Boolean Operations

Vue allows one to create an infinite number of objects using Boolean functions of difference, union, and intersection. In this image, I took a sphere and placed it inside a slightly larger square. The Boolean difference function removed the square from the circle. Of course, if I had centered the square within the circle that might have helped the composition. I'd like to think when this pod crashed into the sea, it cracked and twisted. That's my story. :-D

10pm

Secret Rendezvous

Vue 5 Easel

Got a new 3D program yesterday. I'll be posting most of these images over at Trebuchet but with a little luck we'll see some of these moving our story forward. Thanks to so many of you for reading the story and encouraging me to keep it going. I've got several ideas on what happens next with Kyra and Kieran. Now I just need to decided on which way to go.

66. Night Flight

Editors Note: Summation of the story is two posts down for those that would like an audio executive summary. This chapter goes back a few days in time. Rog and Emy have embarked from Bravo-Four-Zero in search of the medicine Keiran needs to survive. The chapter below Measured in Seconds has not yet occurred.



“Rog, do you know what you are doing.” said Emy.

“M, darlin’ I could land this bird on a teeler at full throttle with my eyes tied behind your back.” Rog’s grin conveyed complete overconfidence in his piloting abilities. “Hang tight pumpkin, I’m about to nest our little egg.”

“I’d prefer not to be someone’s omelet,” Emy shot back. She had lost her sense of humor about the same time the G-forces of Rog’s night descent had threaten to spoil the memory of the first hot meal they’d had in some time.

The flight through the Tear and down to Neraj had been spectacular. Approaching the atmospheric Tear reminded Emy of sailing through the locks on the western approaches of the Nusian peninsula on Hyneria. Her father had captained some of the largest sea going vessels and often took Emy with him. Sailing the oceans was not all that different to Emy than traveling through deep space.

The Nerajians were a rather insulated civilization. Their usually dense atmosphere and unpredictable Tears made many travelers reluctant to visit. Lack of sunlight caused most of the planet to be barren and many felt contributed to the diminutive size of the species. The average Nerajian stood only three-quarters the height of a Hynerian.

Rog and Emy were greeted like long lost family. The Nerajians had the medicine they needed but only one location was considered safe enough to house both the viruses and the agents of retribution, as the healing medicines were called in world. Three hours flight through the barren desert stood an impenetrable fortress. Here, they would find what they needed.

"Rog, do you see what I see?" asked Emy, her fear of Rog's flying replaced by a very bad feeling about the change in atmospheric conditions. Just a few minutes before the night sky had been as clear as day. In what seemed like seconds the sun, moon and landscape turned an eerie shade of blue as if they knew something her and Rog didn't.


“Uhmmm, yea, M. Not sure what’s going on but hang tight. I’ve got a visual on our fortress. Snazzle, locate and lock on their landing beacon. Conditions are deteriorating fast and I’m going to need . . . ”

“Rog, there is no landing beacon being broadcast,” said Snazzle.

“Impossible Snaz. Check another frequency.”

“My scanners have quadrupled checked every possible option. The fortress is not broadcasting a beacon.”



“Sunavabeeeotch!” said Rog, dragging out the expletive for dramatic effect. A little adrenaline rush in Rog’s mind was better than three shots of southern snoot and two lap dances in the back corners of the Purple Pampus back home. Emy did not share the sentiment.

Atmospheric Tears moved fast. Perfectly clear night turned to bluish overcast and then to darkness with high winds in a matter of minutes. Rog and Emy didn’t know it, but getting the agent of retribution was going to be the least of their troubles.

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65. Measured in Seconds

Kyra and Yul stood on the bridge mesmerized as Neraj wore its evening colors. The planet appeared more beautiful than ever, if that was possible. Seemed like just yesterday that Rog stood besides her gazing upon the majestic orb that now held their fates captive beneath a cloak of purple and blue.

“Yul, how long has it been since our last contact with Rog?” asked Kyra. She knew to the second how long but hoped Yul would find words of comfort in her response.

