283. Pieces of Eight

Trev, prone, naked and secured by ankle and wrist, swallowed the fifth sip, with a little help from Lil’s firm hand fisting his hair. Sal moved to his prostrated rear and slapped her tight and taut boy like a farmer slapping a side of beef. His flesh was warm, unlike her own species; and he had an instrument, full and ripe, alien and exotic, that seems to pulse and throb and hang with a certain sense of living heft as if his heart were in his arse rather than his chest.


Mairi sat with the quiet patience of a weary cat in a sunny window, content to let Yul sleep as long as she liked. The operation, the doctors had said, somewhat nervously, had gone better than expected. More tests would be run later, they said. So she sat and rubbed her head but succor eluded the feeling of being sunburned from the inside of her skull. Dr. X promised she would heal, fully. She still thought he was a complete bastard.


John played the signal again. Rog listened. John looked. Rog listened some more with the look of a school boy trying to convince his teacher he knew the answer when he really didn’t. John played it again. Rog, blessing his own hide, yelped for effect, and did a little dance; his eyes shown with recognition fueled by hope. John just shook his head.


Ariel crawled into Cait’s lap, the soft light of a reading lamp holding the pair in the warm repose of mother and child. Cait held back a sigh as Ariel nestled in tight to her chest, pushing her little head and primrose hair into the twin softness of living pillows. Turning the page, she read slowly, trying to lose herself in the story, trying to crowd out the anger in her heart until she heard her daughter sigh and she realized she had not turned the page for quite some time.


+My dear friend, we meet again.+

Kyra opened her eyes as one to light after many days in a cave. There was a voice, but no one was there. She looked for Em and Von but they were not there either. The room was white and rather bright, the edges fuzzy and from somewhere in her heart, she would later swear, was a taste of things past and a remembrance of things to be.

“Kieran? Is that you?”


Categories: Story, Kyra, Trev, Mairi, Yul, John Discovery, Rog, Lil’ Twilight, Ariel, Cait, Sal

282. Beyond

Yul drifted into sleep, her head turning softly away from Mairi on the pillow as if, from slumber, she sought separation, distance, a final act of submission. Mairi looked up in supplication as those who prostrate themselves look down in mercy, her lower lids as dams staining to hold back her own doubt and fear and anger and regret. As Yul’s hand fell slack, the dam burst. +My Janus, I can’t do this. Damn you! Do you hear me, I can’t do this.+

Mairi cried and to the extent her countenance betrayed torment and dismay, Yul’s placid pale visage paid homage to lakes calm in twilight. Taking the back of her trembling fingers, Mairi brushed Yul’s silver hair from her cheek. Bending over she kissed the crest of her dimple and whispered words neither recorded nor remembered.

Three hours later:

+You did well my dear Chatelaine.+

+Frail you, you frailing whore of children forgotten and abandoned.+ Mairi sobbed uncontrollably, her head pounding from the inside out as she shook as patients burning with fever shake from cold.

+You did all I could have asked, all anyone could have expected. And soon, you will love me again as only a Chatelaine can love the art of grace and execution, of passion controlled by mind and whipped by heart.+

+You lie with daggers dull and crooked; and if I had my wits I would hurl venom and hatred as the unkind do in confrontation with difference. I will never forgive nor forget, my liege, the obligation I owe to one so blessed with duplicity and greed.+

Dr X smiled. +I knew talent when I saw it, and you, my dear, are a gift beyond my dreams.+

Mairi lay on the ground, soaking wet, her eyes blurry, her immaculate makeup smeared almost beyond recognition.

+Rest my darling Null.+


Doctor #1: What happened?

Doctor #2: I have no idea. What does the tape show?

Doctor #1: You’re not going to believe this.

Doctor #2: What?

Doctor #1: It’s blank.

Categories: Story, Yul, Mairi, Dr. X

281. Drifting

With heavy eyes and slurred speech Yul spoke through the early stages of the anesthesia, surgery approaching at the top of the hour.

“Mairi. Are you there?”

“I’m here darlin.” Squeezing Yul’s hand she repeated, “I’m here.”

Yul tried to smile. “Do me a favor. If I don’t make it—“

“Don’t say that. You’re going to make it. I—“

“Please, let me finish.” Yul’s voice seemed distance and getting weaker by the moment. “Tell them I understand. Tell them I forgive them. Tell them I love them.”

