The Lost Era: Well of Souls: Star Trek Read Online Free PDF Page B

perspective, and I have to be honest here. Meditation and Healing Disciplines have helped more than all the cathartic theatrics you other psychiatrists seem to want.”
    “Actually,” said Tyvan, “I don’t want you to dissolve into a puddle of elemental protoplasm.” He stopped, worried that this sounded too defensive and thought that, maybe, he was. She’d spent a lot of time with psychiatrists; that was clear. He tried another tack. “You think you’ve figured me out.”
    “Sure.” Bat-Levi smirked, easy to do given the way the right side of her mouth curled. “Lull the patient into thinking you’re really not paying attention, that things are going along fine, then snap! You’ll be all over me like a Darwellian long-tongue slurping up an unsuspecting fly.”
    “I’m not paying attention?” asked Tyvan, knowing that he hadn’t been, not earlier.
    “No, I said you just looked like you weren’t. You’re very good at it. You looked a million kilometers away. But, you see, I know that you’re just waiting, watching for a chink in my armor.” She reached down with her artificial hand and gave one of her artificial legs a good thump. She clunked. “In my case, that’s apt.”
    Tyvan took a moment before he replied. “Wow, you are good.”
    Bat-Levi’s twisted smirk of triumph evaporated. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that I started out asking you about your nails and your prosthetics, and now we’re talking about how good or not good I am at my job, and whether I measure up to other shrinks you’ve known. You’re very good at ducking.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bat-Levi said, and Tyvan could tell she was lying. Her face was too stony. On the other hand, maybe that was easy for her. All that scarring must make facial expressions difficult.
    Tyvan kept his tone mild. “Don’t be stupid, Darya. If you’re going to be stupid, you can leave. We both have better things to do.”
    Her black eyes widened and then shone with bright, unshed tears, and he saw he’d hit the mark. “You’re right,” she said, her voice dripping with bitterness. “I’m so stupid. So, okay, you want to talk about my nails, the way I look, my guilt, sure fine, go ahead, fine, make your point.”
    He paused. Then: “I never said anything about guilt, Darya.”
    She swallowed so hard he heard it. “Yes, you did,” she said, but her voice was smaller, a little timid. “Yes, you did. I heard you. You did.” She flared. “Anyway, so I’m feeling guilty. This is a surprise? It’s all over my profile. Yes, I feel guilty. Yes, I get depressed, and, yes, I’ve wanted to die. I’ve tried to die, and then when the Vulcans wouldn’t let me, I stopped trying. I decided that God meant for me to live and remember, so I’m alive and I do remember and I feel the guilt every single day of my life. And that’s the way it should be. That’s justice. There, is that what you want?”
    Tyvan was sure that if looks could kill, he’d have been in his casket. “It’s not a question of what I want, Darya, though you’re right. I’m not surprised. You love your guilt. You’ll hang onto guilt until the day you die.”
    He saw the first slight flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
    “I mean that guilt is a wonderful thing. It’s so expected. We assume that someone who survives or has, perhaps, been indirectly responsible for the death of a loved one ought to feel guilty for being alive.”
    “Oh, but I’m sure you see it differently.”
    Tyvan heard the sarcasm and knew that he’d struck a nerve. “That’s right. I think that guilt is a wonderful weapon. Guilt is like a mantle you use to cloak yourself from contact with other people. Guilt is armor, just like your body there; and guilt, just like your body, lulls everyone into assuming that guilt explains everything, so they leave you alone. What’s the expression? Walking on eggshells, pussyfooting