Kris worked more diligently but not much longer because she found an Elizabeth Peters’ Amelia yarn and she, too, couldn’t resist reading “just a few pages…”
“Ah, Doctor Hessian, have you come to help shelve books?” they both heard Dorothy say.
When Kris would have moved guiltily back to unpacking, Sarah grabbed her arm and whispered at her.
“No, let’s just listen,” Sarah said in a very low voice. “Dorothy’s been trying to pin him down since he got his mind back. He wants all the Victims to undergo proper Freudian sessions. He feels that he should be in charge of the treatment team, not Dorothy.”
“Are you Miss Dwardie…”
“Doctor Dwardie, Doctor Hessian,” Dorothy replied calmly but there was a slight edge to her voice that alerted both Kris and Sarah. Kris would have risen but Sarah grabbed her by the arm, pressing her back against the crate.
“You’ve made a remarkable recovery,” said Dorothy with apparent pleasure.
Sounds like “grumph grumph” and an audible “be that as it may” seemed to indicate that this Dr. Hessian was not in complete accord. His raspy baritone gave Kris a mental image of a portly man of advanced years, probably balding, overweight, and overbearing.
“I was told that there had been new additions to the library and wished to avail myself of some suitable reading material.”
“Oh? Were you not also told that your help in cataloging our new shipment would be sincerely appreciated?”
“Shelving? Books?” was the pompous and astonished reply. Kris thought he sounded remarkably like Lady Bracknell in The Importance of Being Earnest, declaiming: “Handbag? Station?”
“Doctor Hessian, we all do community work…”
“He’s from the Freudian school of psychology,” Sarah whispered to Kris. “Dorothy’s a social learning psychologist…completely opposite to him.”
“The community work,” Dr. Hessian went on inexorably, “for which I am eminently qualified is to help those Victims still in severe mental distress. I am quite willing to allot all the time necessary with some of the more prestigious Victims whom I have recognized, despite their appalling ordeals. I can certainly provide blueprints of the underlying psychodynamic conflicts of their conditions.”
“We know what happened to them, Doctor Hessian. As it happened to you, and it is quite a triumph to see you walking about and conversing with everyone. Quite normal again.”
“Normal? Normal?” the second repetition was louder than the first. “What is normal…ah…”
“Doctor Dwardie,” Dorothy put in gently. “Shall we take a walk, Doctor Hessian? I think the shelving of the books can wait.”
Kris looked chagrined and Sarah evidently felt the same way for they were obviously not supposed to know what Dorothy needed to tell Hessian. Books in hand, they crept quietly out by way of the tarpaulin.
Although Dorothy had seen the slight ripple of the tarpaulin, she wanted to continue this discussion outside, where there was no danger of them being overheard. Hessian, responding to a tug on his arm, followed her out of the library, saying as they went, “My normal self scarcely compares with anyone else’s so-called ‘normal state,’” and “certainly anyone here” lingered in the air as if the doctor had spoken aloud. “I have only just begun to recall how exceptional my normal self is. You cannot expect…me…to shelve books?”
“If I can do it, why should it be beneath your capabilities, Dr. Hessian?”
“Now, just a moment, young woman,” and his voice dripped with opprobrium.
“Doctor Dwardie, Doctor Hessian,” Dorothy said firmly but kindly. “This colony survives because everyone…everyone…is willing to do the basic tasks as well as the application of their previous profession, whatever that might have been. My entire team looks forward to your helping us with the psychological treatment of the remaining Victims. Treating trauma response has been such an overwhelming task that even I have been doing this, as a much needed change of pace. There are so many more Victims,” and her voice was not exactly imploring him to be reasonable, as encouraging him, “than we can effectively treat with so few psychologists, psychiatrists, and nurses. Will you join our treatment team, Doctor Hessian?”
“Arumph. Be part of a team?” and his voice and manner reminded Dorothy of the English actor Robert Morley at his most pompous and petulant. “You’re not serious? I hardly think so. Not with my exemplary qualifications.”
