Category: Kyra

Trev: Driven by unspeakable shame, he inexplicably heads back to see Sal. Rain slashes his face as a vicious wind whips a steel gray sky. He doesn’t notice.

Mairi: Unconscious on the cold floor, her head in a small pool of dark blood. She tried to stop Trev from going. He punched her in the face.

Emy: Her new found sensitivity to sound is driving her insane. She is currently floating her agitated arse in an isolation chamber. She holds her brooch in her hand, realizes she can no longer see her mother and starts to punch the side of the chamber. No one can hear. Blood drips from her knuckles. She starts to smile as salt stings her open wounds.

Cait: Sitting in the study with the Commander and Tom. She has been informed of the circumstances and looks on as the Commander outlines his plan. When the Commander mentions Kyra, Cait stands up and yells, “I will not have that bitch in my house!” Ariel appears in the doorway and all three adults turn in unison toward the small child.

Kyra: On her way to Duckhead. She is the plan. She sits in meditative silence on the private transport oblivious to the multi-hued lights flashing by.

Von: Refused to take no. He is with Kyra. His left hand has a firm grip on his right. It shakes anyway.

Rog and John: Making idle conversation. The Matutinal Mercy has not yet been delivered. The room is ice cold. Neither notice.

Yul: Still in hospital. Too high to wonder why. Too low to care.

Kieran: Closely watching events unfold.

The Unknowns: Closely watching Kieran.


The Mask

Cait stood in John’s study and released a heavy sigh as her eyes moved not so much from object to object but from memory to memory. Ariel was in bed and although it seemed like only minutes, several hours had past since they took John away. Her gaze skipped as pebbles across his desk and followed the warm light of a single lamp to the wooden cove behind his leather chair. Upon the wall, framed by books of varying sizes and colors, a solitary beam of light fell upon “The Mask” as the Discovery men called it. Passed from generation to generation, the mask represented everything noble in the Discovery lineage, and until a few hours ago, John had upheld the honor of the house as no one before him.

“What is it Kyra?” asked Von, somewhat puzzled by her dour demeanor.

“It’s Rog. They’ve taken him away.”

“For what?”

“Crimes against the state. I didn’t have the energy to argue.”

“What crime?”

“Seems they stole a military vessel.”

“What vessel?”

“The one they rescued us in.”


A tear slipped from Cait’s eye. She wept not for Discovery honor. She wept for her own.

Just Staring

Kyra: Von, what are you doing?

Von: Just staring.

Kyra knocked on the door. “Em, can I come in?” A small red light turned green and Kyra felt the familiar rush of air as the door swished open. Em was sitting in a chair, back straight, with hands palm down on knees together and staring straight ahead as those without sight are prone to do. She was as still as a monk in meditation, eerily so thought Kyra. Pulling up a chair she sat beside her, her eyes searching for mood as her mind searched for words.

After what seemed like forever and all the pre-planned words were found lacking in the moment, Kyra took a deep breath, slowly and gently placed her hands on top of Em’s and said, “I want you to know, we will find the doctor who will restore your sight.”

Em sat without responding other than a slight tilt of her head which seemed to indicate a return from some place else at the sound of Kyra speaking.

“I mean what I say Em.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything Em.”

“Remember when we took those red pills?”


“Remember the peace we felt?”

Kyra squeezed her hands. “I do.”

“Why can we find so much peace in death and yet find so much pain and struggle in life?”

Kyra knew the answer but pondered whether an answer was being asked. “An eternal question Em. What do you think?”

“Resistence.” Em spoke the word in a voice Kyra didn’t recognize or at least didn’t recognize coming from Em. She had heard the tone before, where, she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“Resistence?” asked Kyra.

“When we took those pills, we dropped all resistance to the present moment. We stepped into the flow without looking back, without questioning, without fighting the current. And I have never felt such peace and tranquility before or since.”

Kyra listened. She rubbed her thumbs in circles on Em’s hands.

“And now, I find myself unable to let go. I want my sight back. I refuse to believe it is not possible. And I’m confused. I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m angry. I’m afraid. I’m lost. And I’m alive. Where did the peace go?”

Kyra sighed. “Can I ask you a question now?

“Yes, please.”

“I felt that peace too and I also want it back. Will you join me? I think together we can find it.”

Em stood up, trying not to lose her balance and releasing Kyra’s hands, opened her arms. Leather embraced cloth. “Yes. I would like that very much.”

Von, Rog and Em sat without talking, each lost in their own world as they waited for the doctor as children wait to hear their name read from gifts under tree. John had had his bandages removed the day before and his sight was now as it was before. Today was their turn.

The nurse called Von. He entered. Sight restored. Next she called Rog. Again, darkness was left behind. Last was Em. She entered in darkness, and after what seemed to Von and Rog like a awfully long time, she returned still in darkness. Smiles turned south. Laugher vanished quicker than the snap of fingers. Em stood, her arms by her side, her head struggling to maintain posture.

“Frail the doctor. I will regain my sight.”

Von and Rog stood speechless.

Em held out her hands. “Let’s go. These frailing aliens don’t give a shiott about us,” said Em using language Von and Rog had never heard her use.

