BOOK TWO

Chapter 29: Atlantis II - The Homeland, 424 A.F.

At first, Master's days were long and dreary. He hated being an instrument of war in the battle that was destroying his beloved Atlantis. But, in time, he realized that his calling in life, to teach, had not been changed... he just had a different classroom, and many students instead of just one.

The army that Master was conscripted into was called Peace-and-Power. They were divided into roughly 20 companies that took their orders directly from the Commander of the Peace-and-Power Army. They fought the Mighty-Unity Army.

The captain of Master's company was a hard man who did not believe in letting his men get to know him personally. He stayed off by himself, except to punish them for failing his orders.

No officers were appointed below the captain, but without question the men of the company agreed that the largest of the soldiers, a man with an amazingly broad chest, was their real leader. Muscle was piled all over his body as if created by a sculptor who had never learned moderation in his art. This man led them in battle and took risks with them, while their captain stayed safely in his tent.

At first, Master just called this massive man, Leader.

Leader had never been bested in battle, whether for sport or for blood. He was a very proud man, but each soldier was thankful Leader was in their company, instead of their enemy's. However, each soldier was cautious around him, for he had a fierce temper.

Master's official job was to advise the captain. Since the captain did not want any contact with his men, Master's advice was given to Leader.

He would advise Leader of tricks the enemy may be planning, for Master knew all the strategies of war. He had been required to read the Tablets of War shortly after his conscription. Reading and memorization were not common skills amongst the soldiers, so most companies had a conscripted teacher with them.

But Master, ever the teacher, advised Leader of many other things as well: Good nutrition, caring for wounded, surviving off the land, and staying warm when their clothes wore out. Leader generally didn't have much respect for nonsoldiers, but Master had won his grudging respect.

"You remind me of a friend I had once," Leader told Master during a break in the fighting. "He talked just like you. He knew books, like you do. I almost made him into a soldier, though. He was an unusual man, for one who knew books."

Master became excited, on a hunch. "What was his name?"

"Oh, I don't remember his real name. He had a pet-name given him by his teacher... a poor name for a soldier! He was called Boy."

"I know him!" Master responded with unaccustomed excitement. "He was my best student!"

"Then, you are the man who ruined him!"

In the days that followed, Leader remained distant from Master, holding him responsible that his best friend, Boy, had not followed him onto the battlefield.

Master went on a walk to dig herbs.

Buddy snuck up behind and challenged him, "Stop! I figured you'd be sneaking off to escape or inform the enemy!"

"I've had a 1000 opportunities to escape and not done so. Even now, should I choose to go, all your shrewdness and guards could not detain me."

Buddy pulled out his sword and was about to threaten him, when Master's words finally percolated deep down into his small reservoir of beliefs, testifying to the truth of what had been spoken.

He never challenged Master's strange wanderings again. Neither did his men when they were on duty.

However, as time went on, Master's constant helpfulness won Leader over. Soon, by firelight, they would trade stories about Boy, each revealing something that the other did not know about their common friend.

"One thing I miss about... 'Boy'... is the word games..." Leader reminisced.

"Yes, the word games..."

"We used to play that for hours. At first, I thought it was just foolishness, but after a while, I began to like it."

"I wondered where your good language came from. You don't speak like a soldier."

"I suppose not... thanks to Boy."

"I miss Boy... I have not seen him in a long time. But, I will always think of you as Boy's friend. It comforts me to know that he had such a good friend."

"I miss him too."

"I wonder if you would... honor me... by letting me call you Buddy... because you were Boy's best friend. That way, whenever I say your name, I will remember Boy."

Leader almost denied the request outright, but when he saw the eagerness on Master's face, almost a boyish look, he agreed.

Master was clever in his choice of a pet-name, for he intended to bring out just those qualities in Buddy, a man who was too hard, and trusted in his own might too much.

"What do you think about in battle?" Master asked Buddy.

"In the midst of the battle?"

"Yes."

"A tremendous hatred takes over, giving me more strength than at any other time... and I begin swinging my weapon as if I were swatting at flies..."

"What I mean is... what do you see?"

"Blood... lots of my enemies' blood."

"Do you see beyond your enemy?"

"No. Just what is right before me."

"Would you notice if your fellow soldier were in trouble?"

"No. I figure he can take care of himself."

"You can, certainly. But, do you really believe that the other men in your company will survive... that is, as long as you do?"

"No, I suppose not. I suspect I will outlast them all."

"Then, you will be alone."

Buddy was startled at the thought, but tried to hide behind his normally emotionless face.

"Do you want to be alone?"

"Well, it's not my preference. I am safer with the other men around me."

"Then, in battle, you should look after the safety of the other men, so they will survive longer."

