Counselling

Posted on Sat Jul 19th, 2025 @ 9:50pm by Commander Thomas Johnson & Lieutenant Ralen Trellis

1,715 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Preserving The Past
Location: Counsellors office
Timeline: Current

Tom walked down the corridor, there was finally a new counsellor for him to talk to, being XO, it had been difficult to get his own therapist, being married to the chief, and the options were slim. Now with the new arrival, he made his way down to the counselling offices and rang the chime.

Lieutenant Ralen Trellis was still unpacking the last of his personal effects when the door chimed. He'd been aboard the USS Tokyo for less than six hours, but his office was already beginning to take shape. The standard-issue counselor's suite had been transformed with carefully chosen elements: a collection of meditation crystals from various worlds, books on trauma psychology printed on actual paper, and a small holographic display showing the peaceful lakes of Trill. Like many counseling spaces, there was just comfortable seating arranged to encourage open conversation.

"Come in," Lieutenant Trellis called, setting down a framed image of the Caves of Mak'ala where the Trill symbionts lived in their natural state.

The doors slid open to reveal Commander Thomas Johnson, the ship's Executive Officer. Ralen had expected this visit, though perhaps not quite so soon. "Commander Johnson," Ralen said, rising from behind his desk. "I was expecting to meet with you in your ready room later today."

"Thought I would save you the trip Lt." Thomas replied as he walked in. Looking around he smiled at the decor. "Glad you making yourself at home."

"Thank you, sir. Please, have a seat." Ralen gestured to the comfortable chairs arranged away from his desk. "I imagine you've had quite a day. Sounds like we're heading into uncharted territory—literally and figuratively."

"How are you feeling about all of it?" Ralen asked, his tone shifting slightly to something more professional but still conversational.

"Given my last mission... I am hoping for a little more less... being killed then brought back to life kinda deal."

Ralen leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful and non-judgmental as he processed Thomas's words. The Trill counselor's spots seemed to catch the light as he considered how to approach this unique situation, drawing from experiences that spanned multiple lifetimes.

"Commander," Ralen began, his voice carrying a weight of understanding that went beyond his apparent years, "what you're experiencing resonates with me in ways you might not expect. Through the Trellis symbiont, I carry the memories of seven previous hosts, including my immediate predecessor, Major Jaret Trellis, who fought in both the Dominion War and the Cardassian Border conflicts."

He paused, his eyes taking on a distant quality as he accessed those inherited memories. Jaret never found peace with those questions, Ralen thought to himself, feeling the echo of his predecessor's torment. The nightmares, the survivor's guilt, the way he would wake up screaming the names of fallen comrades—it consumed him until his final days. He died carrying that weight, never finding the answers he desperately sought.

"Jaret witnessed countless deaths—friends, enemies, civilians caught in the crossfire. He struggled with many of the same questions you're probably facing now. The weight of survival can be crushing, especially when you feel like you've somehow cheated the natural order." Ralen said in a steady tone.

"We lost a lot of good people last mission, most of them were... my fault." He replied, "I offered the chance for the Iconians to beam over, gather the information, they gave me a padd, I locked the computers out from everyone, and had people locked in their quarters. It was supposed to protect them. I sent a message stating so, not to fight, not to do anything."

Ralen's expression grew more serious as he absorbed Thomas's words, the weight of command decisions gone wrong settling heavily in the room. He could feel Jaret's memories stirring—the phantom pain of orders that led to casualties, the crushing responsibility of lives lost under his command.
Jaret carried this same burden, Ralen thought, feeling his predecessor's anguish as if it were his own. The battle of Chin'toka, when he ordered his unit to hold position while reinforcements that never came were supposed to arrive. Seventeen good Marines died because he trusted intelligence reports that were wrong. He never forgave himself.

"Commander," Ralen said in a low tone, his voice carrying both professional composure and deep empathy, "you made a tactical decision based on the information available to you at the time. You tried to protect your crew by avoiding a direct confrontation with a superior force. That decision came from a place of leadership and responsibility, not recklessness."

"But there was a power struggle within the governing council of the Iconians, M'Tara and T'Ket... T'Ket didn't care about information, just the slaughter of the crew, those people I was trying to protect, stood no chance. They blasted them anyway." Thomas replied.

Ralen paused, leaning forward slightly. "But the internal conflict among the Iconians—T'Ket's disregard for the arrangement you made with M'Tara—that was beyond your control. You couldn't have predicted that their own power struggle would override their stated intentions."

