GETASIGHT

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2007-03-02T21:10:00.001-08:00

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2007-03-01T19:11:00.001-08:00

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Like a Calf

2007-02-20T04:58:00.001-08:00

“Rog, put me down right now,” demanded Yul, her tiny fists protesting without merit upon his back, her waist wrapped over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Oh, I’m going to put you down alright. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over that one.”

“Rog, don’t you dare. Rog? Rog! What the frack do you think you’re doing?

Rog swung Yul off his shoulders and onto his knees. “Only what I should have done a long time ago.” His left hand grabbed the back of her hair as his right hand came down hard on the rounded cheeks of her upturned arse. Yul yelped, somewhat shocked he actually spanked her. “That was for tonight.” A second “pop” echoed in the air. “And that one is for tomorrow since I know you are bound to do something to piss me off.”

Raising his hand a third time, he snapped his fingers and music (Sweet Child O’ Mine—or the Rog equivalent) begin to play with a beat that set his legs in motion. Bobbin his head he smacked her firm bottom a third time with just a little something extra.

“You bastard,” yelled Yul. A few smacks was one thing and perhaps she deserved them but he was enjoying himself just a little too much now. Taking a deep breath, she chomped down on his calf and he let out a yelp of his own, relaxing his grip just enough for Yul to break free.

Their apartment was small with few places to run. Her breathing rapid with sweat streaking down her face, she backed into a corner. Rog closed in, equally as out of breath and wet with effort. Yul bent her knees like a cat preparing to pounce. “You think you’re Hynerian enough to take me Mr. Sneak up from behind baggy pants?”

Rog tried to keep a straight face but the out of the blue baggy pants comment was too much. “Hynerian enough? Hynerian enough,” he responded nodding his head with a grin like one in control. “You’re bout to find out Ms I’m the emotional center of the universe.”

“Oh you bastard, you know that is a cheap . . . .” Yul stopped mid-sentence and her eyes got big as Rog, with his signature grin, pulled a coil of rope from behind his back. “Don’t you even think it,” Yul responded, lowering her voice and enunciating each word slowly and distinctly in part to indicate her seriousness and in part to buy a little time.

“Oh, ain’t no thinking bout it. I’m gonna rope you like a dirty cowhand ropes a calf at the end of a long day.” Rog twirled the rope in his leathery right hand, a display to indicate this wouldn’t be his first time. “Now baby, you can resist all you want or accept what you got coming. Makes no difference to me, but if I might make a suggestion, I think you might enjoy this just a tad bit more if you just go along.”

Yul relaxed her shoulders like one resigned to their fate. “Suppose you got me there.” And then Rog made the mistake she was looking for—he relaxed in accord. Later he would say he never saw the roundhouse kick to his temple that knocked him out cold but Yul knew otherwise. He saw it. He just couldn’t do anything to stop it, but that would be their little secret. A Hynerian’s ego needed massaging after all.

Twenty minutes later:

Rog was buck-naked and spread eagle on the bed, his wrists and ankles securely tied to the four corners of the bed. Blinking his eyes as if to gain focus he sheepishly managed to say, “Baby, you know I didn’t mean it,” as he tried to deliver his best boyish grin, which was about the only defense he had at his disposal.

Yul, wearing only her devilishly wicked smile, crawled on top of Rog, tucking her knees firmly on either side of his broad chest. Slowly bending over from the waist, she let her nipples graze his chest, glowing hard and blue with the evidence of her intent. “Just relax and enjoy it baby,” purred Yul as she licked his left lobe, delighting in throwing his own words back at him. “That is the advice you had for me, isn’t darlin’?”

Before Rog could respond, she slid her lips from his ear to his mouth without losing contact, making sure he felt the deliberateness of her warm breath on his cheek. As her lips found his, Rog closed his eyes and relaxed. Gently, Yul suckled his lower lip between hers, letting her tongue dance back and forth from side to side before sucking his pink flesh between hers, pulling him inside her warmness, past the gates of mastication (ed note: I’ve just been dying to get that word into the story somehow :-D).

Rog’s whole body sank into the bed as if dead weight, such the power Yul could exert with the skill of a kiss. Then she bit down, hard, drawing blood while simultaneously grabbing his male Hynerian-ness with the warm agent of manipulation, otherwise known as her right hand. To have Rog tied down was one thing. To have him roped like the calf he thought her to be, literally tied down with teeth to lip and hand to vulnerable-ness, well, that was just too delicious a proposition for Yul to pass up. Her boy was going to find out what it was like to be taken, with or without his consent, but to be taken without recourse, to be taken in every way, however she wanted, at the pace that communicated complete and utter control.

Without releasing her right hand grip from behind, Yul sat upright on his chest. She playfully licked her blue spear-like tongue over the wet redness of Rog’s essence, an essence she wanted it to be clear, she had taken, not that he had given. Watching his eyes, Yul moved her left hand to her left erect nipple, and with index finger and thumb, begin to pinch and twist and pull as if to say, the pleasure tonight my sweet, is going to be all mine and you are going to witness every single slow purposeful delight.

With a dreamy lost in pleasure smile, Yul rolled her tongue over her red wet lips again. “My, oh, my, my sweet baby. You taste so warm tonight.”

Rog tried to pull free, but the ropes only cut deeper into his flesh and he wondered where she had learned to rope like this. Seeing his effort, and for good measure, Yul allowed her agent of manipulation to slide down his hardening instrument to the twin provocateurs of potential future Roggies. “Relax baby. I promise this is not going to hurt, unless,” and she tightened her grip, “that’s the way you want it?”

“Well,” choked Rog, still smarting from his bleeding lip, “I suppose discretion is the better part of valor.”

“Oh shut the frail up,” shot back Yul as she pulled out a shinny chrome knife, hesitating just an instant before cutting the ropes with a lust in her eye Rog hadn’t seen in sometime. “And frail me into next week. Give me that future you think we have.”

As Rog rubbed his wrist, Yul pulled back and popped his tight and taut arse with a crack like lightning. “Now!”

Let Go

2007-02-20T03:38:00.003-08:00

Calfuray smiled. Her legs straddled Von’s waist pinning his back to the damp ground, the tip of her dagger trembling an inch from his heart. She could feel his strength weakening, his hands and arms straining with the last gasp effort of desperation. He had been a worthy adversary, but there were more prey to hunt. Leaning forward, her weight shifted the balance.

“Concentrate Von,” said Zeke, standing to the right of the chair, his hands folded behind his back such that his head appeared to float above his ubiquitous white tunic. His stance gave the contradictory appearance of solidity and fluidness. “The fire can only touch an unfocused mind, a mind deluded in darkness,” repeated Zeke.

Von was nothing if not determined. Sweat rolled down his long angular face, carried away by the creases of age worn by time under his eyes and along his high cheeks. The chair hummed lightly as bolts of fire moved closer. His hands, strong and agile, struggled to articulate the controls, which oddly felt heavy and sluggish. The fire intensified and the rate of rotation increased. The orange and yellow flashes blurred as if forming a solid wall of fire.

“Darkness seeks darkness. Neither resist nor engage. Seek the light Von. Close your eyes. The light you seek cannot be seen, it must be felt. Search your heart my friend. There you will find the light. And stop trying so hard—effort is always the sign of the wrong path. You cannot swim against the tide. Let go and follow the light.”

Damn the platitudes thought Von. Why did everything have to sound like a cheap postcard? Light my arse. The only light I see is the damn fire from this Janus forsaken contraption.

The chair slowed and the fire subsided. “That’s enough for today,” said Zeke. “Until you are ready to concentrate, to allow yourself to believe, to trust the flow to take you to higher ground, well, until that time, we are just wasting our time.”

“I don’t see the point of this exercise Zeke. What is a chair bound in this blasted fire going to teach me?”

“At this point in your life—nothing. Grab your stuff. We’re done here.”

“Zeke.”

“I thought you might be ready. I was wrong.”

“Sorry to disappoint you,” offered Von.

“No disappointment Von. What is, is. I fully accept the reality. Otherwise, I would be as lost as you. Now cheer up. You might be confused, but I know exactly where we are; and just as important, where we need to go.”

“Would you like to share that information with me?”

“Von, don’t take this the wrong way, but you have not experienced enough pain in your life. There are two keys to the door of light. One is Love and the other is Pain. You are not ready for Love, but pain is definitely an option. If you want to graduate into the special Blue Onyx division, it will be through the fires of pain. The option is yours. You can let me know in the morning.”

“Let go my friend. I promise my dagger is sharp, its poison swift and my aim true. You will feel no pain. Close your eyes. Stop resisting. Sweet slumber awaits,” said Calfuray, the purple slits of her eyes growing wide and narrow.

Von let go. Like a boulder he had been carrying uphill, his resistance tumbled away and he felt an incredible sense of lightness. Calfuray never saw it coming. Those that were there said night turned to day for one brief moment and, as if nature had bowed its head, silence reigned.

“Von, do you read me?” asked Kyra.

“Von, are you okay? Von?”

Von stood, scratching the itch on his head. Pain my arse he thought. I’d still kick Zeke’s butt if he were here. “Kyra, I hear you loud and clear. I’m feeling a little warm but otherwise I think I’ll live. Be there in a sec.”

