136. Embrace the Light

Kyra, open your eyes. Let the light in so that it might bathe your soul in the joy of truth.

Papa always was a bit dramatic with his wordplay reminisced Kyra, as the memories of those last days came flooding back. She wondered what he would say now.
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Journal Entry: 07:283:005 M24

I made my normal rounds, snizzle in hand. Goldie came with me with her customary tray of small blue onyx cups, made by Papa of course. Each one filled three quarters full with brew and mixed to individual taste. Von liked his black as did Rog. Yul and Emy both preferred a dollop of Kawai butter, which gave snizzle a smooth and slightly sweet flavor. Trev abstained from snizzle altogether. Just another reason to be suspicious of him (ed note: Kyra’s sense of humor).

Everyone elected to stay in their own quarters even though it seemed kind of silly to be in a room in a ship that was in a ship. We thanked Taren for his hospitality. The rooms he offered us were much nicer than our own, but Bravo-Four-Zero was home and with all the uncertainty, our blanket of the known. He nodded his understanding after profusely apologizing for the detail storming Mairi’s quarters only to find her half-naked and alone. I smiled and accepted his apology. I knew they would find nothing.

We saw Rog and Yul and then Emy before Trev. Everyone seemed to be in good spirits although a bit anxious as to where we were being taken. Then we made our way to Von’s quarters.

“Morning Von. Snizzle, black, for a few minutes of your time?” I asked. Von looked like he had been up for a while, his reading glasses half way down his long regal nose offsetting his immaculately groomed salt and pepper mustache and beard. Von was Zing Tao to the bone and time had not soften the edges of the discipline honed from many years in service. I tried not to stare at the scar on his right cheek, a wound, Rog told me, he suffered at the hands of the Javalinas.

“You must be a mind reader. Please come in Kyra," he responded, taking his cup from Goldie's tray as if there was nothing more important in the world. I watched as Von unconsciously scratched his head and wondered if the neural trace, or the vestiges of it, still tortured him or whether he scratched his head out of habit. Or maybe he just had an itch. I suppose a few less assumptions would serve me well.

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if it was the tone in his voice or the look in his eye that made the question more than a simple pleasantry. Fact of the matter, I didn’t sleep at all, which made me wonder if I looked that bad. Was I assuming again, reading into a look something that wasn’t there? Was he just commenting out of concern because I looked exhausted?

“Just fine.” I lied. And he knew it and he knew that I knew that he knew. How can a look and a smile say so much. Sometimes I felt Von could carry on a whole conversation without ever saying a word. And why did I lie to him. What façade was I trying to protect? What vanity?

“I’m sorry Von. I didn’t sleep at all. Either that, or I haven’t woke yet. Is this a dream? Are you really there?”

Von laughed. “If this is a dream then that damn neural trace has followed me. Goldie, may I have another please. Start from the beginning Kyra. Tell me what you saw,” said Von, sounding more like Papa than I cared to admit.

I’m not sure how long we talked. Words flowed on the back of so much pent up emotion. Von just sat and listened, listened with his eyes in a way that communicated pure attention. I told him everything. I asked him everything but he refused to engage me until I had no more words, until the retelling had wrung every last bit of emotion from me. I sat across from him, utterly exhausted, drained, yet relieved as only deep listening can do. “Please Von. Say something.”

He looked like he was carefully choosing his words. “You make too many assumptions. Clouds the mind and confuses the heart,” he said.

“Give me an example?” I asked.

“Papa.”

“What?”

“You asked why if someone were to return from beyond to visit you that it would be Kieran and not Papa.”

“And your point?”

“You assume.”

“Assume what Von?”

“You assume that your Papa is no more of this world.”

“But—“

“Stop for a minute Kyra. Do you know for a fact that he died on Hyneria?”

“I saw him wave goodbye from the dock as our ship pulled away. He told me his duty was to stay, to help maintain order in the chaos since not everyone would have the opportunity to escape. He would have followed his duty, gone down with the planet,” I responded, somewhat defensive of letting the emotions he was stirring come back to life. It was too late. Images of the last day, images I had locked away, came back with force, like a slap from a cold boney hand.

“We each have our own destiny,” he said, as if words could provide comfort. Words were just words and he must have known from the cold distant look in my eyes that I needed something more. I fought hard to keep the tears from flowing. They came anyway.

“This is not right Papa. You cannot save the planet. A Hynerian such as yourself will be needed to lead these vessels to our new home,” I pleaded, the words branded into my memory. Not just words but the cold wind and steely smell and cacophony of the dock. I couldn’t separate the day and the words. To think them was to feel them, to see them, to hear them, to taste the salty tears flowing down my cheeks.

Papa’s cloak fluttered and flapped in the strong winds issuing forth whip like sounds as if to express its own dismay. My ship, Bravo-Four-Zero, creaked and groaned against its mooring, the anti-grav modules unable to maintain equilibrium in the storm. Wolf-like hurricanes were devouring the planet. The ferocity of the winds whipped us as we stood on the dock, prolonging the inevitable. I was leaving. He was not.

“You look magnificent with your clear crystal blue eyes,” he said as I noticed for the first time his own eyes began to water. “You have the eyes of a leader,” his thumb rubbing the tears from my cheeks as his eyes darted from left to right and back again across the expanse of my brow. “And you are needed for the next generation. This one, here, is mine. You do your duty Kyra. And I’ll do mine.”

How does one respond to that? I just cried some more because I knew he had made up his mind and I knew it was the right thing for him to do. Yet, still, in a small part of my heart, I couldn’t help but wonder why he had to choose between his duty to Hyneria and me. I couldn’t help but wonder why not me.

I thanked Von for his time and excused myself to go check on Mairi. Could I really be such a selfish beotch? I had a ticket out of hell and most did not and all I could think about was having a little bit more, having my Papa come with me. Where did having just a little bit more end? And why was Von playing games with my mind by suggesting Papa might be alive? Assumptions. Why do I make so many. Maybe Von knows something I don't. He is right. I don't know with absolute certainty.

Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa, Von, Goldie, Hyneria, Paintings