Echoes of Avarice

by Brendan O'Neill

  Whether or not Colonel Bradley noticed his PTSD, he didn’t give any sign. But others certainly did. When at his lowest, the best he could manage was curt and abrupt. At worst, he was downright rude and offensive. The personnel aboard the Pegasus, both military and civilian, soon came to accept his need for solitude. Any time he had to go out, he was given a wide berth by any who crossed his path.

  Charisma tried to pull him free of his mental quagmire for almost two weeks. She tried to talk, but he ignored her. Each time she touched him he was cold and distant. When even the offer of sex couldn’t coax him out of his shell, she realized that helping Connor was beyond her. Although she still visited, she gave up trying to heal a man who was too lost to care. And when he broke down into a tearful plea for solitude, she agreed to stop visiting altogether. He had to promise to visit her quarters occasionally before she relented. He only visited twice, but he communicated with her through the vidscreens as often as his willpower would allow.

  It wasn’t long after Charisma realized she couldn’t help Connor that he had his first visit from a counselor. Her name was Dr. Mason Needles. Slim, 5’6, and with straight dark hair, her beauty would have probably made Connor’s jaw drop if he hadn’t been so damaged. But, at the time, she was just another empty shadow flitting through his life.

  Connor knew her treatments would only work if he was receptive and, in the beginning, he resisted. He was too afraid to trust anyone, feeling sure only he could understand himself. But over time, her sweet, kind, and caring nature wore down his apprehensions. Eventually Connor did come to try.

  Dr. Needles helped Connor to come to terms with whatever it was that he’d become. He still wasn’t sure what that was, but one thing was certain: he was no longer the man he used to be. No longer the innocent man desperate to share his televids so others would accept him. No longer the teacher who wanted to prove his worth in this war as a security volunteer. No longer a man who saw trivialities such as manners and chivalry important. Connor may not have known who he was, but knowing who he wasn’t gave him the confidence to interact with the world again.

  The good doctor helped him realize how much good sparing could be to break his mind free of his quagmire. He still avoided the group training sessions as often as he could, but visited Lavi most nights for private sparing lessons. The woman was mercifully silent as they practiced, giving him what he needed most. A somewhat detached form of violent human contact.

  On the final day of his month-long sabbatical he laid on the bunk in his room, facing his usual mental wrestling match anytime he had to go into public. Leaving his quarters was always a struggle and Connor grit his teeth in a silent growl of frustration. Still, transferring to the Pegasus certainly had at least one benefit… Connor got his own quarters.

  The overhead lights were off, his dim light came from the soft blue time display on one wall and the view screen’s flickering images on the wall opposite. He’d set the lineup so it would run everything he had that featured his four favorite entertainers, MacFarlane, Hammond, Clarkson, and May, all randomized in a loop. All entertainers that would have, in the past, pulled him out of whatever funk he was in.

  Today however, even with the three hosts of his favorite series racing across Botswana, the usual charm fell flat against his ears. He laid staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. He was angry. Rage was a constant companion these days. It influenced his every thought and decision. And right now, it was railing against the end of his solitude. Connor may have redeveloped the capacity to interact, but he hadn’t the interest. In some ways it’d be more relaxing getting shot at. At least then the most terrifying parts of his mind could shut down.

  In a few minutes, he was due to meet with the Council. Going out into an environment where he would need to socialize, however, was like setting a broken bone. Phenomenal pain in the beginning, but much easier once the process had progressed a bit. His biggest problem was that, no matter how many times he had to go out, the beginning wasn’t getting any easier. Dr. Needles promised that eventually his desperate need to hide would diminish if not disappear entirely. It’d been a month and he thought it might actually be getting worse.

  Fuck this! Connor thought and jumped out of bed. He walked to a small table in the corner of his quarters. He ignored his FN 5-7, nestled deep in its tactical holster, choosing instead his Glock 33 in an ankle holster. The thought that in just a few months he went from a guy who barely knew which end of the gun was what, to a guy who could slap on an ankle holster in seconds gave him his first chuckle of the day. As fleeting as it was. His ensemble was finished with a folding tanto-style knife that clipped onto his belt.

