Meltdown Ophilion -- Book Two

With each step they took toward the starboard main hatch of the Antarious they felt more nervous about leaving the security and familiarity of the Antarious and entering the Henosis. The Henosis was a city – a society – a culture, and they were, as yet, outsiders. Aliens.

The teenagers wished they had been better prepared for what awaited them. They wished the Antarion had given them tutorials on Merenthaal social norms, taught them some history about this station – which was a massive ship beyond what they could comprehend.

It would have been nice, Jenna thought, as they walked past one of the martial arts training halls where they had spent countless hours training, if they had explained about the hierarchy of the officers and the ranks of the Merenthaal and where we fit into all of this.

But, no, that was not the way of the Merenthaal – at least, not the way of the Antarion Merenthaal, Arthur and Maria and Miguel and Chi and the Meloria that served under them. Their reckless, careless attitude to so many things, their secrecy and unwillingness to divulge enough information. They were, however, willing to revel and laugh and jest at any given moment.

Jenna had expected something that seemed more official – something like the governing order of her society: the Regalan Council of Elders – scientists and philosophers who were more serious about their tasks; more methodical and logical, and much more careful.

With the Antarion she never knew what was going to happen next – even when they were in the peaceful environment of the Antarious during their training period. Plans made one day would be thrown out the window the next in favor of a ‘revel’ – because you have all been training too hard, Arthur or Maria would tell them.

Then, they would be woken in the middle of their sleep cycle and told to report to a training hall where Galian, Takea, Cathandra and Kylor would proceed to beat them almost senseless over the course of three or four hours, after which they would be sent to the center of healing for repairs.

Not once had the Melorian healers shown them any compassion or asked about their emotional state. They performed their healing techniques with the same nonchalance as their Almaron commanders.

But, after the really difficult training sessions, when they dragged themselves back from the center of healing toward their rooms, Arthur and Maria would always meet them and tell them that they were doing so well. Then they would bring them to a lounge where they had elixirs prepared and they would talk and laugh and discuss.

The Regalan student felt a deep sense of purpose and belonging during these sessions. Although the Antarion did not fit her preconceived ideas of the Dimensional Agents of the Galactic Court, she loved them. In her mind they ranked just above her impression of Hex Pirates in many ways, but she did love them, and she did trust them.

But now she would have the opportunity to compare the members of the Antarious with members of the wider Merenthaal society – the Order of the Merenthaal on the Henosis. They would meet the general commander; she would perform their acceptance ceremony. What would she be like? How would she see them? Surely she was more level-headed than the Antarion.

Orion, Celli and Fel were thinking similar thoughts as they neared the starboard hatch. What would the other Merenthaal be like? How would they be treated and accepted here?

“Some people have come to meet us,” Maria told them in a voice that betrayed her emotion, “and they are anxious to meet you too!”

They neared the hatch, rounded the corner in the hallway and took in the sight of the dock below them. ‘Some people’ was a crowd of about a hundred people, none of whom they knew. Maria and Arthur, Miguel and Chi, gave the Ophilion reassuring pats and quick hugs then ran down the ramp and were absorbed into the waiting crowd, which chanted their names.

The first two people to reach out for Arthur and Maria and hug them tightly were two very attractive-looking young people: a boy, probably in his fifteenth or sixteenth year, and a girl, who, they guessed, was in her or seventeenth or eighteenth year.

Both of these young people had medium toned skin, similar to Orion’s and Celli’s; the girl’s skin was a shade darker. The boy’s hair was a mass of small braids intertwined with colorful beads; the girl had long wavy brown hair that flowed over her shoulders and down her back.

Arthur and Maria seemed to have forgotten about the rest of the galaxy as they hugged and kissed these two teenagers. They spoke excitedly and quickly, exchanging information, realizing that they must greet others but assuring one another that they would speak soon. They must be other apprentices, thought Orion, from another world. Probably Earth.

Then Arthur motioned behind him, and the two young people nodded. They glanced up at the mirth team and the Regalan with expressions that were a shock to the Ophilion. They seemed to be anticipating their meeting, as if they knew them.

Arthur and Maria both turned and waved to the young Ophilion. “They’ll bring you around!” Arthur called to them. And with that, their four Almaron patrons disappeared into the crowd and moved toward an archway that would lead them deeper into the station.

The two young locals glanced at each other then walked up the ramp and met the Ophilion at the top. They stood, watching each other for a second, then the girl spoke. “My name is Kalia,” she said, in a pleasant, confident voice, speaking in Ophilion with a peculiar accent.

“And I’m Michael," the boy said. His tone sounded friendly, and like he thought he had something to prove.

“It’s very good to meet you,” Kalia said. She reached her hand out to Jenna, who was in front of her. Jenna took her hand and Kalia smiled. This started a chain reaction, and once all hands were squeezed they took a moment to study each other. This seemed to be a significant event for the two young Henosis teenagers.

Having made their initial contact with the Ophilion, Kalia and Michael turned their attention to the four people standing behind the Ophilion. Orion, Celli, Fel and Jenna hadn’t realized there was anyone left on the Antarious, but, turning, they saw that their trainers had been there the whole time, standing a few meters behind the, in the corridor. The two locals approached the Meloria, greeting them with affection – hugs and kisses all around. “It’s so good to see you!” Kalia told them. Her eyes were moist. “It’s been so long!”

“We’ve missed you,” Michael said, suddenly seeming years younger. He held Kylor around the shoulder.

“We’ve missed you!” Kylor told them.

