"Assholes get things done. What a crock!"

Robyn sat on the floor, reassembling a piece of the psycho-cin mechanism.

"It made sense, after I thought about it," Jade said. She was at the control console, entering new data parameters. "Baker pushes, Jim gets better. The harder he pushes, the faster Jim progresses. It's logical. If one is on a planet with a positive gravity..."

Robyn lifted a small hammer and dropped it. "Yeah, I know," she said. "You don’t have to check afterwards to prove that it has fallen. It's still a crock."

"All I know is I didn't fuck it up."

Robyn's eyes twinkled briefly. "Too damn important."

"Which is fucking it up in another way, but... "

"Jesus fucking Christ on a crutch!" Robyn shouted abruptly. Her hand slammed the circuit board to the deck. "What is the matter with you?" She glared up into Jade's eyes. "You care so much that you can't fuck it up which fucks it up? Where's the logic in that?"

Jade had startled at Robyn's outburst and now swallowed, giving herself time to master her reaction. "Involvement -- personal involvement with a patient is unethical. If the method of gaining insight is unethical, it's equally unethical to apply it in therapy. It implies approval of, or at least tolerance for, the unethical behavior..."

"Who said?" Robyn interrupted.

Jade frowned. "It's logical..."

"Yeah? Who said?"

"Robyn, it's self-evident."

"Not to me. Sounds like more if-a-hammer-falls shit."

Jade scowled. "That's not shit."

"Oh yeah?" Robyn stood, again picking up the hammer. She placed her right hand above her head, then threw the hammer up with her left hand, grabbing it before it began its downward path. "I play basketball," she explained to Jade's stare. Then she grinned. "Prove it fell, Doctor Logic."

"There were other factors, Robyn."

"Sure. There always are. That's my point."

Something clicked. Jade froze in mid-retort. There are always other factors...

Sijer's logic of so many years ago didn't take all the other factors into account. Vulcans were telepaths. There could be no Vulcan Nazi Germany, no wholesale genocide, because Vulcans could feel each other's minds. The horror of Hitler could not be comprehended by a Vulcan. Surak's way was the only solution because Vulcans were telepaths.

Spock had come to understand that Vulcan standards could not apply to Humans. Vulcan ethics can't apply, either. Nor can Vulcan logic. Jade had taken a good general rule and 'logicized' it into a stone that was breaking her -- because of Sijer. She'd listened to Sijer because she was vulnerable from Richard's death, because she had wanted so badly to understand Selar – Vulcans. In her grief and her desperate love, it had made sense. But there were other factors.

"Thank you, Robyn," she said, and rose from the console, crossing to kiss Robyn's surprised face.

Jade's mind was very clear. A part of her refused to admit it might be because she hadn't smoked the night before -- but there were other factors.

I think I'm going to like that phrase, she thought.

Jim's breakthrough hadn't been followed by any regression. His surrogate reported that he'd been preoccupied but not childlike, not fearful, and not in pain. The thought that Jim had been too preoccupied to make use of the surrogate's usual function pleased her no end, nearly more than had the knowledge that there had been no regression. Jade was annoyed at herself for the reaction, but refused to let it spoil her clarity. She had some hope, and something on which to realistically build, and the beginnings of an acceptance of her own feelings.

Sijer had been wrong. Things weren't ever simple, nor black and white. One must always consider all the factors, whether or not one liked or agreed with them. Maybe, just maybe, standard Freudian models were wrong in this case, if one considered all the factors.

Maybe, just maybe, she could love James Kirk and cure him.

Jim arrived for his session with his jaw set. He didn't immediately sit in the psycho-cin chair as was usual. Instead, he faced Jade, waiting for the orderly to leave. Jade sat straighter in her chair before the console in alert attentiveness.

"I've been thinking," Jim said with no preliminary. "You've been programming these sessions. They're based on your perceptions, your judgments. But I -- and I'm not criticizing, Doctor -- I seem to make -- well, leaps, if you will -- when it's something you didn't program." He took a few steps away, obviously nervous. "I keep remembering 'cheers' and Horatio Hornblower. That leap led to your use of the sailing ships as a metaphor, didn't it?" He didn't wait for an answer, turning again toward her, though his hazel eyes were far from certain. "I think about yesterday, and uniforms and Vulcans and -- " He shook his head, interrupting himself. "Damn, I had her name last night, but it's -- It starts a panic to try to remember..."

