513. Rope Taut

He stood, nude from the waist up, hands down on the counter. She looked from the bed with eyes of chocolate, one leg forward, one back. He bent, triceps rope taut, back dolphine curved smooth, held the letter before the mirror. Her smile arched and ached in a happiness natural and pure. His hair, short, spiked, blond. Her lips full, wet, dark. He read. She twirled.

He mouthed the words. She opened her robe.

"Baby, come to bed," she said.

"Okay," he said.

512. Sematic

Arn stood on the bridge, data slates floating as panels of light before his rigid frame. Clear, dark, reflective, his eyes watched each translucent slate of grids and dials and bars change from headache throbbing reds to a steady soothing rain of greens and blues. As if not believing the data before his eyes, Arn dipped his fingers into the light, holding puddles of numbers and charts and graphs swimming in his palms, the teal effervescent hues illuminating the sharp edges of his weary visage.

Crossing his arms behind his back, chest shield bowed and broad, a stance curiously introspective and defiant, he breathed in the data, holding it within his lungs as if to fortify his tired soul, to give subtenance to a body drained. Since the capture of Kyra, their vessel had been under surveillance, arms length, yet there, just sitting, felinesque, taunting, not with probes and feints, but with a subtle yet clear and unmistakable electronic presence. Why they had not attacked, as they had before, he found interesting, and, depending on the hour, disturbing. Sleep had not come easy, when it had come at all and he mused that the soldier in space differed little from the soldier on the ground. After all, there were no degrees of death. Nor were there second chances.

He looked again at his floating slates, each supplying information at the wave of a hand or blink of an eye. They must have known. His slates would be red. Blinking their presence. An unwanted guest. That could neither be ignored. Nor evicted. They were there. On board. Blinking in red. He knew it. They knew it. And he knew that they knew that he knew.

Now, they were gone. So it seemed. Gone did not always mean gone, a testament carved with las-fire upon the graves of the naive. Slates could be wrong. Slates could be manipulated, a tactic he had used and been used upon. Taking a cavernous breath filtered through mind circumspect, Arn stroked the groomed wave on his chin. With a twist of wrist, he re-ran his probes, doubling their algorithms, increasing their range, checking for any irregularities. Nothing. Green on green upon green. Standing on the bridge, the wide pitch of space before him, the silence of a cave his companion, he looked to see what could not be seen, he turned his head to hear what could not be heard. Unlocking his arms from behind his cloaked back, Arn steepled his fingers and exhaled. Then he commed Von.

511. beyond

beyond the yolk of sunrise meline
beyond the song of matutinal birds
beyond the whisper of your breath
beyond the quiet of midnight clear
beyond the bridemaid's thought of the morrow
beyond the pain of yesterday's sorrow
beyond the page of word scribed
beyond the dew on twinkling grass
beyond the note of afternoon rain
beyond the warmth of sheets slept two
beyond the lush green of clover deep
beyond the marigold waves of sunset shimmering
beyond the edge of rainbows smooth
beyond the ocean lullaby
beyond the milk of a young mother's teat
beyond the eyes of adoration meet
beyond the worry of thoughts surrendered
beyond the wages of karma rendered
beyond the doorway yet unknown
beyond the path not of stone
beyond the comfort of knitted sweaters
beyond the forgiveness of unmailed letters
beyond skin smooth in innocence
beyond the crevasses of tribulations
beyond the fear of barren wombs
beyond the laughter sought too soon
beyond the infinite blackness in view
beyond the orbs of green and blue
beyond the fire of novas cast
beyond the companion known at last
beyond the niveous mountain snow
beyond the supplication of bended knee
beyond the cup of bitter tea
beyond the echo of judgment called
beyond the obstacles however walled
beyond the concept of you and me
beyond the honey and the bee
beyond the sway in a chorus of trees
beyond the watchet of a witnessing sky
beyond the shoulder on my thigh
beyond the terra under our feet
beyond the amber waves of wheat
beyond the flowers giggling in the breeze
beyond the luxury of our unease
beyond a hand reached in hope
beyond the fingers twined like rope
beyond the bounce of hair curled
beyond the smile on lips unfurled
beyond my heart and yours
beyond the seasons that come in fours
beyond the curtain of our souls
is where I want to walk with you . . .

love,

em

510. From Darkness to Light

T: How did you do it?