Embrace

2007-02-20T03:38:00.001-08:00

John’s Carain rounded the last bend under the laced canopy of mature oak, each a testament to the vision of his great grandfather who saw the majestic admirals only in the fleeting mists of prescience, a gift to future generations, a touch through time between blood destined never to break bread or share wine. With the flourish of a magician’s surprise, from the dance of shadows, stone and mortar materialized, dressed in the warm intention of Rubion and Triste, Kulmyk’s twin suns. The view, the suddenness, the stark contrast between shadow and light, between what was imagined and what was seen, rendered visitors mute.

Home, mused John. Somewhere between himself and the grand estate before his limpid eyes, was a second home, the home he carried in the ever changing currents of his pallium. That home, he thought, was forever warm and filled with love and laughter, peace and joy; that home swirled with the smells of faith and substance, of morning brews and evening sauces, rich as big hat ranchers on the edge of the open range; that home warmed his heart in the cold reaches of space, comforted his mind in the distance of time; that home, he knew, was home more often, and perhaps, he feared, more real.

Doors opened simultaneously. Caitlin smiled, and for a few fleeting seconds, John saw only the pure moment unencumbered with the burden of future moments. Her arms opened wide like a peacock spreading train and none the less stunning. Words were cast aside as unnecessary as clothes on their wedding night. Lips melted from two into one, warmth replaced absence and the simple comb of fingers through hair, pulling and grasping, spoke in a language universally understood. Lifting Caitlin off the ground, John pirouetted in step with their childlike laughter. The universe, for this moment, ceased to exist.

In That Place

2007-02-18T03:46:00.000-08:00

Kyra sat on the bridge of Bravo, reflective as a morning lake as stars twinkled silently like children at church; only the sound of her steady breathing could be heard. Von and Emy had decided to stay onboard for this mission, and, if truth be known, she preferred a smaller contingent and time to think. A year together was a long time to spend cooped up in a small vessel and the time away, she reasoned, or hoped, would be good for everyone. Above all, she hoped Yul would get the help she needed, which was to say, she hoped she’d see Yul again.

Sitting in the soft and worn leather of the captain’s chair, she mused on the thought that one day would be the day. Papa used to always say life was like rowing down a river, and then he would add with a laugh, a river that ended with a waterfall. Everyone would laugh, and then Papa would lower his voice and get serious again, his eyes looking round the room and making contact with each and every one before uttering in his low deep voice, but you don’t know if that waterfall is two days, two years or two decades away. You just know it’s there. Then, with the suddenness of a thunderclap, he would slap his hands to break the spell and say, How ‘bout some dinner!

Kyra closed her sapphire eyes and thought of that waterfall; and she thought of the precariousness of life on the open vastness of space, that no one was guaranteed a tomorrow. The haunting sounds of the tape played in her head as she wondered what she would find, not on board the vessel in question, but within her heart when she entered the realm of someone else’s waterfall. She knew the story well, for Papa never tired of telling it, of Zael and the outpost. But to hear it on the secure beaches of Valla among family and campfire, many years and millions of miles away was one thing; to be heading into her own private Zael was quite another.

Kyra opened her eyes, as instinct lead, and there was Emy to her right, absently starring at the distant blackness before them. Space always seemed vast and cold, no matter the temperature inside, like one was standing on the Nililian plains in winter with nothing but the horizon to be seen in any direction. Emy had chosen to go, for, as she said best, sailing was in her blood and ports of call were nothing but trouble waiting to happen. Besides, thought Kyra, Em had been a bit depressed of late, and this would be a good time to pull her out of her funk, or so the thinking went.

“Evening Em,” said Kyra.

“Evening Kyra. Only thing missing is the soft sea spray on my face and the wind in my hair,” answered Em, unconsciously twirling her brooch without taking her eyes from the large observation window that comprised the forward bridge. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Glad to have you Em. I wasn’t sure anyone could turn down John’s offer.”

“Nah, this is where I belong. This is home, here, with you guys, on the move, seeking new adventures, not staying in any one place too long. My dad would have had it no other way, and you know, his blood courses through my veins as surely as Silus is the third moon.”

Kyra smiled. “Been awhile since I thought of Silus. Perhaps we can get Von to share some stories of his time there. Papa took me a time or two. It was, I think, the most peaceful and serene place I’ve ever been. Good times.”

Em smiled back. Wasn’t often that Kyra made small talk. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure Em, anything.”

“What is it like,” Em looked up as if the words she needed were on the ceiling, “well, you know—“

Kyra sat up and smiled. “On the other side?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s a good place Em. A place where concepts don’t exist and memory doesn’t matter; a place where the eyes see through the heart and the ears hear without sound. I know none of this probably makes any sense to you, but,” and Kyra looked as if she was looking through Em rather than at her, “it’s a place where words are not needed, and as such, I’ve never been able to find the words to describe the experience. I do know this, in my darkest hour, if I close my eyes and I think of this place, I find strength and that strength carries me down the river to a better place.”

Emy paused as if to let Kyra’s words seep in, almost savoring them like the last bite of ice cream knowing soon the warm glow would recede and only the memory remain. “Is Kieran there? In that place?”

Kyra smiled with her glassy blue eyes. “He is.”

“Is it true you’re seen him? Since—“

“Since he passed? Yes. It’s true.”

Em paused again as if to weigh what that meant, what that must have been like, how that could change how one saw life, to have that experience. “I bet my dad and mom are there. In that place.”

Kyra let the tone of Em’s words ripple across her consciousness and she couldn’t help but think who she might know who might be there too and the mere thought sent her heart racing. “I’m sure they are Em.”

And for what seemed like a long time Kyra and Em sat in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, somber in the unknown, reflective in the pools of memory.

“Hey, said Von, breaking the silence, “long faces don’t get us places.”

In unison, Kyra and Em responded, “What?”

“Rog and Yul have suggested an idea for our last night together,” said Von. “I say we put the long faces away and have a little fun.”

Kyra looked at Em in mock disbelief and Em burst out laughing. “Are you serious?”

Von grinned. “What? You think I’m too old to have fun?”

“Yeah, I do,” said Em.

“What did they have in mind Von,” said Kyra.

“Come with me. I think you’re going to like this.” Neither Em nor Kyra budged. “Come on, I’m not gonna bite. Rog found some old equipment that I think I can get working. A good way to say goodbye. Come on, they’re waiting. Be good for our souls.”

“Our souls or your soul?” teased Kyra.

Von just shook his head. “Well, as much as I hate to disappoint you two young lasses, our little vixen ain’t sharing her stash, at least not yet. Besides, I’m going to need you two at full strength when we get where we’re going,” winked Von. “Now come on. Or are you two afraid of dancing or singing or both?”

Magic Pillow

2007-02-15T03:45:00.000-08:00

Ariel snuggled into bed, her white cotton sheets clean and fresh. Cait leaned over and kissing her forehead said, “I love you sweetie. Sleep tight and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I love you too mommy,” responded Ariel with an impish smile born in the warmth of the moment, worry and concern absent in the cocoon of her room.

Cait smiled back, stood up to leave and hesitated. She had not allowed Ariel to sleep in her bed for more than a year, yet the thought hung in her mind and she mused, Was this desire for Ariel or me? “Honey, how would you like to sleep with mommy in the big bed tonight?”

“That’s okay mommy, I’m a big girl now.”

Cait looked down at Ariel, her cheeks uplifted with pride. “Yes you are darlin’.” Cait smiled, kissed Ariel again and let herself out, closing the door softly.

Ariel rolled over and in a real quiet voice whispered, “Okay, she’s gone. Would you read me a story?”

Her pillow began to glow and the gentle voice of her father responded, “Well, that depends. Have you been a good girl?”

“Oh daddy, I’ve been really, really good.”

“Okay, then, what would you like to hear tonight?”

“I want to hear the one about the little girl who grew up to be a superhero. Tell me about her rocket shoes daddy, that’s my favorite part.”

“That’s my favorite too. Here goes. Once upon a time there was a little girl with primrose hair and sapphire eyes who found a pair of rocket shoes. These were not any ordinary rocket shoes, but very special ones.”

Ariel jumped in. “What did they look like?”

“They sparkled ruby red and had wings on the back and when the little girl put them on, they glowed and sparkled with the brilliance of Rubion and Triste. “

And so the pillow glowed and talked and Ariel smiled that smile that children do when they know they have the best dad in the whole world. And somewhere, many parsecs away, there was a dad that was smiling too, that smile that dads have when they know they have the best daughter in the whole universe.When the story was over Ariel whispered with sleepy lids, “I love you daddy.”

And the pillow whispered back, “I love you too. Sweet dreams my dear angel.”

Feeling Lost

2007-02-04T03:47:00.000-08:00

“Hey Von, got a minute?” asked Kyra, poking her head into his open quarters.