"That's alright, Jim," Jade put in. "I know who you mean."

"Why can’t I remember now?" he demanded, more of himself than of Jade. "I could, I did yesterday! " He paced again, this time from agitation.

"Yesterday you were already in a crisis-state," Jade explained gently. "There was no additional threat in remembering. It's why you remembered Spock."

Jim's wince was only a brief flash of fear in his eyes. "But I still remember him," he countered, "I remember his name."

"Hers will come," Jade assured.

Jim straightened, taking a deep breath. "Tell me."

Jade hesitated. "It would be far better to..."

Jim faced her squarely. "No, it wouldn't. You said Spock's name first."

With a start, Jade realized it was true. Hoping she wouldn't destroy Jim's breakthrough, she said, "Ruth Valley."

Jim inhaled as if in anticipation. After a moment, he exhaled slowly. "Yes. That's her name. Ruth. But I called her..."

"...Angel," Jade finished with him. He frowned in concentration. "A cave, and repairs on -- something -- and water and..." He looked up, his eyes widening in wonder and question. "Dear Dr. Han."

"Jade, honey," Jade supplied, her smile fighting with cool professionalism. The professionalism lost when Jim smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"I remember."

For a moment, it was all that mattered. Jade found herself blushing at the memory of the tapes one very irrational James Kirk had recorded while stranded in a cave on Alpha Metaxa with one Lieutenant Ruth Valley. They had been entered as a personal log, and as Jim's mood had gotten somewhat more giddy, he began to start his entries with 'Dear Log'; then, because -- as he jokingly stated -- he needed psychiatric help, 'Dear Dr. Han', and finally 'Dear Jade' and 'Jade, honey'. Those tapes had been filled with his frustration concerning Ruth's alleged insubordinate behavior -- and his ecstasy when the frustration had been alleviated by their becoming lovers. Jade had received them when an overly efficient yeoman reviewed them, scanning for an address notation, and dispatched them to the said Dr. Han.

Jim's smile faded and he bit his lower lip. "But... Ruth," he said, as if it were an effort to give up what was for once a pleasant memory. "All I was thinking yesterday, about her and -- " his voice caught fleetingly, " -- Spock and uniforms. Doctor, you said it's all hard work, but good work. I want to do more good work. It's -- it's feeling very important right now. But your psycho-cin programs don't 'leap' like I do. So, for the next therapy session here -- " he gestured to the psycho-cin equipment, " -- I want to choose."

It was a reasonable request, Jade knew. But the words frightened her, fight it though she tried.

It had started after they'd seen "Oedipus Rex." Richard had wanted to make love immediately. He almost hadn't waited till they reached his apartment. He was frenzied, as though trying to out-distance something, as if the universe would end if they didn't couple and climax right now. Jade had accepted it as she accepted all of Richard's moods. Then he had started talking, ignoring completely any pretense of afterglow. He went on and on about the nature of fate. You can run but you can never hide, he said. Sophocles knew it. So did Freud.

"Why else did he choose Oedipus for his most famous theory? Freudian therapy maintains that everyone is Oedipal, that it's unavoidable, the inescapable root of all the darkness in Human souls."

Jade shifted uneasily on the bed. The tone of his voice worried her. Usually he dripped sarcasm at discussions of Freudian psychology. Now he was earnest, intense -- nearly pleading. But she had no idea for what.

"No, Richard," she replied, choosing her words very carefully. "Freud taught that the Oedipal stage is part of the Human psyche. Only when it isn't outgrown does it cause problems."

"But it happens," Richard insisted. "It does."

"Yes, but..."

"So it's inevitable. We're all powerless to change it."

"Well, yes. We're all powerless to change the fact that we breathe. But only some of us have asthma."

"Ah, but we can change that. We can stop breathing," Richard pointed out, his blue eyes gleaming.

"Not voluntarily. It's an autonomic function. We can hold our breaths, some of us till we pass out, but then we automatically start again."

"Not if we die. We can choose that."

"True," Jade conceded warily.

"That's my point. We can't, no matter what we do, choose to avoid Oedipus. We can choose to die, yes, like Iocasta did. But we can't choose not to live. That decision is out of our hands."

"That depends on one's spiritual beliefs."

"Most of what we do, Jade, is out of our hands. Most of us simply don't know it."