  Connor looked at himself in the mirror, paying particular to the cuff of his pants to ensure it hid his Glock, before turning to his door. The pistol on his ankle wasn’t necessary from a survival standpoint. He knew that. It was his security blanket. He knew he’d never have to use it, but it gave him confidence enough to fight the paranoia he felt outside his quarters and quell the rage he felt everywhere else.

  His fingers were centimeters from the door release when there was a chirp of his door-chime. Connor didn’t bother checking the vid feed outside his door to see who it was. He was going out anyway.

  The door hissed open and Connor was somewhat surprised to see Dr. Mason Needles outside. He’d expected Charisma.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “I was passing by and thought I’d walk with you to the meeting,” It didn’t slip his attention that she’d have had to cross half the ship to pass by his quarters.

  “How are you feeling, Connor?” She asked with her most motherly smile. Unlike Dr. Needles, most people didn’t seem sincere when smiling at him.

  “Feel great.” He growled inwardly at himself. Even an idiot could tell that statement was a front.

  “I see that transitional anger is still making itself at home.”

  “Yeah. I’m thinking of charging it rent.”

  Dr. Needles smiled again. She was one of the few people Connor could say he genuinely enjoyed being around. When he had to be around someone. He still preferred being alone.

  “Did you get the list of counselors I sent you?”

  Connor cast a sideways glance at her. The hard soles of her black suede boots made a comforting clicking against the cold, hard metal hallway. She wore a black skirt and teal sweater. He had to assume Dr. Needles was feeling cold again. She was always cold.

  “I did,” Connor said.

  “I hope you’ve started checking into them,” she said. “It was a short list and they’re all exceptional counselors. You’ll need to find one you can work with as soon as possible.”

  “I know.” Connor’s last day of therapy with Dr. Needles was three days ago. Once her position as a representative on the Council of Civilian Oversight had been finalized, keeping Connor on as a patient when he was also the Office’s liaison to the military would have been a conflict of interest.

  “I hear Ms. Lavi was promoted to sergeant,” she said. Idle conversation designed to draw Connor into conversation. Smart girl, but it won’t work on him.

  “Rana deserved it,” he said simply.

  She gave him another one of her sweet smiles, along with her own sideways glance. The rest of their walk was taken up with conversation that shifted to all points of his life. His former career as a teacher, his training here, how much he’d been speaking to his friends lately, even his love life. Or, more to the point, lack thereof at the moment.

  On their way, Connor took the opportunity to cast a handful of sideways gazes at Dr. Needles’ perky chest. Even as psychologically damaged as he was, that was a habit he couldn’t break. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to. There were worse things to be fixated with and his libido did give him a few blissful seconds when his rage and paranoia washed away.

  The door to the Council of Civilian Oversight was lacking the adornment of most governmental headquarters he’d known. There were no grand colonnades, no extravagant doors, n
o marble facades. There wasn’t even a grandiose plaque outside. The office had a simple black plastic tag on the wall next to the door so small that if someone were in a rush they’d miss it entirely.

  “Ready?” Dr. Needles asked. Her hand was poised over the release button on the wall panel next to the door.

  Connor simply gave her a smile and nod.

  The door hissed open to a very different sight than the room’s exterior. A sturdy, round table was set in the center of the room, more than large enough to accommodate the eight chairs surrounding it. Several other chairs were scattered throughout, most simple but a few well-padded for lounging. There were multiple tables of varying sizes, each with some form of fake plant or fake flowers. One table was laden with various foods and drinks. Of the seven people other than Connor in the room, one stood out in particular.

  Charisma’s face had a distinct aura of hope when she caught sight of Connor. He smiled as she approached and held his arms out. Hope changed to relief and she wrapped him in a hug.

