202. Grace and Beauty

Golden amsec stood smooth as morning lakes in the glittering basins of crystal flutes, reflecting smiles white as Christmas snow. John, dressed in his captain’s whites, lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “To our guest, the elegant lady Kyra, a sight most glorious in her singular grace and beauty.”

Hear, Hear resounded round the table as glasses chimed like church bells, echoes softened in the warmness of welcomed endearments. Kyra’s eyes welled as John’s words rained down upon her refulgent blue eyes. Instinctively, she leaned her head back to hold the tide and inhaled deeply, to stay a sniffle or calm her racing breath could not be said. Nor did it matter. Words, amsec, or perhaps something else, magic was magic and these moments were few and far between. Questions, she checked at the door; to be picked up later, if need be.

Together they raised flutes of golden fruit and she smiled. Not so much at him, as with him, like children on a merry-go-round going up and down and all around to the measure of laughter unencumbered by the gravity of age. And he smiled back in a gesture understood only by two in the discourse of the moment. Others were there, that night, at dinner. So the log testifies. But then again, they may as well been the trees in the forest or the birds overhead.

The table stood resplendent with the bounty of private reserves and select delicacies prepared by hand and arranged on whey linens shipboard smooth. Much came from the prowess of John’s own hands on his ancestral lands. Pure and natural, he would say, but truth be known, he needed the bond to home on these long journeys. Although John would not admit it at the time, he had advised the kitchen, in so many words, to spare no detail this night.

Not since formal Tao dinners with Papa had Kyra seen such care and attention given to an event, giving pause to reflection both melancholy and grateful. Much was eaten; much was said, little remembered. Conversation flowed from loose lips but the eyes alone rendered currency legit, a private duet waltzing to the beat of attentive hearts. Kyra wore her ruby red metalique evening gown that night and she feared the pounding in her chest would betray her longing in glimmering swells of rising metal and flickering light. John wondered how a woman could appear more gorgeous.

Kyra tried not to look, but how could one not stare at his dark brown puppy dog eyes. Somewhere was the sound of water flowing, or perhaps, she thought, just the desire to pour herself into those bottomless pools of reflected admiration, forever slipping deeper and deeper into his intoxicating charisma. She leaned his way in her reserved sultriness, almost daring him to break eye contact, a tacit dare, understood in the curve of a smile. Dessert came and then after-dinner liqueurs of azure blues and emerald greens, exotic on the tongue, familiar in the belly.

John made eye contact with his regular guests and one by one they offered their thanks and excused themselves from the table. Kyra noticed without noticing until just the two remained. (to be continued)

Categories: Story, Kyra, John Discovery

201. The Spades

"John, we have every confidence they've moved undersea. You know what this means," said Tom, standing erect, arms folded, face like a statue.

John stared into his unblinking eyes. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Tom was right. With rolled lips and a heavy sigh John said, "Release the spades . . . and notify Kyra I need to see her right now."

"Yes sir," replied Tom.

Categories: Story, John Discovery

200. The Folio

"Time is an illusion of perspective," said Papa, his holographic image, white tunic and silver hair, glowing brightly from the inside of the folio. "I can only imagine how this last year must have flown by, whipped and driven by the inclement winds of uncertainty. And, I can only imagine how you have grown in the fertile soil of adversity. I miss you more than these words can convey and can only marvel at the leader you have become. With this journal, I officially pass the baton. You are a special one my dear. I feel privileged to have walked by your side on the beaches of Valla. All my love to you my dear sweetest one. Carry on." The image gently faded.

Through misty eyes Kyra closed the folio and ran her hands over the gem encrusted cover; the central gold and blue shell, the crown jewel from Papa’s own personal collection. Papa had handed her the folio on the dock, a gift locked for one year. She had trouble sleeping last night knowing today was the day—one year from that moment on the dock, from that last goodbye. The precious folio had served its sentence. She wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to find, which only made the anticipation all the more intense. That Papa had given her his personal journal, what amounted to his autobiography, was like the gift of a guiding star to one lost at sea.