Mairi leaned over and kissed her forehead as Yul gave in to the persistence of her leaden eyelids. “I will.”

Categories: Story, Mairi, Yul

280. Like a Bull

Lil’ handed Trev a clear v-shaped glass with a narrow stem. Five different liqueurs, five different colors, each maintaining horizontal integrity shimmered in the soft glow of Lil's quarters.

“I’m not thirsty,” said Trev. "And--"

Lil’ licked her crimson lips, slowly. “I think you are.” Placing her delicate and perfectly manicured finger under the stem, she slowly lifted the glass toward Trev’s parting lips. Neither broke eye contact with the other. “Five sips, sixty seconds apart, and then--“ Lil’ smiled with dimple and eye.

“Then?”

“The wonder of modern chemistry. The first liqueur, the sapphire one, drink up, massages the pain centers in your frontal lobe.” Seeing Trev’s reaction, she added, “No worries my sweet, before you feel anything, it will be time for the second liqueur, the golden one. Let’s just say you’ll experience something akin to warm honeyed aloe soothing the throbbing in your temples. Your mind will go slightly fuzzy, but only until the third liqueur, the emerald one.”

“Is this safe?” I mean—“

“Trevor,” whispered Lil’, her nails tracing the outline of his reddening cheeks, “if your heart stops beating, I’ll personally get it started again. And Trevor, I’ve never failed in that endeavor.” She squeezed his thigh.

“Oh.”

“And Trev?”

“Yes?”

“If you interrupt me again I may just cut off your gonads before you get to the fifth.” Lil’ smiled, “Time for the second.” He drank the golden liqueur. “Good boy. Now, the emerald potion will make you feel warm, all over. You’ll feel on the verge of wetting yourself and that is where the fourth liqueur comes in, assuming, of course, you don’t actually wet yourself. Now, you wouldn’t loose control right here in front of me, would you Trev?”

Trev started to speak but Lil’ stopped him with her finger. Nodding her head, Trev followed suit. “Good. Now, the fourth, the citrine one. Goes straight to the centers of fear and control in your brain, the very one’s the third elicits, and loosens, as they say, the ties that bind. Only once the fourth liqueur takes effect, will you be ready for the fifth.”

Trev’s comm started blinking. Lil’ quickly slipped it from his waist to her pocket.

“The fifth, my sweet friend, which by the way, only works in conjunction with the first four, is nothing less than a pure shot of adrenalin.” Lil’ paused. “To your agent of masculine surrender. How should I put this? At this stage, you’ll feel like a bull in the chute, or so it seems from my perspective, not that I’ll be complaining.”

Trev was in stage two and his mind started to slip. Lil’ took his hand. He followed. There would be no china broken on her watch. Sal was waiting.



“Mairi, is he on his way?” asked Yul, trying hard to keep her eyes open.

“Yes he is,” lied Mairi.

“Good. I want Trev here, by my side during the operation.”

“Get your rest darlin’. I’ll let you know as soon as he arrives.”

Categories: Story, Lil’ Twilight, Trev, Mairi, Yul

279. My Precocious One

“Papa?” asked Kyra.

“Yes, my dear?”

“You never did answer my question. And you know what?”

Papa played serious. “Tell me my precocious one, what?”

“I’m holding you hostage, til’ you talk.”

“Is that right?” responded Papa, trying his best to hold back a grin.

“Right as rain off a pampus' back,” shot back Kyra in all seriousness.

“Well, we can’t have that now can we. Repeat the question.”

“You told me you painted because of Luin, but you didn’t say why?”

“Didn’t I?” Papa smiled.

“Oh Grand?,” called Kyra.

“Hey, hey, now I didn’t say I wouldn’t tell you, but wouldn’t you rather I show you?”

Kyra frowned.

“Okay. How bout this. I show and tell?” Papa held out his hands.

Kyra hesitated before slapping both her hands down on his aged palms, weathered soft with care and concern. “Deal!”

“Come here child.” He motioned to a blank canvas. “Tell me what you see?”

Kyra squirreled her cheeks into the dimples that would later melt hearts. “I see a Papa messing with my deal.”

“How so?” asked Papa with false indignation, tilting his head and widening his eyes for effect.

Kyra huffed, “You said show and tell.” Then matching him, for effect, she put her hands on her hips. “Not, tell and show.”

Papa couldn’t hold back as laughter rolled from belly to cheeks. Then he lowered his voice and his face took a serious tone. “I paint because it makes you smile.”

