From: Jeffrey A Zahnen Subject: Grieving Just as a warning: the next two parts (1/2 and 2/2) of this are uploads of fanfic. If you're not into fanfic, IGNORE or DELETE or whatever you pure-netters do to unwanted mail. Basically, it's a story in my GSDF universe (you'll see why I make the disclaimer when you get to the Galactica Bridge scene--nobody but me is that destructive...)(and you should've read my version of the Damage-To-Caprica Status Report that Wilker gave to Adama in HOLOCAUST...) of one person's grief during that time when everyone should've been grieving. (There's more to the story, but it's disgustingly upbeat; the second third of the story, she meets my own character, Dannel, and Zac, his reluctant escort; the third third, she gets to her new combat arms unit and makes good. The story's title is SURVEY SERGEANT, from a startling lack of imagination on my own part.) Davey She dreamed. And she was at home with her family where Mama Delors kept her younger sisters and brothers occupied at the dinner table studying lessons as the smell of fresh bread and newly sheared grain filled the room with scents so strong she could almost taste them and Talli had taken the huge comfortable chair before the vid and was quietly watching ACVi-37 where the world-famous newscaster Serina was about to break the news that Peace In Our Time had arrived while Yuki lay curled in Talli's lap and purred softly as the girl stroked her and Grampa sat next to the window and past him in the twilight shading to starflecked night she could see the pale hazel horizon of the Dixon Range and the darker saddle of Obru Pass where she had broken her collarbone climbing at the age of eleven and as she watched her grandfather dozing quietly a shooting star flashed by and another and another and On the vid the newscaster was clearly enunciating every word, praising the peace movement for this great accomplishment as Talli was murmering vehement agreement while Mama Delors glanced at her as she stood there in her dreams and smiled and knew that her youngest child was now safe and would soon return from serving among the stars to marry and raise a family of her own and then Lightning flared past the mountains and highlighted the pass and cast dim shadows across the buildings of the city down the hill and Talli had stopped murmering and stood up and Yuki had lost patience and fled for more comfortable and less mobile habitats and then Mama Delors and Talli and Grampa were arguing and Mama Delors seemed frightened and on the vid the newscaster was only sometimes to be seen and as she looked more closely the news broadcast ended in a flurry of motion and light and loud noises and Light blasted silently through the window and Grampa cried out hoarsely and the children at the table rose to run And she knew what was to come And there was no place for them to run to And another flash of lightning seared through the room and Mama Delors screamed and covered her face with her hands And another flash And another And another And then there was nothing but light and the soft sound of Mama Delors' slow strong heartbeat as she held her and rocked her and sang to her and the child who watched this dream unfold thought she had never been so happy as then and Alekas and Nata ran up and their long dark hair fluttered wetly about their bare tanned shoulders and they loudly invited her to come and swim in the river with the rest of the clan And she felt grass beneath her bare feet And felt the bite of the small round smooth gray pebbles that covered the riverbank And the water was cool and pleasant on such a hot summer day And the laughter of her siblings and clanmates was a tinkling glitter of joyous sound And the river whispered softly in tones of silver and mirrors And the silver and mirrors flashed and burned and blazed and screamed a hoarse and thundrous word that she heard and would not let herself understand as she watched her family and sib fade and she could see the bones of her hands and theirs as though they were nothing but phantasms from a childhood story and She noticed Yuki and her kits sitting at the door purring loudly and demanding attention and she reached to scritch them behind the ears as they loved And her hand encountered only ash and smoke that drifted into nothingness amid the gray formlessness of soft despair and loneliness and a grief that was so tight and heavy that it felt as though it would stop her heart. "Rigel?" She awoke with a jerk, convulsing, legs tangled in her sheets, her nightgown a sweat-soaked shroud wrapped tightly about her. In the darkness she thought at first that blessed nothingness might have claimed her as well, and that she had joined her loved ones in a better world-- "Will you two hold it down?" another voice querulously muttered. Rigel's dream-shaken subconscious took another long moment to release