Mesopotamia - The Redeemer Read Free Page B

were smooth and exacting.
    Smoke's tactics worked well. The
forces under his command marked fatal hits on most of Shadow's
aircraft. Vessels marked as dead returned to the father ship. Smoke
knew that Flash certainly would not back off of him in order to
defend Shadow as long as Smoke's tail was within Flash's shooting
range. He continued to lead him on, never flying too far out of
range. Smoke veered deceptively to the right and then immediately
spiraled downward with a quick pivot back to the left. Flash was
the only one whose shots came close to Smoke, but even his
attempts, like those of the pilots under his command, missed their
mark. Despite his unrelenting ambition, which afforded no rest to
him and his colleagues, Flash did not stand a chance. Flash was
simply not endowed with Smoke's natural instincts. Their rivalry
intensified Flash's battle spirit, but even with the advantage of
his determined resolve, Smoke still prevailed as the superior
warrior of the two.
     
    They were called Truth, Flash,
Shadow and Smoke after the names of the aeons, Gnostic mythological
deities from the early Christian era. They were war orphans who
were adopted and recruited by the New Gnosis. In the crucial
initial stages of their assimilation into the Gnosis, all memory of
their previous experiences were erased, their names were replaced
by Gnostic names and they were convinced that they were the
successors of the ancient Gnostics.
    Smoke was only seven years old when
he was picked up by a gang of looting pirates and sold to the
Gnostics. The enormous scuffed steel door of the fortified compound
closed behind the boy with a clang, reminiscent of the tolling of
judgment day bells. He wrung his fingers nervously and repeatedly
fondled the cool metal band of the ring he wore around his finger.
That worn and scratched strip of brass, which still bore a faint
hint of the diamond pattern that had once been engraved upon it,
was the only personal item that remained in his possession. He had
stolen it one day from the ringleader of the looters who had
captured him. He knew that, in their eyes, he was but a mere object
from their inventory of merchandise. If so, what difference did it
make if one object stole another? He had no special reason for
specifically taking this ring. The speed of his fingers did not
enable him to take anything large or more important. Deep in his
languishing heart, he secretly hoped that the merchant would catch
him in the act and kill him.
    At the Gnostic compound in Uruk, he
was greeted by a dark skinned man with dark eyes, a high forehead
and full lips. Grayness had not yet crept into the brown hair of
the man who would one day become the commander of the Gnostic
forces.
    “This is your new home. Your new
name is Smoke. This will be your only name from now until
eternity,” said the man who seemed like a giant to the young boy.
“I am Truth, and we have chosen you to join the Gnosis, to liberate
this world from its impure shells.”
    The right side of Truth's face and
neck was dappled with blue spots. Like all the other Gnostic
warriors, he too wore a shirt and pants made from black shiny
fabric. He continued to utter words that the boy who was now Smoke
did not understand. He only understood one thing: He had been
chosen. He was now worth more than the value of the ring. Truth
began to march quickly over the red clay soil pavement, his feet
kicking up dust clouds that contributing their share to the fulvous
haze that hung heavily over the entire compound. The boy trailed
after him. He struggled not to cry. Despite the urge to seek refuge
in Truth, he was careful not to become attached to this man. The
slave merchants did not allow him to cling to them either when he
solicited their intimacy.
    They stepped between the giant
plastic cubes that appeared to be buildings. “You'll stay here with
us. We will not hurt you and we will not let you get hurt. We are
your squadron.”
    Smoke noticed a boy with a buzz
cut,