Rigel
I put Ava in my spare office.
"Please, stay," Ava begs, holding onto my legs.
"The Pet Lock is activated, so no scourges will enter the office," I say, hoping the translator can explain as I bolt from the room.
Is she even ready for this exercise, entering a room with a scourge? We don't have a choice. If she is to pass her evaluation, she needs to deal with this phobia.
Kayla and Tarak arrive at their appointed time, meeting me in my primary office. My mind keeps drifting to Ava who is on the other side of the wall and probably going out of her mind.
"Why are we here," asks Tarak, slapping his tail against the floor. He probably thinks I asked him here to force him into mandatory sessions again.
"Be nice," Kayla tells Tarak.
"We might as well get this over with," I say. "I have asked you both here today because I've been exposing Ava to images of scourges to desensitize her, and she has made a lot of progress, but to advance further, she needs to–"
"Interact with a living, breathing scourge," says Kayla.
"Exactly, and since she knows you, Tarak, that might make this exercise easier for her. Do you think you can help, Tarak? We just need for you and her to be in the room at the same time."
Tarak juts his fangs out further. "I would never hurt a pet."
Kayla rubs Tarak's arm. "We know you would not hurt a pet, and Ava probably does, too, but sometimes the brain is slower in learning not to be afraid. Will you help?"
Tarak growls. "I accept."
Sweat drips from my brow. I need this to work. Through my wall unit, I speak to Ava. "Ava, we are ready to do the exercise. I am unlocking your door. Join us when you are ready."
Tarak seems like he is breathing louder than normal, and Kayla is holding Tarak's hand, whispering to him that he needs to relax.
At long last, the door to my office slides open. Ava stands in the doorway. Despite our practice sessions, Ava's eyes are huge and locked onto Tarak.
Tarak's eyes are also big, his tail thumping against the floor.
Oh no. Only now do I realize the part of the plan I failed to account for. This is a test for Tarak, too. He knows that any little thing, moving too fast or growling might send Ava under the desk or out of this room.
Kayla waves at Ava as if this is an ordinary day in the pet park. "Hi, Ava."
Ava shuffles, taking tiny steps into the room. Even from where I sit behind the desk, I can detect all the signals she gives off when she is afraid: the sheen of sweat on her brow; the way her eyes dart toward the door; and her slight tremble. Ava is not in my lap but my feathers itch, expecting to be twisted.
Ava and I had discussed what she needs to do to pass the next benchmark of her phobia de-escalation plan, which is to stand within an arm-length of a scourge.
She is doing that right now, standing right in front of Tarak. Even though she twitches, I will count this as her passing the test. We can make more benchmarks later.
"Tarak, I... I wanted to say thank you. If it weren't for you, I... I wouldn't be here. So, thank you," says Ava with a shaky breath.
Talking to Tarak is not part of the current plan, but she is the one initiating this; stopping her would be wrong.
The wall unit translates Ava's words. Tarak's eyes are like saucers, his tail thrashing.
Kayla clears her throat. "We are so proud of you for doing this, Ava. Confronting a fear can be hard. Tarak, do you have something you want to say to Ava?"
Tarak's gray eyes bounce from Kayla to Ava, but he stays silent.
Kayla pats Tarak's knee. "Tarak is working on learning to say what is in his heart, and what he would say to you right now is..."
The silence seems to stretch with Tarak opening and closing his mouth, until finally... "Ava, you will always be crew, and I will always protect my crew."
When the wall unit finishes translating Tarak's words, Kayla adds, "A crew is like family."
Tarak and Ava stare at each other. They seem stuck. Maybe I should help them?
"Good job, Ava," I say. "You've made a lot of progress in your treatment today, and if you like you can leave us and go to the other–"
"Stop," says Kayla, flashing her palm at me.
Anger flares through me at the audacity of Kayla to silence me, the behaviorist, during this session.
Kayla's lips move, but her voice is so soft I cannot hear what Kayla says to Tarak.
I nearly jolt when the wall unit both repeats and then translates Kayla's words: "Hug."
What are they doing? I want to enfold Ava in my wings and rush her away to safety.
Tarak's eyes still look like they are bulging out of his head, but his prominent fangs, the ones that often jut out at me, sink into his mouth. I need to squint to see the tiny tips.
In all my decades working with scourges, I can count the number of times on one hand that I have witnessed a scourge making their fangs nearly invisible.
Tarak lifts his big arms, but other than that he stays in his chair and does not move.
Ava shuffles toward Tarak's outstretched arms. Tiny trembles run through her.
I clear my throat, readying myself to tell Ava again that she does not need to do this. Yet again Kayla flashes her open palm at me.
So, we will wait this out. One signal from Ava, and I will enfold her in my wings.
