  John ignored him. There was no reason to respond to such meaningless rhetoric.

  The door of their former transporter began to close behind them, and with it, the light of the fluorescent glow from its holding cell was slowly taken away. As the one door fell, the bay door to the unmanned craft began to rise. Parked inside they could see three wheeled transporters lined side-by-side, the likes of which neither member of the team had ever seen.

  From a distance it was quite obvious that they were different from those of their past experiences. Rounded at the corners, shiny and aerodynamically designed, they were held to a higher standard of craftsmanship than the standard Labor and Raw vehicles. The windows were tinted black, and each of the four rims of the tires was chromed and radiantly bright. Decorated with silvery grills, and headlights that stood out from the bodies of the vehicles, they had a distinct panache that was hard to ignore.

  Maryanne accompanied Stephen and Banks to the rear of the vehicles, as if they had held to a pre-knowledge of the presence of what they would find in the trunks. Opening the center transporter’s rear quarters, Banks pulled out a hard, gray suitcase that was three times as long as it was wide. Out of the rear of the other vehicles, Maryanne and Stephen performed the same maneuvers. Setting the cases on the floor, they typed their pin numbers into the interfaces under the handles. After a clicked release of the locks, they opened the lids.

  Sofia and John moved closer to Stephen, looking over his shoulder to get a better look at the contents inside his case. There were several gadgets embedded within gray, foam slots, a few magazines filled to capacity, and multiple suppressed handguns. John could make out a stash of high explosives tucked away in the corners. The keys to the transporter’s ignition system were paper-wrapped inside a clear, labeled container.

  Opening the door to the rear seat of one of the vehicles, Banks retrieved the dangling, plastic-draped packages that awaited him. Wrapped about wooden hangers, the teams’ suits and dresses, crafted of fine material and tailored specifically to each individual, was readily handed out.

  “It’s quite apparent that they want us to fit in with the locals,” the Captain said as he undressed down to his underwear and began redressing into the attire of Golden’s culture.

  Following his lead, the rest of the team began to remove their battle dress uniforms and don the fanciful clothing of the wealthiest of the worlds.

  Smooth and silky, John felt awkward slipping into the shirt and jacket of the black suit that was assigned to him. Not having knotted a necktie since he was a youth on Labor, he sheepishly asked for the assistan
ce of Stephen who was standing at his side. Once fitted with his new wear, the only comfort of familiarity he could find was when he placed the pistol into his shoulder rig holster.

  “Here, hold still,” Stephen said, as he strapped a band around John’s neck, centering it upon a circular hub just under the lump of his throat. Maryanne, paying no attention to her person, assisted Sofia in the same manner. Just as she worked on Raw, Maryanne moved her hands nimbly and efficiently. Although Sofia tried to make eye contact with her, she continued with her duty, pretending to be completely unaware.

  “What are these?” John asked.

  “This is how we’ll communicate from this point on. Press this button to actuate the mic,” Stephen said depressing a flattened nub at the side of the device. Everyone in the party will hear you. “Here,” he continued, handing John an electronic earpiece. “Place it as far into your ear as you can get it. We don’t want anybody getting suspicious.”

  John pressed the device into his ear canal. There was an initial blurb of mild static. Banks held his hand to his throat.

  “Can everybody hear me?” he asked.

  His voice came through loud and clear in John’s ear, as if the man were standing directly beside him.

  “I need everyone to line up. We need to make this briefing short,” Banks ordered.

  Gathering at the back wall of the cargo area, the Captain, beginning with Stephen, began handing out the assignments by way of individual handheld computers. As Banks made the rounds, stepping in front of John and Sofia, he placed the apparatus in John’s palm, patting him on the shoulder.

  Turning on the system as he took it from the Captain’s hand, John’s face began to glow as the screen immediately lit up. Much to his surprise, his target was merely drawn as a silhouette, with the only description being that it was a male that apparently lived at the address set in the box beside the image.

  “We have three individual targets to work with, and three hours before this ship leaves. Central has deemed these to be the highest of priorities,” Banks said.

  Sitting back upon the rear bumper of the center vehicle, he continued, “Apparently they’re considered weak. They’ll give into any demands we make if we can get to them. Central believes that they alone hold the key to ending this conflict and shutting down Golden’s ruling government… and with its demise all of their other installations will fall. If you’re not back here before the doors close, you’re stuck here,” Banks said with a queer expression directed at Stephen.

  Maryanne’s eyes were cast upon the floor in front of her. To Sofia, it seemed as if she was praying, but she nodded in the affirmative. Perhaps she was merely pondering on their task at hand. To John, it seemed as if the three of them were devising plans of which neither he nor Sofia was to have an involvement with.

  “I need all the cases placed into this vehicle,” Banks commanded, throwing his thumb over his shoulder at the center transporter behind him.

  Walking over to John, he leaned into him, whispering into his ear and pointing at the transporter on his far right, “I’m directing this at you only. I know you don’t want Sofia to have involvement with the true nature of this mission. From this point on, you’re Team Three, I’m Team One and they’re Team Two. What you’re carrying is all you’ll need. Here are the keys to this vehicle. Find your target. Get all the information you can out of it, no matter what it takes. Get that data to Central… then eliminate the threat. Do you understand, John?”

  Looking him in the eye, Banks could see that John thought it a foolish question. The Sweeper was not going to answer him. He also understood that John did not believe that he was truly ready, and that burned his conscience. For deep down inside, Banks knew he was not certain himself if he could make his kill.