Kyra looked into his eyes and Papa returned the gaze. Then quick as lightning she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I love you Papa.”

“But I’m not finished. Don’t you want to hear the rest?”

“No, not really. Got what I needed.” Then Kyra jumped off his lap and skipped away.

“Zeke?” asked Grand, watching Kyra fly past her.

“Yes dear?”

“What did you do now?”

“Whaaat? I was just educating the girl on the aesthetic philosophies of Luin.”

Shaking her head Grand smiled.

“See. It works.” Papa smiled and opened his arms. Grand folded into the embrace, warmth on warmth, her head on his chest finding comfort in the beating of his bottomless heart.

“You haven’t told her yet?” asked Grand, her voice barely a whisper.

“No.”

Categories: Story, Papa, Kyra, Grandma Kyra

278. Luin

“Papa, why do you paint?” asked Kyra.

“Luin. I never painted before Luin,” answered Papa without taking his eyes off the canvas. “Don’t tell your grandmother. She once accused me of having an affair with the great dame.” Papa turned his head to see Kyra’s eyes widen, the warm sunlight highlighting her sapphire blues.

“Really?”

“Well, I suppose we all have our obsessions and, well, now don’t tell your grandmother this either, but passion is planted by the mind in the heart. It doesn’t just come from nowhere and Luin, well, let’s just say she—“ Papa hesitated.

“What? Tell me?” asked Kyra.

“Well lets just say she had a mind as beautiful and seductive as any,” Papa mused. “In my opinion, of course, and don’t tell your grandmother I said this, but she was sensually stunning, as powerful in passion and provocative in form as any who has ever lived on Hynerian soil.” Papa paused again, as if lost in memory.

“She must have been beautiful?”

“Luin? “

Kyra giggled as one with a secret. “Yes Papa, Luin, the one I will not mention to grand. Tell me of her beauty. Was she like a princess? Fair and regal?”

“No, no my dear child, she was a Philosopher, of Aesthetics, the Second Order. I think I have a few of her books in my study, but—“

“I know, don’t tell grand.”

Papa smiled.

Categories: Story, Papa, Kyra, Luin

277. The Royal Society

After finishing the last of Rog’s snoot . . .

John: Amsec?

Rog: Yea. Correction. Frailing yeah.

John: (fills two glasses)

Rog: (lifts and twirls glass)

John: (takes a sip)

Rog: (slams back the glass—immediately starts coughing)

John: (starts laughing)

Rog: (eyes and face turn red—clears throat)

John: (laughs more)

Rog: Damn.

John: More?

Rog: Does a pampus stink?

John: What?

Rog: Never mind. Just pour.

John: You know—

Rog: Hey!

John: What?

Rog: Captain, request permission to speak freely.

John: Granted, high-near-Eee-Inn.

Rog: Just frailing pour. That’s your job.

John: (tries to keep from busting out laughing)

Rog: (tries even harder to keep a straight face)

John: Frail me.

Rog: (holds up full glass to the light) Where did you get this shiott?

John: Sir, permission to speak freely?

Rog: Speak your mind captain. (Rog’s cheeks quiver as he tried to hold back a grin)

John: Just drink. That is your frailing job. If I want someone ordering me around, I’ll comm. Cait.

Rog: Damn straight.

John: (sits and stares while taking another sip)

Rog: Hey!

John: What?

Rog: Let’s do it.

John: Do what?

Rog: Call Cait.

John: (sprays out his amsec with a cough) Call her what?!

Rog: How bout (Rog hesitates) heartless betoch?

John: Why?

Rog: I dunno.

John: (thinks for a second) Okay.

Rog: Okay what?

John: Okay, that idea sucks.

Rog: You got a better one?

John: Yeah, fill my glass.

Rog: (pours both glasses full)

John: Toast.

Rog: (lifts glass)

John: To, to—

Rog: To the Royal Society of Idiots.

John: (deadpans then clicks Rog’s glass)

Rog: How does it feel?

John: How does what feel?

Rog: Being a charter member of the RSI? (can’t control a grin)

John: Just like I’m back home. You know what?

Rog: What?

John: I think I’ve been a member for a long time.

Rog: (raucous laughter)

John: (spills drink laughing)

Rog: Hey!

John: Shut, how do you say it, the frail up!

Rog: Ooooh, not bad.

