Coming Out of the Cave

Posted on Mon 13th Aug, 2018 @ 6:17pm by Commander Paul Graves PsyD & Elizabeth Anderson M.D.
Edited on on Fri 25th Oct, 2019 @ 10:54pm

1,881 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Oblivion
Location: Hunt's Fortune Casino, Deck 1553
Timeline: MD13, 2130 hours

"One is never got out of the cave; one comes out of it." --Simone Weil

Paul Graves yawned, stretched, and then wondered why his neck was sore. And then he remembered and opened his eyes. He was seated alone in the recital hall, which was already decorated for the awards ceremony that would be held in it the following night. A large, blue banner with the UFP seal picked out in silver hung from the ceiling, center-aligned against the back wall of the stage, twin to the smaller one that hung from the podium where Brigadier General Sinclair would stand to bestow the awards.

Paul checked his chronometer and gave it a startled look. I must have dozed off, he thought. He'd only meant to stay in the hall a couple of minutes. He had in fact told Mikaela that it was pointless for them to attend the casino opening as a date because he'd only intended to spend perhaps 15 minutes inside, and if she wanted to have a fun evening gambling, she would have to do it with someone else.

He didn't want to leave the recital hall now; it was utterly peaceful, and this was the first time he could remember being able to let his shields fully down in what seemed like forever. Even though he'd picked a secluded area for his home, this was a starbase, and space was at a premium. He was always peripherally aware of someone.

Here in the recital hall he had hundreds of cubic meters of space all around him, and it was devoid of people. Beyond that were walls, lovely, soundproofed walls that kept out the dull roar that was the casino and its guests. Here was an unexpected island of peace and quiet amid the cacophony.

Hey, one could dream.

Nap-time and dream-time, however, were over. Eddie might be wondering where he'd disappeared to. Paul stood up from the seat he'd occupied, walked to the central aisle, and ascended the steps. He carefully reconstructed his mental shields, took a deep breath, braced himself, and pushed the recital hall doors open to the hallway that led back to the casino.

A storm of excited emotions hit him as if he'd stuck his head into a tornado. Paul gripped the door handle in shock and then forced himself to move forward. The place was far more crowded than it had been when he'd first entered. The only way out was through the crowd--unless he cared to open one of the fire doors. That would set off an alarm needlessly, and he didn't want to do that. The crowd of gamblers might stampede in a rush to escape the casino, and their combined panic would be unbearable.

Elizabeth happened to be looking at the very door Graves exited, thinking about seeing Damion the following night, and perhaps taking in the awards ceremony she'd heard rumored. So far, the casino had been interesting, but she hadn't figured out the attraction of throwing away one's resources for a thrill. Actually, she hadn't figured out why it was a thrill to anyone to gamble, but she was gathering information and trying to analyze those around her in the building. Almost the minute the counselor came out of the auditorium, she saw that something was very wrong. A nanosecond later she identified him by searching the starbase's facial records. Without conscious volition, she turned in his direction and began working her way through the crowds toward him.

It was darker than Paul remembered, and he realized that it was now late enough for the general lighting to have dimmed. What had been a challenge to navigate earlier in the evening was now a mob-filled wilderness populated with croupiers, Dabo girls, poker dealers, and a sea of people trying to strike it lucky, either for fun or because they needed the latinum. They crowded around roulette tables, sat at slot machines, groaned in sympathy with those who lost, cheered those who won.

Paul could not move without brushing against them, and that felt even worse, like a sandpaper-abrasive mutual invasion of privacy repeated over and over.

"Come on, 27! Come to papa!" someone shouted at one of the roulette tables, joined by a chorus of other people calling for different numbers as the wheel spun.

Where is the damned front door? Paul thought savagely. He tried to wave down a woman serving cocktails, but she turned the other direction without seeing him and disappeared when the crowd closed around her like an amoeba swallowing her up. He considered following her--she obviously knew where she was going--but that would mean shouldering his way through the same mass of people that she had. Everything in him rebelled at the idea.

Graves looked worse by the minute, and Elizabeth's query string returned the information that he was half-Betazoid and a full empath. The panic she saw on his features, the disorientation settling into his movements, were clear to her now, and she shoved several people out of the way in her effort to get to him.

He could feel his shields unraveling and the press of emotions intruding even deeper where he didn't want them. He fought to re-establish barriers and lost track of where he was--again. Wasn't it possible to follow a wall to get out of a place? Why couldn't he think? Paul caught sight of a pillar and went to lean against it, struggling to put two thoughts together that were his own. Wall. Why a wall? Where...? He stared blankly at the people around him as their emotions thundered into his brain. Excitement!Curiosity!Wildhope!Crushingdisappointment!Hungry!Hilarious!

