393. In View

"Von, get the crew up here. I think they're gonna want to see this," said Kyra, as Bravo emerged from the canvas of stars and her golden hued hull looked alive with activity like a hornet's nest abuzz. One by one, with the exception of Trev and Em, the crew arrived, and the sight before them, as if a magician's trick, stole the words from their lips and raced the drumbeat of their hearts as palms lactated and eyes became baby wide. The sight of Bravo stirred the wicked spoon of fantasy and dream (they all had recurring dreams of a return home) within the bottomless bowl of goodbyes forever lost as surely as the page of yesterday into the turbulent wind of train-like time.

"Incoming transmission," said Von, with a smile that looked warmer than it should have been.

"Is there a problem?" asked Yul, the first to catch Von's reaction.

"No, not at all." With a nod of his head, the transmission filled the bridge with a voice familiar and unexpected.

"Docking sequence initiated."

"Snazzle?" asked Rog. "What the heck?"

"It is captain Snazzle," replied the former onboard computer of Bravo's pod.

"What?"

Von interjected. "It appears the repair crew needed a few parts and Snazzle was transplanted from the Pod to the main circuit. Says since he was the only one still holding down the ship, by law, he assumed the captain's role and the repair crew has been calling him captain Snazzle, apparently, at his request."

"Your shioitting me," laughed Rog.

"I shiott you not," replied Snazzle. "And Rog, nice to hear your voice too. I've personally supervised the upgrade of your quarters. You know, I never forget a Hynerian that has graced my levers with their hands, big boy."

Well Captain Snazzle," said Kyra, "we are pleased to hear your voice too. Congratulations on your well deserved promotion," she added, winking at Rog. "Take us home my friend."

"Sequence locked," replied Snazzle. "May I suggest the crew prepare for dinner. Your presence has been requested."

Kyra nodded to the crew and then noticed John or what looked like John, his head wrapped in white gauze as if he were leaving shortly for a Halloween party. "What the hellocks happened to you?"

"Cut myself shaving."

"Your forehead?"

John shot back a look, humor absent. Kyra glanced toward Yul. The silver-haired one shrugged her shoulders as if to say, don't ask me.

392. The Brotherhood

"Sir, the transport will be docking soon. Considering all that has happened, do you think he will join us?"

"Don't know. A man loses his wife, that way, hard to say. Are the repairs finished?"

"Yes sir."

"I don't think they are."

"Sir--"

"I said I don't think they are."

"Afraid--"

"I may need time. Not like I'm asking him to go for a walk. And . . ."

"And what sir?"

"And there is the other one. We need the other one too."

"Is it true what they say? About the other one."

"Depends. What do they say?"

"That she can move like the wind and shine like the sun, that she single-handedly destroy an entire company with no more than her hands, that she can slip between realms and speak to the dead and summon the gods."

"Well, if it's not true, we're wasting our time, brotherhood or not."

New Fan Site Feature: Q5 (Updated)

The Official Story Fan Site has posted the first in a new series: Q5. The Q5 will feature 5 questions submitted by readers and can be on any chapter, character, or topic in the story, past or present. The first Q5 (Topic: Mairi) is up. Enjoy. If you would like to submit a series of questions (less than 5 is ok), please send via the email on my profile.

The second in the series is now posted: Q5: Moments
The third is the series is up: Q5: John and Cait

391. Outtake #5: Blue as the Sky

"Mairi, you have a visitor."

"Tell him to wait."

"Okay, I'm sure the Zing Tao Master will not mind."

"Wait. Are you . . . Why me?"

"Recommendation. Someone thinks you are special I guess. I think you should see him."

"How do I look?"

"Superb."

"Wait. What's his name?"

"Zeke. He said to call him Zeke."


One hour later . . .


"What did he say?"

"Those eyes. Did you see those eyes? Blue as the sky, bright as the stars."

"Yes, yes, the eyes, but what did he want?"

"He wanted to know if I wanted a ticket, an opportunity."

"No shiott?"

"I told him no."

"What!?"

"You're too easy, you know that."

"Out with it. A ticket? Where? Where would you go in this weather? Does he want you for himself? Not very Tao like. Who would of thought. Kinda old though."

"It's not like that."

"Really? Then what is it like?"

