“I can provide counseling for him if you can convince him to make an appointment to see me.”
“I’ll order him to if I have to,” Doug replied.
“I would prefer you didn’t,” Elizabeth shook her head. “For now, that could only drive him deeper into his self-imposed isolation.”
Sitting back in his chair and throwing his arms up Doug exclaimed, “Then what are we to do? He’s a mental basket case right now. We don't need an unstable person on this mission.”
“Captain Stricklen has to work this out for himself,” Elizabeth replied. “I don't think you realize just how horribly his wife died.”
“Was it really that bad?”
“The disease that took his wife attacks the nervous system, especially the nerves associated with pain. It usually starts with the patient feeling as if they were being poked by needles in random places. Over the course of several months the pains slowly get worse. Eventually, the pain becomes so intense the patient can no longer sleep which is usually what ends their life.”
“Don’t pain killers work?” Doug interrupted.
“In its early stages pain medication seems to work but the disease becomes so rampant and widespread that no medication known, even at dangerously high doses, can dull the pain in its final stages.”
“How about a medically induced coma?”
“Doesn’t work,” Elizabeth replied shaking her head, “The brain refuses to shut down. It’s as if the consciousness centers have been locked in the on position. Unable to sleep, the patient becomes exhausted and delirious. It is a horrible death; tormented by constant, almost intolerable pain to the very end.”
“I had no idea,” Doug said after a moment. “Knowing Ken like I do, he would have remained strong and supportive staying by Tasha’s side until the end. He wouldn’t have let her see how much her pain was affecting him.”
Elizabeth nodded her head in agreement. “And he has yet to let the walls he built back then come down. You would make a fine councilor Commodore.”
Scarboro left the councilor's office with a heavy heart. He knew his friend carried a memory within him that nobody should have to bear. Forcing Ken to talk about it would only drive him deeper into his shell. Elizabeth was right – this was something Ken would have to work out for himself.
Ken’s rum had run out while on the
Meerkat
. He had transferred directly to the
Komodo Dragon
and nobody seemed to be able to come up with so much as a single bottle for him. He had suspicions that Doug had somehow ordered the entire crew not to provide him with any.
Sleep was something he used to welcome as a friend but now the memories triggered by being on the
Dragon
caused him to fear it. When he could no longer stay awake he would drift off into sleep only to be awakened within a short period of time by nightmares of Tasha’s pain-racked suffering in her final days.
When the nightmare hit, as it inevitably did, he would be jerked awake. Many times he would find himself clutching his pillow. Other times he would lay awake in the darkness feeling totally alone in the universe. After two nights of trying to sleep, Ken gave up and took to wandering the quiet halls of the ship.
Rumors circulated fast and soon the crew were talking about the hero who was slowly losing his mind. On the rare occasion when Ken encountered a crew member they would stare at him; some with pity, most with disgust, and only a very few with compassion. Nobody tried to talk to him. The ship's councilor heard about his midnight walk-abouts and informed the Captain and Commodore Scarboro that it was a sign that something would break soon.
On the night of the fourth day of their journey, exhausted from too little sleep and depressed from the memories that would not leave him alone, Ken found himself standing in front of the door leading to Tasha’s old stateroom. He could not remember walking there and he had no idea how long he had been standing there. He turned to leave but found that he could not. It was as if some invisible force was keeping him rooted in place.
He stared at the door then at the control panel to its left. Above the panel was the nameplate of the current occupant – Elizabeth Warden. Ken reached out and stroked his finger over the nameplate.
Unknown to Ken, the ship’s computer had noted his prolonged presence at the door and had quietly alerted Elizabeth. Donning a robe, she approached the door, disengaged the lock, and slid it open.
Being a warship, the
Dragon
was compartmentalized. The doors separating the various compartments were more like hatches because they were armored. All other doors were thinner but could serve as a pressure boundary if called upon to do so. All doors on the
Dragon
were manually operated so they could be opened even in the event of a total loss of ship’s power. The lightweight door to Elizabeth’s stateroom/office slid into the wall almost silently.
