Chapter 1
As it was, essentially, a small community, Starbase 1 included various places of worship for its religious residents and visitors. The clergy of these faiths met once a month to discuss celebrations, ceremonies, the spiritual well-being of the base inhabitants, and theology in general.
They were often joined by Colonel Kostopoulos, herself a Catholic, who had volunteered as a liaison for the senior staff, and Sal, owner of Sal's Diner and representative of the Vendors Union - a much less organised group of the base's merchants and business owners.
This month, they had gathered in the chapel (they each took a turn hosting), and had assembled in their usual circle of chairs behind the pulpit. Father Gomez was chairing the meeting.
"Now, onto our next item," said the wiry, middle-aged priest, consulting a padd. "Celebrations for Christmas. I know it's only a few days away, but there's no reason we can't make it as big a success as we did in our recent preparations for Hanukkah and Ramadan." He nodded to the base's rabbi and imam, respectively, then looked to Kostopoulos.
"Colonel, I understand you have some ideas on the subject?"
"Thank you, Father," said Kostopoulos. Despite representing the Starfleet and MACO personnel, she always opted to wear civilian clothing for these meetings, and had come today in a light beige shirt over a black tank top, and khaki pants.
"In addition to the traditional services provided by Father Gomez and Reverend Curtis…" she gestured to the base's ever-smiling minister, "I thought it might be nice to decorate one of the recreation rooms for the occasion. Somewhere for those who aren't religious, but still want to observe the holiday.
"I can also ask about using one of the communal mess halls to serve Christmas dinner for those who can't make their own arrangements. And I'm going to suggest that the senior staff share a meal on the day too, unless they have other plans."
There were murmurs of agreement in the circle.
"I can talk to some of the other vendors in the Mall," said Sal, as bubbly as usual. "See if they can decorate their businesses too, like we did for Diwali last month."
"Great idea, Sal," said Father Gomez with a warm smile.
Kostopoulos seemed a bit more reluctant, cringing slightly. "Just so long as it's tasteful. We don't want to over-commercialise the event, as was done in Earth's materialistic past."
Sal blinked at such a serious take. "Uh, sure. Well, we can work out what is and isn't acceptable."
"Nothing gaudy or tacky," said Kostopoulos. "Bright colours and flashing lights, that kind of thing. Candles, wreaths, nativity scenes; that's more appropriate."
"Well, we don't want to make it too sterile," said Reverend Curtis, chuckling gregariously as she peered over her half-moon spectacles. "It's supposed to be a happy time of year."
Kostopoulos gave a thin smile. "Don't worry, Reverend, I'm not looking to play Grinch. I just want to make sure things are done… properly."
Before anyone else could engage in further debate on the subject, Father Gomez interjected cheerfully.
"Whatever we do, I'm sure Starbase One's first Christmas will be memorable."
"I still see them sometimes… In my dreams… The members of my old platoon…"
Threv was in another therapy session in Dr. T'Ling's office. He had been seeing the Vulcan doctor like this for several weeks now, telling his bondmates that he was undertaking 'additional training' in the Barracks. As reluctant as he was to admit it, T'Ling had helped him to talk out his problems since the war without making him feel weak.
While airing out his distressing wartime, and post-war, experiences, he felt as thought a great weight was being lifted off of him. However, afterwards, he couldn't help feeling exposed, undone. He was constantly pinging back and forth between these reactions, debating whether or not to continue the therapy. He had committed himself to seeing it out, but he hoped that his mind would make itself up soon.
"As we have discussed," T'Ling said from her chair opposite the couch on which he sat, "their fate was not your fault. Your presence would not have changed the outcome."
"I know, I know," said Threv, his head and antennae hung downward. "And I don't feel guilty so much anymore. Just… sad."
"That is a more appropriate response," T'Ling said clinically.
Her bluntness was actually one of the things Threv appreciated about their sessions. T'Ling did not coddle him as he feared a therapist would, but her responses - though sometimes harsh - were always helpful.
As if to exemplify that bluntness, she abruptly asked, "Have you had any more suicidal thoughts?"
Threv shook his head. It was the truth, although - and he wouldn't say this out loud - that may only be the case because he had not been in any dangerous situations for several weeks.
"I seem to be dwelling more on the 'flight' part of the 'fight or flight' response," he said with a humourless smile.
"This, too, is understandable," said T'Ling. She steepled her fingers under her sharp-featured face. "Especially now that you have much to live for. Your bondmates, and, one day, a child."
Threv tried to keep his expression as stoic as T'Ling's. He still wasn't sure he was ready to be a parent. But that was a whole different issue for another session.
"Of course," said T'Ling, "your recovery will always be incomplete until your share your traumatic experiences with your family."
Threv sighed. This was not the first time the matter had come up. T'Ling, Sal, and his zhen bondmate Azhri, in each of whom he had confided to varying degrees, had all insisted that he tell his remaining partners, Chalmos and Sherene, about his PTSD. He knew he couldn't put it off much longer.
"I, uh, better report for duty," he said, standing. "Thanks again, Doctor. See you next week." He made for the door.
T'Ling also rose from her chair. "You cannot continually avoid the issue, Guardsman," she said, managing one final admonishment.
I can try my best, Threv thought to himself as he left.