Von looked over his silver reading glasses like a professor taking the measure of his response to a student’s silly question. “Would be my pleasure. Come on in.” (responding in his sonorous baritone)

Kyra entered on tiptoes, quiet as a patron arriving late for the opera, and Von returned to polishing his twin las pistol with strokes sharp and practiced. Moving cloth whip tight, his detail complete with the focus of a soldier consumed in contemplation of imminent battle. Kyra watched, absorbed in the mediation of his routine, of hand on metal, of mind in flow. Von’s breathing flowed with the steady ease of a light rain as his hands moved faster and faster, cloth transparent with blur as the mirror-like finish of his las seemed as polished as possible. Yet, still he polished and she understood the exercise was not for the polishing of metal as much as the polishing of mind.

Without taking her eyes off his aged hands Kyra gingerly broke the spell. “I just had an interesting conversation with Em.” Von continued to work, not looking up. “She never ceases to surprise me.” Von smiled. Kyra pulled her cheeks up as if to reveal words hidden. “She agrees with the others.” Kyra paused again. Von held his las up to the light aligning his sight with the shinning shaft of retribution as he liked to call his instrument of righteous reprieve. “She feels we are chasing ghosts, our own, that we are unnecessarily placing ourselves in harm’s way, or as she so poetically stated, sailing into the darkness of our own souls.”

Von looked up, thumb under chin and index finger tapping his dry pursed lips as if lost in thought before uttering, “Hmmm.” Then he returned to work.

“If this is not a good time I can come back later,” said Kyra, somewhat annoyed that Von seemed to be preoccupied.

“Now is as good a time as any. If you have a question Kyra, ask, and with what little wisdom remains in my itchy skull, I shall endeavor to answer.”

“Fair enough. Em also mentioned a feeling of soullessness and sterility, here in space. I have to admit Von, I feel it too, which only heightens my concern with regard to this mission. What was once clear is now cloudy. On the one hand I feel drawn to the signal and on the other, well, I can’t get the echo out of my head, an emptiness I suppose, that somehow there are more important things. My Janus Von, do you realize I chose this mission over Yul? Do you realize she may not be alive when we return? When Em threw out that soullessness bit, and I know she didn’t mean it the way I’m taking it, well, I just wonder if I haven’t lost my way, that I haven’t misplaced my priorities.” Kyra paused and looked down at the ground.

“Please continue,” said Von.

“Have I become a cold-hearted selfish bitch?” Before Von could answer she added, “Yul could be dying right now, right now Von, and all I gave her were words. I said all the right things. But, well, you know. There are words and there are actions and right now I’m feeling like a huge hypocrite. The mighty Kyra, always talking about love, about relationship. Do you understand what I am asking?”

“Well—“

“Because I don’t.”

“We may need some snoot for this one,” suggested Von.

“I’ve been telling myself I had no choice. As soon as I heard that tape, I told John the same thing. I had to go. Papa always told me not to make decisions in the firestorm of emotion. I did. And then, well, is it just stubborn pride that is blinding me, keeping me from seeing the bigger picture, from recognizing what it seems the rest of the crew already knows? I mean, when I asked Em why she was here, you know what she told me?” Kyra’s eyes began to water.

“What did she say?”

“She told me she was here for me, for love, but for me, even though she thought, like the others, I was wrong, she came because of relationship, her relationship with me, because she felt, she knew I was wrong and that I was going to need someone as soon as I discovered that fact. Can you believe that? You know, she tried to tell me she was here because of the wanderlust in her blood, but I know better. She is here, with me, because I’ve lost my way. Now you tell me, who should be leading this crew?”

“Can I say something?”

“I’m sorry Von. I feel like I’m answering my own questions and the truth is coming down on me like a house of cards. What did you want to say?”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

“How so?”

“I’ve heard the tape. And although it would be nice to be by Yul’s side, she is in the best hands available. We have a mission–a Hynerian vessel has sent a distress call.”

“They’re lost Von. You heard what John said. The signal is old and Trev did not dispute that point.”

“Let me ask you a question. Could John be wrong or that he let his desire for you to return with him cloud his judgment? Is it possible, their technology has simply got it wrong? And for Trev, the boy hardly knows how to shave much less interpret distress transmissions.”

“What are you saying Von?”

“Life is frailing gray. There is no right or wrong, no fault or blame in this situation. We must act on the best available information. I will say this. If you had stayed with Yul, had not followed up on this distress call, I can say without any doubt, the ghosts of which Em speaks would have haunted you till the day you die. We have a window to act, and we are acting as any Hynerian would. Simply put yourself in the shoes of that crew. Would you want a potential rescue party to assume you were lost? Or would you want them to make every possible effort, regardless of the odds, regardless of what some alien technology told them about your condition? And Kyra, if we find survivors,” Von smiled, “do you understand where I’m going with this?”

Kyra wiped her eyes. “I do Von. Thank you. I think I’ll have that snoot now.”

“Why not,” smiled Von.” He poured two glasses and handed one to Kyra. “Now as for the soullessness of space, I feel it too, but it has nothing to do with space.”

“Really,” said Kyra, taking a sip of the amber liqueur. “Pray tell then.”

“Connections, my dear. That feeling has everything to do with connections.”

Like a Calf

2007-02-01T03:48:00.000-08:00

“Rog, put me down right now,” demanded Yul, her tiny fists protesting without merit upon his back, her waist wrapped over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

“Oh, I’m going to put you down alright. Don’t you worry your pretty little head over that one.”

“Rog, don’t you dare. Rog? Rog! What the frack do you think you’re doing?

Twenty minutes later:

With a dreamy lost in pleasure smile, Yul rolled her tongue over her red wet lips again. “My, oh, my, my sweet baby. You taste so warm tonight.”

“Well,” choked Rog, still smarting from his bleeding lip, “I suppose discretion is the better part of valor.”

As Rog rubbed his wrist, Yul pulled back and popped his tight and taut arse with a crack like lightning. “Now!”

Supernatural Delight

2007-01-28T07:46:00.000-08:00

“You didn’t think we would have a Bravo party without Kieran did you?” Kyra smiled. “Von fill’em up again. Rog, wanna tell us what the surprise is?”

Rog downed his second shot and looked around Kyra to the eighth glass. Empty again. “Hope your boy can dance?” Rog grinned, still a bit unsure what just happened but too excited to let a question or two get in the way. “Now, nobody move.” Rog took off and slipped behind a side door to the right of the bar. Before anyone could ask, Rog’s voice came over the sound system. “Von, lights.”

Three spotlights flooded center stage as Rog jumped from behind the curtains, a mike in his hand, and to everyone’s amazement, a curly wig on his head. “Welcome to showtime. Von, play it brother. Off those stools,” shouted Rog as the first notes of music began to play. “Get your minds right and your joints loose. Rog is in the house.”

Rog came alive. His eyes shinned with energy and love and his head started to bob. Yul was smiling from ear to ear and Rog locked eyes.

We get it “on” most every night
When that moon is big and bright
It’s a supernatural delight
Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight

Rog’s voice flowed forth with a natural roughness, genuine in delivery and just good enough to make everyone forget the performance and slip into the moment as it was meant to be. With the first line, or the fourth word as the case may be, Yul felt her heart pound in her chest as a warm feeling flooded her whole body when Rog turned “on” into a soulful multi-syllable serenade with such powerful sincerity that even Von stopped what he was doing and realized a moment of captured truth as only love and song can reveal.

In the slight pause between the first and second stanzas, Rog slipped into what only seemed later like a trance as his eyes closed and the music rocked his hips, arms moved in sync and his head moved left and right. Watching him dance charged the atmosphere and then, as if he had practiced his moves a thousand times, his bright child-like eyes opened on cue and song rolled over his smiling white teeth like a fresh water stream gushing down the mountain.

Everybody here is out of sight
They don’t bark and they don’t bite
They keep things loose they keep things tight
Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight

Rog rocked, the curls of his wig bouncing and his eyes flashing grins at the semi-circle of mates before him. Hands clapped and hips swayed as for a moment only this performance, this song, this flow of energy existed and so Rog rode the wave moving up and down the stage winking and dancing with moves of hip and shoulder no one imagined him capable.

Dancing in the moonlight
Everybody’s feeling warm and bright
It’s such a fine and natural sight
Everybody’s dancing in the moonlight

Yul jumped up on stage and in the short interlude between the third and forth stanza joined Rog in dance, and to all who observed, they moved as if no one else was there and thoughts of time past and time future remained at bay. Putting his arm around her waist, he pulled her tight as the lyrics fit the embrace and everyone laughed.

We like our fun and we never fight
You can’t dance and stay uptight
It’s a supernatural delight
Everybody was dancing in the moonlight

As the music wound down Rog, sweaty brow and curly wig, pulled Yul tight, kissed her and looked out into the audience with mike extended. “Alright. Who’s next?”

Night of the Red Robe

2007-01-20T03:40:00.000-08:00

What was before, is left behind. Zeke takes his vows.

Grace and Beauty

2007-01-16T03:44:00.000-08:00

Golden amsec stood smooth as morning lakes in the glittering basins of crystal flutes, reflecting smiles white as Christmas snow. John, dressed in his captain’s whites, lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “To our guest, the elegant lady Kyra, a sight most glorious in her singular grace and beauty.”