K: Love did.

T: Just like that?

K: What else is there? What more could there be?

T: Just seems like there should be more.

K: Not everything is Faustian drama.

T: So . . .

K: Yes. Think of it this way. When the light goes on, it matters not if the room has been dark for one hour or ten thousand eons. The Hood, next to papa, might just have been the most extraordinary being I've known in the flesh.

T: So with just a moment of insight, everything changed? Just doesn't seem possible.

K: Such is the power. But I need to correct one thing you assume. I didn't do it.

T: Just having a hard time getting my head around . . .

K: Maybe it's not your head you need to open.

Intermission: Faith in You

509. Wrong Question

T: One thing I don't quite understand.

K: What would that be?

T: You. Here. After all you've done. Seeing you just, here.

K: Got to be somewhere.

T: I mean, after what you did on Kulmyk. Just seems like you should be somewhere . . .

K: More important?

T: Yes.

K: Changing the universe, perhaps?

T: Yeah, something like that. Something other than just standing on a beach looking out over the ocean. Something other than talking to me.

K: Perhaps.

T: So?

K: So what?

T: So why here?

K: Maybe 'here' is the wrong question.

508. Do You Love Her?

"Do you love her?"

The question struck him dumb. Lightning out of clear blue sky.

"Well?"

Her words echoed inside the Pod. Pebbles dropped into a well.

"I won't be mad if you do."

John turned to Ariel. His words stopped by her eyes.

"It's okay daddy. I still love you."

507. Isn't It?

Mairi comes around the corner of the corridor and sees Yul, knees pulled into her chest, streaks running down her face, crying. She inquires. Yul speaks between sniffles. Something to do with Rog.

Scene moves to the bar with Rog, Von and Trev. Rog and Von are talking. Trev listens and watches but doesn't speak. Rog is hunched over his shot of snoot like a dog over a bone.

Von: Wanna talk?

Rog: Nope.

Von: Wanna talk anyway?

Rog: Nothing I ain't already said.

Von: Well, not like I have anywhere else to be. Humor me.

Rog: I'm frustrated. That's all.

Von: (raises his eyebrows)

Rog: Look, if I thought you could help, I'd waste your time but it'd just get in the way of a good shot of snoot.

Von: How many have you had?

Rog: Shots?

Von: Yeah.

Rog: Not enough.

Scene shifts back to Mairi and Yul

Mairi: What did he say?

Yul: He yelled at me.

Mairi: About what?

Yul: Said something about the kinds of questions I was asking.

Mairi: That's odd. What were you asking him?

Yul: Nothing. I was just trying to get him to talk.

Mairi: What did you say?

Yul: All I said was I thought the ship seemed awful quiet.

Mairi: That's it?

Yul: Yeah. That's it.

Back to Rog, Von and Trev

Von: Let me guess. Yul?

Rog: I don't even want to talk about it.

Von: What did she do this time?

Rog: I've told her a bazillion times I don't like statements that end in a question. Just pisses me off to no frailing end. And you know what? No matter how many times I tell her, she still needles the shiott of of me.

Von: Give me an example.

Rog: Okay. Try this on. She says, 'ship is awful quiet.'

Von: That's not a question.

Rog: Right. But then she adds, 'isn't it?'

Von: Okay.

Rog: What?

Von: I just said okay.

Rog: You think I'm an idiot.

Von: No. I'm just not sure I follow.

Scene flips back to Mairi and Yul

Mairi: Why would that upset him?

Yul: Because he's a Yakmuk's arse.

Mairi: Yeah, well, besides that.

Yul: You're asking the wrong person. I was just trying to make conversation. And he attacked me.

Mairi: Did he say anything else?

Yul: Like what?

Mairi: Anything.

Back to Rog, Von and Trev

Rog: Look, if a person wants to say something, fine. Just say it. But damn, don't end every statement with an "isn't it" or "don't you agree" or, frail, just pisses me off.

