214. Magic Pillow

Ariel snuggled into bed, her white cotton sheets clean and fresh. Cait leaned over and kissing her forehead said, "I love you sweetie. Sleep tight and I'll see you in the morning."

"I love you too mommy," responded Ariel with an impish smile born in the warmth of the moment, worry and concern absent in the cocoon of her room.

Cait smiled back, stood up to leave and hesitated. She had not allowed Ariel to sleep in her bed for more than a year, yet the thought hung in her mind and she mused, Was this desire for Ariel or me? "Honey, how would you like to sleep with mommy in the big bed tonight?"

"That's okay mommy, I'm a big girl now."

Cait looked down at Ariel, her cheeks uplifted with pride. "Yes you are darlin'." Cait smiled, kissed Ariel again and let herself out, closing the door softly.

Ariel rolled over and in a real quiet voice whispered, "Okay, she's gone. Would you read me a story?"

Her pillow began to glow and the gentle voice of her father responded, "Well, that depends. Have you been a good girl?"

"Oh daddy, I've been really, really good."

"Okay, then, what would you like to hear tonight?"

"I want to hear the one about the little girl who grew up to be a superhero. Tell me about her rocket shoes daddy, that's my favorite part."

"That's my favorite too. Here goes. Once upon a time there was a little girl with primrose hair and sapphire eyes who found a pair of rocket shoes. These were not any ordinary rocket shoes, but very special ones."

Ariel jumped in. "What did they look like?"

"They sparkled ruby red and had wings on the back and when the little girl put them on, they glowed and sparkled with the brilliance of Rubion and Triste. "

And so the pillow glowed and talked and Ariel smiled that smile that children do when they know they have the best dad in the whole world. And somewhere, many parsecs away, there was a dad that was smiling too, that smile that dads have when they know they have the best daughter in the whole universe.

When the story was over Ariel whispered with sleepy lids, "I love you daddy."

And the pillow whispered back, "I love you too. Sweet dreams my dear angel."

Categories: Story, Caitlin, John Discovery, Ariel

213. Nothing

John tried again. Still no luck. "Tom, you ever seen a solar storm like this?"

"Can't say that I have John."

"Okay, well, would you notify me as soon as we have an open channel?"

"Will do."

John sat back in his chair, holding an ancient solar chart. A gorgeous work of art depicting Rubion and Triste in opposition. If only that was the case now. Solar storms in a dual sun system were common, but one of this magnitude was not. Until it cleared they were for all intents and purposes stuck in radio silence.

Cait watched the reports. Stay inside. Protect yourself if you must go out, all the usual stuff. That is, if you didn't have a husband on the other side of the sector and cut off from all communication. How much longer this storm would persist no one could say. Could be a day, could be a week.

"Mommy?" asked Ariel.

"Yes darling?"

"Is dad going to call us tonight?"

Cait tried to smile. It had been more than a week since John had called. She couldn't recall him ever going so long, and now, with this storm, who knew how much longer it would be. Before, she could always check with the base, and her contacts there would assure her he was okay. She knew they would lie if the case was otherwise, but still it provided some measure of comfort. This time, however, they knew no more than she did, which was nothing. Nothing was hard. And there was nothing to do but wait and hope and pray.

"Honey, dad is on a very important mission and is working very, very hard. And you know what?" said Cait as she reached out to tickle her precocious one.

"What?" Ariel squirmed, tucking her elbows in and giggling, her long reddish golden hair shinning on the waves of gentle curves.

"I have it on very good authority that your dad loves you very, very much and he left me in charge of giving out his hugs to you. Let me see if I have one for you." Cait reached out and took her daughter in her arms, pulling her tight to her chest. Little arms returned the embrace with the enthusiasm of unfiltered belief.

"Mommy, I miss dad." said Ariel, changing her tone as children do.

"I miss him too sweetie."

Categories: Story, John Discovery, Caitlin, Ariel

212. To Roachment

Conversation in Von’s quarters 2 (much later):

Von: So, she ever get you anything?

Rog: Who?

Von: Yul.

Rog: Oh. (pause) Yeah, she did (Rog grins).

Von: Well?

Rog: Well what?

Von: What did she get you?

Rog: Yul?

Von: Yeah, frailing Yul numbsack, what did she get you?

Rog: A ring.

Von: What?

Rog: A big arse ring, bout the color of this snoot (raises glass).

Von: I’ve never seen you wearing no ring.

Rog: (bursts out laughing)

Von: (grins)

Rog: You know what?

Von: What?

Rog: The damn thing was heat sensitive and pressure reactive.

Von: (stares dumbfounded) No shiott?

Rog: (holds out glass) I shiott you not my friend.

Von: Damn good split-tail.

Rog: (grins with lips tight) Yep.

Von: (stares into space)

Rog: You know what else?

Von: What?

Rog: The sumbeech had handles.

Von: (eyes got wide) What?

Rog: (belly laughs and nods head) No shiott.

Von: So?

Rog: So, what?

Von: The handles. What the hellocks?

Rog: Rotation my friend. Rotation. And you know what?

Von: What?

Rog: You can take that to the mother-frailing depository (nods head).

Von: (laughs)

Rog: (laughs)

Von: (laughed some more)

Rog: Pour me another.

Von: I think we need to talk rapprochement.

Rog: (looks at Von kinda funny) What?

Von: Rapprochement. You know. Reestablish relations in the warm commerce. (Rog looks puzzled) For the greater good.

Rog: The greater good. (Rog ponders) Hellocks yeah. The greater good. Shiott Von, that’s some might fine thinking.

Von: Yeah. It is.

Rog: (laughs) A toast.

Von: (raises glass)

Rog: To roachment.

Von: Roachment. (makes funny face) Yeah, to roachment!

Categories: Story, Rog, Von

211. Pour Me Another

Conversation in Von’s quarters:

Rog: What the frail was that all about?

Von: No effing idea. Want a snoot?

Rog: Yeah. Think I do.

Von: (pours two glasses) Talk to Yul?

Rog: (slams his back and hold out glass for another) Are you frailing kidding me? Only thing tighter than her cooter right now is her mouth.

Von: (laughs) Are you saying—

Rog: I be saying I could jackhammer the former but the latter ain’t no Hynerian gonna pry open. (Rog slams back the second) Pour me another. But, I gotta tell you this Von, when the beotch is in heat, there ain’t nothing finer. The girl got skills. You frailing know what I’m saying.

Von: (smiling) Yeah, Think I do.

Rog: (too buzzed to know whether Von was mocking him) Did I ever tell you about that gift I got her on Neraj?

Von: Don’t think so.

Rog: She calls it the tool. (Rog laughs) A little somtin somtin for when I’m not around. Ten to one she’s workin’ it right now. Yeah baby, work it darlin'.

Von: Not bitter I see.

Rog: Cold hearted beotch. Frail no, I'm not bitter.

Von: (nods head)

Rog: Do you think we drink too much? I mean, seems every time we get together that’s all we do.

Von: Nope.

Rog: Me neither. (Rog holds out glass and Von pours)

Categories: Story, Rog, Von

210. The Kiss

There was talk, a walk and a kiss. To say more would poke a finger in their bliss, to say nothing would be a disservice to persist. One stood above and one below, and as surely as rock tumbles from high to low, one set of lips fell into the valley bow (of the other’s soft reprieve). Such is the nature of a kiss.

Touching of flesh, a kiss perhaps can be, but as a grape squeezed not the vintage sieged. Warmth passed between two souls in the stillness of time, making memory between the ticks of chime. Essence slipped membranes seen not by eye nor mind to gleam but to intelligence gifted not schemed; and fingers moved as if on strings to a symphony heard in angels’ wings.

