Chapter 1.
Amon had been on board the Brighid for three days, but was only now just beginning to feel comfortable. Shiny, smooth surfaces surrounded him wherever he went. The light was bright and unchanging, but not painful to look at, unlike the sun on his home world. The air smelled different, almost like the smell of rain.
There seemed to be people everywhere, scurrying this way and that. He felt like everyone was watching him, even though Evander had given him clothes to wear that looked like everyone else’s.
“It’s the beard and the hair,” Evander told him when he asked. “Men don’t usually wear their hair long any more. It’s just easier to keep it short. Same with the beard . . . the hair on your face.”
The first time Amon saw his reflection in a mirror, he was almost overcome in amazement. At first he thought he was looking at Broc, except the clothing was the same as what he was wearing, and the image before him imitated his every move. Evander had explained it all, but it was still hard to understand.
The “restroom” and the “Dining hall” had been explained very carefully immediately after Evander brought him on board “the ship,” as he called it.
Amon thought the “restroom” was a very practical thing. Evander showed him the one in his “quarters,” explained how it worked and encouraged him to try it out. He explained that there were others spread around the ship and that each one was identified by an image of a man or of a woman, and that it was customary for men to use the ones with the “man” image.
Amon had found out in short order how important it was to go into the correct “restroom.” He entered the room with the “woman” image once by mistake and had quickly been escorted out my a female who seemed to be very upset with him.
The “dining hall” was fascinating. When they entered the room, Amon was surrounded by all the strange aromas. Some were pleasingly familiar, like the smell of roasting meat. But others made his jaws tighten and his mouth go wet. Evander encouraged him to try some of each type of food, and Amon did so, using his fingers to pick small pieces out of a long line of strange shaped pots. Evander showed him how to use things called “utensils” instead of his fingers, explaining that it was customary among these people.
Amon thought the “plates” were very practical. They made it easy to carry the food. He liked the “knife” too. It had a familiar feel. But the “fork” and “spoon” were hard to hold. Fingers were much more practical.
At the end of the first day, Evander explained that he had other duties he had to perform and that another person would escort him and answer any questions he might have. Evander said the person would be a young female named Ambia.
That night as he lay in his “bed,” he marvelled at all the wondrous things he had seen and learned. How much more of this new world was there yet to be discovered? He shifted about beneath the covers, too excited to sleep.
After a time his thoughts turned to his friends. How would they react to his abrupt departure? How would they fare without him? Ah, but he must not be concerned, he told himself. Broc and Nahm were capable, good men. They would lead his people well.
Gradually he began to relax. The excitement of the day slowly gave way to mental exhaustion. The last thing he remembered as he slipped into slumber, was the face he had seen in the mirror.
The next morning he was awakened by a faint buzzing, which gradually grew louder until he sat up in bed. It stopped abruptly, to be replaced by a high-pitched female voice.
“Mister Amon? Good morning,” the voice said from no direction, and every direction. “I’m Ambia. I’m here to be your escort for the day.”
“Where are you? I don’t see you,” said Amon in confusion.
“I’m just outside your door. I’ll wait here until you’re ready to come out. Don’t forget to use the restroom first.”
When he was ready, Amon went to the door and opened it. There, only a few feet away, sat a slender female, clad in clothing the color of an auburn autumn leaf. Her hair was cut short but still covered her ears. It’s color was like the sand on a river bank.
When she saw him she stood up, nervously clasping her hands in front of her. She made eye contact after first looking him over, as she had been instructed, ensuring that he was properly dressed. Glad that all was as it should be, she stepped closer to him and extended her hand. Not knowing what else to do, Amon stood, unmoving.
Sensing his unease, Ambia said: “It’s one of our customs that when people meet face to face for the first time, they grasp hands and introduce themselves.”
She took his hand in hers and continued, smiling up at him.
“Hello. I am Ambia. My home world is called Kalephia.”
Hesitantly, Amon responded.
“I am Amon. My home world is. . . .” Not knowing what to say, he looked down toward the floor, searching for some appropriate name, surprised that he had not thought of this before. Staring at the floor beneath his feet, he noticed the stark contrast between it and the familiar surface of his world. More confident now, he looked up at her and started again.
“Hello. I am Amon. My home world is called Earth.”
For a few uneasy moments the two of them just stood there, unsure of what to do next. Finally Ambia released his hand.
At first the young female seemed to be uneasy, not sure of herself. Not at all like the females he was used to. But after just a few short moments she again took him by the hand and led him out of the dormitory section.
Slowly, casually, she began guiding him from one room to another, giving names to all the strange new objects they encountered, explaining what each thing did and how it worked.
Initially Amon had little to say, just trying to absorb all the new information. But as the day wore on and they became more comfortable in each other’s presence, he felt confident enough to ask questions.
“Tell me about your world.”
“What would you like to know?” Ambia was happy to change the subject of her monologue.
“My world is new,” Amon began. “My people are few in number. We have none of these things you show me. Does your world have things such as these?”
