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The Return - Derkylos - 09-20-2014
Mai wandered the halls of Aomori aimlessly. She had just completed her first counseling session with one of the Guild's psychiatrists, shortly after her first flight back as a member of the Paramilitary. She had been questioned and assessed for hours after finally awakening from the physical trauma of the hectic flight from Omicron Beta, and the subsequent landing on Ogashawa. Of course, the Guild had questions as to her whereabouts over the last few years, that was understandable, but she resented the constant prodding by these head-doctors with more letters after their names than actually in them. No, she couldn't recall where she had been, yes, she knew what year it was (which surprised her, if she couldn't remember the intervening time, how could she know it had passed?), and many more questions tumbled over and around her, to the point that she was almost answering them automatically.
And then came the ones she had heard before, the ones she had tried so hard to forget, for the memories they dredged up of that fateful day on Yokohama and her last loss. Finally, however, the physicians and psychiatrists had announced her fit for duty, provided she maintain regular appointments for "continued observation". It made her feel like she was a rookie pilot again, every move under intense scrutiny, someone over her shoulder just waiting for her to mess up.
The flight had not been particularly eventful, but it had felt good to get back into space again, to drift and swerve through the endless nothing, to marvel at the wonders of the Crow Nebula (even if she had gotten turned around...what self-respecting Guild pilot could not find their way in a simple nebula). And yet there was something different. Not just in the new faces and callsigns that made the ship's logs look like one of the many passenger runs she had done while with Samura (the shadow of a smile crossed her face as she remembered seeing Taro's callsign on the flight roster, at least not everyone from the old days was gone), but she felt more...distanced...from the whole experience. She remembered the thrill of patrols through the clouds of Sigma-13, never knowing what may be lurking around the next gas pocket, or at the end of the next trade lane.
Then again, it had been a simple convoy, most of it through un-contested space, with few real threats to worry about. She had no doubt she had been assigned to it exactly because of the low risk of hostilities, to allow her to ease back in, while simultaneously keeping her close enough to be under careful surveillance. And the security of the task no doubt was the reason for these feelings of un-fulfillment, not some lingering psychological trauma.
Of course, she had not voiced her doubts to the psychiatrist, but had aired some blanket neutral fluff about how "invigorating" it was to get back into the cockpit and how "fulfilling" it had been to ensure the safe delivery of supplies to the Guild. Even to herself, the sentiments sounded insincere.
Lost in the tangled web of her own mind, Mai turned the corner and found herself entering the station’s bar. The hum of conversation subsided for a moment as those present registered the arrival of the newcomer, before returning to the business at hand, and Mai hovered, uncertainly, in the doorway, feeling as though the merriment within was part of some distant world.