368. Flash Forward: The Transcript

Two days have passed since Tom boarded Tranquility. Kyra sits alone in her quarters listening again to an audio transcript from two days earlier; a recording of Tom and John’s conversation prior to “the event.”



John, remember the visit of the agents to Duckhead, the one to tell you there would be no rescue mission?

Yes.

The military wanted that rescue mission. They were overruled. The political powers wanted nothing of Kyra, until they realized what she represented.

How?

They had a c-ship in the area. Monitoring all communication.

So they could have saved Bravo, Kyra?

Yes. (pause) They wanted her dead.

But the A screwed that up.

Yes.

Then the fear that they would/could use her.

Yes.

And so they had to do something.

How do you think you received that communication from Bravo?

What do you mean?

Bravo didn’t have the power to send a communication that far. They tried. The communication was real. But it was blocked and transmitted later via messenging, only after “the c-ship” realized the A’s had rescued Kyra. Then fear set in. And a plan was schemed.

(a pause) So I didn't miss the call?

Nope. If the A's hadn't rescued her, you would have, I'm guessing, received the message a few days later, once Kyra was confirmed dead. Of course then, the mission would have been quite different. A one-way ticket. Would have been a nice and clean package for them.

I see. I suppose I was the only one who was ever going.

It was believed, you were the only one that had the ability to get close enough to her, to kill her. They had your chip and knew she would let you near, not suspect. If you had refused the mission they were prepared to blackmail you. They were prepared to give it to Cait. To make it public. To destroy you. Emasculate your perceived political ambitions. But you played. So Cait was spared the public disgrace.

I had no political ambitions. You know that Tom. None. I loath politics.

But you could have. Don't you see. Exactly because you loathed, you were a threat. The public always wants what it can't have, especially in time of war. They want the non-political politician. You were that figure. Good looking. Understood the military situation and the pain of sacrifice. Beautiful wife. Neuro-surgeon. Decorated combat officer. A Discovery man. John, you were everything they feared. Everything. And, you knew the alien, you had an "in" in what came to be perceived as a force multiplier. With Kyra at your side, Kulmyk was yours for the taking.

Absurd.

Perception John. I know you hate it when I say it, but perception is reality. Death by perception.

My epithet.

Your albatross.

(very long pause)

(John resumes) I never suspected at the time they had concocted the "stolen property" story. Of course, it never occurred to me how far their plans reached. It never occurred to me I was a threat. Maybe an outspoken pain in the arse, but a threat?

Stranger than fiction as they say. They knew you couldn’t get a ship on your own. But they could get you one. However, for obvious reasons, that you were to assassinate Kyra, they couldn’t just give it to you, you had to “steal it.” Which gave them their out if you frailed up their plans. They wanted to cover their backside. In case you did what you did. The public had become aware of the aliens. The assassination had to be kept secret. You accepted the orders but they had the chip and they feared you would not be able to do your duty and they were right. They feared you would use Kyra against them. Politicians always act from fear. It is the nature of power. Power doesn’t corrupt. The fear of losing power does. They feared you. They feared what you could achieve if Kyra was what they believed her to be. So they sought to ensnare you, to cover all their bases. They knew you wanted to go rescue her. They needed her out of A hands and out of your hands. They thought they could use you, willingly, to fix the A issue. They suspected you would fail at the Deleo orders, thus the cover of you stealing the ship and the option to resurrect the Infidelity law to have you “disappear.” What they didn’t anticipate was the commander helping you.

What has happened to the commander?

Dead. An accident, so reported.

(another long pause) And why would they trust you to fulfill your obligation?

They don’t. I’m being watched. Everything said on screen. All show, most of it. Are you sure that Null is working?

(John looked at Mairi.) I guess we will find out soon enough. Why did they let me return?

Public pressure of the announcement of your return. You made life very difficult for them. The public had developed a fascination with the aliens and rumor of Kyra grew exponentially, as rumor in time of war does. Otherwise, they would have killed you both on arrival. The situation had become delicate. Politics is a bastard. Nothing is ever as it seems. Agenda a façade. So, you were welcomed back, not because they weren’t prepared with the Infidelity case, but because they had no real idea of what to do with Kyra. They still have no idea how she escaped their surveillance. Equipment that worked, just stopped. One moment she was there and the next gone.

You know I was playing them.

Yes, and they were playing you.

Yes, I know.

You were a political threat John. You with Kyra—that was too much. So they thought that perhaps they could use you to eliminate both. You see, the plan was, if you killed Kyra, to label you rogue, bring you to trial. That way, they solve two problems. You kill Kyra and they eliminate you.

Let me ask you this: Why did you accept the Deleo order? (T to J)

I suppose I could ask you the same question.

I have a plan.

So did I.

(Shots fired, heard.)

Tom?

Crap. Arm yourself.

Kyra powered down the audio. The lights dimmed. Perhaps sleep would bring understanding.