Buddy didn't know how to respond. It was a simple thought, yet very profound, particularly since he had been ignoring the situations of the other men on the battlefield.

In such a manner, under Master's subtle teaching, Buddy began to recognize that it was not enough for him to kill more of the enemy than he lost of his fellow soldiers, he had to protect them as well. Master was good at finding natural strengths in a man and building upon them. So, Buddy was soon learning far more than just the elements of war.

When any of his men were overwhelmed by superior soldiers in personal combat Buddy now would work his way over to them to even the odds. He even shielded them, when possible, against the wrath of their captain. He began to care for his fellow-soldiers, an emotion that had been missing from his difficult childhood. As a result, they all loved him and respected him, and he learned the benefits of bonding with others.

In one battle, the company was outnumbered by a force almost three times their size. A breakthrough resulted, and the captain, normally safe in his tent, became a casualty of war. Buddy then became the commander of the soldiers.

Chapter 30: San Francisco, the Present

Dr. Christianson was a young American archeologist, who had been respected because of his breakthroughs and his ability to bring fresh insights into staid institutionalized thinking. His greatest failing, discussed privately, and sometimes not so privately, by his peers, was his fundamentalist Christian beliefs. Many felt that a Fundamentalist could not be a competent archeologist, despite his obvious successes. This led to his downfall.

He had been part of an expedition that found two unusual artifacts in an unrobbed Egyptian tomb. One, he interpreted to be a telescope and the other an ancient manuscript about the sinking of Atlantis.

Dr. Christianson assigned greater credibility to these artifacts than any of his peers. He published a very controversial book putting forth his theories. Just before publishing, he had been warned by his superiors that this book could cost his job. It did.

Because of the controversy caused by the book, no other universities would hire Dr. Christianson. Soon, his meager savings account ran out.

The one bright spot in his situation was his friendship with Dr. Elizabeth Koyashi, the Japanese-American archeologist he had met during the Egyptian expedition. Their friendship grew into love, and they were married, even though he was without a job, and a poor prospect for getting one.

It bothered him that his wife supported him. He often wondered if he shouldn't have done things differently, but no matter how he replanned the past, he had to admit his actions would have been little different. He had always been one to fight authorities and peer control when he thought he was right. He had come up against the paradigm of science, that unspoken list of assumptions that all scientists must support. And he had spoken his mind instead of agreeing.

Elizabeth dearly loved her new husband. With a thin smile, she watched her knight tilt against the windmills of science, respecting his courage, if not his wisdom. She did envy him that he could speak freely. She herself had to compromise to keep her job.

Occasionally, they argued.

"Why can't you just be a Christian? Why do you have to carry all this other baggage?" she demanded.

"Baggage!? What do you mean," he responded angrily, "my belief in a young earth and a worldwide flood!?"

"Yes! Why do you distort everything you see to fit into that preconceived notion?"

He was about to continue the argument along these same line -- emotion answering emotion -- but he suddenly got an idea. He relaxed, smiled, and admitted, "I guess we all squeeze reality into our private molds. You too."

Her anger began to drain from her, replaced by confusion at his sudden change in approach.

"The religious fanatic, the evolutionist, Republicans, Democrats... we all interpret new information in light of what we already believe. Feminists, men, women..."

"Hold it! Men.... Women...?!"

"Okay. Tell me what you think about men."

A smile crept across her face, but she did not answer.

"Come on! I can take it. Tell me what you think about men... in general."

"Well, in general... I think they are... stupid."

"Well... would it surprise you to find out that men think women are, in general, stupid?"

"Stupid!? Why... How...?"

"Don't be so indignant. You called us 'stupid' first!"

She smiled an apology.

"Now, what if I were to replace the word 'stupid' with 'different.' Would you agree that that is still a fair assessment?"

"Yeah, men are indeed 'different,' in their thinking, that is."

"If you were born a man, do you think a man's thinking processes would still be a mystery?"

"No, I suppose not."

"Well then, the stupidity that you observe in man's behavior... and the irrationality that men observe in women's behavior... is a product of gender. It has no basis in truth."

She harumphed and said, "I never thought of it that way before."

"We all distort reality in a lifelong attempt to prove our biases are right. Don't you know it takes a lot of time and effort to change someone's mind... I mean, really change it, in a major way?"

"Yeah," she conceded with a smile.

"But, most of us do desire the truth, even though we are entangled with a great cobweb of biases." Again, he paused. "Scientists love bringing order to a chaos of unrelated facts. Wouldn't it be great to prove that the sudden appearance of an advanced civilization, in several widespread places simultaneously, was the result of the dispersion of peoples from the sinking Atlantis? And, wouldn't it be great to show that the slightly earlier appearance of the earliest historical civilization, in various spots around the Near East, was a result of Noah's ark landing on the Mesopotamian mountain of Ararat?"