"Do you?" Jade asked, a soft counterpoint to Richard's intensity.

He stopped, blinked, and looked at her as if he was just noticing her -- as if he had never really seen her.

"I don't know," he answered in a whisper. "Sometimes I think I do, but..."

"But?" she prompted gently.

His voice dropped even lower. "It scares me. I don't want it to be inevitable. I want..." He began to tremble. Jade touched his face. His eyes closed. He grasped her hand, kissing it. His eyes opened again and they were those of a lost and terrified little boy. "Jade, I want to choose."

Jade frantically pushed the memory away before it began to overwhelm her. She swallowed, made herself face Jim. "I think that's a very good idea," she managed. "If you can tell me what you'd like programmed, I can have it ready for you by this afternoon."

Jim smiled. "I didn't think it would be this easy," he said. Then he took a deep breath. "I want to -- to re-live -- I want to experience what we were talking about yesterday. There's a key there, somewhere, but I don't know where. I can't find it on my own."

"You mean the session yesterday?" Jade asked, a little confused.

"No, I mean - before. Between Ruth and -- " His eyes grew very dark. "My nightmares, Doctor."

Jade swallowed hard. "You -- you remember?" she almost whispered.

Jim shook his head. "No. Only that I had them, and that they were important and that you were wrong. I want -- I need to find out what was right."

"Jim," Jade began, "I can't program what I don't know."

"I know that. Just set up the situation, and let it roll over me, like you do with the sailing ships. I think -- I think I'll make the leap on my own."

Jade was silent for a moment. "That's very dangerous, Jim."

"I know that, too. But, Doctor - " He looked directly at her. "Jade, I don't want to spend the rest of my life here, being afraid."

Jade struggled with her own fear, struggled to see the determination on Jim's face. "I can't -- I don't think I can authorize anything that unstructured yet," she finally said.

Jim sighed. "Not so easy after all," he mumbled. Then he sighed again. "Can you do anything like that? Set up something that might trigger a leap for me?"

"I'll certainly see what I can do," she promised. "Jim... I want you to know that I think this is a very brave thing for you to be attempting, but also that there's the possibility of wiping out the enormous gains we've made this week..."

"I know, Doctor. But it's my life. I have to choose how to live it."

Jade nodded her assent as a chill settled on her soul, one that she knew all the Rigellian in the universe wouldn't shake.

The images were ill-defined and fleeting. The feeling was very much like being in a nightmare. Jim struggled with it, knowing only that he was in a nightmare, and that he couldn't wake up. The brutality he had, in his mind, inflicted on Ruth was unbearable -- yet he could not let go of it. He needed it, needed to use it...

Needed to get a reaction out of Spock.

"Talk to me about logic, Vulcan," he sneered as he watched the sweat begin to bead on Spock's forehead. Ruth's muffled cries began again, and he set his jaw, grinning as Spock struggled against the bonds Jim had placed on him.

"Let -- let her go -- " The Vulcan hissed.

"Now you know I can't do that," Jim replied. "And she doesn't want me to." He turned to the tortured figure on his bed. "Do you, Angel?"

Ruth moaned again, her large eyes frightened and full of tears.

"You need a real man, don't you? You need this kind of control, not cold Vulcan logic. Isn't that right?"

"Leave her!" Spock roared.

"You made the choice!" Jim roared back. "This is your fault, Spock; your doing. You chose to make her the center of your life. Fine. But nothing in life is free, and you pay for your choices."

"I will pay," Spock said from between tightly clenched teeth. "Leave her, and I will pay."

"No, it isn't that easy. You pay with what is most dear. If she's most dear, you pay with her!"

Jim struck Ruth's body with savage fury, eliciting a satisfyingly cut off gasp. Spock took a ragged breath.

"Why?" he asked, his voice a misery-laden whisper. "Why do you do this? What choice, Jim? What choice?"

"You chose her," Jim replied without looking at him. "She is more important to you than..."

"Than you are?"

"Yes, damn it! Than I am!"

"Why should that matter? What are we to one another that my taking of a wife should threaten you? I am your First Officer. I am your friend. Jim, what more do you want of me?"

"I want... I want... "

I don't know.

"Love me!" Jim exploded, though he knew it was wrong.

Spock stared at him. "I cannot," he whispered.

"Then she pays," Jim said with finality.

"NO!" Spock begged as Jim turned back to Ruth.