Ralen's tone became more direct, drawing from the painful wisdom of his predecessor's experiences. "I carry the memories of a host who faced similar impossible choices during wartime. Major Jaret Trellis made decisions that cost lives, decisions that seemed right at the time but led to tragedy. He spent years believing that every death was his personal failure, that he should have somehow seen outcomes that were truly unpredictable."

His expression grew more intense, more focused. "But here's what took him too long to understand, and what I hope you can grasp sooner: the responsibility of command means making the best decisions you can with incomplete information. The alternative—paralysis, inaction—often leads to even greater loss of life."

"I get that." Thomas replied as he leaned back in the chair. "Doesn't make it any easier."

Ralen nodded slowly, his expression softening with understanding. The weight of Thomas's words hung between them—that familiar ache of rational comprehension warring against emotional reality.

"No," Ralen said quietly, "it doesn't. And anyone who tells you it should get easier is either lying or has never held lives in their hands the way you have."
He was quiet for a moment, allowing Jaret's memories to surface more fully—not just the tactical failures, but the way those feelings had festered beneath the surface, never properly addressed.

"Jaret felt exactly the same way after Chin'toka," Ralen continued, his voice carrying both empathy and a growing edge of frustration. "He understood intellectually that he'd made the best call he could with the information available. But that understanding meant nothing against the weight of seventeen names he carried."

Ralen's expression grew darker as he accessed deeper memories. "He continued to serve with distinction—his record remained exemplary, his tactical decisions sound. But internally, he never truly processed what happened. He buried the guilt, the self-doubt, the constant replay of 'what if' scenarios."

The Symbiosis Commission, Ralen thought with bitter resentment, . . .they supposedly did their job by conducting their regular evaluations, confirmed that the Trellis symbiont was healthy and stable. They never bothered to ask if Jaret himself was healing. As long as the symbiont survived, that's all that mattered. . . he thought bitterly.

The Commission failed him, Ralen thought coldly.

His tone became more urgent, more direct. "But here's what I need you to understand, Commander—that constant undercurrent of doubt, that unprocessed guilt, it doesn't just sit there harmlessly. It influences every decision you make afterward. You start second-guessing yourself at critical moments, hesitating when decisive action is needed, or worse—overcompensating with reckless aggression to prove you're not weak."

Ralen spoke more intently. "Your crew needs you to make clear, confident decisions. They can't afford to have a commander who's fighting ghosts from previous battles while trying to navigate current crises."

"Oh I understand that Lt. I knew that when I put on the red uniform." He smiled. "Still its good to talk about. My wife, being your chief, I can't go to her."

Ralen's expression softened at the mention of the Executive Officer's wife, understanding immediately the impossible position that created. The isolation of command was something Jaret had known intimately—the burden of being unable to share doubts with those closest to you, especially when they served under your authority.

"That's one of the cruelest aspects of command," Ralen said, his voice carrying deep sympathy. "The people who know you best, who you'd naturally turn to for support, are often the very people you feel you can't burden with your uncertainties. Your wife needs to have confidence in her commanding officer, even when that officer is also her husband."

He leaned forward slightly, his tone becoming more personal. "Jaret struggled with this too. There were hosts before him—trusted friends, fellow officers—but the moment he became their superior, those relationships had to change. The easy camaraderie became complicated by rank and responsibility."

Ralen paused, then continued with quiet intensity. "But here's what I've learned from carrying these memories, Commander—isolation isn't strength. It's a slow poison that corrupts good judgment and erodes the very confidence your crew needs to see. The red uniform comes with the responsibility to lead, yes, but it doesn't come with the requirement to suffer alone." He said directly.

"You're right that you can't go to your wife with these doubts. But you can come here. You can acknowledge that understanding something intellectually and processing it emotionally are two entirely different battles." He said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Which is also why I came, seeing as there is now another counsellor. Due to the conflict of personal interest, I will transfer my file over to you."

Ralen smiled at the acceptance from the Commander. For some high-ranking officers, the very idea of speaking to a therapist was a mortal sin. It was refreshing to meet an Officer that recognized the need to cover down on his mental health.

"That works for me, Commander." Lt. Trellis said. "I'll update the system and we can go from there." He added.

"Thank you Lt." He smiled as he paused. "I will let you get back to unpacking."

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