  “Glad you’re feeling better,” Charisma whispered. “I’ve been really worried. But each time we talk you do sound a little better.”

  “I still have problems,” Connor whispered back. “It’s especially bad when I’m alone. It’s a whole lot easier to manage when I’m out around people.”

  “Well then maybe you should spend more time with your friends so it’ll get better that much faster.”

  Connor smiled a sad smile at Charisma. “I said it’s easier to manage around people. It actually feels worse though.”

  Charisma gave him a confused look.

  “It’s not that my problems aren’t there,” Connor said. “They’re just more muted. More intense and yet more muted. It’s kind of hard to explain.” They looked around the room at the other members of the Council. “Why don’t you come by my quarters tonight and we can talk about it?” Charisma gave him a smile and nodded.

  As the pair made their way to the table, the others who’d been watching them took their lead and joined them. Connor looked around at the faces of the Council.

  Charisma had been a shoe-in for the Council. Jackie’s stories of their exploits at Sanctuary circulated wildly around the ship and to the majority of human survivors beyond. Thanks to those stories, the people who survived the flight from Paxton’s ship were almost legendary. His versions were heroic, and often somewhat exaggerated, but otherwise accurate. Charisma’s willingness to place the good of others in front of herself won her instant respect and gave her a landslide majority in the election.

  Dr. Mason Needles was likely the best and most well-respected counsellor of anyone in the fleet, both military and civilian. Her ability to analyze a person and read body language bordered on the mythic. So, adept were those skills that unfounded rumors started that she was a telepath. During one of their numerous therapy sessions, Connor learned she lost her husband and infant child when the Ka’Rathi took New London colony. Only a handful of people made it out of there. No one knows what happened to those that didn’t escape, but the rumors weren’t kind.

  The only other person Connor had personally met before this meeting was Talon Pickering. Dark hair and entrancing eyes, Talon had grown up in an orphanage. She never told him if the orphanage is where the name Talon came from or if it came from her biological parents, and he never asked. None of his business. What he did know was her skill as another member of the Civilian Security Force. They’d often trained together before the mission to Sanctuary, and he’d learned she was as good at fighting as Connor was at shooting. Just a few steps away from exceptional. Unfortunately, her skills with a firearm were similar to his hand-to-hand skills. Barely above average. But together they worked well, forming an almost instant bond that made them an extremely efficient team. Each instinctively made up for the other’s weaknesses. Connor knew from experience that Talon’s presence could only strengthen the Council.

  The next person Connor’s eyes fell upon was the tall dark-haired beauty named Hadley Timmerman. Elegant, stunningly beautiful, and a quick study, she was one of the most famous entertainers of the time. Dancing, singing, modeling, acting… it seemed like there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. Hadley’s energy was so strong and smile so infectious that she was always swarmed with fans and followers. Her beauty was matched only by her capacity for caring. Even before the current crisis, Hadley sought out the helpless and disadvantaged to assist in any way possible. Once the war started, she only entertained for special events. The rest of her time was spent volunteering to help refugees in any way she could. Connor wasn’t surprised that she was elected.

  Jen Kjorsvik was, most likely, one of the best suited for this job. A Norwegian diplomat, she had either helped or singly negotiated some of the most important and delicate treaties of the last decade. Her mind was so quick that she made members of Mensa look like fools and her rhetorical skills were unparalleled. Adept and shrewd, Jen used every advantage at her disposal. Many an opposing negotiator faltered against her, the males being particularly susceptible to her gorgeous smile, twinkling eyes, shimmering gold hair, and ample bosom.

  Piercing hazel eyes peered at Connor through thick glasses from across the table. Senator Wren Blevins was one of the few non-Chinese people to have served in the New Shanghai colony senate. Within four years of her appointment, she’d gained enough influence to rise to the Imperial senate. In spite of the fact that she was only 5’2, she was easily one of the most imposing people Connor had ever seen. Even without speaking, the power of her personality could crush others like a tidal wave. The veteran politician’s speeches and initiatives had helped to extend the life of an empire that was dying. If others in government had listened to her wisdom the Senate may not have collapsed completely. Cunning yet honorable, relentless yet understanding, she’s one of the few government officials Connor had ever heard of that put the needs of the people before themselves.