John: (pours another for both) You know what?

Rog: What?

John: You can serve at my side anytime?

Rog: Oh Disco, I can call you that now right? If only I had known (winks)

John: Well, you do look kinda cute. (blows kiss)

Rog: Frail you.

John: Not so fast, I’m not that easy (take a sip) yet.

Rog: (lowers his voice) You know what?

John: What?

Rog: I would proudly serve at your side.

John: No shioot?

Rog: (rolls on the floor laughing uncontrollably)

John: Whaaaat?

Rog: It’s shiott.

John: What is?

Rog: No shiott.

John: Yeah?

Rog: The phase is “No Shiott” not no Shioot.

John: Not in the Royal Society of Idiots it is not!

Rog: Damn.

John: What?

Rog: I think you just graduated.

John: You know what?

Rog: What?

John: We are going to frailing find them.

Rog: (stands up) Lift your glass.

John: (he does)

Rog: You bet your frailing scrawny arse we are.

John: (looks around at his arse)

Rog: Don’t worry.

John: What?

Rog: I’ve got enough to cover that bet.

John: No shiott.

Rog: (smiles) Yeah, no shiott. (grins his best Rogesque grin)

Categories: Story, Rog, John Discovery

276. Destearian Glass

“Who is it Sal?” asked Lil’

“Says his name is Trev,” shrugged Sal, Lil’s frontdesk bulldog. Sal had more than eighty years in the industry and normally wouldn’t have given Trev’s request the time of day, but there was just something about the look on his face that made her pause. He looked familiar, but then, after awhile, all the clients looked about the same in the dim light. Still, wasn’t often she felt the need to stare a little longer than necessary.

“Trev? I don’t know a Trev.”

“Well, says he knows you. Called for you by name.”

Lil’ laughed. “Come here Sal. You know my name isn’t exactly private. What’s up? Why are you bringing this to my attention? Come on?”

Sal grinned. “You know—“

“You want a favor, don’t you?”

“Now, I didn’t say that.”

“I can see it in your eye Sal. You want to take some privileges with this one. Maybe slip in after he is secured and blinded. Come on, just say it.”

Sal smiled. She saw every client they serviced. And she had access, at least with most, to the view whenever she wanted. But to participate, well, that was a different matter altogether. “Okay, I wouldn’t throw him to the moon for eating crackers, and it has been awhile, but—“

“I knew it. Show our friend back. I’ll see what I can do.” Lil’ looked in the mirror, straightened her hair and noticed Sal was still there. “Why are you just standing there? Move. I wanna meet your little friend. Who knows, I might be interested in this one myself.”

Lil’ moved to the front of her desk, her trademark destearian glass jacket, riding just to the top of her hourglass hips, clinking as if in tune. She crossed one long leg over the other, parted her lips just enough to catch the eye and ran her fingers through her primrose hair. Not often had Sal ever made such a request. Got to keep the hired help happy, she thought.

Trev walked in with Sal in tow. Lil’ looked up. “Damn, it’s you! I knew you’d be back. Hey Sal, this is Trevor.”

“Really?”

Lil’ ignored her. “Come on in Trev. Please have a seat.” As he started to walk she added, “Oh Sal, that will be all.”

Lil’ moved to the sofa beside Trev, her light blue glass jacket revealing more than the eye could see but less than the imagination would admit. Her skin, natural or not Trev could not tell, shimmered porcelain white in the bluish reflections of the waves below, just a hint of gold dust on each cheek rising to either side of her perfectly shaped crimson lips. “I was wondering when you might return? Few can resist the waters for long, especially after their first indoctrination.”

Trev had spent the better part of a week working up the nerve to come back only to see it all washed away in the melodious tone of Lil’s voice, like warm honey on a summer day he would later describe it. Sitting next to Lil’, alone, in the dim light, her perfume neither too strong nor too light, a hint of smile on golden cheeks, well, it was just all too much. He looked straight ahead and his brain was telling him he was looking at her autumn eyes, which seemed to smolder in hints of deep browns with flecks of subdued oranges, but where his eyes were pointed and what he saw were two different things, and he wondered if she knew--didn’t take long.

“You happy to see me or did you just forget how to blink?”