control. Her pulse thumped in her neck, her heart pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. In the darkness a darker shape reached out and touched her on the shoulder. "Rigel? You were dreaming again. Are you all right?" In the darkness Rigel could make out her roommates. Zina, blond hair an unbrushed mass of curls, kneeling next to her. Vrit, rolling over in her bunk to put her pillow over her head and mutter irritatedly until she fell asleep again. Gemi, who never woke in the middle of the night for anything. "Are you all right?" Rigel remembered the rough, calloused touch of her grandfather as he held her small hands in his, showing her how to hold the knife just so to whittle just such a shape from the wooden block. She remembered the burn of spice on her tongue as she and her brother Peder shared a bun stolen from the clanhouse kitchen. She remembered the sound of purring as three small koshek laid claim to her lap, the silky feel of their zev-striped fur between her fingers. She remembered Mama Delors' warm, gentle fingers as she sprayed something cool and wet on her newly scraped knees, and the soft touch of her mother's lips on her cheek, and the gentle pat on the backside as she was sent back outside to tumble in the flower-filled backyard that was so colorful almost the jahron around. And she remembered again, as she would never be able to forget, that these things now existed only in her fragile thoughts. She remembered the touch and smell and taste and sound and sight of so many things that she had taken for granted. And, remembering, she couldn't feel the warm tears rolling down her cheeks. The spaceman in medical whites who acted as receptionist was older than Rigel, but not by many jahren. She had a long, narrow, not unpleasant face, framed by pale blonde hair pulled loosely back. Her eyes showed a darkness that spoke of the shared pain of all the survivors of the Holocaust, but her face was composed, rested. She glanced up and smiled as Rigel entered, directing the young woman to the empty seats in the empty room. "All the doctors are busy right now. Sit down. Someone will see you in just a moment." The young woman nodded silently, took a seat, and sat very still, clutching a record pack to her as though it were her link with life itself. The receptionist's desk blinked at her. She acknowledged the call. Doctor Obrudo, a graying, thickset man, smiled at her from the holo. "Cassie. I'm finishing with this young man now. Give me a couple of centons and if my next patient is there, send them in." "I think she's just arrived, Doctor," Casseiopea responded. Obrudo nodded and his picture faded. Casseiopea took another, more sympathetic look at the next patient, a Corporal Rigella dela Patikarru. Corporal Rigel was a small young woman, no more than a metron five in height, and full figured. Her fingers were long and delicate, with nails cut sensibly short. Her face was oval, normally smooth and pleasant, now lined, the circles indicative of lack of sleep dark beneath darker, almost-slanted eyes shiny with fatigue. Her hair was dark as were her eyes, albeit a strange combination of light brunette and solid dinon-black, dull now from lack of care, stray hairs escaping their binding. She wore the blue uniform of bridge personnel, but her rank was unshined, her tunic and skirt unpressed. She wore her exhaustion and misery like an overcoat. Casseiopea knew it was necessary to maintain an air of cool friendliness, but in spite of herself, she felt nothing but sympathy for the young woman, a fellow traveller in sadness. Her own socialation training had helped her weather the storm of emotions that had engulfed the untold thousands of human survivors, had shown her how to build new patterns for herself amid the chaos all now lived in. Few others had the luxury of that training. She knew what was troubling this poor young person. The same thing that was eating at the hearts and souls of everyone else in this Fugitive Fleet. "Survivors' Guilt is one name for it," Doctor Obrudo said. His voice was low, even and tinged with the proper amount of concern. He was one of those rare individuals who looked and sounded like the most trusted of relatives. Most patients had little difficulty trusting in someone like that. Rigel nodded slowly, then shook her head. Her expression was one of shame, her eyes half closed, refusing to look the doctor in the eye. "I just can't be strong about it any more." Obrudo nodded, one gray eyebrow rising to show that he still listened. She was so far gone into withdrawal that he wasn't certain she even noticed. He had to strain to make out her words; her voice had dropped in volume the more they talked. When she fell silent, he took up the reins of conversation. "You've done an admirable job of it. I notice that you're a corporal on the command deck." Obrudo's words were made