“Dear Kyra, are you okay,” asked Goldie.

“Yes, yes,” answered Kyra, her smile like the sun shinning in the midst of a afternoon shower. “So good to see Papa again wasn’t it? Who would have thought.” Kyra stood and walked to her window. Standing before the massive pane she looked into the cosmos and clutched the folio tightly to her chest. “I love you too Papa. I do.”

Commentary: The Folio




Categories: Story, Kyra, Papa, The Folio, Goldie

199. Like Magic

"Mairi, I'm going to place our beautiful little friend around your neck," said Dr. X. "Won't hurt as long as you don't resist. Relax your mind. Think pleasant thoughts."

Mairi closed her eyes and the ampulator settled in place. The organism felt its way along her neck, each orifice of its inner ring sluggishly seeking an air tight suction. Mairi started to choke. "Relax my dear. The amp is trying to determine if you are friend or foe. If friend, then you are going to be privileged to some rather special sensations in a few minutes. If foe, then you and I will go down together. Now relax."

"Can you please tell me what vile purpose this exercise suits?"

"My apologies, of course. You my dear, are a null, a blank, or as some might say, an untouchable. In a telepathic world, you are the great eraser, the anti-gravity, the void. No one near you can communicate nor can anyone use their telepathic powers on you. Most important, you black out all telepathic signals. Your mere presence is the great off switch. With you, we are all but invisible to the outside world, but there is one little problem. Your power is not quite strong enough to blank us out from Kulmyk probes, which are a little too close for comfort right now. Our little squishy friend, however, is going to fix that. Once he forms full suction, and of course sees you as a friend, his natural genetic conflux will take your nullness and amplify it. If it works, we will drop off the radar of those probes like magic. And my guess, they'll never know what happened."

As the creature tightened its grip on her neck, Mairi tried not to squirm managing to eek just a single word through her clenched teeth. "If?"

"Well, as you know, we've never had a null before, so I suppose you could say this is where theory crosses the road of actuality. Now relax, I'm fairly certain this is going to work."



"TEAM KILO REPORTING in. Over. Do you read?"

"Loud and clear," replied Tom. " What seems to be the problem."

"Hard to explain sir. One minute we were locked on their location and then the next, they just disappeared."

Categories: Story, Mairi, Dr. X

198. Frail Me

Yul sat in her quarters, alone. Wasn’t the first time with Rog having been in hospital for so long, but this aloneness was different. He could be here if he wanted. He wasn’t; and that species of aloneness was a very different animal. Frail him, she thought. I was there for him, by his bedside, in the chapel, lighting candles and now that he is better and life is good for him, now that I need him, he chooses to be elsewhere. She picked up a vase and, with a motion Rog would have been proud of, hurled it against the stone wall. It shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces, each little jagged edge jutting up like so many icebergs, beautiful and dangerous.

She thought to clean the mess but then thought why. She tried to cry but could not produce a tear and she realized her anger needed, demanded, an outlet and there were not enough vases on the entire ship to sate her ire. But there was the cabinet.

Her cabinet had three drawers. Her modified, albeit illegal, Oblivions were in the top drawer; tempting, but completely unsatisfying. You could erase the memories from the mind, but memory took root thought-out the whole body. Call it molecular memory, but a hand once bloody, well, there was no Oblivion capable of bleaching that stain from the offending cells. And memory was more than just one’s own domain. Others knew, they had their own memories, and no Oblivion was going to erase the actual event. They were, perhaps, best left to their original purpose.

Drawer two held her blue vials--her second little secret. Almost got her in trouble with Trev and the agent of choice for terminal selection, nevertheless the risk was well worth the reward. Besides, she thought, Trev could have been fun and if you were going to go, well, there were worse ways. Note to self: life is short. Reconsider helping peach boy. Oooooh, maybe he'll bring his camera this time.

