133. Don't Ask

“Rog, what seems to be the problem,” asked Kyra, slightly out of breath from the run from Mairi’s quarters. Seems every damn time I try to have a conversation something happens.

“Snazzle junior is picking up unfriendlies heading our way. Might be a malfunction since they are moving faster than anything I’ve ever seen,” said Rog.

“They’re Kulmyk Vollmonds—long range interceptors. I’m impressed,” said Taren. “Apparently, they have not drawn a reading on us. How is that possible on such a primitive vessel as this?”

“Metalunans,” responded Kyra. “Long story, but they fixed and upgraded our ship. We still haven’t uncovered everything they did. More to the point, Rog, how long before they know we are here?”

“Hard to say,” said Rog.

“Ten minutes,” answered Taren.

“Options?” asked Kyra to no one in particular as her eyes did not leave Taren.

“Stay here and the Kulmyks will imprison your crew. Then, they will interrogate each and every one of you to find out who you are, why you are here and what you know about us. Their methods are brutal, unspeakable and ultimately effective. Once they have satisfied themselves that you know nothing, you will thank them for putting you out of your misery. They will, however, take special interest in Mairi. I would not want to be her in Kulmyk hands. That is option one.” Taren paused for effect, his own mind a cacophony of fear, fear from the minds of the crew.

“And option two?” asked Kyra.

“Dock this vessel in our landing bay and we slip away to an undisclosed location,” said Taren.

Kyra glanced at Von.

“You have eight minutes to detection,” said Taren. “ It will take seven minutes to dock and vacate. Do you want to live?”

“Make it so,” ordered Kyra.

Rog worked the controls. Taren’s ship was several times the size of Bravo-Four-Zero. The crew stood in wonder as the bay doors swallowed their tiny ship.

“Where are you taking us Taren?” asked Kyra.

“I like you Kyra. Please don’t ask me again.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Rog, Taren

132. In Oil

Kyra

Categories: Story, Kyra, Paintings

131. Sunrise

Mairi powered her journal with a slight pause of her blue eyes before the retinal scan, light-scribe in hand. The slight hum of the slate coming to life was relaxing as her quarters glowed with the soft greenish light. Resting her feet on her desk, she melted into her Penusian leather lumchair with a slow deep breath. These moments alone, in the quiet sanctuary of her own quarters, with only the silent echoes of her own thoughts and the gentle hum of her slate were to Mairi like gold.

Few still used the old tech, preferring voice entry, but Mairi appreciated tradition and the heft of a handmade scribe in her sensitive hand. Scribe to slate just seemed right, felt right. Writing, she mused, was a whole body experience, an expression as much of the corporal as the cerebral, for how could one separate one from the other. To exclude the hand and the eye, without due cause of course, was to exclude a part of one’s self and she would have none of it.

Normally, words flowed; and normally, she preferred not to be disturbed while she allowed her thoughts to flow from mind to hand to slate, with the possible exception of a visit from Goldie with a warm cup of snizzle. Tonight, however, her handmade scribe, a gift from her eldest uncle, felt leaden and cold. Unable to craft her nightly missal, Mairi clicked back to yesterday’s entry.

Morning broke, as it always does in space, no different from night or afternoon or any other time for that matter. My morning wakeup call, a gently illuminating blue light. I could have chosen any color, and perhaps someday I will, but for now, the soft cool blue light most helps me forget--sunrise.

I never much cared for sunrises back home. They were always there for the taking, whenever I wanted. I could, on any day, walk the short distance to the beach, in the quiet solitude of dawn, and allow the warm golden rays to cleanse my soul of the sins of yesterday. Because I could, on any given day, whenever I wanted, I didn’t. Treasures ignored and neglected by my blind eyes, which for now live only in my manufactured memories of what could have been. My shoulders ache in silent pulsing agony with a burden my mind refuses to put down.

I feel tired. I feel lonely. I feel isolated. I didn’t fit . . .

“Mairi, may I come in,” asked Kyra, interrupting Mairi’s reading. “There is a rather urgent matter I need to discuss.”

