Because The Night
By A.S. Lawrence
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Epub files can be read on ereaders and computers using free software such as Calibre and Adobe Digital Editions.
Another day over; another duty done.
And ahead another long, cold, lonely night.
Though the centars of each time period were measured out by a computer programmed in the diurnal patterns of the world of his birth, though the temperature was regulated to a comfortable degree by that same computer and patterned after that same world – a world none of them would ever see again – still to Apollo the nights were long, too long, and cold. And they were empty; empty with a bitter wistful loneliness; empty with a longing that could never be fulfilled.
Once there had been warmth and sweetness; once there had been fire and passion, and the whisper of promises in the night. Once there had been love, as powerful and as eternal as the stars; now there was nothing. Nothing; only memory and regret and emptiness; empty words spoken, empty days filled out by meaningless duties that stretched towards yahrens that stretched into a lifetime, into an infinity of loneliness…
My life is nothing, he thought. To live a little space, to strive in vain and then to die and to be forgotten; what reason to live, what reason to go on?
There had been an answer once, but at times like this it seemed faint and far away.
A hand touched his shoulder, drawing him back to the world and to the present. He glanced up, seeing the question in the blue eyes that met his own, and shook his head.
“Not tonight,” he said quietly.
The woman shrugged, disappointed, and turned away. He watched her go; he couldn’t remember her name. He doubted it would worry her if she knew. Women were attracted to him. He knew that, without vanity, as he also knew that for many of them all that mattered was his name, his high rank, his position in the fleet. They wanted nothing more of him than a chance to be seen with him, to enjoy his company for an evening, to share his bed for a night. He made no promises, and asked for none; he shut away painful memories of a love that had fulfilled body and mind and soul, and accepted what he was offered.
Almost, sometimes, it was enough.
He was young still; too young to live alone… to sleep alone for the rest of his days. He needed the warmth and the comfort and the release of a human relationship, a sexual relationship, as much now as he ever had; for memories of his dead wife brought only frustration, never fulfillment. But he had loved Serina deeply – too deeply, perhaps – and her death had killed something within him; he thought perhaps that he would never, could never loved again as he loved her. In time, if the Cylons gave them time, then, maybe, things might change; maybe there would someday be someone who could reach out to him and touch him and thaw out the frozen places that Serina had left in his heart and in his soul. Until then…
Until then, there would be empty days and lonely nights, and, from time to time, a warm, almost anonymous body to remind him that, deny it as he might, he was still alive, still human, and that life must continue, must endlessly continue…
…even though there seemed to be no reason why.
He dreamed that night that Serina was with him.
He dreamed her making love to him, her hands and her lips touching him, her body warm against his, melting into one flesh, her long hair brushing, electric, across his skin. He heard her voice, soft but clear, telling him again that she would be with him for all the eternities, and in his sleep he smiled, comforted by that promise, and reached again to hold her…
…to wake to find nothing, no substance; only the shadow of a love too perfect to last, the ghost of a beloved memory now wasted and gone forever.
In the deathly stillness of the night the words rang in his head like a funeral knell: Nothing. Forever.
Into the void of the darkness all around him, the heavy black depths of a night that would never be ended, he sent a whispered prayer, knowing that there could be no answer, yet unable to deny himself this one weakness.
“Stay with me,” he begged the silent, phantom memory. “Be with me. Don’t make me be alone tonight… not tonight…”
As so many nights, so many, of solitude and pain; when once it had seemed that the night was made for love, for lovers.
Perhaps he was still dreaming, for it seemed to him that he felt a touch lighter than thistledown on his outstretched hand, and a warmth that was at the same time eerily without substance and yet so real that he knew that if he only opened his eyes he would see her, dark eyes and long hair, skin translucent as seashell, her hand poised, reaching out towards his own…
The sensation of almost-touch whispered across his face, telling him wordlessly that the vision was not meant for human eyes. Obediently he kept his eyelids closed, only welcoming the touch as it grew more tangible and, with it, more familiar, more intimate. The ghostly hand touched his chest as he lay back, allowing it to slide possessively downward. He own body, human, responded humanly; he heard, or thought he heard, a voice he had once known as well as his own laugh softly close to his ear. The hand moved, caressing, stroking; lips brushed his lips, then trailed lower, across his chest, over his stomach… and lower yet…
All his time with her could be compacted into one single, perfect moment, jewel-clear, jewel-bright; and in some hidden corridors of time that moment shone for all the eternities that they had been promised. But elsewhere time passed, and love could still be lost, as all things could be lost.
Desire burned like fire in his blood; a hunger that was not of the body but of the soul. Need drove him beyond all bearing. He called, “Serina!” And he opened his eyes.
The room was suddenly cold, colder than the snows of Virgon; so cold that Apollo started awake, confused, not understanding the sweat that stood out in beads on his chest and face, not remembering…
Only sure, somehow, that something had been almost won, something very precious, and that he had failed, that it was lost, that is had gone now, now and forever, beyond recall.
He sat, shivering, for a micron, the bedcovers bunched around him, trying to remember.
Nothing; and again, nothing. Whatever it had been, it had been only a dream, and like all dreams, it had fled…
…and, fleeing, had taken sleep with it.
Apollo sighed, running his hands tiredly over his face, then turned and outstretched out his hand to brighten the lighting. And then suddenly he was very still.
