Mesopotamia - The Redeemer (7 page)

“What happened to me?”

“We don't know for sure. We found
no problems in the ship's oxygen supply and the temperature and
pressure gauges were both normal. No organic problems were found
during the physical scan. According to the flight log, you were
alert enough to be able to operate the manual navigation up until a
number of hours before you entered the range of our transmission
receptivity. It is unclear what caused you to lose
consciousness.”

“It appears like you are suffering
from temporary amnesia,” said the doctor.

“You said that you dispatched
scouts. Are you the commander of this station?”

Sophia smiled again. “I am the
master of the station. You could say that I am the commander but
military terminology is foreign to us. I am the head scientist who
manages this station. We don't have commanders and subordinates
here—we have leaders and scientists who have all taken the
Pythagorean oath of monasticism. The rest of Samos' inhabitants are
mainly engineers, technicians and free Pythagoreans, some of whom
also raise families.”

He leaned back and tried to make
order of the things she had just told him. She waited patiently by
his side.

“Did you find anything in my flight
log that indicated my destination? My origin? My name?”

“Your ship's computer wiped out all
records of your previous flight logs. That's why we have no idea
where you came from and what your destination was. But don't exert
yourself now. You must rest.”

“I don't want to rest!” he
exclaimed angrily and shot upwards. “I have rested enough. I want
to understand who I am and what is going on here!”

Sophia laid a gentle hand on his
shoulder. “Unconsciousness hardly constitutes rest. Try to sleep,
to dream. I will try to be here when you awake, and then we will
try to understand together what happened. Don't worry. You are
safer here than anywhere else in the world. And now, you must
rest.” She uttered a vocal command and a complex and strange
harmony began to play softly throughout the rounded room, gently
echoing toward him from the walls. He closed his eyes and sunk
deeply into the music, his body becoming ever calmer until he was
asleep. When she left, the doctor sat in the bedside chair and
continued examining the display. He understood that the stranger
had not come to Samos with a permit, but he knew Sophia and trusted
her judgment.

Thales steered the submarine
through the depths of the Earth’s Indian Ocean. They passed beneath
the shadow of a giant manta ray, between crimson coral reefs and
over the mouths of dark caverns. Despite his anger about her
decision to break the taboo and allow a stranger into Samos, he did
not pass up the opportunity to watch her marvel at the beauty of
the ocean.

“Who is the man?” asked Thales.

“Good question. He himself does not
know.”

“How is that possible?”

“Amnesia. Janis says that
sometimes, people suffer from temporary memory loss during space
expeditions. It's likely that he is not used to space travel. There
are some people who become overpowered by the infinite abyss
surrounding them. What is that blue cove on the left?”

“That is exactly where I wanted to
take you.” Thales veered the submarine to the left and down a dark
shaft, lit only by the submarine's headlights. “So, where do you
suppose he came from?”

“He's not from Octavia—they would
have informed us. He doesn't look disheveled like the inhabitants
of Earth and he speaks Interstellar, so I figure he came from one
of the colonies.”

Thales was silent for a moment to
marvel at a silvery flash of sardines that caressed the submarine
in a circulatory motion and continued forward. “I scanned the ship.
I did not find a single object, garment or instrument that would
enable us to identify him. Strange, no?”

“What are you implying?” she
asked.

“It's weird. He doesn't remember
who he is at all and there is not even one identifiable object on
his ship. And as if that were not enough, he was flying a stolen
vessel. Sophia,” Thales tried to formulate his words delicately,
“everything here points to the notion that he is highly suspect.
It's likely that he is a pirate out to steal our particle
processor, a Gnostic spy or someone else that I cannot identify.
But it is clear that his intentions are not pure.”

“I believe that his amnesia is real
and so does Janis. Taking this into account, though, I agree with
you that the lack of identifiable objects is noteworthy, but could
also be attributed to less sinister reasons. Perhaps he was forced
to flee because of his identity and it's possible that Samos was
not even his intended destination.”