"It's a ticket off-world. He's not going. His granddaughter is."

"Granddaughter? Wait. Oh My Janus. What is her name?"

"Kyra. Heard of her?"

"Heard of her? Are you shiotting? (blank look on Mairi's face) You don't know do you?"

"Know what?"

"Who you just sat with?"

"Some Tao freak. What?"

"I don't think you understand. That was not just some Tao. That was the Tao. My Janus. Pull up a slate. We've got some educating to do."

390. The Mornings

Within hours Bravo would come into view, a homecoming of sorts, for some, a reminder of what was not to others. John looked into the mirror and washed his face with water cold as space itself, as if in the washing, in the splashing of pain, the face he knew, the face he remembered, would return. If wishes were horses and land was free he thought.

Pain came not in the night--and, contrary to belief, not in the constant and intense nightmares, each seemingly more vivid than the one before and all the more real with each re-dreaming of an event that would no more wash away than the blood from ancient cobbled streets--but in the mornings, in the mirror, when a face once familiar stared back as a stranger, and answers were as absent as the eyes grown weary in resistance and regret. In the night, the pain was sharp and quick, intense, wet and heart-pounding. But in the morning, in the mirror, the pain was nothing but endless dull grey, a heaviness in the gut, invisible to the eye but as real as the ticking of a clock, steady, consistent and as tortuous as water dripped on the forehead.

John waved his hand and water flowed, from where, to where, he did not contemplate. His white undershirt hung from his thin frame as from a wire hanger, clinging to skin as damp cloth is wont, a gift from the night, a reminder that all was not as it was. He washed his face again, slapping each cheek as a mendicant in supplication, hat extended, empty, again. Placing both hands on the lave before him, John leaned forward as if his back no longer could support the standing straight, as if judgment rendered a slouch he would wear for to stand straight was reserved for men deserving, his nose inches from the silver reflection, his breath as frost in the cold. Then as if his forehead was a hammer and as if he could bang the pain out of the likeness before his worn visage, head met glass and he never heard the knock.

"John?" asked Rog, knocking again, unsure of the odd noises from within. "John?"

The noise stopped. Yul looked at Rog. "Override the lock."

Rog fumbled the pad then reached for his las. "Put that away," said Yul, slapping the back of his head. "Frail, did you not learn anything from the last time." Offering no resistance, Rog stepped aside. Yul worked the pad, the door opened. "Oh my Janus. Go get Trev. And Rog, don't let Ariel anywhere near here until we can get this mess cleaned up."

389. Lacrimation

They stood two upon the one. Hanging impossibly pregnant, fearful of release, a single crimson drop of blood hung like a bat from her lip, pear belly round, reflecting malicious grins of goblin white distortion. Her eyes were wide, clear, resigned as pleat swayed neither to walk nor breeze. Gleam of sharpen silver matched her pearls, which jumped without grace, dumb as dead to grunts of anger pulled and pushed, thrust and parry smacking flesh forbidden in pleasure denied victor and victim alike.

He turned the corner. Time changed as thought moved as light and the movement of men slowed as if the scene would play, had played, and events were but a retelling, a story written, and as words on a page, plot in prose, beyond the observer to alter, change, or stop. From a distance the drop fell, as surely as the eyes to follow, and in the dropping from afar a cry heralded the release of a love no scythe could cast asunder.

388. To Envy Dreams

Em sat before the window, tender warm flesh, young and pink and ruddy, upon cold silent steel, aged and pearl-grey and blue. Her dark olivaceous head weaved a melody her mind forever denied humming and the glorious sight before her sightless eyes seemed more real than anything in the inventory of her seafaring memory.

Mairi stood to Em's side, her auburn mane shades of ochre banding into straw hues of primrose and crimson and bowed with tawny highlights of ancient stars as a diamonded tiara. Closing her eyes, and with a gentle approach, as rugose waves on a pan smooth lake, as arm slips into an old worn leather jacket and smiles of familiarity run from cheek to heart, the mind of the standing took the hand of the mind sitting and to a tune joyous one danced with the other and a warmness spread between hearts as if the uncaring coldness of space between them were but a helpless bystander.

+I could take you places to envy dreams.+

+Yes, please, do.+

And what was dry became wet and what was cold became warm.

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