“It’s been six hours.” said Yul. “Seems like twelve though,” her voice trailing off in unspoken frustration. Rog had been just twenty minutes away. Just twenty minutes. The thought echoed, - just twenty minutes.

Pursing her lips, Kyra placed her index finger on the groove of her upper lip. Forming an L shape her thumb acted to prop up her chin as if the heaviness of her thoughts demanded additional support. She couldn’t communicate with Rog, couldn’t do a thing to help and had no idea when or if they would return.

“I’m going check on Kieran. Call me the moment we hear something from Rog will you.”

“You’ll be the first to know Kyra,” responded Yul.

Walking down the long corridor to the isolation ward, Kyra couldn’t help but wonder if Papa had felt the same way on his walk to see Ji. She could have had ten thousand friends walking with her yet the sense of aloneness would not have been less. Each step was a prayer, a hope, a way to do something when it seemed she was helpless to do anything.

Kyra looked through the window. Kieran slept. He looked at peace but Kyra knew otherwise. His life, if Rog didn’t return soon, would be measured in hours, not days. Hours. Her eyes welled with tears of compassion. He looked so angelic just lying there. So handsome, so strong. The first tear escaped from her liquid blue eyes.

Kyra’s hands braced herself against the glass window as thoughts came as daggers in her back. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes to life. How close was Rog to making that Tear? Five minutes? Two minutes? 30 seconds? Destiny measured in seconds. Could fate be so cruel? Tears flowed. Her cheeks grew red. The image before her blurred as if Kieran was fading away before her very eyes. Her hands instinctively formed into fists.

Kyra had feelings for Kieran she had never expressed. He was handsome, intelligent, measured yet playful. He had presence. And the Hynerian knew how to brew a fantabulous cup of snizzle. And his smile, oh my, his smile could melt the polar caps. Most of all, he seemed unflappable. He walked with peace and peace lived in him. She had often thought, this could be the one but had been too afraid to walk to that cliff. So she kept her distance.

And now, well, and now, the pain of regret. Her fists slammed against the window. Blood flowed in step with the tears. The pain of the cuts paled in comparison to the pain in her heart. Looking up, tears pooling in her eyes, she asked, begged, "Dear Janus don’t let this happen. Please don’t let this happen."

Thoughts flowed. So much to do, so much to say. And now she was perhaps hours away from ever being able to utter the words she longed to say. Dearest Kieran, hold my hands. Hold them tight my love. Hold them like . . .

OH MY JANUS! Kyra gasped in disbelief.

The monitors were flat lining. Her bloodied hand slammed against the identification pad but the door didn’t budge. It was locked. Only Trev could open it.

“Trev,” yelled Kyra into her comm. No response. “Trev! Where the hell are you damnit? Kieran is dying,” the words had an edge of desperation that would have shocked even those closest to Kyra.

Trev was not responding. Kyra threw herself at the door. It didn’t budge. Picking herself up she mustered every ounce of strength and hurled herself against the door again. Nothing.

Lying crumbled on the floor, tears spilling forth, she pleaded, “Trev, please come in. Please.”

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64. Story Summation (so far)

Post History on the Hynerian Story of Kyra and Zeke. Audio Commentary and Summation for those who are coming into the story and would like an executive summary of what is what and who is who.