Eyes turned inward fain as hearts beat like drums on the plain. The firm ambassador of words not needed, greeted with touches light and heated. As if a summer day where care not heeded, the two danced and darted as feathers on the breeze or children round the trees. Giggles felt but not heard and trembles joined the plaintive bird. Arms contracted to devour, fearful of clock and time in hour.

From dry to wet and firm to soft were sighs witnessed as eyes were naught. Hair tingled in the touch and noses snuggled, as if enough. The curve of one fell into other and where one began the other shuttered. Breathing raced as two for medal, crossing over hands together, as brothers as one do on the day. And so a moment held back time and seemed forever in space divine till upon the magic came a finger.

Reading and Commentary: The Kiss



Categories: Story, Kyra, John Discovery

209. We're Leaving

After the events of the night before, and much soul searching, Kyra gathered the crew in the conference room. Her speech was brief. She thanked everyone for coming and said:

“As soon as Mairi is back, we’re leaving. Rog, start working on our exit strategy. Von, please lend your assistance. And Trev, ask John to supply provisions to the extent they can.”

Before anyone could ask what that meant, she was gone.

Categories: Story, Kyra

208. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Goldie hummed into Kyra’s pristine quarters with Yul in tow. She looked a little uptight, just a little odd, as she usually did whenever she visited Kyra. The room was always so clean, everything always in its place and her taste, although a bit sterile for Yul, was, as she would say, museum impeccable. All of it, a world alien, and for Yul, a world just this side of stuffy. Breathing, she would say, became a conscious affair, as if the air was somehow thicker, although if truth be known, the room simply represented everything she was not.

Kyra stood to greet the pair. “Thanks so much for coming over. Can I get you anything? Something to drink? Goldie, make some fresh snizzle.”

Yul smiled to herself. Seeing Kyra uncomfortable, even nervous was a rare event. To say she did not derive some pleasure from the awkwardness would have been less than true; to say it greased her machination, well, there was nothing false in that. “No problem. What’s up? Oh, Goldie, I’ll take two drachms of snoot in mine. Wait, make it three. I think I deserve three. What do you think Kyra?”

“Three it is. Goldie, I’ll take mine the usual way.”

“Yes Ms Kyra.”

Yul tilted her head and tucked her chin, twirled her hair and put on the saddest face she could. “Join me Kyra.” Before she could say no, Yul added. “Just one drachm, for old time’s sake, for me, a toast to new beginnings.”

Kyra hesitated and Yul widened her eyes like a puppy wanting to be petted. “Okay, Goldie, one drachm. No more.” Yul smiled.

“Yul I do need your help but that can wait.” Kyra reached out, placing her perfectly manicured fingers on Yul’s shoulders. “How are you?”

Yul choked back the urge to say frail you. No need, she thought, in making her job any harder. “Under the circumstances, I’d say I’m doing just fine. Thanks for asking.”

Kyra looked for some sign, some indication but Yul was unreadable. She might as well been Mona Lisa. “Grab a seat. Do you realize we’ve been on Bravo just over a year now?”

“Hadn’t really thought about it. Has it really been that long?”

“Yeah, it has. Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Yeah, suppose it does.”

“So, how is Rog?”

“Don’t really know. Haven’t seen him around much.”

“I see.”

“I hear you are having dinner with John tonight.”

Yeah. How’d you hear that?”

“Em told me. Just a couple minutes ago. Bumped into her on the way over here.”

“Em?” Kyra laughed. “Seems whatever I tell Goldie goes straight to Pinky.”

“I suppose.”

“Yul, not to change the subject, but I didn’t exactly invite you over here to make small talk. I’m concerned about you.”

“Really?” winked Yul. “If you had I’d be concerned, the small talk that is. Kyra, look, I appreciate your concern. But I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

“Well, let me check. Yep. I’m fine. Just,” Yul caught herself, “just fine. Thanks for asking.”

“If you weren’t fine, who would you tell?”

“Well, I do have a little gift from Rog that helps me from time to time. Listens real well if you know what I mean.”

“I’m serious Yul” said Kyra, shaking her head, unable to suppress a smile. “You’re not talking to Rog. You and Em aren’t exactly two peas in a pod at moment. Trev, well, can’t see you ever confiding in him. Von’s not your speed. Mairi’s not here. So if things were not good, who would you tell?”

“Are you trying to make me feel better?

“I’m trying to get you to open up.”

“Then tell Goldie to hurry up with that snizzle, snapped Yul.”

“Yul, maybe it’s none of my business, but right now, the way it looks to me, I’m about all you’ve frailing got. Now, either you’re going to put that tough hide of yours aside and let me in, or you’re going to suffer alone, and I do mean alone because you’ve about pissed off everyone on this ship.”

Yul stood up, whether to smack Kyra or leave she wasn’t sure, but the thought of doing both crossed her mind. “Look, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m doing fine, I really am. And I promise you, if I’m not, you’ll be the first to know. Goldie? Where are you?”

“On my way Ms Yul.”

Kyra didn’t believe a word Yul had just uttered. For the first time she let her guard down and Kyra saw two things. She was lying through her teeth and she wasn’t about to open up tonight. “Thanks Yul, that’s all I ask. Now, about tonight, this dinner, I’ve got about an hour to get ready. Do you think you can help me?”

“Hey, that’s what I’m here for. Let’s get started.” Goldie appeared, tray extended with two onyx cups. “Grasping her cup with nimble fingers, Yul lifted it toward Kyra. “A toast. To new beginnings. To tonight.”

“Yes, to new beginning.” Cups lifted and the toast christened with open eyes. “Now, Goldie, could you bring the dresses I was looking at before Yul got here?”

“Yes, Ms Kyra, right away.”

“Yul, I’ve narrowed it down to three options.” Kyra walked over to where Goldie hovered and placed the first dress in front of her. It was a fabulous golden silk evening gown, pleated across the breasts and down the slides. Kyra’s jet black hair looked queen-like against the refulgent gold. “What do you think?”

“Oh my. Looks fab darling, but I’m not sure those pleats really do you justice. Accentuate the positive, not cover it up is what I say. What else you got?”

Kyra took the next selection, a dark blue sequined number from Goldie and modeled it. The blue sequins sparkled like so many stars in the sky and matched Kyra’s eyes perfectly. “How ‘bout this one,” smiled Kyra, hoping Yul would like this one since it was her first choice.

“Sweetie, I can’t imagine you’d look bad in anything but you didn’t call me over here to blow smoke.” Kyra frowned. “If this was a business meeting, I’d say go far it. Formal dinner where you want to make an impression, leave this one at home. Looks a little too cold, a little too professional.”

“Okay. Goldie, hand me that third option.” As soon as Yul saw the red ruby metalique gown she knew that was the one. Hellocks, it was the one she would have chosen.

“Try it on,” said Yul. Kyra did. Each narrow breast plate accented Kyra’s firm amplitude in a way that simply couldn’t be ignored. The crimson plates curved like half moons, holding her breasts in place without hiding the valley of her creamy seduction. Hell, Yul thought, I’d like to run my hands over those delicate swells of joy, to see them grow blue, to feel them respond to touch and breath as waves rising on a warm sea. And the interlocking ruby chain links that formed the skirt had such a glimmering sultriness, such an allure as to make one look twice as to what was gown and what was leg. It moved with the glittering alacrity of a shoal of pelagic fish. “It’s perfect Kyra. This is the one, no frailing doubt in my mind.”

Yul didn’t have to dissimulate. In fact, she was stunned. She had never seen Kyra look so sexy—ever. How John was going to react, well, if he had a pair, the boys would be bouncing like ping pong balls in a lottery. “Come grab a seat over here Kyra. I want you to see what I see in the mirror. By the way, do you have a shawl or jacket to go with this dress?”

