The Lover's Parable Through A Seven World Journey (49 page)

Sofia had not moved in the slightest since John had last looked upon her before dozing off himself. He had no idea how long he had been sleeping, but he felt quite rested. Brushing aside the long bangs of hair that draped across her face, Sofia was much paler than she was earlier, almost a greenish-white, and her breathing was more rapid. He was not about to disturb her now, though. Central would have the medicines she needed, he thought. The more she rested, the better off she would be. Leaving the tracked vehicle behind, John floated to the upper decks, maintaining his coordination using the ladder’s
rungs.

“How are we doing, Banks? Are we almost home?” John spoke into the mic, his voice hoarse from fatigue.

Unlike the previous exchanges, there was no cross-chatter this time, no words returned from the Captain. John understood that the stresses of war were energy depleting. Banks was probably asleep at the wheel with the autopilot engaged.

Passing through the many holding cells of the airship, he straddled the final ladder leading to the flight deck. Although he did not care for Banks during his first encounter with the man on Red, the finality of the mission seemed to have altered his view of the world in general, and he was becoming rather fond of the Captain in
particular.

Through the windowed portal of the door leading to the control room, John could see what appeared to be sparks flashing around the compartment. His first thought was that something was damaged during the escape, and Banks was probably in the process of making the repairs.

The steel door was tightly sealed, John muscled it with all his strength to get the locking mechanism to give. After fighting with it for several minutes, he was able to rotate it around, gaining access to the Captain’s quarters.

“Banks! What’s going on in…?” John said stepping inside, but cutting his question short… as there was nobody there to inquire of.

The entire flight console was a bludgeoned mess of wires and spark-sputtering smoke. The computer terminal ports had been pried from their panels and left dangling from damaged wires. Through the pilot’s window it appeared that they were set on a course, destined to a place they did not want to get near to: the Great Star. It was still quite a distance from them, but considering how small it had appeared while en route to Black Island, it was much larger now. At the rate in which they were traveling, it would not be long before they were to meet its fiery essence face-to-face.

John was beside himself. He had been duped, and there was no denying it. Banks had tricked them into doing the dirty work for him on Black Island: an action the Captain himself was incapable of performing. The
Top Man
was obviously a front, a handsome mask for the masses to look upon without actually seeing the true demon controlling him from
behind.

The homicidal virulence building up inside was too much for John to control. Grasping the mic that collared his throat, John screamed into it, “Banks! Banks, you filthy dog, where are you? Talk to
me?”

The cross-chatter with Central filled his ears. It was the Captain speaking with an unknown agent.

“Central, all cold assets are inbound to the final destination. Black Island and Black Heart are secured. They’re all ours, now. Prepare for full initiation.”

“Copy that, Captain. Marvelous work. On your mark, begin the uplink.”

“Central, be advised of a momentary delay. I’ve got two teams working to get the organic module to full operation. Medical standby is still preparing for my implantation. The deity-system is fully intact. I’ll give you a head’s up before we make the
intro.”

“Copy that, Captain,” returned the unknown agent, “Welcome to the top of the world.”

“I never thought we’d see this day,” Banks laughed in reply.

Although not fully versed in every aspect of their conversation, John could deduce what was taking place: the Captain was about to take over where John had left off. He was being primed for full control, and there was nothing to stop him.

The Great Star was burning less than twenty-four hours from their current position in space. The airship had no internal controls, and John was at a loss for how to get them to safety. Sofia was too convalescent to provide any helpful input. John had made several wellness checks on her during the course of his search of the airship. She had hardly budged from her original position curled up on the seat in the tracked transporter.

Frustrated by his inability to find a solution to their problem, it seemed as if Banks’ plan to kill them off was moving exactly as the Captain had hoped it would. John was beginning to feel the full brunt of guilt for the insolence of his youth. Unable to hide behind the blood shed from his hands, or the cries of pain from the nameless faces that he witnessed suffering under his will, he could no longer place the blame of his actions on the
enemy
. The reason for all his and Sofia’s troubles lay completely at his feet.