1. Caribbean Canopy (Novemver 26, 2005)


2. Almost Home


3. The Natives


4. Scottish Fireflys


5. North


6. Shells


7. Purple Trees


8. Hynerian Passion Fruit


9. Hynerian Homeworld (Story leaves earth)


10. Trouble


11. Perfect Food


12. The Healing Planet


13. No One (December 1, 2005)


14. The Chapel


15. Reentry


16. Metalunans


17. Squorks


18. The Dance of Alisa


19. Tigerland Sea


20. A Single Step


21. Golden Tree


22. Red Clouds


23. Lesson of the Shells (Kyra enters the story)


24. Blue Onyx (Papa Kyra, aka Zeke enters the story)


25. Zaels (Part 1)


26. Love is always Truth


27. Flashbacks


28. Move Out!


29. Flashbacks (2)


30. In Transit (Ji Qong enters the story—Founder of the Zing Tao)


31. Zaels (Part2) Operational Background


32. Flashbacks (3): The Last Dispatch


33. Dorfel riding Shells


34. Serenity Gardens


35. Golden Child


36. North (and South)


37. Zimmlers


38. Trial of Thorns


39. Discipline


40. Scatalinas


41. Wabi Wabi


42. Twenty-Four Hours


43. Goldie and Snizzle


44. Postcards


45. Juju Birds


46. Bad News


47. A Rare Encounter (audio commentary)


48. Grand’s Brooch


49. Arrival


50. Before


51. Frequency 643z


52. Four Minutes


53. Stormy Weather


54. A Room with a View (January 2, 2006)


55. Animus


56. Neraj


57. Epiphany! (Part 1)


58. Marauders


59. Watering the Garden


60. Learning to Walk


61. So Close, Yet so Far


62. Vector Beacons or Back to Neraj

Executive Summary:

Chapters 1-22:

Kyra and Bravo-Four-Zero:

Zeke, Ji and the Zing Tao:

63. Vector Beacons or Back to Neraj

Rog’s body took over. Hands and feet instinctively made decisions. The small pod whipped in one direction and then another. Warning indicators blared, red lights lit up the panel, yet still he pushed the vessel. Better to die with your teeler boots on as his dad liked to say back on their ranch. And by Janus, if this storm was the end of them, if wouldn’t be because he didn’t do everything in his power to save them.

Besides, he had too many stories to tell on just how they had secured the needed medicine and Rog loved to tell stories. As a little boy, his dad had entertained him and his brothers around the campfire many a night. Rog picked up the skill without ever knowing how valuable a good story teller could be on a small vessel traveling through deep space. The last twenty-four hours had given him enough material to last for weeks.

Getting through the atmosphere, making contact with those little creatures called Nerajians, the secret medical base they had to find in the dark of night, deals brokered and negotiated, and now the complications of getting back to Bravo-Four-Zero. Saving Kieran was important, and sure would score a lot of points with Kyra, but these stories were just too good not to tell.

“Rog, Pandoras are requesting steering lock on our vessel,” said Snazzle, the pod’s onboard computer.

“Screw that, no time,” shouted Rog as he maneuvered the pod between electrical bands, any one of which would have destroyed the small vessel.

“Rog, the Pandoras say without their lock, we will be destroyed in this storm. They are demanding control now. Otherwise, our deaths will not be on their hands.” Snazzle almost sounded alive and his tone certainly implied he placed more trust in the Pandoras than in Rog’s skill. Emy couldn’t help but smile at the look of disbelief on Rog’s face.

“Rog,” Snazzle calmly repeated, I believe now means now. Shall I give them control of our vessel?”

About that time a bolt of electricity grazed the ship. Power blinked, lights flickered and Emy, who no one had ever heard raise her voice, shouted. “ROG!”

“Alright, alright damnit." Rog’s shoulders slumped in that fashion that said don’t blame me for what happens next. Nerajians knew these storms inside and out. They had established incredibly huge and powerful vectoring beacons around the planet. The storms were not common, but when they did occur, any vessel not immediately controlled by a vector tower had little to no chance of survival.

Rog and his crew were going to make it, make it back to the surface of Neraj. The blessing was mixed. They would survive but the clock was ticking for Kieran. Forty-eight hours was only an estimate and they had less than that now.

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62. So Close, Yet So Far

“Rog, this is Kyra, come in.”

“Rog here darlin’, how might I be of assistance?”

“We have new information. Kieran has stage one manifestation of the virus. For whatever reason the soup appears not to be working on him. That means –"

Rog interrupted, “That means we’ve got less than 48 hours. Anyone else showing signs.”

“Not yet Rog. Have you secured the medicine we need to fight this thing?”

“We got the goods darlin’. ETA, twenty minutes. Remind me to . . . you . . . these . . . Nerajians.”

“Rog, you’re breaking up on me. Can you repeat that last bit. Rog, come in. Rog?” Kyra starred at the communication panel. Nothing but static. No picture, no sound.

