Posted by Commander Heathcliff Rinker (Chief of Psychiatry) in The Art of Psycho-therapy…Rinker meets the Elders....When the past doesn’t match the present… or the future

Posted by Fleet Captain Kelly Bordeaux (Commanding Officer) in The Art of Psycho-therapy…Rinker meets the Elders....When the past doesn’t match the present… or the future

Posted by Gamemaster Deus Ex Machina (GM) in The Art of Psycho-therapy…Rinker meets the Elders....When the past doesn’t match the present… or the future
Posted by… suppressed (1) by the Post Ghost! 👻
Ian paced outside the Brig waiting for Rinker. His body was being fueled at the moment by high octane emotions. The end of Jessa’s session with Rinker was brutal. He could not deny a part of his anger was with Jessa and her outburst towards Rinker. It was probably not uncommon for patients to lash out at their therapist but to Ian, Jessa not only crossed a line but obliterated it with photon torpedos. Even though he had apologized for the confrontation, it didn’t help to ease the embarrassment, Bordeaux felt about it.

The more he paced, the more he let his mind drift to all the other things that were pissing him off. The theological fascists of the Galactic Union, Jessa’s mother, and the people in the brig held the brunt of his anger. Ian had no idea if Rinker wanted to see all three Elders as a group or individually. He would leave that up to the counselor. He was only there to listen and try to glean any information out of the conversations about to be had to figure out first what was actually going on and second to try and understand how Jessa became the way she was. Glancing down at his wrist, Ian checked his watch again. Rinker was not late. Ian was just early.

Ian Bordeaux

“Hey Ian, what’s shaking?” Ian seemed far more agitated then he was familiar with.

“Hey Heathcliff,” Ian replied rubbing the back of his neck. “Just ready for all this to be over and a return to some sense of normalcy.” This was as close as Ian got to a counseling session in the five years he had been on the Altantis.

“It ain’t never going be the same for you again.” He suddenly had a pre-pubescent child who already hated him for no reason....

“You know Heathcliff,” he grimaced and patted the man on the shoulder, “you could candy coat that just a little bit.” Ian held up his index finger and thumb creating an almost imperceptible space between them. Bordeaux had always used humor to mask his true emotions. This was no exception. The moment of brevity soon evaporated at Ian turned his attention back to the Brig’s main entrance. Things were never going to be like they once were however if Ian had any chance of finding some peace for him and Jessa, the route was behind that door.

Ian crossed his arms and looked at the door separating the two men for the three people they had come to see. “Do you think they are going to be any more help than Jessa has been?”

“This probably will be an exercise in verbal sparring. I presume you will be recording these sessions and I imagine that these gentlemen are untrustworthy and perhaps have some sort of secondary weapons, perhaps pheromones, probably telepathic. I want to be monitored medically… I have taken the liberty of taking a neural inhibitor on the telepathic sections of my brain making me even less receptive than normal, but that is only a minor defense if they are truly powerful.”

He tapped his fingers on his leg. “They haven’t demonstrated that level of force, but who knows a Commander might seem worth the effort.”

Rinker

“Thank god Kelly didn’t give me that promotion last round then right,” Ian joked with a half-smirk. It was easy to see why people trusted Rinker. The counselor had a way of effortlessly blending humor into the serious. “So since I didn’t get the neural inhibitors that makes me the control. Just do me a favor and if you gotta sedate me because they brain jack me stab me in the left arm because I am right-handed.”

Ian Bordeaux

Rinker tilted his head, “Making me a commander, is kind of like giving a dog a medal. It looks cute on its neck, but you know damn well that he isn’t going to do anything with it.”

Dropping the humor, Ian became serious. “Okay so how do you want to do this? See them all at once or individually? I have read the security reports and the basic personality assessments from that counselor Dela Marx in your division. We will have the meeting recorded for review later. I think we should do the meet and greet with them in their cells. We have the firepower to put them down if they get frisky but it would be easier to just use anesthizine if we need to control or contain them.”

“OH, one at a time, I’m not letting them outnumber me.” He paused as he thought. “Although maybe a set would get them arguing....” He stared slightly off. “I’m not an interrogator, I’m a therapist. My understanding is when people are together they are harder to get to turn on each other. That’s why the first thing police do is separate them. This isn’t a therapy session to me, its a questioning. There is no confidentiality, no protections of that nature. I’ll make it clear....”

“Or don’t,” Ian said as they entered the Brig and looked at the three darkened doors each one holding an Elder behind it. “Hear me out for a second. Mardusk has had these guys under lockdown for the past few days. The big guy already read them their rights and offered legal council. They have refused. The way I see it unless they lawyer up or ask for one of those adjudicators, Jessa mentioned there is no expectation of privacy or confidentiality. We need answers so question away.” There was an iciness to Ian’s tone that rarely surfaced. Bordeaux’s anger was simmering just under the surface however, the man was smart enough to know Rinker would be able to get far more answers out of the Elder’s than he could at the moment. That is why Ian would remain silent and be a second set of eyes and ears to Rinker. “Do you have a choice between door number one, two, or three?”

He looked at Ian, “Send me to the nicest or most slimy of them…” Rinker was willing to see who was better with the word games.

Rinker

“Well according to your junior officer Ms. Marx, Cell one has Rogan, no last name,” he read off a PaDD the highlights of her report for review. Mr. Rogan seems to suffer from narcissism with sociopathing tendencies. Cell two has Elder Da Mu Unka San Zomeil but with a notation that we are not worthy to use his surname. Mr. Mu in Della’s opinion shows psychopathic tendencies. Ms. Marx hasn’t gotten to the Cell three and the female.” There was more information on Da Mu but if Rinker was going to see them individually they could review it later. Setting the PaDD down, Ian felt a headache coming on.

“Seems they are all… what does Jessa say…varpholes,” Ian shrugged before pointing at a door. “Open up cell one,” he commanded assuming a parade rest posture next to Rinker.

As the forcefield shifted from opaque to transparent, Ian and Rinker would get their first view of Rogan. The man was lounging on the ledge that served as both a seat and bunk in the cell with his hands interlocked and resting behind his head. One of his legs was bent with the knee pointing up at the ceiling with the other leg dangling off the edge of the seating ledge. The calm and carefree posture would have been more suited to a couch or hammock instead of a brig cell. “Della my dinner angel you are er,” Rogan said in a happy tone sitting up before realizing Ms. Marx was not his current guest. Sitting up, Rogan’s smile did not falter but his eyes seemed to flash from warm and friendly to murderous glare and then back again.

“Well well I gotta say for the record,” Rogan moved from the ledge towards the door with a confident swagger. “If Della is your wife or wives,” he waggled his finger between Ian and Rinker, “she never said a thing about not being single.” Rogan punctuated the sentence with a wink at both men as his tone conveyed bravado and mirth. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, Rogan crossed his arms loosely over his body and waited for one of the two men to speak. While his actions and words were calm and gregarious, his inner thoughts were a maelstrom of rage. One of the two men had to be Bordeaux. Rogan did not have a clue which one it was but he was about to find out. When he did, he would slaughter the other one for not dropping to their knees and begging forgiveness over the way the Elders had been treated for the past three days.

Ian Bordeaux