Perplexed by his overwhelming desires for that spiritual and intellectual fulfillment that he had yearned for back in their home on Labor, John was finally brought to a point in his life where his mortality was on full display. He could see that every action he had initiated, and every choice he had made for them, it all seemed, in retrospect, to have been the wrong ones. His end and Sofia’s end was now so near, too near. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side when it came.

Floating through the threshold and down the ladder that had brought him to the flight control room, John pulled the bag of explosives from his shoulder. He could easily prevent the suffering that they would soon be experiencing slowly burning up in the flames. A simple setting of the detonator would solve the problem. But taking his own life, for all the misery his birth had brought to the worlds, was of no moral consequence to him. It was the idea of Sofia’s life that was the cause of his concerns. It was the burden with which he struggled most heavily. The most difficult aspect of the plan was not that he did not have the strength or courage to perform the task, but that he would, essentially, become the murderer of his own love… and that was the most profound charge against the entire case. It was the only act of violence that he knew he could never
endure.

Passing through the next threshold, taking him closer to where he had left Sofia, John was startled to find her climbing through the circular opening in the floor below.

“Sofia,” he called out. “What are you doing down there?”

Even in the weightlessness of space she could barely bend the joints of her extremities, as if they were becoming rigid and too resistant to her command.

“Is everything alright, dear? Where are Mary and Stephen? Are they with the Captain?” she asked in her state of confusion.

Pushing off with his legs, John descended from his lofty position on the ceiling, slowly falling beside her.

“Don’t worry about them, girl. They’re fine,” he whispered into her ear as he took her up in his arms.

Carrying her back down to the transporter, he buckled her in, covered her up with his jacket and assisted her with light sips of water. Like thin glass, she seemed so frail in his arms, as if the slightest pressure would cause her to break. Running his fingers through her hair, John eased her back to sleep, kissing her on the forehead. If death was at their backdoor, there was no need for her to know about it. If nothing else, he could at least protect her from the suffering of knowing it was so near. Buckling himself in beside her, he closed his eyes, although he knew there would be no rest for him.

The heat of the cabin was growing steadily more uncomfortable as they neared the burning star. Removing his jacket from her, Sofia moved about restlessly, shivering despite the uncomfortably high temperature that was engulfing them.

John had not gone up to check where they were in their relative location in space. It did not matter in any way. He was helpless in the matter knowing he could no longer change the fate of his own course, let alone Sofia’s.

Hours were passing by like the clouds that drifted through the skies over the forests of Labor. They could neither be captured nor restrained. The ticking of the hands of John’s watch echoed in his ears, as if they were voices shouting out to him that their time had
come.

As he slid his hands over his ears, drowning out the metronome-like beat of the gears of his timepiece, a violent turbulence rattled the
airship.

The brilliance of the Savior’s light was wandering through the windows of the control deck, illuminating the cabin and spilling through the small window upon the door. Trickling through the glass, it flowed through the hollow of the room, bouncing off the walls and raining through the threshold on the floor. Pouring into the deck below, like a creature following a trail, the particles swirled about like a whirlwind, followed by a tail of golden dust. Passing through threshold after threshold, winding through the rungs of the ladders that were bolted to the walls of the towering transporter, its mist of radiance entered the lowest bay, where a single tracked transporter was secured to the floor. Enshrouding it like a tomb, the light passed through the windshield, watering John and Sofia with its
warmth.

With a gasp of her breath John sat up, his eyes filled with a whiteness so pure it was blinding.

The rolling dunes of golden sands covered over with scales of waving ripples, reached out to the edge of another windswept world of which, until now, John had not been privy to. The thick blackness of the burning airship, lying on its side, buried halfway into the crust of the planet upon impact, swelled and swirled into the yellow-orange sky of flaming tongues above.

He was dressed in his thin, battle uniform from Red. At his feet, Sofia was asleep, lying upon a makeshift cot fashioned from his insulated coat and pant. John had apparently dragged her from the ship, a few hundred meters below, if the concave trail formed in the sand behind them was any indication, although he did not recall doing
it.

As far as he could see, there were no rocky outcroppings, no watering holes or places of refuge. Were it not for the wasted air transporter behind them, the fiery sky above and the soft golden sand beneath his feet, stretching for endless kilometers in every direction, were all that would appear to exist.

Shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, he was unsure if he was alive or if he was in the afterlife. The last thing he could recall was the warmth of a bright light, and perhaps, a voice, as of a child, but even that was vague and full of discontinuity. Taking up the leggings of the “cot” as if they were handles, John proceeded to pull Sofia behind him, hoping, with some luck, to find the help she
needed.

With his lips parched and dry, his tongue pale and sticky, John thirsted for water, but there appeared to be no end to the desert. The planet was so warm and overwhelming. And by the flaming tongues that swirled endlessly in the cloudless atmosphere, he was certain that rainfall was not a feature of the world, either. Wherever he looked: above him was a fiery sky, below him stretched the rolling hills of fine grain sand creating beautiful patterns under the hand of the invisible wind.

After a lengthy period of wandering, John could not force himself to push on any further. He had reached the peak of the highest hill he could locate. Looking behind him, he could see the rising, black funnel of smoke, an oddity and a foreign object to such a golden
desert.

Taking a seat beside Sofia, he laid his head down upon a soft, sandy mound to rest his mind. Gazing at the flames dancing upon the horizon, the breeze whistled through his ears as he closed his burning eyes. He intended for only a moment to leave the world behind, soothed by the light-filtering shades of his eyelids.

As John awoke several hours later, he sat up in a startle, as he caught a glimpse of a young boy disappearing over the edge of a hill in the distance.

“Sofia,” he said. “I saw someone.”

She did not answer. Pulling himself to his feet, he looked about his surroundings. The smoky rise from the airship was gone along with the carcass of the destroyed transporter. Even the wounded land upon which it crashed had been healed over. Faint with thirst, he picked up the “handles” once again, heading in the direction of what he thought might have been an apparition, a game his mind was playing under the influences of a dehydrated body.

The dunes were much more difficult to traverse now than they had been in the hours past. The deep cramping of the muscles of John’s legs were hindering his progression up the steep sand banks. Leaving Sofia behind, he covered her up, protecting her from getting any particles blown into her mouth and lungs.

Crawling up the sand dune, John finally reached the place in which the young boy had disappeared. He was not expecting to see anyone, as he had been through a similar mental duress in the past while going through the Sweeper training. Hallucinations were not uncommon for someone in his condition, he thought. But the image of a young child, perhaps ten to twelve years of age, sitting upon a lone, black rock beside a crystal clear pond of water was the last thing he expected to find.

The boy smiled at him, and then cast his eyes skyward. “Who are you?” John asked, his voice was coarse and his throat sore with
dryness.

There was no verbal response from the child. Hopping down from his seat, the boy dipped his hands into the water, forming a cup with his palms. Scooping up the precious liquid as if he were carrying a bowl, he walked up the embankment and poured it upon John’s head.

As the water filtered through his hair, rolling onto his back and down his forehead, John felt the refreshment of his lost youth flowering inside of him. Tugging at his shirt, the young child, distressed in expression, pointed to Sofia at the bottom of the dune.

Sliding down its face, John trampled through the sand, renewed in strength, allowing him to pull Sofia effortlessly to the top of the hill. Reaching its apex, he dragged her down the slope, bringing her to the edge of the pool of soothing waters.

The child was waiting there for them, his hands cupped at his waist. John dropped the sleeves of the cot to the ground. Sofia’s shallow breathing was quite apparent, and each breath passed by with a long, distinct pause. John recognized the detrimental state in which she was. He had seen it before, countless times in his training and on the battlefields: she was near death. Her body was gasping at its final taste of the air.

He was too exhausted and focused on the mission to realize her condition before. But now John’s renewed alertness gave him the provisions he needed to allow his heart to burn with anger against Banks and the new government of men that had taken possession of the worlds. He wanted his mind back the way it was before the terrible turn of events on Raw. He wanted to wipe it clean of all that he had seen, all that he had heard, all the horrific acts he had performed. He hated the thought that he had been used. He was a pawn sent to its death in order to assist the planetary order out of one evil dress and into another, equally sinister outfit. And through all of this, Sofia had been dying, but he was oblivious to her
suffering.