367. Deleo per Extremus

“Full screen,” toned John, his hard lean back straight, his soft expectant eyes unblinking. Parted left to right, each hair combed in place as if order meant something, as if ritual and discipline could sway fortune. His practiced hands as empty as the cards he held.

Kyra nodded. Von acceded. Tom flickered larger than life, a reflection of fear and power, of fate knocking on wood exposed to the universal fire of might. His command carrier stood locked on Tranquility as hammer to nail. Only a nod remained between his view holding metal and life or stars and memories.

“Hello John.”

“Hello Tom.”

“How’s Cait?”

“Good. She’s good Tom.”

“And Ariel? How is she?”

“Good as gold, as always. And Tom Jr.?”

Tom shrugged. “More like his mom than his old man. Still time.”

“And how are you Tom?”

Tom sighed, his eyes bright in a face of chiseled stone. “I’ve got a boarding party. Lower your defenses.”

John looked at Krya. She shook her head with hands clasped behind her back. “Can’t do that Tom.”

“I’m asking you to reconsider. This is the best way John. Trust me.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you Tom. It’s actually that I trust you implicitly.”

“You give me too much credit. However, this time you wouldn’t be wrong. Now I’m asking you one last time. Lower your defenses.”

“And if I don’t—”

“Execute my orders. Duty bound. I have no choice.”

John looked toward Von. “Cut the screen.”

“John!”

“What!”

“Don’t do this. There is a better way.”

“You have your orders—“

“My orders are Deleo per Extremus.”

John held his hand to Von.


Tom held the glowing seal before the screen. “Deleo per Extremus, John. Potentatus. I think you understand the gravity of the situation. I have no choice.

John stood mute as stone. Kyra glanced Von, which was the same as looking at the wall.

“John?” queried Kyra.

“Tell her John. You owe her the truth.”

John felt vised between past and present, between letter and law, heaven and earth.

“The truth John. Tell her.”

“Tell me what? asked Kyra.

“Tell her John.” Hesitation. “Or I will.”

“He has plenipotentiary orders for our complete and utter annihilation.”

“Tell her how you know this?”

“What?”

“Tell her John. Tell her how you know this.”

“Don’t do this Tom.”

“On your "rescue mission" of the fair Hynerian, what were your orders?”

Kyra stared at John. John stared into oblivion, bitterness rising as wisps above the rank brew.

“Orders?” asked Kyra.

“Deleo per Extremus.”

366. Von's Journal #6

I will always believe that people can change, not because they do, but because I have to believe that I can.

There are only a few stories in the world and none of them are important.

What, How, Why: Of the three you can have the first two, I’ll take the third.*

Plot hides and deceives. A red flag in the face of our bullheadedness.

You have to believe to see. The heart has its own eyes.

Burden is not of pack but of thought (burden of pack ache shoulders nein as thoughts heavy smart the mind).

I was not cold until someone said it was cold.

I miss my son.

* Here Von is rationalizing two questions that haunt him: (1) The last day: when, where, what, how?; (2) Did Ceru die alone, did he suffer?

365. Who's Who

Story Synopsis:

“The Story” begins when the author, while on vacation in the Caribbean, stumbles upon a few survivors of an alien race (Hynerians). Everything that follows is a retelling, or a recreating as some might say, of who and why and how. The story follows a mosaic format, not a linear one. Each chapter, or post, stands on its own, giving reflection to a small piece of the whole. We learn that eight Hynerians were forced to vacate their dying planet. The story showcases their external (adventures) and internal (pyschological) search for home and meaning in a universe dark and bleak. The relationship between Kyra and Papa (her grandfather) form the centerpiece of the story, a light unto the darkness, which is recounted episodically in remembrances.

Main Characters:

(Each character's name is hyperlinked to their original sketch or painting)

Kyra: a young female Hynerian raised by her Zing Tao Grandfather at Valla, she assumed leadership of Bravo.* Kyra is gifted with the rare ability to play in the field of “Love,” and thus influence events in extraordinary ways. Her parents, both marine-biologists and obsessed with the climate changes and their careers, were almost non-existent in her life; she carries within her both great joy and great sadness. Physically, she can best be imagined as a cross between Aeryn Sun (Farscape) and Aki Ross (Final Fantasy). There is more “me” in Kyra’s personality than any of the other characters. She is the literary love of my life, with her coal black hair and brilliant sapphire eyes, tight and taut, forever dressed in form-fitting melanic venuisan leather.

*Bravo-Four-Zero was the original vessel assigned to Kyra and the others. On a mission to rescue another Hynerian vessel, Bravo was attacked, incapacitated and abandoned (although still extant). Their second vessel, of Kulmykian make, is called Tranquility.

Papa (Zeke): Kyra’s grandfather. Papa entered the Zing Tao Order as a young Hynerian and eventually became the only Hynerian to achieve Ninth Order rank. Although we learn of some of his adventures in the early part of the story, Papa is mainly seen after retirement interacting with a young Kyra. He discovers early that her gifts far exceed his own and he pours his heart into cultivating love and wisdom within Kyra. He secures passage for her on Bravo, while he stays behind on Hyneria. A present day Paul Newman would play Papa. When I think of Papa, I most often think of my maternal grandfather.