Categories: Story, Trev, Lil’ Twilight, Sal

275. So Long, Bravo

“Is that everything Pinky?” asked Rog, a bit more sullen than she had ever seen him. Pinky blinked her big eyes in the affirmative as if unable to speak and Rog wondered if he needed as much as wanted the mech to feel, to feel what he felt too numb or too angry or too confused to process. “That’s all. Tell Goldie I appreciate everything the two of you have done. Are you sure we’ve retrieved everyone’s personal effects?”

“Yes Mr. Rog. Everything is present and accounted for,” responded Pinky, her normal silly playfulness clearly absent.

Rog sighed at the irony of that thought coming from a mech. Everything, he mused. Everything indeed was not accounted for, not present. What had happened to Kyra, Em and Von was anyone’s guess but one thing was clear—they were not on Bravo. Nor were there any clues; no note, no sign, no transmission, no nothing to indicate what might have happened. For all intents and purposes, Kieran might just have well swooped down and scooped them up into the heavens. Wouldn’t be the first time; still, only one small problem with that theory--Where were the bodies?

“Will there be anything else Mr. Rog?” asked Pinky.

Rog shook his head.

Pinky hovered to the exit. Rog waited for her to leave before he opened the box in front of him, almost embarrassed to sift through someone else’s personal belongings. He was sure his father would not have approved. Not your place, he would have said in a solid tone that needed no further explanation.

Thoughts of packing this up and sending to next of kin flashed through Rog’s mind and he smiled, again at the irony, of how wonderful it would be if there were next of kin to notify. Everything is relative he thought as the smile faded as quickly as it had come. There were no next of kin, for any of them, which also meant their was no father to tell him what to do or not to do.

The first box he picked up was unmarked. Inside he found several sketches, which told him this belonged to Em and his thoughts flashed back to their mission together on Neraj and the time they spent waiting for the Tear to open again. It was the first time she had shared her art with him, the first time she had opened up, talking about her father and sailing the open sea. Em was as sweet and innocent and genuine as they came—and tough too, he learned later, which only made the nagging thought of what had happened all the more painful.

Picking up the first sketch, Rog sighed. Bravo. Unfinished. Everything always seemed to be unfinished. Always a loose end here, a regret there, be it word or action. And now Bravo. Rog walked to the port window. There she sat. Silent. Quiet. Dark. They would be leaving soon and Bravo would not. Rog felt his heart beat and he looked at her golden hull as if Bravo was looking back at him as a puppy does with eyes that say don’t leave me. And it was or so it seemed. Bravo was home, had been home for more than eighteen months and in a few hours, like Hyneria before, she would fade from sight, abandoned, rejected, useless.

Rog looked down. Em’s sketch was crushed in his leathery hands, the damage done. Where is home he thought, as images of Yul popped into his head.

“Rog,” commed John, “we’ve got an incoming message. You might want to see this.”

Categories: Story, Rog, Pinky, John Discovery, Bravo-Four-Zero

274. Close Your Eyes

Yul drove the back of her head into the down pillow like a mother in the throes of childbirth. Her wet lower lip trembled as Mairi’s mind eased into her centers of pleasure and pain with intent on pain, with quiet prejudice to push Yul to those dark corners of her sexual soul beyond the horizons of her experience, to places only a Chatelaine could take her. My frailing Janus, Yul thought (screamed) as Mairi entered (violated) her mind, forcing (raping) her way in, beotch slap me into frailing whoredom you Janus forsaken cu--.

Mairi heard it, saw it, felt it from the inside out. Yul spasmed. Mairi pushed deeper, the pain increased. Yul tensed, hard, harder, her muscles straining. Her eyes opened as if to say what the frail. Then Mairi mind slapped her as hard as Rog had ever done with hand while rubbing her warmly lubricated thumb and index fingers together, feeling the thin membrane few had felt and massaging (melting) the pain into pleasure. Yul gasped, relaxed, and gasped again. She was having trouble breathing, a feeling of falling, of being out of control, warmly, embarrassingly, flooded her senses. Her mind raced to comprehend what her body was feeling but she had no frame of reference to describe what Mairi was doing to her now.

“Easy now, my little beotch,” whispered Mairi, unbuttoning her blouse with her free hand, a distinct bluish glow slipping from the valley of her tight and taut amplitude. Yul started to speak but couldn’t. Mairi smiled. +You’ll talk when I’m ready for you to talk. Now let me see that tongue of yours, you know, the one Rog says he can’t live without.+

Mairi took the back of her index finger and ran it over Yul’s upper lip. +Come now, baby, let me see it. Show me that blue spear of pleasure and delight. Wrap it around my finger like a candy cane.+

Yul felt her lips part and her tongue slip between them and around Mairi’s finger. Slithering like the painted snake on her cheek, she licked Mairi’s finger with her long blue tongue.

