359. Outtake #3: What I Need

(Tranquility slips quietly toward Kulmyk. Kyra sits alone--I would say at night, but it always seemed as night in space--manipulating blocks of light in a Kulmykian game--a gift from John. The game, he said, was a symbiotic exercise, which was his way of saying, each block of light could connect with the player's electrical impulses with a discernment just beyond artificial intelligence, interacting with the life-form such to make the game as unique and insightful as to each player's capacity for self-awareness. With a wink, he refused to say what the purpose of the game was, only that she would know once she started playing.)

John enters her quarters, takes a look at the pink blocks hovering before Kyra’s hands and, with a somewhat solemn look on his face, says: “Enjoying the game?”

“Is it really a game?" asked Kyra, her porcelain face looking all the more doll-like in the pink glow as her hands continued to move the blocks. (She does not break eye contact and look at John. Her jet-black hair appears as cotton candy, a metaphor not lost on John.)

“Depends on the player," answered John, his eyes fixed on her lips, which looked more innocent than he knew them to be. The pink light made them look younger, softer, fuller and if eyes could smell, they looked lustfully decadent in a way that only a young girl's pouty lips can. The thought of kissing her melted in his mind in step with his sense of decorum and he wondered if his face betrayed the stirring of this unsolicited lust.




(With a consciously sensual turn of wrist Kyra powers down the cubes of light)

“Well, I have the sense you didn’t drop by to make idle conversation about a 'game.' What’s on your mind?”

(Pursing his lips, John's mind races to contain the fear that she can see through him along with the serpentine dismay that he wants her to)

“Kyra, I won’t pretend to know who you are or why you are special, which you are, and, to be frank, this mission makes no sense to me; but, if I have learned anything as a commander, it’s the importance of the chain of command and the support of the crew once the commander has made a decision,” said John.

“Thank you.”

“I do want you to know one thing. I’m here if you need me.”

“Are you sure it’s not the other way round?”

(John smiles without answering)

(Kyra takes an audible breath)

“You know what I miss the most? I miss the unfiltered honesty that I had with Papa. Our relationship, and I didn’t know it at the time, and time only further embosses the difference between then and now, but I was Kyra and he was Papa and that is all there was in our interaction. Do you know what I am saying?”

“Perhaps, but for fear of pride and ignorance on my behalf and grace and beauty of expression on yours, continue.”

“To Papa, I was Kyra. No more, no less. On this ship, I am the commander and only underneath that veneer, to the crew, am I Kyra. There are times when, even after almost two years and all we have been through, that I look at the crew and I wonder who they are and I know they must, if they reflect, wonder the same about me. The only way to describe what I feel, not all the time, but more times than I care to admit, is this: Have you ever eaten a meal until your belly was full, so full you couldn’t put another bite in your mouth, yet still felt unsatisfied, still mentally needing to eat, physiologically wanting more?”

(John hesitates as if the words, like meat, needed time to digest)

Kyra continued. “Here is another example, one you might related to a little better. Have you ever felt the need for union, a strong need; then had union and although the physical need was met, you felt completely unsatisfied. An unorgasmic orgasm if you will. I hate to put things in such a crude light, but that is what I crave.”

“An orgasm?”

(Kyra laughs and shakes her head)

“No. A relationship that is genuine. A relationship without anything between me and the other. I had that with Papa. I didn’t know it at the time. But with every day that passes, my hunger grows; yet, on this vessel, surrounded constantly by the others, it is as if my belly is full. Full but hungry. Spent but desirous.”

“Are you okay?”

(Kyra laughs)

“If I only had a penny for every time I’ve been asked that question.”

“What’s funny? I meant the question.”

(Kyra sighs)

“Nothing funny at all. I laugh because it is the wrong question and I’m amused to hear it again, from you, as if I thought, you of all people, would know.”

(John looks somewhat puzzled with a hint of disappointment)

“Let me put it this way. Papa would always say to me, Kyra, don’t make hot, don’t make cold. (Kyra pauses before continuing) It was his way of saying don’t get involved on what happens on the surface, that who you are is calm and serene and deep and cannot be touched by the storms that come and go above. So, when someone asks that question, I know they see only the surface and what they see is more times than not, not my surface, but a reflection of their own. And in those moments, I feel most alone. That is when I feel no connection and that is when I utter the words I wish I could extract from my mind like a cavitied tooth: I am fine.”

(Kyra pauses and John looks on as a child at storytime waiting for the teacher to continue, afraid to speak and break the spell)

“You see, deep down, below the surface, that is where you will find Kyra; and there, you will see that she is fine.”

(another pause, still no response)

“Do you want to know that Kyra? Can you know that Kyra? Can you leave everything you think you know behind and embrace me without your ideas, your desires, your needs, your wants? That is what I need.”