Rog: Raised on a ranch in the southern reaches, Rog is a happy-go-lucky, good-looking, fun-loving, optimistic rustic cowboyish type with a killer smile. A younger Dennis Quaid would be a perfect fit for Rog. Rog has a heart of gold, falls in love with Yul, loves to pilot the ship, drink snoot with Von and dream of the next adventure. Rog sometimes talks before he thinks but would give you the shirt off his back if you asked. Rog is modeled in part after my uncle Calvin, who served two tours in Vietnam as a helicopter pilot.

Yul: She is the “Ginger” (with a rough edge) in this story. She exudes sexuality and most of the gratuitous sex in the story involves her. She was a twin and not the chosen one. Her father abused her emotionally. She could do no right and her sister could do no wrong. In fact, her sister was supposed to be on Bravo, not Yul. Yul is an emotional rollercoaster and sees the world through the thick filters of her upbringing, which is to say she needs love desperately but has trouble trusting anyone and is quick to blame herself for all that goes wrong. She loves Rog dearly, although their relationship has had its share of ups and downs. Not sure who would play Yul in the movie.

Von: Von is the oldest member of the Bravo crew, a contemporary of Papa and a Zing Tao. In service with Papa and the Zing Tao in the great Dauculus campaign he incurred a debt to Papa. In repayment of that debt, Von agreed to accompany Kyra on Bravo and watch over her. He had to leave his only son behind to fulfill this debt, a choice that has left him bittersweet. Von would be played by Max Von Sydow.

Trev: Trev is one of the youngest members of the crew. Boyishly handsome but somewhat immature and shy, Trev was in medical school at the time of evacuation. In the early part of the story, he was the medic. We still don’t know a lot about Trev and know almost nothing about his life on Hyneria. He appears to have a somewhat repressed personality.

Emy: Em’s father was a great sea captain on Hyneria and she spend a lot of time with him on the open sea. She is the Mary Ann to Yul’s Ginger so to speak. She has no airs, salt of the earth heart and personality and had a very good and strong relationship with both her mother, who died and whose essence she carries in a brooch, and her loving father. Em spends a lot of time writing letters back to her father and frets at the very real prospect she will never have children. In a recent accident, Em was blinded. She also is an artist. Em, in summary, is the girl next door.

Mairi: Mairi is a Châtelaine, which, although not developed yet in the story is a cross between a Geisha and a Companion (Inara’s character in the Firefly series). To be fair to Châtelaines, they are rather more sophisticated in their training and skills than either of the two examples above. One day, the story will take us into more detail. Mairi comes from a posh background, is rather soft-spoken but has a backbone of steel; in other words, she is tough as nails, although you'd never guess from her beautiful external appearance. She is extremely intelligent and, of all the females onboard, has the most classically attractive features. Unlike Rog and Em, Mairi is used to the finer things in life and has an appreciation for subtle details and nuances. To date, other than the fact that she is a “child of the shells” and her deformity is not physical but of the “mind” (she is a Null, which means she has the ability to blank out all telepathic communication in her vicinity), we know very little about her. Her nullness introduced her to Dr X, who raped and tortured her and who is now acting as her mentor. The relationship is complex and difficult to understand.

Kieran: Kieran is the only crew member to have passed away. He contracted the deadly Animus virus early in the story, and although the crew did everything in their power to save him, he slipped into the next life. He has, however, remained as a cameo figure present in spirit and sometimes manifests himself in times of trouble. Kyra was falling in love with Kieran, the one member of the crew she saw as her equal or at least close enough. She struggled to recover from her attempt to save him (which forced her into the next realm and back again) and spent upwards of two weeks in a coma. Kieran was also a "child of the shells." His deformity: two hearts. Kyra and Mairi are the only two crew members Kieran converses with, although he once encouraged Yul to return to the heart that beat for her.

John: John Discovery, aka Johnny Disco, is Kulmykian. Married to Cait with one daughter (Ariel), John was a senior level military commander who also happens to also be a neuro-surgeon. He is attracted to Kyra and walks the fine line between what he knows is right and the emotions just underneath. We tend to see a good bit of ambiguity in his relationship with her. John was the golden boy on Kulmyk until somewhere along the line he angered someone very high up in the political realm. He and Rog were railroaded on trumped up “Infidelity” charges and were to be summarily executed before they were rescued. In fleeing his home planet, he joined “the crew” upon their new ship, the Tranquility (Bravo was incapacitated in an earlier mission). Cait and Ariel are with him. George Clooney plays John in the movie.

Goldie and Pinkie: Mechanical valets to Kyra and Em respectively.

Taren and Dr X: Arc’teryxian, which is to say, part of a civilization at war with Kulmyk. It is still unclear who the good guys are and who are the bad guys. The story has not resolved that fact currently. Suffice it to say, Taren is now a member of Tranquility and it looks as if Dr X may be joining them.

