Meltdown Ophilion - Book One

30_ACCEPTANCE

"Before we invite them in," Maria said, "we will tell you something about them. The Merenthaal – what you know as dimensional agents – are divided into two general categories: the Almaron, of whom we are part, and the Meloria. Almaron means: 'Keepers of Balance'. All of us who are Almaron are human – like you. All of us have lived mortal lives on one of the settled worlds in our galaxy. All of us have passed difficult examinations and trials in order to earn our place in these ranks. We must follow strict laws and rules which are dictated by the Galactic Court and prescribed in the Code of the Merenthaal.

"On our ship there are four of us that are Almaron, the other thirty-three are Meloria. (*) Meloria means: 'Messenger of Power.' The Meloria are not human. Although they look human most of the time they also have a form of their true nature which few mortals ever see. In fact, each of you has seen one or some of the Meloria, in human form, at one time or another, and you didn't even realize it."

A scene flashed into Orion's head; something that had happened two years in the past. He was on a mag-way train coming home from work. He had had a particularly bad day and was feeling the weight of life more than usual. He saw someone on the other side of the packed wagon; he was looking straight at him. His eyes gave Orion a sudden rush of hope – he had no idea why. Somehow this stranger lived on another plane of existence; he was unaffected by the dismal surroundings and permanent pessimism of the mag-way crowd; the pessimism that had permeated the very metallic alloy of the wagon and the mineral blocks the stations were made of.

Orion had held his gaze for what seemed like a whole minute. The stranger never blinked nor did his expression change, but through his eyes he communicated brilliant ideas that Orion's mind could not fully comprehend at that time. Suddenly, his gaze became too intense and Orion looked to the floor, his eyes watering. He was suddenly aware of the movement of the train and the smell of the after-work crowd packed closely around him. He quickly looked back to where the stranger had been standing but he was no longer there.

Orion pondered this strange encounter until the train glided into his station. He quickly pushed his way to the doors before they closed and he would be forced to spend extra time on this 'human garbage compactor' looping back around to his station on yet another train. That was the last he had thought about that experience. It was so foreign, and the emotions connected with it so unfamiliar that he could hardly relate to it – and there was no need to – so his brain filtered it from his active memory and he moved on through the exit tunnel along with the masses of humanity who saw nothing but the pavement in front of them, and at that moment that was all Orion saw as well.

Arthur looked into his eyes and Orion knew that he knew, although it wasn't Arthur he had seen. Now that he remembered the encounter he realized that the man on the mag-train wasn't even human – that's what was so strange about him. He wasn't human – he was something else – something more and something less than human – he could understand that now, here aboard the Antarious. He could understand many things now. What might he understand tomorrow?

"The Melorian thought process is different than ours," Arthur went on without a pause – Orion's memory having taken a fraction of a second. "They are decisive and can move very quickly when they need to. They are powerful warriors; protectors of humankind. Yet, though they are impressive beings, they are relatable."

Maria and Arthur stood and motioned for the Ophilion to follow them out of the circle of couches where they had been sitting to where they were facing the door which led to the interior of the ship. "And so, without further ado," Maria announced "we present to you the crewmembers of the Antarious."

The young Ophilion waited, eyes glued to the door, wondering how they would relate to the rest of the agents and how the agents might accept them. The door slid silently open and there stood two people who looked very much like Arthur and Maria. It was impossible to tell their age, although physically they looked to be in the prime of life – maybe in their thirtieth cenro, or fortieth. Their apparel was similar to that which Arthur and Maria wore: flowing comfortable fabric in various earthy hues.