Hear, Hear resounded round the table as glasses chimed like church bells, echoes softened in the warmness of welcomed endearments. Kyra’s eyes welled as John’s words rained down upon her refulgent blue eyes. Instinctively, she leaned her head back to hold the tide and inhaled deeply, to stay a sniffle or calm her racing breath could not be said. Nor did it matter. Words, amsec, or perhaps something else, magic was magic and these moments were few and far between. Questions, she checked at the door; to be picked up later, if need be.

Together they raised flutes of golden fruit and she smiled. Not so much at him, as with him, like children on a merry-go-round going up and down and all around to the measure of laughter unencumbered by the gravity of age. And he smiled back in a gesture understood only by two in the discourse of the moment. Others were there, that night, at dinner. So the log testifies. But then again, they may as well been the trees in the forest or the birds overhead.

The table stood resplendent with the bounty of private reserves and select delicacies prepared by hand and arranged on whey linens shipboard smooth. Much came from the prowess of John’s own hands on his ancestral lands. Pure and natural, he would say, but truth be known, he needed the bond to home on these long journeys. Although John would not admit it at the time, he had advised the kitchen, in so many words, to spare no detail this night.

Not since formal Tao dinners with Papa had Kyra seen such care and attention given to an event, giving pause to reflection both melancholy and grateful. Much was eaten; much was said, little remembered. Conversation flowed from loose lips but the eyes alone rendered currency legit, a private duet waltzing to the beat of attentive hearts. Kyra wore her ruby red metalique evening gown that night and she feared the pounding in her chest would betray her longing in glimmering swells of rising metal and flickering light. John wondered how a woman could appear more gorgeous.

Kyra tried not to look, but how could one not stare at his dark brown puppy dog eyes. Somewhere was the sound of water flowing, or perhaps, she thought, just the desire to pour herself into those bottomless pools of reflected admiration, forever slipping deeper and deeper into his intoxicating charisma. She leaned his way in her reserved sultriness, almost daring him to break eye contact, a tacit dare, understood in the curve of a smile. Dessert came and then after-dinner liqueurs of azure blues and emerald greens, exotic on the tongue, familiar in the belly.

John made eye contact with his regular guests and one by one they offered their thanks and excused themselves from the table. Kyra noticed without noticing until just the two remained. (to be continued)

Like Magic

2007-01-15T03:44:00.000-08:00

“Mairi, I’m going to place our beautiful little friend around your neck,” said Dr. X. “Won’t hurt as long as you don’t resist. Relax your mind. Think pleasant thoughts.”

Mairi closed her eyes and the ampulator settled in place. The organism felt its way along her neck, each orifice of its inner ring sluggishly seeking an air tight suction. Mairi started to choke. “Relax my dear. The amp is trying to determine if you are friend or foe. If friend, then you are going to be privileged to some rather special sensations in a few minutes. If foe, then you and I will go down together. Now relax.”

“Can you please tell me what vile purpose this exercise suits?”

“My apologies, of course. You my dear, are a null, a blank, or as some might say, an untouchable. In a telepathic world, you are the great eraser, the anti-gravity, the void. No one near you can communicate nor can anyone use their telepathic powers on you. Most important, you black out all telepathic signals. Your mere presence is the great off switch. With you, we are all but invisible to the outside world, but there is one little problem. Your power is not quite strong enough to blank us out from Kulmyk probes, which are a little too close for comfort right now. Our little squishy friend, however, is going to fix that. Once he forms full suction, and of course sees you as a friend, his natural genetic conflux will take your nullness and amplify it. If it works, we will drop off the radar of those probes like magic. And my guess, they’ll never know what happened.”

As the creature tightened its grip on her neck, Mairi tried not to squirm managing to eek just a single word through her clenched teeth. “If?”

“Well, as you know, we’ve never had a null before, so I suppose you could say this is where theory crosses the road of actuality. Now relax, I’m fairly certain this is going to work.”

“TEAM KILO REPORTING in. Over. Do you read?”

“Loud and clear,” replied Tom. ” What seems to be the problem.”

“Hard to explain sir. One minute we were locked on their location and then the next, they just disappeared.”

Frail Me

2006-12-29T03:42:00.000-08:00

Yul sat in her quarters, alone. Wasn’t the first time with Rog having been in hospital for so long, but this aloneness was different. He could be here if he wanted. He wasn’t; and that species of aloneness was a very different animal. Frail him, she thought. I was there for him, by his bedside, in the chapel, lighting candles and now that he is better and life is good for him, now that I need him, he chooses to be elsewhere. She picked up a vase and, with a motion Rog would have been proud of, hurled it against the stone wall. It shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces, each little jagged edge jutting up like so many icebergs, beautiful and dangerous.

She thought to clean the mess but then thought why. She tried to cry but could not produce a tear and she realized her anger needed, demanded, an outlet and there were not enough vases on the entire ship to sate her ire. But there was the cabinet.

Her cabinet had three drawers. Her modified, albeit illegal, Oblivions were in the top drawer; tempting, but completely unsatisfying. You could erase the memories from the mind, but memory took root thought-out the whole body. Call it molecular memory, but a hand once bloody, well, there was no Oblivion capable of bleaching that stain from the offending cells. And memory was more than just one’s own domain. Others knew, they had their own memories, and no Oblivion was going to erase the actual event. They were, perhaps, best left to their original purpose.

Drawer two held her blue vials–her second little secret. Almost got her in trouble with Trev and the agent of choice for terminal selection, nevertheless the risk was well worth the reward. Besides, she thought, Trev could have been fun and if you were going to go, well, there were worse ways. Note to self: life is short. Reconsider helping peach boy. Ooooh, maybe he’ll bring his camera this time.

As much as current events still painfully throbbed, temptation was stronger, or perhaps just too delicious. This time, she rationalized, was for pleasure, so she removed one vial, put a couple drops on her wrist, closed the small crystal cruet and returned it to the drawer. A drop on each wrist was all that was needed. Any more and, well, she had been down that route. Frail you Rog, she thought as a wicked smile took hold of her face. Her contraband didn’t take long to work and whether it was suggestive or not, she felt the warm wetness between her legs signal the point of no return, or was it the beginning. No matter, she mused. Let the games begin. Lifting her arms, Yul did a little dance, rolling her unlooking eyes upward and snapping her fingers.

But drawer three, yes sir, we’ll take number three. Oh the glow, the heft, the smoothness and that sublime curve. Rog had given it to her as a gift. Best damn present she had ever gotten and by Janus it was just frailing perfect. At least that Hynerian did something right, she thought. She would have her fun and she would have it with his gift. Just the nastiness of the thought tightened the flesh between her ambulatory limbs.

Yul held the phallic instrument, or tool as she liked to call it, in her slender hands and it begin to warm with a very slight pulsation. “Whoa, baby, not just yet,” and the tool hummed down. Voice activation, what a brilliant idea, she thought. Had to be female in origin. The tool, was more than just a toy with simple voice response. Rog had picked it up on Neraj. Paid an arm and a leg for it too. She didn’t believe him at first, but the device was also auto-suggestive. Neat little trick, until Yul used it one night with the vial (which is what she called the potent aphrodisiac she had procured illegally). The two used together were nothing less than mind blowing. And people wondered why she always had a smile on her face.

Moving to her bed, Yul stepped out of her crimson robe, letting the silky garment slide to the floor. She turned the dial on the bed to warm; it would take less than a minute to reach optimum temperature. Standing straight, her back arched, she watched her reflection in the window as her nipples caught a slight breeze and hardened to a pale blue. What a frailing rush to frail in front of the cosmos. She had never imagined the thrill until the first time Rog had taken her on Bravo. My Janus, she mused, and I didn’t even have the vial in use. What a frailing ride that was. Her legs quivered for days and she could have sworn everyone knew.

Setting the tool down, she slowly ran her hands from her hips up her side letting her fingers lightly graze the sides of her breasts like juju feathers. She was careful not to touch her aching nipples. Timing was important. A good frail needed to build, spiced with dreamy anticipation. And a good frail was as much a matter of the mind as of the bod. Imagination, tonight, was not going to be an issue. Waking the neighbors could be. Poor Em, she thought. Her room was next door. Mmm, maybe I should invite the little sea nymph over, but then she thought the better. If I share the vial, she’ll just want more and more. Of course, I could teach her to use the tool and then, who would need Rog. Yul laughed at her own wicked imagination. Mmm, little Emy on my bed, now that was a thought and her nipples glowed a brighter shade of blue. No place for shame in the bedroom, at least that’s what she was taught, and she had found no reason to dispute it. Neither did Rog for that matter.

The bed was ready, warm. Pulling the sheets back to the foot of the bed she laid down, two norsewill down pillows cased in azure venusian silk under her head. Half the fun, she thought was watching the penetration. I want to feel your long, hard, throbbing shaft sliding between my warm, wet, tight inviting pinkish lips and I want to see it too baby, she would tell Rog. Just the sight of the veins bulging bluish purple on the side of his rigid piston made her legs weak and her mouth hung low, watered with anticipation. Been awhile since she was deflowered, but she liked to image it happening all over again and again. Are you going to take me tonight baby? The tool hummed back to life. What a frailing device.