Von: I can see.

Rog: Why can't she see? I've told her a thousand times I hate that crap. "The ship is awful quiet, isn't it." Isn't it. Isn't it. If I hear that question one more time . . .

Back to Mairi and Yul

Yul: Get this. He accused me of trying to delibrately piss him off?

Mairi: How?

Yul: By asking him a question.

Mairi: What did you ask him?

Yul: Just asked him if he thought the ship seemed awful quiet.

Mairi: Why would he think that question was you trying to aggravate him?

Yul: Frail if I know. You see the shiott I have to put up with.

Back to Rog, Von and Trev

Von: Your permission to ask a question?

Rog: Don't frail with me.

Von: Besides Yul and her way of asking questions is there anything else on your mind?

Rog: Well, now that you ask, actually there is.

Scene fades back to Mairi and Yul

Mairi: Are you sure their wasn't something else he seemed upset with?

Yul: No. Not really.

Mairi: You sure?

Yul: Yeah.

Mairi: Yul.

Yul: What?

Mairi: Trust me.

Yul: Alright. Damn you.

Back to the boys

Von: Anytime you ready.

Rog: (slams back another shot) Tell me why the frail we're just sitting here?

Von: What do you mean?

Rog: Kyra! John tells us he saw Kieran and we are just gonna sit here and do nothing? Is that what we are going to do. Nothing. Look at me Von. Nothing?

Back to the girls

Yul: He mentioned Kyra.

Mairi: How so?

Yul: Same old shiott.

Mairi: Enlighten me.

Yul: (her face starts to tremble as she searches Mairi's face) He wants to go rescue her. (the tears cascade)

Mairi: Oh baby. (opens her arms)

Yul: (through tears she manages to say) What do I have to do? Tell me, what do I have to do?


Next thing we hear is tocins sounding and lights blinking and Arn's voice: "We have an unexplained Pod launch."

Rog: (to Arn) Where is John?

Arn: (no answer)

Rog: Arn?

Arn: On the Pod.

506. What Will Be

We walked down the beach for what felt like a longer time than it was. She seemed elsewhere. I had the feeling she was not seeing what I was seeing, not hearing what I was hearing, not thinking what I was thinking. And I wondered if she could feel the fear in my heart, could hear the question I couldn't bring myself to ask.

She stopped and look out over the ocean. Her eyes looked distant. I watched the breeze blow her coal black hair around her porcelain face and I imagined what she must have looked like to papa or even to the crew in those early days on Bravo. Her bearing, regal, dignified; a natural ease, much like how she described her grandfather in his white tunic or so I thought.

You want to ask me a question she said. It's okay, she added, the answer won't change in the asking. So I asked. And she said, maybe. I think she saw a glimmer of hope in my eye because she quickly added, probably. My eyes dropped. I didn't know they had until I felt her finger under my chin. Nothing stays the same she said. We suffer because we want what can't be. We want the world to stop, for us. We want to live in a photographic universe, a place where love last forever. Look at me, she said (I did). Enjoy this. It will pass. But don't miss it now because you can't stop thinking about what will be.

505. Larger than Life

Interview on the beach, my feet and hers unshod, heels planted in the soft wet sand, warm water rolling and receding between our toes. In a cloudless sky, the morning sun lays its warmth upon our shinny faces as we stare with squinting eyes into the endless steel-blue horizon. The surf seems to suck the breath from us as it races back to wholeness, a parental healing, before the next wave fills our lungs with fresh, clean sea-scrubbed air in the rush to greet us again, playful as children at a wedding reception pulling and tugging with a frayed rope. Our thoughts, in concert with our rhythmic breath, play on the music of the lazy warm waves like a spring breeze with laundry on the line; and for the longest time neither of us say anything.

T: Does the water remind you of home?

K: Somewhat. It looks very similar but the feel and texture and smell are quite different.

T: How so?