Fortunately, there were few people around as dusk settled over Retreat so she steered him to the flagstone path that would eventually lead to his current residence.
“Yes, they certainly are, Doctor Hessian,” Dorothy said warmly. “I am quite familiar with your professional background. However, the psychological team here is under my direction and we have designed a multi-modal treatment program, which has indeed healed the trauma of many of the Victims. While your work within the psychoanalytic community is a valuable asset to the field, we have employed a social learning framework here because of its efficacy with psychological trauma.”
“And I would, I opine, have to use…” and once again Dorothy was treated to the magnificent disdain he could inject into such a small word, “this…this multi-modal treatment?”
“Yes, you would, since we have found it to be so effective. I worked with trauma units before I was…dropped here. But undoubtedly you would not be aware of my professional work in that area.”
“No, I am not,” he said in a flat discounting of any expertise she might have. “Especially since you now have someone of my stature in the field. Surely you realize that a change of treatment models would benefit those still in the grip of what appears to be catatonia. When the main troops arrive, as it were,” and his supercilious tone suggested that he was smiling condescendingly at Dorothy, “…the reserves are no longer needed.”
Dorothy was undaunted. “Let’s take a stab at this situation from the viewpoint of research, and see what happens. I understand that it is probably a shock for you to discover that there are other treatment models with empirical efficacy greater than the one you are most familiar with and have evidently spent most of your life studying. I know, for example, that your résumé includes eight books on the life and work of Freud in theory and psychoanalysis. I really do believe that you will be a tremendous asset to the Victims.”
There was no immediate response by Dr. Hessian.
“Doctor Hessian, please don’t misunderstand me. I am not implying any undervaluing of Sigmund Freud or the power of his work. I think that Freud was one of the greatest thinkers of all time in the study of nervous disorders. It’s just that we are using a model with proven efficacy, and the model your work is based in is most applicable to a different treatment problem—neurosis. We’re dealing with deep mental trauma, not neuroses.”
His earlier long stride, as if he had intended to outwalk her, had shortened. Now he stood, head down, pulling at his lips.
“I doubt that you and I, Doctor Dwardie, can ever work together with any degree of mutual respect, much less find a basis for a proper course of treatment for these unfortunate Victims.”
“I can accept that, although with great regret, Doctor Hessian. No, please don’t go yet. There is one trauma case I’d like a chance to discuss with you. It was one that baffled all of us.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, now do sit down, Doctor Hessian,” and she indicated a strategically placed stone bench that had a magnificent view of the Bay, “this might take a little time.”
“I should imagine so.”
“Well,” and Dorothy seemed to be taking a breath before plunging into this case. “There is a professional woman, Doctor K—a psychologist of exceptional brilliance—whose case, though successful, was very difficult. She experienced the mind-wipe shortly after a series of Victim deaths, or so one observer tells us. These had resulted from the effects of the modulated electrical current level. Some of the early deaths were those who had been trained as neuropsycholog
ists although leading professionals of all branches of sciences also were among the dead.”
“Yes, I had heard that,” Dr. Hessian was willing to admit, “from talks with Doctor Seissmann. Evidently Doctor Stanley Kessler was one. Tragic loss to the field.”
“I agree,” Dorothy said. “From various sources, we did learn that the Eosi reduced the current to prevent additional deaths due to central nervous system overload. Unfortunately the reason was less humanitarian than selfish. The Eosi were killing before they could complete the retrieval process that would extract the information they wanted. To be useful, the subject had to remain in a state of altered consciousness, therefore alive, during the probe.”
“What could be their interest in neuropsychology?” Dr. Hessian asked.
