332. Believe Me

“Mairi, grab a seat,” said Kyra.

“Want to tell me what gives you the right to violate my quarters?” asked Mairi, her face flush with the surprise, her mind racing through her options, of what they knew and what they didn’t know, of how she should play the deal.

John wasted no time in responding, much to Kyra’s chagrin. This was her ship and Mairi was her crew and she was conducting the questioning, not him. “John,” snapped Kyra, “back off.”

Rog smiled. For once it was not him overstepping his authority.

“Look Mairi, I don’t have time to dance around this issue. Kulmyk hounds are tracking us, which means two things. One, they’ve picked up our signal; and two, a Kulmyk command ship cannot be far behind. I need to know, right now, who you have been communicating with and why.”

“You want the truth?”

“No,” jumped in Rog, unable to contain himself, “we want you to lie like the—“

“Rog, that’s enough,” said Kyra, cutting him off before he did more harm than good. “Mairi, we are in danger. Not in an hour, or a day, but right now. We can’t afford to question and interrogate. I need to know what you know and, quite frankly, I need to know it right now and I need to know everything.”

Mairi locked eyes with Kyra as if John and Rog were not in the room. “I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Rog sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Frail you farm boy.”

“Rog,” snapped Kyra, “that’s enough.”

“Are—“

“I said enough! One more word, one more look and you’re out of here. Now Mairi, please continue.”

John smiled at Rog and winked. Rog mouthed a few words his mother would not have approved of.

“Mairi, excuse me for a minute,” said Kyra, clearly irritated. “John, Rog, over here. “What the frail do the two of you think you’re doing?”

“The little whore is gonna lie her arse off,” said Rog.

“You don’t know that.”

“She’s a whore.”

“Rog,” said Kyra, her voice rising. “For the record, she’s a Chatelaine.”

“Chatelaine my arse, she’s a whore. Ask Trev, he’ll tell you.”

“So Trev’s been talking to you. We’ll discuss that later. Right now I want the two of you back on the bridge. Neither of you are doing me any good here.”

“What did I do?” asked John.

“Now. Go.” They hesitated. “Both of you.” She pointed toward the door.

“She’s gonna lie,” quipped Rog.

“Good, great,” responded Kyra shaking her head. “You’ve got the last word. Now get the frail out of here.”

“Sorry about that Mairi. Now tell me what is going on?”

“Promise me you will believe everything I tell you?”

Kyra searched her face for disingenuousness and finding none said, “Okay Mairi.”

“John,” asked Rog as they entered the bridge, “what is that?”

“What is what?”

“Behind that last red star. See it?”

John froze.

“What? What is it?” queried Rog.

“A Kulmyk Command Carrier,” said John without looking at Rog, exhaling worry as much as words.

“Is that bad?”

John smiled. “Yeah, I would say that is bad.”

331. Unleash the Hounds

“Trev, I know you’re in there. Open up,” demanded Mairi, her patience with his aloofness exhausted. To date he had offered no apology, pretending to be the victim, which in her eyes, was getting old, frailing old. She balled her fist and raised her arm for another assault of tender flesh on cold metal, then thought the better and returned to her quarters.

“John,” asked Rog, pointing to the obvious red stars floating on the bridge, “what the frail are those things?”

“Tracking hounds,” responded John, not taking his eyes off the hologram. “They respond to a signal like hunting dogs to scent.”

“Okay,” said Rog, drawing out the word.

“They’re tracking us,” shot back John, slightly irritated.

“I thought you said.”

“I did.”

“So?”

“So, we’ve been compromised.”

“Impossible.”

John took a breath and mentally reminded himself that this was not his ship and he was not in command. “Perhaps.”

Mairi retired to her study and retrieved the orange slate. Working the code from memory she turned one dial, than another and another. The slate glowed and although she knew it wasn’t true, seemed to feel warmer in her manicured hands. The light reflected off her cheeks, which turned upward with the sound of his melodious voice. “Evening my dear. Have you spoken to Kyra?”

As quickly as her smile rose, it fell into a frown. “No. Haven’t had the chance.”

“We don’t have much time. The device was not meant to trans-signal great distances and I fear soon we will be out of communication.”

John’s eyes widened. “You see that?” he asked Kyra, ignoring Rog.

“They’re getting brighter. I sense that is not good.”

“No, I mean yes. What I mean is, they are picking up our signal again.” John quickly tapped several keys on the control panel. A screen of multi-hued light arose and with the flick of his eyes, page after page of luminescent data flipped before his darting eyes. Rog blinked at the blur of, what appeared to him, nonsensical chicken scratch. “There. There it is.”

“What?” asked Kyra.