K: The water on Hyneria was much softer, slippery and I suspect had a slightly different molecular structure. I wish I could explain it better, but it felt wetter, was less inclined to bead. The sand, too, had a different feel; more clay-like and slightly darker in hue. Where this sand absorbs the sun and increases in temperature, the sand on Hyneria, year round, maintained a constant warmth--never too hot nor too cold. I miss the carpet-like feel too.

T: Interesting. Do you mind if I change the subject? I'd like to ask you about The Hood.

K: Not at all.

T: Give me your first impressions.

K: Surprised. I had an image in my mind that bore no resemblance to what I saw that first day and what I came to know over time. In my mind, based on everything I'd heard, he was a monster, a creature that took pleasure in another's pain, power hungry, arrogant, egotistical, manipulative and physically repulsive. I imagined him as a mass murderer, someone without conscious, pathological, convinced beyond argument in his own intelligence and knowledge, someone with a vision that would brook no interference, someone who took what he wanted when he wanted it, someone who had long forgotten what it was like to need, to want, to be without, someone insulated from reality, someone living in their own world--in short, someone madly delusional.

T: Well, that begs the question, if he was not these things, what was he? What did you come to know?

K: It's complicated. You sure you want to go down that road? This isn't a ten minute conversation.

T: You have no idea how intrigued I am.

K: Okay. I'll begin with this. The Hood was larger than life. He was one of those rare individuals that simply is not like the rest.

T: Charismatic?

K: More than that. Much more.

T: You're going to have to explain that.

K: Not sure I can. The sense is more experience and feeling than thought. In his presence you feel as if he is not of this world, not in good or bad way, but from the way he walks and talks and thinks and moves and stands and sits and converses and questions and listens and looks, from the way he ponders, his curiosity, his intelligence, his touch, his vision and past and experience; his taste in all things tangible and intangible. And, his pure physical appearance; the bearing, the posture, the tilt of the head, the shape of his nose, the clarity in his eyes, the breath of his hands, the stoutness of his shoulders from which hung the most magnificent robes. Take all of that, if you can, and try and wrap your mind around such an individual, one which controls, leads, rules billions of subjects that live on thousands and thousands of worlds and yet, when you are in his presence, you feel as if you are the center of his universe, as if there is nothing more important to him at that moment than engaging with you, listening carefully to your answers.

T: Sounds almost as if you admired him?

K: I wouldn't say admired. Perhaps I came to see the limits of my own judgments, my own assumptions, the limits of my own understanding. I came to see that the universe is something more than just our thoughts about it. And, in time, I came to see something I'd never seen before--my destiny. And here is what is interesting. Without The Hood. Without him being who he was, needing what he needed, engaging me the way he engaged me, I'm not sure I would have . . .

T: Would have what?

K: Can we take a break?

T: Sure.

K: The morning is slipping away and I'd like to go for a walk before the sun gets too high and the wonderful warm colors fade.

504. You Are . . .

Trev blew on the crimson wet parchment. When he was sure the ink was dry, he took Em’s sleeping hand and gently placed the folded note between her fingers, careful not to wake her. He kissed her cheek, lingering in the beauty of pre-dawn simplicity, in the quiet warmth of sheets shared and a gift given. Standing erect, naked, he looked down upon her peaceful face. Just felt natural, comfortable, right and part of him wanted to wake her, to see her see him, to feel the tingle of her gaze, the discovery of the note, but it wasn’t about him, so he stole another kiss before tip-toeing away.

The Note:

You are . . .