“This is theory, of course, because they mind-wiped leading professionals and state officials on a random basis but it might have to do with increasing the compliance level of the races they have dominated. They have had an unusual amount of resistance from Earth’s races and they may well have been trying to find a way to disempower their ability to resist. Just ‘turn them off,’ so to speak, by inhibiting or altering the synaptic receptor response. It would have the same effect as removing the drive unit from a computer—you can punch the keys but nothing will happen. For some reason, and fortunately for the rest of those subjected to the mind-wipe, the Eosi went off on another tact of mental exploration entirely. Or the percentage of death was discouraging.”
“What happened to those who were so examined?”
“Some experienced organic damage to both frontal lobes from experimental current levels. Still others were left with the effects of psychological trauma and some had both. In addition, many have had survivor guilt, as they were aware of the eminence of many that died. They have, quite naturally, questioned their own worth at having remained alive. Others grieved. Actually, in the case of Doctor K, there was some of both.”
“Tell me more,” said Dr. Hessian.
“Our patient, Doctor K, heard of the deaths of several such scientists, colleagues at the university, and prior to her own ordeal under Eosian instrument. And, while the mind-wipe current level had been reduced and no further deaths resulted, she was severely traumatized. Having the power of her mind stolen by ruthless aliens who had strapped her into a chair and assaulted her with a searing blue beam of bright, laser-fine light was devastating. She had flashbacks of the blue beam following her, aimed directly at the forebrain, entering her head while she was physically and psychologically paralyzed, unable to escape.”
“Hmmm. Could cause severe neuroses, indeed.” He cleared his throat. “You have told me about the trauma Doctor K experienced. Now I’d like to know something about her development history, psychological defenses, and pre-morbid adjustment level.”
Dorothy took a deep breath as she was coming to the difficult part. “Pre-morbid adjustment level is not a very useful concept in the treatment of post-traumatic stress disorder of highly functioning individuals. The focus is more closely conceptualized as helping them gain self-efficacy and self-control over their symptoms at the conscious level.”
“Well,” and Dr. Hessian’s tone was pompous, “if you don’t take pre-morbid treatment into account, you are not offering comprehensive treatment.”
“In your theory that is true: in mine, technically, it’s not,” she replied. “Imagine a nearly new automobile that is totally destroyed in a head-on collision. We would seldom ask how well it ran prior to the accident or expect it to return to its nearly new form after a visit to the body shop. In fact, such wrecks are discarded. But, with people, the nature of the human spirit often allows them to achieve an amazing level of functioning so that they can transcend the level of the trauma. Teaching how to do that by employing techniques from cognitive psychology, behavior therapy, and multi-modal treatment has proven efficacious.”
Another pause. “Well, then, tell me,” Dr. Hessian said again with that hint of gracious condescension, “what were the symptoms of post-traumatic stress that were most difficult to treat?” he asked.
Dorothy decided that he was trying to buy time to revise his strategy.
“Doctor K had temporary post-trauma amnesia and flashbacks of the blue light. She could not sleep or remain awake without recurrent images of the blue light attacking her forehead. Everywhere she went, it haunted her. In dreams as well as in waking life, she was trailed by this nasty flashback that impeded every aspect of her recovery.”
Dr. Hessian straightened himself, a smug gleam in his eye and Dorothy wondered what hole he would try to pick in her method. He was making eye contact now while he assumed his characteristic condescending expression.
“This is why pre-morbid adjustment is so important to know,” he said. “I would guess there was some unresolved conflict in this woman’s background that made her more prone to the flashback. Do you know if there was some unresolved guilt toward a parent or unresolved shame in the area of sexuality, for example, that showed itself in this way?”
By now the sun was disappearing behind the mountains. They could hear others hurrying home but no one used this path. She didn’t want to rush the man but they would soon have to leave, to avoid the night crawlers. However, she had to make an end of this power struggle between the two opposing camps of psychological treatment. The base of their current discussion, she reasoned, is power, not just theory. There are two ends to this rope: he is pulling one end and I have hold of the other in this psychological tug-of-war. I will decide not to play and see what happens.
