Visitation - Exodus (book 2 of 2)

"They are playing that same music again; Franz Lehar; I can hear it.”

“I can do without this. Put me to sleep, them pick me up routine, it’s not at all nice.”

“Get knocked down, hurt and damaged, and then make me good again; no problem with that but the same old music; why, for goodness sake, why?”

I didn’t have to force my eyes open, they happily did that for themselves, without effort; but the light was too bright, really too bright. The intensity dimmed rather rapidly; there was no discomfort to my eyes as they adjusted themselves. I didn’t sense that it had anything to do with the light dimming but rather it was my eyes adjusting themselves on their own.

“Remarkable,” I thought. “They’ve done a good job this time.”

“I feel really good, relaxed, no lingering aches or pains and no residual stiffness, this is good.”

“This is better, it’s wonderful but why the music?”

I was thinking in short bursts but they just kept popping into my head in the same short rapid manner and I found myself almost repeating them to myself. I was not in another hospital, nor even in a bed; I was stood upright. This was weird but I felt really good; was this some sort of new procedure? It had to be. There was no nurse or Doctor present; I was stood here completely on my own. I had never felt better; I couldn’t stress that enough to myself.

The view was good although somewhat unexpected. It was beautiful. There were lush meadows full of wild flowers in bloom, a few trees and a few birds in the clear blue sky. A gentle warm breeze was slipping by. Other than the sound of a babbling brook, somewhere or other, all was quiet and peaceful. I now realised that the music had stopped, possibly a little while ago but now noticeable by its absence.

This was very odd, but I was beyond being surprised any more, although awakening in a standing position was the oddest sensation. I had the impression, a sense of sorts, that someone was stood behind me. I turned round with consummate ease to find out if my sensory perception was correct.

There stood before me were two tall people, perhaps several inches taller than myself, men I thought but even that I was not sure of, smiling gently at me. They had to belong to whatever medical team that had sorted me out this time. They had to be some sort of doctors, but reminded me more of the priests, or attendants, possibly of the great artefact that had been carried with reverence into the last craft off Mars.

They were wearing the same long, shimmering, white robes, with hands clasped together easily to their front and that gentle, assured smile seemingly expressing an inner confidence of calm.

“Are you Doctors?” I attempted. “On second thoughts, are you perhaps, from among the people we picked up from Mars? Keepers perhaps?”

“Not entirely,” the figure to the left replied.

“But we have been both at one time or another,” right figure continued.

“You have done a bloody good job on me, this time,” I proffered.

I decoded to ask a question. “Is Caterin anywhere nearby, do you think I could have a word with her?”

“I’m afraid not,” the figure on the right explained.

“She has not come to us yet and probably won’t do for some time to come,” left figure added.

They were talking as some sort of team, with alternative questions, statements and answers.

“There is another Caterin that has been asking about you,” left figure then mentioned.

“From a very long time ago, if you remember well, Ian.”

I didn’t get a chance to answer.

“And we understand that you have already spoken to each other,” right figure added.

“But any meeting cannot take place for some time yet.”

That got me thinking but the answer I sought as to why, just did not come to mind. Another Caterin, that rang a bell somewhere. I knew that it should but why and for some strange reason that it did not, I could not understand.

“You also should not be with us, really, Ian,” left figure interceded to halt my train of thought.

“Not yet and also not for a long, long time.”

“Well do you have any idea when she will be here?”

I tried to interrupt their smooth flow, forgetting my previous train of thinking in the process.

“I can’t say,” left replied.

“Nor me,” added right figure.

“Have we spoken before?” I tried something different, sensing a familiarity about them, a style of talking that rang some bells.

“From time to time Ian, yes,” came the swift but still smooth reply.

"I thought so,” I exclaimed with some exuberance.

“Am I on the other Ark?”

I thought I should continue to pursue this question believing I may have a clue of an answer as to what was bothering me, but then it struck me..

“Whoa!” I exclaimed out again but this time really loudly then pulling myself up short, taking note again of the rolling meadows all round us.

“This is the Mother Ship, isn’t it?” I queried sort of rhetorically.

I was asking for confirmation that all was well and we were now on our way on the big journey. My mind had run a different path again.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you Ian,” left figure spoke again. “But as I have said, you really should not be with us here, it’s not your time my friend.”

“You really must go back,” right figure added.

“When it is your time . . . ”

“And I feel certain that you will recognise without any doubt, when the time has finally arrived,” left figure interjected.

“. . . then we will meet again,” right figure concluded.

The conversation had a sense of strangeness about it. I could not relate to the information that was coming my way in response to what I considered as simple questions. I was becoming confused in a big way.

“Somebody has done a bloody good job on me,” I pushed on not recognising what it was they were trying to tell me and most certainly with an inner sensation of supreme well-being. Somehow I managed to stagger the words out despite the confusion and disorientation that was building inside.

“I feel so good within myself and in such a total way, that I feel compelled to offer my thanks to somebody.”

I had to be dreaming again, I just had to be, this was so real but at the same time with a creeping sensation of unreality.

“You are not dreaming,” left figure assured me with a most warming smile.

I realised that he had just read my mind. We were all communicating with each other of course using thought, and why not. I received a confirmation that this was so, as the smile on the happy faces of both these people increased.

“You’re from the the people we picked up on Mars, are you not?” I tried again.

“That’s a very good guess,” right confirmed.

“But that was some time ago,” added left figure.

“A very long time ago,” right figure concluded.

“You must have come to the Mother Ship . . .” I started but was quickly interrupted.

“Now we must insist, Ian.”

And by both of them together in one voice.

“Please close your eyes for a moment or two and listen to the music once more,” they continued again speaking in unison.

The music of Franz Lehar was playing again, but I could not determine where it was coming from, it seemed all round and even within me.

The strange words of a certain Alice came to mind, “Curiouser and curiouser.”

Left and right both smiled even more at that.

I had to be delusional; the damage to my body had to be worse than I thought; perhaps I was seriously ill and in the grip of some feverish dream.

“Close your eyes Ian, I must insist,” right figure instructed firmly, although it seemed I was being encouraged gently by him at one and the same time.

I had so little choice. Maybe closing my eyes would help make sense of the whole situation. I needed to find an explanation and blocking out some of my sensory input might be helpful. I closed my eyes as requested. The brightness of the light coming through my eyelids reduced, and went on reducing gently while the enchanting music, with which I was so familiar, swelled and rose to a discrete clarity within my senses.

I was going back to sleep, standing upright.

This was not right; I was definitely of the view that I was in another dreamlike state. I let myself submit to the sensation willingly because, somehow, a feeling of great happiness was welling within and then surrounding me, as the deeper I sank into my illusory dream. The light coming through my eyelids now dimmed to another welcoming darkness with which I was familiar and I did not wish to fight it.

Maybe I should, but I knew I was not going to. I had to accept the experience.

I was being put to sleep, or something else, to the sound of that strain of music that was forever repeating and would otherwise be present in different circumstances; always as I was being brought awake.

The darkness was not frightening, in fact it was truly welcoming and accompanied by a most pleasant sensation of warmth and love.

I happily succumbed.