She brought her wrist up to her nose and inhaled. My frailing Janus, did that feel good, electric, as if every nerve ending was on fire, demanding to be pinched and pulled and twisted with fingers oiled. Can’t buy drugs anywhere like the vial. No wonder more murders surrounded this trade than any other. Kisses to my benefactor. Oh, and Rog, frail you too. Yul laughed.

Lying spread eagle, exposed to the universe, she closed her eyes and instead of Rog, John came into view. Involuntarily, she felt a purr slip between her lips. Oh my, what was that exotic alien packing, and she pressed her head back into her pillows, her blue tongue gliding over her parted glistening purple lips. Come to mama John, Yulie has a little something to milk those concerns from your tired shoulders.

Yul scooted her feet toward her hips, her knees hinging upward to form an inverted V. Her slender hands, each finger ringed with ornaments silver and gold, remained at her side as she rotated her hips and practiced the ancient art of the body/mind scan. What a mind frail, she thought. Again she brought the inside of her wrist to her nose and inhaled. A shiver traveled down her spine from neck to hide where the warm sensation settled and seemed to expand in intensifying waves of pleasure, each building upon the other, each more intense than the one before.

Her hips begin to move on their own. She anchored her hands by her side, palms down with fingers spread like eagle’s claws, arched her back, and let her mind take over, or so the illusion of control implied. Her erect nipples, as if taking the high ground, throbbed as beacons toward the ceiling, casting bluish shadows into the valley of her firm orbs and upon the river of gold that flowed from her neck in the form of chains and medallions. Cold metal on hot skin, fire and ice, pleasure and pain. The circle of pleasure, the eternal cycle of beginning and end not as two.

The vial had the effect of inducing a lucid dream state while keeping one conscious. And right now, John was in bed, naked, hard muscled, brimming with the confidence of a master bull fighter standing center stage—only the red cape was missing. She couldn’t move, her legs fixed in a spread, her slit glistening with carnal desire as she felt a small lubricious trickle slide to her arse, and John saw it all. He smiled and her imagination shifted into overdrive. Was he looking to mount me, there? He was alien after all. Perhaps he didn’t know which orifice was which? How long had he wanted me? Had he already taken certain liberties after the quilling? Maybe this wasn’t his first time. Oh my Janus, maybe he’s already frailed me and I don’t even know it. And so the thoughts built and Yul slipped further and further into the drug induced state.

She tried to moan, but John put his finger to her lips motioning her to silence. He was going to frail her, frail her like Rog had never frailed her before, like Rog wasn’t capable of doing, and she was not going to utter a single solitary sound. She tried to move her hands, and couldn’t. His strong grasp held hers in place and he flashed that mature seductive grin, starlight gleaming off his straight white teeth. His strapping legs, solid as aged oak, moved inside her tender long white thighs pinning them open, exposed; and his skin felt summer sun warm, tingling warm as visions of secluded beaches and hidden coves awash with warm salty azure waters filled her wicked mind’s eye.

She pressed her legs against his. They didn’t bulge. Like the inevitableness of the setting suns—Rubion and Triste–the warmth of his breath descended to her neck leaving kisses along her protruding external jugular vein. She breathed in, chest rising, nipples aching, and he skipped a kiss further down. Another breath, another kiss—a touch of skin, the feel of life exhaled, and so he moved down the river of gold to those exotic pulsing blue mounds. The room began to glow with the hardening blueness of her erect nipples and she saw lust reflecting in the upper irises of John’s eyes. The aroma of her wetness intermingled with his silky lather, intoxicating beyond the potency of Trev’s blue snoot. Or maybe it was just the vial. Winners don’t question the call.

She tried to speak but his left hand covered her lips and he shook his head like a scolding schoolmaster. A wicked grin spread across his cheeks as she silently opened her soft lips, sucking in his left index finger deeper and deeper, her doe eyes wide and unblinking. His eyes fixed on hers as his strong right hand explored the slick sticky wetness between her legs. Her hips took over, embracing his touch like a young girl running down the dock to hug her sailor returning from a long voyage. The embrace of warmth and wetness, of desire and lust, of drugs and imagination overwhelmed all else. Energy pulsed to the heartbeat of the universe and where there were two, only one could be seen. Fully exposed, vulnerable and helpless, she was right on the edge of loosing control. There was only ever one first time, one first moment of hardness sliding into wetness, one first stroke where reality overwhelmed the imagination and dreams seemed like the playthings of children. Who was ridden and who rode mattered not for the ride shared a mutual ecstasy that threatened to rip the bed from its foundation breaking the hull and sucking them to certain death in the vacuum of space. What a frailing way to go, she thought, and she slid into the dream deeper with each imaged stroke, each alien thrust between the tight velvet wetness of her animal lust fueled by the scent of a forbidden aphrodisiac.

Her legs clamped around John’s back like a well-oiled bear trap on a humid morning. By Janus, he was going to frail her or she was going to frail him or they would frail each other with the heat of passion born of neglect and educated with an anger grown in the fields of stress–tribute to be paid in the coin of release. She felt sweat, hers or his or both was hard to say as the planetary light glistened off their skin like so much glitter, their movements causing each bead to twinkle like starlight. The room, or her mind, hard to tell, begin to spin like the mirrored ball at a high school dance.

Her arms reached around his back and her nails dug into his flesh as if to mark her territory. She drew blood and he pounded her harder, his head falling to her chest, inhaling first her left nipple and then the right, moving back and forth, watching them swell and pulse to the darting of his firm tongue and succulent soft lips. He bit down, teeth sheathed between his lips and rotated his gums like twin babies suckling milk. Pain and pleasure blended together in that way that makes eyes sparkle and lovers bond in a symphony beyond language or poets or sages. Music played without sound and light flashed where there was only darkness and the opening of time revealed itself in an instant of pleasure beyond the reach of concept or sensation.

She craned her neck and bit his ear as if to say don’t you stop, whatever you frailing do, don’t you stop. Frail me baby, just frail me like a lathered John Henry pounding out rock through my tunnel. And he obliged. Somewhere she heard a slap, a constant steady wet slap of skin on skin, of passion kissing passion in ways that made the prude turn red and the pious turn the page. Her legs felt as if on fire from the heat of liquid friction, a luscious sucking sound with each thrust that spoke as if living and breathing of its own accord. His arms, muscled like bulging pythons, braced himself on either side of the top of her pale shoulders, her legs spread over the top of his, as exposed as she could make herself, reaching, deeper, thrusting, looking, begging for just a little more, just a little faster, just a little harder, just a little more–now.

Her eyelids started to flutter and her nipples felt full and heavy and ached with a sensitivity born of hard use. Breathing became labored and John shifted position. How he rotated her to her stomach without withdrawing his flesh was but a blur. Arching her back, raw, uninhibited, shameless wantonness took control. She grabbed the headboard and screamed out. His right hand firmly on her hip, his left holding her hair like the reins of a thoroughbred coming down the back stretch, whether he was pulling her into him or she was impaling herself on his hardness could not be said, but either way, the bed shook and light danced and the neighbors took notice.

The banging continued and muted voices were heard. She looked at John and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say I told you so as he faded from sight. The banging continued and she recognized Emy’s voice. Oh my Janus, she thought while grabbing her robe off the floor.

“Hang on Em, I’ll be right there. Damn.”

Grace and Beauty

2006-12-25T03:41:00.000-08:00

No Doubt

2006-12-05T03:36:00.000-08:00

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.”

Don’t Ask

2006-11-25T10:34:00.000-08:00

“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.”

On You I Depend

2006-11-25T03:35:00.000-08:00

I have seen peace. I have seen pain.

“Yul, tell us what you know,” said Kyra.

“Rog and I were enjoying the evening and we heard odd sounds from down the corridor. Rog grabbed his stuff to investigate. Twenty minutes later, he hadn’t returned so I went to check on him. The door to his quarters was open but no sign of him. I noticed the door to Mairi’s quarters was open too and no sign of her either,” said Yul.

Resting on the shoulders of your name.

“What sort of odd sounds?”

“Loud voices, metal banging on metal, more hurried urgent voices and then silence. I told Rog to leave it alone. The bed was warm, we had nowhere to go, and besides, well, we had unfinished business,” said Yul as Von fought back a smile.

Do you see the truth through all their lies?

Von, any ideas on why they aren’t answering their responders?” asked Kyra.

Before Von could answer distant las fire echoed through the room. “Oooh, that’s not good is it,” quipped Yul.

Do you see the world through troubled eyes?

“No, that’s not good,” responded Von. “My guess, they came for Mairi and Rog caught them in the act or followed them. Either way, he is facing impossible odds.”

“Taren, this is Kyra. Can you tell me what is going on?”

And if you want to talk about it anymore,

Silence. “He’s not responding.”

Intensity of las fire picked up. “Kyra—static—outnumbered—static—can’t—oh shiott–“

Lie here on the floor and cry on my shoulder,

“Rog! Rog, copy. Rog?” Nothing. “We got to move but all I’ve got is a las pistol,” said Kyra, a sense of relaxed intensity in her voice, her crystal blue eyes looking more steely than blue.