At last, though it had only been moments since she'd first seen him, Elizabeth reached Dr. Graves' side. She took his hand in hers and said, "Let's get you out of here." She began a low humming which was almost soundless, but she hoped it would imitate a sound barrier and block much of the noise and confusion around them. Other than getting him out of the building, and away from the crowds, she didn't know what else she could do to help.

Paul blinked as the musical chiming of slot machines, the merry conversations, and occasional cheers faded somewhat. He was shaking, and perspiration sheened his face from the effort it took to maintain his collapsing shields, but he could think a little, now. He regained enough self-awareness to realize that someone was holding his hand, but he wasn't feeling every intimate emotion this person--this woman--felt.

"Thank you," he gasped, his voice barely more than a whisper. He wasn't even certain why he was thanking the lady, but it felt like the right thing to do.
"Do you--know--where the--front door is? I'm--all turned around. You're the--only person I can--tolerate touching."

Tugging gently on his hand, Dr. Anderson said, "I do. Follow me this way," and she began to lead him toward the main door. Then she realized there was probably a back way out of the auditorium he had exited and, at the very least, it would be less noisy and have fewer mental invasions for him to handle, so she diverted them in that direction.

It took only a few moments to reach the doors, as he hadn't made it far before losing his bearings. She opened the door and led him inside, pulling him toward the center of the room until she felt resistance to her guidance. At that point, she stopped, turned to look at him, and dropped his hand. "Is this better?"

"Thank you. Yes, Ma'am, much better." Paul took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and re-established mental barriers. "I was not prepared for that. I forgot how much more crowded the casino would become, this late in the evening, especially on opening night. I do apologize for making it necessary for you to herd me out of there, Ms...?"

Who was she? He could sense almost nothing from her, just vague flickers of emotions, as if she had heavy shields up--but she didn't. If she felt anything at the moment, the closest he could have labeled it would have been assessment or concern--which made sense under the circumstances.

"Doctor Elizabeth Anderson," she replied. "I'm a civilian counselor with offices in Tivoli Gardens. It's a pleasure to meet you Dr. Graves. I've heard so much about you and some of the innovative techniques you use to help Starfleet personnel. I understand you are also second officer of the base? Either one would keep you quite busy, I'm sure! I've been wanting to stop by your office and introduce myself, but things have been a little hectic for me, personally, and for the base in general. And you'd know far more about that than I would," she smiled. "Is there anything else I can do for you? I believe there's an exit from one of the stage wings directly to the outside, if that helps."

"That does help," Paul said. "Yes, I am Second Officer. It was an unexpected placement, as I'm really a staff officer and not command line. But Col. Drake wanted me in the spot, I wanted to stretch my capabilities, and Captain Suzuki hasn't tossed me out yet, so I've stayed. It's good to meet you, Dr. Anderson, and you're certainly welcome to visit my office and department at any time. I concentrate on Starfleet personnel, but I make myself available to civilians if they wish. I can certainly spare time to meet with a colleague. Where are you located in Tivoli Gardens? I live on deck 1552."

"Oh, really? Outdoor sports or winter?" Elizabeth asked.

Paul laughed. "The forest. I like the evergreen trees and the wind. It's nice to live in an area with at least one distinct season, even if it is manufactured. I grew up with weather at home. I miss it."

"Oh, yes, that would make a difference, I suppose," she agreed. "I'm on 1554, and I live above my office. The Romulan doctor, Khellian s'Siedhri, is down the street from me and also lives above his practice. He's very near the book store. Are you familiar with Riverside Village? I find it quite appealing."

"s'Siedhri? Dr. Dhuro, one of the surgeons in the Fleet infirmary, told me about him--even visited him as a patient, he said. I walk through Riverside Village every once in a while. I like the book shop, and I've visited the Farmers' Market. My favorite place is the bakery."

"They do seem to do a brisk business, but I haven't gone in to find out why, yet. If you recommend it, however, I will have to give it a try." Elizabeth noted that Graves seemed to be back to what she would consider normal bio-medical reactions, so she asked, "Are you ready to leave? Would you like company, at least as far as the lift? I'm afraid we're going in opposite directions after that."

"They do a brisk business because baking bread smells good," Paul pointed out, smiling. "Yes, I'm ready to leave. Thank you for your assistance, Dr. Anderson. I was quite overwhelmed in there. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening."

 

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