“Sophia,” Thales made an effort to
respond quietly, “You know just as well as I that it is impossible
to get here by accident. We are not on any of the interplanetary
routes between the colonized planets; Samos' location is kept
completely and absolutely secret; and what's more, our station
continually emits jamming signals that keep us covered by
interfering with all types of detection technology in
existence.”

Thales was right about the facts,
but she interpreted the situation differently. “His motives are not
sinister,” Sophia stated assertively. “The ways of the cosmos are
mysterious. We do not know why he was sent to us, with or without
his knowledge. For nothing happens without a reason and we must
therefore regard him as a messenger.”

Thales hesitated and considered
whether he should express what was on his mind. A Pythagorean was
supposed to have faith in the cosmic order and see the positive
aspect in everything. He decided to say it. “As the chief scout
responsible for the station's security, I must say something.”

“Speak!”

“I have said it before. What if he
is only pretending to suffer from amnesia but is really a Gnostic
sent here to spy on our technological secrets, to learn about the
particle processor?”

Sophia shot him an admonishing
look.

“Even the infirmary found no
organic signs of amnesia,” he tried to argue.

“Space amnesia leaves no
physiological symptoms like an injury would. The medical
examination revealed scars here and there but no ritual scars nor
any Gnostic tattoos or the like. I believe that he is not a Gnostic
and that he comes in peace.”

“But what if he is an agent who is
not a Gnostic himself but was sent by the Gnostics?”

“As chief scout, your function is
to care for the welfare of the station, but I do not see any danger
in a man who cannot even remember who he is,” she said
indulgently.

When he understood that he was not
going to influence her opinion, Thales decided to quit arguing,
though he was still extremely distraught. 'This stranger is
dangerous for us,' he said to himself.

The shaft opened into an enormous
empty chamber whose rounded walls were trimmed with hexagonal
crystal formations.

“It's very beautiful here, but why
the sly grin?”

“Are you ready?”

“What are you up to now,
Thales?”

Thales turned off the submarine's
headlights and Sophia caught her breath. Only in the complete
darkness could she see that they were surrounded by tiny
luminescent creatures that looked like phosphorescent cloudbursts;
larger creatures that sparkled like stars; and even larger
creatures that painted the expanse with streaks of blue and green
light in the shapes of spirals, discs, chains and balls of yarn.
The squids and jellyfish, like the other luminescent creatures,
moved about them in a cadence of contraction and expansion.

“Thank you, Thales,” she gasped in
awe. “Even after the volcanic lakes of Sirius, you continue to stun
me every time anew.”

The beaming Thales was likewise
enchanted by the sight as seen through Sophia's eyes. “Yes, it is
truly amazing.” He hesitated again and finally decided to say,
“Maybe it would be beneficial to connect the stranger to the
simulator. Then we could see glimpses of his consciousness and
understand who he is and where he came from.”

“In his state, the simulator could
create a reality that comes from his imagination and then
afterwards record this imagination in his consciousness as if he
were remembering reality. The simulator could blur his
understanding of fantasy and reality. As you know, the simulator
can be very dangerous. If he is not used to the simulated state, he
may experience memories and fantasies as if they were real, and
become confused to a degree that may threaten his very life. We
will use the simulator only if there is an urgent need for it. In
the meantime, there is no such need. You worry too much,
Thales.”

He sat awkwardly in silence.

“Never mind.” She smiled and he
told himself that it would be worth it to err over and over again
in order to merit her forgiveness. She was not afraid of the
stranger, though she was well aware of breaking taboo by deciding
to allow him into the station. Not only that, she could not refute
the logic that gave credence to Thales' fears. She found it
difficult to explain even to herself why she was so sure of her
decision.

Her workday was about to end. After
supervising the dozens of scientists, technicians and scouts of the
station and having devoted some time to Thales, Sophia set off on
her final task of the day: the daily calibration of the station.
Only after that would she be free to conduct the nightly
introspection ceremony.

