"Field Study"

[Guest TParek]

A planetside log by NPC psychologist Carolyn Quade.

 

"This stuff is strong!" a woman's voice loudly proclaimed, staring downwards at her glass of brandy, open-mouthed. "I mean, I've had some strong liquor, but this isn't just strong... it's strong!"

 

Her companion smirked, taking a swig from his own shot. "It's renowned for a reason. And after all, what other reason would brass send us to a rock like this, if not to get wasted?"

 

"Hmm, a change of pace to get the crew's mind off its worries? Diplomatic mission?" Now, there was a thought. Diplomacy over booze.

 

A wider smirk. "I thought that was your job, now. The crew's mind, that is."

 

Quade sighed. "Ah yes, now it is, isn't it, since the reins of the crews' psyches have finally been wrested from the grasp of the oh-so-brilliant pointy-ear." She washed down the thought with another sip, placing the empty glass on the counter as she motioned for a second. "Let humans manage the minds of humans."

 

"Some of them seem to manage pretty well on their own."

 

She smiled. "Or so they think they do."

 

"You think otherwise?"

 

"Of course! They're only people. Brilliant in their fields, maybe, but there's something for all of them that gets to them in the void. And that's not the best thing for them."

 

"I suppose you know what's best, eh?" He tipped the last of his drink down his throat.

 

A cocky grin swept across her face. "Hey, who got picked for the spot? I know their minds better than they do."

 

"Yeah?" he returned, a note of challenge rising in response as he returned the grin. "And what about your own?"

 

"Now, that's a bit more complicated. After all, I know the common phobias and concerns like the back of my hand. Obviously they aren't applicable."

 

"Obviously."

 

Swiveling on the barstool, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you mocking your shrink?"

 

He motioned for a refill. "I suppose if I am, that's proof that I hated my mother, or something?"

 

"Your Freudian theories are a bit off, dear. It only means that you don't like your psychologist."

 

"Oh, well then." He picked up the newly filled glass. "That's all right."

 

Feigning shock, she opened her mouth wide. "No, no, it marks a serious case of antisocial tendencies towards trained medical personnel. Not a good affliction for a Starfleet officer, do you think?"

 

He tilted his head, pretending to give it serious consideration. "Well, I do have a phobia of needles..."

 

"Which a shrink doesn't use..."

 

"You said 'medical personnel'," he pointed out.

 

"Hmm, must be the color of the stripe. Have any aversions to science officers?"

 

"Don't know. Quiet lot, aren't they?"

 

"They're hard nuts to crack. Very odd... usually devoted to their various disciplines, and little else floats around on the surface. Strange behaviors. That sort of thing. Prone to antisociality in the first degree, taking it to extreme measures."

 

"God, you're taking this shrink thing way too seriously." He waved the bartender over. "You need a few more of those."

 

"Leans towards using alcohol as a method of relaxation. Must observe specimen closer." She took out a padd, pretending to jot down a note or two on her friend.

 

"The only specimen we need to be observing is our well-pickled livers."

 

Looking at him askance, she blinked a few times. "Will also advise medical to run a physical on him, involving lots of needles." Putting the padd away, she smiled. "The best way to rid oneself of a fear is to directly confront it."

 

"You don't seem to have any qualms about your own alcohol intake, 'Doctor'. Shouldn't you be considering yourself a risk factor, too?"

 

"Of course not." She made a great show of mock offense. "Merely here to conduct a field study on psyches hard at play in alien bars. After all, what else does Challenger need a shrink for? Not all of the people are basket cases..."