The young boy, as if aware of John’s feelings and motives, cast his eyes down in despair before approaching the sickly woman. Releasing the waters from his hands, the liquid came into contact with her skin. Sofia gasped aloud, sucking in the fresh atmosphere of the newly found planet. Her eyes opened and she grimaced in pain as she grabbed her leg.

Pulling the knife from his pocket, John flipped open its blade, jabbing it into her pant leg and ripping a hole in it, tearing through it to get at her wound. Horrified at the smell of her rotting flesh and the red-streaked, creamy liquid draining from the inflamed site of his bullet’s impact, he was taken back, astonished. He looked to the child.

“Is there someone here that can help her?” he cried out.

The child stared at him, tilting his head in confusion.

“Little boy, where are your parents? She needs help,” John screamed at him, expressing with his hands, motioning the child’s attention to her infected leg.

Kneeling down by the water’s edge, the young boy retrieved another handful of water. After looking to the sky as he had done before, he walked over to Sofia and poured it onto her traumatized flesh. The skin immediately began to foam upon contact, releasing a soothing sound, like the sounds of receding waves on the sands of a beach.

After performing the same operation on the exit wound, he strode through the shallow of the pool. Climbing back to the top of his rock, he sat down.

From the position on her back, Sofia stared into the flaming sky above. She was suddenly painless and free from the assault of the spreading infection and burning fever. As if the poisoned fluid of life that flowed through her veins was cleansed, she had the same renewed vigor of adolescence that John was experiencing, a feeling of true liberty. As she sat up, John knelt at her side, placing his arms around her.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said.

Over John’s shoulder, the young boy behind him sat, patient and quiet.

“John, who’s that on the rock over there?”

“He’s the one that saved us,” Sofia heard him say.

The child was reminiscent of her and John’s lost son. He was equal in bodily stature and shape. He had a confidence about him that was sure, yet humble. Although he was obviously someone else’s little boy, she had an overwhelming sense of oneness with his being, as if he were her own. Her smile towards him was warm, like the ambience that surrounded them, and the young child, a strange curiosity in such a desolate land, smiled in return.

The journey from the pool into the rolling, orange sands of the desert seemed like a foolhardy excursion, but John consented to Sofia’s wishes after much pleading from her to follow the child wherever he led them. She had argued with him regarding the native nature of the boy, and that he was obviously quite able to survive without anyone else’s assistance. John could say little to counter her words.

Pulling her by the hand, the young child led Sofia deeper into the beautiful, yet barren land, with John in tow. He seemed to know exactly where he was taking them. Sofia was quite content with the trek, as it felt as though she and John were with their own son on a pilgrimage through their own personal
planet.

Perplexed at their situation, John could not shake the nudging irritation that urged his temper. The more he stewed on the recent events of the past, the more he lost the vigor of life he received from the pool, and the more he began to thirst.

“If we could only find a way out of here,” he murmured indignantly, as he scanned his eyes around, looking at the endless hills of sand. “I could probably get to Banks.”

“The Captain?” Sofia asked with surprise. “Is he alive?”

Irked by her tone of glee, he responded with out hesitation, “Unfortunately. He tried to kill us.”

“He what?” Sofia said with astonishment. “Why?”

“That mission we did on Black Island. It was all part of their plan. I killed the men at the highest level,” he said, unaware of the saddened expression the young boy was bearing as he listened to John from over his shoulder. “That allowed Banks and Central to take control of the worlds.”

Bewildered by the news, Sofia was brought back to the reality of their present circumstances. As she thought about Maryanne and Stephen, the fantasy world she was enjoying so much had suddenly vanished. Her innocent mindset lost out to the cares of the cold, hard worlds she had wanted so much to leave behind. Gone was her dream. And a deep, unforgiving thirst began to set in.

Under the blackness of her demeanor, the child released Sofia’s hand, listening to her and John converse. There was very little expression from him… until John said, “Maybe we could find our ship. If we could somehow get it working again we could probably return back to the Island and I could kill him, putting an end to their
plans.”

Hanging his head down in grief, the child despondently led them over one last sandy hill where they were presented with another pool of water, less clear and mildly bitter in aroma. Holding his hand out, as if to offer them a drink from its glassy waters, he seemed disappointed, but neither John nor Sofia noticed as the desire of thirst burned within them.