Muninn just about cried the first time she spotted The Gate Inn. Since arriving, the constant flow of Station life had begun to get under her skin. There were nice areas, good places to relax, greenery in surprising abundance in the public sectors, and more than enough holosuites to service the needs of the crew. But, for all that it offered, Starbase Bravo felt like a city squished into a bubble. A hundred-thousand people constantly in flux, always with somewhere to go and something to do. For Muninn, after two years serving aboard small starships, it all crashed in upon her like a surprise white-cap on the ocean. If not for the need to concentrate on her job and the couple of acquaintances she had been able to make thus-far, she felt certain she would have capsized.

But then she found The Gate.

It seemed like most of the other junior officers hung around a little place called Downtime. There were tons of bars and restaurants to choose from, of course, but Downtime had the pedigree of the proper Starfleet drinking dive. Muninn hated it. She wanted someplace to nurse a tea or a coffee, or perhaps one of her favorite mocktails, and maybe read a book. The second day on Bravo, she had tried to do just that at Downtime, and no less than three somewhat greasy Ensigns had hit on her before she made it through the first page of Shattered Lines: A Space Opera.

She had forsaken public spaces since then, being almost too busy to think about relaxing anyway. But then, accidentally turning the wrong way on one of the Promenades, she came face-to-face with polished wood and sparkling glasses. It looked like something right out of a British street, transplanted into space. In reality, she supposed, there was a certain cheapness about the place if you looked hard enough—it was clearly a faux-novelty atop the same duranium base as everything else. But the tables and chairs were real wood, the glasses were made from glass and not plastic, and you could sit at a table by yourself and read. And the bartender, known only as ‘Terry’, offered a mean selection of non-alcoholic beers.

And so, for the last three days, Muninn had tucked herself behind a table for an hour of afternoon solitude and a hearty pub-styled lunch. But today, a glitch in her nascent routine presented itself: Lish Dinalin.

The talkative Bolian had sought her out on her lunch break and was studiously breaking down all the local gossip in his usual hearty patter. She liked Lish, and was grateful for his friendship, but just then she found that she had about as much patience for him as she would for a puppy that wouldn’t stop chewing its new squeaky toy.

“…and then there’s the new policy for walk-ins,” Lish was saying, “did you know that the system has assigned slots for the whole staff automatically? You’ll probably start getting them next week, after you’ve gotten up to speed with your main cases, and let me tell you: you hardly have time to think. Why we couldn’t have more dedicated civilian therapists brought up from the planet is beyond me! It’s not like I majored in Romulan psychology, and most of the walk-ins are just that, refugees coming in from the deteriorating territories…”

Muninn closed her eyes and tried to let the blue man’s words wash over her. Resigned, she closed her book, hardly touched, and slipped it back into her bag. Maybe, oh maybe, something would come along and interrupt the man.

Heriah, too, was looking for a nice and quiet place to sit and relax a bit. After hours on her feet and hearing the woes of the refugees down below, not that she minded, she needed a break. Hearing a particular voice, she somehow knew said relaxation was not going to happen if she stayed here. She turned to leave but the counselor in her kicked in and she thought on the mental fortitude of whoever was the recipient of this voice.

His name was Lish, a Bolian, and a former patient of Heriah’s. They had only one session. One where her notes were plenty, her words were few, and his words were endless. She surmised that he had no issues at all save for his awkward and talkative nature. Though her advice to him was to talk to people…and let them speak as well, it certainly looked like he was taking the prior to the extreme.

Heriah put on her gameface and stepped forward.

“Lish,” she said, arriving at their location. She could see the female recipient almost at her wits end.

“Oh hi, Heri…”

But Heriah did not let him get in another syllable. “I just came from refugee processing and some Bolians just got off a transport. I didn’t speak to them myself but could have sworn I heard them saying they were looking for Lish. So, I figured…”

“That could be me.”

“Better go have a look.” And, as he was up and stepping away, “that was about 15 minutes ago. They could be anywhere and…” Lish was already out of the restaurant, “…he cannot hear me now anyway,” she finished. “Wait,” Heriah looked at the woman before her intently, “you’re the incoming counselor LT…Nusgrafe?”

Muninn watched the retreating Bolian and snorted with laughter. “That’s right. Musgrave. Muninn Musgrave, LT junior-grade.” She nodded in the direction of Lish’s departure. “You’re my hero, you know. I sat down forty minutes ago, and it’s been one long, incredibly unbroken, sentence since then.”

“It’s the lung capacity. I’m sure you’ve noticed that Bolian’s are blue-toned. It’s their ability to hold air internally for long periods before being absorbed into their blood. That can also make them long-winded. You’ve heard the saying, ‘talking until you are blue in the face.’ Well…” she gestured to the absent Bolian.

“I never put two and two together on that one,” Muninn said with a laugh. “Would you like to join me?” She gestured at the now-free wooden chair opposite. “You’ve got to order from the bar, but I like it here. Good vibes. I’ve got a shift in twenty, but I haven’t had a chance to meet that many other people from the department, aside from Lish. I’d welcome the company.”

Heriah claimed the chair that Lish had warmed for her. “I am due back below in 30. Just taking a break is all. The influx of refugees is almost staggering. I doubt you will be thrown into that just yet. Oh,” Heriah realized, “my manners. Ensign Heriah Rex,” she waved gleefully, “also counselor. Been here a month and some change.” She thought a short second. “Lieutenant Junior-Grade, huh? I guess that makes you my superior officer…ma’am,” she added.

“I suppose it does at that,” Muninn glanced at the pips on the other woman’s collar. “But that’s a benefit of our job. Not much need for hierarchy in the counseling department. Anyway, you’ve been here longer than me,” she raised her synthale and a salute. “I have the feeling that you’ve got your finger on the pulse of the place better than I do.”

