CHAPTER 2
My name is Palta Capal, and I am quite possibly Earth’s first and only natural-born citizen without a trace of human blood.
My parents traveled from their home planet, Onontí, when my sister Sabela was just six years old. I was not yet even a glimmer in my mother’s eye. My only knowledge of their story prior to my birth comes from the vantage point of young Sabela. Whether her memories are entirely accurate is uncertain. But from my early childhood, I eagerly accepted her vivid tales as a factual historical account. It has been many years since I was lulled to sleep by one of her bedtime stories, but I recall them with such detail that I have difficulty separating my own childhood memories from hers.
Onontí is a very small planet, easily disregarded from a distant perspective as a mere moon. Yet it has geographical features and atmospheric composition very similar to Earth’s own. My father, Kencane Capal, held some sort of government office there. At the time of his departure, a power struggle between two opposing political groups was reaching a fever pitch.
The first group was a centuries-old monarchy, which had maintained a remarkable level of peace throughout the majority of its reign. The second began as a deceptively minor uprising, spearheaded by one man intent on overthrowing the monarchy. He must have been quite charismatic, as his followers grew in number at a surprising pace. Within a few short years, Onontí was on the brink of global civil war.
We have no idea when or how the monarchy became aware of Earth’s existence. Presumably they kept this information confidential for decades, if not centuries. It undoubtedly took years to develop the technology to send probes to investigate this planet more closely, and considerably longer to design a ship capable of faster-than-light travel.
Prior to the conflict, there would have been no incentive to hasten along interplanetary relations. However, the balance of power was rapidly shifting, and the monarchy was pushed to action.
Desperately grasping for a quick resolution to the escalating conflict, the decision was made to send an ambassador to Earth in hope of securing an ally. My father was the lucky man for the job. Unwilling to leave his wife and daughter behind in the tumult, he agreed to the task under the condition that they came as a package deal.
My sister recalls the mixture of excitement and sinking desolation watching her home world vanish into the distance as they took flight. The newness soon wore off, and she became restless aboard the tediously uneventful journey. Our mother, Nyoma, would entertain her by singing familiar songs or crafting dolls and toys from miscellaneous items aboard the ship. Together they would conjure up images and stories of what life on their destination planet would be like. After a period of time—at least several months to Sabela’s understanding—they touched down somewhere in present-day Alberta, Canada.
It was their intention to find a very rural landing place, and they succeeded. However, our mother was not inclined to endure the unfamiliarly cold climate, and thus they ventured southward, ultimately settling in Utah. The temperatures were still significantly cooler than the Onontian environment, but the terrain reminded our mother of home. Several of her paintings depicting Onontí’s red rock formations contrasting against luscious greenery, snow-capped mountains, and deep blue sky still hang in my father’s library.
My parents were relieved to find that an acceptable level of physical resemblance between humans and themselves made blending in easier than expected. Through a particular gift for negotiation, my father was able to acquire a substantial chunk of real estate, and they set up a home here on Earth while he began the task of observing the human culture.
When I say my father has a gift for negotiation, it is more than just a winning personality and business savvy. Most Onontians have at least one such characteristic gift—what might be construed as “powers”.
These can include physical abilities (such as unusual strength or speed) or exceptional intellectual skill. Some have the ability to influence the world around them, including the thoughts or feelings of others. Such is the case for my father. He cannot (or will not) override an individual’s free will, but he has an eerie ability to induce a person to see his point of view. In his defense, he is also more willing and able than most to empathize with others.
Another noteworthy type of gift involves the ability to affect vitality—to speed or slow growth and development of plants, animals, even people. In some cases, this involves the ability to heal. I was not driven to the career of medicine by random choice, it is programmed in my being.
I am a healer—a trait I inherited from my mother.
Never one to be idle, my mother Nyoma took on volunteer work as a nurse not long after settling in. My sister recalls how her caring and nurturing personality, along with her inborn talent, were perfectly suited for the job. Somewhere in the five to six years after my family’s arrival on Earth, I was conceived. As it takes quite a while for an Onontian woman to “show” a pregnant belly, she was able to continue working without much difficulty. However, eventually the evidence began to appear—and knowing the rather lengthy gestation would rouse attention, she left her vocation to remain hidden.
During the intervening two years (give or take) before my birth, my mother kept herself occupied by nurturing her creative side. She would paint, sculpt, and compose music. She encouraged Sabela to do the same. She also passed along her knack for growing all things green—maintaining a vast garden allowed them to minimize public contact that much more.
My father continued to study the human population, and he eventually sent communication to Onontí that an alliance was unachievable and must be abandoned. Humans lacked not only the technology, but also the maturity, to enter into such an arrangement.
While he made this recommendation without hesitation, he chose to remain on Earth—both to protect his growing family, and to continue learning about this new species that had begun to form a soft spot in his heart.
As my mother had experienced no complications with the birth of my sister, it never occurred to my parents that the lack of an experienced doctor could prove dangerous. Soon after going into labor, it became apparent that something was going terribly wrong.
Obviously, I arrived unharmed. But my mother knew her own life was slipping away. She pleaded with my father and sister to take care of me as she struggled to maintain consciousness.
And for all her powers of healing, she could not heal herself.
The capacity to restore health comes from within the healer—and depending on the extent of illness or injury, it can require quite a bit of energy. Attempting to heal one’s own self only drains that much more energy and hastens the decline. So I entered this new world just as my mother was leaving, at the premature age of one hundred forty-five.
The year was 1895 A.D.