Von looked at Rog and Rog looked away, his face bloodless. He had his sight back. Em did not.

“Von,” commed Kyra, “how’d it go?”

“Not good.”

“What happened?”

“Em is still blind.”

“Oh my Janus. Is she okay?”

“It’s not Em I’m worried about.”


“Good morning Kyra,” said Papa.

“Good morning Papa,” yawned Kyra, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. No matter how early she rose, Papa always seemed to be up and he always looked perfectly manicured. His white tunics were nothing but pristine, each fold easy and crisp, the cut looking tailor made.

“Have a seat and join me.” With a grace that even a child could notice, Papa lifted his off-white cup of snizzle to his tanned lips, took a sip, and as effortlessly allowed the cup to float back to the table. A cool morning breeze rolled in from the ocean, palm trees bowing as servants in the wind, their broad leaves whispering approval. The ocean looked warm, inviting. The waves were gentle but not calm and the hue, forever changing, shown with a turquoise sheen rarely seen with such clear brilliance. Colors blue and green shifted in the sun as a kaleidoscope, patterns morphing to the limit of the imagination with shapes and values light and dark, rich and light, inviting and forbidden. Golden sand basked in sun and water, silent in private joy, as comfortable in solitude as a welcome mat waiting patiently for the patter of guests seeking solace and renewal. “Close your eyes and take a breath.”

Kyra pulled up a chair and sat at the table, her feet not quite reaching the aged wooded deck. Closing her eyes she took a deep practiced breath, just as Papa had taught. Silently, she breathed in to a count of four, her focus on the flow of warm ocean air on the tip of her nose. Holding the breath for a second count of four, almost swirling the warmth in her chest, she gently released the exchange back into the breeze with a third count of four.

“Give me your hand and we’ll do this together,” said Papa. Without opening her eyes, Kyra held out her small white hand and into the leathery mitt of Papa’s palm, like a baseball in a mitt, her hand disappeared in his. Together, in silence, the two breathed in the morning, heart-rates slowing, seeking and finding harmony as large drum to small drum might. His hand felt large and warm and somehow tender in strength. His breath, its rhythm and pace, felt as a rope, a belay, holding her in a safe place, a place where a touch said more than words, where a breath brought peace and a heartbeat conveyed love. Their breathing synchronized; and slowly their hearts. From a window Grand looked out and smiled. The love Zeke showed to Kyra, so consistent day in and day out, so kind and gentle and loving, as one might show a delicate flower that needed just the right amount of sun and water to flourish, that love she thought, was Zeke. He didn’t try. He didn’t plan. He simply was. Where love began and Zeke stopped was as difficult to separate as the point where one body of water became another. The two were simply one and the same. And so Grandma Kyra stood and watched and smiled through eyes that had never lost their wonder. She would leave Hyneria before him but not without him.

“Kyra, I love you,” said Papa.

“I love you too Papa.”

“Do you know where we are?” he asked, his eyes, like hers, still closed, his tone as soothing as warm honey, the grip on her hand neither too tight nor too loose.

Kyra smiled with lips closed. “Here. We are here Papa.”

“And what time is it my dear child?”

“Kyra smiled again. “Now. It is now Papa.”

“And when we sit here tomorrow, and look over the glorious ocean, tell me–“

Kyra cut him off. “Here and Now. Our appointment with life Papa.”

Papa smiled and held her hand a little tighter as if to emphasize his approval. “And when we love someone?”

“Oh Papa, you know the only time you can love someone is Now and the only place is Here.”

“Open your eyes Kyra and look at me. I want you to listen to me very closely.” Papa took her other hand in his and pulled his chair up to hers. Their knees were touching. “You are a very special child and I love you very, very much.”

Kyra smiled, pulled her hands from Papa’s and launched herself into his arms, her whole body fitting in his chest as arms and legs wrapped around him. “Papa, I love you too.”

Papa stood and twirled her around as if the two were dancing center stage with the sun and the breeze looking on at love manifesting itself in the natural order, the way it should be. Grand had seen this scene played out a hundred times and for the hundredth time she raised her right arm and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.


Kyra, in black form-fitting Venusian leather, sat alone in the long white hallway, a solitary sterile way-station, a place neither here nor there. Above the white door was a clock; white face, black hands. With each minute, the long hand snapped forward with the rigid mindlessness of a soldier’s heels clicking to attention, the shrill metallic sound plopping in her mind as drops of water on the forehead, each, seemingly, successively louder, exponentially more urgent, pressing, suffocating.

After what seemed like days, the door opened. Kyra stood. Rog took a step and stopped as if waiting for his minder. Reaching forward, his palms turned upward, Kyra took his hands, her eyes flirting back and forth across his stone-like face. Rog stood stiff, upright, which was not the Rog she knew. A solitary tear slipped form the bandages around his eyes and she quickly moved her thumb to catch it. He tried to smile but his cheeks started a quiver that quickly spread to his lips.

Releasing his hands, she took his head into hers. “You don’t have to say anything.”

Her words brought worth a second tear. “Either/Or.”

“Either/Or what?”

“That’s what she told me, ‘either/or.’”