Kids stopping to play with a pile of rocks as if nothing else was more important

The stranger who smiled at me through a sea of apathy

The first warm rays of morning slipping under my door

A hand reaching to hold my hand without being asked

The playfulness of a puppy

The sound of snizzle in a still quiet house

Sand discovered in an old pair of shoes

A wisp of hair as a note on the page of your face

Rainbow eyes

The child that walked with me when no one else would

The look that told me everything was more than okay

The leaf that danced for my pleasure laughing in the face of gravity

Pregnant lips

Rain on a spring day

Flowers smiling in droplets of multicolored reflection

The music that lingers in my mind after the last note has slipped away

Fingers combing my hair

The first star in a mauve sky

A coat unbuttoned

The shoes beside my bed

A letter written

A package unexpected with a handwritten address

Hot soup on a cold day

Fresh sheets

The thought not left unsaid

Forgiveness from a bottomless heart

The ear with nowhere else to be and nothing else to do

The scent that reminds me of home

The rocking chair on my porch

A falling star in a midnight sky

The cool breeze from a babbling stream

Judgeless

Diamond sparkles in the dew

The smell of hay in the barn

Arms holding without words

Showing up

The head on my chest

The kiss that greets my day

The hand that reminds me I’m yours

The choice to stay a little longer

Interest sincere as labored sweat

The vision I don’t have

The hope I’ve left behind

The light I once knew

Candles winking on the edge of my bath

A book shared

A story embraced

Sweaters

Bookshelves

Late night rendezvouses

Heated whispers and eyes dark with dreams

Plans

A short time later:

Em put the note down, pulled the sheets up around her knees, and with a steady deep breath smiled with dawning cheeks. Her closed eyes played a movie written in dreams shared and composed in the beat of hearts singing in the universal language of lovers.

“Morning,” he called, a tray in hand, two cups smoking their secret forth like chimneys whispering.

“Morning.”

“You got the note?”

“Yeah, I got the note.”

“You just gonna smile?”

“Yeah, I think I am.”

503. Fit Me (Twijn Ik)

"Hey you, can I tell you something?"

"Yes."

"This might sound a little odd."

"Ok."

"I'm not sure really how to say this."

"Just say it. We'll work out the details later."

"Ok."

"So?"

"Alright."

"Yeah?"

"Ok, here goes."

Em raises her eyes.

Trev looks sheepish.

"Ok, here it is. You fit."

"You fit. Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"You fit?"

"Yeah."

"Ok."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, aren't you gonna ask me what that means?"

"No, not really."

"What?"

"Really, I got it. I fit."

Trev stares at Em.

Em pretends not to notice.

"So that's it?" he says.

"I fit. What's so hard to understand about that?"

"Ok, well, then tell me what it means?"

"You said it. Why should I have to tell you what you mean? Are you confused?"

"You know I should spank you."

"You think you can?"

After a short wrestling match, both out of breath, Em on top.

"You had enough?" asked Em, smiling.

"Maybe."

"Ok, tell me what fit means."

"Everything."

"Ooooooh, the clears it up."

"I'm serious."

"So am I. Now what does everything means?"

"Kiss me," he says. She leans over, lips part, and with sleepy eyes, close, tenderly, one upon the other, a softness, pulsing thin pillow flesh, translucent shades of red and orange and pink. Breath, one into the other, warmth filling warmth, movements lost in time. Tongues, pointed, dance and dart as devils before the gates of eternity, each twisting and swirling, advancing, retreating, teasing, tasting in unspoken effortless synchronicity. Hips dovetail and legs twine like vines. Arms move without command as hands and fingers lace within tresses pulled breathlessly tight.

"See?"

Em smiles. "Shut up and kiss me again or . . ."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll fit my hand to the curve of your backside."

502. Director's Cut: John's Good Night

John stands in the hallway, light dim, director and camera on a rail to his left (George Clooney plays John). His suit looks like something out of the movie Dune. John's hair is cut short, his face lined, dark, but his eyes appear unnaturally bright. He is standing before the door. The camera zooms in upon his face, his eyes, and then, like a camera finding focus, zooms out to a full body shot and the sound of a camera clicking is heard and on the screen is the still shot of John before the door. Everything freezes just for a moment as the still shot fades from view and we are back to live action, John's hand on the door, hesitating.

The door opens and John rides the shaft of light into the room, closing the door quickly, standing still while his eyes adusted to the starlight in Ariel's room. A cool bluish light fills the room and as the camera, like John's eyes, adjusts to the light and we start to see shapes, we hear two sounds. John breathing and, very faintly, a heartbeat and then, as the tension builds, the sneeze.