“By all means Kyra,” responded Mairi, unlocking the door to her quarters. “Please come in. I wasn’t much getting anywhere with my journaling tonight.”

“Well, I think all that is about to change. Our special guests would like a private audience with you. Seems they believe you have a unique and useful gift,” said Kyra. She let the words hang lightly in the subtle tension of the unknown. Did Mairi have a gift; did she know she had it; was she holding out on the rest of the crew? For that matter, thought Kyra, what do I really know about anyone on board? Do I know my crew, or do I know just the facades they project.

“Kyra?

“Oh, yes Mairi. Sorry, just lost in thought with all the developments of late. May I ask you a personal question?”

“Sure.”

“Do you have any idea what this gift may be?”

The normally relaxed look on Mairi’s face faded away. The conversation was moving to a new plane and it felt intoxicating. Kyra had never shown much interest in getting to know her and to be asked such a personal question, one-on-one, was flattering and frightening. What if she gave the wrong answer; and, what exactly would be the right answer, what did Kyra want to hear. And, why, she wondered, were there so many “ands” in her mind that refused to be ignored; “and” why did she care, care what Kyra thought, why did she need to want to please, to give the right answer, to be accepted and liked and wanted and loved on this ship? It was a need or was it a desire or could the two be intertwined.

“Mairi?” interrupted Kyra as they both broke out in laughter. “Seems we both are a little distracted tonight.”

“Yeah, not every day aliens invade your ship and single you out as important. But to answer your question, I have a confession to make. I am …”

Before Mairi could finish the ship’s warning alarms drowned out her words. “Hold on to that thought, I think we better get to the bridge.”

Categories: Story, Mairi, Kyra

130. Mairi

Earliest known sketch of Mairi.

Categories: Story, Mairi, Sketches

129. No Doubt

As the crew entered the Grand Conference, Taren turned to his mentor and seventh-level Cog, the highest ranking attainable. “Shen, what do you sense?” asked Taren as they surveyed the crew of Bravo-Four-Zero.

“No doubt she is here,” whispered Shen from behind his hood, purple eyes glowing with anticipation and excitement. “I could not be more pleased with her abilities. I have heard rumor of such facility but never did I dream this opportunity would present itself. Fate does work in mysterious ways does it not?”

“You’ve always taught fate speaks to those who open to possibility, to those who embrace the flow rather than resist it, to those who believe like children. I’m not sure I would have intuited the gift this vessel imparts to us and our cause without your mentorship Shen.”

“Don’t be modest Taren. I did not give you your gifts nor did I sharpen them. I pointed the way. You did the rest.”

“Does she know the gift she has?” asked Taren.

“Impossible to know without private inquiry. May I suggest we arrange a personal interview.”

“Absolutely. Kyra?”

“Yes, Taren?”

“The girl on the end, with the red hair, what is her name?”

“Mairi.”

“She is the one. May we have a private audience with her?”

“Mairi? Are you sure?”

“No doubt in our minds.”

“Can you tell me what special gift you believe she has?” asked Kyra, completely puzzled at what they saw in Mairi. Deep inside she watched as her own sense of vanity rose and whispered softly in her mind’s ear. Papa always said humility was the doorway to truth. She wondered if Taren was inside her head, watching with amusement and seeing her innermost feelings. Pride was a funny thing. She must spend more time looking at this pride when time allowed for weeding the garden of her mind.

“I’d rather not say in the open. Besides, the less you know the better.”

Kyra looked at Taren, trying to judge intent and purpose. So hard to read an alien species.

“You can use my quarters if you like.”

Categories: Story, Kyra, Taren, Mairi, Shen

128. On My Way

Mairi sat in her quarters staring at her shell collection. Outside of Von, she was the least known crew member. Not so much because she stayed to herself like Von, but more so because she seemed reluctant to reveal very much about herself. One always had the feeling there was more to Mairi than she was ever willing or perhaps able to admit.