With her fingers, she traced a few
quick lines on the display, a wavering line, another point planted
with the tap of her finger and then a pause for a few seconds.
Transparent balls in shades of pink, orange, mustard and turquoise
appeared on the screen, swirling into each other. In the Academy of
the Pythagorean Brotherhood, the students were taught how to
operate highly complex technological systems by attuning themselves
to the aesthetics of sound, color and shape. For Sophia, musical
melody was far clearer than any computerized output. When she was
five years old, she played with the sound processor for the first
time. She had to adjust the note on the computer's display to match
what she heard, within one tenth of a tonal degree. Many
instruments could have easily performed this task, but the
Pythagoreans viewed the exact adjustment of sound to tone, or shade
of color to each spiritual ceremony, as a sort of expression of the
harmony between man and nature by means of his senses and
thoughts.

The space station was comprised of
round spheres moving in rotating motions inside of each other.
Sophia's skill enabled her to listen to the music of each sphere
and thereby identify the speed and angle of the revolutions. She
controlled the sliders on the display and calibrated each sphere to
its optimal speed and angle, as if she were plucking a harp string.
Ever since she completed her training, she did not stop delighting
in her mastery, her extraordinary precision, and she felt this rush
each time she calibrated the station anew.

For a few long minutes, she
meditated with complete serenity but still could not fall asleep.
Her appointment to the position of Samos' station master brought
with it a heavy dose of mental noise. Unlike the mundane thoughts
regarding reporting to Octavia, misgivings about personnel,
inventory, equipment and rate of technological development that
usually prevented sleep from settling upon her eyes, today her
thoughts were occupied with the stranger. She was intrigued by the
riddle of his identity and tried to fill in his details in her
mind. 'Is he a member of some high-tech civilization? From a
familial or institutional social system? Is he familiar with the
Pythagoreans?'

Thales could not maintain his usual
concentration during the introspection ceremony. Doubt gnawed at
his Pythagorean equanimity. Images of Sophia in her blue gown
walking in the river gave him no respite. His closed eyes narrowed
as he thought about the stranger who reeked of danger to him. One
of his internal voices told him to stop talking about the stranger,
not to trust him and to protect Sophia and Samos. Thales hoped that
one day he would attain the spiritual level of the master and then
he would not be so mistrustful. But in the meantime, he hoped to
fall asleep and replenish his energy in preparation for the busy
day ahead of him. Suddenly, an idea flashed into his head. He rose
from his bed and approached the display in his room.

“Presentation kit in the
simulator,” he commanded.

The stranger was alone. Or so he
thought, since he could not see the tiny mosquito-like insect that
hovered above him. He studied the wrinkles on the sides of his nose
and in the corners of his eyes, as well as the small unfamiliar
scars. A stranger peered back at him from the mirror. His height
was average. Deep indentations stretched over his scalp. Tufts of
gray flashed though his cropped brown hair. Soft brown eyes peered
at him from underneath thick brows. He felt no connection to the
fleshy nose, puffy cheeks and thin lips. His build was average,
with no distinctive features aside from a mostly hirsute body. He
shot a glance at the roots of his facial stubble. His pores vaguely
reminded him of an array of points. He tried to reveal if this was
some sort of hidden pattern; he continued to ponder this quandary
for a while to no avail. The pores were not arranged like trees in
an orchard, in rows or columns, in patterns or arrangements. He
felt disquieted by their lack of order. During the course of the
three days since he had awoken in Samos, he did not encounter even
one deviation from the order. Everything around him was arranged in
straight lines or in circles. Only the tiny pores in his face
defied the impeccable order and his peace. He returned his gaze to
the stranger opposite him and studied the expression, but felt no
parallelism. He felt like he was incapable of declaring, 'This is
me'. It seemed like the reflection was disappointed in him.