As much as current events still painfully throbbed, temptation was stronger, or perhaps just too delicious. This time, she rationalized, was for pleasure, so she removed one vial, put a couple drops on her wrist, closed the small crystal cruet and returned it to the drawer. A drop on each wrist was all that was needed. Any more and, well, she had been down that route. Frail you Rog, she thought as a wicked smile took hold of her face. Her contraband didn’t take long to work and whether it was suggestive or not, she felt the warm wetness between her legs signal the point of no return, or was it the beginning. No matter, she mused. Let the games begin. Lifting her arms, Yul did a little dance, rolling her unlooking eyes upward and snapping her fingers.

But drawer three, yes sir, we’ll take number three. Oh the glow, the heft, the smoothness and that sublime curve. Rog had given it to her as a gift. Best damn present she had ever gotten and by Janus it was just frailing perfect. At least that Hynerian did something right, she thought. She would have her fun and she would have it with his gift. Just the nastiness of the thought tightened the flesh between her ambulatory limbs.

Yul held the phallic instrument, or tool as she liked to call it, in her slender hands and it begin to warm with a very slight pulsation. "Whoa, baby, not just yet," and the tool hummed down. Voice activation, what a brilliant idea, she thought. Had to be female in origin. The tool, was more than just a toy with simple voice response. Rog had picked it up on Neraj. Paid an arm and a leg for it too. She didn’t believe him at first, but the device was also auto-suggestive. Neat little trick, until Yul used it one night with the vial (which is what she called the potent aphrodisiac she had procured illegally). The two used together were nothing less than mind blowing. And people wondered why she always had a smile on her face.

Moving to her bed, Yul stepped out of her crimson robe, letting the silky garment slide to the floor. She turned the dial on the bed to warm; it would take less than a minute to reach optimum temperature. Standing straight, her back arched, she watched her reflection in the window as her nipples caught a slight breeze and hardened to a pale blue. What a frailing rush to frail in front of the cosmos. She had never imagined the thrill until the first time Rog had taken her on Bravo. My Janus, she mused, and I didn’t even have the vial in use. What a frailing ride that was. Her legs quivered for days and she could have sworn everyone knew.

Setting the tool down, she slowly ran her hands from her hips up her side letting her fingers lightly graze the sides of her breasts like juju feathers. She was careful not to touch her aching nipples. Timing was important. A good frail needed to build, spiced with dreamy anticipation. And a good frail was as much a matter of the mind as of the bod. Imagination, tonight, was not going to be an issue. Waking the neighbors could be. Poor Em, she thought. Her room was next door. Mmm, maybe I should invite the little sea nymph over, but then she thought the better. If I share the vial, she’ll just want more and more. Of course, I could teach her to use the tool and then, who would need Rog. Yul laughed at her own wicked imagination. Mmm, little Emy on my bed, now that was a thought and her nipples glowed a brighter shade of blue. No place for shame in the bedroom, at least that’s what she was taught, and she had found no reason to dispute it. Neither did Rog for that matter.

The bed was ready, warm. Pulling the sheets back to the foot of the bed she laid down, two norsewill down pillows cased in azure venusian silk under her head. Half the fun, she thought was watching the penetration. I want to feel your long, hard, throbbing shaft sliding between my warm, wet, tight inviting pinkish lips and I want to see it too baby, she would tell Rog. Just the sight of the veins bulging bluish purple on the side of his rigid piston made her legs weak and her mouth hung low, watered with anticipation. Been awhile since she was deflowered, but she liked to imagine it happening all over again and again. Are you going to take me tonight baby? The tool hummed back to life. What a frailing device.

She brought her wrist up to her nose and inhaled. My frailing Janus, did that feel good, electric, as if every nerve ending was on fire, demanding to be pinched and pulled and twisted with fingers oiled. Can’t buy drugs anywhere like the vial. No wonder more murders surrounded this trade than any other. Kisses to my benefactor. Oh, and Rog, frail you too. Yul laughed.