364. Outtake #4: The Witch's Tit

“So here’s the plan. See that blue area, that’s where we land,” said John.

“Okay, but why do they call it the witch’s tit?” asked Rog.

“Because it be frailing cold. I don’t mean cold, cold, I mean frailing fraillity cold.”

“Whatever dude. So the plan is stealth. We slip in a backdoor so to speak.” Rog points to one of the dark lines on the holomap.

“Yep.”

“And this is going to work because?”

“Because no one knows we’re coming. No one. Complete surprise. We hit them before they know they’ve been hit.”

“I see.”

John folds his arms, leans back and smiles. “Damn right.”

Kyra sticks her head in the war room. “John, we’ve got an incoming message.”

Rog looks at John who looks a little less sure.

“It’s Tom. For you,” added Kyra.

Rog tries to withhold his signature quaidesque grin. “Steath, huh. No one knows we’re coming.”

John scrunches up his face.

“Just slip in and slip out. Hit them before they know they’ve been hit.”

“Alright, so we go to plan B.”

“What’s plan B?”

“That’s where I put my foot up your jackassary.”

363. Purification

John looked like a quarterback in the huddle as he kneeled to examine Trev, the rest of the crew standing and leaning and waiting. “He’s alive. Not sure how exactly, considering the toxic levels of purification he’s inhaled. Hynerian physiology still eludes me,” said John as he looked over his shoulder directly at Kyra. “All I’m saying is, if he were Kulmykian, he’d be dead.”

“What the heck did you just say? And what the heck is that?” asked Rog, pointing to the posy.

With a gloved hand, John held the flower upside down as one might hold a rabid bat. “This is a thorn flower, native to Kulmyk. They’re quite rare. First time I’ve ever seen one outside of a book.”

“What exactly is a thorn flower?” asked Von. “And how and why does Trev have one?”

“I was about to explain the former. Someone else is going to have to shed some light on the latter.”

“Sorry to interrupt. Carry on.”

“Thorn flowers, when bled from the stem, or torso as it is called, exude a crimson sap that, upon contact with air, evaporates into a plume of rose colored mist. If used in the right way, which is to say inhaled in the proper dose, the user experiences clarity of thought, a purification, so to speak.”

“Explain what you mean by purification?” asked Kyra.

Before John could answer, Mairi blurted out, “It was suppose to bring clarity of thought, a cleansing she said, of all the abuse he suffered at the hands of Sal.”

Everyone turned toward Mairi. Kyra spoke: “Go on.”

“Trev got himself in over his head with the wrong crowd back on Kulmyk. What was suppose to teach him a lesson got out of hand and he was sexually and psychologically abused to within an inch of his life by a woman named Sal, who worked for Lil’ Twilight. Lil’ was horrified. BC, her boss, wanted Trev dead, something to do with the credit chip they had stolen from him, you know, the one John gave each of us. Lil’ intervened with the muscle, bought them off, or so she said. Still, they beat him to a pulp and left him to die, although they did knock on my door before leaving.”

No one moved. No one said anything. Mairi took a breath and continued.

“Anyway, before we left, I had a visit, from Lil’. She asked about Trev, said she was sorry about what happened, that he didn’t deserve it, and then gave me a box. Said, I should give this to Trev, that there would be instructions inside. She wanted me to make sure he understood it came from her.”

“So you knew?” queried Rog. “You knew.”

“Frail you.”

“Rog, that’s enough,” said Kyra.

“She knows more that she’s telling.“

“This is neither the time nor the place. Mairi, please continue.”

“So I gave the box to Trev, told him it was from Lil’, that it might help, if he needed help.

Several blank stares appeared like judges.

"What? I didn’t know.”

“I believe you Mairi,” said Em, breaking the awkward silence with a tone of voice best described as clean. “Trev shared the same story with me. He told me about the flower and asked what I thought. I told him I thought it was a crutch, that he didn’t need it, but at no time did I know, nor did Trev imply, that using the flower could be dangerous in any way. I had the impression when he left that he wasn’t going to use it.”

Mairi glowered at Rog. He made faces back.

“Okay,” said Kyra, “let’s get him into sickbay.”

“Ms Kyra,” commed Goldie.

“What is it Goldie?”

“We have an incoming message. Says his name is Tom.”

Rog looked at John. “I thought you said we were stealth?”

“Thought we were.”

“Well, obviously we’re not?”

“You think?”

“John, join me on the bridge,” commanded Kyra. “Rog, get Trev to sickbay.” Looking at John she said, “This is not good is it?”

John sighed. “Hard to say. Does kinda change our plans though.”

Kyra put her hand on John’s shoulder as they quickly walked to the bridge. “I never expected that plan to survive first contact. Was a nice thought. Do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

“Keep an eye on Rog. He’s been acting very strange lately and I’m not sure why. We’re going to need him and need him focused.”

“I think I know why,” said John.

“Well? You gonna share?”

