Mesopotamia - The Redeemer (6 page)

Thales treasured the time that he
spend in the company of Sophia on their rare excursions. He
relished the opportunity to show her the hidden treasures and give
her a taste of nature's beauty, as if he had created it especially
for her. She had not accepted his invitations for a number of weeks
now. She had been working tirelessly around the clock and did not
allow herself to indulge in any breaks. She finally acquiesced to
join him on a tour only because she knew how much it meant to him
and because she wanted to convey a sense of amiability toward the
chief scout. He had served in the position of chief scout for five
years now, much longer than the usual amount of time spent in such
a position, and he was still as driven and enthusiastic about it as
ever. Thales turned down all offers for his promotion that came
from Octavia and Sofia did not protest. For she could not find a
scout better than him, and what was more, he had turned out to be a
dedicated friend to her as well.

Her cries of fascination spurred
him to accelerate his rowing speed. From his place behind her in
the kayak, he could feel the warmth of her body and delighted in
the gracefulness of her movements in the rocking boat. As a member
of the Samian clergy, he tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to ignore
his feelings. Secretly, he could not help but hope that she bore
similar feelings toward him as well.

The canyon opened up before them
and the river broadened, flowing between amber tapestries of grass.
The meadow was dotted with Royal Poinciana trees sparkling in the
redness of the Octavian sun and dappled with flowers in every shade
of the rainbow. Female freshwater seals lazed contentedly on the
brown clay banks, barking and chattering. The giant male stood
overlooking his harem and flapped his flippers together with
pride.

“Let's get closer to him,” Sophia
gestured with her hand.

“Gladly,” answered Thales as he
steered the kayak toward the shore. “Would you like to get
off?”

“Yes.”

He rowed back until the boat's
stern slid onto the shore and then got out to pull the kayak
forward onto the land. He held her hand as he helped her disembark
from the kayak. “Thanks,” she smiled. Thales responded with a wide
grin, though a hint of sadness flickered deep within his chestnut
eyes. She left the kayak, allowing her robe to trail in the water
without getting wet.

The scout on duty at the mooring
dock announced the arrival of a Pythagorean aircraft over the PA
system. With apparent disappointment, Thales shouted out
instructions to turn off the simulator. This was not the first
simulation tour that had been cut short, and had he not been
enjoying the company of Sophia, the station master, on such a rare
tour, he would have felt no disappointment toward his obligation to
return to his position as the chief scout of the Samos Space
Station. He must not feel that way. According to the perfect cosmic
order, even unexpected visits of foreign aircraft carried meaning.
They exited the extinguished simulator dome, which had returned to
its usual blue state.

Sophia walked alone from the
simulator to the residential area. On the way, she passed the
research labs, computer stations and dining room. The station
workers in an assortment of colored gowns stood before the
processing terminals and ordered their meals. The others scanned
the plates of their fellow diners who were seated around the long
tables in order to stimulate inspiration for a new and exciting
dish before approaching the processor to create it. The diners
chatted lightly about the latest technological progress at the
station, a recent development that enabled the processor to absorb
raw stellar matter from distant places, or a new component that
accelerates the processing procedure or the simulator unit that
produces sharper images.

She knew every single one of the
three hundred workers and residents of the space station, and as
she passed through the station's corridors, she greeted each
engineer, technician, mathematician, musician and child by name.
She almost always took the opportunity to engage some of them in
light conversation and express interest in their personal welfare
and professional progress, but not today.

The scientists that led Samos were
committed to a monastic lifestyle. The station's staff, engineers,
technicians and servicemen were exempt from this requirement,
however. They ate with their families at smaller tables. As she
passed them, Sophia heard some parents praising their children's
success in school and still others chastising their table manners.
The children called out her name, waved at her and hoped that she
would join them, as she sometimes did, but she signaled with an
apologetic smile that she was in a hurry. She advanced from the
simulation sphere up to the residential sphere, which was
relatively empty this early in the morning.

Thales waited for her on the soft
couch in the leisure room. She had asked him to meet her in the
residential area to discuss the vessel that had arrived in Samos
and wanted to ensure that their conversation would be kept
confidential from everyone else at the station.

“We don't have much time. We need
to decide immediately if we are to allow it entry into Samos,”
Sophia began as she paced back and forth about the room.

“To allow it entry into Samos?”
Thales was clearly agitated. It was clear that it was not a
Pythagorean ship. Samos was the most secret and concealed space
station in all of the manned stations. The only ships that moored
in their space station were Pythagorean ships whose arrivals had
been coordinated beforehand with the Pythagorean headquarters in
Octavia, and even they typically were navigated from afar so that
even the pilots did not know the course taken. So far, the
Pythagoreans succeeded in keeping their whereabouts a secret, but
the ever-present threat that Samos' location would fall into
unwelcome hands constantly loomed.

“If we do not bring him into the
station, he will die,” said Sophia flatly. “Our indicators show
that he has lost consciousness and the oxygen remaining in his ship
will not last much longer.”

“But if we allow him into the
station, we will break the cardinal rule of Samian law for the
first time ever.”

“So we should just let him die
then?”

“Sophia,” Thales tried to approach
her in a conciliatory tone, “there is no doubt that his motives are
hostile. Let's look at the facts here. We did not receive any
alerts from Samos about the visit. He arrived in a Pythagorean
ship, which he obtained through unknown means. The only explanation
I can conjure up is that the ship is stolen! How could he have
reached Samos if he did not know its location? It’s very likely
that this information fell into his hands illicitly. In my opinion,
we should not let him in. Best case scenario, he's not a threat.
Worst case scenario, he is a pirate or a Gnostic in a ploy to
infiltrate Samos.”

“I cannot let him die!” said Sophia
determinedly.