a question by the inflection in his voice. "--lactica, this is Captain Jakoss, Green Two-Six, requesting homing beacon. Believe I have escaped cylon for**--" "--came out of nowhere, the instruments thought they were just, I don't know, some kind of storm, and before we knew it--GOD! What was that? What was--" "--'ve got me, but I'm damned if I'm not gonna take a few of them with m***--" "--tbound orbit from Ramma...uh, on Cantseras...three hundred people, maybe more...we've got no power...engineer rigged this up...we need air and fuel...is anyone there? Only a few centars of air left...already getting hard to breathe...will broadcast as long as I ca**--" "--and Love's Blazing Sword will continue after this pause for station iden**--" "--peat there are spaceships, Cylons I guess, they're attacking, they're shooting, they've hit the engine, they've hit our eng**--" "--n't do it, dammit, we have to get these people back to the ship. "I know, Captain, but children-- "You think I don't know it already?" "--and I can see the horizon. Can't usually do that this time of year. Like a line of fire, red and orange across the ice. The stars are disappearing. It's getting closer, I think. Thermon says it's warming up outside, too. Heard some of the 'casts from Caprica City. Got a good idea what those Cylon bastards've done. Can't go anywhere. Nowhere to go, is there? They've taken care of that. Kinda hope someone hears this. I oughta let my animals out, but what good would it do? 'Sides, it ain't good for a man to die alone. Zhenilla, honey, I love you. You damn well better be waiting for me when I catch up to you on the other side." "--ooks like some kind of bomb blast down in the valley, and--damn! Another one! Definitely something going on--what was that? Jeke, look up there! Is that one of our fighters? I don't thi**--" and the soft, terrible sound of a man's and woman's voices sighing into silence, with the hatefully inteference-free quiet broken suddenly by the weak, choking whimpers of a tired, hungry baby, cries, too, that softly faded to never-ending silence. "Yes," she replied, her voice low and hoarse. She had cried so long and hard that she could barely speak any more; the life center had been unable to prescribe anything more than temporary measures. The doctor was silent for a moment, and when nothing further was volunteered, he continued. "I understand you've conducted yourself very well throughout this tragedy. Your supervisor speaks well of you." Rigel nodded, unseeing. "But I can't any more," she whispered. The doctor's voice was sympathetic. "Everyone understands how difficult life is right now, Rigel. No one has been left untouched. That you've held together this well this long shows what an inner strength you have. You know that, don't you?" "I knew my family ... died ... in the initial strike," Rigel whispered. Grief she had thought pushed away closed her throat; for a moment, it was labor to even breathe. Dr. Obrudo watched her closely, and realized then how the Holocaust had been made worse for this girl; until now, she had held her grief inside. Others had screamed, or raged, or wept--she had been strong for others, and had had no one to be strong for her. She gulped and gasped and continued. "But my brother Alekas ... he was a pilot in Yellow Squadron. He survived the ambush at Cimtar and made it back." Her voice trailed off. "He was back. He was safe. I heard his voice when he was on approach. I could have seen him if I'd been at a port. I could have helped him if I'd been quicker." She paused for another ragged breath. "I could have said good-bye..." "Galactica Control, this is Lieutenant Alekas, Yellow Zero Four. Am damaged. Request immediate emergency landing approach, with fire prevention gear--" The channel hazed, cleared. "Repeat, requesting an emergency--dammit, pull up! I'm in trouble!" Her elation--she wasn't alone! Her big brother was still alive, was coming back to her--evaporated in an instant. "--buck, holy Mother God! Galactica, I am i**--" and she knew then that she would never again hear anyone tell her to stand tall and be proud of her heritage. She would never know save in her heart and dreams how her mother and brothers and sisters had died, would never know what they had felt in their last moments of life-- --but she heard the last words of her last sibling, and knew then that she was totally alone in a vast and uncaring universe. "I just can't do it any more," Rigel replied, and her voice trembled on the edge of sobs, or hysteria. "I heard it. Every bit. How can that be any easier than having to fight the battle? I heard them die." "Corporal--" "All of them. I heard them die. They were calling me, asking for help, begging for help, and they died, and I heard them die, and there was nothing I could do..." Rigel's voice was higher than normal now, a single tear sliding unheeded down her cheek. "We have another shipload inbound," Captain Omega's firm, hoarse voice reported somewhere behind her. She wiped her burning eyes on the back of her sleeve and returned her attention to the escort of fighters that was just now guiding a civilian tourbus into the hangar deck. She designated control personnel in Alpha Bay, requesting that they dispatch medical backup. Then she turned her attention to the next request on her board. To either side of her, her fellow dispatchers were equally busy, murmering quietly to their headsets, tracking movements on dimly glowing displays. She remembered a conversation--had it really been over two days ago already?