“Yul, any idea what just happened?” asked Kyra.

“Atmospheric Tear on Neraj is closing in. Without that opening, nothing can get in or out, including communication,” said Yul. “Openings are unpredictable. Pandoras are reporting we could see the next one in a matter of minutes or,” Yul hesitated, “or a matter of days.”

Kyra starred straight ahead at the gorgeous globe before her ship. So beautiful a sight and at the moment that beautiful world was threatening her entire crew. A dense and impenetrable atmosphere held Neraj and its diminutive inhabitants captive most of the time. Fortunately, a natural phenomenon, locally called Tears, allowed passage to and from. Pandoras, giant airborne creatures, acted as beacons, guides and overall guardians of the Tears.

“Kyra, can you hear me? Damnit! This is not the time for this fricken atmosphere to shut down on us. Emy, what are the Pandoras reporting,” asked Rog.

“Too early to know when the next Tear will appear. Apparently could be minutes or could be days,” said Emy.

“Holy mother of Janus, what the frick is that!” He had never seen an electrical storm of this magnitude. The damn thing seemed to emerge from the thick purple atmosphere without warning and was heading directly towards his ship.

“Strap in!” shouted Rog. “And if you know a few prayers, now would be the time.”

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61. Learning to Walk

“Dearest Kyra, should I wake Trev and escort him in?”

“Yes Goldie. Oh, and Goldie,” Kyra winked, “uhm, be gentle this time, will ya.”

Goldie batted her eyes in mock innocence just like grandma used to do. How papa had captured so many of grandma’s traits in a robot never ceased to amaze. Then again, papa himself was one of a kind. So much love, so much patience, so much understanding. Kyra hadn’t met 10 Hynerians that together could have matched the capacities of her grandfather.

Twirling papa’s blue onyx ring between her fingers, Kyra moved across the room as only she could. Her gait, remarked by so many, flowed effortlessly. Her tight and taut body spoke of strength beyond her slight frame, but her gait, oh that walk, both intoxicated and soothed simultaneously.

As with most things, Kyra learned to walk from papa. Not to walk, but to walk. “There’s a difference,” he would always say. “Kyra, few really walk. Most pound the ground with their busyness, their rush to be someplace other than where they are. They live their life in anticipation, forever thinking,” and with the word thinking his eyes would widen as if the word itself carried some special significance, “forever thinking that life would be better over there.” And with that papa would look all around him as if there really was a “there” and then would shrug his shoulders when “there” was nowhere to be found.

“Where is there Kyra?” papa asked. And she would point to some place down the beach. They walked to there and papa would ask again with a grin. “Are we there Kyra?

“Yes papa, we are . . . here.”

“But is here the same as there,” he asked.

She smiled, “No papa here is here and here is not there.”

“Look behind you child.” Kyra glanced down the beach from whence they had come. “Tell me what you see.”

“I see the sand and the water papa,” Kyra responded not at all certain anymore that her eyes saw what papa saw.

“Look again my sweet young jewel, look closely, and tell me what you see.”

Kyra looked again. A wrinkle formed between her eyebrows in determined concentration. Papa had taught her to break down a situation into its smallest parts. “We climb mountains the same way as stairs,” he preached, “one step at a time.”

She started with the ocean. Nothing unusual there. Her eyes moved to the sand. Again, looked perfectly normal. But there must be something she thought. Papa saw something she didn’t and she refused to miss the point. Kyra was nothing if not determined.

“Focus on the facts Kyra. Focus on what you know.”

She thought aloud, “We were there and now we are here.” And then a smile of wonder emerged. “We. Me and you papa! Me and you makes two. Yet I only see one set of prints in the sand and those prints are mine papa. How is that possible?”

“Kyra, my dear sweet child, walk with anticipation and the heaviness of those thoughts will not be forgotten by the lives you crush underfoot. Walk to be, to be here and only here and you walk with lightness and you walk with peace. Would you like to learn to walk my dear sweet Kyra?”

“Yes, papa. Please teach me to walk,” Kyra shouted as she jumped with delight into her papa’s arms.

