Journey of the mind

- Zelka Forn -


The woman was lying on the medical bed, eyes closed and face slack. I could feel perspiration dripping down the sides of my face; it had been gruelling getting her into a suggestible trance. I'd abandoned using solely centralizing techniques, and had resorted to the aid of calming synthetics to get her this far.

It goes against my medical instincts to use drugs. But she had been desperate for help. Desperate enough to get me out of bed, in the middle of the night. And the trust simply wasn't there; she did not or could not subsume into a semi-conscious state, so the depressant had been required simply to allow her mind to relax.

None of this would be so damnably rushed, if Taris had a decent healthcare system. But the corrupt xenophobic planet only catered to the rich and the Exchange. To think there'd been a time when things were worse than now – once, before the dawn of the Mandalorian Wars, we didn't even have free clinics. I'd been training as an orthopaed then, and still recalled the flock of renegade Jedi who briefly transformed the health and education systems within Taris.

Now, the four remaining Free Clinics were about the only surviving remnant of their visit.

We had no damn specialists for the masses. I was lucky, coming from a wealthy background, my zeal and resources enabled me to study snatches of various other medical fields. Even psychoanalysis garnered a minor interest from me, primarily since mental health services were one of the least available to Tarisians with no credits. But in all honesty, I muddled along and merely did the best I was able to. For most citizens, that meant just getting them on their feet to face another day.

I looked back down to Jen Sahara, and hoped I would be able to find the origin of her anger, as she had explained it to me. She desired the ability to control her unwanted rage; that, however, was plainly impossible without exploring the root cause and reason for it in the first place. Hence we attempt regressive hypnotism. It wasn't something I had a wealth of experience of; only a snippet of study and three prior patients filled my repertoire on this area of medical knowledge.

But I shall try my best to help her.

My attention caught on the console's chrono next to the bed, and I realized how little time it was before sunrise.

"Alright, Jen. You are sitting alone in the middle of a field, next to a gently trickling river. The sun is beating down on your head, and you feel totally at peace. Nothing can hurt you here." I took in a deep breath. It was time to begin. "I am going to ask you some questions, Jen, and I want you to answer as truthfully as you are able. Anytime you are feeling too scared or angry, you will retreat to this place. Any time I call out 'Stop', you will immediately arrive back here as well, calm and emotionless. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she responded quietly, almost mechanically.

"Okay Jen, I want you to think about the head injury you sustained. Take your mind back to five minutes before it occurred. What were you doing?"

"I was sleeping, dreaming," Jen replied in a soft voice.

"Move forward five minutes, Jen. Were you conscious at the time of your accident?"

"Darkness," she murmured. "Bad dreams. I can see people dying!" Her voice rose in panic.

"It's just a dream, Jen, it's not really happening," I said soothingly. The accident occurred whilst she was asleep, then. Perhaps it brought on a nightmare.

"No, it's not a dream! I died! The Sith killed me! They, they tortured me until I-"

"Stop," I said abruptly, and the woman paused, panic melting away from her face. The Sith? I did wonder who she was running from. If they tortured her, perhaps they broke her mind as well. But she seems fairly coherent when awake. I frowned.

"I want you to now recall when you first woke up after your injury. Where are you?"

"I don't know." Her voice had changed. I blinked. Instead of a high-pitched, panicked tone, it was now lower, sultry, and eons more confident. My frown deepened. Why would her voice change? She continued speaking- "some sort of cruiser. A Hammerhead-class. But I haven't been conscious for a long time."

She drifted off into silence and I wondered if she'd been convalescing after a long injury. After moments had passed, I prompted, "Jen?"

"No, no wait, I'm a scholar, onboard a Republic starship," she mumbled, her voice shaking. "Yes, that's right, I've been hired to look at some ruins." Her voice had lilted again, back to the higher-pitch from earlier.

I breathed in deep, partly in shock. First the Sith, now the Republic? She was one of the Republic fugitives, I realized with some wonder. I must help her as best as I am able. The local news-feeds were littered with offers of compensation for information leading to the capture of any Republic personnel, and descriptions of high-ranking officers still made the headlines. If she's just a scholar, though, then she'll have a little more anonymity.

My gaze slid over to the entrance of the clinic. A good thing she'd arrived out of hours, when Gurney wasn't here. I was well aware of my assistant's slippery nature, and knew he'd have no qualms about turning a Republic citizen over to the Sith.

Again, I cursed the corrupt organization who ruled Taris. The Sith or the Exchange – it wasn't like either quasi-government ever did anything of note for the people. I'd been one of many who'd hoped, after the Mandalorian bombardment years ago, that Taris might actually be offered a place in the Republic. Pull out from beneath the yoke of the corrupt elite who were no more that puppets, really- doing whatever the controlling power told them to, under the pretense of their dubious station as elected politicians.