“It appears Yul may no longer be in remission.”

“You’re shiotting me?”

“I was just examining her when we got the call about Trev, so I can’t be certain, but Rog seemed quite agitated during the exam.”

“This is good news.”

John stopped in the corridor. “Come again?”

“The law of averages. The way I see it, we’re due for a stroke of luck. I mean, what else could go wrong?”

362. Thorn Flower

Trev locked the door and turned off his comm. He took off his shirt and neatly folded it upon the bed. In unshod feet, clean and pedicured as always, he walked to the picture window and placed a single thorn flower before the silent unjudging cosmos. Kneeling, he bowed his head, and with blurry eyes unblinking and chest broad, plunged a scalpel into this torso. He thought he would cry out. He thought he would have regrets. Instead, as if he had performed the act daily, he removed the silver instrument, and carefully placing it on one side of the flower, gently laid his head on the other. As a river at night reflects the stars above, a sparkling ribbon of crimson snaked around the flower and kissed his still lips. The stars blinked as they did before.

361. Maybe? Really?

“Frail, frail, frail, frail,” yelled Yul. “Damn me to hellocks. Damn it to hellocks!”

“What’s wrong,” yelled back Rog, alarmed. Yul alone in the bathroom, he thought, shaking his head and rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Hang on, damn it.”

Yul stood before the mirror, nude, both hands on her left side. The soft glow from a hovering quibbian providing the only light.

“What is it hon? What’s wrong?”

With eyes crying and lips trembling she looked at Rog as helpless as an abandoned puppy. “Why me, why me, why me?”

“What hon? What are you talking about?”

“Look.” She pointed to a small blemish, a growth. Ordinarily, it would have been nothing. The fact that it was growing on the scar made it not nothing.

Rog looked.

“You see it?”

He didn’t. Yul could tell.

“Damn it Rog, you could frail the shell off a nut but you ain’t got shiott for brains. Just frailing lie and tell me you see it. How frailing hard is that.”

“Baby . . .”

“What?”

“Maybe—“

“Holy shiott, that’s funny. Maybe? Really. Maybe?”

“Let me finish. I was going say maybe we should have John take a look.”

“Yes, John,” purred Yul in a slithering sarcastic taunt.

“You know, on—“

“No, no, you’re right. I think John is just the one to place his warm educated hands on my bare skin.” Yul licked her upper lip, slowly, as her hands rode down the front of her thighs and back up to her creamy firm buttocks. Grabbing each cheek she snapped, “Call him.”

“What?”

Yul gave him the look.

“Okay, okay.”

360. This Won't Lie

Trev in the shower
looking at shampoo bottles
and the clutter
overwhelming desire to throw them away
to declutter
and feel the peace of clutterlessness
he is losing his mind as they return to Kulmyk
and in losing his mind, he does two things
first
he completely declutters his quarters
and second
he plays the same song over and over again
he invites Mairi over
he is proud
and she sees he is losing his mind
he asks her to dance
she says you don't dance
he says I do now
and holds out his arms
they step into the center of his room
and he takes her arms
he is lost is his world
in a room barren of anything
and they dance
to the same song
over and over
and he never tires of it
in fact, he seems to enjoy it more and more each time
she sits him down
he doesn't see the problem
he gets upset
tells her Rog called her a whore
she says the farm breeds ignorance like rats in a sewer
Trev repeats that he called her a common whore
Mairi says his ignorant head is up his arse
then Trev says he said she was not worthy for Bravo
Mairi says nothing
then Trev says he said she was not worthy for evacuation, period
Mairi slaps him
hard
Trev spits blood on the barren floor
Mairi starts crying
Trev reaches out to touch her
She screams for him to take his hands off her
Trev looks shocked
Mairi comes back at him
Tells him she saved him
When no one else was there
she was
she was the one that succored him when he was dying
He says that Rog says she is a liar
a lying whore in fact
he says you are lying about Dr X
and that you are putting us all in danger
he says you are selfish
a selfish whore
a lying selfish common whore who shouldn't even be here
Mairi stands up straight
shoulders back
she pulls a small disc from her pocket
a hologram
sticks it in his face
and says
this won't lie
and walks out
Trev is left standing alone
disc in hand
he plays it
it shows Mairi holding him the day he was left for dead
he watches the whole scene
begins to tremble as it plays out
falls to his knees as he realizes
Mairi is telling the truth
that he is the arse
for most of what he said he made up
to hurt her
he wants to hurt her
and he doesn't know why
he knows she helped him
but he wants her to feel pain
so he lied
Rog did call her a whore
did say she would lie
but everything else Trev made up to hurt her
and he couldn't stop himself
each lie built
and grew to the next
he embraced the hurt he was giving
he felt it leaving his body and into hers
yet the pain didn't leave him
it only grew
and when he watched the hologram
of him in the street
unconscious
beaten to within an inch of his life
the faded colors
the wind
the dirt on his face
and the way she held him
succored him
whispered to him
kept him alive
that is when the pain became too great
and he falls to his knees
arms outstretched
head thrown back
eyes looking up
and he cries out
My Janus, My Janus
and the camera pulls away
and the scene ends
and there you have it

359. Outtake #3: What I Need

(Tranquility slips quietly toward Kulmyk. Kyra sits alone--I would say at night, but it always seemed as night in space--manipulating blocks of light in a Kulmykian game--a gift from John. The game, he said, was a symbiotic exercise, which was his way of saying, each block of light could connect with the player's electrical impulses with a discernment just beyond artificial intelligence, interacting with the life-form such to make the game as unique and insightful as to each player's capacity for self-awareness. With a wink, he refused to say what the purpose of the game was, only that she would know once she started playing.)