The door to Kyra’s quarters swooshed open.

“Come in Trev, can I get you anything,” said Kyra.

“No time, take a look at this report on Kieran. It appears the Golden Tree soup is not working. If this data is accurate, he has less than forty-eight hours.”

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Trebuchet

While my creative juices start to flow again, those wanting some back channel info on where the story may be going and images waiting in the wings, please visit Trebuchet. Images 42 through 50 all have additional info in the comments pertaining to the story. Enjoy. Next chapter coming soon. :-)

I appreciate everyone's patience. Last week was both very good and very exhausting. Another good nights sleep and I should be back to normal.

Imagine (Updated)

The world famous Time movie--Imagine --has been updated with new slides. Even if you've watched it 100 times like me, it's like watching for the first time with the new images. Part of my presentation today will use this short slide show. Enjoy.

Access by Accident

I arrived at the resort. Asked about internet access. $12.50 a day. Not good because I'm tight and that is outrageous. Bellman took me to my room. A Ms Rachel George was in the room, no relation and not bad looking either. However, she wasn't too excited to see me. So back to the front desk. I said if they would give me free internet for the week I would forget their little faux pas. And thus the first of three IFs were overcome.

A few days ago, at the request of some friends that wanted to see some of the images that I was creating but not posting with the story, I created Trebuchet as a place to post those images. No titles, no prose, just misc images. Many of the images are alt versions of ones from the story and a few may still appear in the story. A few of them hint at possible things to come.

Since I'm only posting images to that site, I should be able to update it each day for those that need a fractal fix. Time and energy permitting, this site might see an update, but these meetings tend to be all consuming so no promises.

Thanks to everyone who stopped by to wish me well. Your thoughts and comments are very much appreciated.

If

Variation on my standard I'm leaving for Arizona image.

On my way to Tucson at dawn. If I have internet access and If I have time and If I have any energy left, then I will do my best to post next week. Otherwise, hang tight and I'll see you guys next weekend. Wish me luck--it's a big meeting. :-)

60. Watering the Garden

Kyra trusted Rog to pick the right team and execute the mission on Neraj. Leadership, Papa said, involved knowing when to take charge and equally knowing when to step out of the way and let Hynerians do their job.

The animus virus onboard increased stress levels exponentially. Chaos waited quietly at the door looking for an opening to wreak havoc onboard. Kyra held the key. Her calmness or lack thereof was the only defense between the team and pandemonium.

“Goldie, would you please retrieve my holographic helmet and notify the crew I need the rest of the morning undisturbed. No exceptions.”

“Yes dearest Kyra. Consider it done.”

Relaxing into her leather recliner, Kyra removed the clip letting her hair fall free. A gentle shake of her head released her silken locks as the reflected light from Neraj created the most subtle sparkle on her jet black mane. Taking a deep breath to a slow steady count of sixteen, she held the breath for sixteen and then slowly released her cares, concerns and worries on the out breath to the same steady cadence. Reaching between her breasts she slowly unzipped the front of her form fitting leather top. It looked great on her body and molded to each curve like liquid to the inside of a glass vase, but she needed to breath deeply now.

With each slow steady in breath Kyra’s chest rose like the sun at daybreak, which is to say with a smoothness that would intoxicate a casual observer. Her breathing looked effortless, but she knew, and so did Papa, years of practice stood behind this simple display of mental and physical prowess. She breathed with the grace and elegance of a Zing Tao master. Of course, she had had a pretty good teacher.

Slipping the helmet on, Kyra adjusted the settings for peace and clarity. The images danced before her eyes. Brilliant blues and reds and greens formed an interlocking kaleidoscopic display of beauty and unity; a reminder of perspective, that what seems like two was but one.

When Papa talked about Zael, and he talked about it often, he always came back to a single refrain. “Kyra, my dearest sweet one” he would say, “nothing out there can touch your heart, unless you give it permission. Watch your heart and cultivate the love and compassion within like your most prized garden. When friends and strangers alike come to visit, the gift of a flower will always bring a smile to their face and joy to their heart. Make sure your garden has those flowers to give.”