Still in a daze and having not heard the door open, Ken turned away from the nameplate and came face to face with Elizabeth. The shock of seeing her standing in the doorway hit him like a piledriver. For a brief moment he thought he saw Tasha standing in front of him. His face turned white, his stomach knotted up, and his vocal chords refused to function.
Elizabeth had graduated at the top of her class in both Human and alien psychology. She was quick-witted and saw an opening in the shield that Ken had erected and maintained at full power since his beloved wife had become ill. Choosing her words with great care she whispered, “You miss her don’t you?”
Ken’s shield collapsed as if it had been obliterated by a thermonuclear bomb. His lips started quivering, his legs became weak, and his eyes started to tear up. Seeing what was happening, Elizabeth reached out and guided him into her room. As the door slid shut Ken reached out and clutched the councilor burying his face on her shoulder.
Eighteen months worth of pent up emotion spilled out of Ken. His body shook as he cried. Elizabeth ignored the growing wetness on her shoulder as she held him close. After fifteen minutes the sobbing and shaking started to slow then came to a stop. Elizabeth gently led him to a chair, handed him a box of tissues, then left to get some water. When she returned he was fast asleep.
Six hours later, Ken woke up and, for a moment did not know where he was. Elizabeth was at her desk and heard him stir. “Good morning Captain,” she said keeping her tone light. “The head is to your right. I'll have your breakfast warmed up when you're done.”
Still groggy and trying to piece together how he had ended up in the councilor's stateroom Ken discovered that his bladder was full and he was very hungry. Standing up he started to say something but was cut short by Elizabeth, “Not a word until after you have had something to eat. Doctor's orders.”
Nature was calling quite loudly and Ken wasn't sure what he was going to say anyway. He closed his half-open mouth and went to find the head. A short time later he emerged to find a steaming plate of bacon and eggs along with a cup of coffee sitting on the small table in front of the chair he had slept in. His stomach told him to eat.
As he sat down and started eating, Elizabeth took a seat directly across from him and said, “I took the liberty of getting you some breakfast while you slept. I hope I didn't microwave it too much.”
Through a mouthful of eggs Ken replied, “It's perfect. Thank you. About last night… ”
“Eat,” Elizabeth interrupted. While Ken had slept, Elizabeth had thought about how to proceed with Ken's recovery. She knew full well that she would need to use all her professional skills to help put Ken on the road to recovery. The trick, she believed, would be to keep him off balance and even slightly confused. Right now he was tired, hungry, and still trying to figure out what had happened. Because of the events of last night there was also an emotional attachment as well. She had to be very careful because if she pushed too hard he would resist and his shield would be rebuilt.
Elizabeth had taken great care in choosing how she had dressed. She knew full well that she was a very good looking woman and was well aware of the effects she could have on men. As a psychological professional, she was normally loth to use her looks in her work but in this instance it was exactly what was required. She didn't want Ken to be uncomfortable, but she did want him to notice her. Not because she was interested in him but because it would help keep him off balance. She had chosen a top that showed just the slightest amount of cleavage and she had left her hair down. It wasn't provocative, but her outfit would have caused any Human male to give her a second look.
Elizabeth waited until Ken had taken several bites of his breakfast then set her own cup of coffee down and cast her eyes around the room as if seeing it for the first time. “You know,” she said matter of factly, as if nothing at all had happened last night, “I've been occupying this room for quite some time and I've always wondered about what the other occupants were like. The ship's records haven't been much help but, from what I've read, I think I would have enjoyed meeting councilor Harper.”
She had purposefully used Tasha's unmarried name and her title to prevent Ken from reacting. Because of the way she had phrased the question, Ken's mind brought up the memory of Tasha as he knew her when he was the Captain of the
Komodo Dragon
fifteen years ago, not the memory of Tasha as his departed wife.