John enters her quarters, takes a look at the pink blocks hovering before Kyra’s hands and, with a somewhat solemn look on his face, says: “Enjoying the game?”

“Is it really a game?" asked Kyra, her porcelain face looking all the more doll-like in the pink glow as her hands continued to move the blocks. (She does not break eye contact and look at John. Her jet-black hair appears as cotton candy, a metaphor not lost on John.)

“Depends on the player," answered John, his eyes fixed on her lips, which looked more innocent than he knew them to be. The pink light made them look younger, softer, fuller and if eyes could smell, they looked lustfully decadent in a way that only a young girl's pouty lips can. The thought of kissing her melted in his mind in step with his sense of decorum and he wondered if his face betrayed the stirring of this unsolicited lust.




(With a consciously sensual turn of wrist Kyra powers down the cubes of light)

“Well, I have the sense you didn’t drop by to make idle conversation about a 'game.' What’s on your mind?”

(Pursing his lips, John's mind races to contain the fear that she can see through him along with the serpentine dismay that he wants her to)

“Kyra, I won’t pretend to know who you are or why you are special, which you are, and, to be frank, this mission makes no sense to me; but, if I have learned anything as a commander, it’s the importance of the chain of command and the support of the crew once the commander has made a decision,” said John.

“Thank you.”

“I do want you to know one thing. I’m here if you need me.”

“Are you sure it’s not the other way round?”

(John smiles without answering)

(Kyra takes an audible breath)

“You know what I miss the most? I miss the unfiltered honesty that I had with Papa. Our relationship, and I didn’t know it at the time, and time only further embosses the difference between then and now, but I was Kyra and he was Papa and that is all there was in our interaction. Do you know what I am saying?”

“Perhaps, but for fear of pride and ignorance on my behalf and grace and beauty of expression on yours, continue.”

“To Papa, I was Kyra. No more, no less. On this ship, I am the commander and only underneath that veneer, to the crew, am I Kyra. There are times when, even after almost two years and all we have been through, that I look at the crew and I wonder who they are and I know they must, if they reflect, wonder the same about me. The only way to describe what I feel, not all the time, but more times than I care to admit, is this: Have you ever eaten a meal until your belly was full, so full you couldn’t put another bite in your mouth, yet still felt unsatisfied, still mentally needing to eat, physiologically wanting more?”

(John hesitates as if the words, like meat, needed time to digest)

Kyra continued. “Here is another example, one you might related to a little better. Have you ever felt the need for union, a strong need; then had union and although the physical need was met, you felt completely unsatisfied. An unorgasmic orgasm if you will. I hate to put things in such a crude light, but that is what I crave.”

“An orgasm?”

(Kyra laughs and shakes her head)

“No. A relationship that is genuine. A relationship without anything between me and the other. I had that with Papa. I didn’t know it at the time. But with every day that passes, my hunger grows; yet, on this vessel, surrounded constantly by the others, it is as if my belly is full. Full but hungry. Spent but desirous.”

“Are you okay?”

(Kyra laughs)

“If I only had a penny for every time I’ve been asked that question.”

“What’s funny? I meant the question.”

(Kyra sighs)

“Nothing funny at all. I laugh because it is the wrong question and I’m amused to hear it again, from you, as if I thought, you of all people, would know.”

(John looks somewhat puzzled with a hint of disappointment)

“Let me put it this way. Papa would always say to me, Kyra, don’t make hot, don’t make cold. (Kyra pauses before continuing) It was his way of saying don’t get involved on what happens on the surface, that who you are is calm and serene and deep and cannot be touched by the storms that come and go above. So, when someone asks that question, I know they see only the surface and what they see is more times than not, not my surface, but a reflection of their own. And in those moments, I feel most alone. That is when I feel no connection and that is when I utter the words I wish I could extract from my mind like a cavitied tooth: I am fine.”

(Kyra pauses and John looks on as a child at storytime waiting for the teacher to continue, afraid to speak and break the spell)

“You see, deep down, below the surface, that is where you will find Kyra; and there, you will see that she is fine.”

(another pause, still no response)

“Do you want to know that Kyra? Can you know that Kyra? Can you leave everything you think you know behind and embrace me without your ideas, your desires, your needs, your wants? That is what I need.”

