From: Masako Goto
Date: Sat, 15 Mar 1997 04:22:18 -0500 (EST)
Subject: USS CHESAPEAKE: (Backpost) More of Murray's Murky Memories
*NRPG*
Please don't hit me with a virtual pick-axe... if you must, you may
poison me with a virtual cyanide capsule (but only if you're *really*
mad). Depending on how this mailing system is working, you may receive
*three* copies of this darn post, which I am about to tell you is all GCD
and doesn't do much else. BUT BEING THE SADIST THAT I AM, I want to make
sure you all have it ANYWAY! So... apologies in advance...
If you actually get this message, it means that I have finally finished
kicking myself about the title of the *last* flashback and am now
redeeming myself with *this* title. :)
But, seriously, this is solely for my enjoyment; it might shed so much
light on Anne's personality that you'd wish you were blind... so, with
that caveat, here goes another flashback from your friendly CSciO
(Sorry, Amy, I know your inbox must be up to capacity by now...)
<>
SD 90315.1622
-----------------
Murray's quarters
-----------------
MD 3.0100
The alert beeps on her computer console woke her up, though it
was in the working area of her quarters. Anne groaned, yanking herself
out of bed with an effort. She had wanted to sleep, to forget everything.
"No, no, *no*!" she growled to the computer terminal. "I didn't
program you, do you hear me? I don't have *anything* to do with this!
What do you *mean* by pulling this stunt on me now?" She glared at the
computer, resisting an urge to kick it.
[Fielding to Murray,] said the communicator nearby.
"Go ahead, Derek," said Anne crossly. "This better be good."
[I hope so. I just called the Chief Security Officer, and she
says not to worry about it. Just thought I'd let you know.]
"Ummmm..." Anne rubbed her eyes. "I'm not supposed to worry with
this noise? All right, Derek... thank you very much. G'night."
[Night, sir.]
Anne cut the communication and went back to bed. She pulled the
blankets over her head, then the pillow. The sirens were barely
audible. She tried to sleep.
And tried.
And tried.
Unbidden, another memory began to stir in her mind, a memory of a
much younger Anne...
<>
----------------------------------
Luna Educational Facility, Room 25
----------------------------------
Time: 03.04.2391.1100
There were sirens everywhere, children running around, teachers
trying to get them to hush and line up like civilized people.
Anne crouched in the corner of the room, hugging her teddy bear
with all her might. She knew this had to be another drill; they'd
already had four this past week. It was the new environmental alarm
system they were using, she had heard. It was amazing how much
information one could learn just by listening to teachers talk when they
didn't think the children could understand.
She didn't like all the noise and confusion, though... it was
distracting. She was working out an especially interesting math problem
in her head, and she didn't want all this ridiculous *ringing* getting in
her way.
One of the teachers spotted her in the corner and approached her.
"Come on, Anne," she said urgently, reaching for her hand. "We
have to hurry."
Anne drew back from her, unwilling to touch the teacher.
Besides, she reasoned, why should she hurry? It was just another drill.
"Come *on*, Anne!" The teacher lifted her into her arms, dropping
her teddy bear in the process.
"YOU DROPPED MY TEDDY!" shrieked Anne, though what she was really
upset about was being interrupted in her thinking.
"I'm sorry, Anne." The teacher was already rushing her out of the
room, leaving the teddy bear behind. Anne was crushed in her arms,
unable to do much but scream and try to get away from the unwanted
physical contact.
Once they were in the hallway, Anne could see that it was
strangely empty. The teacher ran down the hall, then down some stairs, a
lot of stairs. Finally, they came into a large room filled with people.
"Here, take her," said her teacher, handing her over to one of
the school psychologists. "She's not handling this too well... that's
why I had to bring her myself."
"Where are you going?"
"I have to go get the six-year-olds now."
"But..."
"I'll just tell them to get down here. They know the way." The
teacher was already rushing out the door.
Anne barely heard her leave. She never saw her teacher again.
<>
Only the wetness on her pillow told Anne that she had been crying
again. She still recalled that terrible day from time to time, when the
main life support system in her section of the school had malfunctioned.
She had never forgiven herself for putting up a fight with her teacher,
whose name she couldn't even recall. If only she had gone obediently
with the rest of her class, the woman might still be alive...
She hadn't stopped having tantrums then, of course; it wasn't
until three weeks later, after many preparatory sessions with the school
psychologists, that the five students in her class had been told that
their teacher would not be returning, that she had died while rescuing
the six-year-olds from the impending vacuum.
"She was a hero, children," the Head Psychologist, Dr. Morrison,
had said. "She got all the children out safely. She did not die in
vain." Then he had looked at each of them in turn. "You are all very
brave children, and we are very proud of you."
But I hadn't been brave, thought Anne. I threw a tantrum and
made my teacher waste precious time. I *killed* her.
But every time she had tried to explain that to a teacher (even
at that age, she hadn't trusted the psychologists), she had been referred
to the school psychologists for "preoccupation with the traumatic incident."
Though no one would believe her, Anne knew the truth. Her
tantrum had caused this tragedy, the one casualty of the entire affair,
and she was going to see to it that her teacher's death was, truly, not
in vain. Though it was difficult at first, Anne eventually learned to
control her violent emotions in class, never again to fly into a rage.