“Well,” Dorothy said out loud, “while I would continue our discussion, we must make it back to our respective residences before full dark. I had wanted to tell you that the way we treated Doctor K’s flashbacks was to bring under stimulus control using a fading procedure combined with deep muscle relaxation. We also provided her with an imagery intervention which was highly effective.”
Dr. Hessian looked at her, unimpressed. He was probably not inspired by the a-theoretical even if it was effective.
“We’d best call it a night,” she said, standing up and his deep-rooted courtesy made him get to his feet, too. “I hope you decide to join us. Would you sleep on it? We could use your clinical help and perhaps you could summarize Doctor Kessler’s work and present it to the treatment staff. It might be a fitting tribute since you knew him. Anyway, let me know what you decide.”
She took the few steps back to the safety of the flagstone path but turned back, assuming a humble expression. “Oh,” she said, “Doctor Hessian, before I leave, I do need to apologize to you.” She even managed the slightest hint of chagrin.
“Apologize to me?” he repeated, obviously pleased that she was seeing the mistake of her own ways.
“Yes, you see, presenting the case of Doctor K was my way of attempting to share with you the power of the treatment model. I guess I was not successful in helping you see that.”
“Well,” he said, with an almost gracious wave of his hand, “you tried.”
“The irony,” she responded gently, “was that while most of the case data was accurate, one part was not. I changed the gender of the doctor involved.”
“Well, I hardly think that is significant.”
“Not when Doctor K is you. We used social learning techniques to revive your fine mind, Doctor Hessian, and they worked.”
She saw his gaping mouth and hurried away, leaving him to digest that final thrust.
• • •
KRIS AND SARAH HAD RUN AS FAST AS THEY could to leave the scene of their eavesdropping.
“Should we apologize to Dorothy?” Kris asked, her expression repentant.
“How were we to know Hessian would come in, all ruffled and precipitate a set-down? I hope he got it from her, too,” Sarah replied, not the least bit repentant. Then she shuddered. “I hadn’t heard her theory about what the Eosi might have been trying to do. Make zombies out of all of us.”
Kris had a sick feeling in he
r guts. She shook her head slowly in denial. “No, Zainal is certain that the Eosi were trying to search for possible new scientific theories…”
“And what, pray tell, was that?” Sarah asked acidly.
“A point, but it wasn’t just psychologists and psychiatrists that got the treatment. There were heads of state and government departments and whatever NASA personnel they could find. All kinds of specialists.” Kris realized she was talking more to reassure herself than Sarah. And she wasn’t sure she was convincing. “Well, with all the information that’s come back, the High Command,” and she managed a grin, “are sure to come to some conclusions. I’m sure Dorothy would have told Leon Dane, at least, since he’s still more or less chief medic.”
“Well, it’s not something we just ask about, is it?”
“Nope, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find out if it’s been discussed.” Kris muttered under her breath. “That’s the downside of being away from here. You can’t keep up with what’s happening.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows and regarded Kris with a wry grin. “Look who’s talking? You’ve been traveling the galaxy and I’m stuck at home…Oops!” She caught Kris’ arm, then pointed to the cluster of torches at the dark edge of the settlement. “Demonstration!”
They were not so far away they didn’t hear the gasp as the latest arrivals witnessed the emergence of night crawlers. They could hear male shouts of surprise and alarm and female cries of terror. They saw plainly the shadows of a milling throng, wanting to put distance between themselves and the wet, slimy denizens of the night ground. A chant began, and from the depth of the voices, the two friends decided that was a Maasai response to danger.
“I’m glad they’re on our side,” Kris said.
“Me, too, and Joe won’t be on mine if I don’t get home,” Sarah said and turned off toward her own home on the flagstone path where their way parted.
• • •
WHEN KRIS REACHED THEIR HOUSE, ZANE WAS asleep and Zainal busy with papers on the table, so she slipped in to check on her son. He’d grown inches in the weeks she’d been away. What else had she missed of his development?
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