358. On Bended Knee

Von flipped through page after page, skimming images in his mind as much as words on paper. The letters, one for each day of his captivity, were not so much letters as they were conversations, the sort of conversation that if overheard by a stranger, would not be given a second thought, but when imagined by the father from the son would not have been exchanged for all the world. Yet, the letters were not really conversations, they were prayers, or, as was called in the Tao, meditative prayers. There was a difference. Prayer was a plea, passive, something your grandmother did; meditative prayer a deed, active, and effective in ways beyond common comprehension. The Tao believed that meditative prayer could reach beyond space and time and shape events. His son had spent more than three years absorbed in that belief.

Von closed the tome as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath as if he had forgotten how. In an instant, his universe changed as if the pages of the Imprimatur Rubious had rubbed the sleep from his eyes and for the first time he saw not with dreams.

A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, not the least that he had survived captivity, not of his own will as he had thought, but with assistance from afar. Moments from the edge flooded the chasm of his memory as he recalled standing between this life and the next one, wanting to slip away into the peace of the night. At each of those moments he had found strength, had remembered the sensation of a cool breeze pushing him gently back to safety. He had thought little of those sensations at the time. Now, he realized a love, as deep as the regret welling in his bosom, and he cursed himself for the ignorance or pride that clouded his view at the time. And he marveled. Three years. Not a day missed. Letter after letter, all in longhand, painstakingly rendered not as word to paper but as Love to father.

Von opened his eyes and looked down without moving his head as if he could hide behind his quarter-opened lids. Glowing red, filling the room with sacred light, a small disc, no larger than the tip of his finger, silently and slowly grew brighter and dimmer as if each exchange was a breath, as if the disc were alive, as if it begged to be touched and opened. The disc was a holographic version of the letters, a version that would, when activated, appear in 3-D before him, the pages breathing in light as if alive from floor to ceiling in folio fashion, which could be turned with hand or eye.

With a wave of his hand, the holographic folio opened and the room filled with light. Opening the volume to a random page, Von walking into the light, his hands swimming in the sea of illumination as the words appeared to move as fish in shallow water. On the right-hand side, he spied what appeared to be a watermark, about the same size as his face. Gently leaning his countenance into the mark, Von felt as if he had touched an open circuit, his face felt wet and a scent of sea air filled his nostrils. His mind began to swirl, faster and faster, and as a child on a merry-go-round, the images of his mind began to blur. He quickly pulled his head back out. Touching the mark with his hand, he felt the shock again and this time he placed his whole head into the watermark, and as the tear of the father met the tear of the son, the two were united on a plane of existence Von could not explain.

When the strange joyful energy threatened to rip his heart from his chest, Von pulled his wet head out. Balling his fists to wipe his eyes, he studied the words on this page. Near the bottom he saw the four words that appeared on every page—I Love You Dad. Kneeling on bended knee, Von reached into the hologram, grasped those four words and pulled them into his hands. They pulsed as if the light beat in harmony with his heart. Bowing his head, Von took the string of words, and like a scarf, wrapped them around his chest, love touching love. The room brightened and with closed eye Von felt as if he were lying in a summer field looking into the sun, such was the light that penetrated his eyelids.

The words seemed to hug him back, and releasing his grip, Von placed his hands on the floor to steady himself, and with head still bowed and eyes still closed said, “I love you too son.”

Kyra sat stunned. Von looked exhausted.

“So there you have it,” he finally managed to say.

Soundtrack for this Chapter: Same Mistake (James Blunt, All the Lost Souls)


Commentary Part 1



Commentary Part 2



Bonus Outtake Commentary

357. Fire Burning Cold

“Dad, are you going to see Ariel?” asked Tom Jr.

Tom bent down and brushed the hair from his son’s forehead with his thumb. As his large hand cradled his son’s head the image of Ariel, laughing and smiling and skipping through the house flashed before his mind. Ariel and Tom Jr were the same age and because of Tom’s relationship with John, the two children had practically grown up together.

_______



Four hours prior:

“Tom, the Tranquility has changed course. For reasons unknown, they are on a heading back to Kulmyk. This will not happen. Do you comprehend?”

“Yes sir.”

“Gather whatever resources you need. Report back that what once was, is no more.”

“Sir?”

“That will be all Tom.”



_______

“Dad, you’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry son,” said Tom, releasing his grip. Before Tom could respond, his six-year-old likeness ran screaming into the next room, “Mom? Mom?”

Tom stood, straightened his jacket and walked out the door.

Intermission: Bulldogs Victorious 14-8

The winning touchdown.

Bulldogs beat Christ the King 14 -8, advancing to the championship game next week.

356. Imprimatur Rubious

Von locked the door to his quarters and walked over to the floor length and ceiling high window, an accoutrement deeply appreciated in each quarter on Bravo. Standing with hands held tersely behind his back, he watched the last glimmer of Hyneria slip from sight as one might watch the sun dip below the horizon; always, it seemed, with a sense of shock at how quickly it occured. With effort, Von took a breath and reflected, his chest feeling as if caught in a slowly tightening vice, his mind muddy with a thousand compromises. The sun would rise again, but he would never again see Hyneria. His eyes looked down without looking as the unspoken thought hovered just beyond acceptance—and neither would he ever again see Ceru.