Of course, only citizens could vote - and only Humans with wealth could become citizens.

A place in the Republic seemed little more than a pipe-dream, these days.

"That can't be right!" Jen murmured, pulling my attention back to her. "That's not me."

I stared at the woman. "What do you mean?" I asked cautiously.

"I'm no scholar," she whispered. "I don't know who I am, but I'm no scholar."

I stayed quiet for some moments, gazing at the prone woman in front of me, and wondered what clues I could derive from her appearance. She was in her early- to mid-thirties, perhaps, with short dark curls cropped close to her head, and a pale olive skin tone with no obvious tan. I recalled her piercing green gaze from earlier, and she'd struck me as confident and quick-witted in our short encounters thus far.

She was moderately tall, and her form was lithe, bordering on skinny – either she was not the physical type, or she'd been sorely out of practice for one reason or another. My gut told me it was the latter. Her stance, her alertness, and not to mention her injuries – it all adds up to a life of action, not study.

But that wasn't conclusive by any means – plenty of scholars were athletes or soldiers as well.

"Alright, Jen, I do not want you to relive this, but simply answer the question. Can you tell me whether the Sith have ever captured you before?"

"Y-yes. They destroyed my h-home, everything..." Her voice had switched again, back to the trembling, high tone, and trailed off into shaky silence.

"You are in a green paddock, next to a river. The sun is shining on your head, and nothing can hurt you here," I reminded her gently. "You are not reliving your memories; you are simply answering my questions. Can you remember what happened when the Sith captured you?"

"No, Jen has a mindblock," the confident tone answered. Surprise lurched through me, and I stared blankly at the prone woman. A mindblock? Why would the Sith block the mind of a prisoner they were torturing? That doesn't make any sense! I frowned. Perhaps the mindblock is something she created herself, to block out the trauma?

But why did she answer in the third person?

"Did the Sith create the mindblock?" I asked.

A deep snarl ripped out of her throat, and I jumped backwards in surprise. "No, it was those interfering robes who think they can leash me to that trumped-up scow! I will rip their entrails-"

"Stop!" I called desperately, feeling fearful for the first time. That was a third voice! And one I certainly didn't want to hear again. Full of loathing, hate, anger... what's going on here? I had a duty to help this woman to the best of my abilities, but... Peace, if this isn't going to be difficult! I was more and more uncertain of how to proceed. I need to know more of her history, to understand where this rage is coming from.

"You are back in the summer field. You are safe. Can you tell me when your home was attacked?"

"Eight years ago." Assertive voice was back. "The Mandalorians slaughtered everyone on Talshion. We could have stopped them. We should have been there!" Grief and resentment darkened her tone.

Mandalorians? I frowned, growing more confused. Talshion was unfamiliar to me, whether it was a city or port or planet. But I, like all Tarisians, had had as much exposure to Mandalorian brutality as the Sith. "I thought you said it was the Sith, Jen?"

"The Sith killed everyone!" Scared girl cried. "My father! They're going to kill me, too!"

"Stop!" I commanded, my brow furrowing. Dissociative identity disorder? It was a possibility, particularly given the different timbre of voices she used. This situation was getting worrisome; if only Taris had a psychoanalyst attached to the Free Clinics then I'd stop right now. But Jen was a Republic fugitive, and I could only do my best to help her stay sane enough to either leave Taris or find a safer hiding place. For that, I needed to understand her better. "You are safe; no one can hurt you." I took in a deep breath. "Can you tell me a bit about your childhood?"

"I was a street kid," the woman replied, and I heard echoes of amusement in her tone. "We were lucky, far too many times, really. We'd sneak into places, and steal creds and food. I had no one, you see, and Mal only had his brother. Sometimes I'd go hungry, and eat grubs with old man Freeflight. He was my first teacher, really, only thing I had close to a parent. But I always dreamed of leaving Talshion, to fly amongst the stars." She sounded wistful. I knew too many people like that, born in poverty and starved for life. Starved for more things than just food.

"You mentioned you were a scholar? What did you study?"

"Everything," she said. I looked down to see a faint smirk on her face. "Politics, history, sparring, meditation. Anything I could find in the archives, any training I could wrestle out of Yudan. Mal even tricked Zhar into acquiring him starpilot lessons, and I never knew how he got away with that one. But we were so old when they took us away from our home. They said we were too powerful to ignore. We never saw our friends again."

Who are they?

Whoever took her away probably had something to do with her current issues. "How old were you when you were taken away from your friends, Jen?"

