The session with Howard actually raised Kylen's spirits. He coaxed her memories a bit too much at times - had danced around the edge of her self control. She knew that he would get back to those tender areas but he was allowing her to unburden herself at a mutually agreed upon pace. Urgent, even rapid but controllable. They really only discussed three topics: the fact that the Chigs really didn't have much to do with the group after the first month when the AI's took over. The fact that shortly after the AIs took over that they were treated as noncombatants - slave labor. The fact that the AI's had so few spare parts and were starting to break down. And he seemed interested in "The Pink" which is what they had come to call the stone that they had mined. He definitely wanted more about that.

Howard gave her permission to use her notebook if she thought of anything between their meetings. Its the only thing that I own. Its all that is mine.

He did, however, give her strict instructions to write only a key word to act as a memory jogger. Never to write a phrase or sentence. They talked through lunch and the Major gave her his apple for later. "Good calories" he smiled as he passed it over. She wasn't sure if it was a gesture of kindness or of manipulation but Kylen took the apple from his hand, feeling very much like Sleeping Beauty.

"Hi-ho Hi-ho," She murmured.

"Pardon me?" Howard responded.

"Mirror, mirror," She had offered.

If he understood the reference (which he hadn't) Howard gave no indication, but he finally took her to see the Colonel, whose room was actually very close. They had McQueen in an isolation room not too far down the corridor around the corner.

They heard it before they got to the anteroom. All hell was breaking out. Howard slammed her against the bulkhead, drew a pistol from his ankle and broke though the door. Kylen could hear crashes, yelling and a torrent of vituperation. She started backing down the corridor away from the commotion.

Oh God, they've come to kill him. How do I get away? Who do I get? Who is there to trust? The room was suddenly quite and she halted in her tracks, transfixed. Kylen could hear Howard's now familiar chuckle. She crept back towards the anteroom. Howard was in conference with a doctor as he reholstered his weapon. Kylen slipped into the room.

"Lunch?..… Lunch set him off?.. ", Howard sputtered. "Well, Doctor, then he isn't that sick either physically or mentally. Doctor, this is a man of remarkable self control… Just what is going on? Are you sure it wasn't a drug reaction?"

The Doctor replied with an air of long-suffering. "No, Sir. I don't believe so. No new drugs, all nonaddicting, he's had them all before. They brought him lunch and the nurse asked if he wanted to see the counselor. Then Bang! Look Major, I'm actually a bit relieved to see this outburst. He was terribly passive for someone with this level of loss. I don't want to keep this man sedated any more than required for pain control. It's causing disorientation and increasing his isolation. I'm hoping this is a grief response and not the first signs of PTSD. Look, I'm going to have to put him under, and I mean OUT, for atmospheric reentry but he is going to have to deal with this sooner or later. Given the time frame and limited options he needs a clear head. I really want to cut down on his meds as much as we can but we can't put up with more of these outbursts and, frankly, neither can he. We put him in danger and he won't deal with any of us. Major, get him under control."

Kylen snuck a look into the space where McQueen was being kept. The picture inside the isolation room was not a pretty one. A nurse, a corpsman and a guard bleeding from the forehead were being held at bay by the man on the bed by the shear force of his personality and will. He had nothing left at this point. Everything within arms reach had been launched at someone's head. The bedside table and nightstand had gone flying. The IV's had been ripped out and there were blood splatters everywhere. McQueen was drenched in sweat, breathing ragged, propped up on one arm, his gown ripped and falling off. His good leg was swung over the edge of the bed, foot on the floor, ready to make a move. He was, in Kylen's mind, the definition of a cornered animal.

"Door number three" she whispered. Her fear gave away to sadness and she suddenly felt dreadfully depressed and trapped herself.

"What?" demanded Howard, who both saw and felt the change in her mode and demeanor.

"Private matter." She snapped. Howard may have been born at night but not last night. He knew better than to go there.

Kylen had spent many of her summers on her uncle's farm in Kentucky. She had learned to handle the yearlings and the stallions. Someone had obviously tried drugs and the wrong technique to train this horse, this man, this lion in a cage. He is my responsibility. Nathan will never forgive me If I leave this alone. I'll never be able to look into the mirror again if I walk away from this.