--between Lieutenant Athena, the Commander's deputy, and Colonel Tigh, the ship's Executive Officer. "How many so far?" Tigh had asked. "Almost three hundred standing alone," Athena had responded. "Our escorts report another one eighty or more at the rendezvous near CircumSontz South." "Nearly five hundred ships, maybe more. Maybe we can feel proud about having saved this many." Tigh's voice had been bitter. "How long will we hold orbit?" Athena had asked. "Until we're sure we've saved everyone that can be saved," Tigh had answered grimly. "This is Galactica Flight Control to inbound flight Zed-four-seven-three. Corporal Rigel, your controller. I read you as one point seven decentons from the Galactica. Reduce your carrier signal to zero-zero-three. Over," Rigel murmered to her microphone. "Galactica Control, this is the freighter Borlen, ship's comsman Simmons. We are inbound and waiting for approach instructions. Signal strength reduced. How read you this?" In the background, Rigel heard the sound of many, many children and young people, laughing, crying, shouting, celebrating survival. Part of her grief lightened as she heard a baby's cheerful chattering. She smiled in spite of herself. "Read you five and zero, Borlen. Welcome. A centon and I'll have your approach and station. What luck for us?" Rigel was punching her keypad quickly as she spoke. With almost five hundred ships floating in space near the Galactica, things were uncomfortably crowded--spaceships normally did not move in nearly such close proximity to each other. It was taking longer and longer to find a place to put the strays and still keep them within the Galactica's already overextended stealth field. "Plenty. Three hundred seventy-three, including one that came on the way here, mostly children and young people from down south," responded the Borlen's communicator. Rigel laughed briefly. "We've got at least one new arrival that came on the way here, ma'am," she announced to Lieutenant Athena. The slender young woman nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her own thinned lips. The other techs and specialists within earshot offered a ragged hurrah. Rigel returned her attention to the incoming freighter. "Borlen, I make your approach as--" "RED ALERT! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!" The Lieutenant was already running up to the command podium. From across the center, a tracking specialist called out: "I'm marking multiple inbounds, high energy signature, point nine-three lightspeed!" "Marked!" Colonel Tigh called back. Athena joined him. Rigel's eyes flickered to her commanders in time to see Athena's face pale. "Oh, Mother God, no," the woman murmered. "Planetbusters," Colonel Tigh confirmed grimly. He looked sick. "Estimated time of arrival on inbounds?" he demanded of the specialist. "System makes the first arrival in four centrons on my...mark," was the frantic reply. Rigel was too stunned for a moment to react. After all the death, all the suffering, this was just too much to handle. Colonel Tigh called across the center, "Countermeasures, stand by!" "Combat Control, aye!" confirmed the specialist at that station. "Issue Strike Warnings to all attendant ships!" snapped Lieutenant Athena. Two dispatchers began spitting orders. "Get all our fighters out of the line of fire! Warn them what's coming!" Several other dispatchers abandoned their newfound civilian charges to alert the escort pilots. "Shadrack, bring all engines to speed," Commander Adama ordered softly. The engineering officer acknowledged the order with a nod, called his own demands to his people in the drive section of the battlestar. "Countermeasures on line, sir!" combat control called. "Fire on my order, maximum spread!" Tigh barked. A specialist at the communications terminal called out: "Sagitarra Prime has ceased transmission!" Another one next to her chorused: "CircumLibra has ceased transmission!" And another: "Escort flight two-three-one, local Libra orbit, no contact. Working to reestablish!" And Commander Adama's hoarse whisper: "Take us out of here." "Commander!" Tigh and Athena's thin screams echoed one another. Omega was quietly snapping commands into his own