“Our leak. It is coming from the the fourth quad, section two. Who’s quarters is that?”

Mairi sighed. “I don’t know how I can convince her?”

“Use the girl,” the voice replied.

“She will think it's a trap, or that I’ve lost my mind.”

“I’m sensing something is wrong.”

“No, no. I’ll do it. Just give me a little more time.”

The slate suddenly hummed down and the glow receded. Mairi worked the dials again. Nothing. “Damn it,” she cursed.

“Damn what?” asked Kyra. “Care to tell me what you’re doing?”

330. Swirling

“Roger, son, what are you doing?” Their hopper bounced like balls in a lottery bowl. Wind gusts, nature’s invisible tentacles, slapped and licked the tiny two-hynerian craft. Rivets screamed. Bolts tightened in growling anguish to the left and loosened in groaning lust to the right. Dials pinwheeled a blur of trouble. “Son?”

“I’ve got it dad,” Rog yelled, his forehead dripping sweat on a cold day, his bloodless knuckles working stick into the storm. Just ten minutes earlier the sky was clear and the air calm. Rog had volunteered to pilot the hopper so dad could survey the ranch. Fences were never finished, his dad liked to say and Rog had the calluses on his hands as evidence to the truth of that statement. This morning was just suppose to be a routine fly-over and Rog took every opportunity he could get to fly. Perhaps one day, he dreamed, he would be flying something more than just a hopper over the lonely plains on the southern reaches.

“Into the storm son,” his dad barked back, trying hard not to alarm his son while still trying to be heard over the shearing wind that threatened to tear their fragile vessel apart.

“Got it.” Then the heavens opened and like a curtain descending on act one, visibility dropped to mere feet as both Hynerians instinctively reached for the wipers. Rog looked at his instruments. None were functioning, as dials whirled like children on the playground, free from their burden of hire and readings spun like slot machines in a dream. The rain didn’t fall as much as shot like bullets from above or so it sounded as beads of water peppered the thin glass bubble. “Oh shiott!” yelled Rog, as rain turned to hail. Hail, they both knew, was bad news, very bad news.

“Take her down Roger!”

“I’m trying but the--”

Lightning flashed bright as a portrait camera and for a second the tiny ship appeared frozen as a snapshot on a turbulent swirling sea of grey and black. The report cracked close, too close. Lights failed. Power to the rudder failed. Shoulder straps cut into the pair as the craft fell through the darkness in equal measure of guts rising into throats. As Rog would say later over golden snoot, it was a moment when you thought, just for a second, that this was it.

There was a second flash, not of cool bluish light but of warm oranges and reds, of violence unexpected and in the blink of an eye, the hopper exploded.

“What have you got Rog?” asked Kyra.

“What?”

“You called me here, what have you got that is so important I needed to see it now?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry. Take a look at this.”

Kyra looked at the monitor. “Full screen.” Rog complied. The bridge of the Tranquility, compared to Bravo, was magnificent. Before their eyes, as if in a theatre, the small image appeared on the forward bridge, floating before their eyes in 3-D. Kyra walked around, behind and through the hologram as it continued to morph and change with each data burst. The image was, as they called it, live.

“What the heck are those swirling red stars?”

“Don’t know, but I’m willing to guess they aren’t exactly good news.”

“Get John up here.”

“Won’t answer his comm.”

“Damn it Rog.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll get him.”

Kyra stood in the middle of the holographic image. The red stars continued to move. Reaching her hand out, she touched the larger one. It was the last thing she remembered before looking up and seeing John’s concerned blurry face.

329. Reconciled

John poured golden amsec, Cait watched.

“Say when.”

“When.”

The golden liqueur matched Cait’s primrose hair as the sparkle of crystal mimiced the catch-light in her demurring eyes. Ariel was playing with Em or Em with Ariel for the evening. Seems Ariel took a liking to Em, almost as if Em offered her the opportunity to play the grown-up, helping Em function without sight. Either way, the relationship afforded John and Cait time alone.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Always. What’s on your mind?”

“How do you do it?” asked John.

“Do what hon?”

“Remain so calm, so steady, so steadfast.”

Cait put down her fork and her eyes came alive with the intensity of ten suns. “I allow myself no other option. I look forward, not back. I let go of what cannot be changed.” Cait lifted her glass and John poured before the witness of two candles flickering light into shadows thus rendering edges hard, soft, of dimness cold, warm.

“My actions--” Cait put her finger to her lips as her other hand reached across the table to rest on his.

“What is done is done,” she said. “I know what I know. I am reconciled. I am at peace. I am here, John, not because of what you have done or not done, I am here because I love you and I love Ariel and I love us, together. Do you understand?”

