Creating a conducive therapeutic environment is a bit of a rough go when your only options are metal lab tables that look like something out of an autopsy suite, disposable plastic chairs, and a wall of cracked and battered sample boxes. The whole thing screams of sharp edges, impermanence, and shit going wrong—none of which Ophelia wants to bring to mind.
Ophelia tries covering the sample box wall with a discarded sheet she finds in the corridor, something left behind from the previous team, but oddly that only seems to amplify the morgue-like vibe of the rest of the room. She yanks it down.
Eventually she shoves one of the metal tables as far back as she can, against the sample box wall, and the other off to one side. That leaves the chairs, facing each other, isolated in the middle of the open space, like the center ring of an old-timey circus, but it is the best of a series of bad options. She hopes Liana will ignore the abandoned envirosuit now propped up outside Ophelia’s office door, legs crossed at the ankles, like a patient waiting for an appointment. Talk about ambience.
Ophelia pauses to collect her mug of rehydrated coffee from the corner where she stashed it for safekeeping. It’s her second already this morning, gone cold and gritty—grittier, if possible—while she rearranged.
She’d slept like the dead last night. They’d split themselves up between two neighboring bunk rooms. With all the space in the hab, there was no reason not to. Liana, Kate, and Ophelia in one; Severin, Birch, and Suresh in the other.
When Suresh noticed the division, he rolled his eyes. “How positively puritanical of us. Boys and girls to your opposite corners, like it’s the last fucking century.”
But everyone ignored him, too tired or too used to him to care.
Ophelia was the former rather than the latter. One minute, she was in her bunk, staring up at the gray-and-white-striped fabric covering Liana’s inflatable mattress above her, while her mind chewed relentlessly on what she’d overheard. She won’t be a problem.
And the next, she was waking up, her muscles stiff, and her iVR band still perched on her forehead in wait mode. She hadn’t even had the chance to pull it into place. It was like a switch had flipped, her consciousness rolling up the sidewalks and pulling down the blinds without her consent or even awareness.
Her body was still recovering from the effects of cold sleep, evidently. She hadn’t even dreamed, as far as she knew. When she woke, she felt a lingering sense of darkness, of loss and confusion, like she’d spent the night wandering down endless dim corridors, searching for something.
Not surprising, given the enormous hab complex she’s in and yesterday’s exploration of it—including the suit incident.
And the memories that being here has generated, which have broken free from the box she keeps locked tight and far away from her normal daily thoughts.
Ophelia grimaces and chugs the rest of her coffee, even the bitter dregs at the bottom. In short, despite the depth and length of her rest, she’s just as exhausted now as she was yesterday when she stumbled out of the tank.
But she’s determined to get her sessions off on the right foot.
Last night, after Ophelia returned to the central hub, chargers in hand, Liana had greeted her with enthusiasm for accessing the headset again. Kate and Severin were busy eating, talking off and on with Birch and Suresh. Everything was, in short, perfectly normal.
No strange pauses or avoidant behavior. No lingering or hostile stares at her except from Birch, which she was getting used to anyway.
In fact, all of them, even Birch, allowed her to set up their initial sleep profiles. And most of them—not Birch—had at least scheduled talk sessions for the days ahead.
For the individual sessions, Ophelia suggested alphabetical order—a structure that took away the stigma from someone volunteering to be first to meet with her. It also, not by coincidence, put Liana Chong first. Ophelia had seen enough to recognize that Liana, while a junior member of the team, held sway with the others. They were protective of her, despite being amused or annoyed by her enthusiasm, and her opinion would matter, even if it wouldn’t completely convince them.
Plus, Liana was the one to ask about the iVR bands; she was clearly the most open-minded of the bunch. It only made sense to start with her and then let word spread, as it inevitably would.
All of this, of course, was dependent on the storm’s duration and their other duties, as Severin did not hesitate to remind her.
But he’d offered nothing else remotely obstructive beyond that. Severin even wished her a good night’s rest and reminded her to take her iron tabs before bed. And not in front of the others—as he might have, if he were wishing to use that as a conscious or unconscious move to establish authority—but in a private aside.