"I admit, such a theory has some explanatory power. But..."

"But... let me finish. And, instead of the current belief that the existing cavemen populations suddenly got smarter, in this imaginary wave spreading out from the Near East..."

"Imaginary wave...?"

"Yeah. Haven't you ever noticed that the further you get from the Near East, the more recent the arrival of 'civilization'? I mean, just look at it! The first known civilization in Sumer, the preSumerian Ubaidians, about 4000 BC The 1st Dynasty of Egypt... 3400 BC Danish and Swiss agriculture... 2800 BC 1st Dynasty of China.... 2300 BC. Doesn't that look like a migration of real people from the area of Mt. Ararat?"

"Instead of the imaginary 'arrival of civilization' postulated by current theory...?"

"Now you're catching on!"

"I was just continuing your line of thinking! I haven't bought into it yet."

"That's okay. I can wait," he teased.

"You may have a long wait!" This time, she paused for a change in direction, "Look, if this is all as obvious as you say it is, why aren't people agreeing with you. I mean, we're all searchers of truth!"

"It's all a matter of philosophy, and you can't debate philosophy."

"Why not?"

"Have you ever been to a philosophy debate?"

"I don't know... I guess I have."

"A philosophy debate is two people who vehemently disagree with each other, with no common basis to prove where the truth actually lies."

"...with an audience in rapid retreat..."

"Yeah, you got it! Now, 200 years ago, the predominant theory of earth's beginnings was that we had a great flood. After all, with seashells on the highest mountains, with 75% of the earth's crust being sedimentary rock (that is, laid down by water), it was natural to assume we had a lot of water here."

"And with the rest of the crust metamorphic or volcanic, leading an unbiased observor to conclude the whole earth was laid down by water or volcanic action," she buttressed his side of the discussion.

"So, scientists of 200 years ago figured we had a great flood, and we could also add, a lot of volcanic activity... like, catastrophes. And, the earth was created not too long ago... like, maybe, in 4004 BC, approximately..."

"Approximately?"

"Yeah, approximately..." he smiled, "in accordance with the Biblical ages of the Patriarchs at the births of their children. Then, along comes this guy Lyell, with a bunch of his friends, who says that, according to Uniformitarian Stratigraphy... a term he dreamed up... if you dig into the earth this far..." he spread his hands out to measure an imaginary depth of earth, "you've gone back..." he playfully studied the distance between his hands, "Oh, about... one million years, I'd say. And if the distance is this much," he stretched his hands as far apart as he could, "it must be 10 million years old, approximately."

"There's that word again."

"Right! And it all happened without catastrophes, like big worldwide floods..."

"Why do you say that?"

"A flood could deposit this much sedimentary material in an hour," he showed the imaginary depth of rock again with his hands, "and there would be no correlation between depth and age..."

"Okay."

"Right! All based on assuming away worldwide floods. This is an assumption... a crucial assumption in the philosophy of evolution. And, this philosophy of evolution has been taught in all Western schools for several generations now."

"Is that wrong? I mean, we may not know everything, but we have a duty to teach what we think is true... to the best of our ability."

"Yes, in general, that's true. But, we don't teach what we think. We teach what our elders thought, which is what their elders thought.... all the way back to Lyell's assuming away catastrophes. Let me put it this way, if this guy Lyell were able to come back to life with his original ideas, would you allow him to teach your kids? I mean, it might be okay to have him teach philosophy, history, or art, but you wouldn't let him into the science class with 200-year-old ideas!"

"No, I guess you're right."

"Right! But, we have."

Practically every day, Elizabeth was teased at work for the stand that her husband had taken in that one paper he had published. She felt that she could not openly defend him, even in what little part of his theory that they both believed. To do so might risk her job. After all, she was the only wage earner in the family.

Some days, she resented that strongly. She thought of her husband, free to stay home, not fight with people, free to think and express himself. And here at work, she couldn't even defend him. In one of those tricks that human minds play (due to sloppy thinking), she felt guilty because she couldn't defend him publicly, and that guilt made her resent him.

One work day had been particularly hard on her. She had not been feeling well that morning, but felt compelled to go to work anyway. Not long after getting to work, she developed a pounding headache. The tension of getting along with people she didn't agree with, yet couldn't challenge publicly, made her headache worse.

When she got home that night, her husband had been working on some project that was important to him, but he had forgotten to clean up the house as she had requested.

"You didn't do anything to the house!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Honey, I forgot," he apologized earnestly.

"In fact, if anything, you made it messier! You men are all alike! Housework is the woman's job, no matter how hard she works during the day! You men!"

"That wasn't my thinking at all, honest!"

She continued complaining, not hearing anything he had said. "Well, I'm fed up to here with you, Buster!" Suddenly, she saw the expression on his face and stopped abruptly.

