380. The Hood

The Hood: Tom, we've had a chance to review your report.

Tom: Yes sir.

The Hood: Seems there was a bit of trouble on Tranquility.

Tom: Yes sir.

The Hood: A breakdown in discipline your report says.

Tom: Yes sir.

The Hood: (eyes scan Tom) I see.

Tom: (stares straight ahead)

The Hood: Your report is a bit sparse on this breech. Explain.

Tom: Sir, as you know, John and Cait were personal friends of mine. What occurred before the destruction of the Tranquility is something I would rather not remember and since detailing the atrocity would serve no purpose in the greater scheme of the Deleo, I chose not to elaborate.

The Hood: Not your place to make those judgments.

Tom: Yes sir.

The Hood: History must be honored. For the children. They must know.

Tom: Sir, I'm afraid I don't follow.

The Hood: Tell me what happened. For history. So that we may be honored by telling the truth, however painful that may be. Honor the children Tom. Give us the record. You are a man of honor, are you not Tom?

Tom: (looks uncomfortable) Two of my men, on the boarding party, disobeyed orders. Before killing Cait, they raped her. The rape, unfortunately set off an unexpected reaction, and what was to be clean, became chaotic and ugly.

The Hood: (after a slight pause) Who set the self-destruct on Tranquility?

Tom: We don't know sir.

The Hood: But we do know you were the only survivor. Is that true?

Tom: Yes sir.

The Hood: And we know that John and Kyra and everyone else on Tranquility is dead.

Tom: Yes sir.

The Hood: I see.

Tom: Will that be all sir?

The Hood: Yes.

Tom: (turns to leave, only the sound of his heels is heard clicking and clacking toward the door)

The Hood: Tom?

Tom: Yes sir?

The Hood: One more thing. Have you ever heard the name Taboodja?

379. Golden Wabi's

(ed note: this chapter takes place on Hyneria, in "story time" almost two years earlier, shortly after Bravo departed)

Zeke's leathery hands, hands of love, of care, of concern, tossed more feed into the basin like rain to soil, life supported from hand to mouth, of one above to those below, not unlike Janus to Hynerian, or so it was believed. His golden wabi's, koi mouthed, fed in the clear and quiet waters of their enclosed universe, peacefully unaware of the troubles without. What was the difference, if he left. They would die as would those left on Hyneria, regardless. Looking above, his mouth as agap as the feeding fish, he had not the energy to question Janus.

Blu hovered to his side, his perse hue blending into the prevailing mood. The skies of Valla had long since given up bright for dark and brother sun, once omnipresent, seemed permanently censored by a dense gray ceiling of roiling clouds. The palette of yellows and oranges and azures gave way to an endless monotony of dull gray and slate blue, as if the planet itself was winter depressed. The cheerful beaches of the compound, a canvas for so many joyful memories, seemed faded and abused and hardly recognizable as spumy waves slammed ashore with roar and slap as if the bewildered hoary sea wanted to strike out at the only object in reach, a cornered, cowering coast.

Above the gentle bubbling of the basin, Zeke spoke. "Blu, what do you think of Ji's proposal?"

Blu glided closer and his eyes begin to glow and blink as if he were carefully considering his response, as if fearful of emoting. "I don't want you to leave me."

"I won't leave you."

"You have no choice. I am a mechanical. If I go, then I deny a sentient a place."

"I didn't say I was going."

"You must."

"Why?"

"Hope."

"Then I will find a way to bring you. There is always a way."

"And if you bring me, who will care the wabi's?"

378. Nothing More Beautiful

"What's a Hynerian?"

Kyra kneeled with the crack of leather, her eyes on level with Ariel's. "A silly label given to divide what was once undivided. We do it with river and gulf, with ground and sky. We think it makes us civilized, important, learned."

Ariel looked puzzled. "Emy said she was one. And that you were too. And when I asked her if I was, she said no."

"Em was right. You see, you are much more than a silly label. You're a child of the universe. And there is nothing more beautiful than that."

"Are you a child of the universe too?"

"Yes."

"And Em?"

"Yes, Em too."