Kyra watched the display of flowers before her eyes. Each breath became like a ray of sunshine, like a gentle spring rain, nourishing the flowers within her heart.

The same could not be said for Trev. Agitated, he approached Kyra’s quarters. “Goldie, I need to see Kyra right now.”

“I’m afraid she can’t –“

Trev ignored her, and reached for the identification pad. He never saw it coming. Goldie may have been built in Grandma’s image, but Papa had wired in a few of his traits too.

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59. Marauders

Carnage equalled Marauders in the Zael system. No such creature existed around Hyneria and what Zeke saw next had never been seen by Hynerian eyes.

Sitting in front of the baby Zael with John's words of dispair ringing in his ears, the purplish vultures of the subsystem swooped into sight.

Zeke sat helpless. Unknown emotions flooded his being. No words could describe the horror of what he saw next.

Back on Command, Rogers monitored Zeke's vitals. All numbers spiked to personal highs. And then, as if by exhaustion, each number started dropping. Slowly at first, then faster and faster. 210, 190, 170, 130, 80, 40. Zeke's heart rate dropped. 40 beats per minute was a new personal low.

Rogers sensed movement. Turning, and snapping to attention, he greeted Ji.

"Captain," smiled Ji, "bring our Zeke home and have him report to my quarters. We have much to discuss."

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58. Epiphany! Part 1

“John, can you read me.”

“Loud and clear Zeke,” replied John.

“Check your monitor. Can you ID this object? I’m zooming in now.”

“Zeke, that appears to be the remains of a Zael space station. We’re picking up a transmission and what appears to be a life form of some sort. Signal is very weak but your drone should be picking it up. Can you check that out?”

“Roger, moving in now,” replied Zeke. “John, I’m picking up that same transmission but the language decoder seems not to be working. Can you override this Vanguard’s system and patch me in to your signal?”

John hesitated. “Be just a minute on that Zeke.” Command had been jamming Zeke’s signal awaiting Ji’s consent. Timing was important. Rogers nodded. “Zeke, sending. You should have it now on channel 6.16.”

Ji mentored and taught like a master sculptor, and in this case, Zeke was his prized piece of marble. Just the right break required a hundred small hammer blows on the end of the chisel. From the outside, nothing appeared to be happening, and then, well, and then on the hundred-and-first blow, the perfect break. To the uneducated eye, it seemed that the last blow created the perfect break, but Ji knew otherwise.

The looped distress signal from 643 was one series of small hammer blows. The serendipitous arrival of the Raptors created several more. This transmission amplified the steady hammering, building to a break. Each event created stress, created opportunity. Yet, the stress had to come at the right pace. Not too fast, not too slow, but such that each event build upon the other.

The signal was faint. Reaching forward Zeke slowly turned up the volume. There were actually two signals, one loud and clear and another much fainter. The adrenalin from earlier in the day had worn off. But like a second wind, what Zeke heard . . . .

Command monitored his vitals. Heart rate up. Blood pressure up. Breathing became rapid. Untranslated, Zael language sounded like whales or even dolphins. The creatures were as peace loving as any species in the known universe and their language sounded more like relaxing music than urgent communiqués.

Zeke sat stunned. Tears rolled down his cheeks. His visor fogged over. Arms fell limp by his side. The Zael’s had not resisted. They went to the slaughter like lambs, knowingly lying down their lives before the Javalina onslaught, in the hope that a few of their kind could escape unnoticed. The attack had been merciless. The scale of destruction and wholesale butchery of every living Zael exceeded comprehension. To read about such things in history books was one thing; to hear the plaintive cries of children and babies were another.

“Sir, should we alert Lieutenant Zeke we have a clear feed on the second signal?”

“Proceed John.”

“Zeke, we’ve got new information on that weaker signal. Tune to channel 6.17. Tell me what you hear,” said John, his tone as somber as Zeke had ever heard him, which was saying quite a lot for a “blank voice.”

If a transmission could whiplash one, Zeke was there. This signal was not a recording. All indications pointed to someone, something that was still alive.

“John, what is the vector on that transmission.”