"I wasn't, they k-killed my friends! M-my family! They hurt me, and k-kept hur-"

"Stop!" I interrupted sharply, and then the air in my lungs rushed out as I came to a startling conclusion: everything time I call her Jen, she responds as the scared girl. I closed my eyes, and rubbed my balding head tiredly.

I'm not qualified for this.

"You are safe," I said gravely. "You can smell the fresh grasses around you. No one is around; no one will harm you." I sighed. "What is your name?"

She paused for a long moment, her forehead etched in deep furrows. "I'm not sure," she whispered finally, so quiet that I couldn't pick which voice she was responding with. "I think it might be Jen Sahara."

She hasn't given herself a fake name, then. That was promising, at least. I'd read of some cases where sentients with split-personality disorders fabricated a whole other life in such detail that it may as well have been a real person. She will believe they are both real. I cannot lose sight of that. It was up to me to figure out the truth. Which persona was legitimate: the shy scholar who responded to her name, or the confident street kid who apparently studied everything?

That made me realize I hadn't asked aboout Jen's field of expertise yet.

"What did you study, Jen?"

"Ancient archaeology and anthropology," came the quiet response.

"Can you tell me a bit about your study, Jen?"

"I-I, okay. I completed a thesis on the founding and early days of the Republic, when it only encompassed Core worlds. My special interest is the extinction of ancient civlizations, though... I've started a second thesis on the reign of the latter Massassi, with the intention of exploring the theories surrounding the collapse of their people."

While little of that meant anything to me, it was not overly difficult to prod more details from the woman. There was enough depth and discourse, there, to convince me that she definitely was an academic. Her shy voice began to take on a slight enthusiastic lilt to it. But Jen Sahara readily admitted that she had never partaken in any field trip, never travelled to an excavation site – although I was no archaeologist, I would have expected some practical element to her study.

It seemed like Jen Sahara's entire life had been one of isolated learning from within the commune she had been born into.

"Can you tell me what your childhood was like, Jen?"

"It was quiet. My father raised me. I lived in a small community, and wanted to be a history teacher when I grew up."

Jen's life sounded- well, normal. A bit mundane, and perhaps that was why she'd created the exciting street kid with the fantastical study habits. Don't assume too much, Zelka, I admonished myself. I cannot rule out the validity of the street kid, yet.

But I was beginning to doubt.

"Did you have a happy childhood, Jen?"

"No. I was very lonely. My father was quite protective, and didn't let me meet many people."

Perhaps she was so lonely and shy, that she created a more confident alter ego? It was time to find out more about that one, then.

"How old were you when you were taken away from your friends?" I asked, an echo of my earlier question, but this time omitting her name.

"I was sixteen," Street Kid replied.

"Were you kidnapped?"

"Well, in a sense, really. They were nice about it, I mean, but it's not like we had a choice. Mal saw that, even if I only saw the opportunity."

"Who is Mal?"

"My best friend." Her voice turned unbearably sad, and then I heard it contort with dark fury. "My betrayer. He's ruined everything. He dares to backstab-"

"Stop!" I called out sharply. "You are back amongst the grass and flowers again, one hand dipping in the trickling water of the peaceful stream. You are safe."

Street Kid is unstable, I understood then. Jen's made up a fake, confident persona, and funneled all her rage into it. Perhaps it's anger or resentment at being shy and overlooked, or maybe it's from the trauma of whatever the Sith did to her. I couldn't know in one session, but as I looked up through the plasticeel windows and saw the pink flush of dawn, I knew I had to give Jen some assistance in dealing with the present.

"When were you first aware of the anger and rage inside you, Jen?"

"When I woke up with a head injury, on the Endar Spire."

And I still have to work out how the Republic fit into her life.

"And you didn't have these outbursts at all before this time?" I asked Street Kid.

"I wasn't aware. I thought I was Jen. She's not real; they'd programmed her into my head to make me more biddable."

She yearns for confidence. She wants to feel important, so she's created a more exciting identity and a reason for why Jen doesn't exist.

I had a friend, a neuroscientist, Engar Droone, who'd studied more psychology and psychiatry than I. Of course, he sold his wares to the upper crust, and I found it hard to disguise my disapproval. It had created a wedge between us, where once professional camaraderie has existed. But maybe, maybe I could still reach out. Ask him for a favour. Engar's expertise certainly exceeded mine in this area.

The woman snarled, then, and I realized she was still in the throes of answering my query. "I was trapped. They dared to cage me!" Her voice had lowered further, into that dangerous tone I'd heard once before.

"Stop," I commanded. I need to find out who she resents so much. "Who caged you?"

"Why did they cage me?" Street Kid was back, but she wasn't answering. "Why did they save me? I… I can't handle this. It's all been such an unmitigated failure, everything I strived to do! It would be easier to, to…"

"To what?" I whispered, unable to stop the question from slipping out.