John walks to the bed as the camera flips from a rear low level view to the view from Ariel watching him come forward. We hear the squish of his suit, the bed shifting as he sits and we feel (I'm not sure how) but we feel the fear that Ariel has that not all is as it should be. Words are spoken but we can't hear them. Ariel sits up. We see John's hand reach for her forehead and the camera moves from his face to hers, two sets of eyes, both looking, for different reasons, uncomfortable, out of place, odd. After a few more words, John leaves and the camera shows him walking away, the door opening, a shaft of light, then closing and it is dark again.

Our final image is of Ariel, still, sitting up in bed, her knees pulled to her chest and her arms roped around the front of them with her chin nestled between the tops. The camera starts dead-on with her face and then rotates ninety degrees to the left and we see her ghostly bluish profile, primrose hair looking white, apprearing smooth and cold as marble--unmoving, eyes wide and unblinking. The camera then floats to a cutaway view of the ship and the soundtrack becomes noticiable as we watch within the frame Ariel sitting still in her bed as the small figure of John walks deliberately to the bay and the waiting pod. Soundtrack picks up as the scene fades to black. End of chapter.

Soundtrack:

Details in the Fabric
Jason Mraz (featuring James Morrison)

Calm down
Deep breaths
And get yourself dressed instead
Of running around
And pulling all your threads saying
Breaking yourself up

If it's a broken part, replace it
If it’s a broken arm then brace it
If it's a broken heart then face it

And hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way

And everything will be fine

Hang on
Help is on the way
Stay strong
I'm doing everything

Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way
Hold your own
Know your name
And go your own way

And everything
Everything will be fine
Everything

Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling?

Are the things that make you blow
Hell, no reason, go on and scream
If you're shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing.

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Everything

Hold your own
And know your name
Go your own way

Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Are your thoughts results of static cling?

Hold your own
Know your name
Go your own way.

Are the details in the fabric
Are the things that make you panic
Is it Mother Nature's sewing machine?
Are the things that make you blow
Hell no reason go on and scream
If you’re shocked it's just the fault
Of faulty manufacturing

Everything will be fine
Everything in no time at all
Hearts will hold

501. ed note: Destiny

In the moments after John said 'good-night' to Ariel, he proceeded to Bravo's pod. Locked in, he requested Snazzle to initiate the start sequence and lock-on to the supplied coordinates. Approximately thirty seconds later, all systems powered down. Before John could address Snazzle, the pod filled with the bright light of Kieran. In short, Kieran informed John that participating in the exchange would not be allowed. When queried why, Kieran responded: Destiny. Hers.

500. Questions and Answers

"Von, you got a minute?"

"I do. Come on in. What's on your mind?"

"I'm losing her."

"Who?"

"Ariel."

"What makes you say that?"

"A feeling. Something is different. Something has changed."

"Such as?"

"I don't know."

"You sure about that?"

"Nothing seems as clear as it did before."

"Before when? Or is it what?"

"Before the incident on Tranquility."

"John, I think everyone understands. You've had no time to grieve."

"You see, that's just it. Time. I feel it slipping away. I feel I don't have time. I feel as if what is moving, what is changing, what may have already changed is outside the realm of time."

"Well, without going off on a tangent, there is only the eternal now, which is forever in motion because our minds create the concepts of motion and within motion is born time. But that's a discussion for another day. May I be blunt?"

John nods.

"I understand your fear and that fear is clouding your vision. What has changed will change again. So you must ask yourself the right question--assuming, of course, you want the right answer. You see, we often ask the wrong questions and fail to see why our answers never seem to work."

"And that question would be?"

"What do you want to happen. That is the question your analytical guilt-ridden mind is blocking from view. Ask that question and I think the answer you are looking for will be clear."

499. Lost

"Emy, can I ask you a question?"

"Always."

"Can you lose your smile?"

"Lose your smile?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me what you mean?"

"I think I've lost my smile. See."

"Sometimes your smile just needs a rest, like a nap."

Ariel, face stoic, ponders Em's answer then adds: "I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"It won't come back. I'm afraid my smile is gone forever."

"Oh Ariel, it will come back."

"But what if it doesn't?"

"I promise you. It will."

"Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"When I see you smile, it makes me sad."