“I do. Goldie, would you do the honor?”

“I’ll take that Goldie,” interjected Yul. “Now sit down Kyra.”

Kyra sat on the stool in front of her mirror and Yul stood behind her. Taking the shawl from Goldie, Yul turned. Concealed in the lower sleeve of her jacket was one vial. Quickly, she placed a couple drops on the neck of the shawl and a couple more drops on her fingers. Turning to face Kyra, she placed the shawl around her neck, making sure the drops rubbed against the back of her neck. As if to display how beautiful Kyra was, Yul let her vial covered fingers trace along Kyra’s neck and along her jaw, tracing with a flourish back to Kyra’s lobes and pinching them as it to say, we need something here.

“Oh, I’ve got the perfect earrings to go with this dress said Kyra, too absorbed in how she looked to notice that anything was out of the ordinary. The vial, as Yul knew, would work fast. Since she had it on her fingers, she would know, almost to the second when it would start to affect Kyra, which by her calculation was only minutes, if that, away.

“Let’s see them Kyra. Oh my, do you mind if I do the honors?”

“Please do Yul.”

Yul secured first the right earring, and then the left. Her own head started to feel light and that familiar tingle between her legs told her the vial was working, very well actually as her fingers lingered a little longer on Kyra’s neck than necessary.

“You look magnificent my dear. Just absolutely stunning, as sexy as I’ve ever seen you.” Yul wasn’t lying now. Kyra did look stunning, with or without the vial, Yul couldn’t take her eyes off just how beautiful she looked.

“You really think so?”

“Abso-frailing-lutely!” exclaimed Yul. “If the boy is wearing any socks, he won’t be for long after seeing you in this dress.”

“Well, that’s not exactly what I had in mind for tonight,” said Kyra, less certain if she meant the words she just heard slipping from her lips. Such an odd sensation she thought but before she could follow it Yul interjected.

“Maybe so but haven’t you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Word is, our boy John has eyes for you.” Yul slowed her diction on the “for you,” letting the words hang in the air as if they needed space to be fully absorbed and understood.

“He’s a happily married man Yul, don’t be silly. This is how rumors start.” Kyra felt as if someone else was speaking for her. Her mouth was moving, and it sounded like her voice and that was her image in the mirror, but there was a warmness in the words Yul had spoken that she just wanted to swim in.

Yul leaned over, her hands on the back of Kyra shoulders as she placed her lips right next to Kyra’s right ear. Her warm breath washed over her lobe as she whispered. “I have it on pretty good authority the boy is not all he pretends to be. Oh, I have no doubt he loves Cait, but Cait ain’t here on this vessel, and it’s been awhile, if you know what I mean.”

Normally, Kyra would have put an end to this kind of talk. That she didn’t told Yul the vial was working. “He wants you Kyra.” Yul let her tongue lightly touch Kyra’s ear. Withdrawing her tongue, she bit her lip, trying to stay focused. “And rumor has it, he doesn’t disappoint.”

“What are you talking about?” Kyra’s tone seemed more curious than scolding.

“I’ve been having dreams Kyra. Dreams about John. Very vivid dreams. A little too vivid, if you know what I mean.”

“Are you telling me—“

“Remember the quilling?”

“Yeah.”

“And the exam John performed on Emy and myself afterward?”

“Yes, what of it?”

“John confided in me later that the exam was a very through one. In fact, he said my exam was much more detailed and inclusive than Emy’s.”

“And?”

“I was unconscious during those exams. But you know, the mind records everything, whether you are conscious or not and I’ve got to tell you Kyra, those dreams didn’t come out of thin air.”

Kyra’s face became flush, matching the hue of her dress. Yul continued as she rubbed Kyra’s shoulders making sure every last drachm of vial found its way to her skin. “The pleasure. I can’t begin to tell you what that man is capable of. I thought Rog was good, but next to John, Rog is pure school boy in the back of his dad’s hopper fumbling his way with stone fingers.”

Kyra sat as if hypnotized. She felt a stirring of lust she had not felt since she had been on Bravo. The feelings for Kieran were love. These feelings, this energy, was of an entirely different order. Her whole body felt on fire and Yul’s words were just so much dry kindling thrown on the blaze. Yul continued to weave, in not less than detail intimate, not sure how much for her benefit and how much to forward her wickedness. And Kyra let her. The smell of desire, the moistness of need, filled the air.

“Ms Kyra,” said Goldie, “John’s staff say they are expecting you. What should I tell them?”

“Oh Goldie. Uhm, tell them I’m on my way.” Kyra stood up, straightened her dress before looking over herself in the mirror one last time. “You know I’m not that kind of hynerian,” she said to Yul.

“I know you aren’t.” winked Yul. “Go have fun and you can tell me all about it tomorrow afternoon.”

Kyra cocked her head and raised her brow trying her best to hold back a giggle. “Got to run Yul.”

“Oh, Kyra. One last thing.”

“Yes?”

“Happy Birthday.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Yul, Goldie

207. What Would Grow?

“Kyra, is there anything I can get for you,” asked Goldie, in a tone that implied she could sense something was on Kyra’s mind.

Smiling through closed lips, Kyra nodded. “No thanks Goldie. I just need a moment to myself. Let me know when Yul arrives. She should be here shortly.” How Papa could build a machine, like Goldie, that so mimicked grandma, her heart and mind and even her tone of voice was beyond her. She thought she should be used to this incredible gift and the marvel of it all, but still, every time, she had to smile at the wonder of it all and remind herself, Goldie was but a machine, another unexplained mystery created from the hands of Papa.

“Yes ma’am." Hovering on a cushion of air, Goldie dipped, as if to bow, turned, and silently left the room.

Kyra walked to her desk and pulled out The Folio. Papa had built in a sentient search panel. How it worked, no one knew, but then again, no one really knew how he was able to build Goldie to so much resemble Grandma either. So many things about Papa she didn’t know. Perhaps, she thought, The Folio would answer much or so she hoped there would be more answers than questions.

Closing her eyes, she placed her ring finger on the golden bluish panel in the lower right corner. It felt warm to the touch and begin to glow in response to her query. As if the search function could read her heart and mind, and perhaps it could, one never underestimated Papa, a single passage, or in this case a question, appeared, somehow magically selected from the hundreds of thousands of passages within the tome. Opening her eyes, Kyra saw these eight words displayed on the screen:

“If you planted your heart, what would grow?”

Taking a deep breath as if inhaling the words, somehow trying to assimilate message and intent, Kyra sighed and closed her blue eyes again. A tingle ran down her spine. Eight words. Just eight words and it seemed as if Papa was front and center. Taking another breath, eyes shut tight, she could have swore his signature scent was in the air and if she only reached out her hand, he would be there.

“Kyra, sorry to interrupt, but Yul is here. Shall I show her in?”

Kyra lowered her arm, closed The Folio and looked up. Her face expressionless, the kind of look that indicates a separation between mind and body, or lost in thought as the phrase is commonly put. “Yes, show her in.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Goldie, The Folio

The Dash

The Dash

A friend of mine owns simple truths (they produce inspirational material and gifts). The video above (similar to the world famous time movie) is from one of his books and well worth the couple minutes it takes to view. Enjoy this intermission from The Story.

206. Birthday Girl

Emy put the finishing touches on her solar garden, stood back and smiled. Should go well with her shell collection, she thought. Putting the garden aside, she grabbed her jacket and headed out the door. Hardly two steps into the hall she saw Yul coming her way.

"Hey Yul, where you headed?" smiled Em.

"What the frail business is it of yours?" snapped Yul, without making eye contact or slowing down her purposeful stride as she passed Em.