  The unintentional smile out of the corner of his mouth was all John could give in answer to his superior. Without saying a word, he walked away from the Captain, kneeling down and locking the suitcase before placing it in the center vehicle’s trunk.

  As he stood up and approached his assigned transporter, he said to Sofia, “Get inside. Let’s get this over with.”

  “Three hours, John,” Stephen called out.

  “I know. We’ll be here,” he replied as he opened the door and climbed inside, shutting himself in.

  As the motor of the transporter began rumbling, Sofia looked across the room at her friend. Maryanne silently watched her from Stephen’s side. There was no expression, no words. Opening the door, Sofia sent her a last smile of goodbye… but with no returning salutation, she looked away uncomfortably and climbed into the vehicle, closing the door behind her.

  “Wait,” Maryanne, exclaimed, holding up her hand. But it was too late.

  As the transporter descended from the airship, disappearing into the foggy darkness outside, Sofia was oblivious to Maryanne as she ran down the ramp to see them off. She never heard the last words falling from her trembling lips as she cried out to her, “Take care, Sofia. Be safe.”

  The dreariness of the rain falling during the night’s drive was undercut by the swirling kaleidoscopic display of colors reflecting off the bottoms of the low-hanging, cloud ceiling hovering over the distant city of Golden. Driving with as high a velocity as seemed safe to him on such a slippery, rural road, John was determined to make it to their destination and finish their part of the business before the first hour had elapsed. Looking down at the glowing hands of his watch, he had no idea what the exact hour of the day was, his timepiece was still synched to the hours on Red. But, a momentary clearing in the thick, blackness of the sky allowed him to capture the dim light of the Savior at its noontime apex: it was mid-day, yet it was as black as the darkest of nights. The Savior appeared as just an extraordinary bright star in the sky.

  The hypnotically steady rhythm of the windshield wipers screeching back and forth, silhouetted against the backdrop of the vehicle’s headlights made Sofia’s eyes heavy. With the dull ache of her leg burning up a great deal of her energy, it wasn’t long before she fell into a deep sleep.

  John watched her head slump to the side as she breathed heavily under the exhaustion of the emotional trauma she had been through. With the feelings of heartache making their way to the surface of his conscience, the fiery wall began to rise. Before it could build to the full strength of its barrier, John reached over and brushed the hair from her face, and continued driving.

  The lights flashing upon Sofia’s closed eyelids, coupled with the familiar sound of brass instruments accompanied by a woodwind harmony, brought her mind to that suspended mental state between sleep and wakefulness. As if it were all a dream, she could hear the music so lively and real. The lights of their bedroom were so bright and golden, reflecting off the brass decorations that adorned their home.

  As Sofia opened her eyes, she found John by her side.

  “Hello, dear,” she said, hardly able to comprehend that the whole ordeal of the past had not been one long nightmare.

  “We’re almost there,” he said coldly.

  Sitting up to the sound of a blaring horn from a passing vehicle, Sofia was drenched with the neon glow and music of the city: a living, rainbow-fantasy land of vibrant hues and jazzy music that poured through the windshield and bloomed upon the interior of their transporter. Rolling down her window, she allowed the soft drops of rain to enter in. The dull melody of the live bands outside filled her ears, full and rich in their tones, sautéed over with the laughter of the citizens of Golden as they walked under the dryness of their umbrellas, lining the sidewalks at the various fine establishments that decorated their streets. They appeared to be drunk with happiness and overabundance. Thousands upon thousands of people strolling through a concrete wonderland where no one seemed to exhibit the misery so prevalent on every one of the previous planets they had visited.

  With the traffic moving at such a slow and inconsistent pace, Sofia was able to take in the details of the lavishness of the city’s architectural beauty. Carved with stat
ues of men and women, children and animals, the layers of brass fixtures and light poles that streamed along the walkways… it was over-stimulating to the brain, and an appropriate superfluous-ness for a citizenry so absorbed and preoccupied with itself that the sufferings of others, and a war that threatened to tear apart the binding threads of their fragile society, appeared non-existent.

  Pulling the handheld computer out of his coat pocket and flipping it on, John tapped the screen just below the target’s address, bringing up a detailed map that was leading them in real-time to his location. Propping it upon the dashboard, he ignored the present celebratory environment, refusing to let his mind get caught up in the overabundance of the lifestyle of the people of wealth, as it had no bearing upon their mission. Mumbling under his breath at the slowness of the traffic, he squeezed the steering wheel until his knuckles were glowing white.

  As the closing of the first hour was nearing, John began to get more impatient. Realizing that they only had a few blocks left to traverse, but that it might take another hour, perhaps more, under the present conditions of the flow, he looked back over his shoulder. Without hesitation he cut their vehicle to the right hand lane, attempting to find a parking spot along the curb of the street.

  “We need to get out and walk the rest of the way,” he said.

  “Walk? Why? It’s raining out there,” Sofia commented, being cognizant of her tones and the soreness of her leg, trying not to offend his prideful leadership.

  “We’re not going to make the three-hour time if we don’t,” he said, slamming his hand on the dash as they came to another stop in the road.

  “John, it’s alright. We’ll make it.”

  Sofia made the attempt to calm him with her smile, but he was making a conscious effort to ignore her innocent remarks. He understood that she believed that this was a mere recon mission. She was purposefully kept out of the loop regarding the assassination objective. There was no thought in her mind that violence was the end product of their journey on the planet.