He just stared at his wife, fighting within himself over what to say. The pause grew long and awkward. Finally, his eyes began to tear up. He turned to hide his tears, but Elizabeth noticed.

"What's the matter, Honey? I didn't mean to offend you!"

"It wasn't that, really. It's just that, every time we argue, I see it going too far... and you leaving me..." He could not say any more without his voice cracking.

"Oh, Honey! I love you... and I'm committed to you! I'm certainly not going to leave just because we have a disagreement over housework..."

He didn't respond, he just quietly moved around their house, straightening up things as quickly as he could.

She watched him in silence for a while... his defeated look, stooped shoulders, looking like a beaten puppy.

"Stop! Stop right now, and sit down with me," she ordered, trying to make light of it.

He interpreted her command as being full of anger and he froze, not even bothering to turn around and face her.

Gently, she pulled him to the couch beside her, realizing her "joke" had bombed. "Sit here with me, Honey. I need it. Please!"

Neither knew exactly what to say for a while. Finally, he spoke, "When we go to the beach, I notice the women, because I'm a man... I'm not defending that, I'm just making a statement."

"And, I notice the babies, because I'm a woman."

"Right! When I'm at home here, I don't notice the messes. I know you do, but I don't. I notice that I'm behind on my technical work... that I have to respond to something someone said about me in print. Or, that I need to work a little more developing the theory for the next paper I write. I don't see the mess in the house."

"I understand that... now. I just had a bad day at the office, wanting to defend you, but not being able, for fear of losing my job. And, I came home loaded for bear... which turned out to be you. It's the strangest thing! I want to defend you at the office and shoot you at home!"

Just then, the phone rang.

"Dr. Christianson?"

"Yes? To whom am I speaking?" He quickly wiped his nose and eyes, thinking to appear presentable to the unseeing voice at the other end.

"I'm Curator of a museum here in England. I read your paper with interest."

"Oh?" he brightened, for he had had only poor reception to his ideas up to now. "So, what did you think of the paper?"

"I must admit your ideas seem pretty farfetched."

"Oh," he replied, crestfallen. All he needed was someone else to chastise him for not following mainstream science, for "wasting his talent". Such thoughts crowded out the words on the phone, causing him to almost miss the next line.

"...I just thought you might be interested in it."

"Interested in what?"

"The Atlantis tablets."

"What's that?!"

"We have some tablets in our basement that mention Atlantis."

"Why haven't I heard of these tablets before?"

"We assumed they were apocryphal... you know, literary fairy tales."

"How long has this been in your possession?"

"I don't know... maybe 20, maybe 30 years," he said nonchalantly.

"How can that be... a discovery of this magnitude!?"

The curator replied testily, "We have 15 basement rooms full of artifacts, many uncatalogued. We sort through it when we first receive it, for "showable" material. We'd need 10 museums to show all of it. We don't have the space. And, we don't have the manpower. I am the only professional in the employ of this museum! I have some inexperienced volunteers, but frankly, their education is minimal and their hours are spotty. This field does not draw much money for such research!"

He waited patiently for the curator to finish. "Have they been dated?"

"Heavens no! We don't have the money to date every scrap of history that comes in here!"

"Have they been translated?"

"Certainly not! I don't have that kind of time. My eye just picked up a word in the title that seemed to have a Semitic tinge to it, sounding like "Atlantis". That's why I entitled them, the 'Atlantis tablets'."

"Who else knows about this?"

"I suspect I'm the only man alive who knows about them... or cares." Then a new thought hit the curator. "You are interested in a translation?"

"I certainly am!"

"Do you know anyone capable of doing this translation?"

"Well, my wife is quite a linguist in the pre-Semitic languages." Due to their find in Egypt, Elizabeth had worked quite diligently with the supplied translation and the original work, self-educating herself in the language.

"I can't give these tablets to you... I hope you can understand that. But, if you care to translate them, I will allow you access to them... in my museum... I'm afraid I can't let them off the premises..."

He thought to complain about these tablets that were so important they couldn't leave the facility, but so worthless that they had never been dated, translated, published or catalogued properly. But, he held his tongue. "My wife has a full-time job she can't get away from. But, I could come over and photograph the tablets... if that's okay."

"Surely. The only thing I ask... in payment... is that you leave me with a transcript of the translation."

"We'd be glad to do that."

"Also... if you don't mind, I would like to discuss your conclusions with you... even if we don't agree totally, I love ancient cultures... especially if they are as old as you hope."

"We'd be glad to discuss things with you."

"It's a deal, then."

Chapter 31: England, The Present -- Dating the Minoan Civilization

Dr. Christianson had scraped up enough money on their single paycheck to fly to England and meet Dr. Lime, the Curator. After spending the morning photographing the Atlantis Tablets, he accepted Dr. Lime's invitation to go out to lunch. Though not saying so, he was grateful for the food, since his current budget didn't allow for eating much of anything.