“Oh my. Yes. We have many of the things that are here on the Brighid. There are many, many people on Kalephia, many millions of us.”
She wanted to draw Amon out, to get him talking, knowing that talking would help to ease his tension.
“Tell me about your world, Mister Amon.”
“Why do you use that word with my name?”
“Oh! You mean MISTER? That is a word we use to show respect for a person.”
“Then I should call you Mister Ambia.” Amon stated matter-of-factly.
“No,” Ambia smiled. “We use a different word when addressing females. If a woman is married” (Amon looked confused, not knowing the word.) Ambia saw this immediately and explained.
“When a female has a mate, she is called MISSES. If she is not mated, she is called MISS.”
“Are you mated . . . married?” asked Amon.
Ambia shook her head. “No. Not yet.”
“Then I will call you MISS Ambia.” Amon smiled, feeling proud of himself that he had understood.
Ambia smiled too, seeing the corner that she had painted herself into. Smiling at him, she said:
“Those are titles of respect which we say to each other when we meet for the first time. Then, after we have grown to know each other and become friends, we no longer use the title. We are free to call each other by name only.”
“This is very confusing, but I think I understand. You and I are now friends. Therefore I will call you Ambia.”
“And I will call you Amon, my new friend.”
On Amon’s third day things began as usual. This time he was awake before the buzzing started. He was waiting in the hallway outside his door when Ambia came around the corner.
She was not alone. Evander walked at her side, a concerned look on his face.
“Hello, my friend Eva
nder,” Amon began. “I am please to see you.”
“Thank you, my friend. It’s good to see you too.” He glanced briefly at the young woman at his side, and then continued.
“I trust you and Ambia have gotten along well in my absence.” Evander gestured that they should begin walking together, though not in the usual direction.
“Yes! We have become friends. Miss Ambia has now become my friend Ambia.”
Evander smiled quizzically at Amon, and then at Ambia.
“My friend, I have a surprise for you.”
“What is a surprise? I do not know this word.”
“You will learn soon enough.”
The trio turned another corner and stopped in front of a door marked ORIENTATION.
“You will recognize this room as soon as we go inside. This is the room I brought you to when we first arrived. This is where the surprise is.”
Evander opened the door and gestured that Amon should enter first. Amon recognized the room immediately. In the center of the room were the two chairs where he and Evander had sat right after they exited the shuttle craft. The room was not so brightly lit as it was before. There was a familiar scent in the room also. It reminded him of burning flesh, the smell he remembered from his father’s funeral pyre.
Sitting in one chair, facing away from Amon, was a man with long dark hair, similar to Amon’s but with streaks of grey running through it. The man was clothed in a fashion similar to Amon’s old clothes, except for an absence of the fir covering. The sleeves were neatly sewn with thin strips of leather. Below the chair Amon could see foot coverings, also devoid of fur. Thin leather laces held the shoes in place on the man’s feet.
Slowly the man rose from his chair.
The movements were slow, deliberate, reminding Amon of the way his father had moved.
The man turned to face him. The beard was full, not unkempt, but trimmed uniformly. Streaks of grey ran through it too. The face was bronzed, and creased. The forehead was furrowed, the brows long and grey. Crows feet accented the eyes.
Who was this man? He looked vaguely familiar, but. . . . The eyes! Amon recognized the eyes. It was Broc!
“Amon, my old friend. You look like it was only yesterday.” The old man stepped forward slowly, unsteady on his feet.
Amon rushed forward to embrace his friend, his brother.
“My brother! What has happened to you?” Amon was incredulous that this could be the same person he had seen only days before.
Evander stepped forward, followed closely by Ambia.
“My friend. Remember when we stood together with Nahm on the path that led back toward your people, on your home world?”
Amon glanced briefly in Evander’s direction, but turned his gaze back to his friend.
“Yes! That was but three days ago! What has happened to you?” Amon said, searching his friend’s eyes for an answer.
“MY brother,” Broc’s voice was brittle, raspy.
“That was many years ago that we said good bye.” The old man smiled weakly. A tear formed and ran down his cheek, getting lost in his moustache.
“You look the same as I remember you.”
Evander stepped forward, placing his hand gently on Amon’s shoulder.
“Remember when I told you about how time would pass differently between your world . . . Earth . . . and here?”
“Yes . . . Yes” Amon’s voice cracked as he spoke.
“For you it has only been three days. But for Broc, many years have passed.”
Amon stood mute, his mind whirling, trying to come to grips with the reality of what he had just been told. Intellectually he could grasp the concept. But emotionally he was unprepared.
Evader nudged the two men toward the chairs.
“Perhaps it would be best if the two of you had some time alone to talk.”
Nodding toward Ambia, he waited until the two men sat down and then moved back toward the door.
“Take all the time you need. We are in no hurry. When you’re ready just stand up. Someone will come when you stand.”
Quietly, discretely, Evander and Ambia left the room.