“You would have really liked her,” Ken said almost without thinking. There was a lot of psychology at play here and Ken had no inkling that he had been played like a fine violin. His mind was now thinking of Tashara as she was 15 years ago. He was still tired which kept him from being mentally sharp. He was sitting in front of a beautiful woman which put him at ease and triggered his subconscious masculinity into wanting to please her. The breakfast also acted as an additional distraction.
Ken started to tell Elizabeth about Tashara the councilor. Without his even realizing it, the counseling session had begun. Using her considerable skill and years of experience, Elizabeth manipulated the conversation allowing her to permanently disable the mental and emotional barriers that Ken had put in place during Tashara's illness.
Several hours later, Ken returned to his own stateroom, took a long shower, and then went to sleep. He slept without nightmares and without waking for almost 10 hours.
* * * * *
Doug had almost finished his omelet and was tipping his head back to polish off his coffee when Ken sat himself down in front of him. Doug, as well as a good portion of the crew, had known of Ken's visit to Elizabeth's stateroom but the councilor had said nothing. When asked, she had simply replied, “Yes, Captain Stricklen did visit me but I am honor bound as the ship's councilor not to reveal anything concerning the nature of his visit.”
Not quite knowing what to expect, Doug set the mug down and waited.
“I’ve been a real ass haven’t I?” Ken began.
Doug took a moment to examine his old friend. Something had definitely changed. The gloom and doom which once surrounded Ken was gone. The man across from him was alert and focused.
Doug was still debating how to respond when Ken continued, “Can you forgive an old friend for being such an ass?”
Doug grasped the extended hand and shook it firmly. “Friends don’t need to ask each other for forgiveness. Apology accepted.”
Ken took a bite of his scrambled eggs and said, “Forgive me for not knowing, but how long before we arrive at the staging area?”
Doug glanced at his chronometer, did the mental math, and replied, “If we are still on schedule we should be there in about thirty-six hours.”
“And how long after that before the Kyrra drop the barrier?”
“If they stick to the plan, the barrier should come down within 48 hours of our arrival. The longer the better for us as it gives us more time to bring in additional ships.”
Ken was about to reply when he noticed someone near the door. Standing up he motioned and a moment later Captain Sheppard joined them. She shot Doug a questioning look as she took her seat.
“I would like to apologize for being so inconsiderate to you and your crew,” Ken said. “I haven’t quite been myself lately.”
“I understand,” the Captain hesitantly replied. “Would it be too intrusive if I ask what has caused you to realize this?”
Stricklen stuffed another forkful of eggs into his mouth, chewed and swallowed it before replying. “It’s amazing what a lack of sleep and insomnia can do.” His smile surprised Doug as he continued. “Let’s just say that the ship’s councilor had a very unexpected appointment at around three o’clock yesterday morning. She’s quite good at what she does.”
Scarboro and Sheppard glanced at each other. Seeing the look on their faces Ken defended himself and the councilor’s honor. “Hey! It’s not what you think. I was wandering the passageways in a daze and found myself in front of Tasha’s, now Elizabeth’s, stateroom. I… kind of lost it when she opened the door.”
Doug tried to imagine the scene that had taken place and actually came quite close to reality. He knew enough about psychology to know that the healing process had only just begun and it would be some time before Ken was fully recovered. But the good news was that Ken was now on the path to recovery. Doug’s only concern now was whether or not there would be any lasting damage. Holding in one’s emotions for so long can scar the personality of even the most hardened individual.
“I’m glad you cleared that up,” Sheppard said. “I was beginning to wonder if I should congratulate her or reprimand her.”
All three broke into laughter and at that point Doug knew that his friend would be okay.
Crossing Over
“Approaching target coordinates,” the helm announced.
The
Dragon
slowed then dropped out of stardrive at the designated coordinates. Using a button on her command console, Captain Sheppard switched the main viewscreen to long-range tactical mode.
The star chart that overlaid the tactical data identified a star 1.6 light years from their current position. The data associated with this star was displayed in yellow because the navigational computer could not determine if the star was actually there. This was due to the effect of the Kyrra fold’s influence on space.