"The main weakness in your paper, which I read with a great deal of interest, is the dating," said Dr. Lime, between bites.

Dr. Christianson was unhappy to see that his lunch hour was going to be turned into a critique of his paper, but he continued eating quietly.

"According to carbon-14 dating, the practice of agriculture appeared in parts of the Aegean by the 7th millenium B.C." noted the Curator. "Your paper implied that date is too ancient."

"Do you trust Carbon-14 dating?" Dr. Christianson asked, finally unable to keep quiet any longer.

Dr. Lime narrowed his eyes briefly, but did not reply.

"I mean, if you had two dates for an artifact, one based upon historical dating and the other Carbon-14.... which would you accept?"

"The historical, of course!"

"If the disagreement was between Carbon-14 and any other dating method... which would you accept?"

The Curator paused for a moment, realizing he had been forced to make the statement... "You're right, Carbon-14 is only used in the absense of all other dating techniques... so, it isn't very reliable."

"Starting with an atmosphere free of Carbon-14, it would take 30,000 years to establish present levels of radioactive carbon. Yet, present levels are assumed to be constant in the dating calculations."

"So?"

"So, if the earth is younger than 30,000 years, carbon-14 methods assuming constant levels would yield dates that are too old!"

"Humph! That's a stretch!"

"Don't you agree with my conclusion?"

"Yes, if the earth were younger than 30,000 years! But, I just can't buy that premise!"

"For an old earth, equilibrium levels of carbon-14 in the atmosphere should be about 75 tons. They are only 62 tons, indicating that they are still climbing, and that an atmosphere free of radiocarbon existed about 10 to 15,000 years ago!"

"Okay then, when do you figure this Atlantean adventure happened?" the curator asked, with emphasis on "you."

"After the flood, civilization reestablished almost everywhere at the same time, about 4000 B.C."

"What about the 1st Dynasty in China? It's not that old!"

"The further away from the Fertile Crescent, or Mount Ararat where the Ark landed, the longer it took for civilization to reach the land. Also, the Bronze Age arrived at the same date. Discovery of writing, same date. How do you explain that?"

"The transition from hunter-gatherer to agricultural lifestyle after the last ice age, kept people in one place, established cities to barter and fellowship.... Allowed time to invent.... And bronze is not so difficult to discover."

"Why no metals before?"

"They had metals before, like copper. But, that Age was very short."

"...or the metals were covered with sediment. What about the artifacts trapped in a coal seam?"

"What are you talking about?!"

"That 10-inch-long, 8-karat gold chain, and the iron cooking pot found in a coal seam..."

"Iron pot!? Gold chain!? Are you crazy!? In the age of coal, 100 million years ago?! Are you proposing that man has been around that long?!"

"No, that our dating methods for coal are all wrong."

"Now you're being completely unreasonable and unscientific!"

"Coal is dated at 1,680 years, using Carbon-14 dating. A more recent dating for coal would make the iron cooking pot and gold chain quite reasonable... and scientific."

"Carbon-14 dating is not trustworthy, as you just argued. Especially in dating ancient strata."

"Unfortunately, Carbon-14 dating is just about the only dating technique that works in this range. However, the very fact that Carbon-14 does not support an "old earth" is worth noting. If the coal bed strata really were ancient, the Carbon-14 date should have been on the order of 50,000 years, indicating no Carbon-14 remained. But instead, the date is 1,680 years. How do you explain that?"

"Coal couldn't possibly be that young! It takes high pressures and long times to create coal!"

"According to the "old earth" theory, but what if that is wrong? For instance, we have found coal-like substances in the middle of poles driven by a pile-driver. There, we only have pressure, not long times."

Dr. Lime sputtered at the surprising information, but quickly changed his line of argument, "Obviously, this iron pot you mention is a fraud!"

"How will you discover any new truths if you always discount every fact that disagrees with your preconceived notions?"

Chapter 32: Atlantis, 426 A.F.: The Doctor

As they traveled the lush Atlantean countryside on the western side of the mountains, Master collected large leaves that the trees offered to him, folded them carefully and slipped them into one of several large pockets in his robe.

That night, by the fire, he pulled the leaves out and began drying them by the fire. Then, he would rub them with rendered fat if they ate meat that night.

Buddy watched him in silence for most of the evening. Then he spoke gruffly, "Why do you do this?"

Master pulled a special vial of black liquid from another pocket. "With this ink, I write on the leaves to keep a record of my journeys. This is a practice of educated people, to value their experiences and learn from them... to pass them on to future generations."

"Ha!" Buddy spoke disparagingly. "These leaves will not last for future generations!"