Von stood up. “I think I might be able to assist. Follow me.”

I’m a friend.

Von wasn’t kidding. His Ji Shield was the tip of the iceberg. “What the frail Von,” said Yul, “afraid the Javalinas were going to come back for ya?”

“Hope for the best my friend, but prepare for the worst,” said Von, picking up a pulse rifle. “Try this on for size Yul, that is if you think you can handle such a large tool.”

I have seen birth. I have seen death.

“If I can handle Rog I think I can hand this,” said Yul, taking the instrument in her hands. Her delicate facial features belied her core strength honed in the countless hours she had spent training with Kyra. Von couldn’t help but admire the definition in her arms.

“Yes, I think you can,” smiled Von.

Lived to see a lover’s final breath.

“What have you got in there for me,” asked Kyra.

“I want you to take the shield. Zeke would have wanted it that way. Strap it to your left forearm. Feel the energy flow,” said Von, watching as the center of the shield came to life with a brilliance he hadn’t seen since her Papa had last worn the ancient relic.

Do you see my guilt? Should I feel fright?

Rog wiped the sweat from his brow. Las fire singed the bulkhead just inched above his head. His two las pistols hummed in recharge. The corridor was lit with green and red and the occasion blue ray of energy. He couldn’t see his attackers but then again, he thought, they can’t see me either.

“Lieutenant, what seems to be the problem?” asked Taren, with just a tinge of frustration in his voice. With Mairi in their hands, he could not communicate with his squad other than by normal means, which meant less than secure.

Is the fire of hesitation burning bright?

“Red leader, do you read?” queried Kulmyk command.

“Loud and clear,” responded red leader, his Vollmond approaching target lock.

And if you want to talk about it once again,

“Taren, I need that girl here now,” commanded Shen.

“We’re working on it,” said Taren.

On you I depend. I’ll cry on your shoulder.

Kyra held the shield in her arm. Her whole body flooded with the strangest sensation as the shield responded to her wishes. It moved, like her arm, without thought, without effort as if the very instrument had become a part of her body. “Rog, not sure if you can hear me. Hang tight. We’re on our way,” said Kyra.

You’re a friend.

[ed note: Lyrics from James Blunt’s Cry. Imagine the song playing in the background as this chapter plays itself out.]

Pinkster

2006-11-02T03:33:00.000-08:00

“Emy, Emy, wake up,” said Pinky, poking and prodding the sleeping young Hynerian as she hovered above her bed, the soft pink light from her oculators illuminating the room like a gentle nightlight.

“Go away Pinkster,” moaned Emy, half awake. She pulled the warm sheets over her head and wiggled back into the fetal position, hoping Pinky would get the message.

“I think you’ll want to hear what’s going on,” cooed Pinky. “I got the lowdown directly from Goldie. You’d be mad at me if I didn’t tell you.” Pinky was a gift from her seafaring father. He had purchased the cogitor south of the Nusian peninsular on one of the trips Emy had stayed home to attend an art seminar. Pinky was going to be a birthday gift until the sudden climate change; as such, she became the last material exchange between father and daughter.

“Pinky, we’ve been over this before. I’m not interested in the gossip you exchange with Goldie. Besides, can’t you see, I’m sleeping. Now go away.” Dang cogitors, thought Em, if they can program them to gossip why the frail can’t they program them to understand the most basic of Hynerian needs, namely, sleep.

“Emy, my darling dear child, this isn’t gossip, it’s a plan and if you don’t wake up, it’s going to happen without you. You see, Rog is—“

“A plan? What are you talkin bout Pinkster?” said Emy, sitting up in bed, her hands corkscrewing the sleep from her eyes. “This better be frailing good or we’re going to have another talk about your non-sentient access.”

“I know, I know, I do love to exchange potential useful information on occasion.”

“Pinky!”

“Promise. No gossip. Rog went to rescue Mairi and has got himself in a hornet’s nest of trouble. Poor lad, I know he means well. Such a handsome–”

“Pinky, please.”

“Sorry child, I do get carried away. As I was saying, Rog is in trouble. Las fire you know. Not good. Outnumbered I hear.”

“P-i-n-k-y!!”

“Yeah. Sorry. Kyra, Von and Yul are going on a rescue mission. They’re over in Von’s quarters right now. If you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss them.”

Emy jumped out of bed. The thought of not being included fueled her desire to be seen as an equal. After the mission on Neraj she felt a certain bond with Rog, shared experiences no one else could claim. Besides, he liked her art work. That alone was worth rescuing she reckoned.

Kyra came tumbling out of Von’s quarters and right into Emy causing both to fall to the floor. “Emy, what are you doing up?” asked Kyra, caught off-guard.

“You’re not going without me,” said Emy.

“I don’t think you want to go where we are going,” responded Von.

“Thanks for making assumptions about what you think I want or don’t want,” said Emy.

“We don’t have time for this,” interrupted Yul with just a slight irritation in her voice.

“I can handle a weapon as well as anyone here,” said Emy, her tone indignant. “What do you think my father taught me on those long journeys south of Point Unknown? Yul’s got a pulse rifle, model 945, last used in the Vespusian campaign–single charge, multi-fire. Von, you’ve got duel proton magnum las blades, modified for Blue Onyx divisions and rumored, I believe, to be issued exclusively for Zing Tao use. And Kyra,” Emy paused, “I don’t know what the frail that is in your left hand.”

Kyra looked up at Von who just shrugged his cheeks with a slight tilt of his head.

“It’s a Ji Shield,” said Kyra. “Von, get her equipped and be quick. We’ve got to move.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa,” snapped Yul. “You’re not—“

“She’s coming Yul. We need all the firepower we can manage,” answered Kyra.

Emy smiled. She knew opportunity when she saw it. Sticking it to Yul was just a bonus.

“Come with me,” said Von. “I think I have just the thing for you.”

Memoirs or Beer

2006-10-15T03:32:00.000-07:00

Las fire intensified. I could feel the heat above my head and no matter how tightly I tried to squeeze myself against the bulkhead, no matter how small I tried to make myself, I felt as exposed as those winter nights in the hopper.

My eyes burned with salty sweat dripping into them.

“Kyra, can you read me, over? Repeat, Kyra, come in, over.” I sat in the corridor trying to make myself as small as possible. Las fire whipped passed me in sight and sound. The colorful bolts of energy traveled at near the speed of light yet still they seemed to whiz forth in slow motion.

Salty sweat dripped into my eyes making them burn. I dared not release my grip on either las pistol, nor expose my side by trying to rub them with my shoulder. So I sat, eyes on fire, in the dark corridor watching the colorful bolts of energy whip pass me in sight and sound.

Silent night. I saw the light, those wonderful, colorful bolt of death, each heading my way, each hoping to be the shot that ended this impasse. If I moved just a few inches to the left, the next bolt would take me out. I would hardly feel it; and then, maybe just then, I could be reunited with Chaz.

I leaped out into the corridor, both las pistols firing on full auto, grips burning hot in my hands. Executing a full one-eighty, I nailed three . . .

With las fire whipping past left and right, and no support, I charged, both las pistols firing on full auto . . .

The rest of the crew had abandoned . . .

I stood, risking life and limb, firing both las pistols, against impossible odds . . .

I saw the forced and violent abduction. Mairi’s cry echoed into the night, her voice silent to all, it seemed. But I heard. Not her voice but the plaintive cry of her heart. There was no time to alert the rest, I knew I had to take immediate action . . .

Yul was indifferent, but I knew something was amiss. I grabbed my stuff and headed into harm’s way, my own well-being be damned . . .

Against impossible odds I powered my las pistols for full auto and maximum effect. Mairi was in harm’s way. The rest may sleep, unaware, but I would not let these barbarians have their way. Bastards. Risking all, I charged . . .

Impossible odds. Forgotten by all. I recharged my las pistols. Wiping the sweat from my eyes, I steeled my nerve for a full frontal charge. Frail the rest, now or never, I wouldn’t let the bastards have their way with one of our own . . .

I heard her plaintive cry. What could I do? Ignore what needed to happen? I grabbed my two las pistols and headed into harm’s way. Like a sonic boom I exploded upon the raiding party. Surprised, I would say, they were to receive a little Rog heat . . .

Yul nestled up next to me. I looked into her gorgeous blue-grey eyes. Frail me was written all over them. My lips lowered toward hers, her warm breasts and hard nipples pressed against my rock hard pecs. I felt the warm dance of her tongue . . . And, yet, I felt the need to move, to seek resolution, to feel needed in a time of urgency . . .

My thighs flexed as my abs contracted. Shadows danced on the walls. Moans dominated the night as the smell of snoot intermingled with the female call of night. I partook of the mutual pleasures rightly earned and deserved. Yul never heard the call. I knew. Grabbing my gear, I headed for the door . . .

Las fire whipped passed. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I tightened my grip on both las pistols as they warmly hummed to life. I had twelve rounds to make a difference. Twelve rounds to change the story, to change reality, to carve my name . . .

My eyes rolled inward as Yul worked my mind into perpetual debt. Breathing deep, and deeper with each rotation of her Lospusian lips around my . . . Frail, what was that . . . I leaped out of the warm cocoon of our abode, grab my gear and headed toward . . .