Lying spread eagle, exposed to the universe, she closed her eyes and instead of Rog, John came into view. Involuntarily, she felt a purr slip between her lips. Oh my, what was that exotic alien packing, and she pressed her head back into her pillows, her blue tongue gliding over her parted glistening purple lips. Come to mama John, Yulie has a little something to milk those concerns from your tired shoulders.

Yul scooted her feet toward her hips, her knees hinging upward to form an inverted V. Her slender hands, each finger ringed with ornaments silver and gold, remained at her side as she rotated her hips and practiced the ancient art of the body/mind scan. What a mind frail, she thought. Again she brought the inside of her wrist to her nose and inhaled. A shiver traveled down her spine from neck to hide where the warm sensation settled and seemed to expand in intensifying waves of pleasure, each building upon the other, each more intense than the one before.

Her hips begin to move on their own. She anchored her hands by her side, palms down with fingers spread like eagle's claws, arched her back, and let her mind take over, or so the illusion of control implied. Her erect nipples, as if taking the high ground, throbbed as beacons toward the ceiling, casting bluish shadows into the valley of her firm orbs and upon the river of gold that flowed from her neck in the form of chains and medallions. Cold metal on hot skin, fire and ice, pleasure and pain. The circle of pleasure, the eternal cycle of beginning and end not as two.

The vial had the effect of inducing a lucid dream state while keeping one conscious. And right now, John was in bed, naked, hard muscled, brimming with the confidence of a master bull fighter standing center stage—only the red cape was missing. She couldn’t move, her legs fixed in a spread, her slit glistening with carnal desire as she felt a small lubricious trickle slide to her arse, and John saw it all. He smiled and her imagination shifted into overdrive. Was he looking to mount me, there? He was alien after all. Perhaps he didn’t know which orifice was which? How long had he wanted me? Had he already taken certain liberties after the quilling? Maybe this wasn’t his first time. Oh my Janus, maybe he’s already frailed me and I don’t even know it. And so the thoughts built and Yul slipped further and further into the drug induced state.

She tried to moan, but John put his finger to her lips motioning her to silence. He was going to frail her, frail her like Rog had never frailed her before, like Rog wasn’t capable of doing, and she was not going to utter a single solitary sound. She tried to move her hands, and couldn’t. His strong grasp held hers in place and he flashed that mature seductive grin, starlight gleaming off his straight white teeth. His strapping legs, solid as aged oak, moved inside her tender long white thighs pinning them open, exposed; and his skin felt summer sun warm, tingling warm as visions of secluded beaches and hidden coves awash with warm salty azure waters filled her wicked mind’s eye.

She pressed her legs against his. They didn’t bulge. Like the inevitableness of the setting suns—Rubion and Triste--the warmth of his breath descended to her neck leaving kisses along her protruding external jugular vein. She breathed in, chest rising, nipples aching, and he skipped a kiss further down. Another breath, another kiss—a touch of skin, the feel of life exhaled, and so he moved down the river of gold to those exotic pulsing blue mounds. The room began to glow with the hardening blueness of her erect nipples and she saw lust reflecting in the upper irises of John's eyes. The aroma of her wetness intermingled with his silky lather, intoxicating beyond the potency of Trev's blue snoot. Or maybe it was just the vial. Winners don't question the call.