"Why?"

"Because I want to smile, just like you, and I can't."

Em opened her arms and took Ariel within and the two embraced without speaking. For a long time.

498. One Night

"I remember the night clearly, as clear as if it were yesterday; and I said the same thing ten years ago. The door opened and a shaft of light, first narrow, then wider, planked into my room and across the foot of my bed. And then it was gone. The door shut. My father, thinking I'm asleep, starring at me from the distance as one might stare at a rabbit, fearful that the slightest move will frighten it away. To this day I do not know if he meant to say goodbye or just to gaze upon his only daughter one last time. Truth be known, I felt like the rabbit. He was not dressed as he normally would be when tucking me in. His suit, as I recall, was military issue, dark, with dials and knobs and all sorts of things that fascinate the young. But I knew. I knew from the suit he was not coming to say good night. And I thought if I pretended to be asleep, he could not, would not leave."

"Why are you smiling?"

"The power of innocence. Thinking I could shape fate by pretending. I'd like to have that belief back. I'd like to live in a world where everything ends right, a world where good triumphs and dreams come true. I was in that world. I had, with Kyra's help, touched the unknown. I was the jewel of the ship. And I thought I could bend reality to my wishes. They say there are times in a life where there is a before and an after, that there are events, however subtle, that forever change the way we see and act and think and relate. That night was one of those nights. Of course, I didn't know it at the time. I mean, who does? What is clear now, was not at all clear then. But I do know this. The innocence that gave birth to the belief in all things good--died that night. I just didn't know it."

"But it didn't quite happen that way?"

"No."

"Please continue."

"After what seemed like forever, I sneezed. And he came over, to say 'good night.' I still remember the sound of his suit, a squishy sound, as he sat on the bed beside me, his weight throwing me off balance. I remember him looking at me as if he were looking through me, as if my eyes were in my forehead, as if he couldn't look me in the eye. And I remember his hand, looking ghostly in the pale starlight, as he reached out to brush the hair from my forehead. And then that squishy suit, that suit that wasn't suppose to be there. I hated that sound. I hated that suit. Like an intruder into our private affair, branding a memory into my brain. I own no rubber--to this day--the sound is too similar. I'd sooner drive splinters under my nails."

"What did he say?"

"To be honest, I don't remember. I just remember he didn't look like my dad. And I kept thinking he sounded odd and I thought, when I wake up, he'll be there."

"But he was, wasn't he?"

"Yeah. But it wasn't the same. I just didn't know it then.

---

Postscript:

"Can I add one more thing?"

"Sure."

"I love my dad. As much now as then and as much at all points in between."

"Noted."

"Thank you."

497. Outtake #6: Pleasure and Pain

ed note: Outtake chapters, like outtakes in a movie, may or may not be included in the final version. The conversation below is currently in outtake status. Enjoy.


The Hood: Bring her in.

Servitor: (opens door and Kyra is escorted in surrounded by armed servitors)

The Hood: Leave us.

Kyra: (looks around)

The Hood: Welcome. Please accept my apologies for the unpleasantness.

Kyra: You really should employ better help.

The Hood: (smiles) You know, you really didn't have to spare them. Would have saved me the trouble.

Kyra: The misguided should be educated, not punished.

The Hood: Yes, indeed, education. I agree wholeheartedly. You and I, my friend, not so different.

Kyra: Really? And what of me do you know?

The Hood: I could say the same.

Kyra: You could have killed me. Why not?

The Hood: (laughs out loud) You really don't know, do you?

Kyra: What?

The Hood: (walks closer, circles) I could no longer kill you than kill the rising sun.

Kyra: You didn't answer my question.

The Hood: Pleasure. And. Pain.

Kyra: Your pleasure. At my pain? Surely--

The Hood: Surely you think more of me than that. I need change. This world begs for it. Demands it. There is a hunger in the tide. You can't see it, just below the surface. Waiting. Needing.

Kyra: Needing what?

The Hood: A catalyst.

Kyra: Are you saying . . .

The Hood: I'm saying change only happens at the apex of pain or pleasure.