The day was almost over and Ming had returned home to his quarters.  He’d exchanged his uniform for a loose and comfortable pair of black silk pajama bottoms and his favorite slippers.  Dinner had been a bowl of ramen with sliced roast pork, half a hardboiled egg and all the usual fixings with a very warm jasmine tea to wash it down.  He was sprawled on his sofa reading a hard copy book he’d picked out of his library.  It was a book called “How Few Remain” written by a Harold “Harry” Turtledove.  The author had gotten his PHD in Byzantine history at the University of California and wrote from the end of the 20th century and early into the 21st century.  

This book was set in 1882 in an alternate history where the American War between the States was won by the Confederacy creating three countries north of the Rio Grande rather than two.  In this universe the Confederate States was closely allied with the Republic of France and the United Kingdom.  The United States of America was growing closer to the Kaiser’s German Empire.  Ming appreciated the other man’s grasp of the historical figures being applied to a slightly different historical position. He slipped in a bookmark once he got to the end of the current chapter and closed the book, putting it on the table across from the couch.  

He took a deep breath then exhaled before interlacing his fingers laying his hands on his bare stomach.   His eyes slowly drifted close and he proceeded with a series of deep inhalations, a pause, followed by exhales.  He kept this pattern as he allowed his thoughts to melt into a sort of mental white noise as he drifted into a hyper relaxed and meditative state.  It was a technique he had known since he was nine years old.  He often used this technique whenever he need to center his feelings.  Now his primary focus was to figure out exactly what he WAS feeling.  It was very hard to center something when you didn’t know the parameters are he’d been taught.

Through the noise his mind generated the face of the woman the Knights new as Ranger 1.  She was his former flight leader and a woman whom he’d cared for very deeply even though they’d ceased their role as lovers about two weeks prior to his being promoted and reassigned to the Denver.  They both had known the risks if their physical relationship within their own chain of command had gotten out…Especially as she was the one who promoted him to XO of Ranger Flight when that position opened up. He thought now exactly how he thought then…If command didn’t approve they could soak their heads.  She assured him the decision was based on performance and talents in the cockpit.  If that’s what she told him he knew it was solid gold pressed latinum.  He felt the deep affection and the fathomless despair of her death.  He face faded from his mind’s eyes with the feelings trailing behind much slower. 

He then saw the face of Esessa Sh’ivhohlol aka “Sh’iv”.  The Andorian shen was straight forward and a talented and aggressive if not brutal fighter pilot.  That was an asset during this war.  She also had doubts and certain vulnerabilities as well.  She hid them well but he as expert, for a human, at reading people.  Truth be told all that added up to the fact he liked her.  She was also a great pick for XO as her flying style and approaches were different from his.  He felt a certain warmth towards her that he hadn’t quite noticed before.  His conscious mind told him that it was because she was a flight mate and growing into a friend. That was all he’d allow himself to think of her.  

The faces of the rest of his flight came next.  He felt a deep sense of trust toward them especially Mr. Abara who was the one member of the Rangers to come out of Betazed unscathed.  He couldn’t say that about his most recent wingman which brought about an unreasonable ping of guilt.   Another fading away of faces.  

The next face his mind brought up the face of a half Human / half Orion woman by the name of Arin Jones.  Callsign of Mercy.  Every emotion faded except for that of warmth.  He knew was an expert pilot in addition to being a damned skilled drinker.  She was also a beautiful woman whom he adored as a friend. Was she more?  Nope.   That could change in the future but he wouldn’t count his proverbial chickens before they hatched.   

After a moment his mind went a blank of imagery but not of the uncertain thoughts, mild confusion, a smattering of some jumbled happier emotions almost dwarfed by his regrets and grief.  He was able to put all that behind him when he left his quarters but when he was here, alone as he was, it all flooded back.   

He sighed as he opened his eyes and swung his legs off the couch to sit up.  Marcus knew he had to figure this out and find a way to manage his feelings of loss better than he had been.  Getting up, the pilot walked over the desk included with his quarters.  He said, “Computer:  draft message to ship’s counselor.”

The Denver’s computer replied, “Message to Lieutenant Emimi Qetax, Ship’s Counselor, USS Denver… Begin when ready.”

Ming said, “Counselor:   I would like to request an appointment at your earliest convenience.  I … think there are a few things I need to get off my mind and you might well be the best person to help me with that.  Please send me some times in which you have some availability and we’ll set something up.  I’d appreciate it.  Ming out.”

He added, “Computer:  Send message.”

Once the computer acknowledged he went to the replicator, drank a quick cup of chamomile tea, got ready for then climbed into bed.  Marcus wondered, with bemusement, when things got so damned difficult.  As he wondered he started his breathing exercises.  They worked because less than two minutes later he was sound asleep.