Sweat dripped from my brow on to Yul’s forehead. I rotated my hips upward and increased my pace. Her moans turned more and more submissive, which only led to me increasing the intensity of my thrusts. My impressions matched her sighs. Fluid, dance-like movements, heaven building in my mind. Then, something other, something urgent, something needed. I paused. Yul’s wet eyes pooled before me. Question unasked. I had no answer . . .

Yul’s legs wrapped around my hard torso. My ears filled with the sweet sound of affirmation. Yet, still, I felt something more. Something other. My triceps flexed in suspension. I listened. A single drop of exertion slipped from my chin to the nape of Yul’s neck. I knew. Time to move . . .

Yul arched into the starlight. Her cool blue shadow, curve divine, my mind beyond logic, body on instinct, then a sound, not a gasp, but a gasp, a gasp that didn’t fit . . .

My guts contracted. My mind expanded. Instinct took over and nausea surged forward pushed aside by . . .

Damn this writing stuff, thought Rog. Where’s the interviewer so I can just tell the story. With that, Rog put his pen down and headed to the fridge. Seems this thing they call beer is not so bad. “Yul, where are you baby? We have some unfinished bidness.”

Cold Hearts

2006-10-01T03:31:00.000-07:00

Cold Hearts

Shen closed his eyes and looked deep. They were getting close. No time to investigate what went wrong but one thing was clear; guilty and innocent alike would taste the cold fire of space. Such a horrible way to die, thought Shen, lacking even a scintilla of compunction.

“Lieutenant, where is the girl?” queried Shen, his voice penetrating through the smoky corridors and cold hearts with equal measure.

“We’ve had a minor annoyance. She should be arriving within the minute,” responded a less than confident voice.

“Thank you lieutenant.” Shen turned slowly from the port window in his quarters to his loyal aide. Cerus had served him for more than a decade. Trusted aides were hard to come by. Shame I can’t take him with me, thought Shen.

+Cerus, prepare my personal pod for immediate launch.+

Purpose

2006-09-14T03:09:00.000-07:00

What’s your purpose? No, not for your life, career, family nor this year, month, week, day or even the next hour. What is your purpose in this moment, right here, right now?

______________________________

FLG

2006-09-01T03:29:00.000-07:00

Flying Lump of Garlic

Props to Autumn for giving this one the name

TAPS

2006-08-30T09:28:00.000-07:00

I generally watch very little television. Several months ago, however, I stumbled upon an episode of Ghost Hunters and I’ve been hooked on the weekly show ever since. That all paranormal activity is not evil is perhaps the one interesting and unexpected bit of data I’ve learned.

The image above is dedicated to all those “good” spirits out there and to my Wednesday night addiction. Peace to everyone on this holiday weekend. Be safe and please visit Helen as to why that is so important.

Update: This Saturday I go on my first official investigation. I couldn’t be more excited.

Venus Hum

2006-08-25T06:31:00.000-07:00

Initial impressions from last night’s performance at the Mercy Lounge—in incomplete sentences:

A voice sublime, control masterful, depth apparently unlimited, neither strained nor subdued, modulated with artisan flair and delivered with effortless elegant ease. Her smile, contagious, infectious, beautiful and seductive. Her eyes, brilliant, dancing, alive, communicating a present moment here and now joy with every glance. Movement fluid, dynamic, melding uniquely with each individual rhythm, at times like silk in a spring breeze and at other times spontaneously released with playful abandon. A spirit youthful and sophisticated; optimistic and circumspect; joyful and introspectively soulful.

Her voice simply must be heard live to understand and appreciate the gift she embodies and delivers to her audience. Thanks Annette, Tony and Kip for a performance that exceeded all of my lofty expectations. All the best with The Colors In the Wheel.

Annus Horribilis

2006-08-04T03:27:00.000-07:00

Horrors without, horrors within. Dauculus represented the single greatest loss of Zing Tao in the history of the Order. AAR’s were never released to the public and those within say even time itself failed to wear down the gates of regret. Zeke never spoke of the matter and until the meeting with Rog, neither had Von.

“Peace is not a place Rog,” said Von. “Physical wounds heal. Sometimes the emotional ones, well, sometimes they take a little longer.”

Rog took another sip of snoot and Von continued. “We all make mistakes. We all have regrets. Hindsight is 20/20. Would we have done things different on Dauculus if given the chance? Absolutely. Mistakes were made and lives lost. The real damage, and I want you to listen to me very closely, the real damage was not what happened to us, but what we thought about it.”

Von leaned back in his chair without breaking eye contact with Rog, judging the measure of the Hynerian’s comprehension. Rog gazed down at his glass and swirled the snoot to bring the aroma into play. He wasn’t sure if Von’s words or the snoot was making him the most dizzy.

“She’s going to make it Rog. And she was right; if you had interfered you would have put her life at risk.”

“How do you know that Von? How do you know she is going to wake? How do you know I shouldn’t have done something when I could?”

“Trust me Rog. Matters of this nature happen for a reason.”

“Speaking of reasons, you never did say why you, a mighty Zing Tao, are onboard our ship?”

“I owed a debt.”

“What kind of debt?”

“Dauculus Rog. Why do you think I told you that story? I screwed up. My career should have been over. I thought it would be. The Hynerian that should have been most angry, I’m talking about Zeke, took the blame for me. He never reported to Ji nor told anyone else that I was the one that failed the others. Hynerians, some of the most highly trained Zing Tao, reporting directly to Zeke lost their lives because of my mistake.”

Rog sat stunned.

“My Kestrel crew failed to provide covering support. Zeke’s deployment got ripped to shred’s by chaos engineered Raptors. They were defenseless. Caught in the open waters. I can still here the distress signals and radio chatter in my head as if it were yesterday. By the time we arrived it was too late. The damage had been done.”

“I’m sorry Von.”

“When we landed and I exited my Kestrel, Zeke was the first one to greet me. I expected court martial, on the spot.” Von paused, looked down at his drink and then back up at Rog.

“And?”

“With tears in his eyes he hugged me.”

Rog looked askew at Von.

“Only a Zing Tao with the ability to make it to the ninth order could have responded with that level of compassion in the heat of the moment. I learned more in that one embrace than my entire training up to that time. And I owe everything else I accomplished because of that Hynerian.”

“And how does that lead you to our little ship?”

Von laughed and standing up slapped Rog across the head. “Maybe you should lay off the snoot a bit. I’m here because of Kyra bonehead. Zeke asked me to look after her. I knew it was my chance, my chance to repay the debt.”

A loud knock at the door interrupted Rog’s response. Yul had found her Hynerian.

Vestiges

2006-07-19T07:26:00.000-07:00

Memories of Dauculus were the least of Von’s worries. All the snoot on Hyneria could not wipe away three years in the hands of Javalina inquisitors. Torture. Liberation. Peace. Experiences without a language

Neural Trace

2006-07-08T15:56:00.000-07:00

Von sat wishing Rog was still there. Reaching to scratch his head, the familiar tingle just under his scalp reminded him he was not alone. Zing Tao physicians had assured him the neural technology employed by the Javalinas had been completely removed, but that much as an amputee can still sense and feel a missing limb, he would probably suffer likewise for the rest of his life.

Javalina inquisitors employed sophisticated neural technology in their interrogations. They implanted nano devices within the brain tissue to gather information the prisoner either refused to divulge or had forgotten he ever knew. The technique produced mixed results for the Javalinas. For the inflicted, however, the procedure was the equivalent of Chinese water torture. Once implanted, the neural trace devices created an unmistakable itch, an itch from within the skull that no amount of scratching could alleviate.

The devices worked on two levels. Often they gathered the information sought. If not, simply left in the skull long enough drove even the most hardened warriors to tears and eventual confession.

Silus

2006-06-24T09:23:00.000-07:00

Silus was the third Hynerian moon and location of Zing Tao annual solitary treks. Never inhabited, Silus remained pristine in its desert landscape and the perfect place for Ji to instill Zing Tao principles of perspective and humility.

The average Hynerian saw him or herself as the center of the universe, the point of reference to make sense of everything and everyone around them. This egocentric view, Ji knew, would be his greatest challenge in building the Zing Tao, especially his famed Blue Onyx division. Ji also knew training, sharpening the saw, would be a life-long process; hence, the mandatory annual twenty-one day sabbaticals on Silus.

This lack of perspective, Ji felt, whiplashed the average Hynerian emotionally and, emotions, misunderstood for what they were, would and could cloud judgment and literally hijack one’s life. Standing on the great plains of Silus, alone, tended to broaden one’s view, to impose humility and chip away at the delusions of pride that had a way of working themselves back into the mind with each accomplishment.

The foundation of Zing Tao philosophy rested on peace and compassion, both of which grew in the fertile soil of love. Without that soil, without love, there was nothing. Love, Ji taught, was expansive and inclusive. The ego feared it above all else and as such told lie upon lie about the true nature of the single force that bound all life. Ji used Silus as a tool to break through those lies.