Ariel pondered her answers like a little lawyer. Satisfied, she launched herself into Kyra's arms and proclaimed, "Then we should play like children and leave those serious adults to their bidness."

Kyra pulled her head back. "Bidness? Where did you hear that?"

"Rog. He said he was going to give Yul the "bidness" and he sounded very serious about it, so I thought it must be something those silly adults do."

Kyra laughed like a child at the end of a long school day. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I think we should go play."

"Can Em come too?"

"Absolutely."

And two smiles became three as Kyra looked above and gave thanks.

377. This Place is No Place

Jeweled warts glistened upon a worn face of lamellar scales. Taboodja, of eye aubergine, had a plan. Frail John. That was the plan. Simple. Few moving parts. Little to complicate. Just frail the golden boy. Payback was a damn sweet motherfrailing slit of a bitch worn loose from wear. The thought of frailing John, prostrated before heathens and heaven alike, in his cold sphinctered tight arse, a public frailing, before the jaded and bejeweled split-tails, delighted his diseased imagination like warm rancid milk in a goat's bowl.

Tabood stood and measured his leathered tumidity with satisfaction. Looking about, the kaleidoscope of debauchery drifted before his dull eyes, whores and more whores, dancing as hips upon mirrored glass, money sucking sluts with painted smiles, bodies on autopilot, minds long since jettisoned. The lude smell of obscura drifted in the air, poor grade mixed with home brewed. Lights gaudy, stacked like a bad dream, beamed, flashed and buzzed ware and trade in the eternal night of moon life. Drum ribbed children slumped and scattered under weight not seen, their smiles stolen in the wicked commerce, laid bare upon days without end, of tunnels alight with the grin of a soulless master, black of heart, whip of hand; the doors of their souls locked, the windows of their eyes blackened by the faint hand of hope.

Work the rock. Work the hard place. Make the deal. Play the game. Party of the first part dead. Party of the second part desperate. Work it lubeless, work it with jagged rusted prejudice. Into the neon night Tabood smiled in yellow fangs foul with yesterday's substance, pores blistering with milky teeming pus, rank of smell like three day butchered meat.

Tabood picked his neglected nails, spitting refuse as chaff. He had the time of one with all the cards, the visage of a plan weighed and sorted and sorted and weighed. Snorting through his moist purple snout, casting virus-born phlegm upon the dirty silver metal planking, he hacked up a vile custard of hue chartreuse, wiped clean with the back of his golden burnished scaled hand.

John looked at Von quiet as church before those of bended back and crooked knee arrive. "Tighten your shiott."

Leather strained by din of hand prepared. Weapons, cold cocked, ready to frail the shiott out of innocent and guilty alike. Fear confessed, now or later, before no bean frailing counter. "Shiott secured," said Von.

"There is nothing here worth the weighing if weighing deign upon the moment. This place is no place."

"I see what needs not what wants."

John stopped, the circus of light and slut tight on their smell. "Is that some kind of Zing shiott?"

"Nope. I got a hide long for the tannery. And I mean to keep it that way."

"I think I'm beginning to see why Rog likes you. Now--"

"Look, this ain't my first rodeo. You lead, I'll follow. And if you frail it up, I'll pull your arse from the fire before the crew can sniff your Kulmykian bacon."

"Really?"

"No, not really. But it sounded good didn't it?"

John smiled. Von didn't. His scalp begin to itch under eyes fixed of intent not pure from the right of the broadway. A bolt of orange tinged the air as John and Von parted as pages of a book left and right.

"Pick yourselves up. If I wanted you dead, you'd be." Tabood stood above the fallen pair trying hard to suppress the smile behind his large purple oculars.

376. Reu-nion

No I would not give you false hope
On this strange and mournful day
But the mother and child reu-nion
Is only a motion away, oh, little darling of mine.