Why does that somehow make her more uncomfortable, like he understands her a little better than she would like him to?
Ophelia adjusts the chairs once more, moving hers to face straight toward the door and then stepping around to angle the patient one slightly toward the window. Maybe their seeming cooperation last night was all a front, but if so, she was going to take advantage of it for as long as she could, until she could convince them to actually trust her.
“Hello?” a soft voice calls from behind her.
Ophelia spins to see Liana poking her head through the half-open door, her expression uncertain. “Hi, good morning!” Ophelia says, a little too loudly, too cheerily, as she waves Liana in.
Take it down a notch, Phe, and maybe the caffeine with it.
But she can’t help it. It’s not just that Liana came, that her plan—okay, if it can be called something as formal as a plan—is working, and the accompanying elation. It’s also the overwhelming relief of being back on familiar ground, doing what she does best. Even if it is on a creepy planet in a creepier-still hab.
Ophelia steps back, moving out of the way, making room for Liana to enter.
Liana hesitates, then heads toward the closest chair—the one Ophelia has designated in her mind as the patient chair—before stopping herself. “I don’t … I don’t know how to do this,” she admits, turning to Ophelia, her hand resting on the plastic back. “I’ve never been in any kind of … session before. Except for our postmission debriefs. And the meetings after—” She cuts herself off.
Ava.
The urge to dig right now is a sharp pinch in her gut, but Ophelia ignores it. She closes the door and heads around to the other chair. “It’s okay,” she says easily, as she sits down. “This is just a conversation, not a test. There are no right or wrong answers.”
Liana, rotating to follow Ophelia with her gaze, gives her a skeptical look, eyebrows raised.
Ophelia smiles. “Okay, yes, there are responses that might generate concern, but I’m pretty sure we’re not there yet.”
Liana’s expression smooths out a little, and she takes her chair, sitting on the edge, as if she might leap up at any moment.
Ophelia leans back in her chair, giving off a deliberately relaxed but attentive vibe that she hopes will inspire the same in Liana. “How did you sleep last night? Did you find the iVR band helpful?”
Some of the tension eases from Liana’s shoulders, and her face brightens. “Yeah, actually. It was great. It felt so real, just like when you showed me. I almost expected to wake up to the sound of the mynahs.”
“That’s exactly what we’re aiming for,” Ophelia says. “Any glitches or issues?” Her fingers twitch involuntarily for the sensation of her pen in hand, but taking notes always seems to make reluctant patients extra skittish, especially in the beginning.
Liana pauses. “Just a bit of a headache.” Her hand flutters up to her forehead and then back down to her lap. Her fingers are squeezing together, interlocking, releasing, interlocking again.
“Totally normal,” Ophelia says. “One of the possible side effects. It’ll get better. But if you need a pain reliever, I’m sure whoever is in charge of the medikit would…” She trails off at Liana’s wince.
Then it clicks. “Ava was in charge of the medikit,” Ophelia says.
“Yeah,” Liana says with a rueful smile. “Like I said, she liked taking care of—”
“What the hell, Birch?” Suresh’s voice is tinny and echoing when it bursts to life in the room over their wrist-comms.
Ophelia and Liana both jump, startled.
“Did you take my good moisturizer again?” Suresh continues, his outrage only slightly muffled by a burst of distant static. “You know what this canned air does to my skin. I’m drier than a fucking sand lizard. Where are you?”
Liana rolls her eyes with fond exasperation. “He always does this,” she says. “Accuses people of taking stuff and it’s right there in his bag, probably hidden away for safekeeping.”
The two of them, Suresh and Liana, seem the closest of the remaining team members, but more like siblings competing over Dad’s attention than anything else. Ophelia makes a mental note.
“Maybe we could…” Ophelia holds out her arm, showing Liana that she’s turning the volume down.
“Oh, right. Sure.” Liana turns hers down as well.
Ophelia lets a beat of silence hang to allow the distraction to fade out and the silence to return.