She tried to speak but his left hand covered her lips and he shook his head like a scolding schoolmaster. A wicked grin spread across his cheeks as she silently opened her soft lips, sucking in his left index finger deeper and deeper, her doe eyes wide and unblinking. His eyes fixed on hers as his strong right hand explored the slick sticky wetness between her legs. Her hips took over, embracing his touch like a young girl running down the dock to hug her sailor returning from a long voyage. The embrace of warmth and wetness, of desire and lust, of drugs and imagination overwhelmed all else. Energy pulsed to the heartbeat of the universe and where there were two, only one could be seen. Fully exposed, vulnerable and helpless, she was right on the edge of loosing control. There was only ever one first time, one first moment of hardness sliding into wetness, one first stroke where reality overwhelmed the imagination and dreams seemed like the playthings of children. Who was ridden and who rode mattered not for the ride shared a mutual ecstasy that threatened to rip the bed from its foundation breaking the hull and sucking them to certain death in the vacuum of space. What a frailing way to go, she thought, and she slid into the dream deeper with each imaged stroke, each alien thrust between the tight velvet wetness of her animal lust fueled by the scent of a forbidden aphrodisiac.

Her legs clamped around John’s back like a well-oiled bear trap on a humid morning. By Janus, he was going to frail her or she was going to frail him or they would frail each other with the heat of passion born of neglect and educated with an anger grown in the fields of stress--tribute to be paid in the coin of release. She felt sweat, hers or his or both was hard to say as the planetary light glistened off their skin like so much glitter, their movements causing each bead to twinkle like starlight. The room, or her mind, hard to tell, begin to spin like the mirrored ball at a high school dance.

Her arms reached around his back and her nails dug into his flesh as if to mark her territory. She drew blood and he pounded her harder, his head falling to her chest, inhaling first her left nipple and then the right, moving back and forth, watching them swell and pulse to the darting of his firm tongue and succulent soft lips. He bit down, teeth sheathed between his lips and rotated his gums like twin babies suckling milk. Pain and pleasure blended together in that way that makes eyes sparkle and lovers bond in a symphony beyond language or poets or sages. Music played without sound and light flashed where there was only darkness and the opening of time revealed itself in an instant of pleasure beyond the reach of concept or sensation.

She craned her neck and bit his ear as if to say don’t you stop, whatever you frailing do, don’t you stop. Frail me baby, just frail me like a lathered John Henry pounding out rock through my tunnel. And he obliged. Somewhere she heard a slap, a constant steady wet slap of skin on skin, of passion kissing passion in ways that made the prude turn red and the pious turn the page. Her legs felt as if on fire from the heat of liquid friction, a luscious sucking sound with each thrust that spoke as if living and breathing of its own accord. His arms, muscled like bulging pythons, braced himself on either side of the top of her pale shoulders, her legs spread over the top of his, as exposed as she could make herself, reaching, deeper, thrusting, looking, begging for just a little more, just a little faster, just a little harder, just a little more--now.

Her eyelids started to flutter and her nipples felt full and heavy and ached with a sensitivity born of hard use. Breathing became labored and John shifted position. How he rotated her to her stomach without withdrawing his flesh was but a blur. Arching her back, raw, uninhibited, shameless wantonness took control. She grabbed the headboard and screamed out. His right hand firmly on her hip, his left holding her hair like the reins of a thoroughbred coming down the back stretch, whether he was pulling her into him or she was impaling herself on his hardness could not be said, but either way, the bed shook and light danced and the neighbors took notice.

The banging continued and muted voices were heard. She looked at John and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say I told you so as he faded from sight. The banging continued and she recognized Emy’s voice. Oh my Janus, she thought while grabbing her robe off the floor.

“Hang on Em, I’ll be right there. Damn.”


Categories: Story, Yul

197. Foreplay

Kyra entered the lab. “Hey Trev, whacha got?” He had called just minutes ago saying his preliminary results were in and that she might want to take a look at the findings. He said they were interesting.

Handing her the report he said, “Who would have thought? I’ve doubled checked the results. Just thought I’d say that before you asked,” his face just a little more red than normal, his eyes a little bloodshot as if he had been up all night cramming for an exam.

Kyra looked over the report. I’ll be was all she said before closing the file and handing it back to Trev. “I trust you understand this file remains confidential. If there is a leak, I’ll know there could only be one source.”

“Kyra, I hope you know me better than that.”

