"....And so I believe we are finished for today, hmm?"
Hortan looked up at the elder man sitting next to him. He was clad in a tweed jacket, white shirt and tie discreetly hidden behind the brocade vest. His greying hair was in a complete mess and so out of place in the otherwise impeccable clothes of Dr. Lloyd Wyman M. D. that it made him human in some way. Trustworthy even, which was a very nifty ability in a psychiatrist.
The Dr. looked back at Hortan
"We have come a long way young man," he patted Hortan on the hand, " and I am going to lower the dosage of your anxiolytics. We are however going to continue with the Lithium-carbonate for a little while yet, ok?"
Hortan had hoped that he would have been free of the drugs altogether, but he knew that without them he would be reduced to the wreck he had been, when they dragged him in here those four months ago. He, as well as his guildmates, had thought that he could handle the situation, but as the weeks dragged on without the consolation of his Dark Queen, the loneliness and raw violence he could hear on the common Sub Space Communications Unit (SSCU) got to him. One day he rolled over on the other side instead of getting up. Three days went by before Mor Isil came to check up on him, and by that time Hortan was reduced to drooling. Well, mumbling, shaking and drooling.
Intensive drug therapy saw him almost back to almost normal within a month, and he started going to the shrink. He had done this with the usual dedication Hortan always put into his tasks, and now almost three months later he was on minimal dosage. He was grounded off course, but he was hoping that he would be allowed a supervised mining trip with one of the older guild members. That was why he was back at the Dr.'s office, trying to get clearance for launch.
"Will I be allowed to fly again doc? We have this event coming up that I really.." Dr. Wyman cut him of midsentence with a curt nod of his head.
"I am going to send a message to Surbius, you may go on escorted flights for now, and we'll see how it goes." Hortan could barely contain himself. "If all is well, you may have your full clearance back in a month, and hopefully off he Lithium-carbonate as well son."
Hortan sat up straight and almost ran to the door leading out of the room.
"The next appointment is scheduled and in your PDA. Make sure you make it, ok?" Hortan barely heard the man as he stormed out of the room, leaving the chuckling Dr. behind.
"Notes on Hortan," the Dr. said to the computer which was recording everything, "Cleared for limited flight under supervision. Will be good for further treatment. New evaluation in one month from today. Must not under any circumstances be exposed to violence for at least the next month. Danger of relapse. End. Make copy and send to Surbius Bondevo. Use form 8729/4b Psychological Evaluation for TGFT Members, Junior status. Initiate."
"...Danger of relapse. Sincerely Dr. Wyman, M.D." Surbius starred at the screen as the medical report ended. "Oh crap!" he uttered angrily, and punched the No Reply button. Another message ticked in. Sender, Hortan. Smiling his crooked smile in anticipation, he punched Open. Already knowing what would be in the message, he scanned it briefly before sighing deeply and closing it.
"So, Hortan wants to go Heliocene mining, and the doctor says it is good for him and he needs an escort that I am supposed to supply. As if I didn't have enough on my mind as it is," he thought. "Who in the name of the Abyss do I send to baby-sit...."
His eyes went to the highly polished TGFT logo on the wall and stared at the image for inspiration, a habit he had acquired over the years as XO. Alas, no inspiration coming, and his gaze started drifting to the immense amount of paperwork on his desk. He really did not want to force one of his pilots to take their busy time off as psycho support for something that might or might not help the young Hortan, and he was slowly resigning himself to taking the task upon his own shoulders. Yet another task that is. He sighed and grabbed some files. Better clear some of the paperwork first, he thought. Frowning, he noticed that the same name popped up several times on the 312B Non-Standard Behaviour Complaint forms that constituted the bulk of his paperwork. John Eldritch. Surbius frowned and scanned the papers. He smiled an even more crooked smile.
"The Muse of inspiration works in mysterious ways" he said aloud and punched up the contact number for John Eldritch. "But as long as she works for me, she can be as mysterious as she wants."
"What, no, I mean, why me? I am busy" John Eldritch protested vigourously, but to no avail. Slightly hung-over and wearing a rather wrinkled and too large TGFT uniform that looked like it had been used as floor for a viscous bout of Combat Tango, John looked like he had just awoken without sleeping much. Which was the truth actually. He had been unable to find his own jumpsuit, and had taken Waldozes, even if Waldoze towered some 15 centimeters over him and was 18 kilos more massive than him. At least he had found a spare nametag to put on.
Surbius took the very thick dossier and glanced at its more than fifty 312B's.
"Busy, Yes, I see, but hardly with guild matters." He pulled one file out at random. "These are just from last night. Complaint on non issue clothing worn in mess hall area, Complaint of utilising the water cooler for non standard drinks, Complaint on using the toilet paper for non standard use, the list is practically endless John," Surbius looked up at John over the top of the file, carefully keeping the folder to cover his mouth, so John could not see the immense smile he couldn't hide.
John laughed, "ha ha, yeah that was a good toga party." He remembered very vividly an unconscious Waldoze being wrapped in toilet paper. "But using the water cooler for the White Russians wasn't my idea," he said.
"Oh, and who did it then?" Surbius picked up his pencil.
"Never mind," John said defensively, "It doesn't matter. So, what do I have to do for the guild?"
Surbius smiled. That Machiavelli dude wasn't wrong at all. Find the right pressure buttons and you can get anything done. Besides, he didn't want to put Lambin on a 312B for the stunt with the water cooler. It was enough that Surbius knew who it really was after all, and he would get him later.
