Read The Chronicles of Amon book 2 The Sea of Marmara Page 26
Chapter 4.
The high priest turned back and walked toward the altar, his footsteps barely audible above the concussive echo. As he placed his palm over the gilded hawk head he felt an immediate warm tingle radiate through his wrist and up through his arm. A quiet hiss escaped from the chest’s cover as the seal was broken. Folding the lid back on its hinges, the priest gazed down into the interior. A faint red glow emanated from within, highlighting his cheeks while casting dark shadows around his deep-set eyes.
Pausing, hands still gripping the lids edge, he considered momentarily what he was going to say. Then, reaching down into the interior, he lifted the transceiver out and placed it on the altar. As soon as he let go, the red glow was replaced by a soft metallic-blue light. It seemed to fill the entire object, though none of its interior components could be seen.
The holographic image of a young woman formed, layer by layer, just above the device. Long, dark hair fell gracefully down around her shoulders. The image dissipated a few inches lower.
“Hello, Amon. How did it go?”
“As well as can be expected, I suppose. Please try to remember to call me by my new name. Where’s Ambia?” The high priest reverted immediately to his usual manner of speech.
“Sorry about that . . . ’Yunu.’ Still sleeping. She told me to wake her as soon as you made contact.” Celisa leaned forward to reach for something just out of view. As she did so, part of her holographic face disappeared. When she returned to an upright position, her image re-formed.
“Ah, don’t bother her now. Let her sleep. I just wanted to call in and decompress a little. All this theatre has taken its toll.” Amon’s shoulders slumped slightly as the tension decreased.
“Nice outfit. A little warm for this time of year, don’t you think? Celisa said playfully.
“Yeh, don’t I know it!” His white robe hung limply down to the floor, just touching his bare feet. A gold braided sash was tied loosely at his waist. A narrow strip of yellow cloth was wrapped once around his shaved head. Tied in back, its ends hung down almost to the floor.
“What else is on your agenda for today,” she asked. “Any more ceremonies to attend?”
“Just one later tonight. It’s not really a ceremony though. Khufu wants to get together and work on some layouts for the foundation. Says he needs to work them up so it looks like his idea. Needs to schmooze his chief engineer.”
“Is he gonna do the sketches or are you?” Celisa leaned back in her chair when she did so, the back of her head disappeared.
“He will. Don’t know how else it can be done without someone getting suspicious. Besides, he’s a quick study. And he’s no stranger to shoddy design. Remember the mess his father made? Khufu was there for the whole thing.”
“OK. But are you sure he can talk enough engineering to make it sound convincing?”
“I don’t see why not. He can paraphrase the examples I’ve given him. Besides, structural engineering is still pretty primitive around here. No one really knows much about the subject, and that includes Khufu’s man.”
Celisa leaned slightly forward.
“Look; we all agree we’re dealing with a pretty primitive culture here. But these people aren’t stupid. What if the pharaoh lets slip where he got his information?”
Amon knew where she was headed with this tack. She had always been a little paranoid about this scheme being exposed.
“Listen; we’ve discussed this a hundred times before. It may be “our” first mission; but we’ve proved ourselves up to the task. The Procurators chose us. Don’t forget that.”
Amon took some of the edge out of his voice.
“Look; I of all people should understand the risk we’re taking. You weren’t raised in this culture. I was. You and Ambia and all the others were raised in an advanced culture. Your planet was well into space flight centuries before my parents climbed down out of the trees. And it hasn’t been that long since that happened.”
Celisa was noticeably shaken by his directness.
“Amon please . . . I mean “‘Yunu.’ I’m not suggesting you can’t do the job. It’s just that . . . this is our first contact mission, and I don’t want to see it get messed up because we forgot to cover all the bases.”
“OK. I’ll concede the point.” He knew full well what she was thinking, though she would never admit it. He wasn’t one of “them.” Therefore, how could he be as good as them? A pretty primitive ideology for someone from such an advanced race.
“Just remember . . . we’re a team. We look out for each other. Plus, this isn’t the first time intervention has taken place. It’s just “your” first time. Like Andreo says, ‘there’s nothing new under the sun.’
Amon knew little would be accomplished by pursing this subject. Prejudice wasn’t anything new. He had experienced it in his own culture. He shouldn’t be surprised to see it here, either.
“Well,” he rubbed his hands together. “I guess it’s time to take the next step, as Khufu likes to say. Thanks for helping me decompress.”
“You’re welcome, handsome. Good luck. Call me as soon as you can.”
“I will. Bye.”
What was with this girl anyway? She didn’t trust him, but she wanted him to call? Sounded like she might have another agenda.
As he placed the transceiver gently back in its container, the blue light faded quickly to red. Carefully closing the lid, he stood quietly for another moment, his head bowed,his hands gently clasping the ‘gift.’ Puffs of air rushed outward through his fingers as the container decompressed. Tilting his head backward, eyes still closed, he exhaled deeply, letting the facade once again close over him.