Stopping, Em turned and without forfeiting her smile said, "Frail you."

Yul let out a spontaneous laugh. She had never heard those words come from Em's lips and this, she figured, was worth efforting a response. "If I had time, darlin', I'd give you the pleasure. That is, if I thought it wouldn't blow your naive little mind. Now frail off, our queen beotch wants to see me and we wouldn't want to keep her waiting now would we."

"Hey Yul, for what it's worth, today is Kyra's birthday. Be nice. I think our friend John has invited her to the captain's dinner tonight--his guest of honor she'll be, or so I hear. I think he has eyes for our dear sweet one. Fancy that. Oh, and for the record, when you are stronger that is, anytime, anyplace, anywhere. I'll be there." Emy winked and walked away.

Yul stood, lost in thought and said to no one. "Birthday girl, is that right. Well, I can't just show up empty handed now can I?"

Categories: Story, Emy, Yul

205. Mom

Emy sat at her desk, pen in hand, paper quietly waiting for secrets to be drawn across its dry chest. None were forthcoming.

She put the pen back in its wooden holder and returned the paper to the right hand drawer. Dad would just have to forgive her tonight, or maybe, she thought, he could just reread one of the hundreds of letters she had already written.

Her mind drifted to the last day. They all had them, the whole crew. That moment on the dock, saying goodbye for the last time. And everyone cherished that day, that moment as perhaps the one memory that both held their world together and yet threatened on any given day to tear it apart.

Others had said goodbye to brothers or sisters or both. Some to whole families or, in Von's case, to no one. At least that's what he said. A bond formed in the stories of the dock, as they were called and Emy shared, perhaps most, a sense of shared burden with Kyra. Kyra didn't talk about it, but one could always see a certain sadness just under the surface of her smile, much like the shadow of a stingray trailing the shore; hard to see unless you knew just where to look.

Emy knew where to look. She had lost her mom when she was just a child and those memories were dreamlike at best, which, she often pondered, was perhaps not such a bad thing, for who is another but the memories we have of them. Kyra, she knew, was not as fortunate. She had Papa, and of that there was no doubt of the special bond between them, but to mention Papa was also to allude to what was not there--her parents. Emy couldn't bring her mom back and that could be borne. Kyra's mom and dad, however, could have been there, on the dock, that last day, and they weren't. A ton of rocks could not have weighted more on her shoulders, or so it seemed, if you knew where to look.

Reaching into the upper most drawer, Emy pulled out a small black box, a gift her father had thrust in her hand at the last moment. He had tears in his eyes, for her was certain, which her, was not. Like most, Emy imagined, she exchanged a final hug and I love you's as she placed the box in her coat pocket and boarded Bravo. Her dad stood his ground, eyes moist and reflective as she forced her body to turn and walk up the ramp. That simple turn of her shoulders, as she had written many times, well, let it be said it was well documented as the most difficult physical motion she had ever commanded.

Not until she boarded the ship and dried her eyes did she remember the box. Such a small thing, it fit in the palm of her hand like a large marble and just as easily hidden. From the corners appeared a light as if something inside was alive. It couldn't be she thought. He wouldn't have done this, no not this. But at last, it was true and she cried tears of love, which was not exactly the right words, but she could never find a way to adequately explain a feeling of such power and depth such that she had never felt before and had never felt since.

Inside the box was a living brooch, or so they were called. Many did not believe such a thing was possible. Her dad was not among them. Before mom died, and the details were always a bit fuzzy, Emy remembered a time where mom and dad and some sort of religious figure asked her to leave the room. What happened next, her father never did say, but the fact that something significant had happened, of that there was no doubt. Her mother passed away the next day and for weeks and weeks the small box and her father were as one.

In time, he came to wearing the brooch around his neck and he always referred to it as my love. When Emy reached maturation, her father explained all. He said many things that made no sense. This alone, however, was clear. Mom's essence, her spirit, lived on with the brooch. And that spirit, he said, could still communicate in movements of patterns of lights and energy. Emy believed but of this she knew. For him to give her the brooch, to give her her mother, his wife, to say goodbye to not one, but two was the greatest act of love she had ever witnessed.

Emy's eyes grew misty and she rubbed her thumb over the smooth glass like surface of the brooch. "I love you mom and so did dad, with all his heart. And I know he misses you more than you will ever know." As if on cue, the brooch begin to warm and the light within begin to dance and Emy sobbed uncontrollably.

Commentary: Mom




Categories: Story, Emy

204. No Pun Intended

“Taren, launch the anti-spades,” said the voice.

“But my liege, we are not undersea. Why waste the resource?”

“Not a waste at all. John thinks we are undersea. If we don’t respond with countermeasures, they will learn sooner rather than later that we are elsewhere. Now launch the counter attack.

“Yes, my liege.”

“Dr. X, how is our little null doing?”

“Better than anticipated. Let’s just say glowing blue, such an amazing biological adaptation, really quite remarkable, but forgive me for my digression. We are getting a much better response than any of my research indicated would be the case, as, I believe, is evidenced by our opponent’s confusion. She is paying off in spades, no pun intended.”

“Excellent. I have big plans for our little friend. Now what is the update on Calfuray?”

“Fully recovered and, if I might humbly say so, stronger than before. She is itching to redeem herself, as you might imagine.”

“So much good news dear doctor, I hardly know how to contain myself, no pun intended either. Have my dear girl come for a visit. I have an assignment I think will make her very happy. And by the way doctor, please refrain from any itching metaphors, which reminds me, how is our friend Shen?”

“Humble, my lord, humble.”

“Good. Have him come see me with Calfuray. Never hurts to have a little insurance, especially the disposable kind. Now, dear doctor, tell me more about this glowing blue adaptation.”

“Hmm, where to start, where to start . . .”

Categories: Story, Taren, The Voice, Dr. X

203. Options?

“Kyra," said John, his tone as warm and steady as polished mahogany, "thanks for coming over on such short notice. I wanted to get you up to speed on the search and rescue mission.” He had a what and he had a how, and something told him, in this conversation, the how was going to be more important than the what. Moving with the measured deliberateness of a jaguar stalking its prey, John pulled up a chair and offered her a seat.

Kyra noticed. He wasn’t sitting behind his desk and he wasn’t sitting on the front of it either (looking down at her with those paternalistic eyes). “I appreciate you thinking of me and the crew. As you might imagine, we’re all on pins and needles, and quite frankly, a little unsettled not being involved in the operation. I’m sure if the tables were reversed you’d feel the same way.” Kyra couldn’t hear it but something, some sense told her John had more to tell than he was about to say. The room held an energy, neither good nor bad (maybe a bit of both) as far as she could tell, but an energy nonetheless absent in prior meetings. His body appeared completely at ease, but it looked like a practiced ease, an ease born of breeding perhaps, an ease he wore on the outside like a favorite old leather coat rather than an ease radiating from within. She marveled at how he could do this, and debated in her mind the merits of learning such a skill, a skill she had lacked in recent days; but the more she thought about it, the more she sensed the news was not good and the more she questioned the usefulness of his facade.

“You are absolutely right.” John paused, letting her metaphor streak across the dark night of his mind, hoping for a flash of insight into the how, hoping, perchance, empathy could illuminate his delivery. “If the tables were reversed I’d want you to lay it all out, directly, so that’s what I’m going to do.” He slowed his delivery, looking for reaction in her face, but there was none. He continued. “Our teams made contact. Then we lost it, which, after looking at every possibility, can only mean one thing. They’ve taken Mairi undersea.” John stopped.

After a slight pause Kyra said. “Why would they do that? But before John could answer she leaned forward and interjected. “There’s more isn’t there? Something that has caused you to call me down here on a moment’s notice,” her eyes searching his as if they could speak directly to her heart and bypass the logic she felt she was about to hear, a subtle subtext neither needed nor wanted.