+You miss him don’t you? You miss feeling his warmth beside you, inside you, like my fingers are now, taking you, in places, in ways you’ve allowed no one else. You want him back, here, with you?+

+Yes.+

+Close your eyes.+

Categories: Story, Mairi, Yul

273. Emily

Emily

This is the sketch Em did of Kyra's sister as she imaged she would look (at the moment in the chapter below) if she had lived. Many thanks to my dear Beautiful Soul, aka Oliviah, for allowing me to use her as reference for the likeness of Emily and to include it as part of the story. Many, many thanks my dear sweet friend.

Categories: Story, Paintings

272. The Blessed One

Three days before:

Em slipped the pill into her mouth, slapped her faceplate back down and twirled it around her tongue before swallowing. She unzipped her thigh pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, which she neatly unfolded. Without breaking eye contact she said to Kyra, “Tell me again what she said.”

“Who?” asked Kyra.

Em rotated the paper in her hand and cocked her head to get the light from her helmet in just the right position. Speaking softly she handed the paper in her hand to Kyra and said, “Your sister. Remember? When she was in hospital. You told me the story.” Em’s cheeks began to quiver. “Please, tell me again what that little girl said.”

Kyra was dumbstruck as she watched Em’s eyes glisten in the dim yellow light. And then she smiled, her cheeks rising like twin moons under the pristine lakes forming in her deep sapphire eyes as she surveyed the sketch Em had handed her. “Well,” answered Kyra, trying hard to keep her voice from cracking, “she said a lot. Was there a particular bit you wanted me to recall?”

Von moved in closer. “What is this story you speak of?”

“When my little sister was six she was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The night before she passed away she gave me a couple sketches and shared with me the wisdom that can only come from one so young. About six months ago, I shared that story with Em.”

“Please,” said Von. “I’d like to hear what she said too. If you don’t mind that is? Em?”

“It’s okay Von. I would be honored. Stand by me will you? Kyra, since time is short, start with the part where she said she loved you with all her heart.”

Von moved beside Em, placing his arm around her shoulder. Kyra began. “When she whispered those words into my ear that she was the luckiest litlle girl in the whole world to have had me as her big sister I just lost it. Couldn’t control the tears. And that’s when she told me that just as Papa nourished his flowers with water that my tears nourished her.”

Kyra paused, lost in thought.

“Don’t stop,” said Em. “Please continue.”

“That’s when she pulled out two sketches she had drawn. One was of me and one of grand. I started crying again and she asked me to hold her hands. Then she smiled and whispered, When you go to sleep at night and close your eyes, think of me and I will be there, always, forever because I love you Kyra and no thing, no person, not even this illness will keep me from living in your heart. Kyra stopped. Von starred straight ahead, lost in his own world.

“Tell Von what you told me.”

“My sister passed in the night. Those were the last words I heard her utter. I told Em that that little girl, my sister was the blessed one, that she was the giver.”

Em fought back a yawn, the first sign the pill was working. They were down to only minutes before the sweet kiss of slumber took their hands to places only imagined. “You never told me her name.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Kyra tried to rub her teary eyes before realizing how silly it looked when her balled fists collided with her faceplate.

“Her name. You never told me your sister’s name?”

Tears exploded from Kyra’s eyes. “Her name.” Kyra looked up as if guidance would be found in the heavens above. “Her name was Emily.”

Von looked up. Em stood frozen.

“So now you know why it took me so long to warm up to you. I’m sorry Em.”

Em opened her arms and as before, the two embraced. “You know what?”

“What?” asked Kyra.

“In just a few minutes, you are going to introduce me to that little girl and the three of us are going to hold hands and we are going to dance and laugh.” Em yawned again. “We are going home Kyra. And we are going to meet the blessed one.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Emy, Von

271. Rog!

Rog rubbed his temples, hard, with his weary thumbs, weapons holstered. Still the throbbing persisted. Damn this headache, he thought. Now is not the time.

“Rog. Rog!” shouted John. “What the frail are you doing? Get your head out of your arse numb-nuts.”