Older than Emy but younger than Kyra and Yul, Mairi had striking red hair, cropped short, and deep blue eyes. She spoke in soft and inviting tones with perfectly nuanced articulation. Her bearing bespoke an upper class background and one assumed a private education. There was just something about her eyes; no one could quite say what, but something about her look that communicated a deeper intelligence than she appeared willing to reveal. Whether she was seen as humble or aloof depended on who you asked. Everyone, however, agreed she was likeable, a certain subtle edge notwithstanding.

She had been told she was a child of the shells, but not even the best doctors could deduce her unique defect or ability. Not knowing tormented her. She never felt completely at home with the “normal” kids nor did the other children of the shells completely welcome her since no one knew exactly what made her different. She lived in no-man’s land. Was she or wasn’t she? The question alone never strayed far from her mind. As she grew older, she avoided the subject and few knew why she seemed melancholy more times than not.

When the crew learned that Kieran was a child of the shells, that he had two hearts, Mairi had to conceal her excitement. Perhaps there was someone else on board she could confide in, could share with, someone who might understand with eye, ear and heart. Kieran, like her, came from an upper class background and private education. She felt a certain comfort, a kinship in his presence. Perhaps, she thought, he could be the missing piece, the piece that could end her doubt. Perhaps he could be the harbor she sought, the place where she felt safe and at home.

In a way, she shared Kyra’s sense of regret. Shy by nature, she had wanted to visit Kieran in the iso ward, but had been unable to summon the strength to approach Trev. She struggled to forgive herself after he died and the opportunity had forever slipped away.

Her melancholy had grown with the passing of Kieran but no one on board noticed. Between Kyra’s coma and the vortex taking them into uncharted territory, Mairi had simply faded into the background. The chapel had become a second home for her. If her red hair and blue eyes were not so striking, she could have easily been totally forgotten. All that was about to change.

“Mairi, your presence is requested in the Grand Conference room,” intoned the onboard computer.

“On my way.”

Categories: Story, Mairi, Shells

127. Inside Your Head

Kyra heard the query, in her mind, and in her mind replied, +yes.+

+You want to know who I am and why I’m here,+ said Taren. +You want to know what threat we pose and your mind is racing to evaluate the risk level and your options. And, perhaps most pressing, you are wondering how this conversation is happening, inside your mind and what else I might know.+

+Yes to all the above,+ said Kyra. +If you know my mind then you know we pose no threat.+

Taren probed deeper into Kyra’s mind. As a fourth level Cog he had the ability to do far more than just communicate telepathically. He could implant suggestions, probe her memories, and see her hopes, fears and thought processes. He could also inflict psychic pain if needed.

Looking deep, images of Hyneria, Zeke and Kieren flashed before him. The doors of her mind opened without resistance, which alone amazed him. She had no secrets, no internal desire to hide, safeguard, yet . . . although he felt no fear, an unmistakable and intense sense of pain pervaded every pathway. He didn’t have time to discover the source, but his admiration for her ability to function and lead under her duress grew by the moment. Regardless of species, Taren knew the Hynerian before him was extraordinary.

+I know,+ answered Taren. +Our species are natural telepaths, what your civilization might call anomalous cognition. I apologize for communicating with you on this level but it is the only way I can be sure my communication is not compromised.+

+Taren, you have nothing to fear from us.+

+You do not pose the threat.+

+I don’t understand.+

+We are a minor civilization in this sector. Our neighbors to the west, the Kulmyks, are intent on eastward expansion. They have conquered the other three civilizations in this sector and we are all that stand in their way to the east. They view us as a threat and they are intent on eliminating that threat, which is to say, eliminating us. Their attacks have escalated on multiple fronts and multiple levels in the last few weeks.+

+Is peace not possible? Can compromise not be reached?+

+The Kulmyks do not believe in compromise. They believe in absolute rule, unconditional surrender with the emphasis on unconditional. If we give in to their demands, our civilization will for all intents and purposes cease to exist. Our sons will be conscribed to work the mines and our daughters used as concubines. All adult males not sold to the mining interests would be exterminated.+

Kyra paused, allowing the flow of thought to seep into her consciousness, sifting purpose, looking for nuance, agenda, and sincerity. Taren followed her internal query, amazed at the working of her mind, the efficiency, the logical organization, and what appeared to be pure intent.