‘And if I could find it, I would cease that pulse.’

Heriah ignored the intruding thought, yet brushed a few strands of hair over her right ear as a way to shoo away Rex’s ill-temperedness.

“A pulse maybe, and far from the heart of the place,” she said.

“You mentioned the refugees…what’s that been like, working with them right out of the gate like that. I can’t imagine what they must be going through, having to leave families and homes.”

“It is a bit unnerving…to see so much loss and misery even in this century. You would think that planets and space is big enough for everyone. The worse part of it all is the children. At least here we can provide rest and a chance for them to regroup and build a new future. Being down there in the fray…” she thought a longer second than she intended, “…well you need to keep your training and education before you at all times.”

Muninn listened, nodding once or twice. It sounded like what she knew of that type of work, but raw. More exhausting, perhaps, than the trauma training could really encapsulate.

“So you do imaginal exposure? Getting them to imagine the trauma and describe it?”

Heriah was immediately shaking her head. “I have not attempted that.”

‘Yeah the last time someone tried that…broken nose.’

“I feel they have seen enough to want to re-see it. I have recommended lucid dreaming, though. Still waiting to see how that went.”

‘Yeah. Where is Lihran?’

Heriah set the thought aside.

“I’d be interested in picking your brain sometime about the different strategies you’ve found that work best.” Muninn tapped her black-eyed rank pip. “My doctorate was mixed with a physician’s assistant degree for bridge service, hence the rank boost. But I missed out on a lot of the more specialized training I could have gotten if I’d stayed fully immersed in the psych degree. Severe trauma counseling feels like something I don’t want to walk into unprepared.”

‘Oh she’ll be unprepared in meeting the real Rex.’

“No, I…”

‘Oh, it will be fun. Tell her you would love an impromptu psycho-analysis. I want to see the terror in those…’

“…I, actually would enjoy…um…detailing my strategies. We can always learn from each other. Seeing that you are a…” and she motioned toward those pips, “…doctor, I am certain you have some strategies I have not even thought about trying. And I would love to see a session where you perform this imaginal exposure.”

Muninn could not have known the conflict occurring in the other woman’s mind, the millisecond interaction between host and symbiont filled with emotion and meaning, but she did register something happen on Heriah’s face. A brief and unexplained flicker, a slight hesitation in her eyes and voice. Then it was gone, so quickly that it slipped right past Muninn’s attention and deep into her subconscious, where it would ferment slowly over the coming days and weeks.

“I’d love to talk strategy,” she said, and grinned. “Since we can’t share client information… direct study would be a bit tough, but maybe we could meet up when things aren’t quite so busy and figure something out? I bet I could get the computer to create a convincing holo-patient for us to work on.”

“We could also see if a patient would not mind an outside observer…for educational purposes. Alternatively, a holo-patient…” she thought briefly about it, “is worth a shot.”

“Wonderful,” Muninn said. “I haven’t done anything with lucid dreaming, for instance. Though, in Dr. Micholm’s class at the Academy, we did read this study where a dose of galantamine enhanced acetylcholine levels in the brain to induce lucid dreaming. If I remember correctly, it was something about creating two-way communication between the unconscious sleeping mind and the outside world.” She shrugged, “Anyway, I’d love to see it in action. Does it help with nightmares, specifically, or do you use it more for general mindfulness purposes?”

“General mindfulness…mostly. It is supposed to also help with nightmares, trauma, long lost memories and such. I admit to not having tried administering galantimine. My technique is, I know it sounds archaic but, headphones. Except these headphones play two different musical tracks but both have to be the same pitch, volume and frequency. That helps calm the mind for sleeping and dreaming but the two different tracks entering the ears keeps the mind conscious, though asleep. That way, the dreamer has the ability to maintain full control of their thoughts…control of the dream.”

Though she tried to reign in it, Muninn’s could not hide the nerd inside. Elbow on the table, she sipped at her synthale and happily listened, measuring the shortening time before she needed to leave for her shift by the fast approach of the foamy dregs.

“But listen to us,” Heriah said, “talking business when we’re both on break. When you probably want a little alone time before work. Trust me, I know the feeling.”

“You can take the work away from the psych, but can’t take the psych away from the work,” Muninn said with a grin. “But I suppose I should make sure I’m not late.”

Heriah started to move to get up. “I should start back down anyway. We have refugees flowing in constantly right now. Oh,” she stopped herself half way between sitting and standing, “when dealing with a long-winded Bolian, ask him about the Moropa, and appear genuinely interested in the topic. He won’t stick around long.”

“Oh? A Moropa, huh?” Muninn caught the gleam of humor in Heriah’s eye and snorted. “Thanks for the tip, I think I’ll probably need it. Good guy, Lish… but I have the feeling he misses some of the more human social cues.”

Muninn followed Heriah out The Gate’s antiquarian styled faux-wood doors and into the noise and bustle of the Promenade. She flashed a smile and jerked her thumb in the direction of her new office. “This way’s me. If you’re game for it, though, I’d love to set up that research date in the holodeck. Maybe later in the week, if you’re not completely exhausted by then?”

“Let’s see if this influx tapers off a bit, but that sounds great. And,” she looked in the direction Muninn was pointing, “that would be me as well if I were heading to the office. For now though,” she took a step back toward the maintenance lifts, “…this way is the easiest to get back down there. I’ll be in the office later.”

“It’s a plan,” Muninn said and waved as the other woman headed off toward the lifts.

Her path back to her office proved considerably less busy than her would-be break had been. Good luck and bad luck are basically the same, as Adeyemi liked to say. All in all, Munin thought as she settled into her chair and awaited her next client, a much better way to spend a break in the day.