Mesopotamia - The Redeemer by Yehuda Israely, Dor Raveh Page A

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.”
    “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