“We’ll have time to talk soon,” Cathandra said, holding Kalia around the waist.

“Make sure to get them to the ceremony on time!” Galian told them, ruffling Michael’s hair and beads. “You know what happens when Darlia gets upset.” The boy rolled his eyes.

The four Ophilion teenagers were somewhat disconcerted by the way their trainers interacted with the two local adolescents. Each of them experienced uncomfortable feelings, including jealousy. Suddenly, they were not the only favored students.

“Kalia and Michael will show you the way,” Cathandra told the Ophilion. She kissed Kalia’s temple. “Better hurry, the ceremony begins in a mec-lan and fifteen!”

Kalia and Michael nodded. “See you there,” Michael said. “This way.” He smiled at the newcomers and they followed them down the ramp. The Ophilion each glanced back at their trainers who nodded reassuringly, and waved.

They crossed the dock, passed under a wide arch and entered a large hangar where a few people were gathered around a collection of containers, discussing; planning.

Kalia and Michael led them briskly down wide corridors that reminded them of the Antarious, only on a much greater scale. Most of the people they passed along the way were busy and seemed to be focused on important tasks. They did not see anyone lounging or in a mode of rest. They figured that most people were preparing for the extractions.

They passed large spaces: atriums, conference halls, gardens, lounges, cafes and restaurants. The locals slowed their pace at times to allow their guests to observe as they explained what people were doing or what a space was used for. But it was clear that the young Merenthaal wanted to reach their destination soon, so as not to upset Darlia. It took half an hour to arrive at a place somewhere near the top levels of the ship and further to the front.

Here the wide corridor they were walking along opened into a much larger area. It seemed to be an official venue of some kind. They could see people preparing for an event. A few of them saw the entourage approach and nodded and smiled, telling them that Darlia was waiting for them inside. Whoever Darlia is, Orion thought, I hope we make a good impression on her.

They walked through the reception hall toward a pair of massive, hardwood doors. Kalia and Michael placed their hands on one of the great doors and pushed. It took considerable force to move them inward for their sheer weight. The Ophilion caught their breath at the scene that lay behind the doors. It was a hall of ceremony – a very large one. It was circular; they could see tiers of seats curving up from the floor, like an arena.

At the far end they could see a stage, or two stages at different levels, they could not tell from that distance. The venue was elegant without being ostentatious; tasteful without being gaudy. The lighting was spectacular. And, like the Antarious, it was difficult to understand exactly where the source of light was.

“Kalia, Michael!” a rather perturbed voice called out from somewhere behind the great doors, “where are they?”

The locals motioned vigorously for the Ophilion to enter.

“Ah, there they are!” A woman, obviously an Almaron, was walking briskly toward them. She seemed flustered, but glad that she had found her subjects. “My name is Darlia,” she said, approaching them. “I’m so sorry about the timing, but we are down to the wire.” She stopped in front of them, looking them over, observing their attire.

“I’m glad the field suits worked out well for you,” she said, studying the way their clothing fit them. “Did you find them comfortable enough?” The visitors nodded mutely. “Good,” she said, curtly. “Now, we need to fit you into ceremonial attire, we only have half-an-hour, but, I suppose it will be enough. Come.” She waved, and the six young people followed her down the wide corridor between the seating areas towards the center of the arena.

Jenna leaned closer to Kalia. “What does ‘half-an-hour’ mean,” she asked.

“It’s an Earth time unit,” Kalia told her, “about twenty-five mec-tah.”

Jenna nodded.

The way Darlia spoke was odd. While the Ophilion could understand most of what she said, there were words they could not understand at all, and some of her sentences seemed to be disjointed or inverted. Then it struck Jenna that Darlia was not speaking Ophilion – she was speaking the language of another world – Earth, perhaps.

This was one thing the Antarion had warned them about. Only the Merenthaal involved with the Ophilion CAS had actually learned their language, customs and history. Darlia was not in this group. She was using telepathy to communicate her thoughts to their minds while speaking her native tongue. The Ophilion would have to get used to that on the Henosis.

Besides, Darlia was a designer. Designers, Jenna supposed, must have their own way of communicating.

They gazed around them as they walked deeper into the arena. The ceiling above them was an immense transparent dome – an eye peering into space. Jenna recognized the Ulina constellation near the right hand edge.

As they walked through the central circle – an open space measuring about twenty meters across – they counted seven wide corridors that ran from the circle to the edges of the arena. This created wedge-shaped sections, curving upwards, which held rows of comfortable seats. There were bridges over the seven radiant corridors that joined circular corridors where the wedges were higher. There were two levels of balcony floors encircling the arena and overhanging about ten meters from the edge. They wondered what the seating capacity was.

There was a ‘central wedge’ which held the stage – a large platform set back from the central circle by ten meters and elevated from the floor by three meters. Above the stage there were seats for the audience, below it, reaching to the central circle, was an open space in the shape of a trapezoid – the second stage.

“This way,” Darlia waved as they passed through the central circle and walked up the corridor leading past the stage. They entered the ‘back-stage’ area and their designer led them to a room on one side. There, carefully laid out for them, were four Merenthaal apprentice uniforms.

When they were close enough to see them clearly, they stopped to stare. Darlia watched their reaction. Celli and Jenna were first to approach the garments. It was easy to tell which set belonged to whom. Each was unique, crafted individually to fit each of the Ophilion, yet they were, clearly, the same kind of outfit, which would distinguish them as apprentices of the Merenthaal.