It was John’s turn to marvel. Few had her gift for perception and he found himself distracted with her ability. “Good questions, both.” Fact of the matter, he had no good answer, or that is, no good answer he was willing to share. Yul was dying. Her only chance was to get her back home as quickly as possible and even then there were no guarantees. Every day they stayed in orbit, looking for Mairi, was nothing more than another nail in Yul’s coffin. The problem, however, was a bit more complicated. Yul had sworn him to secrecy. He had given his word, not something he took lightly, yet, he knew, was now on the table; the cruelty of compromise grown in the soil of rationalization. Second, he wanted to get the whole crew of Bravo back to his homeworld, and although the thought of having Mairi, the null, was enticing, Yul was the key to making that happen. Kyra had indicated, more than once, her desire to get on the road once Mairi was back.

“Let me start with your first question. The seas on the world below hold a rather unique mineral composition. They negate, neutralize if you will, radiation—all radiation.” John paused again.

“I’m not sure I follow. Are you saying they feared you would nuke them?” John didn’t answer. “So, to protect themselves, knowing you had netted the planet and there was no escape off world, they went undersea? Oh my Janus. Tell me John, tell me that was not even an option?”

“It was not an option, as long as Mairi was on-world. Our friends don’t know that, so they sough to protect themselves.” John stood up and walked to a cabinet behind his desk. “Amsec?”

“No thanks.”

“You are right, you know.” John poured the golden liquid into a crystal decanter, placed it on the desk and sat down two glasses.

“About what?”

“There is more.” He poured one glass. “A lot more.” He poured the second glass. Without breaking eye contact he held the amber liqueur out to Kyra. “Join me. Please. What I’m about to say, well, hell, it ain’t gonna be easy.”

Kyra hesitated as if to measure the weight of his statement. Reaching out, she took the glass and raised it to her lips. John watched, amazed at how natural her movements were, how fluid, and he wondered how one so young could move with such elegant grace and poise.

“Quid pro quo,” said Kyra, knocking back the rest of the drink.

“Yul is dying,” replied John. “She has a growth and it is beyond our capabilities on this vessel to stop it. How long she has is anyone’s guess. The only chance she has is back home—maybe.”

“Okay.” Kyra held her glass out and John poured. “So, why is she still here?”

“This is the only vessel in the taskforce capable of traveling at hyper-speed.”

“Okay.”

“And, it is the only one capable of dealing with the situation on-world.” John took a sip. “We can’t leave with the voice still down there.”

Kyra sat quietly. “So, what are our options?”

Before John could answer Tom commed in. “John, sorry to interrupt, but we do have the Captain’s dinner tonight and there is the matter of your speech we need to prepare.”

“Thanks Tom, give me a few minutes to wrap things up here.”

“Kyra, please forgive me. I forgot all about the dinner tonight. And Kyra, one more thing, I promised Yul I would not reveal her illness to anyone else. I trust--"

“I understand John, no need to explain. Can we pick up on this discussion first thing in the morning?”

“Better than that, won’t you join me tonight? Formal dinner, dress whites. A time to relax and remind ourselves that we still belong to a civilized race.”

“Thanks, but I’m not much in the mood.”

“I won’t take no for an answer. Besides, I need a guest of honor and last time I checked we still hadn’t found one. Promise, we’ll leave business at the door.”

“You are most kind dear sir but—”

“I’ll take that as a yes! Dinner in two hours. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a speech to write.”

Kyra stood and smiled weakly as John left the room. Perhaps, she thought, the dinner will do me some good, a chance to get away if only for an hour or so. “Yul, Kyra here. Meet me in my quarters. I think I’m going to need your help.”

John entered his study where Tom was waiting. “How’d it go?”

“Not too bad.”

“You didn’t tell her did you?”

“Uhm, no.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, John Discovery

202. Grace and Beauty

Golden amsec stood smooth as morning lakes in the glittering basins of crystal flutes, reflecting smiles white as Christmas snow. John, dressed in his captain’s whites, lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “To our guest, the elegant lady Kyra, a sight most glorious in her singular grace and beauty.”

Hear, Hear resounded round the table as glasses chimed like church bells, echoes softened in the warmness of welcomed endearments. Kyra’s eyes welled as John’s words rained down upon her refulgent blue eyes. Instinctively, she leaned her head back to hold the tide and inhaled deeply, to stay a sniffle or calm her racing breath could not be said. Nor did it matter. Words, amsec, or perhaps something else, magic was magic and these moments were few and far between. Questions, she checked at the door; to be picked up later, if need be.

Together they raised flutes of golden fruit and she smiled. Not so much at him, as with him, like children on a merry-go-round going up and down and all around to the measure of laughter unencumbered by the gravity of age. And he smiled back in a gesture understood only by two in the discourse of the moment. Others were there, that night, at dinner. So the log testifies. But then again, they may as well been the trees in the forest or the birds overhead.

The table stood resplendent with the bounty of private reserves and select delicacies prepared by hand and arranged on whey linens shipboard smooth. Much came from the prowess of John’s own hands on his ancestral lands. Pure and natural, he would say, but truth be known, he needed the bond to home on these long journeys. Although John would not admit it at the time, he had advised the kitchen, in so many words, to spare no detail this night.

Not since formal Tao dinners with Papa had Kyra seen such care and attention given to an event, giving pause to reflection both melancholy and grateful. Much was eaten; much was said, little remembered. Conversation flowed from loose lips but the eyes alone rendered currency legit, a private duet waltzing to the beat of attentive hearts. Kyra wore her ruby red metalique evening gown that night and she feared the pounding in her chest would betray her longing in glimmering swells of rising metal and flickering light. John wondered how a woman could appear more gorgeous.

Kyra tried not to look, but how could one not stare at his dark brown puppy dog eyes. Somewhere was the sound of water flowing, or perhaps, she thought, just the desire to pour herself into those bottomless pools of reflected admiration, forever slipping deeper and deeper into his intoxicating charisma. She leaned his way in her reserved sultriness, almost daring him to break eye contact, a tacit dare, understood in the curve of a smile. Dessert came and then after-dinner liqueurs of azure blues and emerald greens, exotic on the tongue, familiar in the belly.

John made eye contact with his regular guests and one by one they offered their thanks and excused themselves from the table. Kyra noticed without noticing until just the two remained. (to be continued)

Categories: Story, Kyra, John Discovery

201. The Spades

"John, we have every confidence they've moved undersea. You know what this means," said Tom, standing erect, arms folded, face like a statue.

John stared into his unblinking eyes. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Tom was right. With rolled lips and a heavy sigh John said, "Release the spades . . . and notify Kyra I need to see her right now."

"Yes sir," replied Tom.

Categories: Story, John Discovery

200. The Folio

"Time is an illusion of perspective," said Papa, his holographic image, white tunic and silver hair, glowing brightly from the inside of the folio. "I can only imagine how this last year must have flown by, whipped and driven by the inclement winds of uncertainty. And, I can only imagine how you have grown in the fertile soil of adversity. I miss you more than these words can convey and can only marvel at the leader you have become. With this journal, I officially pass the baton. You are a special one my dear. I feel privileged to have walked by your side on the beaches of Valla. All my love to you my dear sweetest one. Carry on." The image gently faded.

Through misty eyes Kyra closed the folio and ran her hands over the gem encrusted cover; the central gold and blue shell, the crown jewel from Papa’s own personal collection. Papa had handed her the folio on the dock, a gift locked for one year. She had trouble sleeping last night knowing today was the day—one year from that moment on the dock, from that last goodbye. The precious folio had served its sentence. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to find, which only made the anticipation all the more intense. That Papa had given her his personal journal, what amounted to his autobiography, was like the gift of a guiding star to one lost at sea.