headset. "Arrival on inbounds, twenty-eight michrons! Twenty-six michrons!" "There's nothing more we can do," the Commander said quietly. "Nothing. If we stay, we will lose those ships we have now." "All drives, emergency full! Jump field, maximum overload extension! Helm take us out of here, emergency jump coordinates preset two!" Omega's voice was hard, clipped. "Simmons--Borlen! Accelerate!" Rigel screamed into her mike amid the cacaphony. "For the love of God, get close! We're jumping!" "Borlen aye," snapped the voice of that ship's radioman. In her ears Rigel heard the man's voice echoing her frantic instruction to that ship's pilot. On her screen she watched the tiny blip, so pale an indicator of the life it represented, watched helplessly as the warship's tracking systems scrolled new course and speed information alongside it. "Arrival on inbounds, eleven michrons, ten michrons--" "All ship's systems on line, overdrive at one hundred twenty percent standard. Jump field at one-hundred thirty percent standard," snapped Major Shadrack from the engineering console. "Please, please, please," Rigel pleaded with that pale golden spot of light on her screen, while the voices of that ship's crew and passengers echoed through her headset, snapping orders and instructions at one another and laughing and crying out with wonder at the size of the haven they were approaching And then the tiny blip reached the outer limits of the Galactica's jump field "Arrival on inbounds, seven michrons, six, five--" "Galactica, this is the Borlen--" "Jump!" "I believe we've--" silence. "I never wanted to be a dispatcher," Rigel murmered softly. "That was my secondary specialty. My IQ scores were too high or something. My first was survey work. I wanted to see other planets, find ways of using other worlds to help people, learn things no one ever knew before." Her voice trailed off. "It's what I always loved doing. Looking at things. Seeing how they worked. Putting them together once I'd taken them apart. They cross trained me and switched me because they were shorthanded. I never wanted to be a dispatcher. All I can do is sit and listen. I can't help anyone. I hate being helpless." Obrudo nodded. "Had you been survey, you know, you would likely have died during the Holocaust as well. You remember the strike the ship took--" "If you're dead," Rigel responded flatly, "you can't dream any more." She took a ragged breath. Her voice was still softer when she continued. "I just don't want to dream any more." She was silent again, and the doctor let her be while he perused her file. Even as inured to combat conditions as he had become in thirty jahren's service, he was impressed by what this young woman had forced herself to do during recent events. Others had suffered equally, but many of them had utterly failed to deal with their grief, their anger, their helplessness in any kind of responsible manner. They had become self-destructive, or worse, taken their fury out on others. This young corporal had instead locked her feelings away and done her duty until she was no longer capable of functioning, and had quietly withdrawn into herself. Others had received attention for their action--but he though people like this young Corporal deserved equal status as heroes. Granted, Doctor Obrudo thought, she is by no means healthy now--but there is certainly a better chance of healing her than several others I've had to deal with in the past secton. "Corporal Rigel," he said aloud, "First, I'm going to take you off duty for a few days. I'll give you a prescription for something that will help you sleep--I want you to take it and use it. According to your readings, you haven't had any rest to speak of since--when? Since before Carillon? Two and a half, three sectons?" Rigel nodded guiltily. "If you prefer, I can register you into the Life Center and we'll put you on alphasleep for a day or two. Would you prefer that?" She wouldn't meet his eyes as she wiped hers dry on the back of a sleeve. "It won't matter, Doctor. I don't want to dream any more. I don't want to have to do this job that will make me dream any more. I can't, don't you see, I just can't--" "Shhh," the doctor whispered, lifting a hand to still her. "I have your file here. I'll see what my colleagues and I can cook up between us all. In the meantime, you're off duty status for the next...oh, four days. Stop by the pharmacy after I release you and pick up the medication they'll have for you. Take it and get some rest. If you decide that you prefer the alphasleep option, come back and see me." He glanced down at his board. "I'm going to give you an appointment in another four days." He gave her a time. "We'll see what sort of resolution to your problem we can reach by that time." Rigel said nothing, gazing sightlessly into infinity. "Corporal? Do we need to check you into the Life Center