But we could see from these images that we did not possess these organs. Indeed, there were no brains in our heads according to these strange images. And I knew what a brain was, obviously, and I knew therefore that our consciousness command centers had to be a unique type.

“These are scans taken of your bodies,” Amel said. “These were taken when you passed through the entrance to the ferryboat to Atalantaya. They are not of the highest quality. I can provide you with much more detailed scans of your interior workings if you want them. But this is what you are. Replimoids indeed. Now do you see anywhere in these scans anything that indicates your bodies contain toxins or explosives?”

“No, but we don’t know what we are looking at or what a toxin or explosive looks like,” I said. “We could be seeded with these elements in ways that don’t show up on your scans. Perhaps there are seeds in us of explosives that are so tiny the eye can’t see them.”

“Well, that’s true,” Amel acknowledged. Then with a wave of his hand he brought up another image that was clearly an image of himself, inside and out. And he possessed the organs of a human being. I recognized his red hair, his greenish-blue eyes, his pale skin, and I studied the interior of his body.

Now this was the first time I’d seen such a scan of a human, yes, but I saw all that I expected to see in a human: heart, lungs, veins, and the brain in the skull behind the eyes.

“So they didn’t make you,” I said. “You’re not a Replimoid.”

“No, I’m not,” he said. “But I am apparently the first human being they ever forcibly and stealthily and immorally removed from this planet. And what I became in their hands is the enhanced creature you see before you, ever resilient and self-renewing, and seemingly immortal.” Once again, his face was flushed, and he was clearly angry.

He gestured for us to return to the couches, and then he spoke aloud to someone or something we couldn’t see and asked for wine and food for all of us. We sat quietly looking at him as he sat there reflecting, waiting, as emotional as before.

Whisper-quiet servants came and set a long broad table before us, and then laid out bowls of fruit, and of the sweet vegetables people eat raw, and some fresh-baked bread, very thin, and hot—like the naan in Indian restaurants today. And a clear wine was poured into the usual luracastria goblets.

“Go ahead, please. Eat and drink,” said Amel. He appeared sad. He himself sat back and folded his arms as if he was not hungry or had too much on his mind to eat. His curly red hair fell down over his eyes and he brushed it back with annoyance.