Steps were heard. Heavy boots, leather and metal slapping and clicking against the silent face of smooth worn stone, the pace methodical, the foot porcine but not clumsy. The rhythm of the stride belied one leg longer than the other and Rog wondered how much abuse his jailer had endured by those more fortunate in birth. Thoughts of home, a place where difference was celebrated, flooded his heart. A child of the shells this man would have been. And Rog wondered how this man’s life would have been different, how his fate would have taken a different course on Hyneria. The cell door opened, as these doors were wont to do, with a heaviness felt on the skin as much as heard in the ear. One set of dull dark eyes, standing, took account of two sets wide and bright, sitting. The air felt humid, heavy, and each breath felt as fish must feel in labored exchange of effort for life. The soft water seemed to hang in the air as if air and water were easy neighbors long accustomed to cohabitation and conspiring such that the walls sweated reflective beads of cold fear, walls that knew the souls of many men having met once but never again. They say if walls could talk, but these walls chose not, for some things were better not remembered. No words were uttered as the unbalanced man placed a tray in the center of the cell. He looked again at John and then Rog before backing out of the room and locking the door, the key squealing closure as steps loud became soft until only the sound of labored breathing could be heard.The tray held two thin octagonal glasses with a crimson hued liquid sitting steady at three quarters mark. John spoke first. “The matutinal drink. Mercy in a glass.”Rog held his glass up to the dim light. The liquid seemed to glow, to hum, almost as if alive, as if a thousand tiny voices called forth and demanded obedience. Rog put the glass to his lips—”Put that down,” yelled John.
Crimes of infidelity, as this case was classified, were always presided by a single judge, in red. John stood before the magistrate alone; consul not allowed, records not kept. John spoke. The judge listened from behind the concealment of his hood, his identity forever unknown. Query. Answer. Query. Explanation. And on and on as a river winding through a jungle valley. What was true, what was half true and what was false were not significant. Judgment. To Judge. Now that, that was important. And judgment they would have, and in the streets would be rejoicing, for judgment is what they wanted.
Cait stood in John’s study and released a heavy sigh as her eyes moved not so much from object to object but from memory to memory. Ariel was in bed and although it seemed like only minutes, several hours had past since they took John away. Her gaze skipped as pebbles across his desk and followed the warm light of a single lamp to the wooden cove behind his leather chair. Upon the wall, framed by books of varying sizes and colors, a solitary beam of light fell upon “The Mask” as the Discovery men called it. Passed from generation to generation, the mask represented everything noble in the Discovery lineage, and until a few hours ago, John had upheld the honor of the house as no one before him. “What is it Kyra?” asked Von, somewhat puzzled by her dour demeanor.“It’s Rog. They’ve taken him away.”“For what?”“Crimes against the state. I didn’t have the energy to argue.”“What crime?”“Seems they stole a military vessel.”“What vessel?”“The one they rescued us in.”“Oh.”A tear slipped from Cait’s eye. She wept not for Discovery honor. She wept for her own.
Von held a small piece of lace his grandmother had given him. It was one thing before, another now. He picked up his journal and made a singular entry:At the end of the day, what is the measure of one's life.
Kyra: Von, what are you doing?Von: Just staring.
Kyra knocked on the door. “Em, can I come in?” A small red light turned green and Kyra felt the familiar rush of air as the door swished open. Em was sitting in a chair, back straight, with hands palm down on knees together and staring straight ahead as those without sight are prone to do. She was as still as a monk in meditation, eerily so thought Kyra. Pulling up a chair she sat beside her, her eyes searching for mood as her mind searched for words.After what seemed like forever and all the pre-planned words were found lacking in the moment, Kyra took a deep breath, slowly and gently placed her hands on top of Em’s and said, “I want you to know, we will find the doctor who will restore your sight.”Em sat without responding other than a slight tilt of her head which seemed to indicate a return from some place else at the sound of Kyra speaking. “I mean what I say Em.”“Can I ask you a question?”“Anything Em.”“Remember when we took those red pills?”“Yes.”“Remember the peace we felt?”Kyra squeezed her hands. “I do.”“Why can we find so much peace in death and yet find so much pain and struggle in life?”Kyra knew the answer but pondered whether an answer was being asked. “An eternal question Em. What do you think?”“Resistence.” Em spoke the word in a voice Kyra didn’t recognize or at least didn’t recognize coming from Em. She had heard the tone before, where, she couldn’t quite put her finger on.“Resistence?” asked Kyra.“When we took those pills, we dropped all resistance to the present moment. We stepped into the flow without looking back, without questioning, without fighting the current. And I have never felt such peace and tranquility before or since.”Kyra listened. She rubbed her thumbs in circles on Em’s hands.“And now, I find myself unable to let go. I want my sight back. I refuse to believe it is not possible. And I’m confused. I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m angry. I’m afraid. I’m lost. And I’m alive. Where did the peace go?”Kyra sighed. “Can I ask you a question now?“Yes, please.”“I felt that peace too and I also want it back. Will you join me? I think together we can find it.”Em stood up, trying not to lose her balance and releasing Kyra’s hands, opened her arms. Leather embraced cloth. “Yes. I would like that very much.”
Von, Rog and Em sat without talking, each lost in their own world as they waited for the doctor as children wait to hear their name read from gifts under tree. John had had his bandages removed the day before and his sight was now as it was before. Today was their turn. The nurse called Von. He entered. Sight restored. Next she called Rog. Again, darkness was left behind. Last was Em. She entered in darkness, and after what seemed to Von and Rog like a awfully long time, she returned still in darkness. Smiles turned south. Laugher vanished quicker than the snap of fingers. Em stood, her arms by her side, her head struggling to maintain posture.“Frail the doctor. I will regain my sight.”Von and Rog stood speechless. Em held out her hands. “Let’s go. These frailing aliens don’t give a shiott about us,” said Em using language Von and Rog had never heard her use.Von looked at Rog and Rog looked away, his face bloodless. He had his sight back. Em did not. “Von,” commed Kyra, “how’d it go?”“Not good.”“What happened?”“Em is still blind.”“Oh my Janus. Is she okay?”“It’s not Em I’m worried about.”