And woke up, shaking, sweating and nauseous. He tried desperately to control his breathing, tried to erase the dream's image from his mind. It was impossible. He knew now why he had these dreams, knew that nothing could stop them. He knew they would slowly take over his waking life. They had already begun to intrude on it. He would slowly, gradually try to destroy Ruth Valley -- and Spock. Because he loved...

And that, he could not allow.

He lay there for some time, thinking of alternatives. After all, Spock often said there were always... At the thought of Spock, burning tears welled up inside him. It was no use. He could not rid himself of his feelings. There was no way around it, no way out. He had only one choice. Get away, leave Spock forever...

And yet, even as he thought it, he knew he couldn't. To live life empty, always fighting the urge to call, to see him.... No. He knew he was not that strong.

He glanced at the chronometer at his bedside, and saw the small vial of sleeping pills McCoy had given him. He reached for it, opening it, pouring the contents into his open hand. There were eighteen pills there. Heart pounding, he read the dosage information on the label. That would be enough. He wasn't due on duty until the second shift. No one would come looking for him for at least another fourteen hours. It should be enough time to be able to prevent one of Bones' miracle cures.

Spock, I'm sorry.

He took a deep breath, and raised his hand to his lips....

"NO!!!" Jim bellowed and propelled himself out of the psycho-cin chair. He made a rush at the doorway that led to the control booth.

Jade jumped back, quickly shutting the equipment down. Jim's face was livid, angry -- but there was no pain and no uncertainty. "Jim," she ventured cautiously, "what was..."

"Do you really think me that far gone?" Jim demanded.

"Far gone?" Jade asked.

"That wasn't my idea of a free situation, Doctor!"

"I -- I don't understand..." Jade stammered.

Jim paced away from her, then back again. "Even if your hypothesis had some validity -- and I'm far from agreeing it does – “

“My hypothesis?”

“That I’m in love with my First Officer,” Jim snarled with a disdainful showing of teeth.

“That’s not…” Jade began.

Jim waved her words impatiently away. “Even granting it, there is no way that I'd ever be sick or stupid enough to suicide over it!"

Jade blinked. Sick or stupid enough? "Explain, please," she said.

Jim's face hardened, his jaw grinding his teeth. "Doctor Han, surely you realize that no one -- no one -- suicides over unrequited love unless they're sick to begin with." He paused. "Except for troubled teenagers and heroines in mass-produced romance stories. Of which I am neither. People are simply not that shallow. They may claim love as a reason for opting out, but in every case I've heard of they're just using that as an excuse for the truth - which is they're sick and need help and are afraid to deal with life. While I admit I am sick and I need help, I am not afraid to deal with life and I refuse to accept this as therapy."

Jade sat back down, taken aback not only at the intensity but at the coherency of Jim's outburst. She had programmed that particular parameter as being a factor dependent on the despair level of the simulation – and the only other ‘facts’ given to the program were those from her recordings of Jim’s dreams themselves. It was telling that Jim’s mind had constructed the obvious yet erroneous unrequited love scenario, but how had James been able to completely reject the self-destructive outcome when the levels of emotion were such that...

"Doctor Han, you're not listening to me," Jim said.

She jerked her awareness back. "I'm sorry, Jim," she said. "Please, go on."

"Go on?" Jim asked in disbelief. "What more is there to say? You set me up to admit that I'm in love with Spock, then have me try to destroy the woman he loves, then have me commit suicide over it?”

Again Jade tried to demur. “I did not set up the simulation to require…” she said, but Jim wasn’t listening.

“What kind of garbage is this? Love? Doctor, since when is love egotistical enough to presume someone will always be there to return it? How can anything that seeks to destroy be considered love? If I do love Spock, I can assure you that it isn't like that. And frankly I thought you had admitted that particular theory was in error."

Jade stood up, gathering her report tapes. "Yes, of course, Jim," she said, distractedly. "Obviously the program was still too structured to allow one of your leaps. I'll reprogram..."

"Doctor, what’s wrong?" Jim suddenly broke in.

Jade, completely unaware that her face was as pale as a ghost, simply shook her head. Then she uncharacteristically left the control console, with Jim staring concernedly after her.

Jade went immediately to the research library. Jim's observations had shaken her more than she was prepared to deal with. She had deliberately included suicide as an option. It seemed almost second nature to do so. But looked at in the light of Jim's response...