(Lyrics: Paul Simon)

Kyra and Ariel held hands as John (and Von) departed, her little hand gripping Kyra’s finger tighter and tighter as her father vanished from sight in the isabelline haze. The two stood frozen in silence, each as alone as together, watching the empty fog as if thoughts were ice. As Kyra made a motion to leave, quick as lightning, Ariel snapped her arms around Kyra's leather clad leg as one might hug a tree, her tiny feet firmly planted on the top of Kyra’s black boot. Kyra looked down and smiled. Ariel avoided eye contact. Walking as if in a three-legged race, the two trounced about the transport's steel floor, fear camouflaged with giggles, energy fueled by avoidance.

“Ariel, will you excuse me for a minute?” Kyra quickly added, “I’ll be right back. Promise.”

“Can I come with you?”

“Would you like to go on a special trip?”

“Where?”

“Give me a minute. I need to ask permission.”

--

“Granted.” (The Unknowns)

--

“Ariel, did I ever tell you about my mother?”

“No.”

“Well, I lost my mother too. And you know what I miss the most?”

“What?”

“I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye. I wanted to tell her that I loved her.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Long story, but let me ask you this. I want you to listen very carefully because I need you to understand what I am asking. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I have a gift, a special ability. I can’t use it very often but I think I would like to offer it to you.”

“I like gifts. Can I have it now?”

“Yes, but before I show it to you I need to explain a few things.”

Kyra talked quietly and Ariel listened, her cherry face aglow in the wonder of things only dreamed. The two knelt together in the center of the transport, holding hands and touching foreheads, as a bright teal glow enveloped them like a snow globe. The rest of the crew claimed the bright light lasted mere minutes. Ariel argued it was hours.

When the light faded and their eyes opened as close together as the bond forming within their hearts, Ariel threw her arms around Kyra’s neck and whispered: “My mom says thank you.”

375. Time

Ariel stood in the doorframe, still as a photograph, watching. John secured his kit. Items laid in order, neat as plan before contact, clear as a high mountain pool. One by one, routine memorized in the name of freedom, the remoras of necessity attached themselves to his frame and he looked cold as business on a Monday morning. In the turn, brown eyes met blue, father to daughter, the rope of connection swaying in the mind as the uncertain winds of mission stirred fear in a young simple heart. And for a wordless moment, a pause, as one looked down and the other looked up.

John knelt. Ariel stayed, holding the frame with tiny knuckles white in the whipping swirl of currents melanic.

"Ariel." He called.

With eyes full and cheeks quivering, her little hands began to shake.

"I love you," said John, his words a lasso.

Not moving, Ariel said. "You're leaving."

"I'll be back--"

"I don't want you to go."

"There is a man that is going to help us. I need to go see him. He has a ship for us. A bigger ship."

"I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. You always leave. Always."

She turned and ran, his words echoing in the empty frame, "Ariel. Ariel."

"John," commed Kyra.

"What?"

"It's time."

374. Taboodja

“Where we headed,” whispered Yul, having slipped into the only room of expulsion on the troop transport.

Rog, in midstream and of brow furrowed in thoughts past, misfired his agent of masculine surrender. “Damn.”

“You know,” she rasped, her nails pristine blue, palms outward, hands rising flamingos, tracing his ribs as smoothly as moonlight over hill and dale, “I could make it worth your while.”

Rog reached behind his head as a diver might, delts as dunes of shadow and might, his bruised fingers spreading over her yearning head, his chest expanding rippled steel. “Steer the ship, if you think you can handle it.”

Eyes intent dove as bird of prey into refulgent cisterns sparkling grey. “Been too frailing long.” Yul looked out the small window, inspiration in three moons. “Take me, there.”

Like a weathered cowboy at the end of a long day, leathered chaps warm from hard use, hat cocked with a grin, muscles lathered in honest labor, asking twice not needed.

--

“Quite a sight isn’t it,” said Kyra, as the three moons came into view.

John smiled, his eyes unable to see beauty in anything.

“What does the slate say?”

“What?”

“The slate. What does it say,” she asked again.

“Oh. Taboodja.”

“What?”

“Taboodja. Here look.”

“Taboodja. What does it mean?”

“Don’t know.”

“Well?”

“Huh?”

“Power the slate.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Well?”

“Says we dock on Pad 9 and asked for Taboodja.”

Kyra looked sideways at John.

“What?”