“I just want you to know, if you had decided to stay, I would have understood.”

“And I just want you to know that staying, without you, knowing I would probably never see you again, knowing that you had been wrongly accused by someone with a vendetta, someone very powerful who invoked an ancient law, someone that was out to destroy you--and our family--at all cost,” Cait shook her head, “you see, without you, there is no family, there is no us. Staying, quite frankly, never entered my mind.”

“And Kyra. I know you heard the rumors. I know what my actions must have implied, the hurt you must have endured while I was gone.”

“John, we don’t live in a vacuum. None of us. She is a gorgeous, well, how else to say this but, alien. I understand the attraction. Really, I do. You know, you aren’t the only man I’ve ever looked at more than once. And believe me, with all the missions you undertook, there were plenty of lonely nights where a thought or two crossed my mind.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. You wouldn’t believe the temptation. When you were gone for extended periods of time and those young staff officers would drop by to check in on me and give me updates, you know the ones, just want a cup of coffee, whatever it takes to stay a little longer than necessary, looking so clean cut, so young and fit, so deliciously," Cait paused with a smile, "military.”

John sat up in his chair.

“John, I’m not a angel. Come on. I don’t want this to sound the wrong way, but I’m not an unattractive woman. I have needs, desires, wants. And while you were gone there were others very interested in filling those needs and desires.”

“Cait, dear, you want to tell me what you’re saying?”

“I’m saying John what is done is done. Nobody is perfect. Not you. Not I.”

“So you--”

“No. Never. But I thought it. Maybe even had a dream or two. Look. I understand the attraction toward Kyra. For about two weeks, I resented the hell out of the mission you undertook. A few hours with The Commander, however, gave me a chance to see things in a different light. You have no idea how much that man has done for us.”

“What exactly did The Old Man tell you?”

“In a nutshell?”

“Yeah.”

“He told me you love me more than I would probably ever know. And, he told me that Kyra was the equivalent of the Holy Grail, and that by any means necessary she had to be kept out of Arc’teryxian hands, assuming she couldn’t be rescued. He told me the mission you embarked upon was ultra secret and that you did not steal the ship in question but rather that was your cover. And he told me you had been given orders to kill her if it came down to us having her or the Arc’teryxians.”

A tear rolled down John’s leathery cheek and the glistening of his eyes matched Cait’s. Taking her hand he stood up, lifted her into his arms and carried her past the arch of eternal bliss.

A few doors down. “Em, can I read you a bedtime story?” asked Ariel.

“Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

“Once upon a time there was a little girl with rocket shoes. Have you ever heard that one?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

Ariel smiled. “It is my favorite story.” Before Em could respond, Ariel commanded center stage, her eyes wide, her hands waving, weaving the tale her father had told many times. Em began to cry.

“What’s wrong. You don’t like my story?” frowned Ariel.

“No, no, no sweetie. I love your story. I love it so much,” Em lied, “these are happy tears. Please continue."

“Can I crawl in bed with you?” asked Ariel.

“Sure.”

“I’m kinda tired. Is it okay if I finish the story tomorrow night?”

“I won’t take no for an answer,” responded Em thinking the little girl with her arms around her neck was wiser than a little girl that age should be. The two drifted off to sleep, one dreaming of motherhood, the other of friendship.

328. Trevor's Shoulders

The call was from Trev, or “Trevor” as he identified himself, something he had never done before. The tone in his voice sounded faraway as if he were referring to himself in the third person. Said he wanted to talk; or so he said. I entered his sterile quarters, just a bit too orderly and clean for your typical male I thought.

The Hynerian I saw was not the Hynerian I knew. His once broad shoulders curved inward as if pulled forward by the black hole of his sunken chest. From a distance he looked like a sullen angel, wings broken; Janus knows he had the face for it. Trev had lost weight, a lot of weight, the kind of weight that made one ask if you were ok. His thin lips, with effort, whispered yes. His dull eyes and hollow cheeks, and, for that matter, every other part of him, said no.

No one knew what to say or do so we did what Hynerians do in situations like this, which is to say, we did nothing, averting eye contact and speaking in whispers. Trev spoke no more than Em could see. One blind, one mute. One had no choice; the other, some would say, did, although opinion was split, mainly between genders. Reports were sketchy on what exactly happened. Mairi seemed to know more than she was saying, and for reasons not completely known, remained reticent, which was an overly simplistic explanation that was, as we learned later, as most speculation is, plain wrong.

This much I knew. Trev had cold-cocked Mairi when she tried to stop him from leaving. From here the story blurred for Trev was, without doubt, the least violent among us. So why he would punch Mairi in the face and why he would arm himself with a las pistol and why he would point that pistol at the head of another is beyond everyone’s comprehension.