She just looked with raised brow.

“You have my word.”

“And the sample?”

“All gone.”

“Really?”

Trev blushed.

“Don’t worry Trev. I won’t ask and you won’t lie and we’ll leave it at that. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” he replied, unable to maintain eye contact.

Categories: Story, Kyra, Trev

196. And Found

“Von, you got a minute?” asked Rog.

“Sure, come on in.” Von was sitting at his desk looking better than he had a right to look considering what he had just experienced on world. His desk was immaculately clean and organized, which only made the crystal decanter of golden snoot look like it had Rog’s name on it. “Care to join me?” asked Von, knowing from the look in Rog’s eyes the question was rhetorical. He pulled out a second glass before Rog could answer.

Rog forced a smile, his eyes fixed on the glass. Von had the lights set on evening ambiance, which gave the snoot a sunset golden glow as he poured. Snoot was thicker than water and had the most unique and pleasing sound as it rolled from the decanter into crystal, the soothing sound opening to mind all things warm and wonderful as if the door to some fantastic place had just opened. “Thanks Von.” Lifting the glass to his lips, Rog let the warm smooth snoot linger on his tongue before lifting his chin, a gentle nudge to move the sweet nectar along.

“You know,” said Rog, “if we were back on Hyneria, we would be preparing for the big holiday. Family, food, friends,” lifting his glass, “snoot.”

Von smiled and took another sip without breaking eye contact with his guest.

“Do you ever miss it?” asked Rog.

“Miss what?”

“Home. Your family. Hyneria?”

“My home is here Rog and the members of this crew are my family, but that is not the answer you are looking for, not exactly what you want to hear is it?”

Rog pulled his cheeks up in smile without teeth. He knew Von was right on both accounts. “Damn you Von,” he laughed, “I wasn’t asking you for the truth.”

“I know. I can see the pain in your eyes and I think I know, well, let me rephrase that, I don’t know, but I’m open to listening. My words may have ringed true, but there are other bells in the tower and they have every right to sound their truth too. So pull that rope. Pull it hard, ring those bells. From the look of things, we’ve got time on our hands.”

“Maybe it’s the snoot, but I have no idea what you just said, although it sure sounds sophisticated, Taoesque even. Can you translate that into something this ol’ farm boy can understand?”

“Taoesque, now there is a word I don’t think I’ve ever heard.” Von laughed harder than he had laughed in some time. “Been spending some time with Kyra I see. Look, I’m aware of what happened with Yul. I understand there was a note too, which, before you ask, I haven’t seen. But you know what, I don’t need any of that to know something is weighing on your mind, or heart as the case may be. Body language doesn’t lie and yours is transmitting like a blinking neon sign.”

“Really? Uhm, that transparent?”

“Yep. Like a pane of brand new glass. Now I’ve got time on my hands and nowhere to go, so the floor is all yours.”

Rog placed the edge of the crystal glass against his lower lip, hesitated slightly, and took another long sip in the dim warm light. Von had an avuncular way about him, the room felt cozy and the snoot was starting to warm his belly and loosen this tongue. “I hardly know where to start,” sighed Rog.

“Start with Yul. Tell me what is going on there.” Von had been reading before Rog showed up and still had his reading glasses on. In a gesture to say you have my full attention, he reached up and took them off, letting the blue onyx frames rest on his chest, suspended from a cord around his neck.

“You know she tried to commit suicide. Why, is still not completely clear and she isn’t talking. So that part is still muddy and part of me understands her not wanting to talk and part of me is going crazy not knowing what is going on inside her head and part of me is pissed that she won’t open up to me, that she is holding back and part of me is trying to understand that maybe she just needs a little space. If that is all there was, no big deal. But she left a note. She hasn’t asked about it or alluded to it, so I’m not sure that she remembers writing it. I’ve read it and so has Kyra, which, remind me later, that’s a whole other subject. Anyway, the note was tear stained and certain passages are blurred and it is unclear exactly what she said or meant. She alluded to many issues, which, quite frankly, don’t completely add up to the suicide attempt. There is still something missing and like I said, she ain’t talking right now. But one thing in the note was very clear. She was not the one that was supposed to be on Bravo and it seems obvious that that was a factor of stress.”