+We are a small unarmed vessel. What assistance could we possibly offer?+

+There is one onboard we would like to meet. One who may be of invaluable assistance.+

+Who did you have in mind?+

Taren probed. She wasn’t playing games. She really didn’t know.

“Excuse me,” said Von. “Are we just going to stand here all day staring at each other?”

Kyra laugh, “Oh Von, accept my apologies. I think we need to gather the crew. Let’s meet in the Grand Conference.”

+Thank you Kyra.+

+You’re welcome Taren, although I have no idea who onboard can possibly be of help.+

+I know,+ replied Taren. +I’m not sure she knows either.+

Categories: Story, Kyra, Von, Taren

126. Taren

Sweat dripped from Rog’s forehead. His knuckles threatened to tear through his porcelain white hands, robbed of blood from the strain of intense maneuver. By all accounts Rog’s piloting was nothing short of spectacular.

“Kyra, I can’t keep dodging these torpedoes all day. Got any brilliant ideas?”

“I don’t think you are going to have to,” responded Kyra. “We’ve got an incoming transmission. Emy, can you bring the vid to full screen?”

The crew stood and watched as a murky blue figure appeared on the main screen. The alien image and alien voice sparked fear. Thought flowed and adrenaline pumped.

“Kyra, our computers cannot translate whatever language this species is speaking or even tell us what species this is,” said Emy. “I’m afraid—“

“Bravo-Four-Zero. You are in violation of Arc’teryx space. Prepare to be boarded. Resist and we will destroy you.”

The bridge got quiet. Just a few seconds seemed like minutes before Von spoke. “Seems we don’t have to worry about translating. Our friends appear not to be ignorant savages, or at least not ignorant. Kyra, may I escort you to the bay?”

“Anyone have any other ideas?” asked Kyra.

“If we let that thing onboard, we might as well just bend over. I for one ain’t, well . . . . I say we make a run. I dodged their torpedoes, I think I can—“

“Rog, we have no significant external defenses. We have no weapons. Our craft is not built for speed. And, we are in uncharted territory with no idea where the vortex has taken us. I don’t think we have a choice," said Von.

"I beg to differ. Did you see the way--"

"With all due respect Rog, if those torpedoes were meant to destory us, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

“I agree. Emy, transmit our welcome. Rog, stay here, you’re more valuable at the moment on the bridge. Von come with me. Keep all comms open,” said Kyra. “Watch your fear, don’t resist it. We may need the energy it brings to the table.”

Inside the bay, a small craft appeared more so than landed. Silver with bluish and purplish hints of scorched metal, neither Von nor Kyra had seen anything like it. Six figures emerged. One tall and rather dignified in his bearing, one shorter and wearing what appeared to be a cloak with only his cool purplish eyes showing from under the hood and four that looked like the armed escort. The tall one moved forward.

+My name is Taren. I trust you are Kyra?+

[editor's note: the + symbol used instead of quotes signifies non-verbal, mind to mind, communication]

Categories: Story, Kyra, Rog, Von, Emy, Taren, Arc'teryx

125. Touch Me

[Editor's Note: This chapter directly precedes the Torpedoes post.]


“Yul, come on in,” said Kyra. “What do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Yul smiled, awkwardly. “Just wanted to say hi and check on an old friend. Haven’t had a chance to talk to you since before—“

“It’s okay,” interjected Kyra.

“I’m not worried about ‘it,’ responded Yul. I don’t know what happened in that room but Rog, well, he hasn’t been the same. How are you doing sweetie? Are you the same? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Yul’s big pale blue eyes didn’t waver.

“Really, I’m okay. Would you like some snizzle?”

“Fine? Really? Oh I can see that,” said Yul, ignoring the question with raised brow. “You put yourself with open wounds in direct contact with the animus virus, you have some sort of other-worldly experience that knocks you into a coma for the better part of two weeks. You wake to learn the love of your life, who you tried to save, is dead and the rest of the crew has held his service, without you. Why wouldn’t you be just fine.”

Kyra sighed. “Come here my friend. Give me your hands. What would you have me do?”