On his desk it stood, the box. Von quietly walked over, pulled out a chair and with eyes locked on the parcel as if at any moment it might disappear as a mirage on Silus, sat down. The box looked rather ordinary in its coarse brown cloth wrapping, but the dang thing was heavy. Von ran his weathered finger along the edges, leaned over with eyes closed and breathed in. For an instant, Ceru appeared in his mind as clear as if he were standing in the room. Von closed his trembling eyes tighter and running his regal nose along the package, breathed in the scent of his son again, and, for just a moment, father and son were together. Von smiled as the simple and absurd thought entered his head that if he never opened his eyes he would never have to face the separation that was searing the veins of his heart from the inside out. Even old Hynerians need their fantasies, he thought, or perhaps just fathers.




Untying the cord that bound, Von opened the box and a rubious glow filled the room, warming his smooth face: the Imprimatur of Letters, a sacred seal given rarely by the Order to works deemed extraordinary, as in not ordinary, as in, how the hellocks did he not know his son had written such a work, had had this work officially recognized by the Tao. Zeke knew. No imprimatur was recognized without his approval; yet, the sombeech had said nothing. Von felt lightheaded.

Inside the box were more than a thousand letters, neatly bound, all written in longhand, apparently one every day for just over three years. On the cover were two words and two dates separated with a dash. Von froze. The dates were his dates, his dates of captivity, of torture, of solitary confinement, of neural traces. The dates matched perfectly. Above the dates, just two words, My Father. Inside, a note, hastily scribed:

Dad,

I could say I love you with all my heart a thousand times and still I would feel the words were inadequate to the expression. You always taught me to trust the act and stand weary of the word. And so, in this work, I give you both, not as two, but as one. As you read these words, remember the letter, but know the deed.

I love you dad. Do your duty and I will do mine. And when the time comes, we will meet again with heads held high and I will greet you with arms open and heart warm and you will see a smile like you have never seen. You have been everything to me and with every breath that I have remaining, I will honor your memory with aid and succor to those in need and they will know, I am the son of Von.

Love,

Ceru

To be continued . . .

355. Four Words

We arrived at the dock as shadows grew, the wind as fierce as anything I could remember on this world or any other. The whole landscape seemed a palette of unforgiving grays from the sky dull to the dock sheen. Splattered against this achromous canvas, ships of all makes and sizes, hue faded hulls, bobbed like mobiles on the teetering edge of Hyneria’s crib as numbered flags flapped and yelped like skittish kites anxious to flee their tethered mounts. We felt as babes, and about as small, before an angry mother spewing wind and rain for reasons beyond our comprehension. Powerlessness, I suppose, carries its own phlegmatic resignation, and, oddly enough, a sense of peace, or perhaps just the peace that comes when responsibility and authority has been arrogated by a higher power.

On the platform before us, pockets of goodbyes huddled against the blustery elements, coats brown and grey and black held tight, like so many charcoal smudges, as families longed to slow the hands of time, to hope against hope that if they filibustered long enough, the clouds would cede and the sun would emerge and an announcement would blast news for everyone to return home, the crisis over. Forced smiles looked grotesque, almost as if at any moment they would crack and mothers sported raccoon eyes and crimson noses as words were selected with more care than the forgotten diamonds on their hands. Into this emotional wasteland, Ceru and I leaned into the wind, our hands firmly on our hats, our final goodbye more dreamlike than one would have thought.

We searched for a place to call our own, a place to do in public what should have been private; one had the feeling of urinating in the street, sober, and nobody cared. The whole matter was simply a distasteful nightmare, but one we would not have missed for all the world. When our feet found root, we twisted toward each other, hands finding shoulders as branches seeking support. I would rather not say what we said other than various terms of endearment and hope; promises, we left on the table, since there was no reason for either of us to play those games.

After a hug like two school girls after summer recess, I turned toward Bravo and had not taken more than three or four steps when Ceru yelled Dad. I turned, he upon me, package in hand. He said four words and thrust what appeared to be a box into my chest. Before the tears, from either of us, could flow, he turned and walked away. His gray longcoat swallowed by the interminable misty bleakness. There is a reason to turn. I wish I had. The vision of his backside disappearing, as if consumed by the sea, haunts me to this day and there are times, when the vision is so clear, that my heart threatens to burst, pound, from my chest, as if I have committed some crime. That was the last time I saw my son, the last view I had, the last image ingrained in my mind.

“What were the four words?” asked Kyra, her eyes as misty as Ceru’s must have been.

Von looked at her as if the words would come forth when they were ready, not him. After what could have only been a few seconds he said as distant as if he were back on the dock, “I love you dad.”

Four Words: A Reading



Four Words: Commentary Part 1



Four Words: Commentary Part 2