"True. The leaves are only temporary. When I have settled down, I will take all the memories, triggered by the writing on the leaves, and record them on clay tablets. Those tablets I will bake in fire. And these tablets," he added with emphasis, "shall last for future generations!"

With the strange herbs he had gathered, Master doctored the men. He fought for the wounded, against their own desire to give up, and against the others' reluctance to help. Typically in those days, the wounded were discarded where they fell, for few ever recovered from battle wounds. Yet, under Master's strange care, wounded men lived on to fight again.

In time, his every eccentricity was tolerated. When he washed the wounds in his strange solutions, the injured men screamed in pain, but no one stopped him. He tied strips of clothing over wounds, causing further pain, but no one questioned him.

One man's belly had been split open. Men watched in amazement as Master poured strange concoctions into the wound, washing it out. Though seasoned soldiers, not many had seen inside a man in such detail, so all watched with shivers of disgust and curiosity. Then, the most amazing of all, Master carefully pulled threads from his own garment and sewed up the poor man's belly, like a seamstress repairs a torn garment!

The men ribbed each other over this elaborate joke, and hoped that they themselves might die in battle rather than have to face such torture.

The wounded man himself luckily fell asleep early in the torture, perhaps encouraged by a drink Master had early-on forced him to take.

Though they were amazed by his actions, they obeyed him. They even indulged Master's strangest command, that they carry the wounded with them, even feeding him from their always-scarce food supplies!

To everyone's amazement, the sewn man recovered from his mortal wound. He enjoyed showing the wound around to all who would look, though they themselves had seen more than the sewn man had to show.

Chapter 33: San Francisco -- Modern Medicine

The phone connection was full of static, perhaps because it was a miserably wet day in the city that seemed bent on selling all its sunny weather to purchase fog.

"Let's set aside, for the moment, my objections to your whole theory about Atlantis," argued the clipped English accent of the Curator, slapping the fax in front of him with Elizabeth's latest translation from the tablets. "I can't believe this story about battlefield surgery. Come on! If the date you wish to ascribe to this tablet is reliable, the medical knowledge is far before its time!"

Dr. Christianson repeated the discussion he'd had with Dr. Symington on Egyptian medicine, as reported in the Papyrus Ebers (fly dung for embedded splinters, undoubtedly leading to tetanus) versus the medicine practiced by the Jews, revealed to them by God. He talked of how the plagues of Europe, which frustrated all the doctors of that time, were finally dealt with by isolating the sick, as directed in the Bible.

"Are we talking about Jews here, or men of Atlantis?!"

"If God were willing to teach the Jews good medical practices, why not godly men of other nations?"

"I'm sorry, Dr. Christianson, I'm not a religious man, so your arguments fall upon deaf ears... quite!"

Chapter 34: Atlantis: A Union Forms

Buddy's attitude toward Master softened more as time went on. One day, after he had seen the sewn man take his place back in the ranks to fight, he sat down next to Master.

"You hate war, yet you help us."

"My purpose in life is to teach. My students at this time are you and your soldiers. If you die, I can no longer teach you."

"You want to teach me?"

Master nodded.

"Okay, teach me."

Whether said in jest, or as a sincere request, Master was not going to ignore the invitation. "You are a strong man, but you are also weak," commented Master, the only one in the company who would dare speak to Buddy in this way.

"Weak!? No man can best me on the field of battle. I can beat most men paired with his strongest friend, together at the same time!"

"This is your weakness, your fighting ability."

"What are you talking about!?"

"Your fighting ability causes you to enter battles against overwhelming odds."

"But I always win!"

"Yes, but, at what cost?"

"What do you mean?"

"How many men have you lost in the last two years?"

Pausing to tally, Buddy responded, "Half."

"Then, how many men do you think will remain in two years?"

Shocked by the thought of the end of his fighting group, and his own mortality, he finally responded with admirable resolution, "A soldier's place is to die."

"If you all die, who will father the descendants of Atlantis?"

"I fear there are no women left in Atlantis."

"Women exist in other lands."

"You are sure of it? I mean, of course there are women wherever the lands are populated. But, are the lands beyond the seas populated?"

"Indeed."

"Are the women as beautiful as Atlanteans?"

Here, Master had to hedge a little, "Beautiful enough to love for a lifetime."

"Then, we shall have to capture some when this war is over."

"You are thinking too far ahead."

"So, what are you saying I should do?"

"Survive."

"How can a soldier survive here? Surely, you have seen this never ending destruction. Who can survive?"

"Indeed."

"Well?"

"You do not have to fight every battle."

"You suggest I take the coward's way?!"

"Retreat is a sign of power, if it allows you to eventually defeat a more powerful enemy when he is less prepared."

"Ah! I see."