“Hang on damn it. I’m on my way.” Smoke filled Bravo’s bay. Las fire, blue, green, red, pretty as any fireworks show, rained down to the metal plating below sending sparks in all directions. Darkness reigned beyond the mesmerizing bolts of prejudice singing their singular song with high pitched velocity. Each a messenger of death, of energy caught between fear before and behind.

“Damnit Rog, get your head out of your arse and cover me. Now! Mother of Rubion, where did all these bastards come from?” John shouldered his weapon, took careful aim and squeezed off another round. For each report, three were rendered in return. “Rog!”

“Where is Kyra?” yelled Rog.

“What?”

“I said, where is Kyra?” shouted Rog.

Las fire intensified. Bolts seemed to come from all directions. John unhooked an illuminator from his belt and turned the dial as far to the right as it would go. “Cover your eyes!”

“What!?”

“Damnit, I said cover your eyes.”

Rog couldn’t hear him over the din of fire and shouted back. “I said where is Kyra?”

“I can’t hear you. Hang on!” John pulled his goggles down, clicked the switch and looped the round orb into the center of the bay.

Rog opened fire with both his las pistols taking aim left and right, completely unaware. The flash exploded, blinding everyone but John. “What the frail!” yelled Rog rubbing his burning eyes as he fell to his knees. “Janus be damned, what the frail did you do that for?”

John ignored him. Standing, he began picking off dark silhouettes with a surgeon’s precision. Round fired after round, each bolt finding its target, ending life with numb calculation. John felt the heat in his hands, the pulse of judgment, as if they belonged to someone else and he wondered how these same hands could hold Ariel with loving care. And the pistols fired on, as if they had a mind of their own. Each shot took what he was trained to save and he marveled at how easy it was to kill, to murder, to take from the universe what couldn’t be replaced. Each pistol hummed in harmony, a chorus of destruction as moving as it was frightening.

Hands shaking, John said, “Coast is clear. Get your useless arse up,” as he kicked Rog in the side. “And to answer your question, I don’t know.”

“You could have given me some warning,” said Rog still rubbing the blinding light from his eyes.

“I said she’s not here.”

“Turn that light off. You’re killing me.” Rog rubbed his head and tried again to focus his eyes.

______


John tossed a bucket of cold water into Rog’s face. “Wake up!”

“Shiott! What the frail!”

“Sorry,” said John. And then with a smile said, “Well, not really. You’ve been dreaming, again, and, I might add, twitching like a baby.”

“Damn my head hurts. What happened?”

John put one foot on the chair in front of Rog to rest his forearm on his leg as he leaned over. “You want the truth or do you want the version that protects your pride?”

Rog grimaced as he shook his head. “How bout you just tell me what happened?”

“Okay. Not two minutes after we entered Bravo you hit your head on a joist. Knocked you out cold.”

Rog looked at John like a deer caught in headlights. “No shiott?”

“Yeah, no shiott numb-nuts.”

“So?”

John pursed his lips. “Scan was correct.”

Rog stood up. “I want to see the bodies.”

John stood up. “No bodies.”

“What the frail no bodies?”

“They’re not here, which, numb-nuts, is why the scan indicated no life forms.”

“What do you mean, they’re not here? How could they not be here?”

John shrugged.

“The pod!”

“Checked it. It’s here.”

“Damn. So where are they?”

“You want my guess?”

“No, I want your first born. Janus, yes, I want your guess.”

“I’d say whoever attacked Bravo came back. Took themselves some hostages.”

Rog rubbed his head again. “Okay. Okay. So what do we do?”

“That, my friend, is a very good question.”

Categories: Story, Rog, John Discovery

270. Probe Me

Yul reclined in bed, her silver hair blending into the white pillows that supported her delicate head as carton to egg. Her face looked gaunt and her eyes, not clear as before but opaque and dull like watered milk, seemed to blink less than normal, looking without seeing Mairi thought, like the eyes of a blind woman.

Mairi tried to probe her mind, as the good doctor had taught her, or to be fair, had attempted to teach her. The skill seemed simple, when one was the subject of a probe, like dancing without having to lead, deceptively easy, or so it appeared. Everything, she thought, looks easier when we watch someone else do it. Nevertheless, Mairi tried, with pure intent, to help, to aid, to succor a friend in need. Still, seemed like a violation, to probe another in this way, to walk in the halls of their memories and thoughts and emotions. Yet, somewhat ashamed, but not completely, Mairi couldn’t deny the seductive power of the probe, to see another naked, stripped bare without them knowing you were there. The power, even at this elementary level of skill, was nothing less than intoxicating.