“Zeke, you’re two minutes away on a heading of 345.32S.”

What Zeke saw next turned his tears to anger. A baby Zael, fatally wounded was cuddled in its parents dead remains. Zaels, like whales, were huge creatures. Javalina gunships had ripped them apart with ease. Floating debris of this scale and size caused Zeke’s gag reflex to kick in.

Excitedly Zeke, hit his comm. “John, we need rescue vacs out here now!”

Silence.

“John, do you hear me. We’ve got a baby Zael that needs immediate attention. Over.” Zeke always ended his communication with “over” as a form of emphasis.

“John, damnit! Come in.” Zeke caught himself. Everything he had been taught about the gap was here, or in this case not here. Whiplash was the right word. And he knew it. Circumstances and stimulus had seized him like a bouncer’s hands on a drunk and rowdy patron. Taking a deep breathe, focusing his mind, he hit his comm. Again.

“John, Zeke here, come in please.”

John looked at Rogers for the okay. “I’m here Zeke.”

“John, we --“

“Zeke,” John’s voice broke ever so slightly, “Zeke, this little one is lost. Nothing we can do.”

No training on Hyneria had prepared Zeke for this. And the worst was yet to come. Ji sat in his private chambers monitoring events. He knew what was coming next and he knew the time was right for that final hammer blow. Perfect break or find a new piece of marble. He would know soon.

(to be continued)

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The Last Paragraph and Bonus Commentary:

57. Neraj

“Beautiful sight isn’t it. Would you have ever thought we would be privy to such a magnificent view?" Kyra asked.

Standing in front of the picture window in Kyra’s quarters Rog couldn’t disagree. He had seen plenty on Hyneria, but had never gotten the chance to travel off planet. Views like this reminded him of looking out over the ocean. One felt both small and at peace all at the same time. Deep space, like the ocean, seemed to put everything into perspective. Little worries actually did seem little.

“Nice view pumpkin, but I ain’t figuring you brought me here to wax philosophical about the cosmos,” said Rog.

Kyra laughed. “Cut the crap Rog. That view blows you away, you know it, but ain’t got the balls to tell this little pumpkin that there might actually be a sentimental bone in that leather saddlebag of a body of yours. Speaking of which, how are you feeling, not that I really care,” Kyra quizzed with a sly smile knowing she had disarmed her navigator without ever lying a hand on him.

Rog cleared his throat. “I’m feeling just fine. Why do you ask?” he queried, trying to gain some sense of control of the conversation he had lost so quickly. Kyra saw right through him. The anti-charm shield seemed to be working both ways.

“Has Trev said anything to you this morning about his discovery in the lab?” Kyra’s piercing blue eyes boring a hole right through Rog’s forehead. She had a natural ability to read faces for truth. Papa always said she would have made one kickass interrogator. No one on board would have disagreed with that view, nonetheless Rog at this moment.

With Kyra looking at him that way, he couldn’t have lied if he wanted, such was the power of her look. “Uh, nada. Got no idea what you're talkin ‘bout darlin'," Rog replied kinda smugly, feeling like he had found his balance again. Besides, it was the truth, he had no idea what was going on.

“Rog, you know anything about the animus virus?”

“Only that you get it just one time. If not treated with the proper antiviral vox within forty-eight hours . . .” Rog stopped in mid sentence. His eyes locked on Kyra’s and her’s locked back on his.

“Damnit, what do you need me to do,” Rog shifted gears. He was in full serious mode now. Playful banter jettisoned like a bad date on the front porch. Their small ship was sharing space with the most hostile virus known to Hynerians. Death rate exceeded ninety percent.

“I need to know as much as you can about Neraj. Download everything the Metalunans told us. Prepare the pod for launch and pick two other mates for a journey to the surface,” Kyra barked like a hardened master sergeant. Times like this her natural leadership ability rose to the surface. Papa always said leaders were born not made. Kyra was proving the point.

“Oh, and Rog,” purred Kyra.

“Yes ma’am?”

“Make sure everyone has their Golden Tree soup. That’s the only thing buying us time.”

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