“Dear Kyra, are you okay,” asked Goldie.

“Yes, yes,” answered Kyra, her smile like the sun shinning in the midst of a afternoon shower. “So good to see Papa again wasn’t it? Who would have thought.” Kyra stood and walked to her window. Standing before the massive pane she looked into the cosmos and clutched the folio tightly to her chest. “I love you too Papa. I do.”

Commentary: The Folio




Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa, The Folio, Goldie

199. Like Magic

"Mairi, I'm going to place our beautiful little friend around your neck," said Dr. X. "Won't hurt as long as you don't resist. Relax your mind. Think pleasant thoughts."

Mairi closed her eyes and the ampulator settled in place. The organism felt its way along her neck, each orifice of its inner ring sluggishly seeking an air tight suction. Mairi started to choke. "Relax my dear. The amp is trying to determine if you are friend or foe. If friend, then you are going to be privileged to some rather special sensations in a few minutes. If foe, then you and I will go down together. Now relax."

"Can you please tell me what vile purpose this exercise suits?"

"My apologies, of course. You my dear, are a null, a blank, or as some might say, an untouchable. In a telepathic world, you are the great eraser, the anti-gravity, the void. No one near you can communicate nor can anyone use their telepathic powers on you. Most important, you black out all telepathic signals. Your mere presence is the great off switch. With you, we are all but invisible to the outside world, but there is one little problem. Your power is not quite strong enough to blank us out from Kulmyk probes, which are a little too close for comfort right now. Our little squishy friend, however, is going to fix that. Once he forms full suction, and of course sees you as a friend, his natural genetic conflux will take your nullness and amplify it. If it works, we will drop off the radar of those probes like magic. And my guess, they'll never know what happened."

As the creature tightened its grip on her neck, Mairi tried not to squirm managing to eek just a single word through her clenched teeth. "If?"

"Well, as you know, we've never had a null before, so I suppose you could say this is where theory crosses the road of actuality. Now relax, I'm fairly certain this is going to work."



"TEAM KILO REPORTING in. Over. Do you read?"

"Loud and clear," replied Tom. " What seems to be the problem."

"Hard to explain sir. One minute we were locked on their location and then the next, they just disappeared."

Categories: Story, Mairi, Dr. X

198. Frail Me

Yul sat in her quarters, alone. Wasn’t the first time with Rog having been in hospital for so long, but this aloneness was different. He could be here if he wanted. He wasn’t; and that species of aloneness was a very different animal. Frail him, she thought. I was there for him, by his bedside, in the chapel, lighting candles and now that he is better and life is good for him, now that I need him, he chooses to be elsewhere. She picked up a vase and, with a motion Rog would have been proud of, hurled it against the stone wall. It shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces, each little jagged edge jutting up like so many icebergs, beautiful and dangerous.

She thought to clean the mess but then thought why. She tried to cry but could not produce a tear and she realized her anger needed, demanded, an outlet and there were not enough vases on the entire ship to sate her ire. But there was the cabinet.

Her cabinet had three drawers. Her modified, albeit illegal, Oblivions were in the top drawer; tempting, but completely unsatisfying. You could erase the memories from the mind, but memory took root thought-out the whole body. Call it molecular memory, but a hand once bloody, well, there was no Oblivion capable of bleaching that stain from the offending cells. And memory was more than just one’s own domain. Others knew, they had their own memories, and no Oblivion was going to erase the actual event. They were, perhaps, best left to their original purpose.

Drawer two held her blue vials--her second little secret. Almost got her in trouble with Trev and the agent of choice for terminal selection, nevertheless the risk was well worth the reward. Besides, she thought, Trev could have been fun and if you were going to go, well, there were worse ways. Note to self: life is short. Reconsider helping peach boy. Oooooh, maybe he'll bring his camera this time.

As much as current events still painfully throbbed, temptation was stronger, or perhaps just too delicious. This time, she rationalized, was for pleasure, so she removed one vial, put a couple drops on her wrist, closed the small crystal cruet and returned it to the drawer. A drop on each wrist was all that was needed. Any more and, well, she had been down that route. Frail you Rog, she thought as a wicked smile took hold of her face. Her contraband didn’t take long to work and whether it was suggestive or not, she felt the warm wetness between her legs signal the point of no return, or was it the beginning. No matter, she mused. Let the games begin. Lifting her arms, Yul did a little dance, rolling her unlooking eyes upward and snapping her fingers.

But drawer three, yes sir, we’ll take number three. Oh the glow, the heft, the smoothness and that sublime curve. Rog had given it to her as a gift. Best damn present she had ever gotten and by Janus it was just frailing perfect. At least that Hynerian did something right, she thought. She would have her fun and she would have it with his gift. Just the nastiness of the thought tightened the flesh between her ambulatory limbs.

Yul held the phallic instrument, or tool as she liked to call it, in her slender hands and it begin to warm with a very slight pulsation. "Whoa, baby, not just yet," and the tool hummed down. Voice activation, what a brilliant idea, she thought. Had to be female in origin. The tool, was more than just a toy with simple voice response. Rog had picked it up on Neraj. Paid an arm and a leg for it too. She didn’t believe him at first, but the device was also auto-suggestive. Neat little trick, until Yul used it one night with the vial (which is what she called the potent aphrodisiac she had procured illegally). The two used together were nothing less than mind blowing. And people wondered why she always had a smile on her face.

Moving to her bed, Yul stepped out of her crimson robe, letting the silky garment slide to the floor. She turned the dial on the bed to warm; it would take less than a minute to reach optimum temperature. Standing straight, her back arched, she watched her reflection in the window as her nipples caught a slight breeze and hardened to a pale blue. What a frailing rush to frail in front of the cosmos. She had never imagined the thrill until the first time Rog had taken her on Bravo. My Janus, she mused, and I didn’t even have the vial in use. What a frailing ride that was. Her legs quivered for days and she could have sworn everyone knew.

Setting the tool down, she slowly ran her hands from her hips up her side letting her fingers lightly graze the sides of her breasts like juju feathers. She was careful not to touch her aching nipples. Timing was important. A good frail needed to build, spiced with dreamy anticipation. And a good frail was as much a matter of the mind as of the bod. Imagination, tonight, was not going to be an issue. Waking the neighbors could be. Poor Em, she thought. Her room was next door. Mmm, maybe I should invite the little sea nymph over, but then she thought the better. If I share the vial, she’ll just want more and more. Of course, I could teach her to use the tool and then, who would need Rog. Yul laughed at her own wicked imagination. Mmm, little Emy on my bed, now that was a thought and her nipples glowed a brighter shade of blue. No place for shame in the bedroom, at least that’s what she was taught, and she had found no reason to dispute it. Neither did Rog for that matter.

The bed was ready, warm. Pulling the sheets back to the foot of the bed she laid down, two norsewill down pillows cased in azure venusian silk under her head. Half the fun, she thought was watching the penetration. I want to feel your long, hard, throbbing shaft sliding between my warm, wet, tight inviting pinkish lips and I want to see it too baby, she would tell Rog. Just the sight of the veins bulging bluish purple on the side of his rigid piston made her legs weak and her mouth hung low, watered with anticipation. Been awhile since she was deflowered, but she liked to imagine it happening all over again and again. Are you going to take me tonight baby? The tool hummed back to life. What a frailing device.

She brought her wrist up to her nose and inhaled. My frailing Janus, did that feel good, electric, as if every nerve ending was on fire, demanding to be pinched and pulled and twisted with fingers oiled. Can’t buy drugs anywhere like the vial. No wonder more murders surrounded this trade than any other. Kisses to my benefactor. Oh, and Rog, frail you too. Yul laughed.

