Chapter Text
The Star Beagle Adventures
Episode 2: Astral Traveller
Scene 7: Giving a Hand
2.7
Giving a Hand
“I’m really surprised - and pleased - that you came,”
Ezri Dax was more than a little mystified on meeting Captain Skip Howard. She noticed that his eyeshadow and nail polish matched her shade of light blue (although as usual, her own nail polish was clear lacquer.) She was even more astonished to have provided her services to two Star Fleet captains in two days.
Star Fleet captains were famous for avoiding counselors and Dax had never before seen one in her professional capacity. Captain Yui Song was understandably concerned about the trills she had helped rescue. Captain Howard had a more conventional reason for seeking counseling - he had lost people under his command. Given that, Howard seemed oddly relaxed and at ease.
“But as I understand it, Dr. Uto is certified both as a surgeon and a psychiatrist by the Betazed Royal School of Medicine,” Dax continued. “Is there a reason you did not feel comfortable bringing your concerns to him?”
Skip Howard smiled. A warm, relaxed, genuine smile, in Dax’s opinion. “Ten is a friend. In the field, when no one else is available, I have no problem turning to him. But it’s nice to talk to someone that I’m probably not going to go camping with. I’d like to keep the friendship from getting tangled with the counselor/patient relationship. And you’re not a telepath, which makes things easier.”
Dax nodded at this. At least for humans, having a telepathic - even mildly telepathic therapist could often be counterproductive. People need time to process things by talking them out. Telepathy provided an inconvenient shortcut that could interfere with normal human emotional processing.
“So do you feel that you have already processed the loss of the soldiers under your command?” Dax asked.
“Marines,” Howard corrected. “I have a private space on the ship, kind of away from everyone, zero gravity, no general lighting. I went there to have a good cry over it. Unfortunately, my all-too-well-intentioned crew found my hiding spot and a few people came to be with me. I try not to cry in front of klingons.” The Beagle’s captain chuckled slightly. “It feels undignified to cry openly in front of anyone - especially a klingon. And I don’t think anyone feels comfortable watching their captain cry. So I kind of had to bottle it back up.”
“You went somewhere to cry in private?” Dax was surprised - it wasn’t something she expected to hear from a Star Fleet captain.
“I’m not a vulcan,” Howard said with a smile. “I don’t want to be hindered by emotions coming back in an inopportune moment. Humans, especially Americans, are taught that there’s something wrong with crying. That doesn’t feel healthy to me. I just don’t want to do it in front of other people if I can avoid it.”
Dax shook her head slowly and smiled. “Star Fleet captains have a reputation for closing themselves off emotionally because they’re expected to be tough.”
“Grandad’s that way. Probably most of my ancestors, especially the Star Fleet captains and admirals among them. But it skipped over Dad and he didn’t pass that along to me either,” Howard said.
“So what are you hoping to achieve here with me?” Dax asked.
“I think I’m okay with the grief,” said Howard. “There really wasn’t much I could have done to save them. I was right there with them. We were in that environment for 68 seconds. I pushed the button the moment I realized it was hopeless and we were just going to get slaughtered in there. It was hell.” Howard took a deep breath. He had gone from being relaxed to being somber. “I’m okay with the grief for my part. It’s the creepiness that’s getting to me.”
“I saw the video you took in there,” said Dax. “It looked like a nightmare. Creepy as hell. Giant flaming eyeball…” she shuddered. “Stuff of nightmares. Has it been getting into your dreams?”
“Yeah, no, that’s not the issue I was talking about,” Howard responded. “Ever since first contact with the vulcans, there has been a growing trend for humans to have our remains reclaimed - pulped - and planted with a sapling as fertilizer. To give our bodies back to the Earth - or whatever planet we live on. This has become really popular among the marines - among most United Earth Governments military forces.”
“We have similar ceremonies on Trillus Prime,” Dax offered.
“Yeah, that’s all well and good,” Howard rejoined. “It’s just that the United States Marines - or at least those attached to deep space vessels that have arboretums - have this new tradition of donating their right hand after death to their ship’s arboretum. So tomorrow, in a rather grotesque ceremony, I’m going to have to accept the disembodied right hand of each of those four dead marines, and arrange to have them pulped and planted in the U.S.S. Beagle’s arboretum along with some sort of plant… You know, I could use some horticultural advice…”
2.7