Buddy became the master of the tactics of retreat and unexpected counterattack. He kept each battle short, so surprise and preparation were always on his side.

His men initially hated the new fighting tactics, with the constant changing of position, and apparent cowardice. But, as they saw the results, they embraced their commander, and his tactics, whole heartedly. Yet, in spite of his overwhelming successes, he could foresee the end.

"No one will win this war in Atlantis."

"That's true."

As if not hearing, he continued, "We shall kill all inhabitants of the land, and we too shall die."

Master nodded gravely.

"And Atlantis will have no more children. Is that not true?"

"Yes."

"Why have you not told me this earlier?"

"Would you have believed me, had it not come from your own mouth?"

"Am I so stubborn, I can only recognize the truth when I myself speak it?"

"Most of the time."

"Then, I will try to listen to you harder in the future, that my search for wisdom will not take so long."

Master raised his hands to heaven and thanked God.

Buddy looked at Master oddly. "I just learned an important truth. We will lose this war. We will all die. Atlantis will die. And you seem happy about it!"

"You will lead us to safety."

"How?"

"This will be a hard word for you to receive. Are you sure you can bear it?"

"I will bear it."

"You must leave Atlantis."

"Stop fighting the war?!"

"Yes."

"A coward's way out?"

"No. You must join a different battle. The battle for the survival of Atlantis."

"A different battle? With different weapons?"

"Yes."

"What weapons?"

"Weapons of the mind... and of the heart."

Quieting his own concerns without having them answered, Buddy slowly nodded his head in agreement.

"May I relay this same conversation to your men?" Master requested.

After a pause to think, Buddy agreed.

They debated long after the fire collapsed into embers that night. Half of the men were willing to try a different way, to leave Atlantis. The other men questioned the courage of the first group, saying that they themselves would rather fight to the death.

Late that night, after all of the other men had gone to bed or guard duty, Buddy and Master stayed up by the fire.

"How do I use this weapon of the mind?"

"You learned the value of retreating?"

"Yes. You taught me well."

"You must use your mind... you don't have to always fight the enemy."

"I must learn to become a coward?"

"We live in violent times, surrounded by foolish men who think with their muscles only. One day, men will live in peace, and soldiering will be no more."

"You jest!"

"No, it is true. But, in the meantime, there are times you must fight, and times you don't need to. Use the weapon of the mind to tell the difference."

Chapter 35: Atlantis -- The Last Battle

Master was awakened early the next morning.

"Seek Me outside camp," a voice demanded.

It was a message from God. The message was clear.

But, he was very tired, and almost went back to sleep, ignoring the voice. It was deliciously warm inside his blanket, and the early morning air was startlingly cold. Finally, in obedience to the voice, he got up. His tiredness made him especially cold, for they had been up quite late last night. He stumbled around in the darkness of twilight, stubbing his toe, adding to his consternation at this inconvenient mission.

He was puzzled that he had no further leading, but he was motivated by obedience, not understanding.

He greeted the guard outside of camp on his walk up the mountain. The guard smiled at Master's strange ways, then slowly nodded off to sleep (he had been up late last night arguing with cowards who had no stomach for battle).

The enemy snuck into camp a half hour later, along the same path, by the sleeping guard who paid for his lack of diligence with his life.

Master had just passed out of their sight up into the hills still faintly lit by the dawn light.

Sneaking amongst the shadowed, unwarned sleepers, the enemy killed without opposition.

The enemy believed in "bloodletting". This is the final pass over the victory field, slitting the blood vein on each vanquished soldier's neck, to see if the blood spurted out. For, they had been taught, if blood still spurts out from the lifeless body, a magician can still bring the soldier back to life, and the once-dead will have great powers from his trip to the netherworld.

These soldiers heartily feared the powers of the netherworld, so they conducted their "bloodletting" with vigor. Most of them cut off the heads of their dead foes completely, to be sure.

However, one enemy soldier had been seriously wounded in an earlier conflict and had so far kept the gravity of his wound hidden. If it became known, he might be sacrificed to their war gods, not only to insure further war victories, but to save food and booty for more effective warriors. This warrior was tired and in great pain. So, he conducted his search for victims slowly. He only found one, a very large man, tucked in between some boulders, with his head still on. Too weak to deliver a full blow with his heavy sword, he merely slit the side of his enemy's neck, fulfilling the intent of the warlord's bloodletting rule. The blood did not spurt. Surely, no magician could make this warrior live again!

The wounded enemy soldier tiredly limped off to join the others, trying hard to shake hands with the pain wracking his body... to make peace so it would not reveal his injuries to his comrades.

Master returned from a fruitless seeking for God outside of camp, to find the stomach-churning atrocity of death. He wept painfully. So many beloved friends, grotesquely killed, shamefully executed in their sleep!