On the pillow beside him there was a strand, a single strand of hair, of long, straight, silky, dark brown hair…
Epub files can be read on ereaders and computers using free software such as Calibre and Adobe Digital Editions.
Another day over; another duty done.
And ahead another long, cold, lonely night.
Though the centars of each time period were measured out by a computer programmed in the diurnal patterns of the world of his birth, though the temperature was regulated to a comfortable degree by that same computer and patterned after that same world – a world none of them would ever see again – still to Apollo the nights were long, too long, and cold. And they were empty; empty with a bitter wistful loneliness; empty with a longing that could never be fulfilled.
Once there had been warmth and sweetness; once there had been fire and passion, and the whisper of promises in the night. Once there had been love, as powerful and as eternal as the stars; now there was nothing. Nothing; only memory and regret and emptiness; empty words spoken, empty days filled out by meaningless duties that stretched towards yahrens that stretched into a lifetime, into an infinity of loneliness…
My life is nothing, he thought. To live a little space, to strive in vain and then to die and to be forgotten; what reason to live, what reason to go on?
There had been an answer once, but at times like this it seemed faint and far away.
A hand touched his shoulder, drawing him back to the world and to the present. He glanced up, seeing the question in the blue eyes that met his own, and shook his head.
“Not tonight,” he said quietly.
The woman shrugged, disappointed, and turned away. He watched her go; he couldn’t remember her name. He doubted it would worry her if she knew. Women were attracted to him. He knew that, without vanity, as he also knew that for many of them all that mattered was his name, his high rank, his position in the fleet. They wanted nothing more of him than a chance to be seen with him, to enjoy his company for an evening, to share his bed for a night. He made no promises, and asked for none; he shut away painful memories of a love that had fulfilled body and mind and soul, and accepted what he was offered.
Almost, sometimes, it was enough.
He was young still; too young to live alone… to sleep alone for the rest of his days. He needed the warmth and the comfort and the release of a human relationship, a sexual relationship, as much now as he ever had; for memories of his dead wife brought only frustration, never fulfillment. But he had loved Serina deeply – too deeply, perhaps – and her death had killed something within him; he thought perhaps that he would never, could never loved again as he loved her. In time, if the Cylons gave them time, then, maybe, things might change; maybe there would someday be someone who could reach out to him and touch him and thaw out the frozen places that Serina had left in his heart and in his soul. Until then…
Until then, there would be empty days and lonely nights, and, from time to time, a warm, almost anonymous body to remind him that, deny it as he might, he was still alive, still human, and that life must continue, must endlessly continue…
…even though there seemed to be no reason why.
He dreamed that night that Serina was with him.
He dreamed her making love to him, her hands and her lips touching him, her body warm against his, melting into one flesh, her long hair brushing, electric, across his skin. He heard her voice, soft but clear, telling him again that she would be with him for all the eternities, and in his sleep he smiled, comforted by that promise, and reached again to hold her…
…to wake to find nothing, no substance; only the shadow of a love too perfect to last, the ghost of a beloved memory now wasted and gone forever.
In the deathly stillness of the night the words rang in his head like a funeral knell: Nothing. Forever.
Into the void of the darkness all around him, the heavy black depths of a night that would never be ended, he sent a whispered prayer, knowing that there could be no answer, yet unable to deny himself this one weakness.
“Stay with me,” he begged the silent, phantom memory. “Be with me. Don’t make me be alone tonight… not tonight…”
As so many nights, so many, of solitude and pain; when once it had seemed that the night was made for love, for lovers.
Perhaps he was still dreaming, for it seemed to him that he felt a touch lighter than thistledown on his outstretched hand, and a warmth that was at the same time eerily without substance and yet so real that he knew that if he only opened his eyes he would see her, dark eyes and long hair, skin translucent as seashell, her hand poised, reaching out towards his own…
The sensation of almost-touch whispered across his face, telling him wordlessly that the vision was not meant for human eyes. Obediently he kept his eyelids closed, only welcoming the touch as it grew more tangible and, with it, more familiar, more intimate. The ghostly hand touched his chest as he lay back, allowing it to slide possessively downward. He own body, human, responded humanly; he heard, or thought he heard, a voice he had once known as well as his own laugh softly close to his ear. The hand moved, caressing, stroking; lips brushed his lips, then trailed lower, across his chest, over his stomach… and lower yet…
All his time with her could be compacted into one single, perfect moment, jewel-clear, jewel-bright; and in some hidden corridors of time that moment shone for all the eternities that they had been promised. But elsewhere time passed, and love could still be lost, as all things could be lost.
Desire burned like fire in his blood; a hunger that was not of the body but of the soul. Need drove him beyond all bearing. He called, “Serina!” And he opened his eyes.
The room was suddenly cold, colder than the snows of Virgon; so cold that Apollo started awake, confused, not understanding the sweat that stood out in beads on his chest and face, not remembering…
Only sure, somehow, that something had been almost won, something very precious, and that he had failed, that it was lost, that is had gone now, now and forever, beyond recall.
He sat, shivering, for a micron, the bedcovers bunched around him, trying to remember.
Nothing; and again, nothing. Whatever it had been, it had been only a dream, and like all dreams, it had fled…
…and, fleeing, had taken sleep with it.
Apollo sighed, running his hands tiredly over his face, then turned and outstretched out his hand to brighten the lighting. And then suddenly he was very still.
On the pillow beside him there was a strand, a single strand of hair, of long, straight, silky, dark brown hair…