Kylen had seen similar outbursts in several of her fellow prisoners. Usually right before they did something incredibly dangerous, often suicidal. Well, for the moment McQueen was her lion. Make the choice, she silently ordered herself.

"Mirror. Mirror. " she whispered. Kylen opened the door and stepped through into the den. Howard was two seconds too late to stop her. The bleeding guard grabbed her arm.

"Get the fuck out of here," she hissed into his face. It was like she had fired a starting pistol and the room cleared in a shot. She shut the door behind them and gave Howard a wink through the window. A show of confidence she didn't feel.... But she had learned to lie as well as swear in the last year.

No time like the present. If she showed anyone how she really felt they would come back into the room and the whole mess would start up again. She closed the blinds to the anteroom window, picked up a chair, put it in front of the door, sat down, brought up a knee to rest her chin.

This behavior is counterproductive but wish I had his guts. I 'd like to throw a few things. I'd like someone to know just how pissed off and frustrated I am. Lonely... Lost.

He can either back off and regain control or come after me. Kylen waited for McQueen to make up his mind.

The Colonel said nothing. His gaze was no longer murderous. It was disconnected which frightened her more. She waited; composing herself.
Major Howard said that he was a man of remarkable self control. What I've seen...what I'm seeing now, are things that McQueen would rather have died than have me witness. To have anyone witness Well, there was no help for that, I HAVE seen and I AM here.
Kylen hoped that he would forgive her that fact. Too late now. She had seen inside 'Door Number Three' and it was a cold and despairing place. She could stand guard until he regained himself.

She hoped Howard had things under control on the other side of the door. She really didn't know what she would do if anyone tried to come in other than the obvious. She was small but she could call down fire from heaven when the occasion demanded. Five brothers had taught her a lot.

McQueen gauged her from his perch on the edge of the bed. One cutsie word of comfort and Kylen or no Kylen she is GONE. Outta here. But she did get rid of the tormentors and she is silent and calm.
She looked to him to be almost from another planet, another life form entirely. Her face even and unlined.
I just don't need any more shit. Even from her. Especially from her. Damn her, so calm. They keep me under guard. They tell me nothing and treat me as if I only had two brain cells left. They offer me false hope and cliches. Then they send this ... this child into witness this latest humiliation. How dare any of them.

Damn them all. Damn her. Damn her and Nathan. Damn those people with a belief in the goodness, the rightness of life. People with confidence that things will turn out for the best. Well, it hasn't turned out "The Best" for me. All he had valued, had loved had been trampled or lost. Crumpled. Thrown away. And now he physically could not fight back. And now; now the little princess, the goddamn Cheerleader has seen me like this. McQueen had for years feared loss of control more than death and he had lost it. Lost it well and true. He hadn't blown it like that since the divorce. McQueen didn't know if he had the reserves left to pull himself out of this. Not again. Not again. He then began to whisper it slowly. A mantra to calm himself.

"Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again." He met Kylen's gaze and watched her. Sitting with her chin resting on her knee, she looked oddly serene and somehow complete. Then his gaze traveled to the hands hugging her knee. It would take months for the damage to fade. A year in the mines, underground, imprisoned. No matter how she may look she wasn't a child anymore. Not anymore. McQueen met her eyes and he realized that she understood.

"It feels like death." He whispered to her.

Kylen slowly nodded yes. She spoke softly - a quiet statement of fact. " But it's not."

The adrenaline was almost burned off. McQueen was suddenly tired. His arm began to tremble. He needed to lie down. Suddenly he was seized with an overwhelming wave of nausea. He gagged. Kylen bolted out of her chair scooping up a basin from the floor on her way across the room. McQueen heaved just as she reached him. The little that had been in his stomach came up followed by continued dry heaves. Spasms racked him from his head to his toes and squeezed tears from his eyes. Kylen rubbed his back murmuring the words one uses to ease a child through sickness. She didn't feel in the least uncomfortable saying them and somewhere it registered to McQueen that he wasn't insulted hearing them. He was comforted by the nonsense phrases; comforted by her hand on his back. When he felt that he was finished he nodded and lay back on the bed. Kylen helped him move his leg back onto the bed and drew a sheet over him.