Warriors tend to be very prideful and very hard on themselves in the goal of constantly improving their skills. This path, the path of most warrior cultures, stood outside the reality of love, and as such, undermined their ability to effect long lasting change and progress. Ji taught his Zing Tao to see the natural flow and swim in it rather than resist that which was. From love one came and to love one would return. Living a life in harmony with birth and death, living in love with acceptance and understanding of the natural order, knowing that in love birth and death were not two but one, well, that was the challenge.

Von profusely thanked the Zing Tao physicians for his recovery, but those who knew him best felt his time alone on Silus was the turning point in his life.

Now, all that he had learned in his long life, all that Ji and Zeke and Silus, and one might say even his Javalina inquisitors had taught him, all that understanding reached the crossroads of fate. Kyra had touched love, and she was so close to understanding yet not quite there. Purpose met opportunity. Von put away his shield, cleaned up the snoot, washed his face and headed down the hall to visit the one who needed him most, the very reason he was onboard—Kyra.

Underneath It All

2006-06-01T15:29:00.000-07:00

Standing on the bridge grandfather and granddaughter spoke not a word. Slowly, quietly, relentlessly Hyneria’s three moons rose into the night. A slight breeze from north-west-north sent an involuntary shiver down Kyra’s back. Papa moved closer, wrapping his left arm around her shoulders.

“Papa, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” said Kyra, thankful for Papa’s intuition. Her grandfather, advanced in age, embodied wisdom beyond her comprehension. Chosen in his early twenties by Ji as his successor, the only Hynerian to ever reach the ninth order of the Zing Tao’s special Blue Onyx division, Papa treated Kyra as if she was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that existed.

Papa smiled. “My dear child, I have traveled the galaxy, seen wonders beyond description. My eyes have cried tears of delight and my heart has danced with love. But believe me when I say this, I have never know a beauty to equal what I see–”

“Oh Papa, I agree,” excited interjected Kyra, her eyes transfixed on the horizon.

Papa smiled again. “What I see before me, I was going to say,” Papa hesitated for effect, “on this bridge.” Kyra turned to face Papa, her eyes locking on his. “My dear child, do you know the wonder that is you?”

Kyra felt her heart in her chest. Papa’s hand was still on her shoulder and she could have swore it felt different. She couldn’t explain it; the feeling was unlike anything she had ever felt before. Her mind raced, her eyes watered. Papa glanced into her reflective deep blue eyes and marveled at the near perfect tri-moon reflection in them.

“Kyra, I have known kings and queens, I have known masters of the universe and beings capable of things most would struggle to even imagine. I have seen gifts, I have seen skill, and I have seen mastery. But I have never seen one as blessed as you.”

“Papa,” Kyra spoke in halting diction, “I don’t know what to say.”

“My child, I have waited many, many years to have this discussion with you. I’ve known from your earliest years that you were somehow different, somehow blessed with gifts few can comprehend. And tonight, well tonight is going to be a night you will never forget.”

Kyra’s eyes widen as if half her face were the reflective liquid of her soul as Papa liked to say. She felt a little dizzy, almost intoxicated with Papa’s words echoing in her mind. Her whole life, Papa had taught her lesson after lesson, skill after skill and then here he was saying there was more, that there was more because of who she was.

“Kyra, tonight I am going to take you on a journey of discovery. You have been so close before, and I have been so tempted to show you so many times, but tonight you are ready.”

“Oh Papa, where could we possibly be going this late in the evening?” Kyra teased, knowing full well the journey Papa spoke of did not involve going anywhere.

“You know me too well,” laughed Papa. “The fact of the matter is you are already there, have been for quite some time. Yet, like a jewel just under the surface of the water, the reflections of your mind have hidden this great gift from you. Let me ask you a question.”

“Oh Papa, please no more questions. For once, can you just tell me, or just show me?” begged Kyra.

“I have my dear.”

“You have?” asked Kyra, somewhat taken aback.

“I have,” smiled Papa.

“And I missed it,” said Kyra.

“For the last time my dear, for the last time. Tonight marks a turning point in your life. Few times in life can we say there was that and now there is this. Tonight is one of those rare nights. Are you ready?” asked Papa.

“I’m ready Papa.”

“Give me your hands. Tell me what you feel?”

Kyra didn’t feel anything out of the ordinary. Papa’s hands were strong and warm but then they always were. “I’m afraid I don’t feel anything,” said Kyra.

Good, thought Papa. He hadn’t done anything yet and needed to know she wouldn’t try to feel something that wasn’t there. He needed to know her mind would not form shapes in the fog.

“Kyra, relax your mind. Step outside the flow of thought. Open your heart. I want you to concentrate on my hands, feel them melt into yours.”

Kyra closed her eyes. And then, there it was. A small sensation, almost like an itch, no, more like a tingle, perhaps a small electric shock. Was this some trick Papa was performing she thought. But the sensation grew. Papa’s hands grew warmer. The feeling of warmth flooded her body. She had the sensation of weightlessness although her feet were firmly planted on the bridge. What was the sensation? She couldn’t label it, couldn’t categorize it. The feeling or sensation was something more than just a feeling. A feeling wrapped in emotion. Yet the predominant sense was one of clarity. A warm crystal clear pool. She felt like she was floating in a warm crystal clear pool on a cloudless summer day. She felt a sense of peace, a sense of satisfaction, a sense of needing nothing, of wanting nothing, a sense of completeness, a sense of truth, a sense of now.

And then Papa let go and Kyra stumbled backwards against the rail.

“Whoa,” said Kyra, unable to utter anything more profound.

Papa looked on saying nothing, just looking.

Kyra looked back. Her face flush, her cheeks red. Papa noticed she stood, however so subtle, differently–straighter, perhaps, with a touch of relaxed confidence educated with dignity and compassion.

“What just happened,” Kyra finally muttered, clearly astonished.

“We took a little journey, like I promised,” said Papa.

“Where? Where did you take me?”

“Home, Kyra. I took you home. How did it feel?”

Her head was spinning. The experience she just had defied her ability to wrap her mind around it. Like a deck of cards being shuffled, concept after concept, image after image, label after label, flew in front of her mind only to be rejected. She simply couldn’t make it fit anything she knew.

“I felt like I’ve never felt before. I can’t begin to describe it. I could give you a list of adjectives but even the sum of them would fall short,” said Kyra.

Papa laughed, “My dear, the wisest of beings I know cannot take what you felt and conceptualize it because it is greater than conceptualization. Besides, the more you think about it, the more it slips away. Stop thinking, just intuit, just feel, just relax into now, into this with no resistance, no judgment, and no expectation. Just be. Float without effect and trust you will be caught.”

“But—”

“No buts, Kyra,” intoned Papa. “The thought is never the thing—always two, never the same. As soon as you think you create separation. Your mind is a tool. Good for some things and not good for others. The mind works at one level, the heart another. Most live in their minds; prisoners of their own making, never realizing they hold the key. They live between the walls of their own making and forever feeling lost, forever searching for this or that only to find once they have this then they want that and once they have that then they want this. No one tortures one more than one’s own mind. You must learn to see it for what it is—a tool of the lower order. We need it to function in this world, but it will never take us home and it will never take us to truth, which is to say it will never take us to love.”

Kyra had never heard Papa talk quite like this. She felt as if he were lifting her to a higher duty, a higher level of being and with it a higher level of responsibility.

“Papa, what did you do to me with your hands?”

“I opened a door that only few can open. You, my dear, are one of those few. We started our evening with the question of then what. But I ask you a more profound question. What is love?”

“Love is truth and truth is love, you have always said that Papa.”

“That is true, but tell me child, is love and truth just words, just concepts, just more ideas?”

“What I felt a few minutes ago had nothing to do with words, or concepts or ideas,” said Kyra.

“What do you think you felt?”

“I don’t know Papa, other than to say it was good, good in a way beyond good, beyond my ability to give words to it.”

“Let me break my cardinal rule. Listen with your heart, not your mind, because your mind will resist all that I am about to say.”

Helix Point

2006-05-15T05:22:00.000-07:00

“Whoa, sweet pea, did you do this?”

“Well, I had a lot of time on those long sea voyages and dad was all for tutoring in the fine arts. What do you think?”

Rog was stunned. Em had never before talked about her painting. “I don’t know what to say. I’ve often seen pictures of Helix Point, but I have to say this rendition is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t imagine what this looked like in person,” said Rog.

“Oh Rog, to be on the open sea at night, the southern winds in your hair and the Great Helix setting on the pure crystalline waters just outside of the Nusian peninsula. Oh babe, it just doesn’t get much better than that. Mom always kidded dad about having a mistress. After Helix Point, I knew.”

Rog sat stunned. Having grown up on his father’s ranch he and his brothers had often dreamed of mighty voyages on the open sea. Picture books were about as close as they thought they would ever get.

“Emy, dear, you’ve seen things I only dreamed about as a boy. Do you have more?”

“Back on board, Rog, I’ve got my whole collection. Would you like to see them?”

Paging Commander Rog. Paging Commander Rog. Man your vessel. All indications for an opening imminent.

“That’s it Em, grab your stuff! We ’bout to make things happen darlin’. Snazzle, prepare for launch.”

Bean

2006-05-08T03:39:00.000-07:00