after all?" Rigel shook her head very slowly. Obrudo felt a stab of sadness as he watched her lever herself to her feet. She moved like a tired, aching old woman. Obrudo was one of the best psychologists aboard the Galactica. One reason he was so respected was that he truly cared about people. The crew of this ship were not just patients--to him, each one was a unique, potentially interesting individual, and he truly wished he could get to know every one of them. It hurt him, too, to think of so many young people like this girl, who had given so much in the past sectons, and received as their reward only more pain. He intended to do everything he could for those to whom he could give his assistance. *** *** *** *** *** "This next one at least shows promise." "We'll see, Obie," Guyver said tiredly, rubbing light green eyes with one hand as he punched the buttons on his own console with the other. The remaining two psychiatrists in the room did likewise. It had been a long day of reviewing cases, in a few instances recommending help, in a sad majority being forced to suggest harsher means of dealing with maladjustment. This was a part of their job that the Galactica's psych evaluation council hated, but which was a requirement of military life. Guyver was the first to speak after glancing down the chart of readings 2E "Unfortunately, I don't see anything here to recommend this one for special treatment." Obrudo snorted angrily. "You haven't read it all yet, either. Sebboh, look at the young lady's test scores." His darker-skinned traced a finger down his own screen. His eyes widened and he whistled. "You see? Take a look at the SQT in particular. Then look at how long it took her to crack." "No wonder they made her a traffic controller," Sebboh murmered in admiration. "The child should have applied for officer training. Nivlac, look at this--" "Look at the others who came in early for help," Guyver objected. "Those are the ones who showed enough intelligence to deserve help." Guyver was the hard-liner on the board; When off-duty he and Obrudo got along quite well Professionally, they never ceased to dispute diagnoses. In wartime, Guyver's judgements had been given weight a battleship could never afford to have aboard it crewmen who might snap under pressure. Now, after a genocidal holocaust that the--at last count--hundred-sixty-five thousand and some odd survivors of the human colonies had suffered, no life could be wasted. An abberation would have to be severe indeed for that person to not be of some use, somewhere. "No, Guyver," Obrudo said heatedly, "You look. Even while all of this was going on, she was doing her job, making no mistakes until she couldn't handle the pressure any more. Everyone has a breaking point of some kind; it speaks well for her that hers was so hard to reach." "You're defending one corporal awfully strongly, Obie," Guyver sneered. He was ready to call it a day. "The same as he defended almost every other case we had to review today," Nivlac pointed out. "Except for that maintenance sergeant," Sebboh added. "But he was purely psychopathic in any case. Anyone would have a hard time defending him." "Unfortunately, the Fleet needs him, and his skills, or I'd've even recommended bouncing his butt," Guyver admitted. He turned back to Obrudo "All right, Obie. The girl's got scores putting her in the top first percentile of the military, let alone those of us still alive. She's been a traffic controller for a jahron and a half, and finally cracked under the strain. Why shouldn't we just authorize a couple of weeks of alphasleep and put her back on duty? We're going to need traffic controllers a lot more than we're going to need quartermaster, or finance, or whatever she wants to get into." Obrudo shook his head; his friend could be aggravating at times. "Guyver, wake up. Read the child's file. She joined for Survey, not Operations. That's what she wants to go back to. She's already trained; all she needs is an okay on her transfer." Guyver shook his head. "Survey is a combat support specialty. If she can't handle a relatively peaceful job like traffic control, what makes you think she can handle a combat position?" "You've never reviewed the job conditions for traffic control, have you?" Sebboh asked him acidly. Guyver twisted his lips. "Survey also entails operating equipment while warriors guard your position," Nivlac added calmly. Guyver gave him a tired glare. "And we need combat specialties as badly as we need ops specialties," Sebboh concluded. "The strike to Gamma Bay could not have been more of a catastrophe had the cylons planned it that way." He stopped, tapped a query on his keypad. The others were polite enough to wait until he resumed. "According to registry, survey was especially hard hit in that strike. Most of them were actually in Gamma waiting to give the salute when