To complicate matters, the rescue team submitted terse and conflicting reports. There was no time to get to the bottom of what actually happened, but one version of events had Trev attempting suicide and through his own incompetency failed. So the question remains. Why?

“Morning Trev.”

“Morning Kyra.”

“So what’s up?”

“Just wanted to let you know I’m okay. I hear the whispers.”

“We’re just concerned. Pay no heed to idle chat. If we didn’t care, no one would be saying anything.”

“You have always been so kind to me. Why?”

“Are you implying I treat others unkind?” responded Kyra, her smile and wink faltering as seed on stone.

Trevor spoke without moving a muscle in his waxen face. “I speak only for myself. You treat me kind, always have. I want to thank you for that.” His tone was unnerving.

Kyra hesitated. “You know, I’m always here, if you want to talk.”

“I’m fine.”

Kyra’s expression replaced the words she didn’t utter.

“Really, I am,” said Trev, responding to the unasked question.

“Really? Then would you care to tell me what you were doing with--”


“Kyra, Rog here. Can I see you on the bridge?”

Kyra slapped her comm with restrained irritation. “Not now Rog.”

“I think you want to see this, now.”

Kyra sighed. She placed her hands on Trev’s shoulders. “I meant what I said. Anytime, anywhere.”

327. Journal Entry: Kyra (Two Weeks)

Journal Entry: Kyra

Two weeks have past since we left Kulmyk in haste, John’s home planet. Our new vessel, Tranquility, is larger, faster, more luxurious and endowed with arms beyond our knowledge and skill. The Commander did well (I fear for his fate considering their peculiar laws of infidelity), although I would not be stretching the truth to say we would all rather, as Rog would drawl with a smile, rusticate Bravo. Bravo was our ship, Hynerian, a small piece of home, perhaps a small piece of our collective soul. Tranquility was built by hands seeking our destruction, so you might imagine a certain uneasiness within her walls. The relationship, and there is always a relationship between ship and sailor, is, at best, circumspect. Perhaps time will ease that burden. This is my hope, assuming the hands of fate gift us our freedom and, perhaps needless to say, although everyone thinks it, our lives.

The crew seems uneasy. I blame them no more than I blame the hare who sees the fox in every shadow. Constant surveillance wears on the mind and body with a tension ever present, ever tightening, as if some great big invisible rack turned its screw with every creak and groan, with every betrayal of the imagination. John said they would come after us. They have.

We have guests, which almost seems like an invasion of our privacy, although I think we have all enjoyed the spirit Ariel brings to our otherwise tense environ. John seems subdued or rather like a man who looks in the mirror and doesn’t recognize himself; and Cait, well, my admiration for that woman grows by the day. Why she doesn’t hate my guts is beyond me. Her love for John reminds me of only one other love I knew--Grand for Papa. I’ve seen that bond, a bond stronger than circumstance, stronger than ambition. Still, the bond is so rare one stops and wonders with an envious heart. We all want that love. I think we all know, or at least strongly suspect that love is beyond our reach, in this life, as Von might say.

Of our own crew, Trev perhaps more so . . .

Kyra’s comm buzzed. “I’ll be right there.”

326. Magic Treehouse

Ariel sat on her magic pillow, legs crossed, and waited for her mother. In the quiet of distant rumbling she raised first her left hand and then her right; and, as if by magic, luminescent orbs of pinks and purples materialized, each floating as bubbles held aloft, it seemed, by nothing more than the belief of a young girl's heart.

"Daddy, come see my magic treehouse." Ariel smiled as if John were looking with admiration over her delicate shoulder. "Do you see the Bucklefinkels? They live in the pink house. And look. Shhhhhhh, be very quiet, the Dinkelberries are sleeping in the purple house and believe me, we don't want to wake them." Ariel giggled and her hands moved quickly as the magic treehouse grew and changed with her every motion.

"Ariel," called Cait, "who are you talking to?"

"Daddy," responded Ariel with a wave of her hair and a roll of her eyes as if the question was silly as only adults can be silly. "Who else would it be?"

"Honey, we don't have time for games. Are you packed?"

Ariel put her hands on her hips and the orbs faded. "Like a purple Dinkelberry."

Cait smiled. Dinkelberries. Daughter and father, one on lap and one weaving stories from thin air. "Come here Sweetie. Show me those Dinkleberries."

Ariel skipped over to her mother coming to a jump stop right in front of her. She clapped her hands quick as lightning and before misty eyes glowed colors bright. And, as if on stage, Ariel stood straight and tall and performed the magic of making memories as precious as royal jewels, or so would be said in thirty years hence.