Was it possible that such a reaction was uncommon enough that it should not have been included in the structure of the simulation? Jade spent the next several hours reviewing all the situational parameter recommendations made by those in the psycho-cin therapy field. To her deep shock, James was right. Suicide was not considered an appropriate structure for this situation.

Why then, had she thought it was?

For weeks Richard had become increasingly quiet, yet increasingly frantic in his lovemaking. Jade was at a loss to understand the change, but she did her best to go along with it, to help him when he was frightened, to hold him through the tense silences. One night, she went out to a lecture on new therapeutic techniques related to those of the Vulcan mind-touch. Richard had assured her that he'd be alright. "In fact," he'd said, "I think I'll be better tonight than I've been in a long time." Jade had believed him.

She returned to his apartment just after 1:00 in the morning. The house was brightly lit. She found that odd, but hadn't Richard been odd for weeks?

"Richard," she called. "I'm back." No answer. "Richard?"

She wandered through the living room, into the kitchen. There was no sign of him, although there were dirty dishes in the sink. Quite a lot of them. He must have cooked himself up a storm, she thought.

"Richard?" she called again, and headed for the bedroom. There was no sound of music or videos. The bedroom door was open a crack. "Richard?" she whispered as she opened it, wondering if perhaps he was sleeping.

Richard's body hung from one of the ceiling beams, a perfect hangman's noose of smooth cord around his neck, the bedroom chair on its side under him. His face was swollen, purple, the blue eyes bulbous, distended and empty. The black hair, with its shock of silver, hung around his shoulders, as lifeless as he was.

Jade vomited before she could scream.

The police found the tape, addressed to her.

"I really don't have to explain anything to you. I've said it all, all along. You never did pick up on it, you never did understand. Maybe if you had... well, perhaps you should re-think your profession.

"I told you it was inevitable. But I shouldn't've had to. You should know. After all, you've been through this already. It was the only possible outcome of that melodramatic scenario you played with your father over your parents', divorce. There's always only one answer, Jade. Fate. I told you that, too. I was afraid of it. I've been fighting it. But I can't do it anymore. And it's funny, the deepest irony. I stopped fighting it, and now I've got the choice. So I choose, Jade. At last, I choose."

When Robyn found her, Jade was silently crying, her head down on her arms. Robyn had been alerted by an orderly, who had told her that Jim had come back to his room angry with, and concerned about, his doctor. With soft, soothing words, Robyn helped her up and led her to her room. She even lit a pipe of Rigellian, then simply sat with her arms around Jade's shoulders, waiting until her friend was ready and able to talk.

A lie. All this time, and it was a lie. Jade could hardly bear the thought, but there it was. Truth, plain, stark and completely ruthless. The pun made her laugh in sick appreciation. Of course she'd programmed the psycho-cin to make Jim want Spock Ruth-less. She'd believed for years that was the only way to truly hurt someone -- to take a loved one from them.

But who took Daddy from me? He wasn't gone from me until after Richard's death. I mourned him, grieved for him, missed him... but he was still with me. I could think of him, think of the good times, be happy that I had known and loved him and that he had loved me. I can't do that now. I think of him and I feel like dying. "Who took him from me?"

"Who took who, Jade?"

Robyn's voice, soft and caring. Jade didn't bother to wonder where it was coming from. "Daddy. Somebody took Daddy from me," she answered.

"Your father died in an accident, Jade."

"But who took him from me?"

"I don't understand."

Jade looked up, more than surprised to actually see Robyn's face. "Richard," she said bitterly. "Richard did it."

"You're not making any sense, honey."

"Oh, yes I am!" Jade's voice was vehement. She sat up, surprised again, to see she was in her cabin, but again taking no notice of it. "Richard and his damned suicide took my father from me. He made me think it was somehow my fault!"

"He did what?" Robyn exclaimed.

"He left me a note. Told me all about how it was inevitable he would kill himself, and it was my fault for not noticing it. He said that I should've seen it, because I'd been through it once with my father. He talked about how we have no choice. And the bastard took me to see Oedipus Rex!" Jade choked on the words and on her tears, her face livid with fury. "And I believed it!" she hissed. "Gods, why was I so stupid, how was I so sick...?"

"Jade, Jade calm down!" Robyn said. "You were in shock! Jesus Christ, you'd just walked in on him! You can't mean that you really -- that all these years you've taken it..."