Who knew when another alarm might strike...
Anne looked around, her ears on the alert. The alarms had turned
off. Good. Ensign Keyrin must have things under control now. She
smiled, thinking of the young woman. Even though she hadn't mentioned
the dinner invitation at all, Anne hoped that they would still be able to
forge a friendship.
The last word brought yet another memory to resurface in her
brain. Anne tried to fight it, then stopped. Perhaps, if they were to
invade her mind now, they wouldn't trouble her later, when her mind would
need to be clear...
<>
-------------------------------
Cochrane High Counseling Center
-------------------------------
Time: 0915
"You don't have any friends listed here, Anne," said Dr. Warren,
showing her the student profile sheet that she had filled out just the
week before. "Why not?"
"Because I havne't got any," replied Anne, trying to be civil.
She wasn't going to tell her the truth, of course; such an action would
be a betrayal of her friends in her class, not just of herself. However,
she always *tried* to be polite...
"What about your classmates?"
"They're no fun at all," answered Anne, lying effectively. None
of them liked the psychologist, and it was Andrew Garfield who had
suggested that they keep their alliance a secret.
Their teacher knew, of course; but Dr. Winslow was their secret
ally, stating on his reports that "the students are doing extremely well in the
class; and, frankly, that's all I care about." Which, of course, was just a
bunch of baloney; in fact, he cared a great deal. He also knew of their
desire to keep their personal lives *personal*, and he was only too happy
to oblige in that respect.
"Why aren't they any fun?" asked Dr. Warren, interrupting Anne's
comfortable thoughts about her favorite teacher.
"Do we have to talk about this?" demanded Anne, standing up.
"Please sit down, Anne," said Dr. Warren, not replying directly to her
question. "You don't want me to give you a hypo, do you?"
"I find your constant need to threaten me with sedation extremely
tiring!" yelled Anne, stamping her foot. "What do you think I am, some
kind of time bomb? You think I *like* sitting in here talking junk with
you every week? *Do* you?"
"We all have to do things we don't like, Anne," said Dr. Warren.
She pointed to the chair. "Sit."
"I dare you." Anne glared at her, finally pushed beyond the limit.
She was tired of Dr. Warren and her constant bullying techniques, her
insistence that she be told *everything* that happened in Anne's life. "I
*dare* you to make me sit down!"
"All right, I'll take you up on that."
The psychologist rose quickly, lifted the ten-year-old girl by her
waist, and deposited her on the chair. Anne was frantic with rage at the
indignity of it all, and she made a move to leap out of the chair.
"Now, Miss Murray," said Dr. Warren, her grip tightening on
Anne's wrists, "you're where you belong. Let's start *talking*, and I mean
*you*, young lady."
"No." Anne glared at her, biting her lip.
"I can still reach the hypo from here, Anne."
"Chicken," said Anne contemptuously.
"It'll put you out for two hours at least, Anne," said Dr.
Warren, reaching her free hand out to her desk drawer and retrieving the
instrument. "You're sure you want this?" She touched the hypo to Anne's
neck. "Just say the word and I'll give it to you."
Two hours. That would make her miss Multiple Time Concepts, and
they were just starting a new project during that class. No; she
couldn't afford to sleep through that, not today.
"No," said Anne quietly, defeated once again. "I'll talk."
Even as the psychologist released her grip and sat down in her
own chair, Anne couldn't help but feel that, somehow, she'd fought a
battle of wits... and lost.
<>
Anne threw her pillow across the room. She was so *tired*, darn
it, and those memories were making her feel *worse*.
"Computer!" she barked. "Play Tchaikovsky _Nutcracker_, Act II,
Pas de Deux, Atlantic Symphony Orchestra."
As the soothing tones of harps and celli flooded her quarters,
reminding her of Christmas-time evenings spent reading books with her
father, Anne finally felt sleep overtake her.
Respectfully submitted,
Masako Goto
Lt. Anne Murray, Ph.D.
CSciO
USS CHESAPEAKE NCC-31813
<>
Lynnaea: Anne's moping about the message b/c she doesn't realize yet that
Keyrin hadn't even received the message... :) Also, sorry I had to
borrow your character... but I needed *some* kind of explanation for why
the MLD boys didn't get on the virus problem themselves; I figured that
this would be a good way of dispensing with that problem. If you don't
agree, please let me know and we'll work something out... BTW, I place
Fielding's call between the time Keyrin was notified of the situation by
Mayberry and the time she reached her headquarters.
Chris: There's a pretty neat solo for flute in the selection that Anne
listens to, by the way... :)
James: See? Totally Toxic... with *all* psychologists to date.
Melvin: Okay, maybe you were right... maybe Anne *is* psycho! :)
Takako: You're sure you still want to see Anne tomorrow? :)
All: I give you my word of honor that this does it for the Mainly
Flashback series. Reason? I just ran out of all the stuff I'd wanted to
use! :) (And in case you are wondering, no, I don't particularly hate
psychologists... I want to *become* one, in fact, and I'm rather partial
to them myself...)
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Thought for the Day: Does publication of statistical findings influence
future behavior of people?
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