“Does she explain the who and what behind that statement?”

Rog just shook his head. “No. In her note she talks in riddles. There is a strong sense of guilt, which is understandable in light of her mindset at the time, but she alludes to certain relationships in her life that caused her great pain, and apparently, still do. Why she had this breakdown now, I have no idea—just makes no sense to me. Still, that’s not what really bothers me. What really bothers me is she pretended to be someone that she wasn’t. I feel dirty, deceived, played for a fool and now she won’t talk, which, probably is a good thing since I’m sure I’d say some things I’d regret.” Rog paused as if to allow his thoughts to catch up with his tongue. “Feedback?”

Von thought for a second. “Keep going. I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what to say Von. I feel lost. Lost from Yul. Lost from Kyra, and, perhaps, most disturbing, I feel lost from myself.” Rog stopped and leaned over placing his forearms on the top of his knees. He looked up at Von. “I’ve never felt lost before.”

“When you say “lost from yourself,” what do you mean?”

“There is an anger inside of me I don’t know how to explain, almost like my body has been invaded my some alien creature. This is not me Von. I don’t get like this. Do you understand? I all but attacked Kyra just a short while ago.” A pale smile emerged from behind Rog’s eyes. “I will say this, she can hold her own. I walked in like my balls were made of brass and she handed them back to me on a platter. Kinda made me horny actually, if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, been awhile, but I think I know what you mean. Now tell me. What happened between you and Kyra. This is the second time you’ve alluded to some sort of confrontation.”

“It was about the note. When I read what Yul had to say I was shocked. But when I watched Kyra read it, something just didn’t seem right. It bothered me. And the feeling didn’t go away, it kinda grew. So, I confronted her in her quarters.”

“About what?”

“Whether she knew, knew that Yul wasn’t supposed to be on Bravo.”

“What did she say?”

“Said she knew. Well, actually, she said she figured it out from what she knew about Yul from the manifest and from what she saw and heard from Yul onboard. Said anyone with ears and eyes would have seen something was not right. Speaking of which, did you know?”

Von hesitated.

“You’re shiotting me. You knew?”

“No, I was just thinking, trying to think through the things I remember Yul saying and doing. Some things seemed not quite in sync but I can’t say I really thought much about it. Besides, in my mind, what was and what is—two different things—and after my time in the hands of the Javalinas, well, let’s just say it took a lot of time on Silus to make peace with the past and to let it go. So to answer your question, I didn’t know.”

“Well, I blasted Kyra for not telling me.” Rog stopped as if the statement demanded a reaction from Von.

Von didn’t say anything.

“Von, I don’t blast anyone like that. And I have no idea where it came from and that scares me. As soon as I walked out her door my first instinct was to run to the arms of Yul, for her to tell me everything would be okay and to go back and make things right. But as soon as that thought popped into my head, I realized the Yul I was thinking of no longer existed and those arms I longed to feel wrapped around me might as well be back on Hyneria. So, I came here.” Rog reached out his glass and Von poured. “Tell me what you’re thinking. Help me see what I’m not seeing.”

“You sure you want to hear what I’ve got to say?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t. Besides, my balls are already on the platter so take your best shot.” They both laughed as those with bellies of snoot are wont to do.

So Von said what he had to say and Rog listened. Then they both sat for a long time, lost in their glasses as if the words spoken were rocks tossed into the pond of their souls, ripples slowly moving toward the shore. After a while, Rog stood up, thanked Von for the advice, and the snoot, and made his way back to his quarters. So much to think about and yet, at the same time, there was really nothing to think about at all.

Categories: Story, Rog, Von