"All these years. Gods, all these years!" Jade screamed. She broke again, crying hysterically, great, heaving sobs wracking her chest. Robyn held her tightly, crying with her, unable to help or to speak.

Finally, Jade seemed to gather some control. She took deep, shuddering breaths, and gratefully accepted the pipe Robyn handed her.

"I'm sorry," she said after a long silence. "It just hit me all at once. I've been living with this guilt for so long... Gods, Robyn, I'm a psychologist. You'd think I'd question my own assumptions once in a while."

"Physician, heal thyself?" Robyn said with a crooked smile.

Jade echoed it. "Something like that."

"That's a crock, too, you know."

"Yes, in fact I do know that much." Another shuddering breath. "I was in shock, and Richard's suicide note fossilized it into a state of perpetual guilt and pain. So I began to associate every additional instance of guilt or pain with it until..."

"Until you built yourself one hell of a wall."

"One hell of a tomb," Jade corrected. "Richard couldn't accept the inevitability of death or of life. He couldn't accept the fate he was always going on about. Someone had to be responsible. He blamed me. So did I."

Robyn nodded in agreement, but said nothing.

"And it took James to make me see it." Jade faced Robyn. "I almost fucked it up, didn't I?"

"Isn't that what I've been trying to tell you?"

"When did you get your doctorate?"

Robyn laughed, kissing her. “I have a wonderful, brilliant, and beautiful tutor.”

It wasn't, of course, all over. Jade was fully aware that she would be battling the remnants of her mental habits for many months, maybe even years to come. She had asked Robyn to please leave her alone after they made love. Robyn understood completely with no hurt feelings or sense of rejection. Gods, where did she get her doctorate? Jade lit herself another pipeful of Rigellian, and sat facing her mirror.

Alright, Jade Melissa Han, let's think.

Father.

He died in an unfortunate accident. Yes, he was coming to visit you; and yes, he would not have moved back to Rigel if he hadn't divorced your mother. And -- yes, it was you who pushed for the divorce. But in those last years, he was happy. Mother was happy. You were happy. If he hadn't've died in that accident, he would have died some other time. He died knowing you loved him. He died knowing he loved you without the conflicting sadness of his failed marriage. That's really a pretty damned good time to die, isn't it? His death had nothing to do with you.

Jade took a long, lingering draw from the pipe, inhaling the thick and fragrant reminder of the homeworld she shared with her father, and she smiled. Goodbye, Daddy.

She sighed, gazing into the bowl of glowing herbs.

Alan Turing.

He died three hundred years before you were born. He was destroyed by incompetent psychiatrists, but the sins of the father are not visited on the son no matter what Mother may sometimes say. James was almost destroyed by those same psychiatrists -- or at least by the same outlooks and theories. You have helped James. Perhaps you could have helped Turing, if you'd been there. You help now by being a therapist, and if redemption is needed, it rests in that direction. But you aren't responsible for what others did. Ethics aren't black and white. Sijer was wrong.

Goodbye, Mr. Turing.

She tamped down the herbs in her pipe, lit another match, and inhaled deeply.

Selar.

Gods, this one hurts. I've got a thousand regrets, all of them starting and ending with 'Why didn't I ever tell you?' I love you. Not 'loved'. Love. I still do. I'm not going to rid myself of that. But I do have to come to terms with it. I don't think I can do that on my own.

I'm going to have to talk with Jilla, aren't I?

And for the thousandth time, what makes you think she doesn't already know? She’s a sensitive, you idiot. So admit it and cleanse the guilt.

Goodbye will have to wait till then.

The last dregs of Rigellian were almost gone.

Richard.

You have no more power over me. I've feared your shadow for years. But you were right, the very first time. There are monsters that are pre-programmed and inevitable. Monsters that you put there, long before you met me. I loved you, I think. But I don't now. And you set me up, you bastard. It wasn’t enough for you to find someone for you to blame. To make it complete, you had to wait until I would blame me, too. But you know what? Even if there had been something I could've done, frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.

Goodbye, Richard.

Jade looked down at the pipe. She looked up at the tired but serene face in her mirror. With a slow, confident smile, she gently tapped out the ashes and set the pipe down. She brushed her hair, washed her face, then stood up straight.

James is having breakthroughs. His doctor should be there to oversee and to help.

She left her cabin, heading for the patients' wing.

Hello, James.

The End