“If it makes you feel any better,” Ophelia says after a moment, “PBE therapists have required therapy sessions as well, when back on Earth. And I had no idea what I was doing the first time, either, despite desperately wanting to be in this chair.” Ophelia taps the side of the seat beneath her. “You’d think it wouldn’t have been that hard, since I know how the other side works, but if anything, that just made it more difficult.”
That, and because lying in sessions, while expected, is frowned upon.
Liana gives a tight nod, but she’s studying her hands, back in her lap.
“I can’t read your mind. As silly as that sounds, a lot of people worry about that,” Ophelia offers. “I’m not even trying. It’s only what you feel comfortable sharing, and then, hopefully, as you get to know me, you’ll want to share more so I can help more.”
Liana fidgets with the cuff of her jumpsuit. “Right.”
“How about if I start? You get along with your team, but I know that you miss Ava. That she was a good friend to you. That you’re struggling with what happened to her.” That last is a guess, but not a big one.
She nods, mutely.
“Is there something I can help you with? Something you’re having a harder time with?” Ophelia tries to tread lightly. It’s an impossible balance to find sometimes, wanting to help, needing information to help, but also trying desperately not to come off as the pushy asshole poking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
“Not really.” Liana stares out at the window. The dull brightness of the snow beyond reflects back on her face. She looks so small and vulnerable across the short distance between them. Ophelia feels a wave of empathy for her.
“I just … I hate that no one talks about her anymore,” Liana says finally. “It’s, like, Ava died and now we’re all supposed to pretend that she never existed!” She folds her arms across her chest.
Ophelia nods. “For some people, it helps to talk about the person who died. For others, it reminds them too much of the loss. They need to contain their grief, only letting it out privately or when they feel they can manage it, which may not be often. It may look like they’re pretending she never existed, but they’re feeling it in their own way.” Ophelia wonders which one drove the person leaving the paper flowers for Ava in her bunk, someone who wants to remember or someone desperately trying to forget.
“That’s dumb,” Liana protests. “We should be able to feel this together. We lost her together.”
“I know, I get it, but people don’t work like that.” Or so she assumes. As someone who, like Liana, wanted to talk about things but was forced not to, Ophelia can only speculate on what her mother was feeling or not feeling. Years later, her own emotions are still conflicted, tangled-up knots of love and hate and confusion, which is why she keeps them tucked away. Her mother won that battle by default.
“I guess … I’m just wondering about how it works, then. Getting past it and, you know, forgiveness.” Liana shifts uneasily in her chair. “How does that work if you can’t even talk about it?”
Ophelia’s attention snaps into hyperfocus, but she remains still, calm. No need to spook Liana. Figuring out what happened to Ava isn’t what she’s here for, except in whatever way understanding that might help her better understand them. “Forgiving someone or being forgiven?” Ophelia asks.
Liana doesn’t answer; her gaze is fixed on a distant point. “If you did the right thing, the only thing you could do, then—”
BAM. BAM. BAM.
The loud pounding at the metal door explodes in the room, snapping the fragile thread of conversation and the nascent bond between them.
The door swings open before either of them can respond, and Kate sticks her head in, her hair rumpled and face pale except for bright patches of color on her cheeks. Liana jumps to her feet, looking ashamed, like an upper-level manager caught with naked persons cavorting on the background of his screen.
“Excuse me,” Ophelia says sharply. “We’re in the middle of a—”
Kate’s gaze snaps to Liana, her mouth tightening with displeasure. “What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me?” Kate demands, holding up her own arm and the attached wrist-comm.
Ophelia steps in before Liana can respond. “We turned down our wrist-comms so that we wouldn’t be—” she begins.
Kate’s eyes go wide. “Why the fuck would you do that?” She shakes her head, making a dismissive sound of disgust. “It doesn’t matter. Come on.” This last is directed to Liana.
“What’s wrong?” Liana asks, following her out the door.
“We can’t find Birch,” Kate says grimly, the words drifting over her shoulder back toward Ophelia. “He’s missing.”