Kylen found washcloths and towels in the wreckage and put a cold cloth on his neck and handed him one for his face. A new gown from the cabinet. Some mouthwash and a drink of cool water. She drew her chair over to the side of the bed.

"Why are you here?" he asked, half accusingly.

She shrugged. She actually wasn't sure herself except that she had felt that it was her job to be there. It made her feel more alive to be there. Like she was moving forward somehow.

"I saw the look on Nathan's face when you left. He couldn't be here so I thought that I'd better be." She paused for a few seconds then continued.

"It takes one to know one, Colonel." Gently but surely she pressed on. " Look, McQueen, I don't even pretend to know your life. To know you. I don't even know how you got this injury. I'm not asking now. I don't know how far down you have been but I refuse to look at your life.... Or my life as a Swedish play."

"You refuse?" He said with more than a little contempt. Who does this little thing think that she is? Refuse. What presumption. - What gall.

"Yes, I refuse. This morning I was told that I can expect depression, personality changes, probably post traumatic whatever and that my chances of committing suicide have increased exponentially. Like you, - if this outburst was any measure, - I do not intend to just fold up my tent. "

Well, I guess that she can presume. She has the right to refuse almost anything. he had to admit to himself.

"Swedish play?" He asked picking up on the seemingly trivial conversation. It wasn't trivial by any means - it was a code of sorts.

Kylen then explained. " It's not a Swedish classic unless there is at least one suicide. Strindberg and that insipid little Miss Julie. Or worse, Ibsen. Hell, there are almost a many dead bodies littering the stage as in 'Hamlet.' Face it, McQueen, you are no Oswald and I'm not Hedda."

She saw a spark in his eye. She pressed the advantage, " Or Lovborg or a little Hedwig." The images were incredulous and she knew that he knew it.

"He's a damn depressing author, Kylen "

"No Shit, McQueen. But what is that one good line ?"

"You mean to say that there is a "good" line in Ibsen?" He asked sardonically and Kylen knew that, at least for today, they had him back.

"Yes, Nora. Doll's House. About duty." She trailed off.

"I have other duties just as sacred...Duties to myself." He gave her the line. They both rested in silence.

T O P S E C R E T

ASJIKI

TO USMC HDQRTS DEPARTMENT OF INTELLIGENCE

PERSONAL FROM MAJOR HOWARD USMC TO GENERAL RADFORD USMC.

Dear General,
A few more insights for your consideration:

1. The AIs were already on Tellus at the time of the attack. And basically took over when the survivors were all removed from Tellus - guarding the POWs with only a few Chigs. The AIs evidently learned and passed on to the Chigs that the colonists had had no idea that they were entering into Chig space. All forms of interrogation essentially stopped about 2 months after the AI's took over. - That is about one month before they were evacuated from Tellus to Kazbek. The AIs apparently masterminded using the POW's as forced labor in the mines. The Chigs have serious trouble with the atmosphere and the AIs have difficulty using Chig technology which is evidently run using the same type of bio-conducting gel we found in the Bomber.

2. The AIs found it in their best interest to keep the POW's in a relatively good state of physical health. They appear to have been reasonably well fed. Perhaps as a way of maintaining the edge there was a fair amount of continued psychological abuse of a nature not seen before. Food and medical supplies were given or taken away at random. Not related to any rewards or infractions. There were at least three different AI 'units' that engaged in "entertainment". They would recite TV shows and Broadway musicals while the POWs were at forced labor. Repeating things incessantly and finally performing their "act" using the voices of of the POWs themselves. This became profoundly unnerving to several of the group. How many times can you listen to OKLAHOMA to begin with and then to hear it in your own voice?? What is of supreme interest is that Celina and several others mentioned the fact that at least one unit started reciting sitcoms (complete with canned laughter) from the beginning of the Series. The Ben Markham Show. (Talk about torture) What was significant is that he was reciting episodes that none of the colonists had ever seen. Our team has confirmed that these were NEW episodes. Which mean that the modems are hooking in to units on Earth. We've got more rats in the woodpile than we thought.

3. We must seriously review what the loss of the POW's will have on the mining operations on Kazbek. The AIs evidently can't do the mining and will have a decrease in their access to Sewell Fuel and the Chigs seem to have had a very difficult time getting it for themselves.

With respect,
Barton Howard

Next : Chapter Nine

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