Even sitting in the chair, Tarak dwarfs Ava. No wonder scourges terrify her.
Tarak lowers one of his arms at a glacial pace, patting Ava's back. Ava leans toward Tarak. When Ava backs away, Tarak's arms fall limply to his side, ending their hug.
"Thank you," Ava whispers.
***
At the end of the workday, Ava is asleep on my office couch. She has made progress, but it is evident that it exhausted her. I pull her into my arms and carry her home.
When I arrive at my place, Ava reawakens, and talks to the wall unit, making hand signs at it while I rummage through the cold storage drawers for food options. I grab a few orange pieces of fruit when my wall beeps, alerting me to an incoming message.
"Proceed with the message," I tell the wall unit.
"Important message regarding Ava's evaluation," says my wall unit, and the rest of the message is hard to understand because Ava has initiated film loops of peeping rahonis on three different walls, distracting me.
I turn toward the wall and silence the film loop.
"Repeat the message," I ask the wall unit.
"The required evaluation for Ava has been rescheduled," says the wall.
Ava made a breakthrough today, but we only have five more days. She needs much more time if she is to even have a chance at passing. Perhaps Hydra is being benevolent?
"When is her new appointment?"
"Tomorrow," says the wall unit.
The fruit falls from my hand. It is as if all the happiness has been sucked out of the room.
Touching Tarak today was a huge accomplishment for Ava. Except the assessment is likely to involve lots of strange scourges, poking her and getting close, and—
If it is tomorrow, there is no way she will pass.
Maybe I misheard the wall unit?
By the solar winds, I hope that is the case. "Wall unit, verification requested. When is Ava the human's evaluation?"
"Tomorrow," says the wall unit.
Suddenly, I am not hungry. I put the orange piece of fruit plus a few berries into Ava's bowl and climb into bed.
Ava looks between her bowl and the bed. She ignores her food and crawls into bed with me. I pull her onto my chest, and put my wings over her, letting her play with my feathers. This might be the last time we do this.
***
My wall unit awakens me in the morning with another message. "Hydra requests you report a preference for when Ava will have her evaluation today."
Ava is still asleep, curled in my arms. I give her a small hug.
With all my heart, I want her to pass, but she has barely dealt with her trauma. It is unlikely she will acquire the skills needed today. What Ava needs (or what we both need) is a day filled with fun experiences.
"The end of the workday shift," I reply.
"Confirmed," replies my wall unit.
I shake my head, trying to keep my mind on the moment, on the joy she can have now.
"Wake up, sweetheart," I say, gently shaking her. "Let's go to the park."
We start the day at the pet park and go there again during my lunch break. Kayla and Lugh meet with her, so I cancel a few appointments. I don't want to deny her this.
At work, I give her a choice. "Do you want to stay in the spare office or do you—"
"Stay," she says. Into my lap and under my wings she crawls, and I enclose her, wondering why this can't go on forever.
I watch the clock on my wall unit, pleading to the stars—either let her pass or stop time.
The clock keeps ticking. Usually, I wait until I get home from work to give her another meal, but some scourges like to nibble when they are nervous—maybe that extends to humans, too?
So, I fill a bowl with berries. I also grab a pill bottle from my desk, carefully extracting an orange pill.
After placing the bowl with fruit on the floor, I open my palm with the pill. "If you are feeling anxious, this might help you."
She raises a single eyebrow.
"Sometimes scourges take these pills when they are nervous," I say, rattling the pill bottle. Without even thinking about it, I launch into that work speech I have told a countless number of scourges who come to my office. "Sometimes, we are on edge and might need a pharmacologic agent to help us regulate our moods. So, if you find yourself..." The words of the speech pop into my mind: aggressive or lunging at other scourges. "...jittery or nervous, just take this pill. If you take it now, it should help you during your appointment."
I open my palm again, trying to entice her. Take the pill. She pokes at it but shakes her head no.
Onward with my speech. "There's nothing wrong with taking them. In fact, lots of..." Scourges. "Creatures aboard Hydra take them. It can help you in case you're more nervous than normal?"
She makes no move toward the pill and instead, goes toward my couch and curls onto it. There is sharp pain inside me, and...
I want to swallow this pill.
I shake my head. I need to be fully alert during her appointment, so I cannot ingest this pill. Who knows, one little oddity from me might make her growl at the scourge evaluating her, and... Nope, don't think about that. I drop the pill back into the bottle, seal it, and drop it into my desk drawer.
I don't want to just sit in my office and wait because I'll be a wreck by the time her appointment starts. I pull my fingers through my hair. "Shall we go?"
She fetches her leash for me, and I clip it onto her collar.
Together, we stand before the door together. When it opens, side by side, we walk along the ship corridors.
Silently, I plead to the solar winds and the stars. Let her pass.