“Never has a stranger set foot in
Samos!” This time he was more forceful.

“Never has the master of the ship
been required to decide if it is better to allow a stranger to be
buried in his ship and drift forever in space inside his lost
vessel.”

Thales was silent.

“I want you to moor him at the dock
yourself, and afterwards take him to the infirmary.”

Thales knew the discussion was
over. He did all in his power to stave off a fatal mistake, but the
decision had been made and now it was his job to carry it out.

“Yes, Station Master.” He dug
himself out of the couch's deep comfort and turned toward the
surface sphere.

“What is his medical condition?”
Sophia asked Janis, the doctor.

“We got to him in time. He has not
suffered damage from oxygen deprivation and, to be frank, I cannot
understand why he has not yet regained consciousness,” replied the
doctor.

“How much time will that take?”

“He may wake up in the next few
hours or he may remain in this state forever. Though we understand
the holographic structure of the universe, we have yet to fully
delve into the recesses of the human mind.”

She squeezed the strangers hand
gently in hopes of receiving some sort of sign.

“I am Sophia,” she whispered.

“I am Sophia,” she repeated five
more times, slowly and patiently, but to no response.

“Signal to me by nodding your
head,” she asked in vain.

“Squeeze my hand,” she continued a
number of times, again in vain.

“Who is he?” asked Janis
curiously.

“We can only know that once he
wakes,” said Sophia as she stood up and walked away before Janis
had a chance to challenge her with additional questions.

The rounded walls of the corridors
gave off soft, warm shades of brown and yellow light. The edge of
the hall was lit more brightly and led through an arched opening to
the infirmary. Doctor Janis, brow furrowed with wrinkles of age and
worry, sat at the head of the stranger's bed.

“How is he doing?” The stranger
heard a woman's voice inquire through the mists that covered his
consciousness. He did not know it, but this woman had been visiting
him in the infirmary every single day for the past week.

“No change,” replied Janis.

“No response?”

“No clear response. He sometimes
nods his head but not consistently.”

“Open your eyes,” she told the
stranger.

He did not respond.

She repeated the sentence, as had
become her habit every day for the past week, but to no avail.

“Squeeze my hand,” she tried a
different approach. On the fifth time, she felt something. Euphoria
rushed over her.

“Squeeze my hand again,” she
requested.

After a few long seconds, he
squeezed her hand again.

He had begun to wake up. His eyes
were still shut. He felt a sense of warmth enveloping him in nearly
perfect comfort, save for an irritating tingling in his left hand.
He slowly lifted his heavy eyelids. He found himself in a small
room with rounded walls that was hardly bigger than the bed he was
laying in. In addition to the bed, the room contained a chair and
transparent display. The bed and walls were in shades of white,
blue and pink, softly lit in a way that made him think of being
inside a large shell. The opening in one of the walls seemed to
lead to a hallway in shades of brown and yellow.

He tried to move his body and
immediately identified the source of the irritating tingle. A small
monitoring device that was attached to his left hand softly chimed
at that moment. A man with silvery hair and a light brown robe
stood at his side, examining the data on the display. A silhouette
blocked the light coming from the opening. He identified a woman in
a blue gown, and when she approached he saw her eyes: blue like
deep, clear lakes. Her hair was brown, her face round and beautiful
and her expression was kindhearted. He suddenly felt an intense
dryness in his mouth and throat.

“I'm thirsty,” he muttered.

'He speaks Interstellar,' she
thought. 'That means he is a member of one of the enlightened
cultures, but his accent is not Pythagorean. Was Thales correct in
thinking that he is a pirate?' She brought close to his mouth a
small tube inside a small container which slowly dispensed a sweet
liquid, delicious and foreign. He sat up slightly in the bed and
cleared his throat. “Where am I?”

The woman smiled and helped him sit
upright. “You are in the Samos Space Station. This is Janis, the
station's doctor, and I am Sophia, the station master. Who are
you?” He looked at her curiously.

When he tried to respond, it became
clear to him that he had no answer. He could not remember a single
thing. Neither his name nor the place he came from. A vast expanse
of emptiness remained where his memories used to be. He was
silent.

“Who are you?” she repeated her
question.

Finally, he answered, “I do not
know.”

He felt a painful pressure in his
head. He looked around for hints of memories that may aid him in
recalling his identity. Nothing.

She noticed his scared expression.
'He does not look like a pirate to me,' she wondered, 'but who
knows?' He squeezed her hand again, as if she could anchor him to
reality and prevent him from falling into the abyss of
unconsciousness.

Sophia continued in a soft, calming
voice. “You arrived here in a Pythagorean space ship. Did you come
from Octavia?”

He straightened his back and
shrugged his shoulders. The place that she mentioned was unfamiliar
to him.

“Do you remember anything, perhaps
a sound or a color? Does my name, Sophia, or the station's name,
Samos, mean anything to you? Did you plan on coming here?”

He shrugged his shoulders and the
corners of his mouth contorted in despair. Her questions did not
bring back any memories. Sophia decided to let him be for the time
being and hoped that he would soon be able to answer her
questions.

“Perhaps it is better to provide
him with information rather than trying to extract information from
him?” she asked the doctor. “Would that help him remember?”

“We could try.”

“I will tell you about us and maybe
that will help jog your memory.”

He nodded.

“Samos is a research station in the
part of space belonging to the Pythagorean Brotherhood.”

“Pythagoreans?”

“Yes. Have you heard of us?”

“I... I don't remember. Please,
continue.”

“We found you in a single-person
ship coasting outside the spheres of our space station. The ship
was sending out distress signals, so I sent scouts to see what
happened. They brought you here, to the residential sphere,
unconscious.”

“How long have I been here?”

“A week.”