that missile came in." "Your point being?" Guyver growled. "Flight Control can be taught aboard this ship or others, once we settle down enough to begin teaching the new recruits to come," Sebboh said. "Survey, requiring access to planetary locales, cannot be - at least not with the degree of thoroughness that the Fleet will require." Nivlac exchanged glances with his partner, looked at Obrudo and Guyver. "I would say that this corporal, if her psychological readings can be stabilized, sounds like more of a resource to be exploited than a warrior to be discharged." Guyver raised a finger triumphantly. "That's the key point, isn't it? Stabilizing her readings. Look at those levels! Especially here, and here, in the Tryo-3 region! Tell me that's going to make a stable warrior." "Just getting her off the bridge and away from flight control will stabilize most of those abnormal readings," Obrudo offered in conciliation. "That is the source of the stress that's killing her now. Put her back to work in the job she was originally trained for, you'll solve two thirds of her problems, while helping the Fleet. And I have no doubt that they'll work her hard in the combined company, which is the other third of the cure she needs." There was silence for a moment. "I'm against it, myself," Guyver finally said, halfway reluctantly. "The more highly skilled personnel are the most valuable to us right now. Keep her where she is until she does break, and worry about her then." "Well, you already know I vote in favor of a position change for her," Obrudo said evenly. "We can't afford to waste anyone who's trying to stay sane, not with nine thousand potential lunatics in close quarters on the same ship." He and Guyver looked at their companions. Sebboh and Nivlac looked at each other. Sebboh pointed at his screen, indicating again the scores the girl had achieved on her entry examinations, mute testimony to her potential and proven value to the fleet. <"I vote to approve the transfer," Sebboh said. "I'll go along with that," Nivlac said, his voice more cautious, "with the same provision we've attached to the others we've looked at today. She's got to come in at regular intervals for a checkup, and if she shows insufficient signs of adjustment after a jahron, she is discharged." He looked at Obrudo. "Agreed?" "Agreed," Obrudo said firmly. Guyver threw up his hands, turned his seat away. "Waste of perfectly good resources."> Zina flinched as the room door hissed open, willing her roommate to remain sleeping. As she tiptoed in, she reflected that it was probably a wasted effort. Poor little Rigel had not eaten anything to speak of in the last four days, and had slept only restlessly, the kind of sleep you knew was caused by drugs too strong to resist. Zina was a sensitive soul; it didn't surprise her to feel a sting in her eyes at the realization that her friend was slowly dying. As the door hissed noisily shut again, the room was plunged into darkness. Then, as Zina's eyes got used to the lack of light, she noticed a dim glow coming from Rigel's bunk. Concerned, she picked her way through the footware and boxes that littered this common room, moving toward her friend's bed. By the dim light of her bunkscreen Zina could make out the tightly-curled form of her friend, her knees drawn up, arms curled around them, hair a dark spread across her bed. For a few long michrons Zina felt her heart clutch with fear at the thought of Rigel finally having a seizure in her drug-induced torpor. She had to push the screen aside to check her friend. Rigel stirred restlessly at her roommate's cool touch, didn't wake. Zina noticed that her friend's face was less pinched, the circles under her eyes less pronounced than they had been. In fact, she seemed to be sleeping a good deal more soundly than she had been. Curious at what could have made Rigel feel so much better, Zina swung the screen around to read it. It took her only michrons to read the orders; they were succinct and to the point. "...although your transfer request has been approved, you will still be required to make an appointment for psychological evaluation once every five sectons for the next jahron. Stop by tomorrow while you are outprocessing the bridge and we will set up a series of appointments. "And congratulations, corporal; I think you'll make a fine survey NCO. "Dr. Obrudo, PsyEval, attending." Zina couldn't help it; tears of relief stung at her eyes, and she knelt to give her sleeping friend a brief hug. Rigel stirred slightly, didn't wake up--neither did she toss or moan. She knew her own nightmare was just about over. "Congratulations, Rigel," Zina whispered, giving the smaller girl a peck on the cheek before rising. "I really hope you enjoy it. Sleep well." She tiptoed away as quietly as she could; she had a sign to make for her soon-to-return roommates. *** *** *** *** ***