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.”
Journal Entry: KyraTwo 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.”
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.
From darkness to blinding light; from fear to peace; from a cacophony of thoughts to utter stillness. An old friend smiled. Rog smiled back.
Cait refused to look at the Commander.
Nor would she look at Tom."Ariel, go pack what you want. We're leaving."
Kyra opened the door. Darkness looked back. She called into the pit. There was no echo. She looked at Von, "They're not here."
The rain came. It would not stop. Trev pointed the pistol at Sal's head. She didn't move. Without blinking, he pointed the pistol at his head. He pulled the trigger. Voices rang. Boots chattered. Sal stared. Trev was gone.