Lying spread eagle, exposed to the universe, she closed her eyes and instead of Rog, John came into view. Involuntarily, she felt a purr slip between her lips. Oh my, what was that exotic alien packing, and she pressed her head back into her pillows, her blue tongue gliding over her parted glistening purple lips. Come to mama John, Yulie has a little something to milk those concerns from your tired shoulders.

Yul scooted her feet toward her hips, her knees hinging upward to form an inverted V. Her slender hands, each finger ringed with ornaments silver and gold, remained at her side as she rotated her hips and practiced the ancient art of the body/mind scan. What a mind frail, she thought. Again she brought the inside of her wrist to her nose and inhaled. A shiver traveled down her spine from neck to hide where the warm sensation settled and seemed to expand in intensifying waves of pleasure, each building upon the other, each more intense than the one before.

Her hips begin to move on their own. She anchored her hands by her side, palms down with fingers spread like eagle's claws, arched her back, and let her mind take over, or so the illusion of control implied. Her erect nipples, as if taking the high ground, throbbed as beacons toward the ceiling, casting bluish shadows into the valley of her firm orbs and upon the river of gold that flowed from her neck in the form of chains and medallions. Cold metal on hot skin, fire and ice, pleasure and pain. The circle of pleasure, the eternal cycle of beginning and end not as two.

The vial had the effect of inducing a lucid dream state while keeping one conscious. And right now, John was in bed, naked, hard muscled, brimming with the confidence of a master bull fighter standing center stage—only the red cape was missing. She couldn’t move, her legs fixed in a spread, her slit glistening with carnal desire as she felt a small lubricious trickle slide to her arse, and John saw it all. He smiled and her imagination shifted into overdrive. Was he looking to mount me, there? He was alien after all. Perhaps he didn’t know which orifice was which? How long had he wanted me? Had he already taken certain liberties after the quilling? Maybe this wasn’t his first time. Oh my Janus, maybe he’s already frailed me and I don’t even know it. And so the thoughts built and Yul slipped further and further into the drug induced state.

She tried to moan, but John put his finger to her lips motioning her to silence. He was going to frail her, frail her like Rog had never frailed her before, like Rog wasn’t capable of doing, and she was not going to utter a single solitary sound. She tried to move her hands, and couldn’t. His strong grasp held hers in place and he flashed that mature seductive grin, starlight gleaming off his straight white teeth. His strapping legs, solid as aged oak, moved inside her tender long white thighs pinning them open, exposed; and his skin felt summer sun warm, tingling warm as visions of secluded beaches and hidden coves awash with warm salty azure waters filled her wicked mind’s eye.

She pressed her legs against his. They didn’t bulge. Like the inevitableness of the setting suns—Rubion and Triste--the warmth of his breath descended to her neck leaving kisses along her protruding external jugular vein. She breathed in, chest rising, nipples aching, and he skipped a kiss further down. Another breath, another kiss—a touch of skin, the feel of life exhaled, and so he moved down the river of gold to those exotic pulsing blue mounds. The room began to glow with the hardening blueness of her erect nipples and she saw lust reflecting in the upper irises of John's eyes. The aroma of her wetness intermingled with his silky lather, intoxicating beyond the potency of Trev's blue snoot. Or maybe it was just the vial. Winners don't question the call.

She tried to speak but his left hand covered her lips and he shook his head like a scolding schoolmaster. A wicked grin spread across his cheeks as she silently opened her soft lips, sucking in his left index finger deeper and deeper, her doe eyes wide and unblinking. His eyes fixed on hers as his strong right hand explored the slick sticky wetness between her legs. Her hips took over, embracing his touch like a young girl running down the dock to hug her sailor returning from a long voyage. The embrace of warmth and wetness, of desire and lust, of drugs and imagination overwhelmed all else. Energy pulsed to the heartbeat of the universe and where there were two, only one could be seen. Fully exposed, vulnerable and helpless, she was right on the edge of loosing control. There was only ever one first time, one first moment of hardness sliding into wetness, one first stroke where reality overwhelmed the imagination and dreams seemed like the playthings of children. Who was ridden and who rode mattered not for the ride shared a mutual ecstasy that threatened to rip the bed from its foundation breaking the hull and sucking them to certain death in the vacuum of space. What a frailing way to go, she thought, and she slid into the dream deeper with each imaged stroke, each alien thrust between the tight velvet wetness of her animal lust fueled by the scent of a forbidden aphrodisiac.

Her legs clamped around John’s back like a well-oiled bear trap on a humid morning. By Janus, he was going to frail her or she was going to frail him or they would frail each other with the heat of passion born of neglect and educated with an anger grown in the fields of stress--tribute to be paid in the coin of release. She felt sweat, hers or his or both was hard to say as the planetary light glistened off their skin like so much glitter, their movements causing each bead to twinkle like starlight. The room, or her mind, hard to tell, begin to spin like the mirrored ball at a high school dance.

Her arms reached around his back and her nails dug into his flesh as if to mark her territory. She drew blood and he pounded her harder, his head falling to her chest, inhaling first her left nipple and then the right, moving back and forth, watching them swell and pulse to the darting of his firm tongue and succulent soft lips. He bit down, teeth sheathed between his lips and rotated his gums like twin babies suckling milk. Pain and pleasure blended together in that way that makes eyes sparkle and lovers bond in a symphony beyond language or poets or sages. Music played without sound and light flashed where there was only darkness and the opening of time revealed itself in an instant of pleasure beyond the reach of concept or sensation.

She craned her neck and bit his ear as if to say don’t you stop, whatever you frailing do, don’t you stop. Frail me baby, just frail me like a lathered John Henry pounding out rock through my tunnel. And he obliged. Somewhere she heard a slap, a constant steady wet slap of skin on skin, of passion kissing passion in ways that made the prude turn red and the pious turn the page. Her legs felt as if on fire from the heat of liquid friction, a luscious sucking sound with each thrust that spoke as if living and breathing of its own accord. His arms, muscled like bulging pythons, braced himself on either side of the top of her pale shoulders, her legs spread over the top of his, as exposed as she could make herself, reaching, deeper, thrusting, looking, begging for just a little more, just a little faster, just a little harder, just a little more--now.

Her eyelids started to flutter and her nipples felt full and heavy and ached with a sensitivity born of hard use. Breathing became labored and John shifted position. How he rotated her to her stomach without withdrawing his flesh was but a blur. Arching her back, raw, uninhibited, shameless wantonness took control. She grabbed the headboard and screamed out. His right hand firmly on her hip, his left holding her hair like the reins of a thoroughbred coming down the back stretch, whether he was pulling her into him or she was impaling herself on his hardness could not be said, but either way, the bed shook and light danced and the neighbors took notice.

The banging continued and muted voices were heard. She looked at John and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say I told you so as he faded from sight. The banging continued and she recognized Emy’s voice. Oh my Janus, she thought while grabbing her robe off the floor.

“Hang on Em, I’ll be right there. Damn.”


Categories: Story, Yul

197. Foreplay

Kyra entered the lab. “Hey Trev, whacha got?” He had called just minutes ago saying his preliminary results were in and that she might want to take a look at the findings. He said they were interesting.

Handing her the report he said, “Who would have thought? I’ve doubled checked the results. Just thought I’d say that before you asked,” his face just a little more red than normal, his eyes a little bloodshot as if he had been up all night cramming for an exam.

Kyra looked over the report. I’ll be was all she said before closing the file and handing it back to Trev. “I trust you understand this file remains confidential. If there is a leak, I’ll know there could only be one source.”