“Break down and cry. Throw some things, break a few others. Yell at me. Show some emotion for crying out loud. Aren’t you pissed? Bitter? Angry? Mad as hellocks?”

“At who?”

“Fate. Life. Us. The virus. This ship has seven Hynerians left on it. Only three are male. One is old enough to be your father. One is still wet behind the ears. And the third, well, he’s spoken for. You had your love and he’s gone and the chance of you ever having that again is virtually nil. I don’t mean to be harsh Kyra but I’m just not buying the fine bit. I saw your hands.”

“Be careful with making assumptions,” winked Kyra. “You look quite sexy when you get your ire up. I can see what Rog sees in you. Such brilliant blue eyes that sparkle in the starlight. Are you sure I can’t get you some snizzle? Perhaps with a little snoot? Goldie?”

“Coming right up Kyra. I took the liberty,” purred Goldie.

“Thanks Goldie. Make mine without.”

“Frail that,” said Yul. “Goldie, add her shot in mine.”

“So how is Rog?”

“Different, but I didn’t come here to talk about Rog or let you change the subject with a touch of humor. I’m serious Kyra. Talk to me. What happened in that room? What did Rog see that he can’t or won’t explain? Even you, sitting here now, look somehow different.”

“Really? How?”

“Well, your demeanor doesn’t fit. You look as calm and relaxed as can be. Under the circumstances I would say you’re either insane, on meds, or completely entrenched in denial. What did Trev give you?”

“Drink your snoot Yul. Your mind could use a little grease to ease the grip it has on your imagination. Now, have I told you how lovely you look tonight? Did you bring your toothbrush?”

“Oh my Janus girl. You’re wiggin, not very well I might add, but I like it,” smiled Yul, letting her fingernail trace its way up Kyra’s arm. “Are you sure you want me to take advantage of you in this state? You know, I’ve never had a lover who didn’t want more. I could make you forget there ever was an opposite sex.”

“Oh Yul, I have no doubt of that,” said Kyra as she leaned in close, her eyes just inches from Yul’s. “But there is one thing I need to tell you.”

“Kyra,” interrupted Goldie.

“Not now Goldie.”

“Kyra, there is an urgent request from the bridge for your presence. Rog said something about visitors.”

“Tell him I’m on my way.”

Categories: Story, Yul, Kyra, Goldie

124. Yul

Earliest known images of Yul.

Categories: Story, Yul, Paintings, Sketches

The Story

For those that may be interested, the entire image history of the story of Kyra and Zeke has been uploaded to my Web Album here. On each image, which can be seen individually or as a slideshow, I've placed an excerpt from the chapter in the first comment.

Likewise, I've organized links to each and every chapter on del.icio.us here.

I want to thank all those who have followed the story faithfully and given me so much positive encouragement and feedback. The story's not over so stay tuned for future chapters.

123. Torpedoes

Attachment and resistance. Where there is pain one or both of these twin brothers will be near.

Or

The electro-magneto pulse proton torpedo caught Bravo-Four-Zero completely by surprise. "All hands on deck," yelled Kyra. "Rog, take manual control. Maneuver is our only chance."

"Why does danger always come in such a good-looking package," said Rog, glancing toward Yul.

"Rog!"

"Alright, alright, I'm on it."

Categories: Story, Kyra, Rog

You and I

You and I, my friend, are we really all that different? Do we not share the same fears, worries, concerns? Do we not have the same needs--water, food, shelter, love? Do we not ponder the same mysteries, ask the same questions? Come walk with me for awhile. Tell me what you see so that I might better understand the shared existence between you and I. Lean on me while I feel strong, for the day will come when I am the one that will need you, your strength, your hope, your insight and wisdom, and most of all, your love.

Hold my hand, my sweet, such that I might feel the beat of your heart and likewise you mine. Let our hearts beat in harmony to a wisdom beyond words, a wisdom seen in the sparkle of an eye in the moonlight, standing on that bridge that overlooks the ocean. Smell the fresh ocean air. Listen to the crashing of the waves and feel the cool air through your hair. As I said last November, Fear not the fall, what my arms might miss, my heart will catch.