"To reclaim my heritage, you weak-minded moron!" she yelled furiously. Her face twisted in an evil sneer, abruptly slackening when I yelled out: "Stop!"

And then, her face crumpled, and without me saying anything I heard her whisper: "No, it's easier to just play along with them. To be the shy girl they want."

She should not still be talking! But maybe, just maybe, we were nearing the core of the issue. "Who wants?" I asked softly.

"My captor. My rescuer. Don't they realize, they should have just killed me?" the voice broke, and her shoulders sagged. "Death would be a release."

I am in way over my head.

"Stop," I whispered, and she was quiet once more.

So much for finding the root of her problems. I am more lost than before. Sweat beaded my forehead, and I felt directionless. How do I proceed from here?

The door opened quietly, and Gurney popped his head around the corner. Taris certainly didn't offer me a grand selection of trainee medics; I had to make do with what was available.

Gurney's curious gaze landed on Jen. I stiffened. He can't find out she came from the escape pods, or I may as well hand her over to the blasted Sith myself.

"Yes?" I asked sharply. And why didn't he knock?

"You got a patient at the door, doc," Gurney drawled. One eyebrow raised, like he'd noticed my short tone.

I nodded, forcing myself to relax, forcing myself to smile at the man. "I'll be out in a minute."

Gurney disappeared, and I turned back to survey Jen Sahara once more.

The way her street kid persona had stopped responding to my guidance... the unstable rage that seemed a part of this presumably artificial character... it would do Jen no favours, not while hiding as a fugitive from the Sith. I shall need to see her many times. This will not be a quick treatment. If I can convince Engar to advise... Perhaps he would be prevailed upon. But for the time being, I had to help Jen Sahara remain safe. And in control of who she really was.

"Are you staying with friends, Jen?"

"I- yes."

My curiosity was burning, despite my training. Were her friends also fugitives? Were the Sith, also, after them? But such knowledge was dangerous. The Sith had audited the Free Clinic more than once. Demanding details of patients, of clients, of call-outs... I did not log all the work I did. But with an assistant as untrustworthy as Gurney, some days I felt like it was only a matter of time before the Sith closed me down.

Or worse.

The sound of chatter filtered in from the outer room: Gurney, welcoming the next patient. With a heavy heart, I acknowledged that we were out of time. For today.

"You are Jen Sahara," I stated. "The other thoughts and personality are not real, and they are not you."

"I cannot be Jen," she whispered, confused.

"This is who are you, you must accept it and not let your anger control you, Jen. You must stay safe, and hidden, and we will work this through together. Stay safe as Jen Sahara."

"Stay as Jen Sahara?" the response was so quiet, I barely heard.

"Yes. You are Jen Sahara."

"I am Jen Sahara," she mumbled.

"Yes, you are. I want you to wake up out of this trance, and feel relaxed and refreshed after a count of three. You will consciously recall nothing of our conversation, but you will wake knowing yourself as Jen Sahara." I counted, and the woman opened dazed, confused eyes. I laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she cringed.

"How are you feeling, Jen?"

"Wh- what's going on?" Her green eyes were fearful.

Worry coursed through me. "You are in a medical facility on Taris, Jen. Do you remember?"

"I-I, yes, I guess. I think. Nothing seems quite real." She bit her lip, and looked down shyly.

"Do you remember coming in here for hypnotism?" I asked softly. Concern punched deep into my gut. I'd been convinced that the shy scholar was the real person, but she'd come in as the street kid, I saw now. Which persona would help her hide from the Sith?

Had I done the right thing here? Doubt assailed me, and I frowned as I gazed at her.

"Oh! Yes, I do," she said quickly. "Am I all better now, doctor?"

A small wave of relief mitigated my worry, but it didn't disappear. "Not quite, Jen, but we'll get there. I need you to come back tonight, okay? In the evening, like you did this time. We have a lot of work to do to help you."

She nodded, still not meeting my eyes.

"Promise me, Jen?" I prompted.

"I promise." She looked up, and her innocent, nervous eyes struck me as strange. She was wary, desperate even, when she came in. But not shy.

"Oh! Is it daylight already?" She was looking at the chrono. "The others will be worried. I need to go." She sat up, and slipped off the bed.

"Jen," I forestalled her as she began walking away. "Come back today, if you can? I'm worried about you."

She swallowed, and nodded once more. "Okay." She frowned in concentration, and dragged a hand through her pockets. "Um, I think you might like this," she offered, and thrust something into my hands. It felt like a hypoderm.

I stared after her in concern as she disappeared, without examining what she had given me. I need to access the medical databases, and read up on this disorder.

I am scared I may have just made things a whole lot worse.

xXx