“Kyra, I hope you know me better than that.”

She just looked with raised brow.

“You have my word.”

“And the sample?”

“All gone.”

“Really?”

Trev blushed.

“Don’t worry Trev. I won’t ask and you won’t lie and we’ll leave it at that. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” he replied, unable to maintain eye contact.

Categories: Story, Kyra, Trev

196. And Found

“Von, you got a minute?” asked Rog.

“Sure, come on in.” Von was sitting at his desk looking better than he had a right to look considering what he had just experienced on world. His desk was immaculately clean and organized, which only made the crystal decanter of golden snoot look like it had Rog’s name on it. “Care to join me?” asked Von, knowing from the look in Rog’s eyes the question was rhetorical. He pulled out a second glass before Rog could answer.

Rog forced a smile, his eyes fixed on the glass. Von had the lights set on evening ambiance, which gave the snoot a sunset golden glow as he poured. Snoot was thicker than water and had the most unique and pleasing sound as it rolled from the decanter into crystal, the soothing sound opening to mind all things warm and wonderful as if the door to some fantastic place had just opened. “Thanks Von.” Lifting the glass to his lips, Rog let the warm smooth snoot linger on his tongue before lifting his chin, a gentle nudge to move the sweet nectar along.

“You know,” said Rog, “if we were back on Hyneria, we would be preparing for the big holiday. Family, food, friends,” lifting his glass, “snoot.”

Von smiled and took another sip without breaking eye contact with his guest.

“Do you ever miss it?” asked Rog.

“Miss what?”

“Home. Your family. Hyneria?”

“My home is here Rog and the members of this crew are my family, but that is not the answer you are looking for, not exactly what you want to hear is it?”

Rog pulled his cheeks up in smile without teeth. He knew Von was right on both accounts. “Damn you Von,” he laughed, “I wasn’t asking you for the truth.”

“I know. I can see the pain in your eyes and I think I know, well, let me rephrase that, I don’t know, but I’m open to listening. My words may have ringed true, but there are other bells in the tower and they have every right to sound their truth too. So pull that rope. Pull it hard, ring those bells. From the look of things, we’ve got time on our hands.”

“Maybe it’s the snoot, but I have no idea what you just said, although it sure sounds sophisticated, Taoesque even. Can you translate that into something this ol’ farm boy can understand?”

“Taoesque, now there is a word I don’t think I’ve ever heard.” Von laughed harder than he had laughed in some time. “Been spending some time with Kyra I see. Look, I’m aware of what happened with Yul. I understand there was a note too, which, before you ask, I haven’t seen. But you know what, I don’t need any of that to know something is weighing on your mind, or heart as the case may be. Body language doesn’t lie and yours is transmitting like a blinking neon sign.”

“Really? Uhm, that transparent?”

“Yep. Like a pane of brand new glass. Now I’ve got time on my hands and nowhere to go, so the floor is all yours.”

Rog placed the edge of the crystal glass against his lower lip, hesitated slightly, and took another long sip in the dim warm light. Von had an avuncular way about him, the room felt cozy and the snoot was starting to warm his belly and loosen this tongue. “I hardly know where to start,” sighed Rog.

“Start with Yul. Tell me what is going on there.” Von had been reading before Rog showed up and still had his reading glasses on. In a gesture to say you have my full attention, he reached up and took them off, letting the blue onyx frames rest on his chest, suspended from a cord around his neck.

“You know she tried to commit suicide. Why, is still not completely clear and she isn’t talking. So that part is still muddy and part of me understands her not wanting to talk and part of me is going crazy not knowing what is going on inside her head and part of me is pissed that she won’t open up to me, that she is holding back and part of me is trying to understand that maybe she just needs a little space. If that is all there was, no big deal. But she left a note. She hasn’t asked about it or alluded to it, so I’m not sure that she remembers writing it. I’ve read it and so has Kyra, which, remind me later, that’s a whole other subject. Anyway, the note was tear stained and certain passages are blurred and it is unclear exactly what she said or meant. She alluded to many issues, which, quite frankly, don’t completely add up to the suicide attempt. There is still something missing and like I said, she ain’t talking right now. But one thing in the note was very clear. She was not the one that was supposed to be on Bravo and it seems obvious that that was a factor of stress.”

“Does she explain the who and what behind that statement?”

Rog just shook his head. “No. In her note she talks in riddles. There is a strong sense of guilt, which is understandable in light of her mindset at the time, but she alludes to certain relationships in her life that caused her great pain, and apparently, still do. Why she had this breakdown now, I have no idea—just makes no sense to me. Still, that’s not what really bothers me. What really bothers me is she pretended to be someone that she wasn’t. I feel dirty, deceived, played for a fool and now she won’t talk, which, probably is a good thing since I’m sure I’d say some things I’d regret.” Rog paused as if to allow his thoughts to catch up with his tongue. “Feedback?”

Von thought for a second. “Keep going. I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what to say Von. I feel lost. Lost from Yul. Lost from Kyra, and, perhaps, most disturbing, I feel lost from myself.” Rog stopped and leaned over placing his forearms on the top of his knees. He looked up at Von. “I’ve never felt lost before.”

“When you say “lost from yourself,” what do you mean?”

“There is an anger inside of me I don’t know how to explain, almost like my body has been invaded my some alien creature. This is not me Von. I don’t get like this. Do you understand? I all but attacked Kyra just a short while ago.” A pale smile emerged from behind Rog’s eyes. “I will say this, she can hold her own. I walked in like my balls were made of brass and she handed them back to me on a platter. Kinda made me horny actually, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, been awhile, but I think I know what you mean. Now tell me. What happened between you and Kyra. This is the second time you’ve alluded to some sort of confrontation.”

“It was about the note. When I read what Yul had to say I was shocked. But when I watched Kyra read it, something just didn’t seem right. It bothered me. And the feeling didn’t go away, it kinda grew. So, I confronted her in her quarters.”

“About what?”

“Whether she knew, knew that Yul wasn’t supposed to be on Bravo.”

“What did she say?”

“Said she knew. Well, actually, she said she figured it out from what she knew about Yul from the manifest and from what she saw and heard from Yul onboard. Said anyone with ears and eyes would have seen something was not right. Speaking of which, did you know?”

Von hesitated.

“You’re shiotting me. You knew?”

“No, I was just thinking, trying to think through the things I remember Yul saying and doing. Some things seemed not quite in sync but I can’t say I really thought much about it. Besides, in my mind, what was and what is—two different things—and after my time in the hands of the Javalinas, well, let’s just say it took a lot of time on Silus to make peace with the past and to let it go. So to answer your question, I didn’t know.”

“Well, I blasted Kyra for not telling me.” Rog stopped as if the statement demanded a reaction from Von.

Von didn’t say anything.

“Von, I don’t blast anyone like that. And I have no idea where it came from and that scares me. As soon as I walked out her door my first instinct was to run to the arms of Yul, for her to tell me everything would be okay and to go back and make things right. But as soon as that thought popped into my head, I realized the Yul I was thinking of no longer existed and those arms I longed to feel wrapped around me might as well be back on Hyneria. So, I came here.” Rog reached out his glass and Von poured. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Help me see what I’m not seeing.”

“You sure you want to hear what I’ve got to say?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t. Besides, my balls are already on the platter so take your best shot.” They both laughed as those with bellies of snoot are wont to do.

So Von said what he had to say and Rog listened. Then they both sat for a long time, lost in their glasses as if the words spoken were rocks tossed into the pond of their souls, ripples slowly moving toward the shore. After a while, Rog stood up, thanked Von for the advice, and the snoot, and made his way back to his quarters. So much to think about and yet, at the same time, there was really nothing to think about at all.

Categories: Story, Rog, Von