I Know

“Rog, you ready?” asked Kyra, her hands holding his. She looked for a reaction, some sort of expression, which from Rog was almost a given. Maybe it was the blindfold or maybe it was fear that gave forth the blank stare. Either way, she felt it and it felt real, it felt solid, it felt like she could reach out and massage it; and she knew, the only way into that room, to see Yul, was through that fear.

Rog took a heavy breath. “Kyra–” He squeezed her hands and tilted his head slightly as if the words in his mind were leaning the ship as they attempted to escape.

“I’m here Rog and I’m not going anywhere. Would you like me to go in with you or wait outside?”

Rog sighed. “I thought this moment would be a happy moment. She survived. She is going to live–a miracle. Even the doctors said as much. So, it is a happy time. Right?”

Kyra leaned into Rog, wrapping her arms around him and whispered into his ear, “I don’t know what happiness is anymore. But I do know that door is a bridge, one we both must cross. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I’ve played it out, the decision, in my mind a thousand times. When you lose your sight, your mind just goes into overdrive, relentlessly thinking and it has been driving me crazy. I no longer know what is real and what is pure bullshiott.” Rog paused. Kyra held him tight. Only the sound of their breathing could be heard in the hallway. (camera pans from the back of Kyra’s beautiful black mane–she is dressed in her form fitting black leather–180 degrees as we see her sapphire blue eyes water as rain on glass and look down and to the left). “You know what I fear the most?”

A tear falls from Kyra’s eye and we watch in slow motion it fall toward the white floor. “Tell me Rog.”

Rog rolled his upper lip inside his lower. Kyra could feel his heavy warm breath on her neck and images of a braying horse in the start gate, lathered with uncertainty stuck in her whirling mind (she would later say the smell of fresh turned earth filled her senses as clearly as if she were on that horse). “That the Yul in that room is not our Yul.”

Kyra feels Rog tremble with the words and she hold him tighter. Camera picks up a wetness on his eye mask. She rolls her eyes upward. “I know.”

Commentary and Backstory


“Ms Kyra, what did you do to your hand?” asked Goldie.

“Don’t ask,” snapped Kyra. “And don’t just stand there looking at me. Find some bandages on this Janus forsaken vessel. Now!”


30 minutes earlier . . . (to be continued)

Can You Help Me?

Kyra: Von, we are going to be docking in a couple hours. Do you have a few minutes?

Von: Always Kyra, what’s on your mind?

Kyra: I’m scared. Actually, scared is not the right word. Can I ask you a question?

Von: Please, yes.

Kyra: Why did Papa put you on Bravo?

Von: You want the long story or the short version? (Von wishes he could see her)

Kyra: I want it all. Every last detail.

Von: Okay. I’ll start with the short version. I owed your grandfather a debt. I’m repaying that debt by looking out for you.

Kyra: (silence)

Von: What are you thinking?

Kyra: Not what I needed to hear. Feeling as if Papa didn’t trust me, didn’t believe in me.

Von: That is—

Kyra: Hear me out. Papa didn’t tell me who you were or why you were on board. What does that tell you? What does that say? What do you think that does for my self-confidence? What message do you think I read into that?

Von: Kyra, you don’t need me. Papa—

Kyra: Frail the logic Von. This isn’t about what is, it is about what I feel. You know what is hard?

Von: Tell me.

Kyra: To have an experience that you cannot share. To speak a language no one else can understand. To be given a puzzle that no one else can help you put together. Can you help me Von?

Von: (sighs) No.

Kyra: You know what I like about you Von?

Von: Pray tell.

Kyra: You’ve always been honest. I knew before I asked the question, before I came here that you had no answers for me. And you know what?

Von: What?

Kyra: If you had tried to give me advice, I would have shut you out. But you didn’t.

Von: Kyra, you have seen things I will never see. You have experienced things I will never experience. You have gifts beyond my comprehension to understand. Besides, I am an old Hynerian. My life is all but behind me. My future is uncertain. Hope is in short supply. So I live for my mission, however ill-equipped I am to the task. And, at this moment, blind as I am, ignorant in equal measure, I know the only thing I can offer is my ears, to listen without judgment.

Kyra: (leans over and kisses Von’s forehead) Thank you Von, but you sell yourself short. You have offered me much more than just your ears.

Von: And what might that be?

Kyra: Your heart. (she reaches out and takes his hands) Your debt has been paid many times over. But, you still give.

Von: If—

Kyra: Shhhhh. Don’t talk. I don’t need your words. Feel my hands. Feel the warmth?

Von: Yes.

Kyra: That is not me. That is you. I am terrified Von. I cannot see past this fear inside of me. I feel it consuming me, eating me alive from the inside out and I have no idea how to stop it. My mind is hollow and questions are bouncing around seeking what is not there. This gnawing fear feels alive, as if it has a life of its own and is clouding everything before me and you are reaching out, with your heart. You are not judging me. You are not advising me. You are simply communicating, with your heart, that you are here. And you know what Von?

Von: What Kyra?

Kyra: You are wrong about one thing.

Von: And what might that be?

Kyra: I do need you. I need you without obligation. Without a mission. I need just you. Can you do that?

Von: Yes.