He felt so very old. How could he now find a student to pass his wisdom on to? He sat upon a hard rock and cried until his eyes were dry and burning.

Then, the Lord spoke to him, "Search".

A single word. No explanation. No promise. But, the source of the word carried hidden meaning and unspoken promise. He felt younger.

All his beloved men had their heads severed. The emotional pain ran so deep, he felt great physical pain.

Finally, in between two large rocks, he found Buddy. He could see that the main vein to the heart on the side of Buddy's neck had been cut. Some blood had been drained, but not much, indicating death had arrived before his neck was slit.

Master lost all strength in his knees, painfully collapsing on the hard, rough-surfaced boulders.

"I've counted, Lord. He is the last one. My last hope."

He stayed there for some time, with his eyes dry and burning. The pain in his gut was like an open wound. Finally, his own sobbing quieted down enough that he could even hear the sound of leaves being tumbled by the breeze. Then he heard it!

"Pray," the Lord spoke economically.

Motivated by years of obedience, he prayed, not held back by the hopelessness of the situation, the foolishness of praying after life was gone, even though overwhelmed by the pain, the loneliness and the lost purpose. And, due to years of practice, it wasn't an empty half-hearted prayer either.

From that faraway place where life is hidden after this life, a powerful summons was answered. Buddy's life was somehow retrieved and tucked back into his broken body.

Master felt something warm on his ankle. Opening his eyes and looking down, he saw blood weakly spurting out of Buddy's neck onto his own leg. He promptly reached down, pressing hard with his hand against the side of Buddy's neck, to stop the leak.

With fresh tears of joy raining down from his eyes onto Buddy's dirty face, Master tore a patch of cloth from his robe and laid it upon Buddy's wound.

An hour later, Buddy regained consciousness and was able to take the fresh water Master offered. Master instructed Buddy to apply pressure on his own wound.

Master's muscles were so cramped from the long awkward vigil, he was close to fainting, and then, all hope would be lost. He painfully walked around, his body being stabbed by a 1000 needles with each jarring step, as he desperately tried to wake up his aching muscles again.

He came quickly back to Buddy, who was beginning to relax pressure on the wound, about to go unconscious again. Master very carefully wrapped the wound, repeatedly asking Buddy if he could still breathe. He had to redo the wrapping five times. Finally, satisfied that the wound was wrapped tightly enough to stop the leaking, yet loose enough to allow easy breathing, Master fell down exhausted. It was too dark to arrange a better bed.

The warmth of the sun woke him the next morning.

He awakened Buddy, overjoyed that he had survived the night. He offered him a quick drink. Then, he was forced to tend to his own body.

The coldness of the morning and the rocky bed he haphazardly chose last night teamed to assault his body with vicious cramps. It took a while to walk off the pains.

Returning to Buddy, he fished a piece of dried meat out of one of his large pockets. He chewed the tough jerky to softness, spit it into a bowl and fed the resulting soup to Buddy. If Buddy was alert enough to know the recipe for the warm soup, he voiced no objections. Master, in his wisdom, further secured the life that a miracle had birthed.

After many days of tending the unmoving patient, Master began to walk Buddy, constantly checking the blood-clotted cloth around his neck to make sure no fresh blood or rottenness appeared. He had been taught that a little exercise speeds the healing.

"I had a... vision... when I was dead," Buddy spoke slowly with a scratchy voice.

"Men in white... bright like the sun. Talked to me with music... in their voices... but words I understood. Made me welcome... One... was brighter... My eyes almost burned out... but, no pain.

" 'It is not your time', voice said.... 'You must go back.'" Buddy paused for a long time, fighting back the tears. Then, taking a deep, painful breath, "I didn't want to come back..."

He looked at Master through moist eyes, "All my life... trained to never give up... now, wishing to quit... to stay in that place.... Am I a coward?"

"No, you've had a peek of the next life, in God's presence, and I'll wager, that this life will never be the same again."

Buddy just stared at Master for a time, with a wondering look. "You know so much... Would you teach me more?"

So Master's training switched from the occasional to the intensive.

Buddy's natural eloquence with the Atlantean language improved under Master's tutelage. In addition, Master taught him the language of the seafarers. This language is a common root to many of the languages of the port towns in the Eastern Continent.

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Bishop Usher tallied the genealogies of the Bible and came up with the Year of Creation being 4004 BC.

Mudslides and floods resulting from the recent Mt. St. Helens' eruption constructed beautiful layered strata, 50 feet high, in weeks. Normally, each of these strata would have been interpreted as the product of one full year of "gradual dusting."

Half the carbon-14 dates are rejected (Lee, R. E., "Radiocarbon, Ages in Error," Anthropological Journal of Canada, Vol. 19, #3, 1981, pp. 9, 29.)