  Lastly was a man that Connor had heard of through whispers and rumors from the military personnel. Kevin Gould looked far too pretty to have been a first sergeant in the CPF. Perhaps to compensate for his soft good looks, he’d become infamous for his gruff and short-tempered personality. Still, he had a glowing career as a soldier.

  Until Sanctuary.

  As the story goes, before sending in Connor’s group to collect the photon guide bridges, Colonel Bradley had sent in a scouting force which included First Sergeant Kevin Gould. It should have been a simple in and out, but the Lieutenant in charge of their scouting force saw a chance for advancement. While Gould was watching the perimeter, their lieutenant ordered a junior soldier in his force to attempt to infiltrate and acquire the bridges alone. The man knew of Paxton’s deviant interests in women and hoped he could use his pretty young soldier’s wiles.

  When Gould learned the lieutenant sent her out without authorization or backup, he promptly pistol-whipped his commanding officer, then struck out toward Sanctuary. He’d found her unconscious from dehydration, still several miles from Sanctuary. In spite of helping the injured woman return to safety and the extenuating circumstances of the situation, Colonel Bradley was forced to discharge Gould from the CPF. The colonel believed allowing a man to shatter his commanding officer’s jaw and crack open his skull would set a bad precedent.

  Colonel Bradley did, however, recognize the sacrifice Gould made for his team and agreed in principle with the man’s actions. He’d used his influence to clear a rather large commissary area on the lower levels of the Pegasus. An area that was gifted to Gould who used it to open a bar called The Roost. When Gould added his name to the ballots for the new government, the valorous circumstances of his discharge were ‘mysteriously’ leaked. Considered a hero, he stole a victory away from a politician previously considered to be a shoe-in.

  The group was seated around the large round table in the center of the room, all eyes focused on the new guy in the room. For a moment there was just silence. Their eyes almost burned him as they stared. Connor wa
nted to scream.

  “First of all, we’d all like to express our gratitude for what you did and Sanctuary and condolences…,” Senator Blevins started to say. But Talon’s fiery nature broke in.

  “Why the fuck is the military bringing civilians into a warzone?!” Talon shouted, slamming a palm into the table. Her face was deep red and she opened her mouth to shout again, but Hadley placed a calming hand on her shoulder. There was a visible tremble in Talon as she regained control of her temper.

  “Easy Talon,” Hadley cooed. “Give him a moment to talk.” Hadley Timmerman looked far from the dramatic beauty queen image she usually portrayed. Today she was worn and frazzled. Her eyes were surrounded by dark circles of stress and fatigue.

  “What do you mean?” Connor asked in surprise. “Aren’t we meeting with the fleet?”

  Seven jaws went slack. Both the shock and silence in the room were heavy enough to crush against Connor. He was told by Colonel Bradley himself that the Pegasus would transfer all the civilian population who didn’t want to assist with shipboard operations before any aggressive actions.

  “You didn’t know?” asked Charisma in shock.

  Connor shrugged, his mind reeling. The colonel had never lied to him before. Colonel Bradley prided himself on his word, even when it caused others strife. “Last I heard we were supposed to rendezvous with the civilian fleet. What did you hear?”

  “We were,” said Jen. The diplomat stood and walked to the table with food and poured herself a glass of red wine. “But this morning we were suddenly informed that the ship has been redirected to a classified location. The Captain also told us that the area will be heavily patrolled by Ka’Rathi.”

  “We respect that this is a warship,” Senator Blevins jumped in. “But it should drop off the civilian population before jumping into battle.”

  “Do you know when this jump is going to happen?” Connor asked.