Ease in. Stimulate her nodes of pleasure. Massage the throbbing pain of thought and unknown, of fear and regret. Slip out. That was the plan and as plans go, it was a good plan, a gracious plan.

“Mairi?” asked Yul.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

Mairi looked up at Yul as if the action would hide her hesitation. “I’m sending good thoughts your way,” recovered Mairi as she stoked Yul’s hair across her forehead.

“I don’t think it’s working.” Yul spoke in a shallow and distant monotone, the way one speaks when illness has stripped one of all vanity. The tone unnerved Mairi. Yul continued. “I’m in pain and I can’t make it go away.”

“Where does it hurt?”

“Upper back, between my shoulder blades. It’s a dull ache, like someone has taken the small muscles in my back, those muscles you can’t reach and wound them up to the point of pulling my bones out of joint.”

“I’ll call the nurse. I’m sure there is something they can give you to relax those muscles, to help you sleep.” Mairi started to turn away.

“Don’t go. Won’t work.” Yul still didn’t make eye contact with Mairi.

“What do you mean won’t work?” asked Mairi, standing halfway between the bed and the door.

“No pill is gonna fix my pain and I don’t wanna sleep, I don’t want the nightmares.”

Mairi took a step toward the bed. “What nightmares?” She tried to probe but her skill wouldn’t let her past the wall of pain in Yul’s mind. Mairi’s head began to hurt, to throb, hard; and then she felt a searing heat, as if she had moved too close to the fire.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t see the point. I mean, what are you gonna to do about my dreams, my nightmares? You gonna fix them?” Mairi didn’t respond. “Saw no point in burdening you with that.”

“Well, sometimes just talking about it helps.”

“I don’t like talking about a problem only I can solve. I’m not interested in advice or sympathy or being judged.”

“I think the only one who is judging someone else, no offense, is you.”

“What are you talkin’ bout?” asked Yul, a tinge of indignation in her voice, her eyes breaking contact with the ceiling for the first time.

“You’re judging me. Making assumptions about what I may or may not do. You’ve decided what is best for me without ever giving me a chance.”

Yul frowned. “Okay. Try this on. Call Rog for me. Get him on the comm.”

“You know I can’t do that. They are operating under radio silence.”

“File that as exhibit A. Now tell me, what are my chances of surviving this operation?”

Mairi started to speak.

“Don’t lie to me. I can see it on your face. You want to help me? Just tell me the truth. Straight up.”

“Alright. Not good. But I think—“

“Let me finish,” snapped Yul. “File that as exhibit B. You starting to catch my drift?”

“Not sure I’m following you. Care to—“

Yul huffed with about the most energy she had shown in days and then raising her voice shouted, “I didn’t mean a single damn thing I said to Rog. Not a single frailing thing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think he knows that,” said Mairi, almost regretting the words before they had left her mouth.

“Don’t frailing patronize me.”

“I’m sorry Yul. I—“

“What do you think he’s thinking right now? Tell me that? After my little outburst.”

“Well—“

“I’ll tell you what he’s thinking. He’s thinking he should have stayed. He’s thinking he frailed up. He’s thinking I’m nothing but a little shiott for having a pampus fit when he decided to go. And you know what? There’s not a frailing thing I can do about it now, right now, is there?”

Mairi moved to the side of Yul’s bed. Her voice softened. “Have I ever told you what I did, what I was, back on Hyneria?”

Yul turned and looked at Mairi, not so much for the words, but for the tone, a tone she had never heard uttered by the redhead. Mairi continued, “Do you know what a Chatelaine is?”

“Nooooo. I mean, no way. You? No. I—“ Yul’s eyes were locked on Mairi’s now as Mairi lean over, her hand slipping under the sheets.

“Way,” she whispered. “I have to tell you a secret.” Her hand gently started stroking Yul’s thigh. “You know the effect the vial has?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, you’re not going to need it. And you know what else?”

“Pray tell?”

“You’re not going to ever want to settle for it again.” With those words, Mairi’s hand slipped between Yul’s legs, and with a touch of her fingers to the repose of Rog’s delight, she saw the opening she needed and slipped into Yul’s mind. The good doctor was not such a poor teacher after all, or was it the pupil was just underestimating herself?


Categories: Story, Yul, Mairi